Wednesday at the Club, Selma pulls up a wicker chair, looks at me over the table number (our regular – 23), says: ‘I’m breaking up with you, Leonard’ – and I just about bust out laughing. It’s the way she says ‘breaking up’ all serious, and pulls a paper square from her purse, the edges secured with tape. Makes me think of schooldays, grubby pawed-over notes, passed hand-to-hand under desks. When breaking up meant the end of the world. Around here though, surely, nobody breaks up anymore. There just isn’t time.
But, because I catch something, an increase in the moisture that lately seems to be constantly brimming in her eyes, I don’t laugh. Not that she’s sad: the tears are something hereditary, she told me, an ailment that strikes in later years, malfunctioning ducts. She dabs at her eye with a lace handkerchief. (A fine looking lady, she’s got a lot of class, always turns out nice for brunch, no jogging pants or those nasty shuffly slippers.)
She lays her hand next to the note. Her fingernails are hard crimson shells. She’s looking over my shoulder. It’s hard to twist my neck (shrapnel wound, Pork Chop Hill, June 1953) so I kind of shimmy round in my chair. And there’s George Malone’s ugly mug at table 25. Jesus wept. Who let him in the Club?
He’s wearing a baseball cap (‘Combat Veteran – Korea’) which he pushes back on his liver-spotted forehead with knobby knuckles. He winks at me, the old bastard. Combat? He saw just enough to make him put his dick between his legs and jump the first trooper home, faking something colorectal. I’ve got his little number. Then I swivel back to that look in Selma’s eyes and realize: no, I don’t. The scar on my neck gives an electric twang.
So that’s the deal. I’m eighty-nine years old, weigh a buck five on a good day, have to sit down to piss, and now, goddammit, I’ve got competition.
[xnihilo]
333 words
Trifecta challenge
nice twist at the end!
The style of your prose is perfect for this character, and you’ve absolutely nailed the character’s voice. As with everything you’ve been writing for Trifecta, I love it!
Love, love, love this! Did I mention I love this?
The whole piece was thoroughly entertaining and flowed so well. I hated for it to end.
Jo-Anne is right – you got the voice down perfectly. I started to suspect when you wrote: “Around here though, surely, nobody breaks up anymore. There just isn’t time.” It’s almost wistful in its practicality. I also really loved that moment of realization: “I’ve got his number… no, I don’t.” Great little story here. ~Christine, Trifecta Guest Editor
ha! love the last line! great take on the prompt.
best,
MOV
Narrative voice here is excellent “a buck five…” And the last line suggests the narrator will not give in easy. Lovely.
Perfect tone of voice, and wonderful story. He’s quite a character, as are they all. I’d love to here what happens next.
Awesome! I love all your Trifecta pieces, including this one. I agree, not enough stories told from the aged perspective. You nailed it. What a character!
this description is over-the-top delightful!
So this is only really kinda freaking AWESOME 😀
My god, ha, this was perfect. Love the development of the character and especially that last paragraph. Awesome
Love this story Xandra. Jesus wept is great, as is the parenthesis with his combat cred and his disdain for George Malone.
To think you get that old and still can’t see it coming… kinda disheartening, if you ask me! *looks over shoulder*
Great voice and story.
love it!
I had realized the age thing a while (from the language I guess) but the competition was great. Love at the retirement home… great take
Definitely a winner…congratulations!
This is awesome. 🙂
This is great! Made me grin, and I loved the voice. Nice job!