A Promising Deal

I was flipping through TV channels, munching on potato chips, even though Mom had looked at me weird when I grabbed them some time ago, and she asked, “Should you really be eating those?” My only response was opening the bag as I left her in the kitchen.

I had homework, I knew. My binder was open and facing me with judging eyes. Why don’t you do your homework? It asks. It’s not that hard. But the thought of crunching up and even looking at my assignments exhausted me. If I looked at the mess of papers before me too long my eyelids filled with sand, and I had to look up to whatever show was playing on the TV to empty them of their weight.

My sister came home some time during the episode. She looked at me for a moment, and I stared at her silently, but she didn’t say anything, neither a greeting nor a word about my haggard state, as she set herself up at the kitchen table. She didn’t have trouble doing her assignments.

She and Mom had dinner some time later. They invited me to join them, and it did smell good, but I told them I was filled up on chips. I was halfway through the bag now, and I knew I had probably consumed more calories from this family sized bag than from the chicken fajitas my mom had prepared. I wasn’t even that hungry to begin with.

More time passed, marked by the growing soreness in my lower back from sitting on the couch with my legs tucked under me. I didn’t notice when my mom and sister had excused themselves to their rooms for bed. I knew it was late. The bag was mostly empty now, and the channels on the TV felt different than they had this afternoon. It must be Sunday by now, but it wouldn’t really feel like Sunday until Mom and the sun woke up. I was stuck in this fake Saturday, one that I thought might last forever if I kept my eyes glued to the TV.

My clean hand, the one that wasn’t fishing chip crumbs from the bottom of the bag, continued its cycle through the cable shows, and I ended up stopping on one of those home shopping networks. I don’t know why, but something about it caught my eye. The woman was trying to sell me some exercise machine, showing me how I could “carve out my glutes” if I used it for fifteen minutes a day, and I felt bitter about it because of what mom said about the chips earlier, and how I wished I had eaten those fajitas instead, and the emptiness in my stomach but my reluctance to get up from the couch. The bag was empty now. The flavor had been sour cream and onion. I flipped to the next station.

This time the person was a man, and he tried to sell me jewelry. Talking about how the sapphires would make my eyes sparkle. I didn’t think they would, and I didn’t like the way he smiled. But before I could think too much about it, I heard a soft tap on the door. The front door. I must have been waiting a while, because there was another knock, a little more decisive this time. My mom and sister were already asleep, it’s not like they were expecting anyone. I looked at my cat, Winston, and there was a look in his eye that told me he wasn’t expecting anyone, either. No one good knocked on the door this late without an invitation. But I couldn’t have misheard, because there was another round of knocking. This time, loud enough that Winston was moved enough to yell at me, a deep yowl, as if he wanted me to just answer it already.

I wasn’t sure why I decided to answer the door. I never let Winston tell me what to do and I didn’t think it was smart, anyway, but before I could come up with a reason not to, I was already opening the door.

I must have fallen asleep watching the jewelry man, I realized, because the person standing in front of me was the jewelry man from my TV. For a second, I thought he might dive right in and start trying to sell me jewelry like a door-to-door salesman. But he didn’t. He was smiling. I was unnerved by that smile. He looked like his face was stuck, and now his cheeks were sore but he still couldn’t stop smiling. “Hello?” The word hung suspended in the air, and I wouldn’t have known that I was the one who spoke if it weren’t for the cold air turning into a cloud in front of my face. He still didn’t move. I don’t know why I answered the door. Was I dreaming? Did my dreams ever get this cold?

He started moving then, his lips moving like he was saying words and his hands gesturing like he was punctuating them, but he was silent. The air in front of his mouth didn’t even turn into a cloud. I don’t know why I didn’t close the door already. Maybe he was here to kill me. Maybe he wanted to kill my mom and my sister. That’s how these dreams ended, right?

But I guess I was wrong, because after a second he froze mid-sentence, like a lag in a video when your internet connection was poor, and it was like the sound caught up with him. His voice sounded normal even though he still didn’t move, talking to me about the jewelry that would make my eyes sparkle. He kept saying that. Sparkle. My eyes, my smile, my life. They would all sparkle if I gave him money.

I looked down when I felt something rubbing against the legs of my sweatpants. It was Winston, weaving between my legs like—well, I wasn’t sure what like. I pictured a woman on roller skates going in and out of highlighter orange cones, but he certainly wasn’t that fast, and I don’t really think of my legs as orange cones. I felt his purring crawling up my legs. I think I forgot about the man in front of me until—

“So you’ll take the set, then?”

I looked up. The man was holding out a pair of matching earrings and necklace, set in a blue velvet container. His sound must have caught up with his body, then. I think I nodded, because he was handing them to me. He told me I owed him fifteen hundred dollars, and I blinked. I reached into my pocket, because usually in my dreams I had money, even if I didn’t have a wallet to keep it in. I checked all of my pockets before I realized I had no money. I told him as much, and he shook his hands at me. “Don’t worry,” he said, “I’ll take the cat as payment instead.”

I looked down at Winston. He looked up at me with very trusting eyes. I don’t remember him ever looking at me like that. It was a dream, right? When I woke up, Winston would be on his perch in the windowsill, and I could tell him about the dream I had when I sold him for some jewelry. He wouldn’t be able to complain, but I’d pretend that he did and say it was because the sapphires made my eyes sparkle.

Usually, I don’t really think about dreaming this much in my dreams. At least, I never thought they were dreams until I woke up. But that happened to people, right? They could become aware they were dreaming. I held up my hand and there were chip crumbs and seasoning sticking to my greasy fingertips. I didn’t take it as definitive proof that I wasn’t dreaming, but I also thought maybe I shouldn’t sell my cat for some jewelry I wasn’t even sure I wanted, just in case. I shook my head and held out the jewelry to him. I think I said sorry I couldn’t pay, and he just shrugged. He turned and began walking away, without his jewelry. I was really glad I didn’t give him my cat, then. I looked down at the necklace and earrings, wondering what I could sell them for if I wasn’t dreaming. But I wasn’t holding a blue velvet case or jewelry that would make my eyes sparkle at all.

It was a wilted banana peel, with a candy wrapper stuck to it. There was ketchup smeared on one side, like it had been haphazardly plucked from a garbage can. I dropped it to the ground in shocked disgust. Some of the ketchup got on my fingers.

“Thanks for not selling me for that.” I looked down, and Winston was staring at me with his usually judgemental expression. I didn’t see his mouth move, and honestly the voice wasn’t what I imagined he would sound like, but he’s the only one I almost sold for some jewelry—well, some garbage.

I think I opened my eyes, then. Or maybe I just blinked? Were my eyes open at all? I was sitting now, waves of hurt shooting from my butt to my shoulders from being slumped in the lazyboy. The bag of chips, still empty, rested next to me, halfway off the seat but stuck there between the arm of the chair and my thigh. Light filtered in from the window, and I felt that unbearable cold like I did when I woke up without a blanket.

There was a meow, and I looked to the couch across from me. Winston looked at me with an expression I hadn’t seen him wear before. I looked down at my hand. Chip crumbs and grease, and ketchup, hard and crusted, on my fingertip.