Megan Rible
Microfiction – monosyllabic

To-Do List

Get up.  Smooth the sheets.  Make the bed.  Put your night shirt in the clothes bin and take a 
bath.  Get dressed, don't just put your robe on.  Brush your teeth.  Floss.  Clean the sink when 
you are done.  Wash your hands.  Walk down the stairs, make sure to hold the smooth wood rail 
as you do.  You don't want to fall.  Make a pot of tea with Ms. Smith's new tea leaves.  She says 
they are good for the nerves.  Wait till it screams, then pour a cup.  Turn on the news, on mute.  
Don't think of his voice, deep and clear.  Sit and watch.  When it is done and the soap comes on, 
turn off the TV.  Get up and rinse out your mug.  Feed the cat.  Don't trip on her tail as she rubs 
her head on your leg.  Grab a sponge and scrub the tiles till they gleam.  Get a rag from the 
drawer.  Go through the house and dust all the frames, but don't look at what they hold.  Don't 
think of his eyes, soft and brown.  Put on thick gloves and go out front.  Trim the rose bush by 
the gate.  Wave to Anne on her porch next door.  Smile.  When she asks, say he is fine.  That is 
best.  He had to work.  He'll be back in a few days.  And how are you, dear?  I'm fine too.  I miss 
him though.  Of course you do, dear.  Go back in the house, where it is cool.  Wash your hands.  
Take down the last can of soup and heat it for lunch.  Stir till it boils.  Turn on the news, on 
mute.  Eat.  Rinse out the bowl and spoon.  Scrub the pot clean.  Drive to the store for more soup.  
Look both ways at each stop sign.  Get some more soap, too, if they have the good kind.  The 
cheap brand dries out his skin.  Don't think of his hands, big and strong.  When you get back 
home, clean the cat hair off the couch.  And off his chair, in case he walks in and wants to sit 
down.  Wash your hands.  Heat up more soup.  And tea.  This time cut some of the stale bread 
too.  Don't think of his mouth, wide and full.  Turn on the news.  When it gets dark, clean up and 
go back up the stairs.  Don't lock the door, he left his key by the sink.  Watch out for the cat on 
your way up, you don't want to fall.  Get dressed for sleep.  Wash your face and hands.  Climb in 
on your side of the bed.  Turn out the light.  Don't think of his voice as he speaks her name.  
Don't think of his eyes on her face, his hands on her hips, his mouth on her breast.  She will not 
last.  He will come back, like he did last time.  He has to.  When you feel the child kick in your 
womb, try to soothe it with your hand, long slow strokes.  Do not cry.  Close your eyes.  He'll be 
home soon.