Things Like That
Lauren Chase
I saw a small child standing on his father’s large boot so that he could reach over and get a lollipop from the lady at the title office. I thought of my dad. I’ve been thinking of him a lot lately. I found one of his old shirts that same day while cleaning out my broken-down car. I thought I had lost it. I was listening to an audiobook for my Anthropology of Death class. It talked about the connections medical students make with the cadavers that teach them how to save living bodies. I cried. I talked to my mom, who went to medical school, about her experience with cadaver labs. She said she still remembered the name they gave theirs—Bernice. I thought about Bernice. My mom looked happy to think about Bernice.
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I watched several college students run into the road, the fire alarm in their sorority house blaring, phones out, panicked. I think I will remember that for a long time. I thought about their belongings, wondering how bad the fire was. I thought again about my dad’s shirt. I was glad I had found it and even gladder that it wasn’t in a fire.
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I was at work and a Korean couple came in. They ordered their food, of course, in English, then sat and spoke to each other in Korean. Although I had no clue what was being said, I listened intently. I liked how it sounded. I liked that I didn’t know. I liked hearing people without the pressure to understand or contribute. It made me comfortable. I felt sleepy. My foot fell asleep. I hate that feeling. The pain of it woke me up enough to finish my shift. I accidentally bought decaf coffee at Seaman’s because I wasn’t paying attention. It was okay because Highlander Grogg is too sweet—so I cut it with a bitter Colombian blend that’s often too strong for me. Things work out like that. I told my mom about this and she said that my dad made his coffee half-caf, cutting decaf hazelnut with a stronger, more bitter blend. Things work out like that.
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My mom’s car is new. It smells different than her old one. I don’t like change. My new car is old and doesn’t smell like anything recognizable. I wish my new, old car smelled like my mom’s old car.
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I watched the sunrise by accident. My cats woke me up at 7:30 and when I checked my weather app, like I usually do in the morning, I noticed that the sunrise was in five minutes. I smoked while outside. I thought about my dad. I thought about my older brother who smokes the same kind of cigarettes as me but doesn’t know that I smoke. It was entirely a coincidence. Things work out like that. I wondered what my dad smoked before he quit and chewed gum for ten years before he quit gum and drank Diet Pepsi until he passed. The Diet Pepsi didn’t kill him. We think. When I fell back asleep, I dreamed that I said something embarrassing and my friends laughed at me. I later told my friends this. We laughed together and I was able to shake off the hidden fear.
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My grandma and nana wanted to see my new car. I brought it to them and I think they just wanted to see me. We looked at the car for a minute but talked for an hour and a half. I like the way my grandma talks. Appalachian and slightly stuttered, slightly mispronounced because her brain knows the word it wants to say but the motor functions of her mouth don’t follow. She has always had that problem but it’s been getting worse lately. Sometimes this frustrates Nana, which frustrates me. As long as I know what she’s saying, as long as she can still say things to me, that’s all that matters.
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They talked about my dad. I didn’t think about him. Instead I thought about my grandmas, together for 36 years, married since it became legal. Their various health problems that developed in synchrony. I worried for them. Grandma can’t drink wine anymore so I got her a Diet Pepsi from the fridge. That won’t be what kills her. I think.
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When I went home after dinner, I played video games. I felt calm. Or numb. Happy, maybe. My older sister called me and asked how I was. I thought about our dad.