Let's Not Pretend

by Iris Green

hot Earl Grey

"I get to be the hostess this time," the sister whined. "My name shall be Euphraise, but you will be my guest, so you can call me Euphy."

"Oh you sly one," the other sister scolded. "You have managed to steal the good name again, and here I sit, not being able to think of a thing."

Euphy finished brushing her long dark hair and checked herself in the bathroom mirror. Her reflection was slightly distorted where she had brushed away the condensation from the steam. She looked younger than she felt. Her baby face looked back at her like an impish child looking through a window.

"Well then you just stay here until something comes to mind," Euphy said. "I'll go tend to my hostess duties." Euphy left her sister in the bedroom. She went downstairs to prepare tea. She wore an old,
long, cotton, summer dress that had once belonged to her mother. It was white and loose and flowed around her as she descended the stairs. In the kitchen, Euphy began to prepare the tea. She opened a small box of cookies while the tea was brewing, and brought out her mother's old china.

When she left her sister upstairs, the girl was wearing only a long thick terry cloth robe. And her hair was still drying from the shower. Euphy lit a candelabra the decorated the dining room table. It was a
nice added touch to the table setting. Plus, the sun was going down soon, and they would need the light.

"My name is Natasha," Euphy's Sister announced as she entered the room. "I'm so grateful to have you invite me to tea." Natasha was still wearing her bathrobe, but she decorated it with a string of her
mother's pearls, and a huge, straw, wide brimmed, gardening hat. The last, and most noticeable part of her ensemble, was the dark pair of Raybans covering her eyes. Her face was framed with the same color of damp dark hair as Euphy’s

"Oooohhhh!" Euphy exclaimed, "it's so good to have you here for tea. You just sit yourself down at the table. It's almost ready." She exited the dining room, but Natasha could still hear her carrying on
as she readied the tea.

"You know," she said loudly, to be heard in the next room, "my electricity has been shut off. I still have gas though. I just lost my electric bill, and it never got paid."

"Perhaps you could call them," Natasha offered.

"Perhaps I could," Euphy said, sounding a bit winded as she entered the dining room. She carried a large silver tea set. Natasha could smell the tea in the pot. It smelled of an exotic blend of herbs and
teas. "I have candles though, and the gas is still on. They won't shutthat off because it's so cold outside, what with it being winter and all. But those pesky health agents keep coming to the door. I talked to them before. All they kept saying was silly stuff about mental health and sanitariums. I don't answer the door anymore. I just get too afraid that it's going to be one of them."

"So you don't mind the darkness?" Natasha just had to know.

"It's kind of fun actually," Euphy said in her best mischievous, little girl voice. "I like the shadows, and the eerie way the candle light dances around the room. It's almost like living in a haunted house."

"I'm afraid that I would miss television too much. I love television.I would rather have the gas shut off. I can always wrap myself up in blankets and watch television."

Euphy poured the tea thoughtfully. Natasha help herself to a cookie. She placed it on her plate and waited for the tea to be served.

"You have such a lovely tea service," Natasha observed.

"I hope you can see all right. The sun is starting to go down you know."

"I love the candle light," Natasha reassured. "Everything is just so lovely."

"I too miss television," Euphy admitted. "I miss my shows. The nights seem so empty, and it's hard to read by the oil lamps."

"And those lamps give off such a horrid smell. I think we should go downtown tomorrow morning and see about getting your electricity back."

"A sleepover?" Euphy asked excitedly.

Natasha took off her sunglasses due to the ever increasing darkness in the dining room. She took a sip of the tea. "Scrummy."

"It will be so cozy having you here tonight," Euphy said.

"I'll tell you what, let's think up a television show of our own, and act it out tonight."

"Like a play?" Euphy asked, excited again. "Oh yes Miss Natasha! That sounds so fun. I'm so lucky that you stopped by today. And a sleepover. Why, I haven't had a sleepover since my mother and father went away. Seems like no one comes to my door anymore, except those pesky health people."

"That's it!" Natasha exclaimed wide-eyed. "That's our show!"

"What! What! Oh, do tell me!"

