Page 17 of Mine

“Yes,” Mr. Steadhill said, walking to the window. “And I hear you’re the best at that.”

“Absolutely, sir,” I said. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see the woman glance at me. Was she suspicious? Or was I paranoid? Maybe she was interested in me. Women often were. Especially married women.

“Nice view you have here,” Mr. Steadhill said.

“One-way glass, of course,” I said. “We can see them, they can’t see us.”

“Perfect. So I’m going to be here on this table the whole time?”

“Yes. I’ll leave you to change into your medical gown,” I said. “Mrs. Steadhill?”

“I’ll be out there waiting for you, dear,” she said to her husband. He leaned towards her and gave her a small kiss on the corner of her lips. I noticed she turned her head slightly away as he kissed her.

“Right this way,” I said, leading her back through the door to the waiting room. I closed the door behind us, then turned to find her staring at the glass globe full of brain tissue.

“Do you like it?” I asked.

“It’s… it’s beautiful,” she said, bending to peer through the glass. Her dress lifted slightly and revealed a glimpse of her creamy thighs. In the mirrored wall, I could see her face intent on the sculpture. The concentration on her face was even more beautiful than the back view of her.

“Beautiful,” I said, the word catching in my throat as I stepped forward. I would have her. She had walked straight into my trap, and now she was mine.

“What is it?”

“I’m sorry, what?”

“The sculpture,” she said, still staring through the glass. The first person to ever notice. The first person ever to ask. “What is it?”

Sara

When the anesthesiologist touched my hand, I was deeply immersed in the part of Susan. I realized what Susan would do if an attractive young doctor started to flirt with her.

She would flirt right back.

“It’s a plastic sculpture,” Dr. Damore said. “Abstract art. I never understood it.”

He was standing close to me, and I stood back up, shifting my weight closer to him. Our shoulders were almost touching, and I could feel the heat coming off of his body. As long as I didn’t turn toward him, though, I could pretend as though I wasn’t trying to touch him. Anyway, I could check him out in the mirror.

I wanted to, though. The one touch of his hand had sent thrills through me. And Susan’s husband—my husband—was such a boring guy. Always at work. I deserved a little fun, didn’t I? I had never felt so drawn to a person.

“The best art tells a story. But I think it’s impossible to understand art like this,” I said, tilting my head and studying the sculpture. The small pink-gray pieces of plastic seemed to connect together at points, like an organism growing out of its glass bowl. “It can mean anything. And whatever you think it means, the artist probably had a different meaning in mind.”

“What do you think this artist meant?” the doctor asked. His voice was smooth, like honey. When I turned to face him, we were only a foot apart. My heart leapt in my chest.

“I think that whoever made this was trying to escape,” I said, letting the bullshit flow off of my tongue. “He must have felt trapped.”

“Trapped?”

“In a glass globe. See how it looks like an animal trying to get out?” I touched the top of the glass globe, letting my fingers stroke the glass the way I imagined wanting to stroke the doctor. I heard his breath and let my hand fall to my side.

“Like an animal in the zoo,” he said. “Put there so that people could stare at it, watch it eat already-dead food and climb on concrete made to look like rocks.”

“But it’s an animal made of plastic. It’s not real.”

“Maybe nothing is real,” he said.

I laughed, tilting my head back so that my hair fell and showed my exposed neck.

“Is that a message from your local plastic surgeon’s office?”

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