Free Museum of the Weird by Amelia Gray

advice.”
     
    She is a tower of a woman! In the center of my seat, I am acutely aware of the false-feeling velvet under my hands.
     
    “Would you like a glass of water?” I ask the tower of Jeannie. “No, thank you.” She reaches across the room and puts her hand on the doorknob. She fills my apartment and I cower in the low cover of the chair cushion. And then the whump whump of my brain as it comes down the stairs two at a time, looking for breakfast. As she leaves, she sees a man alone at his kitchen table, blessing himself before the invisible feast.
     
    After that, as after all great tragedies, the days go by: Jeannie serves me meatloaf at the café.
     
    Jeannie serves me spaghetti and meatballs at the café. Jeannie serves me pork barbecue and french fries at the café. Jeannie serves me breakfast tacos at the café.
     
    Jeannie serves me fajitas at the café.
     
    Jeannie serves me onion soup at the café.
     
    Jeannie serves me quesadillas at the café.
     
    Jeannie serves me chicken fried steak at the café.
     
    Jeannie serves me grilled cheese sandwiches at the café. Jeannie serves me steak and eggs at the café.
     
    Jeannie serves me baked potato at the café.
     
    Jeannie serves me tomato soup at the café.
     
    Jeannie serves me pork chops at the café.
     
    Jeannie serves me cheese crisp at the café.
     
    Jeannie serves me ham and cheese at the café.
     
    Jeannie serves me fish sandwiches at the café.
     
    Jeannie serves me chicken salad at the café.
     
    Jeannie serves me corn dogs at the café.
     
    Jeannie serves me tamale pie at the café.
     
    Jeannie serves me vegetable soup at the café.
     
    Jeannie serves me macaroni at the café.
     
    Jeannie serves me chili at the café.
     
    And one day, I come home to find the Virgin Mary sitting at my kitchen table.
     
    “Hey there,” she says. She is eating mints from my favorite pyx.
     
    “How did you get in here?”
     
    “I try doors. Aren’t you that guy from the fountain?” She offers me a mint.
     
    My hands are huge and I am concerned they will flatten her in the course of my reach. She watches my awkward progress with careful pinhole eyes. When I touch the pyx, she snaps it closed.
     
    “What is life?” she asks.
     
    “Alive,” I say, “and well.”
     
    She nods once, grandly. “I thought you might know, if anybody did.”
     

DIARY OF THE BLOCKAGE
     
    DAY 1
     
    I am hesitant to talk about it, but I’m the kind of person who turns off the television when the newscaster starts in on colon cancer. Therefore, I must say this delicately: it so happened that I came down with a mild stomach virus, hopefully gone by the morning but tonight was difficult and in the course of my time in the restroom I succeeded in expelling most of my dinner save for one small and stubborn piece which managed to lodge, it seems, between my esophagus and windpipe. At three in the morning I was crouched in bed and swallowing chronically, painfully aware of the foreign mass that will not move up or down but only vibrates unpleasantly. In the morning, I will call the doctor.
     
    DAY 2
     
    I did not call the doctor. I went so far as to find my insurance card, but I could imagine the remember Miss Mosely, well she has had a thing lodged in her throat all within range of anyone with half a mind to be within earshot of the office window. I feel very sincerely that bodily functions have their place, but why would the toiletries and makeup and personal privacy industries all be such multimillion dollar successes if the place for those bodily functions was in public? To say otherwise is to disrespect culture. Meanwhile, the object makes itself known whenever I swallow or cough but is otherwise not troublesome. I can’t decide if it is disintegrating or I am growing used to it. I think it is a piece of hamburger.
     
    DAY 3
     
    It is not disintegrating. It is much like a jilted lover: when it heard its presence in the world was becoming bearable, it