Subject: economy refill size (64 FL OZ)
Date: 26 Apr 1994 11:12 CDT
From: st3uy@jane.uh.edu (Ogar, Raymond A.)

	economy refill size (64 FL OZ)
	
	"what'd the baby-sitter say?  i doubt she'd have even thought of such a
thing, much less say it."  mother wouldn't listen to me.  today she's busy doing
her hair, fingers around spatula, spreading smart-curling cream over areas of
her head.  not very interested in my own daytimedrama.  not as if she has any
friends of her own.  she thinks just because i walk through the door with two
eniacboys, they constitute social substance, boyfriend-material and lower middle
class networking opportunities.  i hardly know them myself at any single moment,
my own interest dishing samples of variation-on-a-theme picture jelly.
mediation films like vaseline mixed with mr. clean to be placed on the pads of
eyeplugs.  lets the pictures flush into your eyes under false pretenses.
	i just turned away, fingers rubbing the ends of my plastic barbie hair
in frustration.  i sit down behind the baby on the floor, waiting for the baby-
sitter to finish.  one of its smaller eyeplugs stuck to the baby's eye, i help
it detach with a gentle wiggle.  it's happened before when i've left the room.
the baby-sitter takes the opportunity to suck a little harder on the baby's
pupil, as if that makes the commercials' subliminal messages any more permanent.
mother won't hear that it might be damaging, she's more interested right now
in it keeping the little one quiet.  i push the picture plugs away from my face,
preferring my entertainment a bit more distanced from my flesh.  i swear the
baby-sitter cops an attitude when i'm in the den.  the visual plugs snap back
into the rounded case.
	"what are you doing?"  mother's hands on hips, scratching at the blue
polyester of her pants.  sweat marks between the tide-detergent stripe print
across her breasts.  the moisture coalescing from too much sun while sitting on
the back porch talking, she thinks, to the woman next door.  yelling above the
eggshaped lawnmower that's no longer quiet.  she doesn't realize sometimes that
the sound of a door slamming shut is mrs. smith going back into the house to
watch her oven bake a pie and not someone else coming out.  i stare at the
ceiling.  "don't ask me."  i pick the baby off the floor, the carpet cleaning
a bit of piss left behind.
	i cradle her in my arms; the heat near my hands, the diapers recycling
what baby waste was captured.  "the baby-sitter just quit.  she must've known
i'd tell you."  mother looks to me in disgust.  "then you must have said some-
thing to her."  pointing to the baby-sitter.
	the baby sleeps somewhat.  "get real!  i swear the thing knows i talk
about it."
	mother's eyes widen in horror.  in how-could-you sitcom fashion.
"what did you say?!  i didn't hear what just came out of your mouth."
	this has happened before, so unbelievable.  the silent groan at the
back of my throat pushing into my stomach.  "i said... it."  mother raises
her hand, the hair spatula with curling cream almost touching the ceiling.
i flinch a little, holding the baby to my chest.  more in natural reaction to
protect myself than anything else.  mother pouts.  "apologize."
	my lower jaw shrinks a bit.  "what?"
	"do it."
	i look at the entertainment center.  plastic wood more like plastic
covered in plastic paper made to look like fake wood, nonfunctional dials
and the teeth of a tuning band circling the top in 50's aesthetic.  my teeth
clench.  mouth not really opening.  i say it really fast.
	"i'mreallyreallysorry."
	mother smiles in sarcasm.  "that's better."  mother's eyes squint, i
think concentrating more on the heat coming from the curling cream in her hair
than from any sort of anger now.  her lips purse.  "oh my god!  it's set too
long!  quick!"  her hands wave in the air like a cheerleader-try-out mom,
i never enjoyed going to such events.  she runs into the kitchen.
	i follow as fast as i can, setting the baby on the dinner table, pushing
away the lime green salt and pepper shaker dispenser as it moves towards my
hand.  i help mom rinse the cream off, the substance turning a rust brown under
the heavy moisture.  she keeps complaining when the water autoheats for quick
dishwashing.  i barely keep-up turning the cold further in retaliation.  she
pulls her head from the basin, half tangling with the smartfaucet as it moves
near her hands to wash items that aren't there.  water drips from her head to
the floor; i try not to laugh when the floorcleaner bumps purposefully into
her feet.  the wax underneath peeling and resurfacing on the spot.  mother's
toes force the cleaning device back.  both of us in unison.  "the baby!"
	the salt and pepper shaker dispenser slowly shoves the child toward the
table edge, the typical hand-lifting-a-single-dispenser-out-of-tray motion
not registered.  i dive for the baby, tripping over the chair that pulls itself
out of me to sit down in.  sitting in it and still catching the baby.  i shove
the salt and pepper dispenser back across the table, the little plastic cog
motor acting against my force.  mother still shoves the floor cleaner with her
foot.  "how about a happy meal?"
	"can we leave the baby home?"  i almost finish my thought.  remembering
the last time when we went to mcdonald's and i left the baby on the bathroom
counter for the diaper changer to do its job.  using the restroom and leaving
the stall to find it wrapped in cloth at both ends.  i didn't like the
scream mother gave when she walked in on me cutting the diaper away.  she
wrestled me to the floor while i choked the truth out.
	"how about i drive."  remembering when she pulled onto the sidewalks
to avoid getting slugflesh on the tires.

caution:  eye irritant.  first aid:  eyes--flush with plenty of water for
fifteen minutes.  if swallowed--drink a glassful of water.  call a physician.
keep out of the reach of children.

|copywright 1994 ray Ogar