The Wardrobe’s Best Dressed: Boys Buy Me Drinks to Watch Me Fall Down by Anna Dickson James

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The Art of Drowning

(excerpt)

The baby bangs a glass ashtray on a glass table. I sit on the husband’s green couch and watch the news. A mother cat raced into a burning building seven times to bring out seven babies. It lost an eye, and the fire melted the mother’s face leaving a gaping, lopsided jaw. The mother cat’s whiskers are off. Fur singed. In my peripheral vision I notice the baby sucking on a copper penny.

The husband bursts through the front door. The walls startle, and plaster falls down in little ticks at his feet. He is carrying a small box. I move to the fireplace and arrange the shells that sit on our mantle.

“Hi,” the husband says.

I look past him towards the open door.

He picks up the copper penny baby.

“Hi, Little One,” he says. And then he frowns.

“What’s in your mouth?” he asks and fishes inside.

He finds the coin. The baby gags. And then coos. The baby moves quickly from gagging to cooing, from crying to laughing.

“Oh my God. A penny,” the husband says and rubs the wet coin on his pants.

“Oh my God,” I say.

“Christ, Emily. You have to be more careful.”

“My name is Elizabeth,” I say under my breath.

“What?” the husband says.

The husband drops the coin into his pocket. I put a shell to my ear and listen to the ocean waves trapped inside.

“I have to be more careful,” I say.

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