Random Thoughts and Writings — Politics, Food, Fiction, Essays, Maybe Even a Haiku every now and then.
Once again, a little bit of a story based on a prompt from writing friend Geoffrey. The prompt this time was “A man finds a message on his answering machine a message from someone he’s pretty sure he doesn’t know.” Good news … nobody dies.
“Hey baby,” the voice on the tape cooed. “I’ve been waiting for you. When are you coming over, Charlie?”
Charlie’s wife stood looking at him. Hands on her hips. Fire shooting from her eyes. “You wanna hear it again?” Her foot tapped out a relentless beat on the hardwood floor. The one they had spent painstaking hours polishing together after they ripped out the old shag carpet that had covered it for years.
“Umm … actually, yeah.”
“What?!” The beat picked up.
“Baby …”
“Oh, no you don’t. Don’t you fuckin’ baby me!!”
“Sandy, I don’t have a clue who that woman is.” Charlie approached Sandy and tried to put his hands on her shoulders. She shrugged them off of her and took a step back. “I just want to listen to it again to see if I can figure it out.”
“Yeah, right. I bet you’re getting turned on just listening to her. All sweet and sexy. Just waiting for you.” Sandy stopped for a moment. Charlie could almost see the wheels spinning a little faster. “What do you think she’s wearing? Huh? Maybe a nurse’s whites?”
“Come on, Sandy.”
“Isn’t that your little fantasy, Charlie?”
Exasperated, Charlie sat down at the kitchen table and put his heads in his hands. “Could you just play the damn thing again?”
She pushed the number 4 to replay the message. A couple of seconds of static came out of the speaker and were followed by the voice again. A little throaty. A little purr built in. “Hey, baby.” Followed by a sound Charlie could only think was the woman licking her lips slowly, luxuriously. “I’ve been waiting for you. When are you coming over, Charlie?” A couple of more seconds of static and then the sound of the call ending. Before the robotic voice of the voicemail queen could tell them their options, Sandy pushed the disconnect button.
“Well?” Her foot began to tap again.
“Sandy…”
“What’s it gonna be? You gonna tell me the fuckin’ truth or tell me a lie?”
Charlie pulled his head from his hands and looked up at his wife. She was quivering she was so angry. “You don’t seem to want to believe me no matter what I tell you. I don’t have a clue who that is, but if you want me to admit that I do. Fine, I do. I met her on the bus a couple of weeks ago. Her name is … oh, let’s see, Krys. That’s spelled k-r-y-s.” He smiled then, looking off into space, and warming to the tale. “That’s what got me going, how she spelled her name. And, well, yeah, her breasts were, like, right there. You know what I mean. Right god-damn there!” He held his hands out in front of him for a second or two before letting them drop to the table. “That work for you, honey.”
“You fuckin’ ass!”
Sandy stomped out of the kitchen. A few minutes later he heard the sound of her car as she drove off. And hours later, when she hadn’t returned, Charlie walked up stairs and went to bed.
It was cold metal on his neck that woke him. The feeling of a thin edge that might slice him right open, followed by a cold line that fell down both sides of his neck. Charlie popped his eyes open. Even in the darkness, he could see the white of the uniform.
“Hey baby,” Sandy cooed in his ear. “How do you feel about a handcuffed nurse?” She held up the cuffs, pulling the chain off his neck. One end was already attached to her right wrist. “I’m gonna need your help with this.”
IT COULD END RIGHT HERE, BUT IF NOT
“What the fuck?”
She started laughing then, uncontrollable giggling that led to tears running down her cheeks. “How did you not know that was me?” she asked, through the hiccups that followed as well. “You were so fuckin’ scared.”
Charlie stared up at her. No words. No laughter to join hers.
“Aw, come on, Charlie. You can even call me Krys – that’s k-r-y- s – if you want.” She stopped laughing and looked down at her chest. “I guess I can’t offer you the breasts though.” Sandy shrugged and dipped her head down, letting her hair tickle his face. “Hey baby,” she cooed one last time.
This one is in my sister’s honor. After graduating from college, she and her husband moved to Orange County, living in Costa Mesa for a time before relocating to El Toro, another Orange County community. At least it was called that when she first moved in. At some point during her time there, they changed the name to Lake Forest, the name of a man-made lake within the city’s boundaries.
For a number of reasons, the decision-makers, including the post office allowed people to continue to claim El Toro as their address, however. I believe a lot of the city’s old-timers didn’t want to give up the name of El Toro. As for my sister, she refused to live in a city named after a man-made lake, which really wasn’t a lake, being smack dab in the middle of concrete suburbia and surrounded by lake front homes. My sister lived in El Toro until the say she left when her family moved back to their college town.
Here in Elk Grove, there’s something similar, but fortunately, our city isn’t named after the man-made lake in our midst. Over on the Laguna side, there is a man made lake with homes surrounding it. There’s no beach and no swimming in it, so can it really be considered a lake? As well, I don’t think it has a name. This body of water is in a development called Laguna West, what was supposed to be a model of a livable, walkable, sustainable neighborhood before such things were the rage. I don’t think it ended up quite hitting the target.
The lake is also next to a park where one of my kids has been playing soccer the past couple of months. I take my camera to snap pictures during the games. After yesterday’s game, the lake caught my eye. So, here in a few frames, is a moment.
The sound of a two-year-old giggling while her father plays peek-a-boo.
At a crossroads now
There’s left, there’s right, and between
Nothing but questions
The truth of the matter is that I feel like most of my adult life has been spent at a crossroads. There are days, weeks, and months, when I feel like I’m finally going to decide which way to turn. And, then the day, week, or month ends and I look back and realize I’m still stuck at the crossroads.
It’s this cycle. The ups. The downs. The in betweens. The cycle continues and I find myself back where I was at some point in the past, looking at things and realizing the same issues, the same questions, the same maddening matters are still there.
It’s a merry-go-round. A ride I can’t seem to get off of. To get off requires that decision. Or this decision. Or the other one. The decisions that could change everything. For the better. Or for the worse. What happens if it’s worse instead of better. What happens if the pain that intervenes is greater than the pain that exists?
It’s maddening. The never-ending whir of questions. Analysis. The ledger of pros and cons. If this, then that. Do these things add up to something better than those other things?
It’s a crossroads. There’s the road to the left, the road to the right, and the road in between. And, actually there’s the road I’ve traveled down to get to the crossroads. That’s the road behind me. It’s about choices and directions. Which one is the route to satisfaction and completion?
What do you think? Left? Right? Or down the middle? You tell me.
