Diverse Voices Quarterly Issue 1 & 2

Sarah held my eyes like she wanted me to understand but I didn’t. She said, “You’re
crazy, Cal. You are crazy.” She smiled. More tears welled in her eyes. “And I’m worried.”
“What worries you?”
“It’s taking you. It’s taking you away from us. What do I tell your children if you don’t
come back?”
“Tell them I went into the earth.”
She turned away.
“But I’ll come home, Sarah.” I set the dough-occluded beater on the nightstand, on top
of her spoon, and embraced her.
“Why can’t you tell me when?”
“I don’t know.”
“Listen to me,” she said. Her voice was clear and strong. Sarah pushed me away from
her. My calves were against the oak bed frame. She wiped the snot from her nose. “This is
your home. You built this house. This is your family. We created these children. You are
their father.” She took my right forearm in her hands and soothed the raised burn scar.
“He is out there” She took my other arm, soothed and kissed the scar. “But remember
this: You still have two children here, Cal. You are their father.”
I kissed her. Sarah pushed me into Annie’s bed and climbed on top of me. My torso
was enveloped in her silk skirt. I was pinned by her eyes. My fingers searched under the
cascading ruffles of the placket and opened the top of her white blouse, reached around
and unfastened her cotton bra.
Sarah held herself above me with her hands on the low headboard, brought her face to
mine and said with a certain sardonicism, “You’re leaving Wednesday. Tell me when you’re
coming home.”
It took a minute for me to catch my breath and answer, “The season closes Sunday at
sunset.”
Sarah kissed me, sat up, pulled her arms out of the bra straps, and flung the bra
toward the dresser. I took off my shirt. Sarah slowly unfastened the remaining buttons of
her blouse.
“I knew you could do it,” she said.
I took in her breasts and smiled helplessly.
“Do you want to change the subject?” she asked.
“Yes.”
Diverse Voices Quarterly, Vol. 1, Issue 1 & 2
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