Nine Stories

New creative project. Nine very short stories, vignettes, I guess. Each based in a specific moment in the past nine months that brought me to the decision to leave the city.

Tonight's edition:

"A-t-o-n-e-m-e-n-t"

"Sieben and Gross, how can I help you?"
"It's me."

He imagined her fingers falling from the switchboard She'd shoot furtive looks at the customers before turning her back to them and lowering her head. He continued.

"I thought I'd call now as the office was closing. I thought you'd be less busy."
"How did you get this number?"
"I would have called your cell if you hadn't ripped the page out of my address book."
"Serves you right for being so out of touch with the 21st century."
"Yes, well. You did make it more difficult."
"That was the point."

He could almost see her nervously pushing her short bangs out of her eyes and chewing her bottom lip, the way she did when she was excited. Or terrified.

"When I stopped seeing you at the library sales, I figured you were offered the job."
"Still picking up women at the library?"
"You picked me up, if I remember correctly."

She blushed on the other end of the phone. He could tell. A few months distance and she was already ashamed of her brashness. She cleared her throat.

"What do you want?"
"I'll be in the city next week for business." He paused and collected himself. "I want to see you again."
"I don't think that's a good idea."
"Why?"
"Because I'm not. . ." it was her turn to trail off.
"Not?"
"A floozy," she murmured.
He smiled at the antiquated word. "You're not. And, incidentally, that would have been at least a sixteen point Scrabble play."
"Don't."
"What?"
"You don't get to bring up Scrabble. And don't try to be funny."
"I didn't think I had to try. I would still like to see you. I'll leave my board at home, I promise."
"You can't."
"Leave my board or see you?"
"See me."

He dug the heels of his hands deeply into his eyes. This wasn't going as he had planned earlier in the day.

"Why not?"
"My parents will be in town."
"I'd love to meet them."
"I'm sure you would."
"What is that supposed to mean?"
"Oh nothing, I'm sure you all would have tons to talk about. You know, you could sit around and have a few beers and talk about the Carter administration."
"That WAS a good administration."
"My parents are Republican. And the first president I can ever remember is George Bush Sr."
"That's unfortunate."
"In more ways than one."

They paused again. She was trying to think of the fastest way to end the conversation without hanging up outright. He was trying to keep her on the phone for a few more minutes, convinced her could let her persuade herself again to do what they both wanted.

Finally he asked, "Did you make a mistake?"
"No." Her voice softened a little now, and to someone else she may have sounded like she was pleading. "I need to run. Please don't call me anymore." But they both knew that she didn't plead.

"Yes. Yes. You're right. I'm sorry. I shouldn't have done this in the first place." Then, lamely, "I didn't mean to upset you."

"It's fine. Just never again."
"Sure."

He could hear her moving to hang up and just before she did she said:

"And floozy is at least at a seventeen point play. Remember, the y is always worth more than you think."


Which she followed with a sharp click and a dial tone.

She was right.