Page 57 - WTP VOl. XIII #2

Via stares at Judy, the needle unwavering in her hand. Judy stares back, the corners of her eyes crinkled into a smile.
“I’m a woman,” Via replies. It doesn’t sound convinc- ing.
With an odd whimsy, Judy gestures to her right eye. Operating off instinct, Via’s heart drops into her gut —it’s her fucking eye again, did Uncle Bill get his face blown off in Vietnam or something?
And then she remembers, it’s insane that she could forget but it’s testament to how seamlessly it fits into her eye socket, the monocle.
When Via speaks again, it’s unbearably soft. “Did he wear this too?”
All Judy does is nod.
A breath. And then Via returns to work.
~
It’s shortly after Judy is sedated that shit hits the fan again, and Via is reminded awfully quick about why she’s starting to fucking hate her job. Her boss, a lady named Rachel who has staunchly and almost admi- rably worn her namesake haircut for the last thirty years, stands with her arms crossed in the lounge. Xiomara eats her granola with a plastic spoon and can’t meet Via’s eyes.
“What.”
Rachel’s already exasperated. “What are you wearing, Via?”
“What do you mean what am I wearing.” There is silence, the thick kind that makes Via start to sweat. “The monocle, do you mean?”
“Is this job a joke to you?”
She’s nearly knocked over by the strength of which Rachel has managed to sound like Via’s mother. There’s a reason they haven’t spoken since last Christmas.
“Of course not. My track record backs me up on that.”
“I can’t believe I have to say this.” Rachel rubs her forehead. “Take the monocle off, Via.”
“It happened when she woke up. She
just woke up and the room was spinning and when she could look in the mirror her left eye was lit through with blood vessels, as if she was possessed.”
“But—”
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