Category Archives: Literary

Romance, Short Stories, Literary

The Christmas Dance

(Author’s note: I haven’t been posting much this month. It is December, after all, and I’ve been busy with the holidays. Regardless, I couldn’t let the season pass by without giving all of you, True Believers, a little gift. So, here’s a Christmas-themed flash fiction for your enjoyment. As you can see, I can write things other than weird speculative fiction. 😛 Merry Christmas!)

The Christmas Dance
By Nathan Marchand

I can’t believe I’m here, I tell myself as I enter the natural history museum’s doors.

A rambunctious crowd of well-dressed people flows through the entry with me. Some of the guys are wearing Santa hats that clash with their fancy suits. “It’s Beginning to Look a Lot Like Christmas” belts from the huge speakers at the center of the makeshift dance floor under the full-sized whale skeleton suspended from the high ceiling. With deer-like grace, a few couples are already practicing their dance moves. The smell of cookies and hot cocoa is in the air.

I should be with family, not at some…gala, ball, whatever, on Christmas Eve!

Seeing the practicing couples reminds me why I hesitated to come. I’ve only been dancing for a few months and only knew a few styles, some of which I got mixed up, much to my embarrassment. Worst of all, I didn’t have a steady partner.

My stomach ties itself in a knot as I hit an invisible wall. I start to turn back—when I see my reason for coming.

Kara.

She stands at the edge of the dance floor about twenty feet away. Her long strawberry blonde hair hangs over her shoulder in an intricate braid. Her holly-green dress hugs all the right curves of her petite figure while its knee-length skirt all but demands to twirl. White open-toe shoes make her look an inch or two taller and as poised as ever.

She turns and sees me.

My face burns.

She waves at me.

My feet are too heavy to run.

Suddenly, someone brushes me aside as he walks past, jolting me from the trance.

“Nice suit, Ethan!” scoffs a familiar voice. “Where’d you get it? Goodwill?”

I glance back and see Jimmy snickering at me. He’s wearing a black suit and tie that probably cost more than my car. I can’t believe I used to be friends with that jerk. As usual, seeing him leaves me torn between running away and punching him. He smirks at this and starts mingling with the girls.

He always has to rub in what a charmer he is.

The emcee welcomes everyone and plays “Jingle Bell Rock.” I look for Kara, but she’s already on the floor with another guy. It never fails. She’s popular at ballroom dance parties.

I sigh as I lean back against the wall. Jimmy runs by me, leading some poor girl—the first of his many conquests, I assume—by the hand onto the floor. He smirks at me again as they partner-up. I feel like I’ve been stabbed.

The night wears on. I dance with a few girls, but they never seem excited to be with me. Is it because I’m a novice or ugly? Or an ugly novice? I look for Kara after each song, but no sooner does she step off the floor does another guy ask her to dance. Even the Flash wouldn’t be fast enough to catch her! All the while, Jimmy goes from one girl to next, charming them onto the floor. He dances as smoothly as he talks. The entire night I’m never sure if I’m red with anger or green with envy.

I look at my watch. Only ten minutes left. Another song starts playing. Where’s Kara?

I glance over my shoulder and see her standing by herself at the food table, sipping cocoa.

I take a deep breath to steel my nerves. It’s now or never.

I cut through the crowd. She sees me coming and grins. I swallow hard and keep walking. She puts her cup on the table and folds her hands as I approach.

I suddenly find myself within arm’s reach of her. I can smell her lavender perfume. Her emerald eyes meet mine.

“Kara…”

“Yes?”

Jimmy swoops in, grabs Kara’s hand, and leads her away, saying, “Let’s dance!”

Just like that, she’s gone.

I look back at the dance floor. Kara is looking over Jimmy’s shoulder as they foxtrot to “Baby, It’s Cold Outside.” (Am I the only one who thinks that song is kinda creepy?). Kara smiles awkwardly, her eyes pleading for a rescue.

Clenching my fists, I turn to leave.

I stop.

“No,” I say to myself. “I won’t let that punk steal another girl from me!”

With newfound courage swelling in my chest, I storm onto the dance floor and march toward them, maneuvering between couples. I tap Jimmy on the shoulder. He glares at me, but I don’t care.

“May I cut in?”

Before he can say, “No,” Kara jumps from his arms and into mine.

Instinctively, we start foxtrotting.

A few seconds later, my courage wanes as I realize I’m dancing with the prettiest girl in the room. My palms are so sweaty, I fear my hands will slip from Kara’s grasp.

The song ends. My arms fall out of frame. “Th-thanks.”

