The Meadow Annual Literary Arts Journal 2022

The Meadow 101 Que Será Marlene Olin She is sitting in her car. The words South Miami Library front the building. Mothers push strollers while old men poke the stairs with their canes. Like a voyeur, she watches. One by one the cars move from the parking lot to the road, negotiate the stop sign, merge into traffic. In the distance a yellow light blinks. She sits. Bobs her head. Blinks. If she’s patient, and Lord knows she is patient, her mind will eventually reboot. For now, she waits and blinks. The minutes pass. And soon another pull demands her attention. She has to pee, she needs to go! Though the keys are in her hand, she has no idea what to do with them. She runs her hand over the dials and knobs. There’s supposed to be a slot. Wherever is the slot? Next she eyes her purse. Her handbag, ridiculously large and strappy, is stuffed with millions of objects her daughter insists on and nothing useful. A rain slicker. A bottle of aspirin. A granola bar. If only she had that thing. It’s black. It’s boxy. Relax, she tells herself. The words will come if she just relaxes. If not now, later. During The Ellen Show. Or when she’s drifting off to sleep. She finds her cellphone in the depths of detritus, underneath tissues and gum wrappers and assorted coins. But this too is ridiculously complicated. She runs her fingers over the numbers yet nothing happens. Like magic, something’s supposed to happen. There are buttons, too many buttons. She presses one button and her daughter is supposed to answer, another button her husband, another a sister up north. But now nothing. Nothing. Nothing. Nothing. Something deep and fundamental has betrayed her. She stares at her fingers like they’re strangers. They’re the append-

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