LAUREN KARDOS
Rust Belt Triptych
I. Effect
Pierogi mother heaves groceries in the supermarket checkout line when her dress seam catches on the cart’s rusty corner. Starchy potato breasts, a belly of melted cheese, and lardy legs flash the tabloid and crossword puzzle towers. Even the Big Red gum blushes. The employee chews her lip, informs pierogi mother the check bounced. Normal husbands leave surprises of new clothes, functioning bank accounts, tidied kitchens. Her husband was a nimbus cloud, raining down red and minus signs across town. Provide. Solve. Care. How many jobs can her half-naked shoulders bear? Pierogi mother abandons the Hamburger Helper™ ingredients on the conveyor belt and darts toward McDonald’s across the highway. Ten dollars in quarters jangle in her purse.
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II. Cause
Crow father is too busy tucking shiny garbage into the attic eaves to worry over errands, budgets, and bills. Instead, he flits about, weaving tunnels out of unsought commodities. Whitening toothpaste from a network marketing company, compilation jazz albums from midnight infomercials, diamond tennis bracelets too fragile for pierogi mother to wear to work. His black eyes shimmer, pride or fallen insulation tearing him up: not every father can predict a family’s wants and needs. The repossession notice taped to the door he tosses into the backyard’s burn pile. Over the phone, a bank representative is pleased to activate his new credit card.
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III. Solution
Mouse child wiggles toward the cracked window, searching for a breeze. Sun rays tickle her eyelashes, bake the car seat plastic. She hums an invented tune, pigtails bopping and light-up sneakers keeping time on the middle console. If she behaves, pierogi mother promises, she can rent Ghostbusters at Video City again. Crow father promises the next bonus, the next paycheck, the next letter to Santa will deliver the fabled Universal Studios vacation. Year-round, mouse child plates cookies for Slimer. Her favorite ghost is green, hungry, and misunderstood — like her. She’d trade all the unasked-for princess dolls to ride the Spooktacular, wave to Slimer in real life. Pierogi mother crosses the parking lot with a Happy Meal® in hand. Molten air singes mouse child’s lungs. She smiles. Today, she won’t make a peep, won’t whine, won’t cry. For Slimer, she’d be a good girl and start hiding the coins she finds under her dresser.
Lauren Kardos (she/her) writes from Washington, DC, but is still breaking up with her hometown in Western Pennsylvania. You can find her on Twitter @lkardos.