Please see Outta Time for the first part of the story.
Please see Outta Time 2 for the second part of the story.
Please see Outta Time 3 for the third part of the story.
Please see Outta Time 4 for the third part of the story.
Complete silence followed. Darren made no sound. He couldn’t exactly look into her eyes, but he couldn’t look away from her face. He settled on her eyebrows.
Ella waited for a reaction, any reaction. After five seconds she expected his face would break into the uncommon smile of which he was capable on special occasions. After fifteen seconds, she would have settled for his normal scowl. After thirty seconds, she just wanted a reaction.
‘Darren?’
Before he could stop himself, he heard the question, ‘Didn’t you just have your period?’ come from his lips.
‘What?’ She transformed from vulnerable to stony as his question registered in her brain.
Unfortunately for him, Darren decided to answer the question. ‘I just thought you couldn’t get pregnant after your period.’
Her eyes narrowed slightly; her face blossomed into a red Darren had never before witnessed. She opened her mouth. ‘I…’ was all she managed before she closed her mouth again. Darren realized that she was no longer looking at him but somewhere beyond him on the wall. After a long moment, she asked, ‘Is that all you have to say?’
Darren’s head turned slightly, like a confused dog’s. ‘I just don’t know if I’m ready for a kid.’ It was the straw.
‘Get out,’ she said through gritted teeth, ‘I can’t see you right now.’
‘But Ella, can’t we talk about this? I’m just confused. I don’t know what to think.’
‘Darren, you’re a selfish bastard. And I want you out of here now.’
‘I love you, Ella,’ he pleaded.
A laugh, bordering on a guffaw, escaped her lips. The sound surprised Darren; it surprised Ella more. She glanced around as if trying to find the thing that made her laugh. Then, she looked back at Darren and approached him with a wild look in her eyes. He backed up a step, uncertain what to do next. In the next moment, she nearly grabbed him, obviously trying to slap, scratch, or strangle him. Instead, she tripped over a wire and feel to her knees. ‘You don’t love anyone. I wish I’d never met you.’ She burst into tears.
The phone began to ring.
She popped to her feet and rushed to the bathroom. The door slammed but didn’t close. She slammed it again.
His eyes popped open, and he tried to focus on the digital clock. He squinted and made out 2:17. When he moved his right arm to stretch, he noticed for the first time something in his hand. A gun. He had no idea what kind. His eyes went wide. He turned back to the television and saw a movie playing. Being a Trekker, he knew it was Star Trek 3. A Klingon held out a communicator to a display counting down seconds. The screen flashed to a Klingon Christopher Lloyd who stands and yells, ‘Get out, Darren! Get out of there!’ The scene replays. After the second replay, Darren heard a distant siren. His adrenaline kicked in once again.
He stood with the gun in his hand, picked up the middle couch cushion, set the gun down, and replaced the couch cushion. He ejected the DVD, put it in the envelope, and secured it in his jacket. Then, he grabbed the fungo and stepped into the hallway. Although he heard the siren growing louder, he knew he couldn’t leave until he looked into Ella’s room. He didn’t understand why.
He turned, and grabbed the doorknob. He quietly twisted it and peered inside. There was no one there.
Tuesday, March 29, 2011
Saturday, March 26, 2011
Rocky Road
Paul had grown accustomed to his new schedule. It was quieter, slower. He even admitted to his wife Lucy – and only to his wife – that it was unexpectedly soothing.
He hadn’t been one of those people who excitedly anticipated retirement. In fact, he had always believed he’d die within months of his last hurrah. As Coach K, he had coached baseball for 25 years. He had even brought the team to a few championship games. As Mr. K he taught AP English, the most difficult – and most worthwhile – class in the entire school, and he had supervised the student paper. As Paul, he directed multiple plays and served as treasurer of the local Elk’s Club. His students and friends believed he hadn’t slept since college. And many of them silently wondered if retirement would kill him.
It didn’t. Instead of dying off – as he believed he would – he volunteered his time mentoring young basketball and baseball coaches. In addition, he redirected his patience and discipline from the classroom to his own home as he and his wife served as an inexpensive daycare for their identical twin grandchildren Alex and Caleb. He and his wife traveled incessantly. And he even wrote articles for the local paper.
