Because it’s my name

Posted on by February 25, 2020

My parents stood behind the house. My mother’s waist-length hair was bound into a ponytail, but my father let his curls tumble down to the middle of his back. Dad looped a narrow arm around Mom’s shoulders.

Mom said, “If it’s a boy, we’ll call him Jesse Bishop, after my grandfathers.”

“What about a girl?”

“I want something beautiful. Something that shines like the sun and glitters like a jewel.” Mom gazed out over her garden.

“Jewel?”

“No. I also want it to be down to earth.” She looked harder at the garden.

“Eartha.”

“There’s only one Eartha Kitt.”

“What then?”

Mom beamed at the rows of beans, eggplants, tomatoes, and peppers.  She smiled at the neat green carrot tassels and the round cabbages. “Okrablossom.”

“Okrablossom?”

“Okrablossom Jubilee.” Mom strode to the middle of her patch to point out her most beloved bloom. “Okra has that bright sunny flower, and it grows out of the earth. And next year will be the Queen of England’s Silver Jubilee. Silver is too ostentatious, but nobody really associates ‘jubilee’ with hauteur.”

Dad breathed in the loamy air and looked up at the blue Ohio sky. “It’s perfect.”

Inside, the telephone rang. Dad jogged in and Mom followed a little more slowly. By the time she got there, laden with yellow squash, Dad was just hanging up. “Huh. That was my Dad,” he said. “He’s going to try to send us a couple of bucks. He really likes Jesse Bishop for a boy. But the other, not so much. He said…”

The phone rang again interrupting him. Mom handed Dad the vegetables and answered. Dad listened to her end of the conversation. “Hi Daddy! Thank you. That would really help.” She walked around the corner, wrapping herself in the cord as she moved. “Uh-huh. We picked out a name, too. Jesse Bishop for a boy, because Granddaddy Bradshaw was Jesse, and Big Daddy was Bishop, and… well of course for Bishop.” My mother’s only brother, also named for Big Daddy, had died in a fall a few years before. “And for a girl, Okrablossom Jubilee. Yes. Like the plant. Oh. When you put it that way … alright. I love you. I don’t want to run up your long distance bill.” She hung up. “Well,” she told Dad, “he really likes Jesse Bishop. But he’s not so keen about Okrablossom Jubilee. He said…” my parents’ eyes met.

Together, they finished, “I hope the kid can fight.”

“Funny. My Dad said the same thing.”

“You know, Jesse is pretty unisex.”  Mom took a squash from Dad’s arms and rinsed it at the sink.

“You’re right,” he said.  “It’s settled then. Jesse Bishop for a girl, Jesse Bishop for a boy.”

Mom removed the squash from the sink. “Let’s have some lunch to celebrate.” She began slicing the vegetable, starting with its tender head.

read to be read at yeahwrite.me

Cold Flash

Posted on by February 25, 2020

Lacy’s pool was heated, but that didn’t mean it was warm. Jumping in when the temperatures were below freezing typically required a certain amount of gumption. But Lacy didn’t pause. She wasn’t a swimmer, but she dove like it was summer. The weather wouldn’t stop her. She thought she would have jumped into boiling lava rather than listen to them screaming inside any longer.

“Take her with you then, I don’t care.”

“I will! She’ll be safer!”

Lacey kicked back and forth from end to end. The air outside was frigid, but it was still warmer than the air in the kitchen between her parents. She didn’t want to live with either of them. She didn’t ever want to get out of the pool again.

Friday Fluff (Special Edition August 2012)

Posted on by February 25, 2020

Guess what? (I’m so happy I could fall over and die or something. Only then I’d never get this typed.) Lisa over at Seeking Elevation has revived (for a special one linky only deal) Friday Fluff!! (Cue the heavenly choir.) Join up with Lisa here…

So. Without further ado, let’s get down to brass tacks and nail some Jello to someplace unspeakable.

From the depths of myspace comes a serious case of the…..

