Burnt Eggs by Caroline Easley

Burnt eggs. Turn the stove off. The smell won’t leave.

Phone’s ringing––should probably answer. Work. Call back later. Look at time.

7:40.

You’re gonna be late.

Don’t be late. Again.

Work calls. Burnt eggs on a cold stove.

I leave.

Didn’t lock up. Should––probably.

Forgot my bag. Left it, maybe. Betrayed it.

I know myself too well.

Open doors to indignant hallways. Hasty decisions, indelible punishment.

I leave now. Down the stairs, and stairs, and more stairs. Mice still plague the second floor. Little lives scurrying, surviving. Nice.

7:43.

“Damn, baby.” The old man on the corner croaks. The one thing I can count on. I hate this city. Move on.

Is that him? No. Move on. I hate this city.

Mother calls. Work calls. Again. Again. Again.

The lesser of two evils: my mother.

“Honey, we need to talk about it.” It: the sound I can’t stop hearing; the handprint scar left on me.

“It” is mine. Only mine.

Phone hides again. She screams into stone. It is mine.

Bag in lap. Cradled in my arm. I hush it. It coos softly.

I’ll always be there. No, no, no––don’t scream. Shhhh, shush. Mommy loves you.

The bag wakes up.

Their eyes on me.

Do they know too? Did Mother tell them what happened? What I am now?

Nameless faces pass in and out the railcar. Shoulders brush. Hands kiss on subway poles. Touch and go.

They touch,

I go.

7:50.

Out on the streets. Where boots stomp, reds get run, shadows hide.

They’re always there. You may not see them,

but they’re there. They blaze in the night, the stars of the city.

They burn between buildings, in the cracks of sidewalks,

in saddle bags,

broken windows,

and burnt eggs.

Your world turns black, but the shadows still flicker. Flicker and fade. Flicker, then fade.

I walk faster.

The bag will buzz. Work will ask why. Mother will ask why silence bleeds between us. The bag will stay beside me. Silently screaming and raging war in the crowded room.

The wind will pull me, throw me to the ground. An infant’s ire.

But, I’ll hold it tighter.

The world won’t know.

7:59.