text: In those times when we try to hold onto a relationship long past their usefulness, we become like archeologists digging through old ruins, unearthing treasures which held some value at one time, a ring, a sentiment, a look... toys... clothing, or anything symbolizing a once thriving source of significance. Sometimes we get lucky and find the treasure once lost to us; we bring these riches to the light and hold them even tighter. Yet, there are times in our excavations, no matter how deep we go into the core of our being, we come up empty handed... empty hearted. We might even discover what we once believed to be valuable was just fool’s gold. Yet, it is of human nature to go beyond the light of day, to find the hidden spark in the darkness. FAKE PLASTIC TREES As soon as the sun shouldered the horizon, Esther struggled to unearth herself from the deep grooves of a desperately needed to be replaced mattress. When she gazed over the mound of unutilized land mass, she found Sal sitting partially upright; his eyes motionless, cheeks shoaled, and a concaved chest that showed no rise and flow of life. So naturally, Esther became belligerent. “Breathe damn it, we got too many things to do before this evening!” Sal flinched and took in a deep gulp of air before he sat up all the way up and shouted back, “Why are you so damned loud so early in the morning, woman!” Lately, this has been her way of getting him to move in the morning; there were other more violent ways, but this one seemed to work best. This, and opening the window to allow cold fresh life to rush into the air-stifled room. She rose from her side of the bed while smiling beneath her skin, as she was up to something. Esther slowly removed her nightclothes like a stripper beyond prime, covertly peeping through the time sheered fabric to find her audience - she had none. But just so Sal could catch up, she continued to move slowly and easy to rouse his attention, but fast enough the cold morning air wouldn’t give her too much of a shock. Sal’s gaze had already wandered out the window where he noted the clouds gathering in the sky and wondered how he was to get to the hardware store in time to beat the rain. Esther Stavensky hummed to the tune of Sophisticated Lady even louder in slow and breathy tones. All the while, seductively dancing about the room until her flannel gown slid past her ample and time-stretched breasts. In this exact moment, passion seemed to call her name when the refreshingly cold air rushed in through the opened window and traveled up and around the caverns of her alabaster thighs, navigating upwards, giving her the sweetest twinge of ecstasy. Esther was at that fragile stage in her life where pride and hope were in a precarious balance, a balance soon to be tipped out of her favor. “Good God, old woman, put some clothes on; it’s cold in here! And, why on earth do you insist on opening a window in the dead of winter!?” Sal shouted before getting up and slamming the window shut. “...The last thing I need is to take care of some sickly old woman! You know they’ll blame me for your dying, too!” “Shut up, you old schmuck!” The very frustrated Esther countered while grabbing the discarded garments from the floor and stomping out the bedroom towards the bathroom. Sal’s muffled laughter replaced the cool sensual breezes that brought her bliss just moments earlier. Still, in her fantasy, she saw him watching her backside with pleasure as she left the room. He was not. Before taking her morning shower, Esther stopped in front of the mirror long enough to scowl at her reflection, and silently curse her deceased parents for having the audacity to mate two schnozzles together and expect to have a marriageable child. If her beak wasn’t bad enough, Esther inherited her father’s squinty eyes. At the same time, she took issue with the many parts of her body, Esther also took great pride in knowing she had all her original and un-augmented parts, unlike so many of her friends and those in her social circles. She could’ve changed every unpleasing thing about herself, but she simply chose not to. Besides, Sal, with the greatest fury, would have protested any changes. Sal slid into the bathroom just as Esther glided into the shower, a well-orchestrated dance performed for nearly half a century to alleviate crowding around the tiny sink. It was now Sal’s turn to stare into the mirror. Weathered fingers dragged along the once rugged jaw line; his sharp recall of old memories allowed him to see his youth beneath the wrinkles, sagging lines and sparsely populated stumps of grey hair peppered between the dark Italian features of his mother and the sharp lines of his father’s Jewish heritage. Sal anchored his flaccid arms on either side of his torso and flexed like a body builder, unfortunately this kind of straining forced out a very loud and foul-smelling fart. Loud grumblings from a steamy shower were instantly expressed and even louder when her nose took a big hit from where she was trapped inside the shower. “Good God, couldn’t you have waited to do that?” Esther admonished; Sal quietly laughed. “This is a bathroom where such activities take place, is it not? Besides, you are the one to blame. You cooked cabbage knowing full well what it does to me!” He shouted back and quickly ducked the body wash missile from atop the shower. Sal removed the soap from the mirror with his palm and went on imagining the removal of time in his reflection, as he had done so many times in real life with the