 Random Have You Evers

Gotten a Brazillian Wax? Can I tell you something? No, seriously. I think women who wax off everything to bow to some sexist definition of personal appearance should just go ahead and wax off their brains with the hair.If he leaves you over your ass hair, he wasn’t worth having to begin with sweetie. Or she.

Open a Star Burst with your Tounge? Madame Syntax wishes to point out that it is “opened”, and, um, I wasn’t one of the cool kids. I didn’t know this was popular. I never tried.

Had a Spit Ball Fight? No

Peed in a Pool? Yes. Everyone who has ever been six and in a pool has peed in it.

Laughd so Hard you Cried? Your spellchecker called. It says it hopes the two of you can work things out. It really misses you. A lot.

Drank Something that Came out your Nose?  The word is “drunk” and the answer is “no”. However, I have the bad habit of saying funny shit while Scott brushes his teeth. I’ve nearly caused him to spew mouthwash or toothpaste on multiple occasions.

Been in the Hospital? Four Times. Two Babies, One Laparoscopic Surgery/ Burning Off of Endometrial Growths, One Massive Hysterectomy. (That Last One Was The Most Awesome Gift.)

Gotten Sun Burnt? Madame Syntax questions your use of ‘burnt’ in this context. But yes, I have gotten a sunburn. Someday, I will tell the story of how I horrified my least favorite college prof with a full on lobster burn.

Drove a Car?
Class! Let’s CONJUGATE!! All together now!
I drive I car.
Yesterday, I drove a car.
Tomorrow I will drive a car.
When I’m driving, I like to think of grammar.
So yes, I have driven a car.

Cooked Something Without Burning it? You’re not invited to dinner now. I almost never burn foods.

 Gotten So Drunk you Couldnt Remember WTF you Did?  The Madame says that you missed an apostrophe back there. Go back and take the left turn at Albuquerque, then start the sentence all over. And like I said, I wasn’t one of the cool kids. I was in grad school before I ever got drunk, and I’ve never made it to the blackout stage. I can’t say this is a bad thing.

Been on a Boat Without Getting Sea Sick? Try this fucker. I’ve never been seasick on a boat.

Watch the Sun Come Up? OK, now I’ll grant you that drive is an irregular verb. And maybe you just never learned about “ed” endings. But. It’s “WATCHED”. And yes. The first time I ever did it on purpose was in winter in the Grand Canyon. I need to do it again in summer, because the winter sunrise was kind of meh.

Cut your Wrist? When the fuck did I fall onto the set of Girl, Interrupted?

Lost a Sock in the Laundry? Just one?

Held a Snake? Yup. Remind me to tell you my story about the Brownie-scouts and the ball python. Ah, fuck. It’s short. I’ll tell you now. One time, at the natural history museum, this guy had his pet 20 foot ball python. I was there with the Brownies. The rest of them cowered. I begged to hold it. He let me pet it, anyway. And get your mind out of the gutter, there was nothing sexual about that, damn it.

Went a Week Without Takeing a Shower/Changeing your Clothes?  OK, the spellchecker and grammar checker have teamed up. They’re offering you a hell of a deal if you’ll just take them back, baby.

Been Called a Bitch? Of course. And sometimes, it was true.

How about a Fag? Uh …. Nope. Is this one of those moments when we revel in the part where the survey was written by teens, cringe at the slur, or …. Wait! I know. I’ll make a British joke. No. Nobody has ever called me a cigarette butt.

Queer? Honey, unless they’re gay, they don’t come queerer than me.

Loser?  Remember that ‘cool kids club’ that I wasn’t ever a member of? Yeah. They called me loser rather a lot. But I’d rather be my kind of loser than their kind of winner.

Whore? Nobody has ever accused me of getting paid to have sex.

Slut? And nobody has ever accused me of being promiscuous and unpaid, either.

Had a Bf/Gf? That sounds like either an awesome hamburger or an awkward sexual position. Or possibly a diet plan. Like GFCF only with a B and in a different order.

