Vibration
I’ve learned how to play by the rules. Flash fiction by Kerry Sutherland
“Don’t make it harder than it has to be.”
Stevie mumbles as he pushes me out of the way and thumps the vending machine. A bag of wavy potato chips flutters to the tray at the bottom, tapping the glass on its way.
I wanted salt and vinegar flavor, but I kept my mouth shut while Stevie walked away, shaking his head. He never says much, and I wonder why he’s here. We aren’t supposed to ask each other this question, so I don’t.
I’ve learned how to play by the rules.
The fluorescent light overhead flickers, igniting the space behind my eyes into a dull roar. There are migraine triggers everywhere; no place is safe.
I rub my eyes and absently crinkle the chip bag in my hand.
“You’ll ruin those, and then what? Whine about being hungry when we have dinner in an hour?”
The new guy chuckles, his lip curled in a sneer. Who does he think he is, Elvis?
I glance back as Stevie disappears down the hall. Everyone is supposed to be here, right now. It’s mandatory. So where is he going?
“That your boyfriend? Isn’t he a little old for you?”
Elvis slouches in his chair and crosses his hairy arms. His skin is dotted with dark patches, as if he’s spent too much time in the sun. My mother, who had a velvet Elvis painting in her bedroom, used to spend hours oiling herself under UV rays on a pink plastic lounge chair in our backyard.
The back of her legs would smash up against the loose weave of the polymer threads, sticky and sweaty like the glasses of powdery lemonade she loved to drink while she napped in the heat. I would stare at the red lines that marked her legs for hours afterwards, until she yelled at me to stop.
She’s dead now.
“You dumb or something?”
When Elvis claps his hands in front of me, I slap at them so hard he falls sideways, out of his chair, and onto the cold tile floor. I smile because he wasn’t expecting this, and the floor is filthy under his ugly hands.
Before he can get up, a guard has my arms pinned behind my back, and another shouts at everyone in the room.
“Nobody move!”
The chips slide from my fingers, but when I turn my head to ask if the guard will pick them up, he shoves my face until I look forward again, at the man on the floor and the others watching eagerly from the circle of chairs around me.
I squeeze my eyes shut and think of the last time I saw my mother, when she pushed the vacuum cleaner into my bedroom while I was watching my favorite episode of Ren & Stimpy. The vacuum cord was stiff and thick, but long enough to stay plugged in while I wrapped the middle of it around her neck, the annoying hum of it egging me on.
If she were here now, she’d tell me to do as I’m told, so I keep still and listen to the vibration of the light.
Kerry Sutherland is a librarian in Northeast Ohio who has a deep and abiding affection for cats, Star Wars, and Henry James. You can find her fiction, essays, poetry, and Henry James studies at https://substack.com/@henryjamesgirl
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