35. Affinity

Mignon trundled down the stairs to the basement, turned right and swung the heavy basket of laundry onto the worktable. Her slippers splashed for the last few steps. Looking down she was dismayed to see a shining sea of water over most of the floor.

Later that day she escorted her husband down to see the ‘flood’, a recital of the mess not satisfying enough to share the worry of it.

Aloysius Schick, or Wish as he was better known, ruefully surveyed the tide of water reaching under all storage containers, wood, polyurethane or otherwise.

“Why is this happening?” asked Mignon. “The rain we had today couldn’t have done all this.”

Wish struggled with the advisors in his head. Should he pacify her, or give her more to worry about?

“Well, honey, it wasn’t this storm, it was the sequence of storms.” 

Mignon crossed her arms against her chest, cocked her head to one side and waited.

“Well,” he sighed, “it’s the water table. It’s risen under the floor.”

“Oh… my…..GOD!” she exclaimed. “Water,” she paused to breathe, “is right under there?”

She pointed to the gray-painted cement floor.

“Um, yeah,” said her husband, beginning to sweat.

He could see the little curlicue wrinkle form on her forehead, indicating that her thoughts were flying a mile a minute.

“Oh my God,” she said and flew back up the stairs.

That night, Mignon marched down the stairs and stood at the water’s edge. They did not live near the beach. They were situated on level ground on the middle of Long Island. They had inhabited their cozy cottage of a house for five years with seasonal dampness, yes, but never a lake such as this.

Mignon loved the water. Not just the roaring surf, freezing, heart-stopping water collecting in a basin under a waterfall, or a serene lake, but all things related to the water world. She would wander in a light rain throughout her garden, feeling the gentle touch of drops on her body. She would seek out the sparkling diamond droplets on the tips of pine needles, muddle her fingers in water collected in a deep leaf, and pull a drooping branch and spring back as a rainstorm beat the grass.

Sleep was never better than when the rain tickled the windowpanes or drummed on the roof. If she couldn’t get to sleep she imaging herself a drowsing bird, thinking itself safe for the night perched on a branch under masses of rhododendron leaves. When thunder and lightening announced a storm, she would be besieged with frightening drops bucketed onto her wings. She would fly desperate to reach shelter and land, shaking soaking wings on the porch of a tiny birdhouse. She would go inside to find an old nest, lined with soft feathers. There she would rest and watch the storm’s night terrors before drowsing off, safe.

She looked down fascinated. She jumped straight up and down near the water with as much force as she could. The water rippled, disturbed, then smoothed itself, unfazed. She tossed a penny she found in her pocket from jeans now in the dryer. The round circles of water spread into satisfying waves. She marveled at their symmetry.

The lights went out. Why had a former owner installed a timer on the lights for no good purpose?  Mignon dismissed her initial instinct to rush up the stair. She heard the slow lap of water. It echoed and surged, winding itself in a subterranean chamber around large stones impeding its progress, rushing to another destination. It was rushing right under her feet, caressing the cement floor when it reached high enough in its coursing.

Her fingers stretched to reach the water. She could feel the swirl of it, sensuous, caressing her hands. It was then she registered that the water had risen half way up her thighs, and there was the delicious sound of echoed dripping, as if in an underground cavern. Music.

The water, fragrant as a wooded glen, lifted the tips of her hair and spun it lazily around her shoulders. She murmured a sigh and reclined her head back into it. Watery fingers inched along her tingling scalp to her hairline.

“Wish,” she thought.

Crashing stomping steps reached her, arms encircled her and dragged her from the almost merging that had tried to breach her fragile skin and draw her home once more.  

 (734 words)

34. Tongue Tied

Tongue Tied

The tart after-taste of the elixir lingered in his mouth. Benny Traversom walked down the alley west of Dunster Street in Boston as directed. He noted that the light grew dim, a mist seemed to settle itself in the air, and his wool pea coat was indeed warranted, all as the Instructress had indicated. All so much dramatic pretention, he thought. Power of suggestion. But it was a lark anyhow. The cost of some clipped fingernails, a snip of his hair, and a kiss had bought this unremarkable non-adventure. Why had he listened to Shara?

