Post Card Stories
The Harley
You should have seen her. She arrived home wearing that black jacket
with the long fringes, bright red hair over her face, long boots up to
her crotch and her new motorcycle -- completely unassembled, if you can
imagine it.
She's been wanting a Harley of her own for years now. She bought this
one cheap from some guy. He's assured her the parts are all there. She's
going to rebuild it, she says. She, who never so much as tinkered with
Lego. So her eight hundred dollars worth of junk, is now stored in a corner
of the garage.
She doesn't make it home very often these days. I wonder if the bike
will ever see the light of day. Wanna bet one of the boys will take the
project over. Even Dad has been seen to glance at that heap of junk every
now and again. I suppose I should order a fix-it-yourself manual or something
so someone can work on it.
The Ninja
Allan's Ninja training is progressing well. We have adjusted to the shortened
legs of the dining table (never should have given him the sword) and the
milkman has agreed to continue deliveries since we removed all the bushes
from the side of the driveway. But Allan simply smiles and says a Ninja
can strike from anywhere.
Sandwich
This guy walks into the diner the other night -- real late it was --
place was quiet. I mean, there aren't a lot of folks out and about at
2 am. He sits himself down at the counter. I bring him a menu. He doesn't
read it. Just looks at me.
"A B.L.T.N.T." he says, leanin' his elbows on the counter while
I pour him a cup of coffee.
"A B.L.T. I understand," I say. "But N.T.?" I ask.
"Not toasted," he replies.
I go back to the kitchen. Zap some bacon in the micro, spread mayonnaise
on bread, lay on some tomatoes and lettuce and head back to the counter
with the sandwich.
"How is it?" I ask.
"S.O.B." he says.
"Wadda ya' mean -- S.O.B?"
"Soggy on the bottom."
"Yeah," I say. "Well, S.H.I.T."
"Wha?" He looks at me kinda surprised.
"Should'a had it toasted," I tell him.
The Horoscope
Just can't set any store by them horoscopes no more. Don't know why I
bother readin' 'em. Who writes the things, anyway, I wonder. I mean, listen
to what it says here:
"Time to come out of hiding! Someone you've admired from afar has
his eyes on you, too!"
Boy have they got it wrong. He's got his damn eye on someone else. Fat
chance me getting his attention now.
"Enough of this cat-and-mouse game," it says. "Show him
the real you. You'll boost your chances of winning his heart."
Ha! Last time I tried snugglin' up -- not a whiff of passion, no lust
whatsoever. What's the point of trying to show him "the real me"
for god's sake. It isn't me he's after.
The Cockroach in Rockerfeller Square
Let me set the scene for ya. We're having lunch at that posh terrace
restaurant in Rockerfeller square. I mean nothin' on the menu for under
ten bucks, fancy cloth napkins, the works. Well, I have to go to the can.
So I locate the ladies. Pink stalls, soft lighting, a black gal with her
bottles of hand lotion on the marble countertop. She hands you a tissue
so you can wipe yourself after you go. I enter a stall, hike up my skirt
and no sooner plunk myself on the toilet when you'll never guess what
I saw. A huge bugger of a cockroach makin' its way, calm as you please,
across the pink tiled floor at my feet. I screamed, I did. What else was
I supposed to do. I couldn't stomp on it, for heaven's sake, I'd a had
to walk on it for a week!
The Dig
Remember I told you her mother died, right? Well, last weekend I helped
her clear the house. Three days work and all we got done was the main
bedroom, though. Never saw nothing like it. Stuff had been collecting
for at least forty years. The cupboard under the sink hadn't ever been
tidied, I don't think. Used lipsticks, half-empty bottles of every kind,
just thrown in there. And her closet. Twenty-seven garbage bags we collected
-- clothes from as far back as the early forties. I felt like an archaeologist.
The deeper I went the older the finds.
We were really after the jewels her old lady'd hidden before she'd gone
to the hospital. No luck there, though. Looked everywhere we could think
of, too. In the pantry, in the freezer, among the sewing things, in the
front-hall chest, even the umbrella stand. No jewels anywhere. I wonder
if she put 'em in the garbage. Wouldn't be surprised; she was as looney
as they come at the end. Probably never find them. Too, bad. They were
worth a fortune.
The RV Van
Evelyn did the most unimaginable thing this week. Most folks would think
her right out of her mind. She sold the house, leaving Herb and the kids
all on their own and moved into an RV van. You know the kind: dragons
painted on the side, sky dome on top, huge mirrors on both sides and those
funny curtains on all the windows. Said she was tired of being respectable.
Shoes
It was Harry who found the deserted car at the beach and called the police.
He'd noticed the vehicle parked by the side of the road on his early trip
to town but decided it was just some morning jogger out for a run along
the shore.
When it was still there later that afternoon he decided to have a look.
The car was locked and empty; no possessions visible. He thought he'd
better check the beach so he trudged to the crest of the dune to survey
the scene. The long expanse of white sand was deserted except for a small
pile of belongings a distance back from the now advancing water. He walked
slowly toward the unattended heap -- hoping to find someone sheltered
near the dune grass.
What caught his attention, however, were the shoes placed carefully side
by side pointing out to sea.
Getting Through Winter
Last year it was renovating the kitchen. This year it's plans for rebuilding
the garage and constructing a new greenhouse. End of December Derek brought
out the sketches.
"Here are the plans for the greenhouse," he said.
Mid-January, after much discussion, he'd revised the drawings.
"The very last," he told Gladys.
Two weeks later, having scrapped all previous versions, he'd assured
her his new plans were final. Mid-February and the project was off; he'd
just rebuild the garage -- forget the greenhouse. Then came the first
of March, the greenhouse was on again. By the end of March the weather
was hinting at spring and Derek was sure he now had the ultimate plans
in hand. April was wending toward May when he turned to other projects.
The greenhouse was put aside for another year.
"Thing is," said Gladys, "it's really therapy. It's just
his way of getting through winter."
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