#6: A Short Story based on a book prompt.

 Yesterday I unexpectedly found myself the owner of The McSweeney's Joke Book of Book Jokes. While avoiding my thesis I decided to attempt a story based on a cheesy prompt found in one of the segments. The resulting story can be found below. Enjoy!

~Brown-eyed girl

Prompt: #11. write  a short story in which one character reduces another to uncontrollable sobs without touching him or speaking.

Evelyn smiled. Brett would be home soon, the cad. He didn’t know she knew about his latest indiscretion, the one involving the yoga instructor from his gym. She had thought long and hard about the proper way to punish him, until at 4:20 a.m.when she had suddenly found the most brilliant idea ever –she would punish him by saying nothing. Absolutely nothing.
Brett’s Mercedes pulled into the drive; he parked the sleek black sports car and approached the house. He was holding roses, and a bottle of what she assumed was wine. Apparently he guessed she knew…she wondered what had given her away, she had been completely normal when they spoke on the phone that morning –when he called to say a late work meeting had kept him from making it home the night before.
Work meeting. She snorted derisively over the mashed potatoes she was making. As if she’d believe that excuse again. Brett entered the kitchen, and offered her the flowers with a shrug.
“Here. I figured you were past due for something out of the ordinary.” He said offhandedly.
Evelyn was outwardly silent, but inside she was a seething beast of rage. Out-of-the-ordinary would be him not sneaking around with other women.
“Why won’t you take them? Aren’t lilies still your favorite flowers?” He asked. Offering them to her again.
She shrugged, and took the bouquet, careful not to touch Brett’s hand as she did so. Evelyn set the flowers into a cut-glass vase she took down from a shelf, added warm water, then walked over and set them just off center in the middle of the dining room table.
“Sorry again about that meeting; couldn’t get out of it. Upper-level stuff you know.” Brett’s voice sounded slightly concerned.
Evelyn smiled coolly, stirred the potatoes and turned up the heat on the corn.
She was taking the dinner rolls out of the oven when he walked up behind her. She spun quickly around, holding the hot pan in front of her.
“Woah…honey that’s hot!” said Brett, narrowly avoiding the pan.
She nodded, and dumped the rolls into a basket. Evelyn then proceeded to set the rest of the food into various platters and trays, ferrying it quickly to the table. She took the bottle of wine he had brought with him and two glasses in last. Setting them down by the head of the table with a thump, she looked at him and motioned to the corkscrew already at his place.
“Okay Evy, sure I’ll open the wine.” He said, sounding a little unsure.
She stepped out of his reach and walked to her own seat, at the far end of the large table, as he poured.
“Here you go honey,” he said, walking toward her with a glass of California red.
She pointed at the table in front of her then got up and walked back to the kitchen. She came back carrying a pot roast, already cut into pieces.
She calmly set a large portion on Brett’s plate, then did the same for her own and set the roast down on the table.
“Evelyn, honey? Are you just going to not talk to me for some reason tonight?” Brett sounded both annoyed and a little miserable.
Good, she thought. He should feel miserable for once.
She didn’t bother to respond at all to his question, but began eating her dinner instead. After a brief pause Brett picked up his fork and began to eat too.
About three minutes of total silence later, he started to talk nervously.
“This is really great Evy, I was just craving your pot roast the other day. It’s like you’re a mind reader.”
Silence emanated from the opposite end of the table.
“And these potatoes, they’re just perfect. I love how you get them so smooth every time.”
She put her fork down and took a drink, staring at him with expressionless eyes while she did so.
“Wow, that dress you have on tonight is a really something. It brings out the blue in your eyes. Is it new?”
She shrugged, and continued her meal.
