FirstLineFiction beta

from Contest #5

     A boy with a parrot on his shoulder was walking along the railway tracks.  I noticed him immediately. I can even remember commenting on it to the Missus. I mean, just the boy wouldn't have warranted a remark.  Even the parrot might have slipped past without a word.  But a strange boy and a parrot following the tracks out of town?  That was the stuff of conversation.

     “Well there’s something you don’t see every day,” I said as I poured the end of the pot into my cup and took a deep drink of hours-old Maxwell House.  The Missus turned the page, sipped just to the left of the chipped edge of her lucky mug, and kept on reading the newspaper as if I hadn’t said a word.   

     “Hmmmm," was all the Missus managed in reply.  Typical.  Well, no one can say I was the one who stopped trying in this marriage.

     “A boy with a parrot, walking along the tracks,” I offered to pique her interest.  Good communication is vital to good marriage.  I read that somewhere.  

     I watched as she took another sip from the cup, turned another page with a sharp snap until it stood at attention, a rustling sigh following as it settled down to rest against the cool formica of our kitchen table. She just kept on reading.  She didn’t even bother to look up.  Maybe that’s what got me angry.  I mean it’s just simple courtesy.  Somebody talks, you look them in the eye. Somebody asks you a question, you make a reply.  It’s not like I was some loon pushing my shopping cart along the road, arguing with thin air.

      “You just don’t see a boy and a parrot every day,” I tried again.  Isn't that what you do to make things work.  Silence followed.  Maybe that’s when I started to see red.

      "I told Doris it was a stupid idea," she muttered as another page snapped to attention, rustled and sighed to its rest. 

     "Can't imagine where he came from."  Actually I could but still hoped for something resembling a conversation with this woman who was my wife.  I took a drink, savored the bitter, relished the sweet, and waited for something, anything.

     "What the hell was he thinking," she chuckled, turning another page, and then another, each time the same snap, rustle, sigh.  

     "Can't imagine where he's going."  Actually I could but I still hoped, still, even though there was nothing to hope for.

     "What the hell were we thinking?"  She cackled.  Snap, rustle, sigh.

     "What were we thinking?" I asked, figuring some conversation was better than none.  She turned a page, then another, then one more.  By the time the fourth page had found it's rest, I realized I had had enough. 

      I looked to my left at the empty sink.  I looked to my right, at the cast iron pan sitting on the stove.  It wouldn’t take much to wrap my fingers around the handle.  It would take even less to raise it up and swing it down -- once, twice, three times the charm.  There'd be a crack, a snap, a rustle, a sigh, although whether it would be hers or mine, that sigh, I couldn't tell you.  I know we'd both be relieved just to be done with this, neither heaven nor hell, but someplace in-between.

     "I couldn't tell you," she said, for the briefest moment her eyes meeting mine.  "Can't believe we voted for the fool."  Snap went the paper, poised at attention; rustle went the page falling, fallen, done.    

     I took the last drink of my coffee, grinning through the bitter at the sweet.  "A boy with a parrot on his shoulder was walking along the tracks," I offered in thanks. "Imagine that."

back to Contest #5