Fiction by Tori Rego

(CW: Sexual assault, traumatic birth)

Audrey Horne Becomes a Mother

It was without reason / white light in her eyes / heels clacking on cold linoleum / her legs spread / that ripping sensation / something inside her is breaking / not for the first time but she hopes the last / on the other side of this curtain / she will no longer be herself / she wants to throw the white sheets over her head / sweat and cry in the privacy / of this circle of hell reserved for women / it is useless to think of fathers / or blame / she has always been bed-ridden / she has always been sick / there was the nurse / like an angel begging / her to breathe Audrey breathe / her body doesn’t obey / obstinate and ravaged / no she did not always get what she wanted / life had been a series of collisions / punctuated by stillness / punctuated by rage delayed / she covers her face with the back of her hand / to be unseen and not to see / daddy I’m so afraid / the little girl in her wants to purr / unlike the other / she never died / some parts of her outlived their expiration / hope and desperation and unrequited love / again the tearing and snap / again that music / she opens her eyes / his familiar face floats above her / just out of focus

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 Norma Tells Shelly to Take Her Twenty

The girl plops down at the last vinyl booth with a half-eaten slice of cherry pie. Norma can’t help but notice what an angel she is. They make a perfect pair—Norma and Shelly—with their shining hair and their waists cinched tight by the strings of their aprons. Sure, the pie was good, but their smiles were better. Shelly was so ripe and glowing, while the skin on Norma’s fingers was thinning, knuckle bones pressing through. How many years had her hands lost under soapy water and dishes? How many years had she tucked herself to sleep with the pleasure of her tired hand, then rubbed her fingers clean on her pillowcase and turned out the light? Once she was young too. Now, she held memories like serving trays up her arms. Shelly slipped a foot free of her pleather heels. She rubbed the sole against her other leg. How long could she keep her here, caged like a bird? They were both professionals at staying when they should go, at reading the faces of diner patrons, at coming at just the right moment to say “a top off for your coffee sweetheart?” “Anything I can do for you?” They were always on the clock, even when their aprons came off. Shelly moved the cherries on her plate around with her fork. She looked out the window as if waiting. They were both good at that too, though Norma didn’t dare allow herself to imagine someone was coming down the street for her. The door chimes ringing would be just another trucker or high schooler or the lady with her log. It didn’t help to be lonely about it. When Shelly returned from her break, she threw what was left of her pie in the trash. Norma looked at her and the trash, then at Shelly again. The sad girl shrugged and all that weight slouched off her shoulders. “It’s gone cold,” she said, tying her apron ever tighter. “It’s gone completely cold.”

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Tori Rego is a writer from Charleston, South Carolina. She is currently based in Chicago where she co-hosts the reading series, Written on a Napkin. Her poetry chapbook "Briefly, Gently" was published by Bottlecap Press in 2024. A list of her work can be found at www.torirego.com.