Stoneware
We were packing boxes in the kitchen after a nice day: chimichangas, supermarket beer, loving talk. I thought I might as well pack the lobster bowls with the bedding, because we’d be inviting teachers for dinner in Thailand. My boyfriend’s certain to make a good teaching assistant. That picture of him in his camp counselor gear, all teeth. But lately he keeps changing the subject whenever I mention Phuket.
Later that evening, we snuggled on the sofa watching television, me rubbing my hand across his thighs, when he lowered the volume and brought up his mother. Her illness, the diagnosis, consultants, fighting for her life. I didn’t say it was a lie, but who keeps their mother’s cancer a secret? He was massaging his shoulders and rubbing his face like it was first thing in the morning, crossing the room and switching on the kettle. You’re my lobster, I wanted to say, like Phoebe in Friends, and crustaceans don’t live on separate continents. Looking back, there were red flags, the swimming lessons, wet towels, his mislaid passport. Something fishy. It’s been a long week, he said, we’re both tired. Let’s talk about it in the morning. I wanted to be a cool girlfriend, flick my hair and smile and do all that stuff. Instead, I asked: is there someone else? He had his back turned and I was suddenly aware of his tan, how he was naked beneath his thin, green sweater. I rested my palm on his upper arm while he stirred the tea. I said, I really, really want you to come to Thailand with me. He pressed his arms around me and talked about the chemo, his mother, the fighter. If it had been anything else, he’d said. I opened an overhead cabinet and a thickness filled my throat. I had seen him at the swimming pool with his arm around that girl, the pair of them buying trout at the seafood market. Now he was swimming away. I didn’t know whether to swallow his pity story or burn him in the light. Blackness, however, chose that moment to march right up to me on its eight crusty legs, contracting its tail. I snatched one of our precious lobster bowls from the pile, and tapped it against my thigh, taking a moment to decide whether I was going to hold on or fling it against the wall.
Mini-interview with Katie Coleman
HFR: Can you share a moment that has shaped you as a writer (or continues to)?
KC: I remember reading a story called “Buster” by Hugh Behm-Steinberg. It was the first flash fiction I’d ever come across. I couldn’t get over how bold, funny, immediate, and striking this story was. It was about a man who’d accidentally sliced off one of his fingers, and his dog had eaten it. The rest of the story played out with the man overthinking and struggling to exist alongside the dog. The story was a feat. After that, I took all the workshops I could to learn more about the form.
HFR: What are you reading?
KC: I’ve just read A Little Life by Hanya Yanagihara. What a book! The prose is exquisite, and Jude’s character is heartbreaking. I love tragedy and deeply moving stories, so the only surprise is that I didn’t read it sooner.
HFR: Can you tell us what prompted “Stoneware”?
KC: The seeds of “Stoneware” sprang from a deliberate effort I was making to write in an authentic voice. I wanted to create something conversational that had the feeling of something you might overhear. I made up lists of words that my character might use. From this, the story grew unexpectedly, with the conflict around the troubled couple. Challenging relationships are a theme I often return to in my stories, but I enjoyed layering this one with the playfulness of the lobster. Animals often find their way into my work.
HFR: What’s next? What are you working on?
KC: I’m currently refining and completing a series of flash fiction stories, with the aim of submitting them to quality literary magazines. Eventually, I’d love to put together a collection of flash fiction.
HFR: Take the floor. Be political. Be fanatical. Be anything. What do you want to share?
KC: I’m in favour of considered thought, introversion over extroversion. I appreciate anything that increases the level of empathy in the world.
Katie Coleman is a British writer living in Thailand. She has work published in Milk Candy Review, Roi Faineant Press, Ghost Parachute, The Sunlight Press, SoFloPoJo, Bending Genres, and elsewhere. Her stories have received nominations for Best of the Net and Pushcart prizes. She can be found on Twitter @anjuna2000 and Instagram @kurkidee.
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Heavy Feather Review 