The small corner market wasn’t far from the couple’s house. And the late spring night was beautiful. Paul donned his jacket and announced to his wife, ‘Honey, I’m going to the store. I’m in the mood for ice cream.’
‘Paul, you know what the doctor said.’
‘Oh, Lucy. I’m 73 years old. If ice cream’s gonna kill me, then let it.’
She shook her head but couldn’t help reveal a little smile.
‘You want anything special?’ He asked.
‘I’ll just have some of your Rocky Road.’
‘I think I may try something different tonight. Maybe vanilla. Or that Tom and Jerry type of ice cream.’ He hadn’t come home with anything but Rocky Road in over 20 years.
‘You mean Ben and Jerry’s?’
‘Yeah, maybe I’ll try something new.’
‘Okay,’ she replied.
‘Just make sure…’
He bolted out the door before he could hear her say, ‘To get the frozen yogurt.’
The neighbor’s newly cut grass evoked memories of all kinds. The smell of leather on his left hand from the battered baseball glove. Planting a bunch of flowers with his tall, slender mother. He smiled at the thought of his mother. Her face seemed to come to him more of late, as if she were calling him to come home.
He entered the market with a dreamy expression on his face.
‘Hey Coach K,’ came a voice to his right.
Paul turned as if woken from a dream and saw Gary with a box of chicken noodle soup in his arms.
‘Hey Gary, how are you?’ He motioned as if to shake Gary’s hand but thought better of it. ‘How’ve you been?
‘Same as usual. Wife and kids are good. And the store’s okay.’
Gary hadn’t been the smartest kid in the school. And he hadn’t been the best ballplayer either. But he had been a good kid and had worked damn hard. When Paul discovered that Gary had ‘stepped in it’ and had married the oldest daughter of a local wealthy store owner, he announced to his wife that ‘what comes around, goes around,’ one of his favorite sayings. (And when his wife corrected him – as she always had – by saying that it’s ‘what goes around, comes around,’ he smirked and said, ‘does it really matter?’)
Paul preferred the hard workers to those with natural talent. At the first sign that a kid wasn’t fully invested in Mr. K’s class or on Coach K’s team, that kid’s life became a living hell either until the kid shaped up or shipped out. Most did the latter.
‘Well, good to see you, Paul. I’ve got to pick up some ice cream for Mrs. K.’
‘Oh yeah, what kind?’ Gary knew very well what kind but always asked.
‘I think she wants Rocky Road tonight,’ Paul answered. ‘The ice cream,’ he emphasized.
‘I think all we have is the frozen yogurt,’ Gary answered with a smirk. He had actually stopped carrying Rocky Road ice cream at Mrs. K’s request.
Paul playfully frowned as he followed Gary to the frozen food section. He liked to play the game. He retrieved the half gallon and walked with Gary up front.
Standing at the checkout counter was a tall, bespectacled man in a blue pinstripe suit. The man was typing rapidly on some electronic device. When he heard Paul and Gary approaching, he turned and identified Gary as someone who worked at the store.
‘Hey, I’m in a hurry, get me a pack of Newport Lights,’ he casually commanded.
‘Sorry, we ran out. Delivery tomorrow. You want Newports?’
‘Shit. I always hated this lousy store. Never had what I needed.’
Gary was behind the counter looking perplexed at the reaction.
‘Richie? Richie Taylor?’ Paul asked.
Richie turned his head to look more closely at the old man. Recognition flickered in his eyes. ‘Mr. K,’ he replied. ‘Been a long time.’
‘Sure has,’ Paul said. ‘And you remember Gary Sullinger, yes?’
Again, there’s recognition, but they don’t exchange pleasantries.
Paul felt the tension and continued, ‘How’s my best reporter and his family? I heard you and your beautiful wife are expecting. Congratulations.’
Richie looked out the window absently and responded, ‘Fine. Fine. Like I said, I’m really in a hurry. Just give me whatever you got back there.’
‘Can you be a little more specific?’ Gary answered with some sarcasm that Richie didn’t appreciate.
Richie shot back a look. ‘Give me the Newports.’ He wanted to insult him but decided against it.
The market’s front door opened. An attractive olive-skinned woman was speaking into her cell phone. She paused long enough to say, ‘Rick, can you please get me some mints? I like Altoids. Something minty.’ She smiled and waved with her free hand.