The kiss had been harassed out of him in front of his compatriots at the Ghoul and Gruel, a nouveau-gothic bar/gathering place for bats and beers. What was his hearts’ desire? To meet a like-minded woman, someone seeking a man like himself. A kiss sealed the bargain of possibility. Shara dared him to it and wouldn’t allow a refusal. What kind of second date had this turned out to be?

His head was definitely hazy. Had to be vodka. Lots of it. And a comingling of some bitters and sour apple. All present behind the counter, station of the Bar-mistress or Instructress as she had the effrontery to call herself. Good thing good money hadn’t been involved.

Benny stumbled. The surface of the alley had changed. He remembered a dirty cement walk-way but now he saw that the alley was paved with cobblestones. Cobblestones! Uneven, toe-snagging, knee-cap breakers, that’s what they are! He wiped his nose on his sleeve. The air smelled like the harbor. He ran his fingers though his hair and found it to be longer than it had been in years.

The soft gong of ships’ bells mingled with the soft shush of incoming tide. But he had no time to wonder about this change in scenery, he had an urgent meeting, a rush-of-the-heart, longing to be there, push to his footsteps. He turned around a corner of bricks and she was there.

She rushed into his arms. He whirled them both behind a wall of casks, indigo darkness to any passerby. He accepted her fervent kiss and embrace, returning them with ardor. He could feel a familiarity as he struggled to recall her name. He did not know her, as if he had been slipped into someone else’s life, yet, her perfume steadied him, her touch reassured.

“My a’th kar,” she whispered.

“My a’th kar,” he replied.

            The gonging of the village bell pulled them apart. They sped off in different directions as if agreed upon. Benny found himself running down the cement alley-way, not stopping until he had hustled himself into the crowded entry of the Ghoul and Gruel. Shara turned to him as he came up to the bar. She grinned.

            “How was your adventure?” she shouted into his ear over the music.

            “I went in the alley and had a hallucination. How was yours?”

            “Oh, I didn’t go on one. Only one per customer and I had mine ages ago.”

“You have to tell me all about it,” he said, then noticed that a thin silver bar suspended on a delicate chain around her neck had spidery words etched on its surface.

“Math kat,” he stated, surprised that he had spoken aloud.

“My a’th kar,” said Shara. “My a’th kar is Cornish for I love you.”

             

(560 words)

33. For Your Welfare

For Your Welfare

                A cup of steaming Earl Gray appeared beside Leigh’s console. She smiled up at Dan and continued her prep. Her interview at Xanadu Systems was tomorrow. 

            “Don’t wear yourself out. You know you’re ready.”

            “Just this last thing,” Leigh answered. “I need directions to the Huntington Quadrangle.”

            “The car will know how to get there,” laughed Dan. “Got your papers together?”

            Leigh held up a folder. Funny how despite all of the electronic exchange of information, paper copies were still required. She thought of an interview as an audition. Her appearance must fit the part. A hound’s tooth dress and black blazer conveyed sophisticated professionalism. Hair and makeup just right. Silver hoop earrings. And a portfolio of education, internships, climb-the-ladder jobs, and commendations from supervisors sure to impress. Ten years since grad school had prepared her for this next opportunity. The final challenge was the face to face with a panel of interviewers. After the qualifying exam of course. Leigh was excited instead of nervous. She knew her stuff.

            Her dreams were filled with visions of houses they had visited. This job would enable them to move up from their two bedroom starter home, ‘the cottage’ as they liked to call it. Dan’s success with the franchise he acquired four years before, one of the many ‘Chauffeur Car Shops’ that catered to owners of driverless cars was their other income source. Leigh thought about baby names for future reference.

            The next morning at ten AM Leigh sat for the one and a half hour written and computational test for her position. After a brief rest she was brought by the HR rep to the conference room. Five men and women alternated giving her questions designed as an exhaustive perusal of her qualifications, attitudes, and experience. After the final handshakes were complete she returned to the main entrance where her silvery blue car waited for her. She was surprised to find a light lunch packed in the cooler compartment. Dan’s thoughtfulness.

