Descent, and: Flesh Vessels

Descent

A woman calls up to a mall Santafrom beside the line where childrenwait to replace the one on his lap.He can only hear the word, "boys"through a girl's voice inches away.She shrieks, "I want my two boys!"He sees the words pierce everyonein sight. Only "Frosty the Snowman"from speakers ignores her. She stillfaces the Santa, who feels the girlleave, return to parents. He willget drunk tonight, seeing her eyeswide with pain as a security guardmoves to her—hearing, "Please!My two little boys!", a siren-likewail taking the rest of her strength,that wild face shrinking as she falls.

His wife will be sympathetic, buther words won't drown the woman's.Neither will booze. He will learnfrom Security the woman has nochildren, is divorced. She had twostillbirths. Though the Santa needsthe money, he won't climb againup to the mall throne. He will trythat next day, stop in his costume.Take off the beard. Feel her wordsstill there above the voices, music,scuffling around him. "Aren't yougoing to be Santa?" a young girlwill ask. That's not who she wasstaring at, he won't say. Will justshrug. It was God. He won't tryto tell her or anyone how that felt.

Flesh Vessels

A man might stand from dinner tonightat a senior home and call for attention."Please! Listen, I want to tell somethingyou haven't thought about!" He mayrepeat it louder before the room quiets.And he points outside where it is snowing."Out there now somewhere is a white wolf.A white wolf!" I envision the four womenat that table averting eyes from his as hesits. The rhythm of voices around themchanged. A frail woman has now risenacross the room. "I know something, too.I know something interesting, too!"The assistant director moving to the manwho'd interrupted the meal pauses. "Myfather's ashes," she and the rest of themhear. "In this large urn I keep upstairs.I don't know why, but they weigh lesswhen I play music. Mozart. I have a scale,and it always happens. Don't know why—"Before those last words, two others havestood. The assistant director hearing,"Ssssh" from all sides as she begins a firmcall for order, obeying that sound. "He'sright about the wolf," a tall man bent one-thirdof his height declares. "Everyone'sright about what they believe. I went towar. I killed a man. I've seen him sincethousands of times. In many faces. I'venodded, and he's nodded back." Othersstanding as he sits; the assistant directorsitting also, seeing the snow now appearingto slant upward. Upward-she'd swear it.She wonders if she has enough courageto say that to these flesh vessels aftermore of them speak and it feels her turn.