“So, I was thinking maybe we could take a long weekend sometime soon, I’ve been working so hard on the merger and you’ve been busy with your design work, we’re overdue for a break. You think maybe we could go to the Florida Keys, or the Bahamas in a couple weeks?”
She blinked twice, then got up and took her plate to the kitchen.
“Baby? Don’t you think a nice, relaxing mini-vacation with sun, sand, and umbrella drinks would be fun?” Brett was really starting to get anxious. Evelyn had been mad at him before, but normally she screamed some, threw something of his out the second story onto the driveway, then got over it. If not, he bought her a car or a new piece of jewelry and she got over it. He had never, ever been greeted with silence before. And never, ever for this amount of time.
Evelyn came back and cleared dinner from the table, then brought in a large chocolate cake.
She set it down in the center of the table, then brought in a tray with coffee.
“You made cake too?” Brett asked in an incredulous tone. “Honey you really went to town tonight, any reason for all this?”
She set a large piece of cake in front of him, followed by a steaming cup of coffee.
“You know Evy, you really didn’t need to do all this, I mean I’m not complaining, it’s fantastic…but…it really is above and beyond…”
She sat down and began to attack her cake with a fork. Brett tried to appear as calm as his wife, but she was like ice, and he was sweating. He couldn’t figure out if she knew about Sally or not. Surely if she knew she would be yelling, or…would she? He wasn’t sure. The silence was killing him. He hated the absence of noise…he’d rather be yelled at.
Evelyn watched him like a cat watches a cornered mouse. She realized he was almost at the breaking point. However, she was unsure what he would do once broken, would he admit to the affair, or deny it and rant that she wasn’t speaking…or…what?
About a half hour later, when she had cleared the table of all but the remainder of the coffee, and he had used up all the compliments he could think of and ran out of words, she got her answer.
“Honey, honey you really gotta talk to me. I can’t fix it if I don’t know what I did to deserve the silent treatment.”
She stirred her coffee.
“Alright, Evelyn I need to tell you something…but, don’t get mad alright…okay baby?” Brett was sweating profusely now, he was out of options. He had to tell her the truth…because he couldn’t deal with this silent person sitting opposite him any longer.
She shrugged and toyed with the knife she’d used to cut the cake.
“Okay, I’m just going to say this fast and get it over with. I’ve been seeing my yoga instructor’s therapist. She went with me the first couple of times, but just as moral support. I wasn’t having an affair. I was getting help. I didn’t come home last night because I was having an overnight session, the clinic was monitoring my sleep patterns and REM cycles. The doctor thinks maybe I’ve got an imbalance that makes me..less than honest sometimes…”
Evelyn picked up the knife. Slowly. She stared at him over the lilies he’d bought her. Then…she sliced them off the stems and sat back down.
“Okay, okay, I was sleeping with my yoga instructor. There, I said it. Can you please just yell at me, and let me buy you a new Lexus so we can move on?” His voice began to crack…
“What else do you want from me? I admitted it. I’m an idiot. A repeated idiot..I…there….were….others…” And Brett began to recite all of the various and sundry women he’d messed with during his 15 year marriage to Evelyn. But what Brett didn’t know, was that this was Evelyn’s plan from the get-go. Her prenuptial agreement would not let her divorce Brett without his admission of guilt, something he had so far avoided doing. All she needed was proof of his wrong-doing to walk away with millions.
Brett came to the end of the list, then….he began to cry.
“Ev-ev-evylyn….. I-I-I’m sorry honey. I’m so sorry…I just…I can’t help it. I really love you, and only you…I just…I just get bored…I just…I don’t know….What can I do to fix it?”
Evelyn stood up. Handed the brokenly-sobbing Brett a box of Kleenex, and a manila envelope with her attorney’s number then walked to the bookshelves behind her, and turned off the camera. And then Evelyn smiled.
© 2010 Ananda M. Boardman

