TWO STORIES by COLEMAN BIGELOW
Eve, the Vegetarian
If you still believe my bite of apple caused our downfall, allow me to direct your attention to Adam and his pet serpent, whose flickering forked tongue Adam somehow overlooked in his desperation for the companionship he wasn’t getting from me—no matter how many rocks he lifted, or weapons he built, or animals he killed, or times he begged me to sample his ribs (which is another thing folks have wrong), since I wasn’t made from Adam’s ribs, it was just Adam swearing I hadn’t lived until I’d tried his ribs, and me refusing him because I hated the idea of Adam slaughtering our four-legged friends, and Adam NOT liking that I did not like his meat and, in his frustration, getting conned by that shady snake, and all of it just because I’m a vegetarian and, maybe if I wasn’t, Adam wouldn’t have sent that serpent to hang from the branches of the forbidden apple tree or maybe it would have been easier for me to disregard that tempting fruit, except I really wanted to get that snake (and by proxy, Adam) to leave me alone, SO you’ll forgive me if the first time I was offered something I actually wanted to eat, I took the bait—I was just so tired of saying no, and it was pretty hard to ignore all thirteen feet of an uncoiled serpent dangling there with a crisp apple spiked on its fangs and YES, I should have spotted the red flags, (we women must always beware the overeager male offering), but suspicion hadn’t yet leached into my virgin soul, so I bit that apple and the next thing I remember was waking to the smell of Adam’s meaty breath as he asked if I’d enjoyed it and the feeling of my face growing hot while his eyes pored over my bare body and my skin turning the color of the apple I’d just eaten.
Two Towns Over
Janiebee needs to see the house. Even if it is two towns over. She peddles and huffs. Sweat trickles from underneath the yellow and black bumblebee striped helmet her dad painted. In second grade, when there was another Jane in class, her dad had christened her Janiebee. “And not a basic B,” he’d laughed, between swigs of beer.
Her Sony Walkman earphones pinch beneath her helmet, but she never goes anywhere without the block of musical magic—a separation device from an increasingly confusing world. She bikes past gated storefronts, their protective grills tagged with graffiti. She’s singing “you just keep on pushing my love over the borderline” when she spots the O.T.B. Her dad used to encourage her to take sick days–saying she was his good luck charm and frequently dragging her to the smoke-filled betting parlor. When she’d asked him if he’d bring her to the actual track, he’d only patted her head and said, “You get to see a whole slew of races this way.” Her dad got bored easily.
Janiebee’s been taking more sick days since her dad disappeared. Yesterday, when she was supposed to be at school, she overheard her aunt and mother whispering. She couldn’t believe what they were saying. So today, after convincing her mom she needs one more sick day and reassuring her she’ll be ok alone, she waits for her chance to investigate. After her mom finishes tucking her in front of the TV and finally leaves for work, Janiebee pulls her bike from the shed.
She rides for an hour and a half and crosses two highways before she finds the sign for Honeysuckle Lane. She’d pictured a nicer street. This one is filled with chain-link fences, teetering screen doors, and snarling dogs tied by ropes. As she nears #43, she pauses, her thin body concealed by a rusting red truck. There he is—her dad, kicking a ball with a curly-haired boy. Curls like her own. Her dad doesn’t seem sad or lost…or dead. He’s just playing with the same distracted expression. As if he’s there and somewhere else all at the same time.
Coleman Bigelow (he/him) is a Pushcart Prize and Best Microfiction nominated author whose work has appeared or is upcoming in Bending Genres, Cosmic Daffodil, Heavy Feather Review, and JAKE. Find more at colemanbigelow.com or follow him on Twitter and Instagram.