Went Golfing? GONE Golfing, and no.

Had Jello Shots? THANK GOD. Linda, you’ve saved me from another ‘cool kids’ answer. I can say, finally, that I’ve done something the cool kids did. Well. Kind of. I’ve had one Jello shot. Ever. At Linda’s birthday party this year. Whew. Dodged a bullet there.

Had a Big Crush but they didnt Like You Back? Clearly, you missed Albuquerque. It’s in New Mexico. Your apostrophe awaits. And until I met my husband, this describes every single potential relationship I had ever. They were all wholly in my head.

Pierced Anything?  Ears. But technically, someone else did the piercing.

Had a Tattoo? I like them on others, but am too chickenshit to do it myself.

Shaved Your Legs/Face? Both. The cool kids used to mock me because in 8th grade, I had a darker moustache than some of the guys. Yes, really. It’s only gotten worse.

Knotted a Cherry Stem With your Tounge? My Mom is like a champ at this. She tried to talk me through it once. I gagged on the stem and gave up.

Dressd up For Halloween?  OK, I’m telling you, you need your spellchecker and grammar checker as much as they need you. Honey, for all our sakes, take them BACK.

Smoked a Ciggarette? You are overly fond of double letters. That’s OK. Me, too. Only, gosh, my spell and grammar checkers catch me. And fuck no. My parents smoke. Ugh.

Smoked Weed? See the answer about cigarettes. Same answer. Same reason. (NB: They smoked cigarettes around me. Not weed.)

Went Over your cell minutes? GONE GONE GONE. Gone. And yes.

Got Into a Arguement with a teacher? Gotten. I had a track record in grad school. The profs felt invalid if they didn’t argue with Jessie over something.

How About a Fight? Library school was like a giant screaming match with some old farts who needed to retire.

Missd Someone So bad it Hurt? I thought it only hurt if you hit them. The e and the apostrophe are hanging out with the spellchecker and grammar checker in Albuquerque waiting for word from you about a possible settlement.

Missed someone so bad you couldnt Eat or Sleep? Look, just call them. What can it hurt? Maybe the apostrophe has taught something to the e, who has, in turn, enhanced the checkers to the point that you’d really be screwing yourself not to allow them back into your heart.

 Seen a Dead Body? Every time I go to a funeral home.

Sang To Yourself in the Mirror? Sung. (I’m telling you, it’s an awesome offer.) And I prefer to think of it as “singing along with”.

Cut yourself Shaveing? Sigh. So you took back the ‘e’ and then alienated it by putting it in the wrong word?

Drank a RedBull? DRUNK. And no. And you just outed yourself, if the shaving question didn’t, as being about 12.

Sang karaoke? Yes. I have sung Karaoke before. I’m not half bad.

Spilld Something on YourSelf? Really? You can’t spell ‘spilled’ OR get the capitalization of ‘YoUrSeLf’ right? Did your ‘e’ leave you again? Honey, I’m so sorry!

Ate So much You Wanted to Throw Up? Eaten. And yes. But I’m on a diet, so let’s not talk about it.

Workd Out At a Gym? The ‘e’ is back with the apostrophe and the checkers in Alburquerque.  It’s still willing to give you another chance. And yes. The better to be off this stupid diet with, my dear.

Drank a PinaColada out of a CocoNut? Drunk. You put de lime in de coconut and drink it all up….

Ate a Whole Trey of Oreos? Eaten…wait… I thought this was a FAMILY quiz. Now you’re eating oreo-covered-men? Yowie! Somebody put the piranhas back in the tank!

Toilet Papered Someones House? “Someone” is possessive, not plural. You need that apostrophe. For all your sakes, please, negotiate. And I’m sorry to say that where I lived, it took effort to get around to a house and do that. So no. Also, the cool kids would never have invited me, anyway. They would have been afraid I would have told. And they would have probably been right.