#5 (Monday Pants)

Over the break I went jeans shopping, as I realized my existing pairs were starting to fall apart and were faded to the point of total loss of color.

I bought skinny jeans (Target, $10 on sale) in two colors. But, as anyone who has ever worn them knows, they are not at all user-friendly. By this I mean to say that getting into a pair of skinny jeans is really an art form, or perhaps a new form of aerobic dance.

I was trying on my second or third pair of jeans when my mother entered the dressing room to check my progress (I should note that my family's pretty open, and there isn't much that will bother us with that whole personal space thing). She nearly fell to the floor laughing at my "get into the skinny jeans" jump-up-and-down-to-make-them-fit dance. I was not so amused. (Note: once on, the jeans actually become normal pants, and one can breathe. But the initial putting on of the skinny jeans requires some effort).

When she had stopped laughing and repositioned herself on the chair, she started the laugh-and-fall process all over again at the following statement of mine:
Me: These are so not Monday pants.
Mom: *laughter* What are you talking about? *laughter*
Me: You know, Monday pants. You get up on Monday morning and you want pants you can throw on in  two seconds and be good to go. These, take too much effort. I need like 5 minutes to get them on, therefore not Monday pants.
Mom: *gasping for air because she is now laughing harder* You could wear them to dinner on  Monday? They could be Monday dinner pants, just not Monday morning pants?
Me: In theory, yes. But only if I have all of Monday afternoon to get them on!
Mom: So could they then be Tuesday pants? Since once you've worn them once they go on much easier?
Me: possibly, but only if I have had the time on Monday afternoon/evening to get into and wear them.

She finally quit laughing long enough to see that they fit, and the end result was the purchasing of two pair of jeans. One normal, one dark wash, but she laughed at me all weekend about my Monday pants.

As tomorrow is Monday this seemed a fitting late-Sunday post.

The lesson of the story is: skinny jeans don't make Monday pants, but they can be Tuesday pants, and they do make family shopping interesting.

#4 (Driving Habits)

I drove home for Thanksgiving break. That's about an 8 hour drive, if I don't hit traffic, roadworks, storms, wind, accidents, etc... I have been called an aggressive driver more than once. This is simply not true, I am a kind, patient, considerate driver, until you do something stupid in front of me that results in the adding of time to my trip. Also, if you think you are God's gift to women, or your car is clearly compensating for something you're physically lacking...I may be more likely to whip around you and leave you in the dust of my versa's exhaust.

Tuesday was no exception to the established driving pattern, but instead of finding myself the recipient of several gestures, honking, and shouting by other drivers, I added a new experience to my repertiore of road tales: paper throwing.

Yes, you read that correctly. Traffic was worse than normal, and it was aided by AR-DOT and TXDOT scheduling road maintenance on THANKSGIVING WEEK. The geniuses... I was about midway in my trek and found myself approaching a segment of highway that narrowed from 3 lanes to 2. This isn't anything to be worried about, the powers that be routinely do this on highways that I travel, I think they enjoy watching the ensuing traffic jams. BUT as it got to the point where the cones that cut off the "fast" lane were visible a hot-shot (in a piece of junk car I might add) comes out of nowhere from behind me and goes all the way to the cone-line in a matter of miliseconds. This driver, a 20-something male from what I saw, then proceeded to attempt to cut in front of me, without indicating, and by sheer force of will.

I was tired. The drive was taking forever. I had "miles to go before I slept" to paraphase an old poem. I did not let him in. Why should I let this idiot who clearly had ignored the warning signs over a mile behind us (which stated the lane ended) go in front of me?

He angrily pulled in behind me (his glare apparently got the appropriate response of terrified braking from the car behind me), and spent the 5 miles of the 2-lane stretch glaring at me through my rear-view mirror.
I could have handled that, after all, that's really nothing new, and I have been known to do that to other drivers.

The roadway widened to 3 lanes again. The driver pulled even with me, and glared for a full 15 seconds, his eyes not on the road at all during that time (mine were, as I have peripherals, and was using them to see his glare). Then, this driver went one further.

He pulled in front of me. He braked. And just when I thought I'd see his tell-tale one-fingered gesture of rage (which I'd honestly expected during the 15 second side-stare), he threw paper.

Yes, ladies and gents, this man of at least his mid-twenties threw a piece of paper out of his window at me. I can only assume he hoped it would fly onto my windshield in a moment of movie-perfection and show me some obscenity? Because, you see, it merely fluttered to the road and was spat out the other side of my tires, leaving me laughing at the childish display of road-rage that also amounted to a misdemeanor (littering).

My family thinks that perhaps he was in anger management and was supposed to find other outlets for his anger than gestures and cussing?

I can't be sure.
But, along with tales of drivers who have cussed, braked, honked, flipped me off, etc...during my marathon drives home, I now have the entertaining tale of the man who threw paper.

So thank you, paper-throwing moron for making my drive slighty more entertaining by using a non-environmentally friendly method of showing your distaste for my driving etiquette.

#3

I suppose I could try coming up with witty titles for these. One of these days when life slows down its rapid-fire pace and gives me a moment to breathe I'll try that out. Until then, I'm going to continue doing what I do best: balancing a two jobs (workstudy and newspaper editor) with an honors thesis, a double degree, and a life. Oh, and sleep....the blessed thing that I'm currently lacking and cannot seem to ever catch up with.

