Experiments in Flash Fiction

Finally, I see Rory across the bar.

She looks me up and down.  “You look nice.” 

I smile.  “Oh, thanks.  You do too.”

She glances toward my skirt.

“Did you…  I mean, are you looking…  A little…”

I look down at my belly.

“I mean, you look, beautiful, voluptuous,” she says.

“Thanks.  You look really…  Fit.”

“It’s this amazing diet.”

“What is it?”

“Kidney beans.”

“Kidney beans?”

“Yeah, you just eat one bean, a day.  That’s it.”

I stare at her for a long moment.

“Are you serious?”

“Yeah, it’s amazing.”

“Aren’t you basically just starving yourself?”  I ask. 

“No.  Not at all.  I love kidney beans.  They’re the perfect food.”

“Well, I have been working out a little,” I say.  “Running, going to the gym.”

“I’ve been taking a 5-mile swim to Catalina and then scaling this mountain, everyday.”

“Really?”  I say.

“Oh yeah, it’s amazing.  Can’t you tell?”

“Yeah, you look good.  I’ve been taking some vitamins.  My skin feels so great.”

“Vitamins are alight.  I’ve actually been taking dingle berries.”

“What?” 

“Yeah, they come from teenaged drug addicts,” she says.

“Are you serious?”

“Yeah, totally.”

“That sounds gross.”

“It’s not.  It’s—”

“Amazing, right?”

She gives me a dirty look.

“You’re just jealous.”

I glare at her.

“Let’s go dance, ok?”

She perks up.

“Oh totally, I’ve been taking these amazing salsa classes…”

Suzie, Mary and Patty sit in the park, cuddling their newborn babies.

The sun shines, and a warm breeze blows against the trees.

Suzie grins, holding her son Tommy close.  Her eyes are dreamy, as she remembers the delivery, only six weeks back.

“I’m so glad the whole pregnancy thing is done, and I’ve got Tommy right here in my arms.”

Mary grins, holding her daughter Emma close, as well.

“I know, giving birth…  It’s so intense.  But I’m glad we all had safe, easy deliveries.

Patty nuzzles her son.  “You’re so beautiful, Chad.”

They all cuddle their babies, looking into their eyes and smiling.

“Yeah, and I’m so glad I went natural,” says Suzie.  “I mean, even though he was 12 pounds, he still just popped right out.  No doctor, no nurse, no anything.  It was amazing.”

Mary practically cuts her off.  “Oh yeah, natural is the best way to go.  It was amazing, we dug this pit in our backyard, and sat in it for like forty five hours until Emma was born.  She was completely at one with the dirt.”

Patty chimes in.  “No, it’s true, you can’t beat natural childbirth.  You know those woods over the hill?  We totally lived back there, under a pine tree for like six days.  We wanted everything to be totally and completely natural.”

They all nuzzle their babies.

“Oh yeah, natural is best.  I didn’t cut off Tommy’s umbilical chord, either.  Just let is stay until it fell off.  It was great, so natural,” Suzie remembers.

Mary grins, “Oh yeah?  Well, we stayed in the pit for while.  We actually buried Alice in it.  So natural.”

Suzie gives her a funny look, but doesn’t say anything.

Patty answers back.  “Oh yeah, living in the woods and all, we actually used little Chad as a toilet.  Pee’d and pooped right on him.  It was perfect, very natural.”

Suzie and Mary look a little alarmed.

“Wow Patty,” says Suzie.  “You take everything to a whole different level.  I mean, I think I’m doing well carrying Tommy in a sling.  I’ve even been taking him to work.”

Mary laughs out loud.  “Actually, we’ve decided just to live in the pit for good.  This way, Alice can be totally and completely at one with the dirt.

“Oh yeah, we’re staying up in the pine trees.  Never ever coming back down again, except for right now.  Things just aren’t that natural down here,” says Patty.

They are silent for a long moment, until Suzie pulls out a lipstick and a compact.

Mary and Patty do the same.

All of them put the powder and lipstick on their babies.

Suzie chimes in.  “Well, gotta go, Tommy’s got his audition!”

“Same here,” says Mary.

“Same here,” says Patty.

I’m driving along the freeway and I have an urge,

For the perfect mix of potato and salt and oil and ketchup.

