by Neysa Tapanes
The morning brought me a strange stone, left on my nightstand as if I put it there before bed. I didn’t ask or touch or interact. I just left the house, “business as usual,” and joined my buddies for our electrical job down the street.
John asked about my wife as he matched the yellow wires together. I said she started doing yoga, as I pushed my 3-prong into the socket. So fucking lucky, he said. I sweat.
At the end of the day, I check off the box acknowledging that I didn’t get zapped, so my boss, who is always somewhere else, feels relief.
When I get home, I make myself oatmeal. I blow and slurp while I watch my wife do a down dog and a cat cow, and she tells me she’s not hungry.
My wife is in our bed now, holding the stone. Praying, meditating. I don’t know which because it’s all in her head.
Neysa Tapanes lives in Boston, Massachusetts. She has been published in Meat for Tea. She can be found on Instagram @fulltimebaddie.