I drop my gaze and step away—but Kara grabs my arm.

“This is the last song,” she says, “and I owe you a full dance.”

I shove the words out: “Uh…sure.”

She beams.

I’m breathless.

“All I want for Christmas is You” starts playing. We swing dance to it. I’m so flabbergasted, I can barely do the basic steps and only remember to let Kara turn a few times. Her billowing skirt looks like a blossoming flower each time. She never stops smiling.

The song ends all too soon.

“Thank you for the dance,” Kara says.

I nod. Then I sigh and walk away. The fantasy is over. The clock’s striking midnight.

“Wait!” calls Kara.

I glance back as she rushes toward me. My stomach twists so much, it looks like her hair braid.

“I have a gift for you,” she says, reaching into her dress and producing a card. She takes my hand, puts the card in it, and folds my fingers onto it. “Merry Christmas!” she adds, gazing at me for several long seconds.

She walks past me.

I’m a frozen statue as people clear the floor, but eventually I look at the card.

It’s her phone number!

I turn around just in time to see Kara walk off the floor and wink at me.

My mouth curls into a smile.

I know what I’m doing for New Year’s Eve.

Short Stories, Literary

In Search of Traction (by Nathan Marchand)

1 Comment
DSCN6617
Photo by Nathan Marchand

I shoved my way out of the warzone that is a mall on Christmas Eve. Bags of junk food, worthless trinkets, and stupid holiday novelties dangled from my arms like overripe fruit on a tree. I could barely peek over the four boxes in my arms—which were quickly going numb—to see the crowded parking lot. Jack Frost nipped at my few patches of bare skin. Angry soccer moms yelled at me or shoved me out of the way while I crawled to my car. The sun was setting behind the thick gray clouds, bringing the dark sooner.

Joey, why did you marry a procrastinator? I thought. This isn’t how I wanted to spend our first Christmas together! I hate shopping only a little less than I do cooking!

            The thought of Mary “slaving away” in a warm kitchen made me hate this frigid weather even more.

Snow and ice still caked the parking lot! Were the snowplow drivers home for Christmas? I walked where angels feared to tread now. One wrong move, and I’d have a shallow grave under snow and packages. I stepped lightly, tensing every time I slid even an inch. My forehead was cold and moist. I think it took me ten minutes to cross one parking lot.

Reaching the car, I laid everything on the hatchback. My arms tingled as blood rushed into them. I clicked my key fob, unlocking the doors. I opened the driver door and tossed everything inside. With that, I harrumphed and slid into the car myself.

It seemed colder inside. I jammed the key into the ignition and turned it, but the car only whined. Cursing, I tried two more times before it finally started. I flipped on the headlights, but instantly found myself boxed in. A line of cars crept down the lot behind me. I had to wait five obnoxious minutes before a man—a fellow husband, I wager—stopped to let me pull out. Even then, my wheels spun out the first time I hit the gas. That husband’s understanding started to melt. But I floored it again and managed to get out.

It took me ten minutes just to move a quarter-mile and get onto Main Street. I narrowly avoided rear-ending the car in front of me. I knew I should’ve had the brakes repaired, I thought. But I was too busy with Christmas! The sun was now gone. Storefronts were going dark. The street wasn’t much clearer, but at least I wasn’t sliding. For now.

Mary and I live in the countryside just outside of the city. Which meant our roads would be the last to get plowed, if ever. Anger surged through me, warming my body. All this for last-second gifts for her least favorite nieces and nephews and supplies for a party she was throwing tomorrow! I gripped the steering wheel so tightly, the cover was indenting my palms.

A few turns and traffic lights later, I reached the city limits. Now I was where snowplows fear to tread. Or where they didn’t care to plow. Regardless, the roads were ice rinks now. I felt the car’s tires slide underneath me and manically gripped the steering wheel. Snowflakes the size of cotton balls fell from the clouds, obscuring my vision. My intense concentration could barely see far enough ahead to avoid immediate hazards.

Even then, I didn’t see the first stop light that came into view. Not until it was too late. I slammed on the brakes, but the car slid, threatening to jackknife. I held my breath. My heart stopped. I wrestled with the steering wheel to keep it straight. Five harrowing seconds later, I realized I was in the middle of the intersection.

Now I just need another car to skid into me to make this perfect! I thought. But Mary still probably wouldn’t forgive me for being late!

I pressed gently on the accelerator, but the tires spun, unable to grip the road. I let up and tried again. The same. Cursing, I hit the steering wheel. Despite planning for extra time to get home, I was beyond punctuality now. I’d get nothing but nagging if and when I reached home. So much for holiday cheer!

