Chromatic Aberration               

She holds the baby on her knee. Sun has reddened the baby's skin. She sips the end of her iced coffee and remembers the taste of other coffee. The sun feels the same: hot, demanding. The baby sucks her watch.

Dumping shells into the aloe, she breathes. The air is steam and the tree leaves are curled and brown. Next to the aloe, the crab claw is vibrant orange, strange against lines of iridescent purple on the mussels. Dried remains of water creatures brought to a desert.

The buses rumble by, shaking the walls. Stops are announced on a loud speaker, and for a moment, the whole house is in motion, making stops on Main and Durango, carrying passengers up the river to the greyhound station. The conductor gets to say, Main Street, Durango, Hemisphere Park, The Alamo, over and over as he drives through a city grown from his intonation.

She spreads butter onto the rye cracker. The cold white grease clumps in the gaps. Her mother sits in a wheelchair. How to ask: which is better? to have died then or to have lived, knowing one window, one television set, a list of presidents, the pain of rolling sideways into bed?

He trembles in his chair, because it's painful to sit. It's painful to eat, as well. He has a story he wants to tell, but he is waiting for a better time. He can feel himself waiting; he is not ready yet. She asks him when will he be ready, what will characterize that better time? He does not think it is a rhetorical question. The better time will be bleached as bone and covered in confetti, his father will be proud of him and his stomach will no longer hurt. What are you doing now to create this better time? She asks, Are you making confetti? He does not think she is heartless, only too anxious. She believes in jumping into water before you know how to swim.

There are things she's not supposed to say, which is ridiculous in principle. Some of these include: nice haircut, I like your T-shirt, are those new shoes?, you seem to have lost weight, are you enjoying your day?, I'm happy you're here. She must resist encouraging anyone to linger. Things she's supposed to say: fill out form 1014, go to the other office, I just work here, I'm afraid we're about to close.

Is empathy movement? Stretching the brain to grasp the ungraspable, the thought beyond the first thought. Is the second thought more valuable than the first, because it required movement?

When he leaves, she realizes it is only a story. In this place, stories do not earn money. He could use some money. Money would make his life easier. For a little while, the story has only made his life more difficult.

The spotted lizard shoots out from under the vine, then stops. Does he feel you breathe upon him as you struggle not to move? You move and he darts quickly under the fence. It is impossible to be perfectly still.