The encounter left Richie shaken. His face turned brick red.
His reaction wasn’t lost on Gary or Paul. They stood in the market, Gary behind the counter, Richie facing Gary, and Paul to Richie’s left. No one said a word.
Paul moved his arm to Richie’s shoulder saying ‘It’s all…’
But Richie reacted to the touch by swinging his body. Paul lost his balance and fell backwards onto the tile floor before he could brace himself. The Rocky Road yogurt and Paul’s head simultaneously fell onto the floor with respective thuds. The ice cream rolled away.
Richie and Gary both stared at Paul’s motionless figure on the white tile.
Richie reacted first. ‘Oh my God. I gotta go.’ He turned, exited, and sped off in his car.
Gary moved to Paul’s side. ‘Coach K?’ No response. He grabbed Paul’s hand. ‘Coach?’ Still nothing. Gary dropped Paul’s hand and moved to the phone. He dialed 9-1-1.
‘Yes, hi. I need an ambulance at 413 North Center St. It’s a market.’
‘What’s the nature of the emergency?’ asked the operator.
‘A 73-year-old man was attacked by a guy named Rick Taylor. He sped off in a 2009 Toyota Camry.’
‘Thank you, sir. An ambulance is on its way.’
Gary hung up the phone. ‘Payback’s a bitch, Rich.’ He moved to Paul’s side and held the old man's hand until the ambulance arrived.
He hadn’t been one of those people who excitedly anticipated retirement. In fact, he had always believed he’d die within months of his last hurrah. As Coach K, he had coached baseball for 25 years. He had even brought the team to a few championship games. As Mr. K he taught AP English, the most difficult – and most worthwhile – class in the entire school, and he had supervised the student paper. As Paul, he directed multiple plays and served as treasurer of the local Elk’s Club. His students and friends believed he hadn’t slept since college. And many of them silently wondered if retirement would kill him.
It didn’t. Instead of dying off – as he believed he would – he volunteered his time mentoring young basketball and baseball coaches. In addition, he redirected his patience and discipline from the classroom to his own home as he and his wife served as an inexpensive daycare for their identical twin grandchildren Alex and Caleb. He and his wife traveled incessantly. And he even wrote articles for the local paper.
The small corner market wasn’t far from the couple’s house. And the late spring night was beautiful. Paul donned his jacket and announced to his wife, ‘Honey, I’m going to the store. I’m in the mood for ice cream.’
‘Paul, you know what the doctor said.’
‘Oh, Lucy. I’m 73 years old. If ice cream’s gonna kill me, then let it.’
She shook her head but couldn’t help reveal a little smile.
‘You want anything special?’ He asked.
‘I’ll just have some of your Rocky Road.’
‘I think I may try something different tonight. Maybe vanilla. Or that Tom and Jerry type of ice cream.’ He hadn’t come home with anything but Rocky Road in over 20 years.
‘You mean Ben and Jerry’s?’
‘Yeah, maybe I’ll try something new.’
‘Okay,’ she replied.
‘Just make sure…’
He bolted out the door before he could hear her say, ‘To get the frozen yogurt.’
The neighbor’s newly cut grass evoked memories of all kinds. The smell of leather on his left hand from the battered baseball glove. Planting a bunch of flowers with his tall, slender mother. He smiled at the thought of his mother. Her face seemed to come to him more of late, as if she were calling him to come home.
He entered the market with a dreamy expression on his face.
‘Hey Coach K,’ came a voice to his right.
Paul turned as if woken from a dream and saw Gary with a box of chicken noodle soup in his arms.
‘Hey Gary, how are you?’ He motioned as if to shake Gary’s hand but thought better of it. ‘How’ve you been?
‘Same as usual. Wife and kids are good. And the store’s okay.’
Gary hadn’t been the smartest kid in the school. And he hadn’t been the best ballplayer either. But he had been a good kid and had worked damn hard. When Paul discovered that Gary had ‘stepped in it’ and had married the oldest daughter of a local wealthy store owner, he announced to his wife that ‘what comes around, goes around,’ one of his favorite sayings. (And when his wife corrected him – as she always had – by saying that it’s ‘what goes around, comes around,’ he smirked and said, ‘does it really matter?’)
