Double-Click Flash Fic (4 page)

M
y Honey tastes sweet as ice cream

And her toes are just as cold.

She burns the bacon and eggs

But she doesn’t care, she’s in love.

My Honey gives me little tokens

Small presents like a cheesy pickup line

That only a lawyer would get

Or a boudoir photo showing only her legs.

My Honey smells as warm as rain

Like flower buds blossoming

Lilac and iris and daisy and rose

Though it is bleak winter today.

My Honey calls me “My Honey”

Although she does not know me well

Nor I her, really

But I don’t care, I’m in love.

“W
hat is the sound of one heart breaking?”

She asked me, and what could I say

To her smile through the soft tears

Slipping along her cheeks

A silent demonstration of a love she still felt

And the absurdity of grief

For someone who never left

And never will.

The fissures in her heart

Would heal over in time

I wanted to say

But instead I looked away.

F
ramed

Pretty pink-lipped picture

Needle nose and pantyhose

Silver pennies

Gold-in-silver grains of wheat

Radiate heat, vodka neat

A halo head o’ hair

Weathered crow’s feet signed in pain

Reflect in Dara’s eyes of Siber blue.

Would that I knew

The fathoms of this, too …

O
nce I was a houseplant

Lush and green until I withered to brittle brown

Before that I was a housecat

With a limp and a broken fang

Before
that
I was much like you

Young and afraid

My flesh pink with possibility

But I squandered my time

Made promises I didn’t keep

Not that much like you

But close

So that today you have the privilege

Of talking to me as I am now

A whisper on the wind

That only you can hear.

A
fter you’ve exercised the 30 minutes a day

and gone for a walk along a tree-lined route

in the fresh air

meditating on the charm of Earth’s green

and sky’s blue

After you’ve dropped every supplement

melatonin

valerian

skullcap

passion flower

hops

chamomile

Montmorency cherry

and the like

After you’ve watched a segment on golf

and leafed through a silly book

that suspends thinking, starts drowsing

remembering of course

the guided relaxation hypnosis mp3 on your phone

After you’ve dimmed the lights

aired out the sleeping space that

also serves as office, library, and TV room

calling it a day a few hours early

and falling onto a white, downy softness

After you’ve mentally retraced your steps

this day’s events, the previous day’s

and so on, watching yourself move in reverse

a chore for the brain that is utter monotony

boredom being one step before slumber

After you’ve slowed down your breathing

your heartbeat

your mind’s whirling

and sped up the hours of the night

feeling the pinpricks that signal the descent into sleep

After you’ve followed every instruction

every how-to and how-much and how-soon

failing almost as often as succeeding

you realize there is no panacea

that it must be plain dumb luck that you finally pass out.

W
hen I lost the love of my life, I was crushed. Broken. Alone. I went about my days tearful and distraught, and my nights weren’t much better. There was an insistent, searing pain in my heart and a jumble in my mind.

I’d like to say that one day all the pain just went away and I was instantly my merry old self again, but that’s not the case. Once you’ve lost someone close to you, a part of you will always yearn for them. The good news is that your suffering will lessen – it really will – as the days and weeks and months and years go by.

You won’t always be hurting. You won’t always be unhappy.

You will find new meaning and purpose in your life. You will find new love.

When I was getting over my ex, I withdrew into myself, read ebooks, listened to hypnosis mp3s, and looked up scores of articles all about “How to Get Over an Ex.” I perused literary fiction that mirrored my star-crossed relationship. I was looking for a solution, but I wasn’t really finding it. So I tried another tack, and got over it in my own way.

That way included focusing on my work life and distracting myself with movies, music, and TV. It included immersing myself in society – friends, families, colleagues, new people, new situations – even when all I wanted to do was sulk by my lonesome. And it included giving this dating thing another shot, then another, then another, until I found someone who stayed and who was worth staying for.

It got better. It really did. It took several years, but those years weren’t spent in vain. It was all part of my journey, an ongoing odyssey that defined my life and my character. I wish the same kind of happiness I’ve finally attained to you, gentle reader. Don’t look for a quick fix; go about healing yourself in your own unique, unmatched way, and may your steps be sure as you walk your path to peace.

I
t’s hard for me to remember my life before pets. Though my home is now (fairly recently) inhabited by two cats and a dog, it feels like they’ve been here forever, and when they weren’t, other whimsical and winsome critters were in their stead. There was the ferret, the rats, the tarantula, the cockatiels, the beta fish, the goldfish, the guinea pigs … It’s been a zoo for quite some time.

It wasn’t all fun, as you can imagine. Cleanup and care took a lot of effort and time. But we reaped what we sowed, in spades. Our pets provided us with calm, comfort, and endless entertainment – and this is especially true of the pets we have now. They’re all grown up, and don’t require quite as much energy as when they were wee babies. The novelty that comes with new pets has worn off, and in its place is a companionate affection, a friendly fondness.

My cat, the boy, used to always wriggle out of my grasp when he was younger. Now he’ll find me sitting at the computer and jump into my lap apropos of nothing, and wait for me to pet him. His maturity has led him to respect his human owners (should that be human pets?) and desire their company – sometimes.

The dog, a girl, loves everybody all the time and therefore is loved by everybody all the time.

That leaves the other cat, also a girl, who is curmudgeonly and a traitor to her race – she detests the other cat, she detests the dog, and her allegiance is only to us humans. No matter how much affection we shower upon our pets, for the girl cat it’s never enough. But it’s all right; we’re a happy family.