 How About Egged a House? See above.

Trippd Over your Shoe Laces? Albuquerque.

Made a Funny Video? Hm. No. Still on the bucket list.

Made a sex video? Uh, you’re twelve. If they answer were yes, I couldn’t tell you. But the answer is no. So I can.

Made Fun Of Somebody and got caught? Probably yes, but I can’t remember it because I’m so high and mighty about not picking on people.

 Playd a Prank On somebody on April Fools Day? Albuquerque.

 Got spanked By your Parents? “Gotten” and yes.

Stolen Your Familys Car? Albuquerque! And no.

 Gotten Blamed For Something you Didnt Do? I give up. Dear ‘e’, apostrophe, spellchecker and grammar checker. I tried to get this joker to write well, but it just didn’t work. I’m very sorry. It’s not my fault. You can crash on my couch anytime.

Cheated on a Bf or Gf? No. But I married him. Does that count?

Snuck Out of the House? I had a friend who would have done this with me, actually. But I was too chickenshit to go. And we lived in the middle of nowhere. It’s not like I would have had anyplace to sneak out to.

 

AND there you have it. Some fluffy fluff to fluff off to. {Whistles innocently}

 

 

The story of the fox and the very round grapes

Posted on by February 25, 2020

Once upon an Aesop, the starving fox jumped up and seized the grapes. They were not sour at all. Then she choked to death. The moral of the story is plain: fuck fables.

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This weekend, Trifecta has asked us to write a new fable in just 33 words. Mr. Aesop and I have never been on what you would call close terms. So I’m afraid I took advantage of my fable to thumb my nose at him.

Cold beer, hot revenge

Posted on by February 25, 2020

Three beers into a good drunk Shawn Devrie ran out of brewskis. “What the hell. The fridge was full yesterday,” he shouted at the garage.

“Some of the guys came over last night when you were at work,” yelled his roommate Ray.

Shawn snarled, “You owe me for three cases of beer,” and drove down to the corner store to undo the damage.

When he got back, Ray said, “You’d give yourself alcohol poisoning if you drank all that.”

Shawn found yesterday’s empties stored in plastic garbage bags in the corner of the garage. They hadn’t even bothered to crush them. Good. He went inside and slipped Ray’s keys off the rack beside the door. Then, he rolled down the windows and started putting in cans. It took him the better part of an hour, but he got every one crammed into the front seat of that pickup. Those boys drank his three cases and then some of their own, because he had enough cans to fill the cab.

By then, his first three had worn completely off, so he had to start over entirely. But he didn’t mind much. Because for the rest of the evening, every time he went out to the garage to get a cold one, he poked his empty through Ray’s half open window. He’d heard revenge was a dish best eaten cold, but he preferred his steaming hot. “See if you steal my beer again, sucker,” he muttered.

Sitting on the chimbley

Posted on by February 25, 2020

Elizabeth slammed a pot on the stovetop.

“Be careful,” said Lurvey. “You’ll break it.”

“I’ll break you.” She smashed down a skillet next to the pot and added oil, then turned on the burner.

“Maybe we could just eat out.”

“I will not waste money on a meal I can’t enjoy.” She hefted the pot again and filled it at the sink.

Lurvey smiled. “How beautiful you are! You are more beautiful in anger than in repose. I don’t ask you for your love; give me yourself and your hatred; give me yourself and that pretty rage; give me yourself and that enchanting scorn; it will be enough for me.”

“Gah! There! You’re doing it again!” Elizabeth slopped the pot back to the stove. “I can’t have a conversation with you, not a single exchange of ideas without a barrage of obscure English literature!”

“That was Dickens! How can you call Dickens obscure!”

Elizabeth stormed to the refrigerator and snatched out the carrots. She shoved them into Lurvey’s hands. “Here, you cut them. I don’t trust myself with a knife. All I asked was what you wanted for dinner!”

“Now good digestion wait on appetite and health on both.” Lurvey looked down at the carrots and then went for a peeler.

