I\u2019m waiting for the train when the girl comes up. She\u2019s wearing a hairnet and a collared shirt down to her knees. \u201cWhat is it?\u201d I ask.<\/p>\n
\u201cYou\u2019re tall.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cThanks.\u201d I puff my hair. \u201cI try.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI do too,\u201d she says. Then she sits down on a concrete bench. The bench has recently been cleared of homeless men (they\u2019ll be back), and it\u2019s large enough to fit two, so I sit down next to her. The girl is fiddling with her fingernails, taking them off and on. They\u2019re the long plastic kind, sold behind cash registers.<\/p>\n
\u201cDo you like milk-aling-ing?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cYes,\u201d she smiles.<\/p>\n
\u201cMe too.\u201d<\/p>\n
She crosses her legs, then uncrosses them. \u201cI once met this boy. He was nine feet tall. His legs were like chopsticks, real thick and strong, and it made me want to stop everything and take him to a restaurant. I didn\u2019t of course. I mean, he wouldn\u2019t even take a second glance at me because I\u2019m short, but I thought about it for a while.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cHe sounds beautiful.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cHe was. We met on a street corner at a red light. I hadn\u2019t realized it turned red, so I walked straight into him. He was so young. He looked at me, and there wasn\u2019t a wisp on his cheeks. I wanted to kiss him, but the light turned green.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cIf only it stayed red.\u201d<\/p>\n
The girl runs tongue against teeth. \u201cIt\u2019s all right. I\u2019ll find someone like him again.\u201d She\u2019s wearing scuffed flats, similar to Jume\u2019s. \u201cDid milk-aling-ing exist when you were young?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cNo, it didn\u2019t.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cWow.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cCows used to be milked into buckets.\u201d Nowadays cows are milked directly into thin tubes. I\u2019m pretty sure there\u2019s some processing though because I once pretended I was an inspector and called up Milk-aling-ing Inc. When I told them I needed to schedule a plant visit, they said, \u201cHold on a sec,\u201d before hanging up. They wouldn\u2019t have done that if there weren\u2019t processing plants.<\/p>\n
\u201cWhat happened if cows tipped over buckets?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cYou picked them up.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cYou did?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cWell, not me. But the folks who milked cows did.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cImagine all those folks picking up buckets with their hands. No wonder there were so many diseases. The bacteria just dropped in. Not sanitary at all. I hear the clouds were so full of bacteria that it rained gray. Is that true?\u201d She twists her hairnet. \u201cOh, it\u2019s time.\u201d<\/p>\n
As the train rumbles, I jot her words down on my arms and legs. I want to soak them into my skin, letter by letter, until they become part of me. Until their blue ink seeps into my veins.
\n <\/p>\n
FEELING OFF?<\/p>\n
a bit, not quite myself today.<\/i><\/p>\n
\u00a0i woke up this morning and felt three inches shorter.<\/i><\/p>\n
NO QUALMS. NO TEARS. <\/i><\/p>\n
TUBE IT.<\/p>\n
[Main Street Station: Exit 3; Matted]<\/p>\n
\n It\u2019s raining by the time I reach the office. Tell-A-Phone-Question is in center city, next to the skyscrapers. It\u2019s the only building without ten floors and blinds. My manager, Marvin, says it was his intention to have the only center city organization without an elevator or skylight. It\u2019s cause he likes to \u201ckeep things personal.\u201d But really he had a falling out with the construction company, and they only completed the barebone design.<\/p>\n
\u201cYou\u2019re late.\u201d Marvin follows me to the foyer. He\u2019s a stickler for time. Our phones, the only objects on the desks, are clocks. The hour hands are receivers, and the longer minute hands are bases. The phones rotate when we speak into them. Each second is another minute by their count.<\/p>\n
\u201cIt wasn\u2019t my fault.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cRegardless of fault.\u201d<\/p>\n
I suck in my stomach. \u201cPay docked.\u201d<\/p>\n
Marvin is eight feet tall. He supposedly stretched himself with wooden planks before milk-aling-ing existed. One night, when Tell-A-Phone-Question was still a basement operation, he called the company in desperation. \u201cI can\u2019t be short anymore.\u201d He\u2019d gotten the number from a friend of a friend and hadn\u2019t realized that representatives used generic hand-held devices. The Tell-A-Phone-Question representative listened to his question, searched the device, and told him, \u201cMilk it.\u201d At the time, \u201cmilk it\u201d had probably meant, \u201ctake it for what it\u2019s worth\u201d or \u201cplay in to your shortness.\u201d But a month later, when milk-aling-ing came out, \u201cmilk it\u201d had a whole new meaning, one which Marvin thought Tell-A-Phone-Question had known.<\/p>\n