faces he’s augmented in his old practice. He surmised, he could still do surgery again, if he wanted to. Afterall, he kept his license current, and it was just two years past the closing of his office. No one forced the closure of his business. In fact, the lawsuit was settled in his favor. Yet the persistent and annoying voice inside his head blamed himself for the damage; the same part that still blamed himself for being distracted on this day. But truth be told, most of the blame should go towards the client for her impatience in not waiting for the healing to complete before removing the bandages. Sal always wondered why people were so eager to run away from what other’s would have loved to achieve, this being the freedom to be truly who they are... to celebrate every day they’re alive! As a survivor of Auschwitz, his memories were populated by those who walked in with him but failed to walk out again. As an adult, he recalled the Jewish fathers and brothers who would come into his office to alter their noses and eyes, to erase their reflections from their past, from their tragedies. He recalls the mothers, sisters and daughters who narrowed their noses to such a degree, they could hardly breathe, something the Auschwitz prisoners were forced to endure without permission or effort. He recalled all the remnants of heritage laying in trays for disposal, and of his participation in plastering over the scars of a holocaust with new scars of vanity. On the day he knew he should have spent extra time warning an anxious client about aftercare, he was contemplating his participation in this blurring of historical lines. This same contemplation , he now know, was not a luxury he could afford, for in the end, it was the beginning of an unraveling. Sal wasn’t always a thinker, though. He rather loved the art of his practice, the accolades, the fame, the lifestyle his parents and grandparents could have only dreamed of. Yet, he allowed one slip of consciousness to become a scar on an otherwise impeccable career, one Sal tried to remedy, but failed. “Shut up!” Esther shouted before turning off the water. “I didn’t say anything.” He shouted back. “Yeah, but you were thinking it! So cut it out; we have a lot of things to do today.” “Eh!”, he protested then conceded, “...you’re right.” Sal loved how Esther’s voice was like a wooden spoon to an empty pan sometimes , especially those times when he couldn’t stop analyzing unfixable matters from his past. She was real this way; she was real in every way, he thought. Esther stepped out the shower, and like so many times before, he stepped aside to allow room for their two-step bathroom dance. As all other times, he hid his gaze while taking notice of how the water collected in puddles around her swollen feet, how the towel began to cover less of her full-bodied realness , and how daylight made the silver gossamer tresses come to life when they cascaded down her back and stuck to her skin. His long and covert gaze swallowed whole all the real layers of her history spoken aloud in every territory of her body. The folds of her skin draped off her frame like drifts of snow on laden branches; the same folds which first appeared after two pregnancies were taken to full terms, only to yield death in the end. Everything about her was honest, he thought. Honest, like the undyed silver curls which flowed from her crown and cascaded around her face and crashed onto the shores of her shoulders. Honest, like the white streaks which appeared soon after her mother’s death and how Esther took pride in knowing her mother received hers for the exact same reason. Honest, like her uncontested strength and stamina, the strength which allowed her to haul many a load when they hand built a cabin in the woods in a matter of months. Stamina, which allowed her to get out of bed, time and time again after so many losses. Esther was his perfect specimen of a woman, of a mate. He dared not say this aloud, for fear she just might believe it and leave him for someone else more equally yoked. Meanwhile, Esther pretended to not notice his secret, for to make mention of his gazes would only give permission for him to stop. Instead, she softly brushed against him when she reached for the edge of the mirror and move it back to her reflection. He was not the only one she had to impress on this day. They had a long-standing engagement with friends for nearly fifteen years but Esther still made a big fuss about it, this was mainly due to an ongoing but friendly competition of decadence with her friend, Sarah. Esther was convinced, for ambiance’s sake, the game room would be greatly enhanced by a large rubber tree. Unfortunately, she had a brown thumb and real plants tended to die the moment they left the store in her care. Her remedy for this, a beautiful realistic artificial tree at the local hardware store. Since her friend was farsighted, all she had to do was get a plastic watering can and place it by the tree and voila! The tree and watering can was Sal’s errand today, hers was to layout the unnecessarily fine China settings, urn, catered petit fours and finger sandwiches which she would set atop their antique Mahogany table in preparation for this simple weekly card game. With everything in place, all she had to do now was get all dolled up with the latest find from her favorite dress shop. At seven o’clock sharp the friends would arrive... every time. Sarah, the recipient of Sal’s talents from nearly ten years ago, had a facelift still in effect. Sal