Not for the Faint of Heart … or Stomach
In ‘Gross Motor’, from the Autumn 2018 issue of Pulp Literature, then MFA candidate Sara Mang gave us a detailed look — perhaps more detailed than some would like — into what happens when a kindergarten teacher tries to come to grip with the headlines. Enjoy this excerpt below (though perhaps not whilst eating), and read the full story in Pulp Literature Issue 20, on sale till April 15th!
Gross Motor
Sara Mang
Patty’s migraine started as she read the morning paper with sunlight shooting through her window. Archeologists unearth massive statue in Cairo slum. In her kindergarten classroom, her students sit cross-legged on the floor, looking up at her like she’s a rainbow. Red, blue and green circles, triangles and squares; primary colours are everywhere and acrylic paint smells like new carpet. A stream of yellow-green mucus folds out of Carson’s nose and he smudges it away with his sleeve. Monday is lundi in French, but these children don’t speak French, nor do they understand it. Patty must immerse them in secondary language and primary colours.
Massive bedbug infestation uncovered at Aurora Apartments. Little Abby’s hair is a matted nest which she scratches violently. Last week, she was sent home with head lice. The tiny bugs crawled on her scalp and on the shafts of her blonde hair, laying eggs, sucking blood. Patty points to the calendar. “Quelle saison?” Faces upturn, mouths open, like worm-hungry birds. Patty breathes deeply through her nose. They don’t understand. Sometimes she mutters profanities just to keep herself entertained. She calls them fleas or cabbages, which are endearing terms in French, but she secretly deletes the endearing part. ‘Ma puce’ or ‘ma petit chou’. The season is autumn. The school year is fat. An ache creeps behind her ears, lays eggs, sucks blood. Her scalp warms beneath the fluorescent lights. She closes her eyes for just a moment. “Juste un moment. S’il vous plait.”
Hurricane Enew continues to produce a large area of swelling seas as it moves slowly over the North Atlantic.
“Madame, Alex is on my square,” Carson whimpers, his voice nasal and musical.
“Madame, Carson said poop.” Alex pushes Carson, who bumps Abby, whose elbow clips Jacob in the eye. Jacob wails.
Read the rest of the story in Issue 20, Autumn 2018 …
Originally from Labrador, Sara Mang was an artillery officer in the Canadian Forces before retiring to be at home with her three children. In 2017, Sara’s short stories were finalists for numerous awards including The New Quarterly’s Peter Hinchcliffe Award and the Disquiet International Literary Prize. When she wrote ‘Gross Motor’ she was an MFA candidate in UBC’s Creative Writing Program.
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