The third time was the charm; the tires gripped the road and inched forward. I was out of the intersection in a few seconds.

What followed is a blur. I was focused like a laser on the road as I crawled along. I plowed through just-formed snowdrifts. The brakes reminded me of their need of repairs every time I skidded to a stop at an intersection. A pothole nearly broke my concentration and sent me into a snow-filled ditch. But I refused to break. Each little victory bolstered my confidence. A smile slowly crept up my face. Do your worst, Old Man Winter!

Suddenly, out of the darkness to the left sprang a buck. I swear it even had a red nose, but that might have been a cell phone tower in the distance. Anyway, he leaped in front of me, just a few feet from my bumper. I gasped and reflexively swerved to the other lane. I narrowly dodged the buck, which vanished in one leap, but the car wouldn’t straighten. Slamming the brakes did nothing. Tires screeched. Adrenaline was oil on my fires of panic. Against my will, the car veered off the road.

Stopped.

I suddenly found myself staring at the white ground at an awkward angle. A ditch. I was in a ditch. A snow-laden ditch. Hopelessly, I shifted the car in reverse and hit the gas pedal. The wheels spun, but the car didn’t budge. In fact, I felt it dig an inch deeper into the snow. I was stuck.

I smacked the steering wheel, cursing a blue streak. Slipping on gloves and a sock cap, I ventured out of the car, the cold air biting my bare cheeks. The car was so deep in the ditch and snow, there was no way I’d be able to push it out. I glanced up and down the road, but there were no headlights to be seen. Just darkness and a white haze bathed in pale moonlight.

I was alone.

I pounded the car’s roof, undoubtedly leaving a new dent. My cell phone was in my coat pocket, so I ungloved my hand and grabbed it. I glimpsed a text message from Mary that said something like, “Where the hell are you, you dolt?!” Then it went black. Dead. Typical, I thought. I pounded the roof again.

What was I to do now? Sit there and hope that someone, somehow, would drive by? On Christmas Eve? When everyone was at home with family and friends? Lucky them. That’s where I should be. Or not. Mary is probably ticked that I’m late. Never mind that I narrowly avoided killing Bambi and ended up in a ditch. Maybe I’m better off out here.

A few more minutes of near-zero temperatures changed my mind. Especially when I realized I only had a quarter of a tank of gas left.

“Dammit! What am I gonna do now?”

Just then, a bell rang in the distance.

Quick as a flash, I remembered there was a little country church not far from here. I drove by it every day on my way to work, but it was just scenery in my mind. They must be having a Christmas Eve service or something. Maybe they’ll help me. I just have to make sure they don’t realize I’m a “heathen.”

            The bell seemed a bit loud, so I squinted at the icy veil, managing to catch a faint glimpse of the church. It was maybe a half-mile away. My face wouldn’t be too numb by the time I arrived.

I pulled the keys from the ignition, locked the car doors, and started walking.

After what seemed like an eternity of cold wind, relentless snow, and hatred of Christmas, I reached the church. A warm, candlelight-like aura seemed to emanate from it, though some of its lights were on. Few cars were in the parking lot. I guess the weather had scared away even the faithful. Or the service was over. Just my luck if I missed everyone. But the light gave me…hope. I walked up to the front door and discovered it was unlocked. Trusting people, churchgoers are. What if I wanted to rob the place? I smiled despite my numb face. Robbing a church on Christmas Eve? I bet that’d get you sent to Hell twice.

I must’ve looked like a living snowman when I stepped inside. I brushed myself off and peeled off my cap. I hadn’t been in a church since I was a kid, but I remembered it was a requirement to remove one’s hat. Before me was the entrance to the sanctuary. Low organ music playing “Silent Night” hummed in my ears. It was dark except for candles sitting on the sills of the windows lining each side of the room, which led to an illuminated cross hanging above the pulpit. I stepped closer and saw a few silhouettes sitting in the pews. Muttered prayers mingled with the organ music.

I was suddenly hesitant to cross the threshold into the sanctuary, like I was unworthy to disturb this holy ground. But I pressed on.

No one seemed to notice me. They just went on praying. I was annoyed. But just as I was about to shout, someone saw me.

“You can sit here,” he whispered.

I glanced to my left. A young blonde man scooted over and offered me a spot at the end of the pew.

Though I suddenly felt uncomfortable, I said, “Thanks,” and sat down.

“What’s your name?”

“Joey.”

