My daughter gnawed on her honeyed toast, dropping bits into the top of the ant farm. The workers scurried to gather the crumbs. I sipped my coffee slowly, to avoid the cup’s bottom, to prolong the moment when I left for work. Sarah and I watched the insects crawl through tunnels and burrows, hauling beige globs bigger than themselves to the queen. The sun warmed the kitchen. A sort of hypnotic peace settled over us. A bargain, my husband had declared, holding the farm in his arms. He smiled, sweaty from a summer morning spent yard-saling. Sarah will learn about community, he had said. She’ll learn about hard work. What about you? I had thought.
But I let him assemble the structure after he promised to release the insects when Sarah entered kindergarten. A year later and the ants still thrived, unlike the goldfish that went belly-up when Sarah sprinkled in too much Tetra. The farm occupied an entire counter. Somehow the ants escaped and found their way into the sugar bowl and the plastic-sheathed bread. Every time I squished an ant with my finger, I felt a piece of me loosen and chisel off.
My husband bounded down the stairs, his happy noisiness preceding him. Sarah ran to him and they hugged, chattering, behind me. Pressure welled from my gut to my chest. The room clouded. Outside daffodils poked through snow and the air shimmered blue. I drained my cup, picked up my keys, the morning unbearable.
***
Inspired by the tenuous balance of work and the rest of life, of what's lost in between. Peace...
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I read this four times.
ReplyDeleteFour times, before I thought, OK, four times should be enough.
But it's not.
Good thing it's short or I'd be here all night.
(That's a compliment, by the way.)
I like the truth of this piece, Linda. Some relationships, already weakened, become broken when someone else or something else becomes the surrogate. In this case, the surrogate appears to be the child.
ReplyDeleteWhatever ill it speaks of me, I didn't find the relationship or even the hubbie at fault. She's so negative, so melodramatic, that I couldn't help feeling her perceived destruction of a relationship was her own doing. What exactly was so repulsive between a loving father and daughter that she couldn't join and make a gleeful trio? It seems too easy to wall oneself off and die behind the barricade.
ReplyDeleteI use insects a lot in my writing, they open themselves to so many metaphors and you created a good one here
ReplyDeletemarc nash
This sure does inspire feelings of melancholy and hopelessness. The tone of the piece pulls the reader in to the protagonists frame of mind very well.
ReplyDeleteI find myself struck with the beauty of the metaphor and John's comment on the character, allowing me to read the piece from another perspective. However, love the construction and imagery.
ReplyDeleteAdam B @revhappiness
I got the same vibe as John did. It’s like she can’t stand that her husband is happy, that he and Sarah have a good relationship.
ReplyDeleteEVen though I happen to be dealing with an ant infestation of my house at the moment, I'm with John Wiswell and FAR. There's a loving, happy relationship between the father and daughter, with a grim, gnawing, distant mother unwilling (or unable) to seek a place in the group hug. This was a disturbing piece.
ReplyDeleteI'm with John, FAR and Tony ... I might ask my family to keep the farm somewhere other than the kitchen, myself, but I'd want to be part of it. Then again, I used to watch insects when I was a kid so ... :)
ReplyDeletewhat a metaphor on the life.. the ant farm.. don't drop it at least not in the kitchen..
ReplyDeleteUgh. Ants. I guess she feels detached from her husband, huh?
ReplyDeleteWell I must be odd one out because I feel great sympathy for the mother here. It sounds to me like she's doing all the work around the house and the hubby and daughter are only ever having fun, most likely causing big messes and never picking up after themselves. Who wouldn't be miserable feeling they were nothing more than a maid? And maybe she suffers from depression already.
ReplyDeleteAs usual Linda the intense emotions going on behind the scenes come through loud and clear in this story, as it does in all your work. Love it!
Not sure how I feel about this one, but it did make me feel. That's always a plus for a story.
ReplyDeleteI guess I read this story differently then most people here. The father and child get to live in the moment. They get to have their ant farm and gold fish. They have a wife and mother to clean the dishes, make dinner, drive to dance practice, go to work, AND... when the fish die she's the one who dumps it down the toilet and soothes broken hearts. When the ants escape, the living creatures that brought the people she loves and cares for so much joy, it is her job to kill them. In the beginning, she knew it was going to come to this and she is tired. She sacrifices so her husband and child can go on with their perfect little lives oblivious. The sun rises, fresh tulips promise hope... but she knows it will be the same thing tomorrow. I didn't get hopelessness here. She loves, she enjoys the small pleasures, but she is tired and she knows the sacrifices she will have to make tomorrow and the next day. I feel there is beauty and strength in this.
ReplyDeleteThat's my take.
I started off thinking I understood what the theme was, but by the end I was confused. Why was the morning so unbearable?
ReplyDeleteOh my. On the one hand a beautifully crafted mood piece, on the other a remarkable divergence of interpretation in the comments.
ReplyDeleteI have felt like this on many a morning. The coffee is good. The morning is very peaceful (I love the sound of the insects outside the open window). I don't want to drink the last sip, get up and go to work. The world is beautiful, but I'm tired. I'd just like to go back to bed, but I can't, gotta go get the bacon. I don't see any room in the words you have written to extrapolate anything as extreme as a broken relationship or anything more than a mild depression - it's more like the melancholy induced by tiredness. I'm with Deanna and Jodi.
And by the way, I think this is beautifully written. I love the part about how it hurts to kill the ants.
Dear all, so interested in your responses to this very short story of mine. Of course, thrilled it has inspired the different 'takes' on meaning. it is what it is, what YOU interpret, of course.
ReplyDeleteMY intent with this story was to relate the very mixed up emotions this woman feels about being the breadwinner, of wanting to be in the moment longer than a morning cup of joe. Melodramatic? Don't think so. But if you have ever been in such a position of balancing work with family, you would have felt this strange, melancholy AND resentment tugging at you.
I know I certainly have.
As always, I appreciate each and every one of you for taking the time to read and reflect and comment. Peace...