I retreat to my desk. Everyone else is hard at work. The representative closest to me pulls out a tape measure. She stretches it, reads a number into the phone, catches my glance, and nods. I smile back, even though I hate her. She put up the milk-aling-ing poster in the unisex bathroom. It\u2019s bigger than the knee-high ones at train stations. It goes all the way from the floor to the top of the door, and now when I pee, I have to look directly at a cow\u2019s face.<\/p>\n
I pull a file from the drawer and pick up the receiver. Beethoven plays in the background, until I hear Marvin\u2019s voice. \u201cTory, I\u2019m putting you on line six.\u201d He doesn\u2019t wait for a reply. He connects me through.<\/p>\n
\u201cRepresentative Tory,\u201d I say.<\/p>\n
\u201cMy son\u2019s in the hospital.\u201d My phone\u2019s minute hand starts rotating at the sound of the woman\u2019s voice. \u201cHow can I make him feel better? He says, \u2018All I want to do is walk.\u2019 He can\u2019t though.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cThat\u2019s hard.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cIt is,\u201d the woman sighs. \u201cI don\u2019t think any answers you give will help. I just want to talk.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI can listen.\u201d I hope Marvin isn\u2019t connected to the call. He hates it when employees take long, says our numbers go down. At the beginning of the month, he gives awards for the average number of calls we answer. This month tape-measuring woman won. She received forty-nine calls per day with an answer rate of 97%. (On average, I receive twenty-seven with an answer rate of 73%.)\u00a0 She never arrives late to work. Bonus.<\/p>\n
\u201cTell me what happened.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cMy boy was walking. Just walking, and his bones snapped. He was going to the supermarket to grab a carton of eggs\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cSnapped?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cEvery bone longer than an inch. It happened as he walked into the store. Some of the folks nearby tried to hold him together. That\u2019s when I was called.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cThis isn\u2019t the first time it\u2019s happened,\u201d I say.<\/p>\n
The woman\u2019s voice pauses. \u201cYou mean you\u2019ve had other calls?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cYes, I\u2019ve\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cTory!\u201d Marvin hisses.<\/p>\n
I spin around, nearly dropping the phone. He\u2019s on his way back from the restroom, wiping his hands on his trousers. \u201cI\u2019ve had three,\u201d I whisper to the woman. \u201cThree calls.\u201d I don\u2019t have time to wait for a reply. I hang up as Marvin pounds his fist on the barrier between my desk and my neighbor\u2019s.<\/p>\n
\u201cWhat do you think you\u2019re doing?\u201d<\/p>\n
I close my eyes.<\/p>\n
Marvin yanks the phone from my desk. \u201cWhat\u2019s our motto?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cTwenty seconds flat.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cWas your call twenty seconds?\u201d He towers over my desk, and I lean back to see his face. His eyes are slits, and his hair is gelled into a helmet.<\/p>\n
\u201cNo.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cPay docked.\u201d
\n <\/p>\n
BUD SOME BONES?<\/p>\n
i wish mine grew.<\/i><\/p>\n
SPRING TIME\u2019S CHIRPING,<\/p>\n
SUCK A TUBE.<\/p>\n
[Unisex Bathroom; Glossed]<\/p>\n
\n It\u2019s still raining when I leave work. The buildings are lit up, all ten floors but ours. A train rumbles underfoot. I jaywalk to the station. On my way, I see a boy about twelve at a red light. His legs look like chopsticks, the splintery kind.<\/p>\n
I step onto the platform. I spot the tape-measuring coworker from the other side. She\u2019s changed her shoes since work. She\u2019s whispering to a girl in a denim jumper. They have the same nose. She tugs the girl forward. \u201cStop it,\u201d the girl struggles. \u201cMy tube fell.\u201d<\/p>\n
The train enters the station, and its doors slide open. I take a seat in the back. From there, I watch. The girl picks up the tube. Her mother hustles her towards the train. Right as they\u2019re about to get on, the girl crashes into the platform. It\u2019s a hard fall, one that echoes in the underground chamber.<\/p>\n
A hunched, grayed man turns to me. \u201cI\u2019ve seen it before. It happened to my neighbor\u2019s kid.\u201d<\/p>\n
The girl is still on the ground as the train pulls away.<\/p>\n
The grayed man folds a newspaper in his lap. \u201cShe used to run with her dog. Her dog didn\u2019t run, though; it trotted, her legs were so long. Then one day, she collapsed. It was her bones. They looked strong, but well, she was so tall.\u201d He leans back against his seat. \u201cThink how weak they must have been.\u201d<\/p>\n
I give him my card. \u201cIf you find anything else, call me.\u201d<\/p>\n
He hands it back.<\/p>\n
I check the card to make sure there\u2019s no smudge or stain. He looks at me, then unfolds his paper. \u201cYou shouldn\u2019t drink so many tubes yourself.\u201d<\/p>\n
By the time I reach my station, I feel guilty. I roll the homeless men the rest of my tubes. One tube rolls too far, and a greasy-haired boy picks it up.\u00a0 He slips it into his mouth and spits. Milk-aling-ing rains, and the homeless stick out their tongues to catch each drop.