“Stop! Stop it!”

“I’m sorry, Lizzie! They just come to my mind unbidden…”

“No!”

“That wasn’t a quotation!”

“I can’t even tell anymore. Just stop talking. Don’t say another word to me.” She went back to the fridge and took out some kind of meat. She threw it in the skillet, and hot oil splashed up with a sizzle. “Ow!” She thrust her hand in her mouth.

Lurvey said,  “When angry, count four; when very angry, swear.”

“God damn it!” she shrieked around her hand. “I said stop talking. I’m sure that’s another quote.” She went to the freezer for ice. “Just slice the damned carrots.”

When she walked away from the stove, Lurvey realized that the same oil that had splashed her had landed on the burner. “Odds, bobs, hammer, and tongs! It’s burning!” He hastened to turn off the heat before the smoldering smoke became something more serious.

“Lurvey, this is all your fault!” Elizabeth ran the ice over her scalded fingers.  “I hate you sometimes!”

“Lizzie-bear, let me make dinner. Go sit and watch one of your shows. I’ll bring it to you in the living room.

“Fine.” She snatched a dishtowel to hold the ice and left the room.

To her retreating back, Lurvey murmured “After a good dinner one can forgive anybody, even one’s own relations.”

Scott gave me the idea for this one. And the quotations from this piece are as follows. I got them all from LitQuote, rather than dragging down the originals and finding them. And let’s be honest. Although I own it, the only Dickens I have read is A Christmas Carol. I cannot abide his other works, though I periodically try to get through one. (I haven’t in awhile. Probably time to go after him again.) The Shakespeare is actually printed on an apron I won as an undergraduate for writing the best paper in my Shakespeare class. Yes, I still have it.

“How beautiful you are! You are more beautiful in anger than in repose. I don’t ask you for your love; give me yourself and your hatred; give me yourself and that pretty rage; give me yourself and that enchanting scorn; it will be enough for me.” – Charles Dickens, The Mystery of Edwin Drood

Now good digestion wait on appetite and health on both. – Shakespeare, Macbeth 3.4

When angry, count four; when very angry, swear. – Mark Twain, The Tragedy of Pudd’nhead Wilson

“After a good dinner one can forgive anybody, even one’s own relations.” –Oscar Wilde, A Woman of No Importance

Oh.

And, with slight manipulation, the one from my prompt

“Odds, bobs, hammer, and tongs. I’m burning!” – Captain Hook … erm … J.M. Barrie, Peter Pan

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For the Scriptic prompt exchange this week, Cameron gave me this prompt: Odds, bobs, hammer and tongs!.

I gave Maya Bahl this prompt: “What are you going to tell your Mom?” “I’m not.”

When in Rome

Posted on by February 25, 2020

Sometimes, I dream in normal. I dress myself in jeans and a feminine cut shirt above my trendy socks. Nobody looks my way. When I take my kids to school, I smile to the teachers in the carpool line. (And the children, of course, go to public school, where they get average grades.)  Nothing makes me cry. No strange impulses bubble up to subsume my intentions. When I mold myself of normal, my eyes know just where to linger and for how long. My gaze is never out of place. I go to the movies and I don’t twitch with the need to shout at the screen. Nothing makes me yell. My voice is perfectly modulated, even in anger. My words are never thumbtacks.

But normal, whatever its range, doesn’t extend to my waking life. I was born slantwise to the world, and I can’t step in time no matter who calls the tune. So instead I pretend like I meant it this way. I act like those combustions that just erupted from my mouth amount to ideas, and I go forward as if to act on them. And then I do act. I pretend to enjoy being unlike.

I don’t hate it. When I curse and rail, which is often, it is not against the things that make me. It is, rather, against the people who want to unmake me. It is against the candy-apple world that fears biting into us worms. But when I dream, when it isn’t the nightmares consuming me again, it is of an unremarkable life free from extraordinary needs. I want to let someone else be different for awhile.

