MUSHROOMS

All the men in Loretta’s life are explosive, and it’s begun to frighten her.

***

Loretta Hughes is twenty-eight years old. Her parents have been married for thirty-two years, and she is an only child. She used to have a cat named Snickers but he died suddenly when Loretta was sixteen. Loretta has dated a total of five men; each brought a unique riot of color to Loretta’s unchanging pale grey-blue world. It is also important to mention that every guy Loretta has dated thus far in her life, has exploded.

The first time it happened, Loretta was eighteen. She had been seeing Lucas Smith, who played guitar and had one hoop earring barely visible beneath shoulder-length hair the color of used sandpaper. Loretta hadn’t told her parents about Lucas, or anyone else for that matter, for fear of the unending stream of questions that always seemed to accompany her friends’ relationships. Loretta and Lucas had been dating for four months when it happened.

She wasn’t even there, in the classroom. She heard about it from her friend Kylie.

“Oh my GOD. LETTIE!” Kylie was running towards Loretta’s locker.

“Don’t call me that, please,” Loretta said, focused on opening her locker, which always seemed to stick. She was not concerned with Kylie. Kylie was a drama queen, a bitchy cupcake, and she talked about everything like it was the end of the fucking galaxy.

“Lettie, some kid’s HEART EXPLODED. Like how is this real? He’s in our grade! Some musician guy.”

Kylie shook her head in decadent horror and ran to bombard the next unwitting victim. Loretta felt heat rising to her face and hands — panic. She numbly walked outside and took a couple of deep breaths. She wondered if it was Lucas, convinced herself it was not Lucas, and then wondered how much it would really matter to her if it actually was Lucas.

Solidly convinced that Lucas was indeed not the victim, Loretta walked back inside. Chaos flooded the halls in the form of students. People were yelling, crying, hugging, praying — the loudspeaker came on.

“Attention students,” everyone stopped and stared at the speaker.

“Due to a tragic series of events in the last hour, classes are cancelled for the rest of the day. Further information has been sent to your parents in an email. Counselors will be available tomorrow as needed.”

One kid whooped.

Everyone stared until he slipped out shamefully through the crowd. Loretta floated back outside to her car, white noise blasting all her senses to a hum. She drove, half-conscious, and pulled into her parents’ driveway where her mom was already outside waiting, eyes red and puffy, arms crossed.

“Who was it?” Loretta asked numbly.

Her mother started crying and clawed at Loretta for a hug. Loretta’s ear was right against her mother’s quivering mouth when she heard,

“Lucas Smith, sweetie I know you didn’t know him but his mom was on council with me and I just…that could have been you! And I heard they found drugs in his pocket so it might have been an overdose, and oh GOD Loretta please tell me you’re not on drugs, never do that to me,” She collapsed into unintelligible sobs. Loretta stood limp in the circle of her mother’s arms.

Time passed; Lucas was still dead, and Loretta was alive and that was that.

A month later, Kylie was talking about her latest crush, graduation was days away, and the exploding heart was a repressed memory amongst students. Loretta graduated and went to college, Lucas and his heart a painful memory.

***

Ten years later, Loretta sits at the Street Cafe with Stephen. This is their fourth date. She might be in love, she thinks, if she even knows what that word means. No catastrophe has interrupted their courtship, not on any of their riverside walks or foreign movie dates. Loretta even smiled the other day, heart pounding in a fantastically non-explosive way.

She’s eating a caesar salad, no chicken; Stephen likes thin girls. He has crumbs from his vegan flatbread stuck in his blonde beard. They eat in silence, smiling occasionally in between bites. Loretta opens her mouth to speak just as the waiter comes with the check. Stephen coughs and glances at Loretta. She hands the waiter her card. Stephen is a vegan activist (unemployed). Loretta doesn’t mind though, so long as he stays in one piece.

Loretta is plain, and she knows it. Her favorite book is Jane Eyre; she relates. Her hair is dull brown; her eyes are dull gray; her life is dull, and she likes it that way. She doesn’t like to rhyme. Stephen calls himself a poet so she figures it’s okay.

Loretta thinks Stephen is a bit like Kyle, her last boyfriend; except Kyle got vaporized by a bomb in Iraq. But Stephen likes mushrooms, and Kyle didn’t, so maybe he’ll stay alive.

Loretta realizes she should probably stop dating since her boyfriends keep dying, but she can’t help but hope that each new guy might be the one, might be different. At this point though, after Lucas’ bursting heart, John’s fatal appendix, Greg’s land mine run-in, Arthur’s unfortunate manhole explosion, and Kyle’s dematerializing accident, it’s hard to keep faith.

Stephen stands up and reaches for his pack of Natural American Spirit cigarettes — what the vegans smoke, according to Stephen. Loretta sighs inwardly. She’s never understood how someone so obsessed with health could be so obsessed with “cancer joints,” as her mother would have said. The waiter returns with Loretta’s card. She looks for a cab while Stephen walks to the street corner to light up. She is narrowing her eyes trying to see through her astigmatism when she hears a strange popping noise followed by piercing screams.

Some part of Loretta knows what has happened. What else could it be? What other tragedy could have befallen her at this point? She closes her eyes and turns towards the commotion.

She sees Stephen’s glasses first, then the ash.

Her head is on the pavement, unconscious, before she has time to register anything else.

***

“He was an alcoholic Miss Hughes, the cigarette spark just…well it’s just a rare case. I’m sorry for your loss.” The mortician is uncomfortable, Loretta can tell. She’s still woozy from fainting. She didn’t even know Stephen drank.

“Spontaneous combustion is really uncommon, you know. Definitely a rare case, a real rare case, just exploding like that.”

