This is Petra
Ms. Weary stands with her arms apart, her hands splayed against the cool granite countertop. She wants to cross her arms and rest her head on them but that isn’t allowed today, Petra would see and she can’t go there, it’s forbidden. For all of them.
She’s already laid out six mismatched mugs for when the coffee is ready, though she never knows whether to pour one for Ms. Body or not. Ms. Body won’t drink it, can’t drink it, but excluding her makes Ms. Weary uncomfortable. And being uncomfortable is another drain on the little she has left to drain.
Mr. Glum mumbles hello and scrapes the kitchen chair along the floor before dropping himself onto it. Ms. Weary swears under her breath and pulls another mug from the cupboard. She prefers the years when Mr. Glum doesn’t come. They all do, including Mr. Glum, but sometimes he can’t stay away from the annual meet up even though it means dragging himself out of bed.
If he could he would set the place on fire and watch them all burn, the way the lightning bolt reduced Petra to ashes.
As Mr. Glum takes his seat beside Ms. Fret, she doesn’t know whether to move closer to him or further away. She’s drawn to him, always has been, but she’s afraid of him at the same time. She takes several deep breaths to try and calm her heart rate. She’s proud of herself when Petra doesn’t seem to notice.
The coffee machine beeps and Ms. Weary perks up with anticipation as she fills the seven cups. Ms. Body and Petra can’t touch theirs so Ms. Weary gulps several mouthfuls from each of their mugs.
She doesn’t have the reserves to turn around and interact with the others and stalls by filling the machine with more coffee beans and water and switches it back on.
Ms. Cold’s hands wrap around one of the mugs, drinking its warmth through her skin. Ms. Weary hadn’t noticed her arrival at the counter. Her eyelids are heavy and she misses things. It’s so cold in here, Ms. Cold says in her down coat.
There is no way Ms. Cold is taking either of her hands off the warm mug for one second. Clasping it in both hands she sits back down at the table leaving Ms. Weary to serve the others.
As if Ms. Weary has the energy but she forces herself anyway. She takes a deep breath and turns with a mug in each hand. Ms. Weary knows to give Ms. Fret hers first in order to keep her calm then she passes out the rest. Only Ms. Hurt says thank you.
Ms. Weary places Ms. Body’s coffee beside the footboard. The foot of Ms. Body’s hospital bed is against the short end of the rectangular table and the rest of the bed stretches through the archway into the dining room.
Most of Ms. Body is in the other room. The head of the bed is raised to a sitting position to allow her to see the attendees but she spends most of the time flat on her back, like a body in a mortuary drawer.
Petra has the big fancy chair at the opposite end of the table. It has a high back and large armrests and everyone calls it the throne, though they think of less as royal and more as something crappy.
Ms. Weary puts the coffee in front of it even though it’s ridiculous but they are all here for Petra so she goes along with what they have done for decades. Besides, she can drink Petra’s coffee when they finish. Cold coffee still has caffeine.
The five sip their coffee in silence while Ms. Body, the mothership, watches on. Mr. Glum and Ms. Fret are sitting along with their backs against the wall. Ms. Weary, Ms. Cold and Ms. Hurt sit along the other side.
Ms. Cold is closest to Petra’s throne, not because of anything to do with Petra but because she wants as far away from the draft coming through the dining room archway as possible.
No one says anything. No one ever knows what to say, year after year, to avoid an escalation. There’s things Ms. Weary and Ms. Hurt would like to say. Like ask Ms. Fret why she is here when she never even knew Petra. Confident, charismatic Petra would have hated her and had no time for her at all but here she is.
Same with Mr. Glum. They merely flirted with each other in high school, a normal adolescent phase. Petra would have gone off to University and left him behind.
Was Mr. Glum like this back then? Before? Ms. Weary and Ms. Hurt can’t remember. Neither can he. It’s all so long ago now. Thirty years this year. Things become blurs, especially Petra.
Petra is the biggest blur of all but they keep coming every year to try and reduce the fuzziness. To try and keep her going. That’s how coming together for the anniversary of that day began.
At least that’s what Ms. Body likes to think but Ms. Weary and Ms. Hurt know they did it that first year for Ms. Body’s sake and then they kept doing it. It wasn’t anything planned or philosophical, it just sort of happened.
There’s nothing to nibble on, Ms. Fret says, hugging her arms around herself. Her stomach hurts and eating something might help. The three on the opposite side of the table brace. Where is Miss Caring with her cake?
No one answers. Ms. Fret remembers how Miss Caring’s cakes got less and less elaborate until they turned into store-bought cupcakes. Then, like cake, she disappeared. That’s when Ms. Weary started making the coffee.
It doesn’t matter, we don’t need to snack, Ms. Hurt says, hoping it will relax Ms. Fret. They are strangers and she can’t stand the sight of her. She knows Petra would vomit at the thought of her.
Why is Ms. Fret here? No one invited her and she’s ugly. A huge nose and narrow eyes and a voice that screeches like a barn owl in the night. Ms. Hurt doesn’t like to judge people on their outsides but she knows Ms. Fret is a tangle of barbed wire on the inside and her appearance seems only fitting.