Still, I know that when I get out of bed, as surely as if I had reached for it, my body will assume the mantle. My feet will wind me a new corkscrew path. As soon as I open my eyes, I will be myself once more, and as always, I will be anything but normal.

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We’re all acting a little normal over at Trifecta this week. I’m well aware that the second definition is “one that is normal”, and it always makes me antsy when I’ve got more than one definition in my piece, so I’ll draw attention to the overall idea here that there IS some kind of a standard to which we adhere, consciously  or not. And I’ll point out Merriam Webster’s third definition of standard, as well:: “something established by authority, custom, or general consent as a model or example.”

Look Ma, No Hair

Posted on by February 25, 2020

So, back on Mother’s day, I ran my first ever guest post. It was by my husband. This time, I’ve captured someone even more elusive. One of my best girlfriends. Jenny goes by Jennifer these days, and we go way back. Waaay back. She was my first friend. My preschool friend. My spend-the-night-every-weekend-as-long-as-our-parents-will-endure-it friend. We were tight. Where I’m brash and outspoken, given to outbursts and impulsive actions, she’s thoughtful and analytical, no less outspoken given the right set of circumstances, but not at all prone to drawing attention to herself. She uses social media, but only in specific ways. She has seen rock bottom in her life. She has also owned her own business. Right now, she’s a kickass stay-at-home Mom to two of the most extraordinary daughters I’ve ever met. I can’t even begin to put my admiration for her in words. She intended this as a Facebook update until I persuaded her to let me run it. I think that what she has to say about women is so crucial. Every single word here she intends to apply only to herself, but I think it can go for all of us. This piece makes me cheer a big loud YES.

Look Ma, No Hair

by Jennifer Southcombe-Harmon

So, it’s been awhile since I’ve been a “regular” poster on FB. This is due in part to the awareness I have of the ridiculously mundane posts that have become commonplace in this era of social media. Were the pancakes I had this morning for breakfast particularly good? Take a picture and post about it. Did my child say or do something cute and/or disgusting that family, friends, acquaintances, and virtual strangers may find slightly interesting? Write a funny post to share it!

And it’s not that I begrudge anyone for posting these things. I still log on to FB nearly everyday and read all of the aforementioned posts. They ARE funny and it IS interesting to get a glimpse into other people’s lives. It’s like socially acceptable voyeurism, and I’ve always been a visual person…so I creep and peep and occasionally like and share and participate in the FB experience, but from a distance now rather than on the front lines. The front lines were causing me to have feeling of being overexposed, emotionally naked, and uncomfortable with the intimacy of inviting everyone into my everyday life.

Anyway, the whole point of this post is to pre-empt feeling overly exposed, emotionally naked, and uncomfortably intimate when I see many of you in person again, because…..

I’ve cut my hair.

Now, normally this would (and has in the past) make for a cute post about the long wait at my salon, the debate over a new hair color, and yes..the “after” picture of my new do. But the reason for this post is a little different because this new do is different…a lot different depending on how you view it.

My previously long wavy hair is now 1/16″ long AT THE MOST. It’s short. Really short. And. I. Love. It.

Mostly the purpose of this post is to avoid the whole Oh-my-God-has-she-gone-crazy looks and questions. I think people assume when a woman shaves her head that it must be because A) she has cancer, B) is a radical feminist OR a lesbian, C) is rebelling against society’s ideal of beauty, or D) because she has gone off on a Britney Spears mental break-up.

Okay, so maybe two out of four MAY somewhat apply here…but mainly it’s because I’m lazy and hot.

I don’t like styling my long hair. It is always in a tight bun or ponytail. Even one single strand being in my face is enough to drive me nuts. I hate the blowdryer, the hot iron straightener, the expensive trips to the salon, the hours sitting in the colorist chair, the loose hair in the sink and on the floor, and the constant tucking it behind my ear and checking the mirror to make sure the wind didn’t flip my bangs in some weird direction.

