Jour de Repos

By Katie Shireen Assef

She calls the same hospital that sometimes dials her in to interpret for tourists with pink eye or bronchitis or allergic reactions to the mustard in everything, only this isn’t urgent care, but imaging, she’s been having headaches that wake her in the night and, once, in line at the fromagerie, a dizzy spell so bad she had to lean against the display case for support, the little wheels of camembert looming up through the glass, and when the voice on the phone announces that for the test her doctor had ordered—just to rule a few things out—there is currently a wait list of four to six weeks, without thinking she repeats the words back in English, then stops and laughs and apologizes loudly in French, and the voice raps out “We will call you, madame,” over the clacking of keys, and the voice sucks air into its teeth, and the voice hangs up (or the line disconnects) before she can interpret this, too, to herself.

Katie Shireen Assef reads, writes, and translates from French and Italian on a floral print sofa in Marseille, France.

Art by Katie Shireen Assef.