THE BIRDS WE PILED LOOSELY • ISSUE 10 • JANUARY 2017

I held her softly leaking skull, patting
her spinal column busy not sending
messages to her brain, until the ambulance
arrived.
Later, she came to my house (how did she
know where I lived?) with a raspberry
cream biscuit laced in bitter chocolate.
I didn’t recognize her — I wish
I had, her face was a mess.
PARTY OF TWO
by Rob Parrish
She said we should have a party. He didn’t bother to speak up as to why she
really wanted to have the party at his apartment. He didn’t need to remind her that
she still lived with her parents.
I don’t have much for seating, he said.
We have a couch. A couple chairs, too, she said.
It was the repeated use of we that made him retreat to the kitchen, a place
where voices lost their sound, a place where he could find dishes to clean.
Over running water, her voice slithered in behind him.
We could always go out and find another chair at a thrift store. Doll it up a bit.
Then everyone would have a seat. It would be fun to do a project together.
He didn’t bother to ask how many people. Instead he grabbed a clean cup from
the cupboard and rinsed it in the sink. Her arms were now around him. He filled
the glass with water and took a big gulp.
The running water reminded her that they should mop the floor.
It might rain, he said, and looked out the kitchen window and stared at the
blue dumpster sitting in the alley.
They purchased a chair three days before the party. It had seen better days.
The original fabric had water damage, and horsehair protruded from the large rip
down the middle of the cushion.
It’s old like you, she joked.
It’s damaged like you, he replied.
They made other trips, too, where she decided on fabric and he picked the
stain.
You’ve done this before, she said.
I’m not sure which this you’re referring to, he retorted, as he unloaded the chair
from the car’s hatch. He left the fabric and stain in the trunk of the car.
Remember, you have three days, she hinted.
That’s a lifetime with you.
The chair was put in the closet next to the mop an hour after she left. They were
a party of two.
Most people at the party stood. They were immersed in conversations he didn’t
care about. He retreated to the kitchen to slug back whiskey and wash the appetizer
platters. He tried washing his hands, too, of when he first met her.
Just like the idea of them, the intentions for the chair were good, but they had
not thought things through. Much like them, the idea of fun was hurried, forced
even. It didn’t matter if the chair was finished. People would still be standing out
there. There would still be shuffling of feet and other useless noise.
The hot water was turned all the way up and he was intentionally clumsy with
88 89