The Swan

The following excerpt is from my novelette, The Swan, anthologized in Speculative Futures (University of Alabama Press 2023) and nominated for the 2023 Shirley Jackson Award for best Novelette.

Two-twenty. Her light snore––she hoped it was light––shook Joy awake. She looked around warily. The whole “open office floor plan” made the midday nap a relic of the aughts, back when creative directors at ad agencies had offices. She needed a power nap and there was no point in fighting it.

Joy strolled to the ladies room and made a b-line for the spacious handicapped stall, where she carefully laid three layers of paper liners on the toilet seat. A quick fifteen-minute nap while perched on the paper-covered toilet was enough––she could sleep anywhere––but first she had to handle normal bathroom business. She pulled her underwear down and there, in the crotch of her lacey La Perla splurge panties, was a snowy white feather the length of her middle finger.

Joy picked up the feather and stared, amazed, slightly amused.

Obviously it’s a feather from your down pillow that was stuck in a pillowcase and ended up in the laundry bag with your panties.

But the La Perla splurge panties were a hand wash only item. 

 ~

Hot Trainer stood over her smiling with demented pride. “You did great today!”

Joy gazed up at him from the gym’s mat, gasping for breath and wondering if her arms and legs would ever forgive her.

“So, today was the last session in your package.” Hot Trainer said in that syrupy tone she found so… compelling.

Joy sat up and pushed her face into a smile. She couldn’t afford another package of sessions, and her reason for booking with him in the first place belonged on the long list of bad decisions she’d made about men. But then he smiled the smile that, back in the spring, led to the one-night stand that led to the too-expensive, crack-of-dawn workouts she despised.

“Yup,” she heard herself saying. “I’ll stop by the front desk and get another package.” Why are you saying that? We’re not doing that, are we?

“That’s awesome, sweetheart. You’re doing great.”

Hot Trainer strutted off to his next appointment. Joy took a deep breath and willed herself to her feet. No, maybe her legs would not forgive her. As she tugged her t-shirt over her hips she felt something flutter between her thighs. She twitched at the sensation and pulled at her leggings. What would it take to find comfortable underwear?

In the gym locker room, Joy headed to one of the little-used private changing areas. The Manhattanites who belonged to this particular brand of upscale gym saw the locker room as an opportunity. Who wanted a private changing room when one could peel off one’s Lululemons and display a body slimmed and toned and strengthened by Spin and Barre Burn classes, weight-lifting and burpees, the gym’s twelve different kinds of yoga? The private changing rooms were always available.

The tiny room didn’t have a door, only a curtain that didn’t reach the floor. Joy pulled the curtain shut and slipped out of her workout gear. When she pushed her panties to her knees, a small clump of pale feathers fell out of the leg opening and landed unceremoniously at her feet. She dropped her towel on them and hoped no one saw. Her heart raced at a rate that would have made Hot Trainer happy.

Joy stared at her naked self in the changing room mirror. All the experts said you couldn’t change your body if you didn’t love your body. It sounded like the kind of shit people said when they never had to shop in the “plus” size section of stores or had never been called a big ox in front of everyone at their cousin’s tenth birthday party. Not that it matters because we’re over that.

She looked down at the towel, the clump of feathers hidden beneath it like a telltale heart.

fin