"Okay," Natasha began, "you know how your basement is. There's the dirt floor and all. What we'll do is get a shovel from your garage, and then we will lure the health agents to the basement. Let them in the house and kinda make noises and stuff so they will come down the stairs. And then..."

Just then came a knock on the door.

"Health department!" a voice shouted from the other side.

"Oh pooh!" Euphy whispered with exasperation. She blew out the candelabra. "Just when we were about to play such a nice game!"

"We can still play," Natasha whispered excitedly in the darkness."Sneak out to the garage and get the shovel. I'll meet you downstairs."

The knocking increased at the door.

"What are we going to do?" Euphy whispered with a scared frown. Natasha put her Raybans back on and smiled sweetly.

"You just get that shovel downstairs. I'll handle the rest."

"Oh Natasha." Euphy said before leaving the room, "I love you. I just adore you. Sleeping over is such fun."

About the author

Iris' history of publications includes Slice Magazine, Foliate Oak  Literary Magazine, Birmingham Arts Journal, Downstate Story, Bluffs Literary Magazine, and CafeLit. She is an English/Literature major at Bradley University in Peoria, Illinois and hopes to use her learned skills to enhance her writing ability. Iris lives in an empty nest in the same town as her university with wife Bonz, five dogs, and three exotic, though unwieldy, birds. Her novel “Redemption Story” Published by Czykmate Productions is currently available at Amazon.
http://a.co/d/gu4TaA8

Sunburn

By Iris Green

iced sangria

“Kill me!” Iris cried. “Kill me now!”

“Iris is that you?” Zach asked.

“Any second now a foul alien creature will explode from my abdomen,” Iris explained. “Kill me now before it’s too late!”

“Is that Saran Wrap?” Zach asked.

“Yes,” Iris answered. “I’ve been Saran Wrapped to this telephone pole.” Her legs and feet were wrapped together and her arms were straight at her sides. She was wrapped from her ankles to her stomach; her exposed skin squashed against the transparent wrap.

“Who did this?”

“My best friend in the whole world, Vicky.”

A horse fly was buzzing around Iris’s face. Zach flicked his hand at it until it flew away.

“The sun will be up soon,” Zach pointed out. “You’re gonna get a sunburn on those white legs." The wrapping process raised the hem of her dress up so some of her thighs were exposed. “A bad enough burn and you could get skin cancer. I think Vicky is trying to kill you.” 

“What are you doing out so early?" Iris asked.

“Going to the Grab & Save for some smokes. How long have you been like this?”

“Since about midnight. Vicky is really pissed at me, something about a boy. She can be way too competitive.”

“Aren’t you going crazy out here?” Zach asked.

“I got some sleep,” Iris answered. “I can see the big screen TV in the Hartman’s house across the street. The African Queen was on, that’s when I fell asleep.”

“What’s on now?” Zach asked. He turned to see.

“Looks like Bugs Bunny,” Iris answered.

“There’s bird shit in your hair,” Zach said, not taking his eyes off the Hartman’s TV. Iris’s short jet-black hair had a splash of white near the top of her head.

“That’s a bad omen,” Iris commented.

“Nonsense,” Zach replied. 

“A bird shitting on your head before the sunrise is a sign to go home and crawl into bed for the rest of the day.”

“My parents are taking the boat out on the river this morning,” Zach said. “You wanna come along?”

“You know I do.”

“I know you really love the river. Bring sunscreen this time if you’re gonna wear one of those sundresses. And your big goofy straw hat.”

“Here comes old Mrs. Stilman,” Iris said, her head turned to look down the street.

“In all of her blue-haired glory,” Zach chided, “and walking her mean Chihuahua. Don’t ya just love small town life? Want me to stick around and make sure it doesn’t piss on your boots?”

“I’ll be okay,” Iris assured. “You’re probably dying for a smoke by now.”

“Be at the marina by eight?” Zach asked.

“Wouldn’t miss it,” Iris answered.

Iris was right Zach wanted a cigarette bad. He meandered down the sidewalk toward the convenience store. Behind him, he could hear Mrs. Stilman.

