top of page
Writer's pictureNarrator

RIS

                Ris stirs before waking, unsettled by a dream she’ll never remember.  She sleeps later these days, and this happens a lot more often when she does.  She had a system for a while, setting an alarm to disrupt her sleep, thus keeping the dreams at bay – but the Moth was pretty annoyed, waking up to an alarm she seemingly ignored - every day.  So, she dreams unsettling dreams just before she wakes, and is haunted by their ghosts through her first cup of coffee.


                She sits bolt upright in bed, wide awake – but exhausted.  Rubbing the sleep from her eyes, she throws the blankets back with her free hand and swings her feet to the floor.  She rests her elbows on her knees and her head in her hands as she waits for her will to catch up. 

She stands and stretches - the blissful numbness tingly through her thighs, before stopping to grab some socks from a drawer on her way to the kitchen.


            The light is dimmed, a bulb above the table loosened – he prefers the dark. She smiles.  The kitchen is empty, but a quick look to the bay window and she can see the Moth and 4, 5, 6…. some of the goats, perfectly framed - like a moving landscape painting.  As if reading her mind, he turns and shoos more goats to join the others.

                She finds the coffee pot pre-set …just hafta push the button, she muses while doing just that.  She stretches again – bliss! tightens the bulb and skims the headlines while she waits.

 

                Sloppily – but warmly dressed and with a piping hot coffee in hand, she opens the door and steps out onto the porch, immediately blinded by the sun.  She lifts her coffee as a shield and pulls the door shut, scoops up her red rain boots and makes her way to a chair.  She places her coffee on the table softly, then sits herself down, hiking a leg over her knee to dust off her socks.

                She pulls on her rubber boots and wiggles her toes, smacking her hands against her thighs like it will make them in any way cleaner.  “Another beautiful day,” she says aloud to no one else.

                “Good morning!” the Moth approaches from her blind side, landing a kiss atop her head as he passes, heading for the door.

                “Hey – what’s that?” she points to a box outside the garage.

                “It’s for you.”

                “What is it?”

                “Go open it, I’ve gotta wash my hands,” he laughs, pushing the door open and disappearing inside before it closes again.

 

                She scrolls her mental calendar for any occasions she’s overlooked, feeling slightly alarmed.  It’s October, she thinks – All clear.  Intrigued, she grabs her coffee and steps off the porch to make her way to the garage.


                The box is big – tall, not wide.  Ris stoops to set her coffee on the cement apron, then reaches up and lightly tilts the box to test its weight.  Manageable, she thinks, resting it back against the door, before looking for the tape end.  She scratches it loose and pulls, brown paper peeling away with it – down the length of the box, dropping it in a coil at her feet once the flaps are free.  She closes her eyes and takes a moment to imagine what might be inside – what would he have gotten her?  Completely blank, she opens her eyes and shrugs then pulls both flaps open at the same time.


                “Janet?” she says to the mannequin staring back at her, looking so familiar.  Her hair is longer and darker at the crown of her head - as though her roots have grown out, and there’s a chunk crudely cut – hacked, she thinks, just behind her ear.  “Weird,” she says to herself and shakes her head  – she looks nearly the same, but that’s ridiculous and Janet was a million miles ago, in Ris’ life.


The dummy stares blankly, offering neither confirmation or denial.


          Ris closes the flaps and stops- remembering her coffee before turning to the studio door.  She pops the door open and fumbles for the light switch, her hand collecting cobwebs.  “UGH!” she exclaims, flipping the lights on and wiping her hand against her thigh causing the cobwebs to roll into long strands before breaking free of her cuff and falling softly to the floor. 


Zee and Em scramble to their feet, barking before their eyes are fully opened.  The deep bass of their barks echoes off the cement block walls, amplifying them to sound like a full pack of giants - despite there being just two of them.


“Good girls,” she coos as she sets her coffee on the table near the door, then opens another door leading to the garage and walks in.  She pulls the light chain and pushes a clump of fabric out of the way with her boot.  The dogs are still grumbling when she returns, but now Em is clearly confused and Zee is making pointed accusations about pockets.  “I don’t have any cookies,” Ris assures her while roughing up the wrinkly skin on her forehead, “I wasn’t planning on coming in here just yet, so my pockets are empty, see for yourself.”  She pulls open her pockets and Zee obligingly sniffs them out before turning away with a chuff.


                Returning outside, Ris heaves the box horizontally and carries it through one door, then the next, before setting it down on the floor at the back of the garage.  She opens the flaps again and stands the mannequin to face her before lifting her out of the box to lean against the wall.  “What are the odds?,” she asks her ‘new’ friend, and turns to find the base in the box.


                Fully assembled and only leaning ever-so-slightly to the left - I’ll have to find a brick or a block – Ris turns so they’re both looking across the two-car garage that hasn’t served its intended purpose in years. 


“Alright, Janet – if that is  your real name,” she turns Janet to look left, “you know the drill, then.  These racks are ready-to-wear, so help yourself.”  Turning her bodily attention slightly right, “These aren’t finished yet, so watch for pins,” then finally facing the wall at the back of the garage, “and these are…experimental, so just mind your business and stay on the other racks.”  With that, she sets Janet right – staring expressionless over the cutting tables and boxes, and pulls the light chain on her way out, closing the door and leaving Janet alone in the dark.