Paul preferred the hard workers to those with natural talent. At the first sign that a kid wasn’t fully invested in Mr. K’s class or on Coach K’s team, that kid’s life became a living hell either until the kid shaped up or shipped out. Most did the latter.
‘Well, good to see you, Paul. I’ve got to pick up some ice cream for Mrs. K.’
‘Oh yeah, what kind?’ Gary knew very well what kind but always asked.
‘I think she wants Rocky Road tonight,’ Paul answered. ‘The ice cream,’ he emphasized.
‘I think all we have is the frozen yogurt,’ Gary answered with a smirk. He had actually stopped carrying Rocky Road ice cream at Mrs. K’s request.
Paul playfully frowned as he followed Gary to the frozen food section. He liked to play the game. He retrieved the half gallon and walked with Gary up front.
Standing at the checkout counter was a tall, bespectacled man in a blue pinstripe suit. The man was typing rapidly on some electronic device. When he heard Paul and Gary approaching, he turned and identified Gary as someone who worked at the store.
‘Hey, I’m in a hurry, get me a pack of Newport Lights,’ he casually commanded.
‘Sorry, we ran out. Delivery tomorrow. You want Newports?’
‘Shit. I always hated this lousy store. Never had what I needed.’
Gary was behind the counter looking perplexed at the reaction.
‘Richie? Richie Taylor?’ Paul asked.
Richie turned his head to look more closely at the old man. Recognition flickered in his eyes. ‘Mr. K,’ he replied. ‘Been a long time.’
‘Sure has,’ Paul said. ‘And you remember Gary Sullinger, yes?’
Again, there’s recognition, but they don’t exchange pleasantries.
Paul felt the tension and continued, ‘How’s my best reporter and his family? I heard you and your beautiful wife are expecting. Congratulations.’
Richie looked out the window absently and responded, ‘Fine. Fine. Like I said, I’m really in a hurry. Just give me whatever you got back there.’
‘Can you be a little more specific?’ Gary answered with some sarcasm that Richie didn’t appreciate.
Richie shot back a look. ‘Give me the Newports.’ He wanted to insult him but decided against it.
The market’s front door opened. An attractive olive-skinned woman was speaking into her cell phone. She paused long enough to say, ‘Rick, can you please get me some mints? I like Altoids. Something minty.’ She smiled and waved with her free hand.
The encounter left Richie shaken. His face turned brick red.
His reaction wasn’t lost on Gary or Paul. They stood in the market, Gary behind the counter, Richie facing Gary, and Paul to Richie’s left. No one said a word.
Paul moved his arm to Richie’s shoulder saying ‘It’s all…’
But Richie reacted to the touch by swinging his body. Paul lost his balance and fell backwards onto the tile floor before he could brace himself. The Rocky Road yogurt and Paul’s head simultaneously fell onto the floor with respective thuds. The ice cream rolled away.
Richie and Gary both stared at Paul’s motionless figure on the white tile.
Richie reacted first. ‘Oh my God. I gotta go.’ He turned, exited, and sped off in his car.
Gary moved to Paul’s side. ‘Coach K?’ No response. He grabbed Paul’s hand. ‘Coach?’ Still nothing. Gary dropped Paul’s hand and moved to the phone. He dialed 9-1-1.
‘Yes, hi. I need an ambulance at 413 North Center St. It’s a market.’
‘What’s the nature of the emergency?’ asked the operator.
‘A 73-year-old man was attacked by a guy named Rick Taylor. He sped off in a 2009 Toyota Camry.’
‘Thank you, sir. An ambulance is on its way.’
Gary hung up the phone. ‘Payback’s a bitch, Rich.’ He moved to Paul’s side and held the old man's hand until the ambulance arrived.
Wednesday, March 16, 2011
3WW Fiction in 58 (Breeze, Mellow, Tickle): Blue Kite
He grabbed the kite, blue as a widowed newlywed. The mellow night spilled onto him as he exited, engulfing him in its wetness. Once upon the sand he raced to and fro, beads of sweat tickling his brow. The kite trailed him like a stubborn dog, diving into sandy clumps. Like his wife the breeze had abandoned him.
Sunday, March 13, 2011
Outta Time 4
Please see Outta Time for the first part of the story.
Please see Outta Time 2 for the second part of the story.
Please see Outta Time 3 for the third part of the story.