Other than Ms. Body, of the people left Ms. Hurt knew Petra the longest. Right from the time Petra was tiny. But the relationship was mostly Ms. Hurt flitting in and out of Petra’s life until that last year when she didn’t leave Petra’s side even though Petra didn’t want her there.
The first gathering was only a day after the incident. Miss Ambition didn’t even show up. It was a month before Petra’s sixteenth birthday. She never made it to her sweet sixteen.
Ms. Hurt rolls her head from side to side to stretch her neck in a vain attempt to reduce the pain. She does this as discreetly as possible since it’s forbidden today. She doesn’t want Petra to belittle her.
What’s wrong? Ms. Fret asks. The shrillness pierces straight through Ms. Hurt’s eyeballs and into her brain. Nothing, Ms. Hurt says wishing she could scream shut up.
If only Miss Warm still came. She would always give Ms. Hurt neck massages to alleviate pain. Kind, loving Miss Warm. Her and Petra were two peas in a pod from diapers and it’s difficult to understand how Miss Warm could vanish the way she did.
Would Ms. Body hurry up and say something to start this gathering because the sooner she starts it the sooner it will end and she can get some painkillers.
Mr. Glum is sitting opposite Ms. Cold. Unconcerned with any of Petra’s criticisms, he glowers at the waif in her ridiculous parka, determined to bring her down. You’re pathetic.
Ms. Cold bows her head. She’s nothing but skin and bones, there’s nothing to insulate her from the air. She wishes Miss Joy was here to protect her from him. The slightest thing used to make Miss Joy roar with infectious laughter. No one has so much as had a wee giggle since she vanished.
Mr. Glum begins glaring at Ms. Hurt. You are the worst.
She throws it right back at him. She puts everything into it, willing him to know what physical pain feels like. Constant physical pain that never lets up ever and he has the nerve to look at her like that? Especially today. She stares and stares until he looks away.
Mr. Glum looks at Petra’s throne. Her ashes form a neat pile, fitting for someone hit by lightning. There used to be a photograph nicely framed in front of them but one year Mr. Glum yanked the photo out and stabbed it with a pen over and over until it was obliterated.
That was the first year Ms. Fret came and she hasn’t missed a meet up since. Mr. Glum can’t remember what prompted his actions, only that it felt good. He has no regrets.
Where’s Miss Caring? Ms. Body says and everyone stills. Ms. Body’s voice is weak, effortful. Where is Miss Warm? No one is sure who will speak. No one wants to but someone has to.
Ms. Weary clears her throat. Before she opens her mouth Ms. Hurt speaks. They haven’t been here in decades, you know that. It’s only us now. She sounds annoyed but she always does, it’s the pain.
I miss them, Ms. Cold says. We all do, Ms. Weary snaps back. Ms. Fret lets out a noise like a banshee and the room falls silent once more. The only sound is the circling of Ms. Weary’s coffee mug against the table.
Who even are you? I don’t recognize you, Ms. Body says, staring at Ms. Fret.
Ms. Fret screeches and squeals an unintelligible response.
Here we go Ms. Weary thinks and stares hard at the swirling liquid in her mug. She’s tired, so tired. She lets her eyes close as the fireworks blast around the table. Everyone speaks over each other. Shouting criticisms. Ruiner. Self-absorbed. Scaredy-cat. Brain-dead. Clueless. Hypersensitive. Careful not to miss anyone with their scathing remarks.
Ms. Body opens her mouth, asking, Is this all that’s left of Petra? How can that be? She was good and she tried so hard and now look at this wasteland. On and on she goes, her voice growing stronger with her agitation though her body doesn’t move. No one else does either.
I hate you all, every single one of you, Ms. Body says, her voice becoming hoarse from her ranting.
She knows very well that they want to say it’s all her fault, if only she’d worked. They’ve said it enough times over the years.
And it is her fault.
Still, Miss Caring and Miss Joy didn’t have to abandon her and send these other horrible people in their places. Miss Warm must be somewhere in those ashes, we need to find her.
Ms. Body falls silent, contemplating while the other five resume their assaults. She wishes she could stop thinking. About everything. She can’t.
Why? Ms. Body wails so loud the dishes in the cabinets rattle.
ENOUGH! Petra screams. This pity party is over for another year. Now stop feeling sorry for yourself, suck it up and get it back together.
Petra envisions herself snapping her fingers, causing a whirlwind to form in the middle of the table. It drags Ms. Body out of the bed and animates her like a dancing centrepiece. Her jaw unhinges and sucks all of the others inside. The whirlwind mixes with the ashes and gets tighter and tighter until Petra is fully reformed in her wheelchair, at least what’s left of her.
Petra is ready to put on a smile until the next anniversary of her diagnosis.
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About the Author
Stacy Ashworth is a Canadian living in England. As a teenager, Ashworth was diagnosed with MS. Before losing the use of their body below the neck, Ashworth was a highly successful self-published top 10 Kindle best-selling author. Stacy continues to write and was awarded the 2025 Malorie Blackman Scholarship. Stacy is a staff writer for The Squeaky Wheel and is currently writing a disability-themed novel.