                Ris follows the driveway, then cuts across the yard to the food trailer and releases the lock.  She steps back as she opens the door, offering a wide berth to anything with a stinger, in case they’ve found shelter inside overnight and begun construction – it’s that fast.  Two mice scurry out the door and under the trailer, interrupting her thoughts.


                “Anyone else?” she asks no one, but another mouse rushes out and under.  “It’s nature,” she sighs as she steps into the dusty dark.  The food bags lined up along the side of the trailer have small holes chewed at the bottoms - but they don’t last long enough to bother getting upset about.  Half of them will be gone before the day is over, and the rest will go tomorrow.  Feed store, she thinks - making note on an imaginary list of things she needs to do.  She heaves a near-full bag and hugs it against her hip like a small child, one hand cupping the bottom then stepping “OW!” she flinches pain as she hits her head against the top of the door frame, having forgotten the low clearance – again.  She puts the bag on her cart and rubs the top of her head, the sharp pain smarts and she wonders about subdural hematomas and how many hits a head can take…on average, of course.


                She ducks back inside and grabs a dusty old coffee can before closing and securing the door.  The goats bleat expectantly, lined against the fence as though they haven’t just been grazing all morning.  The Moth is an especially early riser – always has been, since she’s known him, so he’s usually finishing up his chores by the time she gets her first sip of coffee.  Coffee!  Where’s my coffee?  She looks around, panicked – trying to recall the last time she held her cup.  That’s one, she thinks and grabs the handle to pull the cart toward the aviaries, trudging slightly at her loss.


                As she passes the treehouse, a white shape comes into view, speeding towards her and coming in hot!  She laughs, “Good morning, Greta, how’s your day, so far?”  Greta joins her and they walk the rest of the way together. 


                From the porch, they would appear to be two friends having a stroll and taking in the morning together – but anyone who has ever known a chicken well would recognize that Greta is simply waiting for Ris to stop – wherever she’s stopping and drop a little corn on the ground for her.  Greta is – what Ris and the Moth refer to as “a porch dweller,” which means she does what she wants, when she wants.  As far as the chickens go, she’s the O.G. – first chicken on the farm.  That’s still on the farm, at least.


                Ris circles around to the back of the aviaries, with Greta in tow, and scoops the coffee can into the bag before walking the finals steps to the Nunnery – that’s where the eggers live.  Greta started out in the Nunnery, with her sisters – and she trained some of the current nuns that still work here today.  Ris likes to imagine that Greta enjoys catching up with her old flock, but appearances dispel that notion daily. 


Neck feathers ruffled and whatever that squawking noise she’s making look like some unresolved beef among the sisterhood. 


“Knock it off, you look like a jerk,” Ris nudges Greta with her red boot and Greta pecks at it furiously.  They return to the cart for another scoop and Ris spreads it between the houses, leaving Greta to her breakfast while she gets another scoop for the Australorps.


                She pulls the cart to the bigger complex and feeds all the other chickens, in turn.  At the last door, she takes the bag from the cart – it’s nearly empty now and she enters the baby Bresse enclosure.  Five perfect white chicks – and one flame orange with white-laced feather tips, peck excitedly at her red boots. 


“Hey, tiny chickens,” she coos, turning the bag gently to empty it in front of them. She smiles as their chirps grow more excited at having actual food to peck now, and she leaves, folding the bag in half and then again before stuffing it in the trash can outside the aviary complex.


                Ris smacks her hands against her thighs as she crosses the yard to the porch and she's stepping out of her boots, when the door opens and the Moth appears and steps into his boots.


                “Hey,” she says.

                “Hey?”

                “Where did that mannequin come from?”

                “You said you wanted one, right?”

                “Yeah – thanks.  But where did you get it?”


                He straightens and turns to face her, “I went into town yesterday to get the tractor tire plugged, and when I went back out to my truck, she was just sort of standing there.”  He shrugged. “I hadn’t noticed her when I went inside, but when I came back out, she was just standing there – next to a dumpster, I guess.  Anyway, you said you wanted one, so I figured if you didn’t like it, we could just put her back at the dumpster and we’ll get you a better one - crime of opportunity, really, but the guy said it was fine.  Why?  Do you not like her?”  He looked suddenly confused or concerned.

                “Yeah – NO!  I love her!” Ris stammers, “Thank you so much!  She’s perfect, thank you!”

                “Okay, good.”

                “I think she’s cast from the same mold as one we had at the costume shop, a million years ago which is weird.  She’s familiar, like I know her.”

                “But do you like her – did you like the one at the costume place? She looks the right size -”

                “Yeah, I guess.  I don’t recall any screaming matches or any times I caught her flirting with my boyfriends, so…yeah, guess so.”

                “Good.”  He plants a quick kiss on her lips as he turns, “I’m off to start my day - love you!” he trots down the steps and heads to his office as though he hasn’t been up 7 hours already.

                She watches him go, smiling after him.  “Ooh!  Coffee!” she remembers and rushes inside to wash her hands.

Recent Posts

See All
ggg-page.png
bottom of page