“You’re going to get those snow white legs sunburned,” she said. “It’s supposed to be a warm day today.”

“Kill me Mrs. Stilman!” Iris cried. “Kill me now!”

 

About the author 

Iris' history of publications includes Slice Magazine, Foliate Oak Literary Magazine, Birmingham Arts Journal, Downstate Story, Bluffs Literary Magazine, and CafeLit. Her novel “Redemption Story” is currently under contract with Ricky’s Backyard and should be published soon. She is an English/Literature major at Bradley University in Peoria, Illinois and hopes to use her learned skills to enhance her writing ability. Iris lives in an empty nest in the same town as her university with wife Bonz, five dogs, and three exotic, though unwieldy, birds.

Anoxic Insult

by Iris Green 

hot toddy

I’m a small girl of 25 years. Small being one way to describe me, boyish another. I have a hard time staying above one hundred pounds and stand all of four foot and nine inches. I’m easy for a man of medium build to pick up, and even to carry. If that man is of medium build, a smoker, in bad health, and has to get me through a blizzard, I’m not sure he would survive. But miracles happen every day. Why not for us too? 

“Zach did a lot of dying after that adventure,” the neurologist explained. “While he was being revived his brain was not getting oxygen. When oxygen levels are significantly low for four minutes or longer, brain cells begin to die and after five minutes permanent brain injury can occur. This is called an anoxic insult. The results are random. There’s no sequence of what dies first and the condition could be fatal. In Zach’s case it wasn’t, but many of his short term memories were destroyed. Since his last couple of years were very busy, it meant he lost the memories of many newly formed relationships.

“Longstanding relationships remained intact, causing little emotional distress for Zach. The loss of a couple year’s work and those who worked with him though, doesn’t come without its own acute anxiety. The comfort of long established support systems keeps the event from being disabling. He doesn’t remember you Iris. To him, you’ve never met.”

“It’s important he remembers doctor. There’s a large financial price tag attached to our working relationship.”

The doctor eyed me silently. She tapped her fingers on the table next to my hospital bed while I held back tears. “We can wait and see. That’s all we can do. I can’t promise anything. There are other types of memory. There’s sensory memory, muscle memory, and emotional memory. His body may remember things that certain parts of his brain does not. He may feel a certain way in your presence that he can’t explain. But we can’t know. We have to wait until he is emotionally stable. And we need to get you some rest. Your inability to fall asleep is becoming worrisome.”

“I have to see him.”

“I forbid you to. As his doctor I need to protect his emotional wellbeing. It’s important to his recovery.”

“He’s in this hospital though?” I asked.

“What do you think? There’s no medical unit of this caliber for hundreds of miles. I’m not breaking any rules telling you so, since you can logically deduce the answer.”

“Is he warm?” I don’t know why I asked that. It just seemed very important in that moment.

“All of the patients in this hospital are kept warm and comfortable.”

“I’m not…”

“I’ll check in on you again later.”

“I’ve logically deduced you’re a bitch,” I said aloud to the empty room after she left. Sleep or no, they don’t know how imperative it is that I see Zach. My emotional wellbeing is important too.

I didn’t wait to be “checked on later”. My limp was severe but I could walk. I took this logical deduction the doctor talked about to its conclusion that Zach was on the same floor as me. The nurse’s station was probably alerted to keep us apart. My plan was to wander the halls on a covert recognizance mission, peeking into rooms until I saw him. Astonishingly, he was in the room next to mine.

“Hi Zach. My name is Iris. You don’t remember me. I’m not supposed to be here.” He was in bed and the room empty; an IV line was attached to his arm.

“You being sneaky?”

“Very. Took me forever to steal a walking pole for my IV. They told me not to talk to you.”

“A rebel…”

“Do you know why you’re in a hospital bed?”

“I was told about the plane crash. And a young girl. The pilot died. You must be the girl.”

“I am, and that’s all true. I’m still in trouble though. High anxiety and all, haven’t slept for three days. They’ve tried everything from sleeping pills to the date rape drug. If I don’t get natural sleep soon I’m going to die. The last ditch effort is going to be a chemical coma. They think they can keep me alive that way for some time.”