believed her to be one of his prized specimens and was entirely pleased with his zero-noticeable cuts made behind her ear and hairline. He was also happy the Asian-isque sutures around her eyes had relaxed, though he had to admit, she made for a damn fine Chinese Jew. The clock struck seven just as the doorbell rang. Sal quickly ushered Sarah inside and into the waiting embrace of his wife. Barry, a tall handsome fellow with looks greatly enhanced by the good life a successful jewelry business afforded him and the skilled blade of a friend. Sal pulled him in and kissed both cheeks. Though Sarah’s family narrowly escaped imprisonment during the holocaust, the couple’s friendship was primarily base on their collective persecutions and the common experiences of the children they were never allowed to be. After the friends made their way inside, Sarah quickly made mention of how wonderfully green Esther’s thumb was as she passed by the plastic fichus tree, having vaguely seen the bright yellow plastic watering can beside it. “Well, has he said anything yet?” Sarah whispered into Esther’s ears as she entered the kitchen with a loaf of cinnamon babka. “No, and I don’t expect he will until I actually give him the options.” “So, are you going to go through with it, then?” “I have to! My days are few; I can’t go on like this; it’s not living.” Esther whispered back. “This is true, but you’re not as young as you used to be, Esther. Trust me, there’s nothing out there for women like you and I...” Sarah placed her plain but delicious dessert next to the fancy petit fours and made mental note to up her game next time. “...And, what about us?” she continued. “We’ll all be fine! Besides, I’m not as afraid of change as I’m of dying, having never lived.” The women’s attention was snatched away from their private chat when voices from the other room boomed above their whispers. Esther grabbed a platter before they left the kitchen, but still engaged in conversation by way of silent and clandestine glances. As it was so prone to do, their presence served as a buffer between the two heated debaters in the parlor. By the time they arrived, the cards were already stack, drinks were already poured and a spot on the side table was covered with glasses and utensils, but right in the center was a bald spot, twelve inches round in diameter. Esther was always the last to sit, for she had to make a spectacle of placing the dessert platter in that spot... every single time... every single week... this was the routine for ten whole years. It was so routine no one bothered to ask any questions, make any requests, do anything different. Likewise, Barry was always the first to deal the cards. After flinging the last card through the air, which always landed in front of Esther, he slammed the deck down, looked at his cards and loudly declared, “Sarah, our luck is about to change tonight!” But unlike all other times, Barry’s gaze which always darted around the table to read the unseen, seemed to have seen something which alluded all the other players at the table. The old friend leaned back in his chair, sighed a long relief from the deepest reaches of his lungs just as his eyes glazed over with delight. “Must be a damn good hand!” Sal exclaimed and laughed as Barry sat perfectly still in his chair. “Game on, I’ll call your bluff!” Esther exclaimed impatiently. Barry never backed away from a challenge even when he had a bad hand. But, he appeared to have done so on this night when he failed to acknowledge Esther’s challenge. In fact, he acknowledged nothing. “Barry, stopped playing around!” Sarah scolded her husband as he continued to hold his smile and his gaze still, very still, too still. Sarah shook her husband’s arm to break his spell but withdrew her hand quickly in sheer horror. Barry, with eyes and smile still frozen, fell forward onto his stack of cards. His wife screamed out in agony. Esther remained motionless from disbelief; Sal rushed over to verify what they all suspected. After the coroner left, Esther gave her friend fresh towels, a gown to sleep in, and an embrace to express the words she did not have. Neither couple had children or families to speak of, so they were each other’s family, each other’s solace. Esther instructed Sal to prepare the guest room for Sarah’s stay. As he did so, she moved the fancy teacups aside and poured her friend a glass of brown liquid comfort from the liquor cabinet before escorting her to the guest room. With the new widow all tucked in, Esther began cleaning up, as she always did when their friends left. She came to the seat where Barry last sat and could not resist looking at the hand he never played. In a house that felt a little less full, she found it ironic Barry’s last hand was a full house. Sal quietly came up from behind Esther and placed one hand around her waist and his arm across her chest. Esther tenderly laid her head on his arms and allowed his strength to pour into her, something she had not felt in years, if ever. In what felt all too soon, Sal left her standing alone, but he only abandoned her long enough to put a vinyl on the record player. Upon his return he pulled her in close, real close, and they danced. As they gently swayed to Sophisticated Lady, Sal whispered, “I love you, sweetheart, please don’t ever change.” Esther wondered if he noticed the packed suitcase in the guest bedroom when he prepared a space for Sarah. Either way, things had changed. He changed. She changed. Nothing was to ever be the same.