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Who is this? It's after midnight! Fern, hello, this is Darla, I— What is it? Everything's okay, I hope. Yeah. Um. Edwin fell through the floor, into the basement. The bed and all. Oh my God! Is he okay? Well, I guess. He's just lying down there, groaning a little. Have you called anyone? Like a tow truck? Well? Somebody. Just then Edwin picks up the phone. Hello? Hello? Darla says. Hello? Edwin says. Do you mind? I'm on the phone. I thought I heard it ring, he says. Well it didn't. He clicks it down. Is this some sort of joke? Fern says. No, I just... Hello? Fern? Hello? She gets into the car. The snow that fell only a few weeks earlier has already turned into dirty brown mounds on the side of the road. Christmas is in two weeks. She wants to believe in something, throw tinsel on a tree, believe in a star leading the way, but in her heart is a darker star, full of cool, dark light. And that's when she sees him out of the corner of her eye, a man dangling from his gutter while apparently stringing Christmas lights, the ladder leaning against the side of the roof just beyond reach of one of his outstretched hands. It's none of her business. She's heard plenty of stories about Good Samaritan types pulling over to help somebody only to be shot or raped. The man would find a way, would yell for help or else would eventually fall, and then somebody would surely come to his aid. Besides, she has places to be. She knows of a 24-hour diner where she could count on the menu to promote some variation along the theme of starchy, fried or syrupy-sweet. It was that way all over town. At every hour of day and night the lines for the all-you-can-eat buffets were out the door. Another way of saying that was that fat people lived here. On a Sunday afternoon after church at one of these buffets with her parents, she heard a woman in front of her in line say to her companion—the two women, in Darla's estimation, bordering on elevator maximum capacity—Mmm, breaded shrimp. I could eat a whole plate of those. I'm starving. But why did people say that? It was never a matter of starving. Who was S. Asher Sund 89
ever starving or even that hungry? Darla herself couldn't remember the last time she was truly, really hungry. It was probably just that people were afraid of being alone and food was good company, not to mention that the added weight could sometimes feel like a second body—a second, warm and fat body snuggled up to you, spooning you as you went about your daily business to the drycleaners or pet supply or grocery store where, quite apart from your will, this same said body could lead you to the glass freezer doors where you found yourself staring in at the rows of ice cream. She speeds a little. She parks. She is led to a booth and points to a picture on the menu. She says to the waitress, Number three, then holds up her hand and gives the peace sign. Two, she says. The waitress is a bit confused. Number three or number two? Number three. Two orders of three. Let me get this straight, the waitress says. You want two number threes? That's right, Darla says, and then adds, I'm expecting company, shoving the laminated and somewhat sticky menu away from her. Soup or salad? Soup, Darla says. Clam chowder. For both of us. The waitress leaves and returns with a basket of warm bread and a slab of butter on a little plate. She returns again, not a minute later, with two bowls. Here's your chowder. Pronounces it chowda. Careful, it's hot, she says and smiles, a wad of gum the color of radioactive grinding in her teeth. After she steps away again, Darla leans over the bowl nearest her, takes a deep breath, and picks up a spoon when something jars her concentration. A man has slipped while hanging Christmas lights and is now hanging from his gutter in the freezing cold after midnight. Oh my gosh! She grabs her jacket and purse, fishtails in the snowy parking lot as she speeds away. A few minutes later she pulls over to the side of the road in front of the house. As it turns out, the man hanging from the gutter is just a stuffed dummy dressed in cowboy boots and blue jeans, a flannel shirt and leather gloves. She sits in the car for a while until the reality catches up and begins to chuckle, laughs, roars with laughter, and then—perhaps thinking of all the dummies she's turned around for in her life—begins to cough. Just a little cough, a little sniffle, the warm sugary icing of tears streaming down her cheeks. The middle finger of the dummy's gloved hand attached to the arm not reaching for the ladder is pointing up to a white seam in the clouds, a crack in the sky where a fuzzy moon is trying to get through followed by a sudden opening full of blazing stars. It's a message perhaps, from the hanging man, 90 How They Came to Call it Love
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Coe Review Volume 38 Number 2 Sprin
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Coe Review COMMUNICATIONS EDITOR Ka
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Roman Norma of the Manor Ben Brooks
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might know things. In fact the more
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"So how was your day?" he asked. "M
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head upstairs, and eat at his desk
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and looked over the page she was re
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then get up. If you want to go away
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the drawings phase, and his next pr
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fingers brushed a red plastic bow t
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Old Wars Dennis Vannatta My wife us
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all over it until I'm exhausted but
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could be a freshly dug grave, but I
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"The German babe." "Oh, that Marie.
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I'm going to make you pay rent on t
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always the same sound. That sound w
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quantity, the quality. I would alwa
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point, will you, lady? this article
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it: Nothing. You laugh, though ther
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Slaughtered Cows Julia Rubin You ar
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Your heart starts to pound. "I'm a
Page 44 and 45: You wake in darkness, curled up on
Page 46 and 47: Kyle Mangan 41
Page 52 and 53: Henry Fragmentary Ben Martin Henry
Page 54 and 55: on weekends, that I had a handle on
Page 56 and 57: As a matter of fact, I had gathered
Page 58 and 59: irthday who played Henry's game as
Page 60 and 61: swer it. I was attracted to her. Sh
Page 62 and 63: lunged, lips first, for her mouth a
Page 64 and 65: "It's nice to see you." I break the
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Page 68 and 69: my whiskey. Suddenly I feel loose a
Page 70 and 71: cheek. I squeeze her. "It's all rig
Page 72 and 73: nius." "I like to think so." "So St
Page 74 and 75: person, and while I'm still in thei
Page 76 and 77: shampoo commercial. "He graduated f
Page 78 and 79: them my ID. I haven't played that g
Page 80 and 81: "Nice meeting you," she says and le
Page 82 and 83: get you laid?" "Well I go to these
Page 84 and 85: was some sort of foul religious slu
Page 86 and 87: While waiting for it to bake, Darla
Page 88 and 89: I'll be right to bed. Well? Well? C
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Page 92 and 93: A box of fish sticks, a bag of pota
Page 96 and 97: telling her hush now, it will be ok
Page 98 and 99: cannot, for the life of me, account
Page 100 and 101: I know she goes to Northern Illinoi
Page 102 and 103: manage to pry it loose then this be
Page 104 and 105: None of the lines are all that deep
Page 106 and 107: Gut Bay Elizabeth Eslami There is a
Page 108 and 109: on to and feel you were holding on
Page 110 and 111: did Dr. Renard. We didn't tell them
Page 112 and 113: into the ice, the wind ripping at t
Page 114 and 115: It was another year before Lloyd ha
Page 116 and 117: again somehow, and wondered if thei
Page 118 and 119: Contributor's Notes Alonso Avila is
Page 120 and 121: the Department's Lon Tinkle Prize f
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