10X10X10
issue 2
| 05/26/08: Issue 2
My Mother's Things
“Empty it, Miss. You’re not gettin’ on the plane unless you empty it.” “But I don’t understand. The machine didn’t beep when I walked through...” “Doesn’t matter. I see somethin’ odd in there. We need to be sure.” “Oh for goodness sake, I’m not a terrorist or anything.” “Lady, there’s people waiting.” The fat man points behind me. I turn to see several fidgety shoeless people. One man has his eyes on my pocketbook, waiting to see the odd thing. I look back to the fat man, a big slab of hairy fat gushing through his two middle buttons. He rolls his eyes. “For the last time, lady, you’re not getting on this plane unless you empty the contents of your pocketbook.” Two other security men, one with bad teeth, rush over to see what the fuss is about. I’m standing there in my stocking feet, shoes in hand, the cold tiled floor feeling not unpleasant at the moment. I see I’m outnumbered, and unless I do as they say, I will not be seeing my mother this Christmas. I take a deep breath and allow the fat hairy man to do the honors. I look away as if he is giving me a tetanus shot. I hear his chunky fingers start to rummage through my jumbo-sized pocketbook, the other two security men close by to assist. My face goes hot as I remember what I threw in there, rushing around my apartment, packing and unpacking. I cringe and hold my breath. It’s awfully quiet, so I get curious. I peek over at the fat man and see him holding a pair of my panties between his thumb and forefinger as if he is holding foot fungus. The panties are the approximate size of a placemat. Glow-in-the-dark orange, in case someone needs to find me in the dark. The fat security man smiles at the rotten-tooth security man and they share a girly giggle. A bottle of cellulite cream is sitting on the counter, along with Rogaine and Depends. How do they even know if that’s my stuff? It might be for my mother. I say, “Uh, I’m going to see my mother, you know.” I look right at the panties still in his puffy fingers, and then to the Depends. I grab the cellulite cream and clutch it to my breast, tight. The rotten-tooth guy is still pulling things from my pocketbook. Vagisil, Preparation H, panty liners (for light days), and dental adhesive. He pulls out a jar of age-spot cream and starts reading the label. The fat guy uses his outside voice and says, “YOU CAN'T HAVE THIS.” He is holding up a can of feminine deodorant spray for the now larger, more interested crowd to see. I snap back, “That’s fine! I don’t NEED it!” I squint at him hard. The rotten-tooth guy holds up the Rogaine and says, “You can’t have this...or that.” He points to the cellulite cream still clutched tight to my breast. “They’re not packed right.” “That’s fine! Just fine! I don’t need them. I don’t need any of this stuff.” I wave my hands around the table like a mad woman. “None of it!” I throw the cellulite cream at the fat guy and he ducks. I splay my hands to heaven, “I’m going to see my mother, for goodness sake.” The fat guy is now holding a razor with several long black hairs sprouting from the razor part. “Hey Joe. I think this is the odd thing I saw. Razors aren’t allowed anymore, right?” Joe is inspecting the hair sticking out from the razor and says, “Maybe that should go in the garbage?” The fat guy holds it in the same way he did the panties. He has his icky face on and he tosses it in the garbage. The placemat panties are lying there like a corpse alongside the cellulite cream, the Depends, the Rogaine, and the other stuff. I look behind me and there are about ten faces staring at the counter, thinking it’s all for me. Thinking I surely do have a lot of issues. I am pointing and jabbing at the items, screaming at the crowd, “I am going to see my mother, for goodness sake!” I turn and walk away, moving quickly towards the plane. I leave my mother’s things with the fat guy. I sigh with relief that they didn’t find the other “odd” thing (my you-know-what) stuffed inside the Depends box. I walk faster.
Carolyn McGovern's work has been rejected by Small Spiral Notebook, Smokelong Quarterly, Flash Me Magazine and many other publications with the word "review" in their title (Baltimore Review, Vestal Review, Missouri Review, etc.). There was a time when she couldn't wait for the day when she was rejected because it would prove that she had actually completed something. Be careful what you wish for. On the bright side, she has recently been published in Shine...The Journal and Clever magazine.
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