Pat Sylvia
Chava Hudson

Who Knew?    
by Pat Sylvia                                                                    

He knew that she knew about the affair he’d been having with the sitter that had been going on for at least ten months, but what he knew she didn’t know was the fact that he had fallen in love with the girl – this pudgy, high-breasted, round-assed eighteen year old who drove him crazy in bed and had  told him that she really, really loved him and while he was recovering from an exhausting, though exhilaratingly wonderful love making afternoon,  she explained, very calmly and logically, why it would be best for him to give up his marriage and six-year old daughter for whom she baby sat Saturday nights; but what he never knew, what never dawned on him, not in a million years, was the fact that although he knew his wife knew he was fooling around, what he didn’t know was that his wife was sick to death of the whole sad marriage and her husband’s philandering ways, his stinginess, his nightly beer breath, his coughs and farts, his just-beginning pot belly that would soon swell over his belt, and the idea of their living together till death do them part turned her stomach and consequently her eyes onto the bachelor real estate agent in town with whom she was having an affair (ha, ha,) and if she got lucky with this guy and got to leave town with him, she would miss her daughter, but at least her husband would have a fuckin’  baby sitter, wouldn’t he.

PAT SYLVIA is a writer and professional educator After retiring from the corporate world as a business consultant to management, she moved to Rockport, MA and began tutoring in ESL programs and at the Rockport High School where she also runs an annual Writing the College Essay workshop. Pat’s writes memoir, poetry, and flash fiction. She has been running memoir writing groups for four years and recently designed and facilitated her first writing retreat – an experience that will hopefully be repeated on a semi-annual basis. Pat future plans include the publication of an anthology of memoirs written by the members of her workshops – past and present..

The Bird
by Chava Hudson

Steven took another sip of his coffee before he answered my question. We’d finished the eggs he’d scrambled, first taking care to cut the tomatoes and onions into tiny pieces, then stirring the concoction into perfection. We were still sitting at his kitchen table over our dirty plates. Heidi hadn’t emerged from bed yet, evidently not interested in breakfast, even with company. When Steven was once my lover back then, he couldn’t cook at all. Of course, I always made his breakfast.

“I’m not sure if Heidi and I will ever get married,” he said. I wondered if Heidi knew this or if she didn’t, if she could hear. “No, if it ain’t broken, don’t fix it,” he added, giving me his old familiar, crooked grin, and I remembered how once, I’d been so charmed by it.

They’d moved to their house in the country a year before, planning to marry in the garden where the large granite Buddha sat amidst the lilacs. Now they were unengaged, and I wondered how someone gets unengaged when they’re living together, but just sipped my coffee and looked out the large patio window, just in time to see a small bird crash kamikaze-style into the glass.

“Oh my God, did you see that?” I said.

“I thought I heard something. What was it?” said Steven.

I followed him to the slider where just outside, a small bird lay in spasm on the flagstone patio.

“I think she broke her neck,” he said softly.

“What do we do?” Tears were threatening behind my nose. The poor bird had tried to fly inside, where it looked so cozy, not realizing that there was a barrier.

“I don’t know, but I have to get rid of her before Heidi gets up and sees it,” he said. “It would really upset her.”

“Yes, I said, wondering still how Heidi had dealt with their broken engagement.

“Maybe it’s just in shock,” he noted.

We watched the bird, its yellow beak tucked into its moon-colored breast, slowly lift its head. Ever so slowly its mustard claws took told on the ground and it righted itself and began to fly.

“Whew,” said Steven.

We watched the bird head to the woods behind the house where it was swallowed by the trees.
Steven hung his thumbs on his belt loops and rocked on the heels of his socks. Heidi had banned wearing shoes in the house.

“Glad that’s over. Heidi gets so freaked out about animals.”

Just then Heidi appeared her dark hair askew and her cheeks dusky with sleep. She was tying the belt on her pink terry robe that made her look like a large rosy bear. “What’s going on?” she asked.

“Nothing,” said Steven. “We were just watching this bird fly around. Want some eggs?”