A phoenix and a submarine sandwich
Facing the world in a strip mall parking lot
I am thrilled you’re here. Really! It’s such a boost to know that there are folks like you who are still making the case for goodness. What would mean even more is for you to let me and others know you’ve stopped by by liking ( 💚 ) sharing, or restacking (♻️ ) this post. If you can afford a paid subscription (less per month than a dozen eggs right now!) or one-time donation (any amount is appreciated) either will help me keep this soul-project going.
Be sure to check out the audio voiceover above, if that’s your thing, and leave a comment to let me know how you’re holding up out there. We need each other.
“Look at that!” Grace exclaimed, arms extending as if conducting an orchestra. “The clouds are on fire again!”
And they were. Peach and papaya marbling into blueberry, and that shade of vermillion lipstick your mother wore in the 70s. It was the kind of sunset that tempts poets to be insufferable, a full-blown celebration unironically staged above a strip mall.
Truth didn’t bother looking. She was busy at the back of her Subaru, scowling at her receipt like it had just suggested she try intermittent fasting for her mood.
“Eight bucks,” she grumbled. “And I didn’t even get the virtuous eggs. I settled for the morally questionable fuckers because that was all they had.”
Grace kept looking back to the sky, like it might spill a secret if she paid it close enough attention.
“Maybe it’s the universe’s way of saying, ‘Good job not collapsing in public today,’ she said. “Like a gold star for endurance.”
Truth huffed, “Cool. Maybe if I collect five, I can cash them in for one functional nervous system.”
She wedged a bag into the trunk with the low-level rage of someone who’s spent too long on hold with their insurance provider. The breeze carried overtones of pizza and pollen.
“You used to love skies like this,” Grace said gently. “Remember that trip to the Blue Ridge, chasing fall colors? We worked through our midlife crisis on a steady diet of Alanis Morissette and TED Talks about becoming our ‘authentic selves.’”
“That was fifteen years ago,” Truth said, slamming the trunk shut. “Back when I still believed I could make a difference.”
Finally, she glanced up—reluctantly, like she was being dared. “Okay, it’s pretty,” she admitted. “But so is a funeral wreath.”
“I saw an osprey today,” Grace persisted, leaning back against the car. “Just riding the wind like it was having the greatest time. I think I want to be that osprey when I grow up.”
Truth sighed. “The osprey doesn’t get emails that start with ‘just circling back.’ I spent seventy dollars this week for an orthopedist who told me to do some stretches and get back to him if I’m still broken next year.”
“Dang! For that amazing price you got premium indifference,” Grace teased. That’s concierge-level neglect.” Then, exhaling a little too sharply, she snapped. “I swear, if I get one more podcaster telling me I’m not thriving because I didn’t journal hard enough...”
Truth blinked, surprised. “You okay?”
“Fine,” Grace exhaled, smoothing her voice. “Just tired of being blamed for bleeding in a trauma center.”
Truth actually laughed—a quick bleat that almost startled her—as she wrapped her faded denim jacket across her chest. “My kid called today. He and his girlfriend are thinking about moving to Portugal. Affordable healthcare and good pastries.”
“You going with them?” Grace asked.
Truth shook her head. “Nah. Somebody has to stay here to mourn the American Dream.” She paused, then added, “You know, I used to think we’d tear it all down and build something better. Now I just hope the store doesn’t close before I run out of melatonin and milk.”
They stood there, quietly, as the clouds rearranged themselves again—one minute a phoenix, the next a submarine sandwich.
“Sometimes,” Truth said, softer now, “I think beauty’s just nature’s version of gaslighting us. Like, ‘Hey!—look over here while the scaffolding collapses.’”
“Maybe,” Grace said, arms folded. “But I’m still going to look. Not everything has to solve something to matter.”
“Even if it’s just the planet crumbling in a flattering filter?” Truth replied.
Grace grinned. “Especially then. If we’re going down, I’d rather be watching the sky than doomscrolling on the toilet.”
Truth snorted, “Now that’s a bumper sticker!”
They stood a bit longer, two women marinated in pink light. Eventually, Grace nudged her friend with an elbow. “Okay. Let’s get home before the dumpster fire melts the ice cream.”
~Elizabeth
Elizabeth - I'm almost at a loss for words. This was a surprise, totally inspired, beautifully lyric, and full of wordplay. Definitely a new favorite! I don't always listen to the audio, but I clicked this one on before I even looked to see what the post was, and the audio is great and really brings this conversation to life.
(I have a long-ago history with writing layered and dialogue-driven plays in the absurdist tradition (think Waiting for Godot). Reading this puts me in that mindset. Wonderful.)
I can always expect the unexpected from you, Elizabeth. So good I restacked, shared, NOTED, and admired with an introspective smile. There is way too much 'Premium Indifference' in the world, and I'm grateful to count your intuitive sensitivity as part of my fortunately sheltered realm. Thank you. ~J