“What did you say?” Loretta’s voice is shaking, but not in fear this time.

“Oh just that it’s real rare for people to — ”

“TO FUCKING EXPLODE?” Loretta shrieks so loud her own hears hurt.

And then she is laughing, laughing so hard it hurts, laughing so hard she feels like she’s going to burst, and oh GOD that’s even funnier! The mortician is horrified and frozen, and Loretta doesn’t care. She’s on the floor now, laughing and sobbing and screaming.

“THEY ALL EXPLODE! Who the fuck EXPLODES? Why can’t I handle them? Why can’t I SAVE them?” She is screeching, almost unintelligibly.

The mortician is warily reaching towards Loretta now, and she lets him touch her back in awkward comfort. Finally, when the sobs die to shallow gasps, she lays down on the tile floor of the morgue, clutching the mortician’s pant leg, and lets the tears fall silently.

***

Loretta bought peach dish soap today, and she likes the way it smells with the hot sink water. She still thinks about Stephen, but that was six months ago. Loretta spends too long thinking about ash and glasses. The water is stinging her hands when she breaks out of the revery. Her fingers are bright red and slightly swollen. She resumes washing, scrubbing in circular motions that her therapist says are calming. This is the second time today she’s washed the dishes, but that’s okay, they weren’t really clean the first time.

Loretta’s mother walks into the kitchen, sporting her permanently round and cautious eyes. The pitiful smile burns Loretta, but she brushes it off. She should have known. Stephen liked mushrooms.

Fucking mushroom clouds. Loretta hates mushrooms.

Loretta’s mother approaches quietly, clearly about to start a conversation that Loretta has no interest in.

“Lettie, how ya doing? I can do those dishes if you need, sweetie.”

“Don’t call me that, please,” Loretta says quietly. Her mother looks hurt.

“Don’t call you…sweetie?” A cartoon sadness accompanies the words.

“No, I mean the other — never mind. I didn’t mean it.”

Loretta’s mother perks up again and starts chattering as she begins to dry the dishes. Loretta looks out the window and thinks the clouds look a little too much like smoke.

***

Loretta is twenty nine now, sitting in her favorite corner of her favorite coffee shop where she only ever buys earl grey tea. She sips on her tea and reads a worn yellow paperback. Footsteps approach.

“I’m sorry to bother you, but are you reading For Whom the Bell Tolls?” An asian girl with a pixie cut and yellow Doc Martins smiles down at Loretta.

“Oh, yes it is,” Loretta says lightly.

“First time reading or…” The girl is still smiling.

“Oh, um, no, it’s one of my favorites actually.”

Something about the girl’s persistent warmth makes Loretta smile slightly. The girl looks like she’s in her twenties but something about her makes Loretta think of youth. Bet no one has ever exploded around you.

“You can sit if you want,” Loretta says, not even out of courtesy; she wants the girl to stay.

“I’m Jen by the way.” Jen holds out a tan and heavily-accessorized hand. Loretta stretches out her pale and bare hand, disappointed at the stark contrast.

“I’m Loretta.”

Loretta looks to Jen’s eyes and — boom. Except this time it’s Loretta exploding. Her heart pounds and pumps strangely. Words spill out of Loretta’s mouth before she can stop them.

“Do you have any heart problems? Is your appendix still intact? How much do you know about land mines? Do you walk across manholes often? Are you in the military? Do you drink or smoke?” Loretta winces. Well, there goes Jen.

But Jen laughs.

“Um, no heart issues, no appendix either actually, and land mines? Never encountered any personally, but maybe I’ll avoid suspicious piles of dirt now. Funny story with manholes, my sister got burned by steam from one when she was little, so no manholes for me, it’s a weird thing. What else…oh no smoking, and I drink a little on weekends. And definitely no to the military, I’m a pacifist.” Jen holds up her left wrist to reveal a peace sign tattoo.

Loretta smiles.

“One last thing, how do you feel about mushrooms?”

“Bleh. HATE them. Why?” Jen asks.

Loretta grins, “No reason. So you’re a Hemingway fan? Very cool.”

***

Loretta stares at the dark ceiling of her bedroom. What happened in the coffee shop? Why does she feel so strange? Jen was nice. Jen was really nice. Jen was beautiful. Whoa. Where did that come from? Loretta tugs at her hair in distress.

Somewhere around 3 a.m., Loretta has an intriguing thought.

Only the men I’ve dated have exploded. What if…What if I’m —

She can’t say it. It’s too weird. Does she like girls? She likes Jen. Loretta feels on the brink of combustion. Finally, she picks up her phone and texts Jen for the first time. Jen responds immediately, to Loretta’s expectant surprise. Loretta smiles at the screen and sighs. She likes Jen. She really really likes Jen.

***

Jen wipes down the windows to their new house. Loretta is testing different colors of paint on the living room wall. The house — a modest suburban cube with a “killer backyard,” as Jen says — was Jen’s birthday gift to Loretta. You’re old now, Jen had said. We need a house for your aging ass.

The fiery evening light seeps through the windows and bathes Jen in a warm glow. Loretta smiles and stares. Jen catches the look and skips towards Loretta, leaning in for a kiss. Loretta pauses.

Jen’s face turns serious, “I’m not exploding Lor, I’m here.” She tucks a piece of hair behind Loretta’s ear.

“Yeah, I know,” says Loretta, looking at the floor. Jen touches her shoulder softly, and Loretta looks up.

“No mushrooms for dinner okay?”

Loretta smiles, and they both laugh, collapsing into each other, falling to the floor, resting in the heat of the setting sun.