His finger pressed the red power button on the remote control. The screen flickered to black. From the bedroom came some rustling followed by silence. Even Bruce’s snoring had subsided. He was alone with his thoughts.
His first instinct was to grab the bat and run into Ella’s bedroom swinging; only those last few words that floated across the television screen deterred him. Paralysis ensued. He felt both helpless and angry. The rush of adrenaline instantaneously warmed his body, turning his face a bright red.
‘Who the hell is this guy?’ he thought to himself. ‘Why the hell should I listen to him?’ But the answer was all too apparent. Because the guy on the DVD had been right about the apartment. And not only right about the apartment, but had saved Darren’s life. Though Darren wanted desperately to disregard the message, he knew it wouldn’t be a good idea.
He relaxed a bit, trying to stop his mind from racing, but he soon discovered relaxation was an equally bad idea. If he had ever boxed, he could have equated the feeling to a punch directly in the solar plexus. Vomit – or more likely bile – edged into his throat. He tried to counter with short, deliberate breaths. It didn’t work. He made it to the kitchen sink and spewed yellow liquid into the tub. His stomach felt as though it was turning inside out. Dry heaves followed. He put his right cheek down onto the cold tile; spittle inched from his half-open mouth.
Expending considerable effort, he lifted his head from the counter and tried to focus on the pink Hello Kitty clock with its tail wagging to and fro. The consistency of the movement calmed him. He grabbed a glass from the dish rack and put it right side up next to the sink. He then opened the refrigerator and pulled the milk carton – skim milk, unfortunately – from the top shelf. It didn’t pour as creamily as he would have liked. For whatever reason, water and soda had never helped him feel better; it was always a cold glass of whole milk, even though his mother constantly told him it would only make things worse. He took three large gulps, hoping to rid himself of the lingering bile. It felt good going down until he allowed his taste buds to process the liquid. The soured nectar didn’t taste much different than the bile; his stomach contracted, and he leaned into the sink again to allow his body to rid himself of the offending substance.
Darren decided not to try his luck with anything else in the refrigerator. Instead, he limped back into the living room and fell onto the couch. The cable box clock’s red digits displayed 11:11; he made a wish. His eyes closed. The words from the DVD floated in front of his eyelids. He struggled to open them again. He felt himself losing consciousness. Ella’s voice repeated in his mind, ‘For whatever reason, I love you. I forgive you. I’d appreciate it if you’re out of here by 7 a.m.’
Ella cuddled, her right cheek nuzzling into his bare chest. Her left hand played with the tuft of chestnut brown hair around his right nipple. She looked up and saw his scraggly chin; she kissed him on the neck. Darren didn’t move. She wrapped her left arm around the right side of his body; her hand squeezed just above his love handle. He turned suddenly; his left side upended her, causing her to roll back and away from him.
‘What’s wrong?’ she asked.
‘Huh? What?’ He didn’t feign sleep altogether well. She knew as soon as he ceased breathing deeply that he was awake.
‘I know you’re awake Darren.’
He made a few more grunting noises and shook his head a few times. He wasn’t a good actor.
‘Good morning,’ she spoke hesitantly.
He rolled off the bed and onto the floor; his feet landed flat on the wooden floor.
‘Where are you going?’ she wondered aloud.
‘Bathroom,’ he muttered.
She felt herself begin to cry. ‘Just calm down,’ she said to herself. ‘It will be okay.’ A few tears streamed down her face before she could get the cream-colored sheet to her eyes.
He re-entered and fell into the bed. He kissed her on the cheek. ‘Hi,’ he grunted. There were no tears to notice on Ella’s cheeks.
‘Hi Darren,’ she answered. ‘How are you?’
‘Sleepy,’ he responded. His eyelids flapped from closed to open and closed again.
She kissed him on the lips. Softly. Just enough to open his eyes again.
‘Hi,’ she said, allowing the sound to linger in the room.
He wasn’t accustomed to such affection, at least not recently. He stared into her blue eyes and became immediately frightened by what he saw. ‘What’s up?’
‘Did you sleep well?’ She kissed him again on the lips.
‘Yeah,’ he answered. His voice cracked.
‘I have some news.’ She smiled again.
He already knew what she was going to say. He looked away and wished that he could postpone the moment indefinitely. He took a deep breath.
‘Please look at me,’ she half ordered and half pleaded.
