To the Wendy’s Cashier Whose Husband Is Dying
I confess that I’m eavesdropping as you serve pieces of yourself to every customer. You say you’ve been here 27 years, and nothing ever changes, not really. You wouldn’t know what to do with yourself if it did. You know your regulars’ names: Carol & Cindy, Steve, Joe. “Jerry’s in hospice,” you tell them. “There’s nothing anyone can do about it. It happens. It happens.” You shrug as you grab a ranch packet. Your stepdaughter will move to California after her dad dies. She wants to sell his house, your house. You owed the man with the mustache 87 cents but only gave him 13. “My mind is just not here today.” Your husband just turned 79. You wanted to celebrate at the Clubhouse. He loves their tacos. But his feet are so swollen you can’t get his shoes on him. A mobile order pops up, disrupting your rhythm. Your husband’s oxygen machine is so loud he can’t sleep. The orders stack up, the line grows. You sigh, “Does anyone else want to do this job? Anyone?” We all lower our eyes, swallowing shame down our throats like a Frosty.
Bethany Jarmul is an Appalachian author. Her books include Lightning Is a Mother (poetry) and Take Me Home (memoir). Widely published, her writing was selected for Best Spiritual Literature and Best Small Fictions, and nominated for Pushcart Prize and Best of the Net. More: bethanyjarmul.com or @BethanyJarmul.