            At home Leigh walked the dogs and smiled as she reviewed different aspects of the ‘interrogation’. Dan joined them in the garden when her cell rang. She put it on speaker.

            “Leigh we’re happy to tell you that you’ve got the job.” Leigh and Dan embraced and did a silent victory dance as the voice continued. “We’ll need you to come in one more time to sign paperwork. After that, all paychecks will be direct deposited into your account on a biweekly basis. Congratulations. We’ll see you tomorrow in the contracts department at nine thirty. Welcome aboard.”

            “I never doubted you’d land this job Baby! Now we can move ahead with all our plans.”

            “Out to dinner first. Let’s start celebrating. This is my dream job!”

Leigh and Dan Osbourne, a young professional couple making their way in the world. After decades of a jobless population struggling in the aftermath of global automation, a savvy government designed a way to provide for the needs of the people. They compensated workers for jobs they could not give, but maintained competition required for a sense of autonomy and individuality. For their welfare, the masses were paid to stay at home.

            (531 words) 

32. Dreaming Your Life Away

            

            The glass doors of the Sky Room Café were open to the lobby of the Cinema Arts Center in Huntington, NY. Al Darcy walked inside glancing at the various groups clustered at small tables. He decided on a gathering of five with papers in front of them instead of carrot cake and coffee. The Writing Group.

            “Good evening. I’m looking for Carrie Rickman.”

            “You’re Al. We saved you a seat,” chirped Carrie.

            Introductions were made as Al took a sheaf of pages from a folder.

            “As I told you on the phone we all write in different genres. Bill and Harry write screen plays, Lauren writes flash fiction, David is working on a stage play, and I have a novel in progress.”

            “I have a penchant for short stories and poetry,” said Al placing his hand on his pages.

            Harry distributed copies and parts to the company for a reading of a scene. His screen play, a comedy entitled “Not So Fast”, had them chuckling at a deft use of slapstick and pratfalls.

            “That’s schadenfreude. That’s why it’s so dam funny,” said Carrie. “Your character is enjoying his coworker’s difficulties.”

            “A little too much. The actual translation from the German is ‘harm joy’,” said Bill looking up from his cell phone.

            “You know how hard it is to act happy for someone when they have a windfall,” said Harry. “I don’t want to know if they got a nice inheritance. But if they have a problem it’s easy to be all sympathetic. It makes you feel better.”

            “Sounds like sibling rivalry,” said Lauren. “Competition is fierce.”

            Al listened intently to the light-hearted discussion glad to see that criticism wasn’t a part of it. They laughingly told of moments when they had experienced the particular, shameless delight of schadenfreude. Then Al was invited to share something he’d written.

            “I brought a poem to start,” he said. He distributed copies and read to them in a soft voice in an even tempo.

           

Stars

Sometimes I yearn for the past too much.

I would live among the stars

If I could to have it back again.

Stars are so far away

that the beauty of their light

does not shine in our night

until time unimagined has passed for them.

And so it is the same

that turnings of earth have not transcended

through space to the stars as yet.

I could live among the stars

where my dreams are of those

I have not met, or lost.

            “Lovely,” sighed Lauren as the others murmured agreement. “You’ve got science in here. It’s about the speed of light, isn’t it?”

            “Yes. I’m quite interested in the concept of time and how it can be manipulated.”

            “That’s Lauren’s favorite topic,” said Harry. “Science fiction.”

“Thanks for the segue; I brought a sci fi piece tonight.”

Lauren read “Please Do the Math”, a flash fiction story of 611 words.

“I always like your twists at the end,” said Carrie about the unexpected ending that the man looking for the perfect mate at a dating service was an android.

“The need for love is universal,” offered Al. He caught Carrie’s eye. “What did you bring?”

“This is chapter 14 of a novel about thefts from museums. It’s a mystery.”