“Mine’s Gabe. Nice to meet you.”

“I’m sure.”

No much for not looking like a heathen.

He paused only briefly at my terseness. “I’ve never seen you here before. Welcome.”

“Honestly, I’m only here because I need help.”

“We all need help from the Lord.”

I snickered. “Think he’ll dig my car out of the ditch?”

Gabe flinched, surprised. “Oh. Well, we do have some shovels in the janitor’s closet. We can dig you out after the service.”

“Is it gonna be much longer? The wife is probably contemplating divorce as we speak.”

“Marriage troubles?”

It was none of his business, but for whatever reason, I started talking. “Yeah. She insisted on throwing a last-minute Christmas party and gave me a mile-long list of things to buy. I hate shopping and this weather, but I hate dealing with her. I’ll be lucky if she just makes me sleep on the couch tonight.”

“She sounds a little demanding.”

“A little?” I blurted, almost raising my voice. “She’s really demanding! And obnoxious! Always has to have her way. All because she wants to keep up appearances at the holidays. I don’t know what I hate more—her or Christmas.”

“I’m sorry. Christmas should be a time of—”

“Spare me the Christmas Carol crap! I just want to dig out my car and go home!”

I think that earned me a few annoyed glances.

Gabe somehow kept his cool, and said, “I think you need more than that, Joey.”

I huffed. “Like what?”

As if on cue, the well-dressed preacher standing behind the pulpit started reading: “And the angel said unto them, Fear not: for, behold, I bring you good tidings of great joy, which shall be to all people. For unto you is born this day in the city of David a Savior, which is Christ the Lord. And this shall be a sign unto you; Ye shall find the babe wrapped in swaddling clothes, lying in a manger. And suddenly there was with the angel a multitude of the heavenly host praising God, and saying, Glory to God in the highest, and on earth peace, good will toward men.”

He stepped down and sat on a pew. The organ music continued to play. The bell rang again outside.

I’d heard those words every year on the Charlie Brown Christmas show, yet now…they touched me. Touched me somewhere deep inside. My heart of ice thawed a little.

“I’m sorry for disrupting things,” I whispered to Gabe.

“You’re forgiven. The service will conclude in a few minutes. We’ll dig you out then. Merry Christmas.”

“Thanks.” The next words I said surprised even me. “Could my wife and I come here this Sunday?”

Gabe laughed quietly. “There’s no need to ask. Just come.”

“I—we will.”

That night, I was searching for traction on the road, not realizing I was searching for traction in my life.

Now, I’d found it.

Literary, Drama, Short Stories

The Discarded Gift

AUTHOR’S NOTES: Here’s the Christmas short story I promised. As I said earlier this week, it’s set in the small Midwestern town of Vienna, a place created by my friend and fellow writer, Nick Hayden. (Nick has ideas for his half of the story exchange percolating as I write, but I don’t know when he’ll have it done).

Just like Nick’s other Vienna, USA stories, this one is based loosely on an actual event. When Nick’s mother was in high school, a boy asked her out by climbing their hometown’s water tower and spray-painting her name on it. Besides that, many of the other details are cobbled together from my own experiences living near many small towns in Indiana (the comic shop and pizzeria are amalgams of several such places I’ve frequented). Speaking of the comic shop, I created that place (and the most of the characters seen or mentioned there) the first time I wrote a Vienna story back when Nick created this town as the setting for a serial called Cobblestones. Maybe I’ll post that story sometime. Ironically, it was called “The Gift.”

Anyway, take a break from your busy holiday schedule and enjoy this story. MERRY CHRISTMAS!

(FYI: If you’re reading this on the main page, click the title above so you’ll see the pagination).

 

The Discarded Gift
By Nathan Marchand

            The Mayans predicted the world would end today, and now Calvin Clark was wishing they were right.

            The cold night air bit his cheeks as he stepped out of the door, the fresh snow crunching under his dress shoes. It had been a long, tiring day at the offices of the ironically named Crook and Straus Law Office. It seemed all the Scrooges in Vienna—maybe even the whole county—wanted to file or settle all their lawsuits the last week before Christmas.

            I’m so sick of working here, thought Calvin as he buttoned up his navy blue wool trench coat over his suit. All I do is stare at papers documenting people’s petty squabbles. And if I hear one more “Clark the clerk” joke, they’ll be prosecuting a murder case! He pulled an equally-blue sock cap over his earthy hair, thinking, I didn’t go to college for this.

