Mr. Right

I

“Why can’t people just admit when they’re wrong?” I asked Mr. Right. It was early, but the new day was already blemished by the news. I found him having coffee with entities from other galaxies. He was holding forth on various topics, especially focused on the fatal errors humans are making.

Mr. Right shrugged. “How would I know?” He turned to his comrades with a smile. “Any of you ever been wrong?”

“We thought we were wrong once, but then it turned out we were right,” the Pleiades joked. Everyone groaned.

My eyes were already watering from wildfire smoke and the consequences of hateful lies, but real tears of frustration rolled down my cheeks. I wiped them away, angry at myself and the awful fragility of rightness/wrongness and all other painfully destructive hierarchies and dichotomies we live within.

Mr. Right produced a handkerchief and gallantly handed it to me. I slapped it out of his hand, and he drew his gun.

“Take the hanky, bitch,” he said.

II

“Could I buy a little time?” I asked the cashier at the convenience store outside a national park. She was luminescent. Exhausted.

“Don’t I wish, honey?” she sighed. “We don’t stock perishables. How about some everlasting chips and a soda?”

I laughed. Then asked, “So, why are you here?”

“I have no idea,” she said, biting at a hangnail. “Anyways, what would you do if I could sell you some time?”

“Make things right,” I said.

“How?” she asked.

I could tell she did not expect an answer.

III

There are giant women making taffy in the kitchen. The Largest One smiles at me.

“Do you remember how hard it is to get the consistency right and judge when it’s cool enough to pull?” she asks.

I nod. Making taffy was my favorite childhood slumber party activity, but I often ended up with blisters.

“Well, sweetheart” she continues. “The truth is like taffy. The viscosity of the truth thickens due to internal friction. It’s difficult to know how to handle it.”

I stare down at my hands, recalling the scent of cinnamon and peppermint.

She continues. “The truth is sweet for those who forgive themselves, but it’s dangerous for the thinly defended.”

One of The Smaller Ones hands me a wad of taffy to pull. “Be careful,” she warns. “It’s still pretty hot.”