Vera stood in the principal’s office along the windowless wall wondering who’d ratted her and Emily out. Mr. Harris’s mouth moved in short twists while his tone remained high-pitched and similar to his voice during the assembly the day before when he’d announced that a student had “crapped” all over a toilet seat in the girl’s bathroom. Vera pushed one of her elbows into the light switch turning the lights off and then on again. She hadn’t held much of an opinion of her school’s principal until he’d mistaken chewed up pumpkin pie for poop.

Now she hated him.

Mr. Harris blinked and moved his mouse back and forth over a stack of blue detention slips on his desk. They’d pulled the trees out at the grade school on Saturday, right after peeing down the slide, but they hadn’t seen anyone on the playground or in the surrounding fields who would have told on them. Mr. Harris brushed the tops of his cabbage-shaped shoulders as he continued to ask Vera why she’d decided to destroy innocent trees and all Vera could picture was Emily sitting at the top of the slide with her pants halfway down, shouting, “Is it coming down straight? Is it making a puddle?”

Chicken Coop

When I found Granny in the chicken coop where she’d been collecting eggs, she was hunched down in the hay as if looking for pennies at the fair and her hair looked like a poodles, tiny curls that hadn’t been combed out yet. I’d said, “Granny—did you get your hair fixed up?” She didn’t answer. So I just watched her, still and leaning over, wondering if the hay was hurting her knees and that’s when I saw the pieces of eggshells crushed underneath her outspread fingers. The clear coagulated ooze surrounding her hands, yellow streaks in the pools. I came closer to her and patted the curls on her head, still wet, but soft. “It looks professional Granny, like a movie star,” I’d whispered. Nothing. Then Momma opened the little door and squeezed in behind me, “What’re you two doing in here? Tryin’ to lay eggs yourself?” And I knew something was wrong, and I knew my Momma didn’t know yet (by her tone), and all I could say was, “Feel Granny’s hair Momma, it feels like a baby-dolls.” The chickens started up the plank toward the opening that Granny was in front of and Momma started throwing hay at them yelling, “Git, Git, Git,” sounding like chicken Morse code and they must have understood, ‘cause they started flapping their wings and walking backwards with the claws of their feet dangling on the walkway, making a terrible scratching sound.

"Stay back," Greg's putting his arm back like he's swiping at me, trying to keep me from getting ahead of him, like a dog zigzagging in front to keep the lead. I can't see the furniture except the faint outline from before the lights went out, the curve of the sofa, the edge of the curtain, the Happy Birthday sign still hanging along the window. The street lights are still on outside, and I start to wonder if this is some kind of joke. Earlier he'd insisted upon camping outside, but we were having turkey and swiss sandwiches for dinner and I'd told him about how the cheese mixed with the fresh air and eating it outside grossed me out, and all he'd said was: Oh brother, 'cause that's what he always said after I gave a little of myself, Oh brother, as if we were family.

Legal Matters

Val hoped, with the money her and Wendy earned, she’d be able to buy two movies a week. Up at Sound Stairway, previously viewed movies were $5.99 and since her allowance was only $10.00 she’d never bought two in the same week. Trying to save the remaining money so she could buy two the next week was never possible, since the candy shop and the dollar store were in the same building. It wasn’t until Wendy offered the two of them up to her step-father to clean his law office every Thursday after school, that Val could imagine having enough money to do as she pleased.

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.