I Am a Truck

The Silverado was reported sitting next to the highway with the driver-side door open just eight hours after Agathe had kissed Rjean on the front step of their cottage and sent him off fishing in the rain with a Thermos full of coffee, four sandwiches au bologne, and a dozen date squares. It was pouring so hard that as they embraced, the rain smacked loudly on Rjean's enormous back. He blew her a kiss as he reversed out of sight, and she smiled and touched her lips.

He was lying to her. She had known from the second he came home the night before and experimentally said, "H, sais-tu quoi?" As he told her the lie, she studied him, halfamused, waiting for him to crack. He was an awful liar, but he persevered artlessly in his tale of a fishing tripon Saturdaywith the men from work. Their twentieth wedding anniversary was next week and Agathe wasn't about to challenge him on trying to cover up a surprise for her. In fact, she was relieved. Rjean had been so odd lately distracted, distant Only in bed was he fully engaged, and there they were trying something new. Their physical relationship had flourished over the years, despite the normalcy and tedium innate in all couples, and despite what Agathe considered to be the loss of her figure. As early as her twenties, her body had succumbed to a condition that afflicted generations of women in her family: a ballooning of her upper half, while her legs remained coltish and slim. As her top half grew, the weight strained her spine, giving her a subtle hunch that would grow more pronounced as the years wore on. But every new pound only enticed Rjean more as he kissed and bit and squeezed her extra flesh.

FromI Am a Truckby Michelle Winters 2017. Published by Invisible Publishing.