But there is more to it than just that. As I was hanging my head over my knees and watching the hair fall and accumulate on the floor, I realized it is also symbolic of the growth and maturing I am currently going through. Letting go of the hair is like releasing the drama…releasing myself of the pressure to conform to what someone else thinks I should be…releasing myself of my own pressures to perform and “fit” into a life that I am not always comfortable in…releasing old and bitter feelings that I’ve been holding onto since childhood…releasing the expectations that I have of others and their behaviors and actions. As the hair was cut and released to the floor, much of the emotional burden and weight was released as well.

So here it is….

And I feel incredibly SEXY and feminine, and strong and LIBERATED, ridiculously EMPOWERED, and in control of myself. And happy. I feel very very happy about it.

Queen Bitch

Posted on by February 25, 2020

“You can’t just leave.” Diana threw down the plates and chased Eva to the door. Eva was out and gone before Diana could get into her coat and shoes. She pulled down a hat from the top of the shelf without looking and dashed into the snow.

Eva rounded the corner and Diana followed, leaving the door wide open behind her. “Come back here, young lady!”

Eva did not come back. She actually picked up speed even though the sidewalks wore a thin crust of ice. Hardly anybody was out to watch the mother pursue her daughter down the road.

Suddenly, Eva’s arm shot up. A cab rounded the corner and Eva jumped in. She flipped her mother off before she slammed the door behind her.

And then she was gone, and Diana was left behind on the sidewalk, huffing and largely alone. Only as she turned to make her way back to the house did she realize the hat felt strange. She took it off. It was left over from Christmas. Deelyboppers and reindeer horns sprouted from the top.

“Damn it Eva.” The air was too bitter to hide the thing, so Diana jammed it back on as she crunched home, grateful only that the same weather forcing her to wear it was keeping most of her neighbors indoors so they couldn’t see.
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Author’s note: One of the Challenges in Flash Fiction month was David Bowie day. I’m notorious for misunderstanding lyrics and songs in general. And when I heard this as a kid I had n-o idea what it meant. But damn, I loved it. And the thing that stuck with me was the bippity boppity hat (which was one of the few lyrics I could actually completely understand.) So whenever I hear Queen Bitch, I think not of anything sexual at all, but of deely boppers. And I have no pictures, sorry. So there you have it.

 

Fish N Chips

Posted on by February 25, 2020

In his whole life, James Tucker had only been good at two things; frying fish and playing poker. The first kept him in a job, the second kept him in money, and neither gave him enough appeal to acquire a wife. Still, when Martine Early started waitressing at the café, the two struck up a strong friendship based in a mutual love of lures and woodsy solitude. Of course, it helped that Martine could actually hook things, where James, for all his standing in the water, only rarely made a catch.

She didn’t have much use for poker. When he went off to his tournaments and to the casinos, she would look in at the cook on duty and shake her head. “This is burned. I can’t serve this.” And when James came back, a little more flush with winnings, she’d drag him out into the wilderness to cleanse him of the chips and cards.

She told him, “I can’t abide the way you smell when you gamble.”

In the truck, on the way to the stream, he said, “I always win at least a little.”

“That’s not the point.”

He downshifted. “It is for me. I won’t give it up.”

“I know that.”

“But I don’t want to give you up either.”

“Well I won’t make you choose. But I won’t marry a gambling man.”

“Never said you should. I don’t think we have to be married to be happy.”

“Maybe not. But promise me something?”

“Maybe.” They had reached the stream. He parked a good distance away and swung out to get his tackle, rod, and reel.

She joined him and laid a hand on his shoulder. “If you ever lose more than you came in with for a straight week, give it up for a bad job.”

“I’ll think about it,” he said. “The truth is, I’ve only lost a few times. I almost always come out ahead.”

She said, “I guess you do, James. I guess you do.”

They moved in together the next week, and they’ve been happily unmarried ever since.