Therefore I Am

Kelli Jae Baeli

   He came up the walk in stylish polyester, with a briefcase that would not open. He patted the stiff terrier on the head, and watched him fall over as he opened the door to go inside. She greeted him with the same smile that was always on her face. She slept with the smile, too. He sometimes wished he could smile a bit wider, like her smile, but he was stuck with the suave half-smile of a dream-man.
   "Honey, I'm home," he said, so distracted by his new thoughts that he announced it in her face, instead of at the door.
   She pecked his cheek with her vapid smile and said, "How was your day, Dear?"
   "Fine, how was yours?"
   "Fine."
He went to sit down and watch the news.
   The news was always the same, since the image on the plastic TV set was always the same: a smiling anchorman. He sighed, peering down at his legs. For some reason, they irritated him. He was beginning to hate the way they stretched straight out; he longed to sit down, bend his knees, and put his feet on the floor. Everything seemed to irritate him lately-even simple things he had never questioned before. Something was wrong with his life, but he couldn't decide what it was.
   She came in then, wearing her all-American smile, and sat down beside him. Their legs extended over the floor, side by side. He felt a deep urge he could not identify, but it seemed to crawl from inside him, all the way up his throat. He looked at his legs, and wanted very much to make them bend. Suddenly, he reached out and pushed on one leg. He pushed harder.
   "What are you doing, Dear?" she asked.
   "I don't know. I think I just want my leg to bend."
   Her eyes were puzzled, but her smile remained. "Why?"
   He swiveled his head to look at her, then turned back, push-ing on his right leg with a vengeance. His leg snapped at the knee and toppled to the floor.
   "Oh, now look what you've done!" she exclaimed, leaning over to pick up his lower leg. She pushed herself forward, rocked onto her feet and stood, handing him the leg. "Hold this, Dear, and I'll go get the Superglue."
   As she hobbled out, he turned the leg over, examining it. There was nothing unusual about it. It looked as it always had, except that it was detached from him.
   She returned with the glue, and together they secured the leg, avoiding a disaster when he noticed his toes were about to be pointing the wrong way. The leg was put back correctly, and they sat down again on the hard sofa.
   They stared at the unmoving TV. screen, and he twisted his head to look at her. "Honey, do you think we can sit a different way?"
   Dismayed, she rotated her head toward him. "What do you mean, Dear?"
   "Well, I think I want to put my arm around you."
   She smiled. "Silly, you know your arm doesn't bend that way."
   He frowned, disturbed by her answer, and the action gave him a pain in his forehead. Surprised, he frowned again, and felt the pain once more. He looked over at her, considering; she stared at the screen. He lifted his left arm and it went straight up, like his legs had done. He considered the problem, and knew that if he wanted to get his arm over her shoulders, he would have to turn and roll onto his left hip. The rest of his body would look awk-ward, but at least he'd have his arm around her. He accomplished the maneuver, and she turned her smile at him.
   They sat this way for their usual hour, then struggled to their feet and went into the dining room, where the food was waiting for them on the table. They sat stiffly, arms on either side of the plates, and looked at each other.
   "Honey, why do we always sit here like this every day at six o'clock?"
   "What do you mean, Dear?" she asked for the second time that day, making it the second time ever.
   "We have the same food on the same plates every day. And we never even eat it."
   "Are you feeling ill, Dear?"
   "No, I don't know what I'm feeling. But I've never felt this way before today. I had a dream this morning."
   She smiled. "You don't have dreams, Dear."
   "I had one this morning. I dreamed that our legs and arms bent and we could touch our chins to our chests without removing our heads."
   "Are you sure you're not feeling ill, Dear?" she persisted.
   "I'm not ill, dammit!"
   "Dammit?"
   "Honey, in the dream, we also ate this food, and it was soft and warm...and we sat on the sofa with our arms around each other and we didn't have to roll on our hips to do it."
   "I hope you don't have any more bad dreams like that."
   "Honey, don't you see? It wasn't bad. Wouldn't it be wonderful if we could do those things?"
   Her smile lessened a bit.
   "Couldn't there be more to our lives than this?" Something in his chest began pulsing.
   She switched her gaze to her hands, first to one, then the other, as they rested there on the table. She looked back up at him and her smile disappeared. "Could there?"
   He struggled up and away from the table and went to help her from her chair. "We can try to find out."
   "How?"
   "I don't know. Let's go to sleep, and maybe we'll dream an answer."
   Obediently, she followed him, and they laid down on their backs, staring at the ceiling. On impulse, he reached for her fingers, and held them in his hand.
   They both blinked once, then turned to face each other, amazed.
   "I've never blinked before, Dear."
   "Me either, Honey." He gave her hand another squeeze.
   They blinked again, and he smiled wide, like she used to.
   "How do we know what blinking is?" she whispered, and no sooner had she considered this, than she sneezed. "What was that?"
   "It was a sneeze."
   "How do you know?"
   "I don't know how I know. I just know."
   "I wonder how you know?" She had an itch on her leg.
   "Something is happening, Honey."
   "I know," she said.
   "Maybe your questions did it."
   "Maybe thinking of the questions did it."
   And they laughed together, harder and harder until they put their arms around each other and cried.
   "I love you, Dear," she said.
   "I love you, too, Honey," he said, smiling broadly.
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