He turned his head towards her and instantly regretted it.
‘I’m pregnant,’ she said.
Please see Outta Time 2 for the second part of the story.
Please see Outta Time 3 for the third part of the story.
His finger pressed the red power button on the remote control. The screen flickered to black. From the bedroom came some rustling followed by silence. Even Bruce’s snoring had subsided. He was alone with his thoughts.
His first instinct was to grab the bat and run into Ella’s bedroom swinging; only those last few words that floated across the television screen deterred him. Paralysis ensued. He felt both helpless and angry. The rush of adrenaline instantaneously warmed his body, turning his face a bright red.
‘Who the hell is this guy?’ he thought to himself. ‘Why the hell should I listen to him?’ But the answer was all too apparent. Because the guy on the DVD had been right about the apartment. And not only right about the apartment, but had saved Darren’s life. Though Darren wanted desperately to disregard the message, he knew it wouldn’t be a good idea.
He relaxed a bit, trying to stop his mind from racing, but he soon discovered relaxation was an equally bad idea. If he had ever boxed, he could have equated the feeling to a punch directly in the solar plexus. Vomit – or more likely bile – edged into his throat. He tried to counter with short, deliberate breaths. It didn’t work. He made it to the kitchen sink and spewed yellow liquid into the tub. His stomach felt as though it was turning inside out. Dry heaves followed. He put his right cheek down onto the cold tile; spittle inched from his half-open mouth.
Expending considerable effort, he lifted his head from the counter and tried to focus on the pink Hello Kitty clock with its tail wagging to and fro. The consistency of the movement calmed him. He grabbed a glass from the dish rack and put it right side up next to the sink. He then opened the refrigerator and pulled the milk carton – skim milk, unfortunately – from the top shelf. It didn’t pour as creamily as he would have liked. For whatever reason, water and soda had never helped him feel better; it was always a cold glass of whole milk, even though his mother constantly told him it would only make things worse. He took three large gulps, hoping to rid himself of the lingering bile. It felt good going down until he allowed his taste buds to process the liquid. The soured nectar didn’t taste much different than the bile; his stomach contracted, and he leaned into the sink again to allow his body to rid himself of the offending substance.
Darren decided not to try his luck with anything else in the refrigerator. Instead, he limped back into the living room and fell onto the couch. The cable box clock’s red digits displayed 11:11; he made a wish. His eyes closed. The words from the DVD floated in front of his eyelids. He struggled to open them again. He felt himself losing consciousness. Ella’s voice repeated in his mind, ‘For whatever reason, I love you. I forgive you. I’d appreciate it if you’re out of here by 7 a.m.’
Ella cuddled, her right cheek nuzzling into his bare chest. Her left hand played with the tuft of chestnut brown hair around his right nipple. She looked up and saw his scraggly chin; she kissed him on the neck. Darren didn’t move. She wrapped her left arm around the right side of his body; her hand squeezed just above his love handle. He turned suddenly; his left side upended her, causing her to roll back and away from him.
‘What’s wrong?’ she asked.
‘Huh? What?’ He didn’t feign sleep altogether well. She knew as soon as he ceased breathing deeply that he was awake.
‘I know you’re awake Darren.’
He made a few more grunting noises and shook his head a few times. He wasn’t a good actor.
‘Good morning,’ she spoke hesitantly.
He rolled off the bed and onto the floor; his feet landed flat on the wooden floor.
‘Where are you going?’ she wondered aloud.
‘Bathroom,’ he muttered.
She felt herself begin to cry. ‘Just calm down,’ she said to herself. ‘It will be okay.’ A few tears streamed down her face before she could get the cream-colored sheet to her eyes.
He re-entered and fell into the bed. He kissed her on the cheek. ‘Hi,’ he grunted. There were no tears to notice on Ella’s cheeks.
‘Hi Darren,’ she answered. ‘How are you?’
‘Sleepy,’ he responded. His eyelids flapped from closed to open and closed again.
She kissed him on the lips. Softly. Just enough to open his eyes again.
‘Hi,’ she said, allowing the sound to linger in the room.
He wasn’t accustomed to such affection, at least not recently. He stared into her blue eyes and became immediately frightened by what he saw. ‘What’s up?’
‘Did you sleep well?’ She kissed him again on the lips.