It's what, 2:30 a.m. or so?
Yeah.

I can't sleep again, so I'm awake wondering how late the newspaper will keep me up tomorrow. And if I should try to keep focusing on my massively important paper (due Friday, and currently less than one of its 15 pages long), or give up for now because anything I write will be pathetic.

Funny. I had something funny to say, that's what sparked the move from paper to blogspot. Can't remember it. Oh well. In it's place: here's an on-the-spot poem (I'm good at those, that and changing the lyrics of any song to fit just about any situation in less than a minute).

Hasta pronto (since I have to get up again soon), I'm off to TRY to acheive the elusive slumber that my body craves, but my mind has a love/hate relationship with.

~Nanda

Late Night:

It's late again,

past 2 a.m.

And here I sit.

Awake.

It's well past time,

to end these rhymes,

and send myself to bed.

To sleep.

But here I sit,

My mind unfit,

to venture into dreamland.

Awake.

This stupid mind,

It's quite unkind,

It will not power down.

Unfair.

You'd think it'd learn,

That I do  yearn,

for rest, and sleep, and peace.

Reboot.

But here I sit,

typing this bit,

of late-night rhyme,

Awake.

                                                        © Ananda M. Boardman 2010

#2

Here's a piece of poetry I wrote several weeks ago. It sparked from a family situation, and an article I read for a class about the decline of  marriage, families, and courtship (note: the article is "The End of Courtship" by Leon Kass). Ruth's already posted this on her blog, but I figured I'd stick it up here too, so here it is. It, also, was the product of a fit of insomnia and an itch to write. Sometimes I wish I had more control over when I got that itch, it's rarely at a time convenient to my life. More people should understand what it's like to be a slave to one's pen. :P
The poem's called "Pieces" and is probably one of the best I've written in recent years. Give it a look?
~Nanda

Pieces:

There’re cracks in the façade I show to the world,

Screams shouting silently, yearning to be heard.

But I’ll play my role a bit longer.

There are shattered sharp splinters of broken-down heart,

Piercing through the costumes that keep them in the dark,

But I’ll stitch up the tears a bit longer.

There are tears running silently down the walls of my soul,

Longing for the day they burst forth, break a hole,

But I’ll bottle them in a bit longer.

There are words yet unspoken, lurking there in my core,

Waiting deep down inside, for the day they’ll spill out,

But I’ll keep them stored up a bit longer.

There are moments of sadness, of grief and of pain,

There’s no time to deal with them, to watch them spill down a drain,

So I’ll shore up the dam a bit longer.

There are tiny, twisted, terrors that peek through my eyes,

Trying to show the world I’m pretending, that it’s lies,

But I’ll blink so you miss it a bit longer.

There are nights wasted sleepless, unable to dream,

Circles beneath my eyes are not just what they seem,

But I’ll cover them up a bit longer.

There are days when the mask I wear slips from my face,

When I look as I feel, tired and failing in the race (to look okay),

But I’ll wear my mask a bit longer.

If there’s an end to this tunnel of darkness and hurt,

Where the pain should all stop and the words not seem curt,

But until then I’ll hurt a bit longer.

There’s a hope springs eternal, or so I’ve been told,

Where grace heals up the wounds that until then bleed cold,

But I’ll stop the bleeding in place a bit longer.

There’s a place where the scars of what’s happened so far,

Fade into the background and don’t show somehow,

But until I get there, they’ll show a bit longer.

There’s a time when this struggle will end in a draw,

When everyone’s lost and they’re at the literal last straw,

But I must not be there yet, it’s a bit longer

But to make it there, I must last a bit longer.

God is it close? I can’t do this much longer.

© Ananda M. Boardman 2010

#1

So, I did it. For all of you out there who insisted that my often humorus adventures in everyday life be documented: here it is. I make no promises that it will always be funny, or witty, or wise, but I will try to be entertaining as I detail the quirks and random happenings that make up my day-to-day existence. And of course, given my propensity to spit forth written works, it will inevitably include excerpts and snippets from my literary endeavors.
Comments are welcome, as are ideas for posts and short stories etc...