Long Short Story

Most people in the community didn’t know, or care, about the planetarium at the small, private Methodist college. If they’d driven by, they might have noticed the add-on to the four-story science building on its backside with a half-moon dome roof jutting upwards toward the heavens. If it had been a human body, it would have been a mole or tumor, but the dean believed the addition would bring much needed funds, and besides, the donor who wanted to see the college add the planetarium and integrate it into the curriculum had given enough to cover the building costs. The NASA scientist alum wasn’t able to fund the inside décor, the projection machine in the center, the seating, or the multiple shows needed for a start-up, all of which required redirected funds from the Humanities.

“There ain’t no such thing as cane sugar,” Susie assured me. Her blond bangs fell into her eyes as she pushed a kitchen chair away from the table. She had the radio tuned to the Columbus, Ohio rock station. Mick Jagger sang about tumbling dice while the chair legs groaned across the floor.
Susie boosted herself from the red vinyl cushion of the chair onto the counter. Her dirty feet wriggled before me from her spindly eight-year-old legs. .
“Mama has them all—white sugar, brown sugar, powdered sugar…mol-las-is.” .
I wiped my nose with the back of my hand and sniffed. .
“Why do we need all that?”

The ring was light, technically. Gold and diamonds don’t weigh much. But my hand had started noticing it everywhere.
I kept touching it under the tablecloth like it might settle into my hand if I held still long enough. The stone kept catching on the weave of the fabric — a tiny snag, over and over. Jonathan had picked it out himself. He’d told me that twice, maybe three times. The way he said it made me want to take the ring off for a second. Mom was in the kitchen. I could hear the pots knocking together. That sound always gets under my skin.