Four Faces
Three faces look down. One looks back.
She’d found three faces in the fissures randomly etched into her ceiling tile, each one a frozen expression. Unchanging. There was a small kind of comfort in that. She could count on them to be there. She looked for them every day, for—how many days?
How long had she been here? She concentrated. She had to think really hard.
Trying to remember things made her tired.
She stared at the ceiling, searching for him.
There.
Fat Baby.
She gazed at Fat Baby’s toothless grin and slanted eyes.
Her baby is grown now. She remembered her baby when her baby was a baby. The sun is bright there. Cookies and bathtime. Bedtime stories.
These memories felt nice. She looked at Fat Baby and felt that sun.
She couldn’t see her husband, but she could hear him. He was talking to someone. People do that, like she’s not even here.
Maybe she wasn’t here.
Am I here? she asked.
She felt the question leave her, but she made no sound.
“...today isn’t a good day...” her husband said.
Today is how many days?
They kept talking. She didn’t want to hear them anymore.
She looked up at the ceiling.
Old Dog.
She thought about her dogs. A lifetime of dogs. Blurred piles of dogs. Black and white and brown. Soft fur and pink tongues. Wet noses.
She smiled, thinking about her dogs, even though her face didn’t change. She felt the smile instead.
Old Dog smiled back at her.
That’s a good boy, she told Old Dog with her mind. She watched him smile. He always smiled.
Fancy Lady.
Fancy Lady wore a hat with flowers. She looked busy. Where was she going? She stared at Fancy Lady’s indifferent face and thought about flowers. She thought about going places. She thought about being outside.
She thought about being here. How long had she been here?
How many days?
Her husband looked at her from across the room. He watched her staring at the ceiling and wondered what she was thinking about. He wondered if she was thinking about anything at all.
He thought about how her face never changed.
Sad Woman.