LITMIR.BIZ

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have one memory about Greenland. My sister and I had a subscription to National Geographic – it was our dad’s idea – and one day, I guess I was about nine and my sister was about Tanya’s age, thirteen–fourteen, an issue came in and on the cover was a picture of this mummified child they’d found in Greenland. We were terrified. Neither of us would even touch the damn magazine. I had nightmares, okay? It was the creepiest thing I’d ever seen. My dad was so upset he wrote to National Geographic and cancelled our subscription.

      I’m sure that’s why I want to be cremated. I don’t ever want to look like that.

      She takes out another cigarette, but doesn’t light it.

      Let me explain something to you. I’m a working actor, and that’s no small feat. The ‘working’ part. But take a good look at me and ask yourself, ‘Is this a Juliet?’ and the answer is … no, of course not, I’m not pretty enough, you see? I am what is referred to as a character actor, which is the polite way of saying I’m technically proficient but I don’t make teenage boys come in their pants. Fair. But I can be the best friend, I won’t threaten anyone, yes? I can play the Shakespearean bawds. But my name will never go above the title.

       She smiles.

      Jonathan and I started dating when I was twenty-nine. And today, I might ask myself, ‘How did you ever fall for this man?’ But back then, my thirties were just up ahead, looming on the horizon, louring … Two things happened: first, I realized that if I wanted more than half-hearted fuck friendships with other character actors, I needed to start looking for a relationship. And second – ladies? – my ovaries were aching in a vicious kind of way. I mean, by that point I was spending lots of time with my niece and nephew, and my sister kept telling me, ‘Children are wonderful, children will change your life,’ blah blah blah. So she introduces me to her husband’s friend, Dr. Jonathan Fahey, a leading expert in glaciology – so says Google. And, okay, he’s maybe not the guy I’d pick out in a lineup, but then again …

       Points at her own face.

      And he’s lovely, he’s reliable, he’s good with the twins, they love him, he wants a family, he’s stable, everyone’s like, ‘He’s such a great guy,’ yadda yadda yadda … So the sex isn’t earth-shattering …

       Judith shrugs.

      After all – and I’m quoting him here – ‘hedonism is the purview of our twenties.’

      I mean … ‘purview?’

      There are days when I wonder what he saw in me. I think I was exotic. Artsy. Maybe the one thing we have in common is that we have no idea what the other one does for a living.

      I marry him because I will finally have some stability in my life. We buy a house, fix it up, I start to ‘nest.’ I talk to my menstrual blood, I make promises: ‘It won’t be long now.’

      And then, my sister and her husband are driving home one evening and they’re about to go under an overpass when – for absolutely no good reason – a giant piece of the overpass cracks off and crushes them both.

      Boom.

      And it’s tragic because – well, yes, because they’re dead – but also because no one dies like that. That’s how the Road Runner dies, okay? It’s a fucking cartoon death. People don’t die like that, right? Wrong.

       Judith lights the cigarette.

      It’s the coyote that dies. Not the Road Runner. The Road Runner always gets away …

      Meep meep.

       Takes a long drag from her cigarette.

      Of course we adopt Tanya and Thomas. Of course. Jonathan loves them, they love him, it’s easy. Well, as easy as it can be under the circumstances. Overnight, we become parents to two preteens. We build a bunk bed in the baby room. And guess what? My ovaries are pissed. Maybe next year, says Jonathan. Maybe next year, I tell my period.

      Yeah, well. We all know how that goes.

      Then last year, Thomas drowns …

       Judith puts out her half-finished cigarette.

      It’s hard not to think, on some level, that this family is cursed. Because – come on! What the fuck is that? That’s a sick fucking sense of humour.

      But maybe, maybe now we can think about having one of our own. Tanya’s fourteen, so … so it’s a possibility, it’s an option. Right? Right. Only, now, ‘climate change’ is important, I mean, you film one PowerPoint presentation and people get real worked up about it. And I’m not an idiot, I understand the problem. I get it. But when you’re married to one of the world’s leading glaciology experts? Icebergs are a big deal, glaciers are a big deal, Greenland is a big fucking deal, but the state of your wife’s reproductive organs … ?

      Well.

      He calls me, from whatever middle-of-nowhere armpit town he’s staying in, and he tells me about this island he’s discovered. And there’s something in his voice – excitement? I can’t quite put my finger on it. And he says, ‘Judith, come visit. Bring Tanya and come see this place … ’

       Judith puts up her index finger.

      ‘Sweetheart, it’s so beautiful, it’s this beautiful barren landscape …’

      I cry when he says that. Because that’s me, he’s just described me … and that something in his voice? It’s love, paternal love, the love one gives to something one has birthed, but that love belongs to me. Me. Me. No one else. Not that toothless skank whore Greenland, not her. It’s not fair.

      It’s not. Fair.

       Judith lights a new cigarette.

      He didn’t have the … the decency? The delicacy? To consider, just … consider … naming it after me. Who the fuck am I, right?

      Yeah.

       Takes a long drag from her cigarette.

      So I call David. He’s one of my ex-fuck-friend character actors, and I invite myself over. I like him because we have this game, he calls me his ‘little whore’ and that’s how he fucks me. And he never says ‘please’ and he never says ‘thank you.’

       Judith looks out, her expression impassive.

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