“Now, to start,” Lisette says, “you can smile.”
I stretch out my mouth and let my teeth catch some air.
GOOD TEETH
I spend the morning bringing heavy white plates of greasy food over. And black trays of sodas and coffee cups. Like Lisette says, I smile when I take their order. I smile when I bring the food. I smile when I take their money.
At lunch, I get to sit at the counter and order whatever I want from the lunch menu. I go for the club sandwich. An extra pickle. A coffee with one cream. As I’m slurping on my ice water, I hear the door chimes rattle. The woman walks over and takes a seat beside me. Her powder-pink cardigan is buttoned neatly to the top. Thin hair, brushed carefully back, gray and brown strands. She puts her dark brown purse with beige wave-like stitching on the counter. She looks over at me. Her eyes, two vows. And then she looks away.
“Hi, Sally,” Lisette says to her. “Fries and a strawberry milkshake for you this morning?”
“Oh, yes, please,” the woman replies.
For a moment we are both looking in front of us, but our inner eyes are touching.
Then she turns back to me. I sip my cup with water and ice and she watches me.
“Not too cold for your teeth?” she asks.
I shake my head no.
“That means you have good teeth.”
SALLY
I got five more minutes of my break when she speaks to me again.
“My name, as you may have overheard, is Sally,” she says.
I’m nodding my head and finishing off my coffee.
“My name’s Olga,” I respond, out of politeness.
“I know,” she says, “you’re Moshe’s sister…”
NUMBER SIX
Lisette signals to me that my break is over. I’d better clean up my plate and get back on the floor.
“Well, honey, it looks like you have to get back to work,” Sally says in a sweet tone. “And when you go to the backroom, you’re going to put this into locker number six.”
She slides a large tan envelope folded upon itself three times and wrapped in cellophane, from her purse, to her lap, into my lap. It’s oddly heavy.
“What is it?” I ask.
She takes her other hand and puts it on my own.
“It’s a way for you to see your brother,” she replies and gently squeezes my hand.
I take the envelope. I carry it under my shirt. I walk to the backroom. The door slides shut behind me. Inside, there is a drip in the overhead pipe.
THREE
When I come back out, she’s gone.
Lisette is pointing to table three.
THE TRICK
Lisette asks me if I’m all right. I don’t think I should tell her what Sally told me to do. Lisette says I look tired. Her hand is so soft all of the sudden, when she lays it on top of mine. I look away so I don’t fall into the cupid’s bow of her lips.
“You must be tired,” she says again. “But there’s a little trick that can help you.
“Whenever you’re feeling this tired, you just take your thumb and your forefinger and press them together, once, twice, three times, un, deux, trois, once, twice, three times, un, deux…”
TROIS
My eyes feel wider than the sky. There is the clinking of dishes, the dry crumple of napkins, a sizzle of butter, the squirt of ketchup, the follicle buzz of the fluorescent lights. Footsteps on the wood, then on tile. The door swings shut behind me.
A row of sinks with mirrors. Three stalls. White tiles on the floor. Metal frames around each mirror. A hand dryer. A tampon dispenser. One tall black trash bin.
I go into the second stall. I undo my pants and pull down my underwear. The toilet seat is nice and cool on my butt cheeks. I’m peeing and it’s feeling like a great yawn. The more I pee, the more alert I feel. The graffiti scribbled into the door peers at me. I follow it with extreme focus.
U SMELL HOE
For a good time call
TRUTH OR DARE
NUMBER 6
1991 bitches
NUMBER 5
Olga
Ride or die
FUCK OFF
Olga
T & S 4ever
NUMBER 4
Go to hell
Olga
NUMBER 3
Olga
2 hot 2 be single
NUMBER 2
Olga,
Olga,
Help me
DON’T
“Olga, please help me…” The voice is coming from outside the stall.
I know it. I know him. It’s Misha, Misha! I’m pulling up my pants and reaching for the hook of the stall, “I’m coming, Misha—”
“Don’t!” Misha’s voice says. “Don’t come out.”
“What?”
“Please… don’t open the door, I… I don’t want you to see me… like this.”
“Like what?” I’m leaning my head against the stall door, “Misha… are you okay?” There are footsteps on the other side, two of them on the tiles.
“It’s Moshe. My name is Moshe…”
“Moshe, yes, Moshe.”
“Did you get my necklace?”
“Yeah, I got it…”
“Olga…”
“Yeah?”
“I didn’t mean to…”
“To what?”
“…once… twice… thrice…”
“The girl off Lake Drive? I’m coming out—”
“No!” The footsteps scurry back.
My hand is frozen at the latch.
“Please… just… do what I say… please.”
“Okay… okay, Misha—”
“It’s Moshe!” he yelps.
My finger is touching the metal of the latch.
“Moshe…” I whisper.
A drip.
A drip, drip.
Not from the overhead pipe.
A drip, drip.
It’s from my brother. From my little brother.
I crouch, one palm on the cool stall door, the other on the tiles. I’m peeking beneath the stall. I see two shoes. White Nikes. Misha’s white Nike’s. And down. A drip, one long drip is dropping. A drop of blood. Falling. Like a tiny red bird that’s lost its wings. It splatters on the toe of his sneaker.
I jump up at the door. I flip the latch and push the stall wide open.
“Mishenka!”
There, before me. White ceramic sinks with mirrors, each showing half of me.
SEE
“That’s the trick.” Lisette removes her hand from mine, then raises it to my face.
“Don’t you feel more awake already?”
WHEN MY SHIFT IS OVER THE SKY