 I let up on the gas and give my right signal, ready to take exit one fifty six. 

But then I creep past it, without ever even moving into the far lane. 

Instead, I wait for an exit number that is divisible by seven. 

Seven times twenty equals one forty:  Gone. 

 Seven times seventy-seven equals one eighty-nine:  Safe. 

Time to consider the facts: 

•  The fries contain beef seasoning. 
• Beef seasoning comes from cows. 
• Cows cause greenhouse gases. 
• Greenhouse gases contribute to global warming. 

I am perpetuating world misery and denigration. 

I wipe my sweaty palms on my lap, drifting into the center of the road.  

Suddenly, I hear a loud and sustained horn “BLEEEEEEEEET.” 

I immediately swerve to the left. 

I glanced out my window as a truck driver with wild curly hair pressed his middle finger against the glass. 

My hands shake as I take exit 167 for a reputable sandwich joint.

Margot steps back.

He steps forward.

“Come on.  Just this once,” he begs.

Margot closes her eyes.

A car alarm beeps somewhere in the distance.

Margot isn’t sure why this is so hard, but so easy, too.

“No.”

“Please.

“No.”

It is a stand off.

They glare at one another.

“But I’m your brother.”

“It doesn’t matter.”

He’s fed up.  He gets into her face.

“You’re a bitch.”

Margot lurches forward and shoves him.

He pushes her.

She falls back onto the pavement.

He looks a little frightened.

Margot glares at him.

“Forget it now, asshole.”

He’s so angry, he wants to kick her.

But instead, he says, “I hate you.”

Then marches off into the distance.

Margot looks out, past the cacti.  He’s not there.

Margot calls out, into the wind.  But he’s not there. 

It’s been ages since I exercised.

Same with Gretchen.  She’s breathing just as hard as I am. 

“That was amazing, Lisa, this hike was a great idea.”

“I know,” says Gretchen.  “I don’t get out much.”

“I’m just sharing what I know,” says Lisa.  “I worked with an amazing guru.”

“Well, nature is definitely a way toward a more balanced lifestyle,” I say. 

Lisa takes a breath, stretching.

“Actually, my guru said that nature can sometimes create distractions.  He said, it’s better to stay inside whenever you can.”

Gretchen and I glance at one another, then Lisa, slightly confused.

“Well, being out here just makes me realize…  That deposition…”

“It’s so not important,” says Gretchen.

“I know.”

“It cost you eighty hours of your life this week,” says Gretchen.

“It’s just too much,” I say.

“Actually, my guru says the only way to reach Nirvana is to work hard.  Don’t put in eighty hours, put in one hundred,” says Lisa.

I give Gretchen a strange look.

“What kind of guru is this that you’re working with?” I ask.

“A very good one, says Lisa.

Neither Gretchen nor I say anything.  But Lisa pulls out several Whole Foods containers from her bag.

“Thanks for bringing lunch.  It’s so nice to eat healthy,” I say.  “It’s been nothing but fast food and Chinese take out for me lately.”

“Oh, I know.  I think I’ve gained like ten pounds in the past three months.”

“Me too,” I say.

“Well my guru says it’s important to eat whatever works with your lifestyle.  Fast food and take out are perfect.  In fact, he says that food is a one-way ticket to happiness.  Eat more and be happy,” says Lisa.

Gretchen gives her a funny look.

“That’s weird,” mumbles Gretchen.

I ignore her.

“On top of everything else, I’ve been so disconnected from Akash lately.”

“Me too, I barely even see John,” says Gretchen.

“Forget about sex.”

“Oh yeah, what’s that?” I say.

“My guru says sexual frustration leads to affairs, and sometimes, a good affair can do wonders for marriage,” Lisa says.

“Are you…  Sure you should really being seeing this guru, I mean he sounds…”

“Crazy,” Gretchen says.

“He makes a lot of sense when I’m with him.” Lisa says.

Again, I carry on with my train of thought.

“You know.  I don’t see Arti enough.  I can’t believe she’s already two.  Poor girl, her childhood is just ticking away….”

“I know,” says Gretchen.  “ Same for me and Adam.  Three, already.”

“Actually, my guru says, it’s good for parents and kids to spend time apart.  It creates a cosmic void that children then spend a lifetime trying to fill.”