\n <\/p>\n
IT\u2019S TIME TO TUBE<\/p>\n
SOMETHIN\u2019 SWEET.<\/p>\n
when light bulbs dim,<\/i><\/p>\n
bare knuckles, teeth.<\/i><\/p>\n
\u00a0[West Indies Station: Exit 4; Glossed]<\/p>\n
\n My front door is unhinged, and my lamps are on. A bookshelf crashes in the sunroom, and I jump. I follow the crash to the sunroom. On the floor \u00a0is a twitching hand. I crouch down and stare. It has two freckles near its knuckles and a hot iron scar on the pinky.<\/p>\n
\u201cJume?\u201d I pull the bookcase over and off. My sister\u2019s hair is clumped in termite nests, and her eyes dart from left to right. She is wearing a torn t-shirt and shorts that have been sliced through. Her nose is gone, and cartilage has been forced in its place.\u00a0 \u201cWhat happened?\u201d From lip to toes, she is bruised. The bruises form letters. I can make out a misshapen \u201cM\u201d, \u201cI\u201d, \u201cL\u201d, \u201cK\u201d, and \u201cG.\u201d The rest are too yellow to identify.<\/p>\n
Last time I\u2019d seen Jume, she\u2019d been spouting nonsense from a sidewalk. Her two kids were climbing up her back, and she had been hitting a makeshift podium with a rod. \u201cDo you know what the government does at night?\u201d she yelled. \u201cIt topples homeless men into landfills.\u201d A policeman had been watching from the crosswalk. When he blew his whistle, she\u2019d fled.<\/p>\n
\u201cWhere are the kids?\u201d I ask.<\/p>\n
Jume looks in my eyes and through them; she has hardly any irises. \u201cGone.\u201d Her voice is as flat as Marvin\u2019s.
\n <\/p>\n
THIRSTY LIKE A DOLPHIN?<\/p>\n
you could call it that. <\/i><\/p>\n
it’s one of those painful thirsts.<\/i><\/p>\n
WANT TO GROW TALL?<\/p>\n
oh, i do. i do.<\/i><\/p>\n
[19th<\/sup> Street Station: Exit 1; Matted]<\/i><\/p>\n \u00a0<\/i><\/p>\n I rinse my plate and stare at Jume\u2019s backpack. It has ironed-on pictures, and I can make out her two children. There\u2019s Amber, the daredevil, who bit me in a sandpit. Jume had dressed her in green that day, and Amber decided to crawl like an alligator. Her teeth punctured my skin so deep that I refused to talk to Jume for days. When I finally did, she admitted she was pregnant again. \u201cHe has a different father,\u201d she said, \u201cbut we\u2019re pretending he\u2019s the same.\u201d Unlike Amber, Samuel kept still. He watched, until he had enough. Then he waved his arm, and the scene changed in front of him.<\/p>\n Samuel was a genius of sorts. By his fourth month, he was walking. By his sixth, he wore clipped bowties and dress pants, which he put on himself. Amber, who\u2019d grown large canine teeth, loved to clasp Samuel in her arms. They\u2019d sit on the patio, rocking back and forth. They were smaller than most because Jume lived as a Paleolithic hunter. She used arrows to hunt pigeons and collected berries from the bushes outside corporate headquarters. She didn\u2019t believe in any milk besides breast.<\/p>\n \u201cYou\u2019ve heard of \u2018snapping?\u2019\u201d Jume asks from the doorframe. Sheets are wrapped around her body. Only her head is visible.<\/p>\n \u201cYes.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cIt\u2019s the worst noise in the world. The sound of breaking bones.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cIt\u2019s late.\u201d I open the dishwasher, stuff the fork, knife, and bowl deep in Jume\u2019s bag. \u201cLet\u2019s not talk about it. These are clean.\u201d<\/p>\n Jume stares. \u201cMilk-aling-ing wasn\u2019t allowed in our house, but they\u2019re sucking at school. Did you know they have sponsored contests? Who can tear the plastic the fastest. Who can suck the most.\u201d<\/p>\n Jume points to my tubes near the sink. \u201cYou drink it, I know. You\u2019re already drawn in. I can help you stop.\u201d A single rubber holds them together, and it\u2019s stretched taut. There\u2019s fifty in that stack and more in the cupboard. Jume knows, of course. I bet she snuck around the whole apartment before I came home.<\/p>\n \u201cI\u2019m doing fine. I don\u2019t need your help.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cI didn\u2019t realize when it happened to Amber. She was always so wild, so free. \u00a0She\u2019d been experimenting\u2014you know what I was like when I was that age. She was sitting on the fridge, kicking her legs back and forth, when she snapped. She wasn\u2019t even half the size of her classmates. Only six foot. Her father had been on the smaller side. It wasn\u2019t natural, but my perception of size was skewed.