I tried to stare him down. Take him in with my eyes. He seemed drugged. Probably benzos.

“Don’t you have pajamas?” he asked. 

I only had the gown given to me by the hospital. Out of habit I didn’t check to see if I was appropriately covered.

“We kinda have a clothing optional type of relationship. Our people haven’t figured out where we are yet to bring us clothes.”

“I worry,” Zach started, with his eyes closed. “I worry a lot about the truth. I have no memory of ever meeting you. I don’t see why you would lie though. Maybe I’m delusional.”

“You’re not supposed to know this, but I’m desperate, so I need to tell you. My femur artery was severed during the emergency landing and I was losing a lot of blood fast. You found vise grips in the plane’s toolbox and stopped the bleeding. Packed the wound with gauze and duct taped everything so it was solid. You took two of the plane seats apart and made a sled to pull me behind you through the storm and down the mountain. You pulled me for four hours until we were clear of the blizzard. Then the sled fell apart. You used the straps from the sled to tie me to your back and carried me for two more hours. If you hadn’t I would be dead. I wasn’t going to last in the plane until we could be rescued. They said over the radio my only hope was to get down the mountain below the storm ASAP.”

“Seems reasonable to me. We did what we had to do. Together. We must have made a great team. I don’t completely understand what we were working on together other than survival, or why I’m on the west coast instead of home. I’m a writer, so it must have something to do with that?”

“I begged you not to go out. When you first opened the door to the plane, and I saw how strong the wind was, I knew you wouldn’t make it. And you didn’t. You died several times after the snowmobiles showed up to rescue us. I watched as they revived you, in the snow at the bottom of the mountain. They put me on a snowmobile and drove me the rest of the way down. They had to helicopter you off the mountain. You died again in the helicopter, and again at the hospital. You obviously were revived, but now you don’t remember.”

I wanted that to sink in, for him to ask questions. He just stared at me awestruck.

“It was so cold Zach. The snow blew horizontally. They say the wind gusts were sometimes eighty miles per hour. There was just no way for us to survive in that. I have no idea how we did. You kept going. Stopping only to throw up, often. They had our GPS coordinates the whole time. We had reception but never talked on the phone. You hoarded every breath. You didn’t waste a step. 

“Actually it’s a blessing you can’t remember. I can’t get warm. They put heated blankets on me and all I do is shiver and cry. My body is incapable of feeling warmth. My mind and emotions are stuck in that storm. I haven’t felt safe since we were separated. I only feel safe here, right now.”

“So we must know each other pretty well.”

“The day we got on that plane was our three hundred and sixty sixth day together.”

“A whole year.”

“A year and a day. I remember the first three words you said to me when we met.”

“That’s impressive. It must have been memorable.”

“I love you. That’s what you said. I introduced myself, and you simply said I love you.”

“How forward. I’m a cad!”

“Every day following, you told me you loved me.”

Zach didn’t answer. 

“You told me you loved me three hundred and sixty six times. And on that three hundred and sixty sixth day you decided that my existence was more important than your life.”

Zach remained silent.

“I just know that I can lose my fears in your arms. I know this because I’ve done it before. You don’t remember and I have no idea what to do about that, but I’m not going to survive this. We’re not out of the storm yet. You’re not finished with me. So I’m here and I’m not really asking. This just has to happen.”

“You’re not alone,” Zach said softly after a few contemplative moments. “I may not remember, but I feel it's important to believe you. I think you won’t feel warm and safe until you’re sure we are both warm and safe. Keeping us separated may have been a mistake on the part of the doctors.”

“Then scoot the hell over.”

Zach obliged. I grabbed his hand and wrapped his arm around myself. I immediately relaxed against his skin. In the following seconds my eyes became heavy. My core felt warmth. “I love you,” I barely said before falling into a deep slumber.

About the author

Iris' history of publications includes Slice Magazine, Downstate Story, Bluffs Literary Magazine, and SciPhi Journal. Her novel “The Rules” releases August 2018 from Ninestar Press. She studies English/Literature at Bradley University in Peoria, Illinois and hopes to use those learned skills to enhance her writing ability.