The Whale Belly

Today Quinn stayed home from school. I tried to ignore him, but then I started feeling too guilty. I went into the shower and wept quietly, then I went into his room and spoke to him in a high, lilting voice.

“Why don’t we work together in the living room?”

He seemed unwilling, but I cajoled him with my feminine voice and he finally came out of his room and slumped on the couch with his laptop.

“It’s so gloomy in here,” I said. I turned on the lamp and adjusted the dimmer switch on the overhead lights. Then I went around and lit my wife’s candles. “These candles are so hard to light! I can’t fit my hand in here. How does your mom do it?”

“I don’t know,” he said.

I sat down and opened my own laptop. After about five minutes I looked up and Quinn was looking back at me.

“What are you working on anyways? What have you been working on?”

I crossed my legs, rubbed the front of my knee, and spoke like a weak car climbing a big hill.

“Well… I’m trying to figure things out. You know, the pandemic is making it hard to find a job. I guess…”

“Oh, that sounds stressful,” he muttered, turning back to his computer.

“Yeah, I mean, I decided I didn’t like teaching anymore. So, you know, I’m just writing, but, I don’t really have an audience, or a project in mind. Just keeping up the practice, I suppose. Waiting for an opportunity to arise. Maybe a blog…”

He didn’t respond, and I knew I had said too much. Realized that I had nothing to say really. All the confusion I had felt for the last couple of years was real after all.

“But don’t worry,” I said. “We’re okay. I don’t want you to worry.”

“I’m not worried,” he said.

He worked on a test for ten more minutes while I searched online for reassuring perspectives on my capacity to be a decent human being. After ten minutes Quinn lied to me about being done with school and went back to his room to play video games. I sat in the chair, panicking.