\u201d<\/p>\n My hands tremble. \u201cIf you stay here, you need to\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cSamuel was always so grown up.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cJume, stop\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cDo you remember how he\u2019d clip on a bowtie as a toddler? He told me that teachers were forcing him to suck at school. They\u2019d take him out of math to tube. They didn\u2019t want \u2018a runt\u2019 in their classes. When he snapped, we knew what it was. He\u2019d heard his bones creaking on his walk from school. But there was nothing we could do. I held him when it happened. I held him and listened to his bones.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cEnough!\u201d I hold my hands over my ears.<\/p>\n \u201cTory, I am here to help.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cI don\u2019t want your help.\u201d I grab her clothes from the dryer and force them into her bag. I pull the drawstrings tight. \u201cGo! I can\u2019t.\u201d Her face is scrunched. It\u2019s hard to look at her, so I turn to the scratches on the floor. USE YOUR BONES<\/p>\n FOR IN-DARK GLOW<\/p>\n \u2026 and what you\u2019ll see\u2026<\/i><\/p>\n YOU\u2019LL NEVER KNOW.<\/p>\n [South Side Station: Exit 2; Glossed]<\/p>\n The train screeches into the station. It\u2019s rush hour, and there are no seats left. I hold onto a young man\u2019s elbow. Once he leaves, I take his spot. The railing is clammy from his hands, and I can feel his residue. Through the windows, I count the stations. When the train grinds to a halt, \u00a0the conductor\u2019s voice erupts from the stereo. \u201cWe are sorry for the delay. We\u2019ll be moving in a minute.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cWhat happened?\u201d a hairnet girl asks. She\u2019s at the far end, but her voice is loud. She looks like the girl I met yesterday, taking her fingernails off and on. They have the same collared shirt.<\/p>\n \u201cThe driver,\u201d a man says.<\/p>\n \u201cIt\u2019s the train, a broken track.\u201d<\/p>\n I stare at the limbs in the car. Elbows, knees, feet. If Jume were here, she\u2019d note the number and start talking to them. She\u2019d make a makeshift podium. \u201cThey\u2019re the perfect crowd,\u201d she\u2019d whisper to me. \u201cThey can\u2019t leave. They can\u2019t move, and the police can\u2019t interrupt.\u201d The thought of Jume turns to Amber turns to Samuel. My stomach churns.<\/p>\n I glance up. A milk-aling-ing poster is pasted to the ceiling, and several young boys are looking at it with licked lips. A corner is peeled, and the tallest boy reaches over and presses it back in place.<\/p>\n \u201cWhen I grow up, I\u2019m going to tube sixty a week,\u201d the smallest says.<\/p>\n \u201cNaw.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cIt\u2019s true.\u201d<\/p>\n His friend catches me watching. His limbs are knobbier than most. \u201cKnow why we\u2019re stuck?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cNo,\u201d I admit, though Marvin says never admit the negation of yes.<\/p>\n \u201cI heard that back in the old days this happened all the time,\u201d the boy says. \u201cTrains stopped in the middle of tracks because conductors ran out of steam. Folks were dishonest back then, said it was because short boys pulled up tracks. If their timing was bad, their bones would clog wheels. But really it was just steam.\u201d<\/p>\n I shake my head. \u201cDoesn\u2019t sound true.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cOh yes.\u201d The boy rubs his jaw. \u201cIt\u2019s like how Tell-A-Phone-Question reps pretend they\u2019re from here. Did you ever listen to their accents? The way they roll their g\u2019s. I called in with a question. I asked if milk-aling-ing was the future, and guess what they said?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cWhat?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201c\u2018Milk it.\u2019 What does that even mean?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cI work for Tell-A-Phone-Question,\u201d I say. \u201cI live here. I know what \u2018milk it\u2019 means.