apinkyandthebrainhomage by KZ Rochelle (of course)
Outside the lavender home with blue violet trim on Wonky Way Lane, a formerly cranberry red Sun Chips bag brushed its way along the street. The bag used to be vibrant, presumably when it was opened and its contents consumed, but that had been long ago. Too long ago to carbon date just when. Back in the time before the pandemic. When children walked to school and ran about the neighborhood, sharing snacks with one another. When adults pulled cars out of driveways of homes and into parking structures of offices and sat next to other adults from a household other than their own. The world no longer operated so carelessly, and the reflection of the sun on the silver foil of the pink-striped Sun Chips bag reminded anyone who could see it that the world was a dangerous place.
Inside the lavender home with blue violet trim on Wonky Way Lane, K sat backwards on a couch, gazing out the bay window at the sun’s shimmer on the aforementioned Sun Chips bag. She sighed a mournful, longing sigh. As the sigh left her lungs, it took with it the energy that held her upright, and her head descended onto the back of the sofa. Her eyes blinked with the weight of isolation.
K breathed deeply, several times in succession, inflating herself like a birthday party balloon until she stood and walked into the bathroom.
“Good morning, Z,” said K.
“Good morning, K,” said Z.
The bathroom wall groaned.
“And good morning to you, Rochelle,” Z said.
“Z,” said K, “I have a plan.”
“You have a plan?” asked Z. “It’s my job to create with my enormous brain while you, you, you –”
“I have a plan.”
Z settled then smirked with the thought of forthcoming entertainment at K’s expense.
“What kind of plan do you have, K? For what purpose?” asked Z.
“I’m going to bust us out of this joint,” said K.
Z looked out from the vanity mirror bemused, as though entertaining a toddler’s notions to fly to the moon.
“Is that so?” said Z.
K searched her surroundings as though a spy were trailing her. “No, Z. There’s no sewing involved. It’s a busting plan,” said K.
“Mmmmm, a busting plan as in the replication of the human form from approximately the torso up.” Z was being purposely difficult. “Will you compose this bust of stone? Of wood?”
K’s eyes were wide with the thought that perhaps she did not know what her own plan was. “Ummm. The bust is — it would be — it’s not stone.” Then a thought occurred to her. “Is it stone? What are the walls made of? Because I’m planning to bust us out of these walls.”
“I see,” said Z. “And how might you plan to accomplish this feat that I have been unable, thus far, to effect?”
“I won’t use my feet, Z. I’ll use my arms. Actually, is a shoulder a part of the arm?”
“How will your shoulder conduct itself to free us?” asked Z.
“The shoulder is the most important part, Z. See? No sewing.”
“Unless with have to sew your shoulder back on after this impending disaster,” muttered Z to herself.
What is K up to? Can she succeed where Z has only failed? And if so, how will Z take it? Find out next time in The Days of Our Pandemic…