It’s so hot, the sun has been burning so long, I can feel the paint on the dingy grocery store fading from the inside, but my attention has been diverted from the discount bin that today is filled with bags of “naturally imperfect” fruit by an unusual sight. 

He’s young – by which I mean about my age, which is not young anywhere else. In this town of farmers, retirees and retired farmers, this town barely big enough for a police detachment – there is an alien man.

I took a day off work. Wednesday, 7th November. It didn’t matter that it was a Wednesday—I know now that each day has its strangeness and threat. As for taking it in wet and gloomy November, that’s equally irrelevant. All the months are the same when you get down to the essentials. What happened would have happened no matter the day or month.

My wife is twenty-nine the year the crows take her.

They descend upon our little house before we even know she’s sick. Waking on a cold and rainy Tuesday morning, we find our garden blanketed in black feathers. As I spread jam and butter on charred toast, hundreds of beady eyes watch me through the kitchen window.

Julie is pulling me toward every tree hunting for scents. Man and dog, she knows her control over me. Her Ridgeback DNA is the reason she hates cats and wants to eat all the squirrels and rabbits in the park. As my licensed ESA, she is present to take away stress and make me happy, but I’d rather see her happy. Her copper-colored fur, full brown eyes, white belly and white paws get me every time. I hope I don’t disappoint her. 

The pumps beside my bed are quiet, perhaps the softest sounds in the hospital, in contrast to the shrill beeping of machines, or overhead pages, or the thunder of carts and gurneys going past my room. A mild click and suction sound, which then repeat themselves over and over in a timeless loop. When I must make my way to the bathroom, I grasp an IV pole in each hand and awkwardly wheel them both along with me.

Look, I know you hate suspense, so I'll answer your question first. 

Yes. I'm sorry. I didn't know. 

When you screamed your question in my face that night for everyone in the neighborhood to hear, my heart stopped until the echoes settled to silence. 

Very tired tonight. Okay if u don't stop by for dinner? Will call tomorrow. Love u <3

It started as a dare from Max who was technically my ex, but they came over every night to watch TV and bitch about our jobs. That's how we saw the video of the eating competition—guys as large as hatchbacks and other folks who were toothpick-slim stood in front of long tables and crammed cheeseburgers into their mouths with singular focus. There was something about it that was so gross and mesmerizing that I wouldn't let Max change the channel.

My phone shakes in my shaky hand. My other hand clenches into a fist and releases, clenches and releases. Reaching out to my doctor is not the same as jumping out of an airplane, but I tried telling my brain that already and my hands still shake, shake, shake. Twenty minutes ago, my whole body was shaking, but I negotiated that down to just my hands by telling my brain, or the toddler that hijacks my brain at the drop of a hat, that my doctor did say I could text her anytime. 

Look closely at your eyes.

Blink.

Are you sure, this time, that both pupils are the same size? Isn’t one just the slightest bit bigger than the other? 

Years ago there was an old woman in my village of Amuzi who almost everyone thought was a witch and if you saw her yourself you wouldn’t blame them. She was tall, thin and slightly stooped with age. All her hair had grayed to pure whiteness and she wore it in a stiff, colossal afro so big my hand hurt thinking about how much effort it took to comb it. Her light brown face was a mass of wrinkles and within this mass her two gray eyes sparkled brightly with tears eternally unshed.

Part One: On Family and Mortal Fear

“…and so I got us tickets for this weekend!”

I decided to start telling my friends and colleagues when I was menstruating. To be sure, discussing menstruation is marked ‘taboo’ in most cultures, but I’ve come to believe that it’s absurd that we don’t talk about the experience nearly a quarter of humanity has on a monthly basis. One that affects every aspect of our lives.