I’d like some … Marla hesitates.
Bread.
I stand.
I bought bread with seeds earlier.
Got the baker to slice it
even though it was still slightly warm.
I want it hot, she says.
It won’t be hot now.
Make it hot. She is annoyed.
She tears at the skin on her arm.
In the thing. I want it crunchy.
Put it in the thing that makes it baked.
Not baked. It’s already baked.
Grilled.
Oh, I can do it!
You’re absolutely useless.
She tries to get to her feet but is too low
down in the sofa to jump up easily.
She reaches for a cushion
and screams into it.
I let her,
and when she is done
I say,
You mean toast, Marla?
She plays with a tassel
on the corner of the scream-cushion.
I want some toast.
She sighs.
Toast. Yes. Please.