Grace and I were having that vasectomy talk, when one of the dogs walked in, and of course, with him, there had been no conversation. I get the sense that I’m supposed to be elegiac. Surgery is dangerous, but I take it as natural that as I get older, I will start to lose abilities, even now, and already. I have already been a father.
I saw Gabe in his bloody beginnings.
“Nothing will change,” Grace said. She was wearing a t-shirt, no bra. I’d like to believe her. Plus, I’m all for change if that’s part of the deal. Sometimes, it shocks me that I even still live in this town. I used to like adventure, my history suggests. I’ve seen both oceans. And the Gulf.
“It doesn’t hurt,” Grace said. That sounded nice.
“There will still be pleasure,” Grace said, but how could she know, is my body so obvious?
I just searched for “urologists near me” and scheduled a consultation. Probably, I wouldn’t have to take my pants off. My Patreon subscribers would love this content. The doctor studied at Penn.
The fireworks were decent at the Watermelon Carnival that night, but there was a heavy police presence. The crowd brought their guns to the seed-spitting contest. We met a stressed out emotional support dog in the crowd, and we saw friends. My conversation skills were coming back, but I didn’t bring it up. Everyone had new jobs to talk about on the patio, and dead loves.
I’d recently been accused of wife-worship. No, I did not say swapping. What would I want with your wife? People are not like–do you remember?–baseball cards. But what Grace says, more than likely, goes.
Still, I can’t get over the feeling something is in need of puncturing, or of being pinched off, or of closing down.
Sean Ennis is the author of CHASE US: Stories (Little A) and his fiction has recently appeared in New World Writing, JMWW, Maudlin House, and Rejection Letters. More of his work can be found at seanennis.net