I glare at Lisa. 

“Oh yeah, well, what would your guru say about suicide, huh?”

“Nisha!?”

Lisa is quiet.

“No, seriously.  Sometimes I dream about going in my sleep, and other times, I think, maybe a book shelf will fall on my face.  What would your guru say to that, huh?”

Gretchen interjects.  “Come on, you’re working way too hard, you just need a break.”

“Actually.  My guru says that the desire to die is a natural way to be at one with the universe.  In fact, suicide is the ultimate road to spiritual fulfillment.”

“Is that right?  Then let me help you—“

I lurch forward and grab her neck.

The laundry lady gives me a once over as she pins my jeans.

I stay still, very still.

Another once over, and then she blurts it out.

“You gain weight.”  This is a fact and not a question.

I pretend like I don’t hear.

“You gain weight, no exercise?  Sitting in office all day?”

“Umm, kind of, maybe.”

She looks me up and down again.

Then suddenly pokes my stomach area.

“Or maybe you pregnant?  You stomach big, big.”

Again, I pretend like I’m invisible.  But there is no way to really hide for too long.

“Ahh, I see, you having baby?  You three months pregnant?”

I clear my throat, maybe a little more loudly than I should.

“No.  I’m not pregnant.”

She steps back and gives me a long look.

“Oh.  I see.  You and husband no make sexy time.”

I look down.

“Yes, yes.  You and husband no make sexy time so you eat lot.”

Again, I clear my throat.

“He wasn’t my husband.  And we’re not together any more.”

She shakes her head.

“I see.  No boyfriend, no sexy time, sitting in office all of the time, you get fat, fat, fat.”

I’m about to say something, but I’m too late.

“No sitting in office so much.  Get out and find new boyfriend.”

“I’m not sitting in the office…  I got laid off…”

She can’t believe it.  She pauses and stares.

“No boyfriend, no job, no sexy time, sitting in apartment all day, getting fat.  Not good.”

I take a deep breath.

“I’m not in my apartment…  I’m living with my mom.”

“Oh my God.   No boyfriend, no job, no sexy time, living with mom, getting fat.”

I feel the tears coming. 

She stares at me for a moment.

“My God, you loser.  Big, big loser.”

I burst into loud tears.  Then run out of the store.

The credit people call again.

“So, ma’am, how about by the end of this week?”

I am silent.

“Ma’am?  Please?  We’re trying to help you here.”

“Sure,”  I say.  “Ok.  End of the week.” 

Then I abruptly hang up the phone.

If I had five or ten thousand extra dollars lying around, I would pay.

But the truth is that I don’t today, and I’m pretty sure I won’t by the end of the week.

It’s not that I don’t want to pay or that I don’t know what is going on, it’s that….

When Bill and I bought the cute red couches, and the black coffee table, and the abstract art with the fluttering bunnies, I thought we’d be together forever and share in every credit card bill forever too.  So I didn’t worry about putting it all on mine.

But then he met Eva… 

And apparently, Denise says they have gray couches. 

I had known it all along…  That the red wouldn’t work.

I even asked him.  More than once.

“Are you sure about the red and black and bunnies combo?  I mean, I didn’t think you were that post modern.”

He didn’t say much except that he wasn’t post modern, but that he liked red couches. 

“Are you sure?  Are you sure?  Are you sure?”  I asked multiple times.

He said he was.  But I knew he wasn’t.  Because he didn’t seem to enjoy the couches, or the table or the bunnies.

Every time I tried to kiss his neck, he got up from the couch, and said he was tired.

And when I made us my special pad thai with a lemon cocktail, he looked down at the table, and away from the bunnies.

“Are you sure?” I asked.  “It’s not to late to get the blue couch, or the black one.”

And then, he told me everything.  He met a woman at work who told fart jokes, drank milkshakes and wore sneakers.

I was silent.  He carried on about about how I was beautiful and interesting and blah, blah, blah….

I cried, and told him he was a lame fuck, and that I never wanted to see him again.  He said he’d help me out if I wanted to return the couches, but I told him that he was a lame fuck again and that he better get out. 

I stand in line getting my usual, dark rye with pepper jack.  Then suddenly, an old lady wearing glasses with bright green frames taps me on the shoulder.

