Empty Vessel

by Esther Smoller




I found a dead bird on the welcome mat this morning. I didn’t mind; it could have been a baby, with a note attached. “Please be kind and name him Elliott.”

We’ve never talked about having children. We’ve always avoided it. Your sperm count is low. I can tell just by looking and knowing you. So you wouldn’t want to be the one who “couldn’t”. It would be your fault and you know I’d never let you forget it.

But to tell the truth----we are doing that, aren’t we? ----I’ve never wanted children. You have to be able to give and I don’t give; I take. It’s so much more fun. If you finally do leave me, then I’d have a child. It would be so much better than dancing alone.

You’re not surprised by this confession.  You've known it all along. How could you not? It is staring you in the face. But you don’t like to face what stares at you. You turn away. Even when we went to the lake, we turned to face the mountain.