Puzzles

With Gary only half-through the daily crossword puzzle, Anita knew she would be spending the afternoon suspended in yet another wordless bubble. She’d tried to cancel the paper a month ago, but they called two days later and spoke with Gary offering less than what they’d been paying for it for the last three years. She pretended she didn’t know how it had gotten cancelled in the first place. Lately, during the silence, Anita has been wishing she were a dog person—a rambunctious dog-lover who lets the pup run amuck, chewing on furniture and tearing up the newspaper. Obviously she can’t teach Jellybean to do any tricks, unless she considers litter on the end tables some sort of help. Gary wasn’t always into crosswords, in fact when they met he was fascinated by insects and they’d often take day-trips up to Morgan-Lang hill and collect them in old prescription bottles. He’d told Anita being around flying bugs made him feel whimsical. She’d laughed, and just to impress him since they’d just begun their togetherness, she told him they made her feel desirable. Breaking the silence as Anita reminisced; Gary called from his recliner, “What’s a nine letter word for household pest?”


Thanks to The One Minute Writer's daily prompt: What puzzles you? Check out her blog!

The Ghost

She’d said I was like a ghost, and fluttered her hands in the air that looked more like a butterfly. I laughed and did the whole “who me?” bit, but then it sunk through me: a cloud of annoyance, with the top hovering around my head and the bottom coming just under my diaphragm. The whole sensation was unshakable, throwing me into a funk that seemed to last a little over a week. I’d wake up while it was still night, noticing the back porch sensors being triggered by raccoons cleaning up the rest of Mr. Magee’s food dish, and then I’d think of ghosts. Not like Casper or the see-thru versions of my childhood favorite horror movies, but skewed versions of myself when I was thirteen, fourteen, all the way up until now—thirty-eight. I demanded to myself I was no more of a ghost than those portrayed on television—mere special effects—after all who had I ever haunted? Old friends or co-workers? Acquaintances? My ex-husband or past instructors? And is that what she meant when she’d said it, that I’d become a recurring memory for her, or perhaps she only truly wanted to compliment me.

The Talk

The conversation started light. How was I doing? Fine. How was she doing? Okay. George her beagle had died, but now there was Kyle, the German Shepherd, so things were looking up, she'd said. Some comments on the weather and the price of gas weaved through, a bit about the plastic cups we were drinking out of. The necessity of recycling, she'd warned. I didn't bring up my habit of using disposable picnic-ware for my meals. A few words on how bad diet drinks were on the body. I was glad I'd ordered mine before she arrived. Then, when the waiter came by to see if we were ready for the check, he was wearing one of those T-shirts with the fake tuxedo printed on the front with a red tie, we said "not yet" in unison and began talking about Derek as if we'd seen him only yesterday.