At first I almost don’t see her because she is so petite.  But her glasses and fur coat are hard to ignore.

She asks me if they might sell pastrami here.  I glance at the menu, then at her.  I tell her I don’t see why not, but I don’t work here, so I don’t know for sure.

She stares at me, a bit confused, then asks again, this time wanting confirmation that she should wait in line.  I tell her she should, because the food here is really great.

For some reason, she doesn’t seem convinced, and suddenly, she grabs a large chunk of my hair, and asks me about pastrami again, this time a little too loudly.

I stare back at her, frozen.  I’m not sure what to do, so I tell her that she can have my place in line.  She glares at me, then tells me that I’m not a very friendly or helpful person.

It doesn’t bother me, until I’m about to step out of the store.  I begin to cry just a little, because I hate it when people say I’m not helpful or friendly.

I glance at Rodney as he slowly comes up from fish pose.  He closes his eyes, taking a deep breath, clearly avoiding eye contact.  I lean into downward facing dog.

I met Rodney two weeks ago.  I had noticed him way before that, I mean, who wouldn’t, Rodney Barraga with his dark, spiky hair and biceps.  Rodeny Barraga who looked like he might bench press me for dinner, then strum me for desert.

I’d normally avoid a guy like that, because he’s too pretty for my Midwestern sensibilities.  But we bonded over an old Metallica t-shirt I was wearing.

“Man, I haven’t listened to those guys in years, but Exit Sandman, some deep stuff,” he said.  “Used to creep me out back in seventh grade.”

“They were great,” I said, trying to hide the nasty hole in the armpit.  “I used to listen to them on my Walkman.”

He laughed, “Totally.” We were quiet for a moment.

An hour later, as I straddled him, he fucked me slowly, moving his hips up and down in cobra-like swishes, the sound of the ocean echoing in the distance.

“What are the karmic possibilities that two people from Cleveland, Ohio, who both loved Metallica in seventh grade, could meet at Ambika Yoga Studio in Venice, California?” he said, as we lay in bed afterwards.

I wasn’t too sure what he had meant by karmic possibilities, but that was the best sex I had in a long time, so I was willing to consider whatever he said.

It was a welcome relief from the missionary-and-cheese breath of my ex, the supposed love of my life until he discovered that a promotion at William and Morris could get him all kinds of ass.

“Yeah…  It’s crazy…” I said.

“It’s so nice to meet someone…  Real, someone so…  Salt of the earth,” he said.

I smiled.

The next day after class, we went back to my place, and this time, he flipped me onto my belly, locked his arms into mine, and told me to breath, as he slid in from behind, our bodies stretching like a giant rubber band.

Afterwards, we laid back on the bed, watching the waves slowly break against the sand.

“Isn’t the ocean…  Amazing?”

“Definitely,” I said.

“It’s like…  You never know when two waves are going to cross and where they’ll break…”

“Yeah.”

“Like me and you…”

I laughed.

What’s so funny?” he asked, a twinge of pain in his voice.

“Nothing,” I said.

“Seriously.”

“It’s just funny…” I said.

He sat up all of a sudden.

“What?”

“I mean, we just met yesterday—”

He glared at me.

“So?”

“No, no it’s just…  Funny.” I said.

He suddenly stood up and put his t-shirt on.

“I thought we had a connection.”

“We do…   I mean…”

He put his shoes on.

“Fuck this.”

“Wait,” I said.

He slammed the door and stormed out.

The next day after class, I smiled at him in a feeble attempt at reconciliation.  But he completely ignored me.

Then I heard him chatting with some other blond, Midwestern type about how amazing it was that she was doing the Revlon Walk for Women that weekend and how cancer research was so his thing.  Sure it was.

This is a test. A test to see what type of writer I am, can be an will be. I’ve been writing in various mediums for as long as I can remember. I started out in journalism, and over the past five years have mostly been immersed in screenwriting.  But along the way, I realized how much I love telling stories and doing it quickly and experimenting with language.  As such, I discovered Flash fiction.  Telling complete story in 1000 words or less.  This is an inspiring medium, and I’ve decided the for the rest of the year, I will post a story here on a weekly basis.  My goal is to mostly have a good time, but of course, I hope to improve my writing, and push the boundaries of language.  Enjoy, and come back again.