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Member
Join Date: Sep 2006
Posts: 3
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Untitled - first 1/2 of a short story
Work in progress, still finding its way.
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The pudgy tabby rose up on her toes, pushing needle claws through denim and skin, purring all the while.
“Ouch! Watch it goddamn it!”
Mike jerked the cat up from his lap wincing at the Velcro-like sound of claws leaving flesh and fabric, and set her down on the litter-strewn carpet. Rebecca waddled through the clutter of garments, and apparently content with an old grey sweatshirt of Sarah’s lying next to the TV, proceeded to pick up where she had left off on Mike’s lap, kneading the sweater with her claws until plopping herself down into the folds of cotton. Staring blankly at Mike, she continued to purr.
Sarah had named Rebecca after Kirstie Alley’s character on ‘Cheers’, an unfortunate result of Sarah’s obsession with anything and everything 80s. The striking – and Mike thought humorous - correlation between the cat’s rocketing weight and her namesake seemed to be lost on almost everyone. He had gotten nothing but confused stares and rolling eyes from Sarah each time he looked at Rebecca and said gravely, “This is why Robin Colcord never wanted you. He had an eye for this sort of thing, you know, big bones and all.”
It was probably that sort of humor that helped push Sarah further away. He was always making some sort of off hand joke that those without the expertise of a first-rate psychologist would find boggling or just plain nonsensical. The kind of coping mechanism that leaves fellow neurotics laughing in their beers and expensive therapists well, expensive.
Mike pondered these insights into relationship troubles and conflicting personalities while Rebecca slept and the sun traced a path across a Razr cell phone, pair of underwear, choker necklace, and remote control. All placed at a state of unnatural rest at the bottom of a 40-gallon fish tank.
This particular eruption had been especially animated, with many of the apartment’s contents being swept up and redistributed by Sarah’s emotional whirlwind. As the fragile butterfly who had started this storm, all Mike could do was sit at a safe distance and keep his lips from flapping and causing more damage to the relationship’s delicate ecosystem.
Somewhere in between, “I’ve got some news. I went to the doctor today.” and “How can you live with yourself, with all that shit flowing out of your mouth, how can you not choke on it?” Something had gone terribly, terribly wrong. Mike knew it should have been a good day, a day that most couples would have celebrated, cherished even. So why was he sitting here feeling sorry for himself? And where the hell had Sarah run off to?
A phone started ringing, interrupting his important session of reflection and self-loathing. Against all odds, Mike checked his now aquatic Motorola, and sure enough, it had settled silently into its new life as an artificial reef. The disembodied ringing continued however, and after a moment of scanning the living room contents, his eyes eventually settled on Rebecca whose whiskers had taken on the cheerful glow of Christmas tree lights. Walking over to the television, Mike bent down and put on his best impression of a straining Olympic weight lifter while lifting the cat’s front paws.
“Just…a little further…hold it…hooold it! There we go.”
Mike scooped the flashing LCD out from under Rebecca and gave her a few pats on the head. In return he received a wet nose and a coarse grit sandpaper lick.
“Thanks Becky, maybe I’ll keep you around for a little while after all.”
The telephone number that flashed in tune to a-ha’s ‘Take on me’ was a new one to Mike. Then again, holding Sarah’s cell phone, he felt rather like an astronaut cradling a moon rock. He knew what it was and where it came from, but its contents were completely alien, and if he were to crack it open, who knew what oddities could be unleashed upon the universe? Taking the chance anyway, Mike flipped open the phone.
“Moshi moshi.”
“Ahh, hello?” A man’s voice queried from the other end.
“Yeah, I’m here.” Mike made an effort to keep his voice from shaking.
“Um, I don’t know if I have the right number. Is this Sarah’s phone?”
“Yes it is.” Mike’s left hand was clenching, and the flip phone started to emit an unhealthy squeak from its hinge. “She left it in the restaurant when we were having lunch earlier today. I’m her brother Lincoln. I’m here to visit for a few days.” Not a bad lie, Lincoln lived in Chicago. Lies love distance.
“Oh, hey man, good to talk to you, I’m Sarah’s friend Tony. I work with her at the animal shelter?”
You have to be kidding me. Tony? I’ve been auditioning for a spot on a Soap Opera for the past 3-½ years but failed miserably every time so I spend my days shampooing dogs at the animal shelter Tony? If you catch me every second Wednesday you can actually see the bronzer washing off my forearms and hands onto some poor pooch’s hide Tony? Shit.
“Tony…no, never heard of you. Do you work with Sarah often? Because she usually tells me about all her friends and co-workers. You’re not the guy who scoops up all the feces are you?”
“What? No, I do a lot of stuff around there, I”
“Ha, just kidding man. But seriously no, I’ve never heard of you. Do you want me to pass on a message for you? I’m sure she’ll be calling soon to see where she left her phone. She’s bad for this kind of stuff.”
“No. Well, it’s just that she was supposed to meet me here…did she seem upset to you when she left?” The question hung in limbo while Mike decided his next course of action as Lincoln Morren.
“Yeah actually. She stuck me with the tab too. Said she had somewhere to get to quick and she would talk to me later. What’s up with her, do you know?”
“Just depressed I think. Look, I gotta go, if she calls, tell her I’m waiting for her at the Pine and Crescent Coffee shop.”
“Sure thing sport. Nice talking to you.”
“Yeah, you too Lincoln.”
“Good luck with the dog shit.”
“Yeah,..wha..?”
Mike snapped the cell phone shut and tossed it on the couch. Ok, ok. Coffee shop on Pine and Crescent.The apartment seemed to close up and pull into focus. The stale air, upset furniture and piles of clothing dawned on Mike like memories after hard night out. I’ve got to get out of here.
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That's it so far.
Jer
Last edited by jpday : 09-23-2006 at 02:24 PM.
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Junebug61753