‘Yeah,’ he answered. His voice cracked.
‘I have some news.’ She smiled again.
He already knew what she was going to say. He looked away and wished that he could postpone the moment indefinitely. He took a deep breath.
‘Please look at me,’ she half ordered and half pleaded.
He turned his head towards her and instantly regretted it.
‘I’m pregnant,’ she said.
Friday, March 4, 2011
Shrimp Fork
He grabbed the shrimp fork and drove it into the table with a force even he didn’t expect. It stuck, vibrating briefly before it became motionless. He looked up into her startled countenance and glared with fire in his eyes.
‘You’re what?’ he cried.
‘Not here, Stan. Not in front of all these people,’ she said almost disinterestedly, her face stony with indignation.
She said it more for him based on others’ shocked glances. There was still a part of her that wanted to save him the embarrassment of making an ass of himself in a public place.
Stan didn’t hear her. He simply stared, though not at her. He traveled instead to the moment when his sister explained to him that their mother had died suddenly of a heart attack. It was the same sensation. He had no air to fill his lungs, no moisture in his mouth; he wondered only if there was a next moment.
‘I wondered if I should even try to explain. I thought I’d be honest as I always said I would.’ Her voice wasn’t much more than a whisper.
His head snapped back to attention, and he thrust his face forward. He eyed her as if she were an alien. ‘And you brought me out to a public place? After 25 years?’ He paused and leaned back in his chair. His salt and pepper hair moved like a wave, kept together with generous amounts of mousse. ‘This is what you do when you fire people, isn’t it?’ His neck rolled to the right and down so he could see her face. ‘It is what you do.’ A chuckle escaped from his lips. ‘You’re not even laying me off; you’re firing me.’
She chuckled too. It wasn’t from nerves, and it wasn’t because she thought it was particularly funny. (He never had been particularly funny.) It was because he was right. Her demeanor changed; she seemed to grow more comfortable, almost jovial. She still kept her voice just above a whisper. ‘Yes, Stan. That’s exactly what I’m doing. You’ve hit the nail on the head. You’re both inefficient and ineffective. There’s no synergy, no chemistry, no electricity. You bore me. You have no ambition. And, what’s more, you’re bored with me. You have your porn. You even have that bimbo on the side you see from time to time.’
His head jerked, and his eyes went wide.
‘C’mon, Stan, I’m the smarter of the two of us. If I didn’t know for a fact – because Ms. Tanya is in the same yoga class I am and confessed it to me after you’d pissed her off a while back – I’d know because of women’s intuition. You suck at lying.’ She was on a roll, as if she were managing a meeting with a bunch of opinionated loudmouths.
Before she could get out another word, the waitress returned to the table and gleefully asked, ‘Dessert?’ She glanced at each in turn, oblivious to the fact that anything of import could be happening. ‘We have strawberry shortcake, chocolate cake, key lime pie…’
Stan turned his weary eyes to her, ‘I don’t think we’re interested.’
The waitress grimaced, mostly because she didn’t get a chance to show them that she had memorized the desserts. She walked away before she could think to ask them if they wanted coffee or tea.
‘Stan, look, it’s better for you, and it’s better for me. It’s a win-win. You can continue with your World of Warcraft and Michelob Ultra – by the way, I think it’s ridiculous that you think Michelob Ultra is going to help you lose weight. And I’ll learn to live without you. I did it for a while before I met you. I think I can manage again.’
The waitress returned, still grimacing, and dropped the check holder on the table. She began to clean the table and accidentally knocked a half glass of water into Stan’s lap.
‘Looks like your glass just went from half full to empty,’ his wife remarked. ‘Since I know you’re not having the best day, I’ll get the check.’
She opened the holder to find a note that read, ‘To the woman I love on the 25th anniversary of the first day we met.’
She closed the holder and looked him in the eyes. ‘Today, huh?’
‘Yep,’ he replied.
She stood and skirted the table gracefully. She leaned in and kissed him on his lips. ‘Thanks for remembering,’ she purred, her voice dripping with sarcasm, ‘but it was 25 years too long.’
‘You’re what?’ he cried.
‘Not here, Stan. Not in front of all these people,’ she said almost disinterestedly, her face stony with indignation.
She said it more for him based on others’ shocked glances. There was still a part of her that wanted to save him the embarrassment of making an ass of himself in a public place.