The dog, in particular, makes for a perfect outlet for my mother’s mothering instinct, which has far from abated even though her human children have long since entered adulthood. The dog is spoiled rotten, but she’s happy and healthy so we don’t mind when she doesn’t do as she’s told. She knows “Sit” and “Shake” and “Stay,” but has yet to perfect “Roll over.”

But it’s not for the tricks she does that we love her – it’s for her uncanny ability to cheer us up and make the day a bright one in spite of gathering clouds. I remember more than one occasion when I felt blue, and the dog and cats would make me feel better solely by lying over my feet or presenting their bellies for rubs (not all together and at once, though, of course). We talk to our pets, knowing that they won’t answer back but will instead listen, even to baby talk. They may not understand us, but they recognize the emotion behind the tone of voice.

They are wonderful creatures, and I hope a pet of some kind has touched the lives of you, dear readers, just as my pets have enriched mine.

T
he moment it was over I knew I’d made a mistake.
When he stepped out of my embrace and I dropped my café mocha and we both reached down to the sidewalk to pick it up, and lifted it in unison and he let go of it – the moment he said goodbye and I said goodbye, he walked away and I walked off down the street – I knew I shouldn’t have stolen that kiss. Good girls don’t, don’t make the first move, always always always. It’s so simple; why couldn’t I get it? But all my longing, all my suppressed intensity needed this final outburst, this
assault
upon his person. Minutes before, when we were sitting in the coffee shop, catching up and chattering, as if it had been two days instead of two months, I played it cool. So cool, I got goosebumps and needed the coffee to warm me up. And I was heating up. We talked of business, summer vacations, and real estate – the kinds of things people who think they are rich talk about. He looked delicious. I had to look down at the table when he talked so I could process what he was saying, because if I gazed up at his eyes or his lips, my mind would go elsewhere. So delicious. Is it my fault that I pounced on him so suddenly minutes later, right there on the intersection in the middle of the day, people milling around us? I wanted a kiss, I got a hug, and his words to me when he hugged back were, “Everything will be okay.” It was a mistake, oh God, I had let my emotions show, oh God, he doesn’t love me and never will, oh God, what will I do with myself this summer, alone in the city, sad and dejected. But, dear Lord in heaven, if only you knew what it was like to have his body pressed against mine, the crisp shirt fabric under my fingertips, the smell of him that I missed so much. The heat of the noonday sun, the rush of the lunchtime crowd, the noise of the cars driving by must have scrambled my brain because I threw myself on him as if my life depended on it, as if this was my last shot. Stupid. Stupid blunder. So embarrassing, unladylike, unprofessional, desperate, and I had to get back to the office right after. How could I work in this state?
The moment it was over I knew I’d made a mistake.

I
n her own way, she was opening beach season. When she plunged, naked, into the lake, the waters enveloped her in the embrace she’d been craving all year. It was here that she could hide, in the murky depths, and think. She could hold her breath for minutes at a time; she was alone and even he couldn’t reach her here. At the bottom of the lake, where masses of seaweed grew out of the sand, she practiced drowning as an inside joke that only she could get. Would he miss her? Would he come to her funeral? Would mourners recoil from her blue, bloated carcass, painted and embalmed, but still repugnant and smelling of fish? The thoughts entertained her for a few moments, but soon she realized that this really was too morbid, even for her, who was an incurable melancholic. Surfacing, she pushed her hair out of her face and inhaled. The summer sun, so hot and fierce when she had come out here earlier, now edged towards the west, its light waning and obscured by clouds. All around, the green of the trees and bushes and grass glimmered like nature’s first gold. She could hear insects buzzing and birds chirping, all blaring their mating calls – the very air shimmered with the primal urge to f—, with animal pheromones and predatory bloodlust. To f— or be f—d, that is the question, she mused. Wading out of the lake, she reached down to pick up her towel from the ground and wrapped it around her body. This summer was crueller than the ones that came before it. Where once she had leaned into his body and revelled in his male heat while they walked this path to and from the lake, now there was only the absence of warmth, the lack of connection, the loss of love. She walked back to her car and wriggled into her clothes. There was no going back, she knew, no hope of a reconciliation. There were no new text messages, no missed calls, no voicemail, when she checked her phone. A part of her wished for him to get in touch again just so she could lie and tell him how much happier she was without him, just so she could reject him with all the brutality she could muster from the bottom of her broken heart. She would never initiate the conversation though. It would have to be him who called her first.

A
n office thrums with keyboards’ click-a-clack,

The TV screen on the far wall emits an endless patter,

Desks stand in rows, topped with sundry bric-a-brac,

Once in a long while – boom! – an angry clatter.

A chair collapsed, or a monitor has toppled,

The business analysts glance over, then away,

Work continues as before – dull, weariness bottled,

Emails and spreadsheets, numbers, a flood all day.

Each day brings with it a fresh chance,

To strain the eyes and numb the brain,

Undercurrents politic carry traces of romance,

There is want but no time to complain.

Business analysts carry burdens of ennui,

Yet – lo – how peace reigns, when bored are we.

A
sparkle lights the eager entrepreneur’s eye

Upon her lips, writ red, are words of tech and legalese

And numerical figures dance high above her head

Passion inflames her features as she explains the

beta site

Naysayers begone, yaysayers begone, too

The thing for it is objective honesty

A gift not all can easily give

The businesswoman works all through the night

All day she tap-tap-taps on keyboards across the city

Talk-talks on the phone and in countless ears

She is focused, like the beam of a magnifying glass

under the sun,