Short Flash Fiction: The Thief

The food here is better than you hear. The bread is terrible, terrible–that's true–it's the cardboard wheat bread you can buy for less than two dollars at the Grocery Outlet on Merch Street, and the beef was overcooked, but the vegetables are surprisingly palatable, the soup very good, the tuna salad I actually liked quite a bit. I'm surprised by the food and the boys, the young men. Not stupid as I thought, not all rude. One young man worked out my seating for me when we were all waiting for a check, and I couldn't get my legs through the chairs. Another young man who everyone calls Chimmy (though his name is James) gave me tips on when to use the bathroom and explained how visiting works. I won't have any visitors, I told him. The only person who would visit me is across the country and has no idea I'm here. Anyhow I'll be out in a heartbeat. 

Once I'd been here an hour or so, Chimmy introduced me to Damarius. Damarius and I got to talking about music and once I told him I used to play bass guitar and piano, you should have seen his face! He asked me about a hundred questions and Chimmy patted him on the back hard once with a big grin on his face. I haven't enjoyed an afternoon so much in years. It's loud, that's true. Much too loud, I'd hate it here for that reason, and the beds would never do for my back. I'm told I need another back surgery but I've refused. One was too many. 

Of course, everyone wanted to know why I was there, that was the first thing everyone asked, and I just told them the truth. I scooped up a bunch of clothes, still on the hanger, and walked right past the WalMart greeter, right out the door, as slowly as I could. Then when the police showed up, I pretended to try to walk away. I got three steps, if that, until the young police officer stopped me and sat me down. Chimmy laughed and laughed. 'Guess you can cross this off your bucket list, pops!' 

I laughed too, I could feel my mouth open wider than it has in years. 'Ahaaa! That's it,' I told him. 'That's exactly what I was doing. Never been to jail and I'm 82 years old.'

Damarius grabbed his chin with a hand and said 'Damn! Ha! What's next? You know, on your list?'

I grinned at him. 'The Tijuana donkey show!' 

Short Flash Fiction: A Strong Woman

I pretended like I needed more ice cubes and looked through his recent calls. He always leaves his cell in a charger on the kitchen counter, so I covered with a cabinet open. If he came in, I could slip the phone in the cabinet, close the door and stand in front of the empty charger. But he didn't come in. Anyway, there was nothing on there. He covers his tracks well, it's been months and I can't find the evidence. He calls his mother too much. Their relationship sickens me a little. Turns me off a little. He needs her too much and she loves it too much. I'll never do that to my kids. I put the phone back and got more ice and headed back in when I saw him close the window shade, quickly. I put my drink down and yanked the shade up, couldn't see her, so I ran out the front yard and looked around, but she'd either crawled underneath a car or gotten away. Back inside I shut the door and made my features into the right amount of deeply hurt and angry yet touchingly vulnerable. 

But of course, I should have known that instead of thinking about how awful I must be feeling, he just covered his hairy ass. We argued for an hour until I left. I'm tired of being lied to, mistreated, cheated on. I don't know if he actually fucks them or not, I'm not saying that. I don't know what he's doing with them, but does it matter? Not to me. To me, tongue or tit, it's all the same, it's cheating. 

The next day I got a call from his sister. Which says so much about him. His mom, his sister, the man can't wipe his own ass. She said she was dropping my things off at my house, would I be home, and that he wanted me to pay for his window! Ha. I threw the glass at the window, and obviously I had no idea it was going to shatter in such a destructive manner, piercing his eye, but on the same note, he couldn't plan on how his cheating was going to blow up. You make a choice and I guess you have to deal with the consequences. So because some ER doctor told him he may have irreversible damage to his eyesight, now he's breaking up. How convenient, after cheating on me while I'm in the next room, I'm in the wrong? Sexist asshole. And his sister is a traitor the cause for helping him- and his mom, for that matter. Fuck them. I'm a strong woman. 

Short Flash Fiction The History Teacher

I loved my history teacher, though he was a shitty teacher. He didn't call on boys and girls equally, either, everyone noticed. He called on me often, though, everyone noticed. I got a 69% on my midterm exam, and he let me come in to re-take it, which was cool. I almost didn't come in, I hate missing lunch, I love the cafeteria chocolate pudding and french fries so much. My parents never let me eat that shit so I have to get it where I can. But I went in; I made myself. He started to grade it right there, after I took it, and I picked up my jacket and backpack and kind of said, you know, OK, see you later, but he waved his hand with the pen in it and nodded no. I kind of stood there, it was awkward. He waved me to come over. He put the pen down and told me that I did much better on this test, which was good, because my grade in that class was getting bad, and a bombed midterm can be fatal. He kind of made this motion for me to come closer, and I did, and he talked like, into my ear. 

Matt came into the class while he was telling me about my grade, and I thought Matt looked weird. His cheeks were blotchy and he was chewing on the inside of his mouth over and over. Anyway I got my stuff and asked him if I'd have my grade by end of the day, and he said, yeah, and I left. But when I got the girl's bathroom, I realized I forgot my red notebook on the back tables from earlier, and it had my next period homework in it, so I had to go back. I opened the door and that's when I saw, you know, the teacher with his hand in Matt's pants. Matt's jeans were like unzipped half way and he looked pretty fucking miserable. OK?