Tag: short story

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Pencil Marks

There are pencil marks at various heights on the wall just outside the kitchen, with names scribbled in to identify each one specifically. One of them has my name attached to it but it doesn’t match my true height — not even close — because it has been a dog’s age since I posed on … Continue reading Pencil Marks

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White Noise

“The best way to stay married is to just shut your mouth and nod along.” She comes home late most nights, probably at the store or to get gas after work, but she doesn’t tell him ahead of time, like these are last-minute executive decisions that don’t need to be communicated to her spouse. But … Continue reading White Noise

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Bound

He closed up behind him, locking the door in the incredibly convoluted manner he had gotten used to after months of fighting through it. Now the process was a comfortable friend, even though it still took his time and energy to accomplish. At least no one was going to steal his valuables while he was … Continue reading Bound

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In The Queue

wildwatercoveThe park is packed with old men in high-waisted trunks, harried mothers chasing wee ones, and artificially tanned teenagers enjoying a last hurrah before school returns like a drunken sailor getting home at dawn. Water rides loom far overhead as far as the eye can see, behemoths that curve and twist into pretzel shapes, and spit out screaming riders at alternating intervals. Over the PA system Suzanne Vega’s “Tom’s Diner” booms loud and proud as groups of people relax on beach towels and folding benches, reading books, sunning themselves, or eating late lunches.

At the park’s signature ride — the highest enclosed water slide on the premises — the line appears to be a quarter mile long, as excited riders grab their tubes and latch onto the end of the writhing queue. Somewhere near the middle of the line Kara stands impatiently with her single tube in hand, her face red in spots where she has forgotten to apply sunscreen. She keeps looking behind her as if something will appear if she turns around enough times. Nothing appears.

Ben is two spaces ahead of Kara in line. He also carries a single tube, and it is at first unclear if the two even know each other. Ben stands listless as he stares straight ahead. In front of him in line are two girls, probably 16 or 17 years old, the one blonde and the other brunette. When she’s not looking behind her, Kara is looking ahead, scowling at the two girls. The brunette wears a stylish swimsuit cover-up, but the blonde has on a barely there bikini that reveals more than half of her tanned posterior.

“Stare a little harder, Ben,” Kara says under her breath, punctuating the comment with a drawn out sigh.

From behind a short, squat girl, who also has red spots on her face, shows up carrying a double tube and breathing heavily. Kara doesn’t take her eye off the blonde as she acknowledges her friend by taking one of the tube’s handles. When the other girl spots Ben ahead of them in line she smiles, an ingrained reaction that quickly changes when she too notices the blonde. Continue reading “In The Queue”

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Ten Years in One Night

How did I get here? I got home last night in a drunken haze from whatever party came after the party I actually got invited to. At least I thought I was home, but this bed feels strange, hard and lumpy like old oatmeal, and my eyes are slow to open. When they finally do I can see a ceiling fan blurry above my head. It’s whirling around so fast I wouldn’t be able to make out the individual blades even if my vision were normal.

My back hurts, too. Not a shooting ache but a dull one that usually comes from having slept on it wrong for too long. When I passed out I must have landed awkwardly on this strange bed, or perhaps it’s a futon. I slowly sit up in bed and force my eyes open more than just the slits they were. I stretch my arms above my head and notice they seem to have lost some definition. Instead of my firm biceps I see some give to them, as if gravity is fighting to drag them down, and is doing a good job of getting it done. It doesn’t compute.

The old, threadbare slippers I’ve had for years that don’t fit me anymore are gone from the foot of the bed, not that I thought they’d be there anyway, but I have to find out where I am. And suddenly I hear a noise behind my back, like a muffled thump, and I turn to see what’s over there. To my shock the thump I heard is identified as a small, mousy woman with stringy brown hair who is on the floor on the other side of the bed. I find my glasses on the side table and slip them on. When did I start wearing glasses?

Everything comes into focus then — the woman, who has obviously just been woken up by her fall from the bed, the ceiling fan above my head, and the sounds of running feet in the hallway outside of the closed door.

“What the…” says the woman in a gruff voice, obviously startled by the fall.

“Who are you?” I respond, still out of it myself.

She looks at me as if I’ve grown a second head.

“Don’t get started this morning, Murray, not until I’ve had my cup of coffee,” she says, dragging herself up from the floor. I notice she is naked, and I quickly look away, first because I don’t know her, and second because she is older. Quite a bit. By at least ten years. And those ten years have not been kind. Continue reading “Ten Years in One Night”