Stan didn’t hear her. He simply stared, though not at her. He traveled instead to the moment when his sister explained to him that their mother had died suddenly of a heart attack. It was the same sensation. He had no air to fill his lungs, no moisture in his mouth; he wondered only if there was a next moment.
‘I wondered if I should even try to explain. I thought I’d be honest as I always said I would.’ Her voice wasn’t much more than a whisper.
His head snapped back to attention, and he thrust his face forward. He eyed her as if she were an alien. ‘And you brought me out to a public place? After 25 years?’ He paused and leaned back in his chair. His salt and pepper hair moved like a wave, kept together with generous amounts of mousse. ‘This is what you do when you fire people, isn’t it?’ His neck rolled to the right and down so he could see her face. ‘It is what you do.’ A chuckle escaped from his lips. ‘You’re not even laying me off; you’re firing me.’
She chuckled too. It wasn’t from nerves, and it wasn’t because she thought it was particularly funny. (He never had been particularly funny.) It was because he was right. Her demeanor changed; she seemed to grow more comfortable, almost jovial. She still kept her voice just above a whisper. ‘Yes, Stan. That’s exactly what I’m doing. You’ve hit the nail on the head. You’re both inefficient and ineffective. There’s no synergy, no chemistry, no electricity. You bore me. You have no ambition. And, what’s more, you’re bored with me. You have your porn. You even have that bimbo on the side you see from time to time.’
His head jerked, and his eyes went wide.
‘C’mon, Stan, I’m the smarter of the two of us. If I didn’t know for a fact – because Ms. Tanya is in the same yoga class I am and confessed it to me after you’d pissed her off a while back – I’d know because of women’s intuition. You suck at lying.’ She was on a roll, as if she were managing a meeting with a bunch of opinionated loudmouths.
Before she could get out another word, the waitress returned to the table and gleefully asked, ‘Dessert?’ She glanced at each in turn, oblivious to the fact that anything of import could be happening. ‘We have strawberry shortcake, chocolate cake, key lime pie…’
Stan turned his weary eyes to her, ‘I don’t think we’re interested.’
The waitress grimaced, mostly because she didn’t get a chance to show them that she had memorized the desserts. She walked away before she could think to ask them if they wanted coffee or tea.
‘Stan, look, it’s better for you, and it’s better for me. It’s a win-win. You can continue with your World of Warcraft and Michelob Ultra – by the way, I think it’s ridiculous that you think Michelob Ultra is going to help you lose weight. And I’ll learn to live without you. I did it for a while before I met you. I think I can manage again.’
The waitress returned, still grimacing, and dropped the check holder on the table. She began to clean the table and accidentally knocked a half glass of water into Stan’s lap.
‘Looks like your glass just went from half full to empty,’ his wife remarked. ‘Since I know you’re not having the best day, I’ll get the check.’
She opened the holder to find a note that read, ‘To the woman I love on the 25th anniversary of the first day we met.’
She closed the holder and looked him in the eyes. ‘Today, huh?’
‘Yep,’ he replied.
She stood and skirted the table gracefully. She leaned in and kissed him on his lips. ‘Thanks for remembering,’ she purred, her voice dripping with sarcasm, ‘but it was 25 years too long.’
Wednesday, March 2, 2011
Snub-Nose
I lifted the discolored fork to my chapped lips. A few corn kernels leapt from the tines, attempting to avoid ingestion. Of course, they with their limited sense perception could not have known that a brindle Boxer had stationed himself directly below the faux wooden folding stool. The kernels lingered on the laminate checkered floor for just a bit longer than it takes for light to pass from a rising sun to the eyes of an old woman with a young lover. I released the fork and let it clatter upon the cheap, chipped ceramic plate. The rattle succumbed to the overwhelming silence; it hadn’t the strength to echo off the off-white walls. My blue eyes met the brown orbs of the dog. I witnessed his snub-nosed ignorance and woeful inability to express regret. Before the tears began to well, I gripped the platter with its residual fat stewing in a shallow pool of meat juice and whipped it across the infinitesimal space. The dog leapt and let fly but one frightened bark before it raced to taste the succulent gravy strewn about the floor. I leaned back in the chair, burping under my breath and half-heartedly thanking a God I doubt exists.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)