Plugs
Years ago, ahead of my work trip to London, you went to Radio Shack to purchase the type G plugs needed in the U.K. “Must you insist on this much preparation?” I asked and you raised your brows. The plugs had three rectangular prongs, different from the ones we use in the States. “The Brits call electrical outlets sockets,” you said. You’d never once crossed the pond.
This morning, you packed snacks, clothes, magazines, and toiletries in your hospital bag, tucked a plastic baggie with balled-up wires inside my purse. “You’ll need to charge our phones,” you said, adding, “I hope the hospital has enough outlets.” The image of a crowded lobby popped into my head, phones plugged into every one of the outlets.
Before our Buenos Aires vacation, you researched everything we’d need. You even bought the type C plugs used in Argentina. “They resemble frowning faces,” I said as you reminded me to unplug hairdryer, iron, toaster, kettle. Halfway to the airport, I said, “I think I left my curling iron plugged in.” You gave me an earful about burning the house down.
We arrive early at the hospital where you hand me your phone before they take you in. I sit, pace, sit, pace, check-check-checking both phones every few minutes, notice my battery is running low. I remember the baggie you placed in my cramped handbag. Despite your nagging, I’ve never been diligent about charging my phone.
Ten years ago, you made an appointment to draft a living will and I argued we weren’t old enough. Last week, ahead of your surgery, you retrieved the papers and asked me to read through your medical directives. “Your cardiac surgeon’s the best in town,” I protested, perhaps to reassure myself.
The hospital hubbub―rushing footsteps, scratchy announcements, muted conversations―envelops me, fog-like. I rock restless heels before I pull out the baggie from my purse. You’ve packed phone chargers and a new multi-plug extender. Inside the surgical theater, I imagine wires sprouting from walls, crisscrossing, stretch-snaking, conveying power to you. I plug in the extender, nestle our phones on my lap, absorb their warmth between my palms.
Mini-interview with Sudha Balagopal
HFR: Can you share a moment that has shaped you as a writer (or continues to)?
SB: Just as it takes a village to raise a child, it takes many, many moments to illumine a writer’s journey. Words have been my companions since I had a poem published at the age of ten. For me, writing is a constant learning experience. While it evolves from and is inspired by reading and more reading, my work is mapped by the many wonderful workshops I’ve taken, by curious prompts that ignite the unexpected, and simple immersion in the worlds my characters inhabit.
HFR: What are you reading?
SB: I highly recommend this gorgeous book I just finished reading: Wild, Dark Shore, by Charlotte McConaghy. I was swept away by the vibrant language, the vivid characterization, the phenomenal setting, and the breathtaking plot.
HFR: Can you tell us what prompted “Plugs”?
SB: My flash, “Plugs,” was born in SmokeLong Quarterly‘s summer workshop last year. The prompt guided us to write a story in scenes. This gives the story an accordion-like structure, some scenes more developed than others. A writer can use this approach to either speed up the story or slow it down.
HFR: What’s next? What are you working on?
SB: Flash fiction is seductive which is why I tend to veer toward that space. I’m glad you asked me this question, so I get to put it down here, in black and white. I’ve started working on a larger work of fiction, a longer short story. Who knows, it could, perhaps, even grow into a novel!
Sudha Balagopal’s recent fiction appears in Fictive Dream, Adroit Journal, and Does It Have Pockets, among other journals. She has had two novellas-in-flash published by Ad Hoc Fiction: Nose Ornaments and Things I Can’t Tell Amma. Her stories have been included in Best Microfiction and Best Small Fictions. She is Series Editor for Wigleaf Top 50.
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Heavy Feather Review 