“With passion and ardor mixed in. That’s her specialty,” said David. The others agreed. Al learned that Carrie had written many novels and was successfully launching them to avid fans on the internet.

As they walked to their cars Lauren and Carrie agreed that they hoped Al would return.

“He’s charming,” said Carrie.

“I like the quaint way he turns a phrase,” replied Lauren.

Two weeks later at the next meeting of the Writer’s Group Al read the part of George in Bill’s screen play. They all agreed that he portrayed a vampire-zombie with tacit self-centered self-loathing.

“If, I mean when we start producing films, you get the part,” stated David.

“You must have been on stage,” said Carrie in a flirtatious tone.

Al just smiled.

David’s play, a musical, focused on New Year’s Eve in New York. Summoning his courage he performed a pivotal song and dance number. He accompanied himself on a ukulele and sang out to the small crowd in the Sky Room Café.

“You’re headed for dinner theater,” said Harry as the spectators applauded.

On the evening of their next meeting Al handed out neatly stapled copies of a short story he’d written.

“This story takes place in England. I based it on an unusual experience I had while on holiday. We could each read a page.”

They looked at the pages before them.

“Tomorrow, Today, and Yesterday,” he read. “Not another historic site,” complained Glynis. “We need a café for rest and reflection.”

A pause. Silence. The members of the Writers Group looked up and drew a blank. A collective intake of breath accompanied their confused stares at the place where Al was sitting a moment before. He was gone.

“Where’d he go?” asked Carrie in a shaky voice.

Lauren rose and looked at his small leather zippered case on the table.

“His name is here, and his address. Alphonse D’Arcy  4400 Chamonix  Mont Blanc  France  +33 (0) 4 50 12 60.

At the moment he disappeared Al opened his eyes in a hospital room in Chamonix, France. His coma had lasted for 32 days.

“I feel like I’m dreaming,” said Lauren. “It’s as if he was never here at all.”

          (912 words) 

31. Open House

Open House

45 Monroe Place Brooklyn Heights, NY 11201

Converted Victorian; front porch, enclosed rear deck

Full basement with apartment with separate entrance

Three bedrooms on second floor

Master bedroom with balcony

State of the art kitchen, dining area; 3 ½ baths

Large living room with green marble fireplace

Extensive, well manicured grounds with expert landscaping

            Mrs. Elsa Mazza, age 76, widow, peeked through the white, cut-work curtains. Her son, Frank, stood outside with a realtor and prospective buyers. For her sweet yet stately house. Where she had lived for 58 years. That her dear son was insistent on selling. Over her dead body.

            Elsa heard Frank’s voice as he wrapped up his “why you should buy my Mom’s house” speech. She smoothed her silvery curls, and hurried to join them.

            “And this is my mother now,” he said. “Pam, Nathan, would you like to see the house? I’ll be right in after I show the engineering report to Ms. Sand.”

            “Come on in; you can call me Elsa,” she said brightly.

            They climbed the broad-plank oak steps onto the front porch.  They looked up and admired the sky-blue painted ceiling over the white wicker furniture scattered pleasingly in conversational groupings.

            “This color always makes me think of heaven,” said Elsa sweetly. They voiced happy assent as they followed her inside.

            The couple gazed at a blue Persian carpet in an ample foyer leading to a curved staircase.

            “Careful as you step my dears,” cooed Elsa, “the loose floor boards under that carpet can give your ankle an awful twist if you step on them just right. Keep your heels up.”

            They tiptoed awkwardly over the swirling palette of blues and pale pinks.

            “I’ll show you the dining room and kitchen first. It’s going to be your main source of toil in your house after all,” she said, winking at Pam.

            “Toil?” asked Pam with a quavery laugh. “Why would you say that?”

            “Well, sweetie, we all know that good cooking is the only way to keep a man. How long you been married lambs?”

            “Six years,” stated Nathan.

            “Ah, novices. I’m sure you’ll have many happy years together, just like me and my Howard, God rest him. There he is.” She pointed to an ornate bottle with a pressurized lid snuggled amongst tall jars of dried pasta.

            “That’s…?”

