by Jae Baeli

Created on: December 02, 2008   Last Updated: September 24, 2010

Therefore I Am

He came up the walk in stylish polyester, with a briefcase that would not open. He patted the stiff terrier on the head, and watched him fall over as he opened the door to go inside. She greeted him with the same smile that was always on her face. She slept with the smile, too. He sometimes wished he could smile a bit wider, like her smile, but he was stuck with the suave half-smile of a dream-man.

"Honey, I'm home," he said, so distracted by his new thoughts that he announced it in her face, instead of at the door.

She pecked his cheek with her vapid smile and said, "How was your day, Dear?"

"Fine, how was yours?"

"Fine."

He went to sit down and watch the news.

The news was always the same, since the image on the plastic TV set was always the same: a smiling anchorman. He sighed, peering down at his legs. For some reason, they irritated him. He was beginning to hate the way they stretched straight out; he longed to sit down, bend his knees, and put his feet on the floor. Everything seemed to irritate him lately- even simple things he had never questioned before. Something was wrong with his life, but he couldn't decide what it was.

She came in then, wearing her all-American smile, and sat down beside him. Their legs extended over the floor, side by side. He felt a deep urge he could not identify, but it seemed to crawl from inside him, all the way up his throat. He looked at his legs, and wanted very much to make them bend. Suddenly, he reached out and pushed on one leg. He pushed harder.

"What are you doing, Dear?" she asked.

"I don't know. I think I just want my leg to bend."

Her eyes were puzzled, but her smile remained. "Why?"

He swiveled his head to look at her, then turned back, pushing on his right leg with a vengeance. His leg snapped at the knee and toppled to the floor.

"Oh, now look what you've done!" she exclaimed, leaning over to pick up his lower leg. She pushed herself forward, rocked onto her feet and stood, handing him the leg. "Hold this, Dear, and I'll go get the Superglue."

As she hobbled out, he turned the leg over, examining it. There was nothing unusual about it. It looked as it always had, except that it was detached from him.

She returned with the glue, and together they secured the leg, avoiding a disaster when he noticed his toes were about to be pointing the wrong way. The leg was put back correctly, and they sat down again on the hard sofa.

They stared at the unmoving TV screen, and he twisted his head to look at

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