In the kitchen, I fixed my glasses with a paper clip, twisting the wire until the hinge held firm. Sunlight caught the looped end, flashing like a tiny antenna. My wife flushed hard red, hissing, “Take that off!” I tapped it twice and grinned. “This is how I talk to aliens.” She rolled her eyes, caught between laughter and exasperation. For five quiet minutes, we existed in superposition, married and not, embarrassed and endeared, ordinary and absurd. The paper clip glinted at my temple, sending coded signals into the quantum dark. She loved me. She hated me. Both are true.
J. Alan Nelson, a writer, journalist, lawyer, and actor, has been nominated for a Pushcart Prize, Best of Net, and Best Microfiction.