            “Yes Duck, that’s Howard, all that’s left after 42 wonderful years together.”

            Elsa nodded at their bewildered faces. “Of course, his DNA’s all over the place.  I watch a lot of CSI.”

            “This room was one of his favorite places,” she offered. “Thought it would be nice to keep him near the ziti.”

            They wandered around the expansive kitchen, sun streaming in through rosetted rounds of inset stained glass in lavender, mauve and leaf green. Pam leaned forward to look into the oversized farmhouse sink. Elsa rushed over to place a large floral mug on a black stain in the enamel basin. 

            She chuckled and muttered, “Forgot to do that!” Then she walked over to carefully push what was unmistakably an extra large mouse trap under the stove with her foot.

            “Ever notice all the creepy-crawlies that get into your house when they clear trees and such near by?  They’re building a new house down a ways from here and the poor little things have to find a new place quick!” Elsa noticed a visible shiver run over Pam.

            “Come on darlins, through the dining room into the living room, a pretty space I call the parlor.”

            The couple followed her through etched glass French doors into an expansive room whose crowning glory was an elegant arched green marble fireplace alive with a crackling fire. Pam and Nathan exclaimed with pleasure. Elsa proffered the plush sofa; they seated themselves, and watched as their hostess revealed a tea pot under a tea cozy that looked like a curled up cat. She poured fragrant tea into delicate bisque china cups. Squirrels ate sunflower seeds on the outside ledge of the picture window looking onto the front porch and lawn.

            “How lovely and peaceful it is to sit and reflect,” sighed Elsa. “Oh course, it wasn’t quite this peaceful at other times. When we had the flood…”

            “Flood!” exclaimed Nathan.

            “Flood,” agreed Elsa nodding, “a few years back it was quite a struggle dragging out all those old things stored in the basement. We’ve got these underground springs you know.  Sometimes they swell from the rains and a cement wall is just no match for them. I’ll show you the water mark behind the shelves down there when we go down into the dungeon. Ha yeah! That’s just what my Howard used to call it! I do believe there’s some underground tunnels that end up right outside those walls that lead to the streams. Heard an old tale that people used to find them and get lost under there.”  Elsa couldn’t miss the horrified look that Nathan and Pam exchanged.

            “Well, now that we’ve had some refreshment, let’s go take a look upstairs!”

Elsa led the way up the curving staircase. She noticed that Pam had a tight grip on Nathan’s hand. They saw the guest bedrooms first. Pale yellow wallpaper with curling vines laden with pale pink rosebuds lined the walls of one, and cream moiré wallpaper warmed the walls of the other.  They walked down the L-shaped hallway appointed with closets and shelves.

            The master bedroom was Wedgewood blue and white with a large bed covered with an airy lace counterpane. On one side of the room was a loft tucked under the sloping ceiling, above walk-in closets. They could just see a deep blue velvet chaise lounge on the floor above.

            “There’s a wee stair case behind this little door. It’s a lovely place to read and dream.” Pam sighed. “Howard passed away up there.” Pam’s sigh turned into a strangled gasp. “Took me hours to figure out he wasn’t just asleep under his newspaper. And there was a thunder boomer all afternoon and night.  Couldn’t call anyone. Phones were out.”

            She paused. “Hot day too.” 

            Elsa walked over to the arched white marble fireplace which housed a rack of lit candles. “I talk to him here every night, just as if he was still up there, all quiet.”

            A sharp intake of breath behind her became a violent coughing fit. Pam was pounding her chest as Nathan bowed over her.

            “Here, sweetheart, have some water,” said Elsa as she opened the door to the white and lapis blue tiled bathroom.  A sky light made a hazy glow on the far wall. Elsa filled a small paper cup and handed it to her.

            “Course I don’t generally drink the tap water.”

            Pam hiccupped and coughed.

            “Not sure what gives it that funny taste. Is it lead, or is it the pesticides?”

            Pam put the cup down.

            Elsa walked out onto the balcony. The view was of the neighbor’s yard.