\u201d<\/p>\n The boy stares at me. He bends his head to get a full view. He takes in my sweaty palms and knee-high skirt. \u201cSorry, I didn\u2019t mean it like that.\u201d He grins. \u201cSo is it the future?\u201d<\/p>\n I wipe my palms on my shirt. I think about the way he smoothed down the poster and how tall even his smallest friend is. \u201cI think folks will learn\u2014.\u201d<\/p>\n The train rumbles, and I jerk forward, knocking into a pregnant woman. She\u2019s sitting in one of the seats, and she looks up at me, surprised.<\/p>\n \u201cLearn what?\u201d The boy clutches the railing with both hands.<\/p>\n The boy stares at me with glowing teeth. \u201cYou\u2019re one of them<\/i>. Aren\u2019t you? One of the purists. That\u2019s why you have ink all over your body.\u201d He spits, and his friends, backpacks swinging, elbow their way over to him. They talk in low whispers as the train speeds through stations. They glance at me. I try not to catch their gaze.<\/p>\n \u201cTraitor,\u201d one whispers.<\/p>\n \u201cLow-life,\u201d says another.<\/p>\n \u201cOld bones,\u201d says the last.<\/p>\n I almost pull some tubes from my purse to prove that I\u2019m not, but I feel guilty. I think about the gray-haired man scanning me. \u201cWeak,\u201d he shakes his head. \u201cSplintery weak.\u201d The underground lights flicker off. In the darkness, I hear short boys\u2019 bones on wheels. I\u2019m waiting for the train when the girl comes up. She\u2019s wearing a hairnet and a collared shirt down to her knees. \u201cWhat is it?\u201d I ask. \u201cYou\u2019re tall.\u201d \u201cThanks.\u201d I puff my hair. \u201cI try.\u201d \u201cI do too,\u201d she says. Then she sits down on a concrete bench. The bench has recently been cleared […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[1,3,2],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-4665","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-uncategorized","category-fiction","category-things"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/thisissporkpress.com\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/4665","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/thisissporkpress.com\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/thisissporkpress.com\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/thisissporkpress.com\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/thisissporkpress.com\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=4665"}],"version-history":[{"count":0,"href":"https:\/\/thisissporkpress.com\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/4665\/revisions"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/thisissporkpress.com\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=4665"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/thisissporkpress.com\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=4665"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/thisissporkpress.com\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=4665"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}
\n The sun has faded into a harvest moon, and it hangs low. Outside, the streets have cleared, but inside, the apartment feels alive. The churning dryer kills the lice on Jume\u2019s clothes, and the dishwasher cleans her one fork, knife, and bowl. Jume, hand braced with a hardback novel, is sleeping inside the washer with three sets of sheets. (I offered her the bed, but she refused.)<\/p>\n
\n <\/p>\n
\n Six hours later, the concrete bench is crowded with homeless, and I watch them from the wall. They are kneading each other\u2019s feet. I hug my purse to my chest and watch as an elderly man rolls them some tubes. He stays three feet away, and the homeless laugh. \u201cAre you afraid?\u201d one calls. Another bares his teeth and pushes them back in, when they fall loose.<\/p>\n
\n
\n\u2013\u2013\u2013\u2013\u2013\u2013\u2013\u2013
\nAleah Goldin\u00a0<\/strong>has been published in\u00a0Hobart, The Doctor T.J. Eckleburg Review<\/em>,Gone Lawn, Gigantic,<\/em>\u00a0Zeek<\/i>, and\u00a0South Loop Review<\/i>. She is currently on a research Fulbright in Mongolia. If you would like to read more of her writing,\u00a0click here<\/span><\/span><\/a>.
\n <\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"