24 Years Old.
The clay is hardening. I check for change most mornings and I shift carefully, so it doesn’t set. The others around me; their foreheads are shiny and their bodies are greasy, new and indent with ease. They change slowly and find life less tiring.
It happened at a party. I had been talking, I was standing in the round, laughing. Then, I saw him kiss another.
I said, ‘My face is caving in’ and those around me looked and quickly caught the falling pieces of my cheek in their palms. It was winter and everyone was covered in wool. My bone, crumbs on their sleeves.
They all peered at me.
“Where do you want me to put your...face?.... Harriet?” one said, holding the largest part of me.
“Maybe you shouldn’t say anything. You look very loose. How are we going to hold you together?”
“Does she need to sit down?”
“Is he still kissing her?” I said.
“Oh, Harriet! Is this what’s going to happen every time? Yes. Just let him go!”