            “A balcony is so romantic,” breathed Elsa. “And when you get a gander at the neighbors skinny dipping in their pool at night when they throw those big parties it’s better than the old drive-in!” She cackled and winked. “They keep the dogs in for those.”

“You like to swim?”

            Pam trailed by Nathan was already heading for the door. They met Frank and Ms. Sand halfway up the staircase.

“Your mother has given us a charming tour of the house,” said Nathan stiffly. Pam’s strained smile met their eyes. “We have to discuss it,” she squeaked.

They walked out onto the lawn and put their heads together.

            Frank eyed his mother suspiciously. She was leading Ms. Sands of Happy Homes Realty over to the living room fire.

            “Cup of tea?” she asked.

(1291 words) 

             

30. No Cat Stories

“To lower your stress level, get a cat.”

What do fortune cookies know?  My son, Joshua, was out of a job. He needed something to keep him from the brink.

            “We’re going to Pet Heart to get a cat,” I texted from the office. We had just lost a prize, Dragon, our orange tabby.

            We wanted to find another orange but we had to choose from their collection. I had always wanted a black cat. They had a black kitten. And a former love, a gray cat named Blueberry, was brought to mind by the same name on the cage of another gray kitten. An omen.

            “You can adopt two,” tempted the lesser demon on duty. So we did.

            Two hundred and fifty dollars and a background check equal to a human adoption later, we brought Panther and Blueberry home. Two sweet, furry wrist wrappers to keep Josh from slitting his jobless wrists. They matured in a spare bedroom complete with cat ‘skyscraper’ to climb and roost on, and all the feline amenities. Then they were ready to join the family and have complete run of the house.

            The universe and past experience are a mirage that traps you into entertaining beliefs that can metamorphize unexpectedly.

            My husband bellowed from the living room.

            “There’s a mess on the couch!!”

            The two sapphire blue microfiber couches, a love seat and a full sofa with chaise at one end were piled seductively with plump velveteen pillows in jewel-tones of magenta, gold, and plum. Better than any litter box you can manufacture.  

            Faced with the unthinkable, I spun on my heel to get to the pet-stain cleaner. Blueberry sat primly under the piano bench. Her loud hallmark purr provided theme music.

            No, it didn’t end there.

            After several episodes like the first I hurried her to the vet for expensive, useless counsel and comfort.

            “The result of her blood and urine specimens indicate that this is a behavioral problem,” he intoned in a sing-song voice meant to sooth the demented. No, ya think? I swiped away over four hundred dollars for his insights and went home with a pheromone spray to calm her. May as well have used rum. But that would be for me.

            How did I know that Blueberry was the perp? Panther, perhaps more hominid than fe-lion would paw at the new masterpiece with confused wonderment. Would the cat-burglar of sorts remain to point out her dastardly doings? Panther commiserated. He felt for me. Besides, I caught Bluebird pawing at my pale green windbreaker in preparation before using it as a comfort station. I had left it on the chaise.

            No surprise that Pet Heart had shelves dedicated to many brands of urine deodorizers: sprays, wipes, soaks. But my best defense turned out to be black plastic leaf bags.

            With sharp scissors cut the sides of the bags so that the bottom seam remains, to create a long stretch of plastic. Overlap these long sheets and place them along the seat of the couch with a towel to soak up the inevitable. Cover the chaise end as well. Breathe. Then toss the worst of the couches, get outdoor couch and chair covers and keep them at a slant with cardboard. And wonder of wonders, Blueberry got wise and grew out of it! Took one year in bedlam to make it so.

            We’ve had many cats, and dogs. Never faced this situation.

            Blueberry fetches an old sock, leaping neatly over the arm of the couch to retrieve it when thrown for her. She trots back with it in her mouth for more play. Her purr is so deep that it resonates from the upstairs chair she reclines upon to be heard in the living room below. She is devoted to Josh and vocalizes to him certain he will catch on soon. She has become rather large and resembles a gray harbor seal with a double thick soft coat. Long white whiskers decorate her short little face with full furry cheeks and golden eyes that always look round and surprised.

            She is family. End of story.

(687 words)