And she stepped on one of those fortune weight scales in the bathroom--you know the kind that predict your life--but by the time you're interested it's just words bobbing back and forth like they aren't even sure they should be there. And she wasn't sure she should be there anyway. Yes, she could predict how the movie would end, and yes she thought it would have an oscar nod, but really, all she cared about was why Gwen was standing on the quarter scale and what she could have done to stop it.

The Foreclosure

When Richard got the fourth notice about the foreclosure he opened it on his way over to the condo. The first letter he placed in a horror novel he was reading on the weekends, the second he rolled up and used to fish his keys from underneath the kitchen hutch, and the third he lined the bottom of Slim’s cage. He decided it would do him better to recycle the paper, since he knew there was nothing he could do to stop the process the bank had already begun.

Cat Litter

It wasn’t because she was lazy, that’s what she was trying to explain to Olivia. The cat litter fight was coming again, turds rolled in gravely pieces of dusty chalk and the goddamn cat on the window sill watching the argument escalate.
“What if I’m pregnant?”
“Oh cut out the pregnant shit, what if I am?”
“You don’t even fuck.”
Gayle wasn’t entirely sure if she meant her last outburst. She had never seen Olivia bring any men over, except her own brother—who she was certain was mentally ill, perhaps bi-polar. They had played an online poker game until after 2:00 a.m. and it was Adam who had complained the next morning of the smell coming from the cat box. Still, she was pretty certain that Olivia didn’t have a sex partner—let alone any chance that she could be pregnant—which brought her to where they were right now, and she didn’t want to take any chances of losing this imaginary baby by changing the litter.
“It’s your cat.” Olivia pointed at Ginger who was at this point licking her right paw looking bored with the situation.
“Who paid the deposit?” Gayle crossed her arms, looking smug.
“I only paid it because you said you were waiting for your kicker. Which by the way I saw an envelope in the trash a week ago.”

Medical Records

I found out Mike Slater from my senior English class was tested for herpes but I never found out if it was positive or negative. I mean obviously it’s negative if it’s positive. There’s nothing positive about a positive test. I also stumbled across Megan Albright’s abnormal Pap smear results. Just a follow up appointment was scheduled. The weirdest thing I had discovered so far was that Mrs. Bromwell, the junior counselor I was sent to years ago because I left a nasty note in Judy Casterman’s P.E. locker, had bipolar disorder. This explains a lot since half of the class liked her as a counselor and the other half hated her. She told her doctor she had been diagnosed three years earlier by a psychiatrist but refused medication because she didn’t want to gain weight, but judging by her weight chart I don’t think it would have mattered. HavH hhejHaving all this information helped me stay awake at work; otherwise the medical records could be a real bore.

The Prescription

She didn’t intended on taking a vacation with Sumner, not at first anyway. When he invited her she thought he was joking. After all, he had been dealing with the family in room five and took thirty minutes to write three pages of orders on the newest chest pain admit. He seemed too busy to be thinking of anything but the normal quickness of a doctor on call. It wasn’t until he asked her for a prescription pad, scribbled a line and then handed it to her when Katherine sat for more than a minute trying to make out the last word: Maui.

The Call

When Jerry was lost, not in the oh crap I can't find my keys lost, but more of the today I don't know who I am lost, he stopping drinking and called Evette at 2:00 in the morning. Of course she thought he had been drinking when he called, that's all she knew of him when they had worked together at the bar. Although they never slept together, the one time they went hiking brought them as close as someone you would share a bed with. However sometimes, and Jerry knew this too well, lying next to someone often didn't equal closeness.

Florida

The humidity is becoming normal for Alice. She’s gotten used to wearing tank tops and flip-flops, but her father is still wearing the flannel work shirts and Levis that he wore on his construction sites in Oregon. Today she has to sweep out a house he is almost finished building, his last here in Florida. The carpet people will be coming the next day he tells her, the nails must be picked up, and the splinters swept, not to mention the stickers on the windows need to be scrubbed and then scraped. Alice is sorry she tried to run away yesterday; otherwise she could be at home, watching “One Life to Live” and eating popsicles from the freezer. Or better yet, swimming in the pool (everyone has a pool on the island.) Now she is stuck on the jobsite, broom in hand, staring at the back of her father’s flannel as he talks to the new owners, wondering if she should try to run away again tonight or wait until the weekend.

The Hole in Our Lives

The police stayed for nearly an hour, crouching in the kitchen, looking under the couch in the living room and asking if we had moved any of the furniture, or if this was the way the apartment always looked. The hole in the wall facing the recliner was small, but larger than a pushpin would make, and the plaster around the circle was crumbling, a little more each time a different officer went to measure the length of the bullet hole. The television remained on, an infomercial about trimming pet claws hung in the room like the lopsided quilt and a frameless picture of the Maui sunset we both agreed was the vacation that saved our marriage, for how long I was still uncertain. What I did know was that neither Gus nor I wanted to sit in the recliner after the shooting, and no amount of rearranging the room could change our minds. It was as if the bullet had turned the chair against us, but we pretended as if we were the ones with the problem (not the wounded chair), and we wanted to distance ourselves from its velvety arms, wooden handle, even the faint pinstriped design I swore would always look good in our lives.

Eloise

Eloise could just barely see the silver tip of the key, but the grate was bolted down on both sides, making it impossible to open. She had already tried three times to fit her hand through the metal grooves, pinching her fingers in the same way she did when trying to get the cherry at the bottom of her favorite drink, but the slots were too small. It wasn’t the first time she had lost her house key, not even close. And as she stood up, wiping at the criss-cross indents in her knees, she could picture her father when he arrived home to find her on the bench swing, still in her school clothes, and this is when her stomach began to hurt.

Walter Sprigg

Walter Sprigg was my seventh and last boyfriend. He used to tell me to smell his feet after he worked in his father’s seed mill for ten hours each day. He drove a fork-lift and carried pallets weighed down by bags of grass seed. After he came home to our studio apartment, he would untie his shoelaces, scoot his socks down and wiggle his toes, insisting that I take a deep breath and take in the aroma. The grass seed would stick on top of his swollen feet, resembling a sesame seed hamburger bun, and yes, Monday through Saturday, I would bend and indulge Walter Sprigg, right there in the center of that tiny space while he hopped and balanced on one foot, holding the other parallel to my nose.

Why the first paragraph is so important

I started this blog so I could write the first paragraph of a short story on a regular basis. When I decide whether or not to read a book, the first paragraph is what grabs me. I'd like to get feedback from other bloggers on whether they would continue to read the story based on the first paragraph.

I'll try to write these at least weekly, maybe more. All comments are welcome and appreciated!