So breakfast was nice. I picked some yarrow and marshmallow as a gift. My husband was nervous, but we use many of the same gestures the Neandertals do. My husband just pretended not to understand him. What an asshole. I think the Neandertal is deaf anyway so it didn’t really matter.
The Neandertal fixed breakfast. His wife only prepared the drink. She didn’t seem well. My husband was upset because her hands were covered in dense hair. He said he didn’t want dirt and lice in his drink. She shrugged. She slowly handed us a drink prepared from ground nuts. I asked where she learned to prepare it.
While walking around the hearth my husband kicked over a hunting knife. He listened to it clang on the stone flooring, then said it was a piece of shit. “Is this a toy?” he asked sarcastically. The Neandertal signaled with his hands: It’s not the size of the wave. It’s the motion of the ocean. My husband stared at the Neandertal’s cock. “What’s an ocean?” he asked.
We soon sat down around the colorful spread of stonecakes, boiled eggs, and smoked meat with red berries. My husband eyed the meat suspiciously. He usually just ate bark in the morning. I didn’t care for the grass bed – nettles would have worked better – but I was impressed overall. The game was better than any meat I trapped. It was rich, dense, and chewy. And the fire made it even better than I imagined.
I ate a lot – the same amount as the Neandertals. I asked the wife which pulses she ground for the cakes but the bitch didn’t want to tell me. Maybe the Neandertal ground them himself. I resisted the urge to sit next to the Neandertal. My husband would probably blow his lid. He was suspicious of the whole affair. The Neandertal dwarfed him. My husband carried his weapon on him all the time but the Neandertal didn’t need to. He just watched constantly. And sniffed.
from the short story project DYSAUTONOMIA. Comments and discussion welcome on blog entries. Follow me on twitter for updates to this serial story and future stories from this ongoing project