Well Done

by Kim Chinquee

It’s almost mid-November, the time Lisa’s husband starts to shop for neckties, removing his spring and summer polos from the closets and the dressers, leaving a parade of clothes that look like rugs spread throughout the hallways. He forgets about the dogs, how they make their own collage of dirty paws on his discarded costumes.

Fuck this, he says to his old styles. It’s time to go shopping.

He wasn’t always like this. They met in college, and he was always saving. She took out as many loans then as she was allowed, and once financial aid kicked in and took care of her tuition, she’d beeline the bus to Marshall’s finding earrings, shoes and hats. Fake eyelashes, fake nails, fake fur. The real stuff was expensive, and she didn’t believe in killing animals. She grew up on a farm and was friends with cows, and sometimes as a child, she imagined the farm life in reverse: what if the cows were in control? Milking humans, killing them, wearing human skins? Sending them to human slaughterhouses so the cows could sit at fancy tables, talking about eating them either rare, or medium rare, well done. And the waitress talking about specials. What wine would go best with Adam’s missing rib? With a side of Eve’s forbidden apple?

Oh, honey, Lisa says. At least her husband doesn’t wear leather anymore. He’s high maintenance, though, with his purging of outfits. She finds it a bit endearing, how he can get rid of his old clothes without blinking an eyelash.

And he donates. She’s not sure to where exactly. He says Peaceprints does a collection to help inmates adjust. He says former convicts always need clothes, especially his nice ones.

He watches murder mysteries obsessively. The TV’s always on, and it’s usually tuned to Dateline. With all the channels, there’s almost always an episode of Dateline. And if there isn’t, there’s always 20/20, 48 Hours, Law and Order. 

Lisa’s realized, over the years, he’s started paying less attention to her and more to the outfits of the people on the shows. He’ll say, Look at that scarf! Wow, what expensive shoes. There are blazers and sports coats. They hardly ever show the prison clothes.

Her husband never wears orange. He never wears jumpsuits. Nor elastic. He tried to get her to wear handcuffs once, but of course she said no.

 

Kim Chinquee’s eighth book (her first novel) Pipette was published with Ravenna Press (2022). She’s the recipient of three Pushcart Prizes, senior editor of New World Writing Quarterly, associate editor of Midwest Review, and chief editor of ELJ (Elm Leaves Journal). She co-directs the Writing Major at SUNY-Buffalo State University, is a triathlete, and lives with her three dogs in Tonawanda, NY. Her website is kimchinquee.com.

 

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