            Since he forgot his gloves, Calvin stuffed his hands into his pockets, and his freezing fingers rediscovered the pockets’ contents. He sighed, slumping his shoulders. Out of his right pocket he produced crinkled piece of yellow paper, which he unfolded. Written at the top in his legible but messy handwriting was, “Maria’s Christmas List.” He had drawn his little sister’s name in the family gift exchange, and she would be coming home on break from college in Florida.

            I’ve been so busy, I forgot to get her anything. I better do it now before she arrives tomorrow.

            Calvin pocketed the list again and started walking down the sidewalk. Downtown Vienna was only a few blocks away. His sister loved the quaint shops and avoided the Wal-Mart as much as she could, so he knew that would be the best place to buy gifts for her. While it was already six o’clock, most of the stores would be staying open a little later for last-minute shoppers like him.

            I’ll get the gifts and come back here for my car.

            The crowds thickened, the Christmas music amplified, and traffic congested the closer Calvin got to downtown. It was the annual Christmas on Main Street Celebration. He heard music by Trans-Siberian Orchestra, which was undoubtedly blaring from Mozart’s Music. The smells of freshly baked cookies and bread wafted through the icy air. The laughter of people young and old blended into a joyous noise. A rainbow of flashing colors from the thousands of lights splashed across the snow, making the cold powder sparkle, as he neared Main Street.

            It was then Calvin’s gait slowed. His feet felt heavier with each step. Finally, he stopped as he came to the corner of Main and Schett Streets. He hung his head. For a moment, he just stood there, breathing in cold air and breathing out mists that seemed to envelope him like a dark cloud.

            He wanted to shut out everything around him.

            I thought I could do this, but…

            He clenched white-knuckle fists in his pockets and gritted his teeth behind closed lips.

            Just go!

            He straightened, took a deep breath, and rounded the corner.

            Main Street was a Christmas card brought to life. Snow was piled along the edges of the cobblestone street and the sidewalks. Lights flashed. The night was illuminated. Wreaths hung on every door and every street lamp. Children, clad in their thick coats and earmuffs, dragged their parents into Candy’s Candies and Toyland, among other shops. Young couples nuzzled and cuddled on every bench. This last image pricked Calvin’s heart.

            If that was all there was, Calvin could have handled it. But he barely walked half-a-block before he heard the sound of the clip-clop of horseshoes against the cobblestones behind him. He stopped in front of Josie’s Just Desserts, bracing himself. He had hoped farmer Griffith was not bringing his horses in for the holiday carriage rides that night. That was obviously what the young couples on the benches were waiting for. The clatter came up beside him on the right. Then it stopped.

            He glanced over.

            There she was.

Pages: 1 2 3 4 5 6 7
Short Stories, Literary, Drama

You Are Not Alone

Rain pattered against the massive windows, skewing the plane as it descended from the sea of gray looming in the sky. Ethan had been sitting in the airport terminal for what seemed like hours, his hands folded, his head hung. Dozens of empty seats surrounded him like an army. The P.A. hardly, if ever, resounded. He looked up to see his flight crawl down the runway.

He glanced at his watch. His head fell as he sighed, his hand running through his muddy hair. Blockaded tears stung his sealed eyes. A deep breath helped steel his resolve. He zipped up his black jacket, picked up the duffel bag sitting at his feet, stood, and walked toward the gateway. He didn’t look back.

“Ethan, wait!”

Two steps from the gateway, he stopped, turning around. Zoe sprinted toward him. Her amber hair was drenched, nearly brown. Her soaked white university shirt clung to her every curve. Short but shapely legs half-hidden by jean shorts carried her swiftly, her flip-flops slapping her tiny feet.

Ethan just stood there, glowering.

Zoe ran to him, slowing to catch her breath. Her sapphire eyes looked up at Ethan, who was almost a head taller than her, rain pouring down her face. “I made it in time.”

Ethan crossed his arms. “No, you’re late.”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t get your e-mail until after my economics class. I had no idea you were going to leave.”

“Nobody did because nobody cared.”

Zoe’s lip quivered. “How could–”

“—I say that? Because I’ve been at that college for five months and no one accepts me. A few people act like they’re my friends, but it’s nothing but masks. I did all I could to fit in, make friends, but I’m just some weird artist to them, so they treat me like a leper.”

“I’m…sorry.”

“Don’t apologize for them!” snapped Ethan, pointing accusatively. “You listened to them. You and all the other freshmen let the upperclassmen decide who your friends should be, who was allowed to join the student aristocracy. You were one of them by the end of the first semester.”

Zoe dropped her gaze. “I had no idea they were hurting you so much.”

“You never asked.” Ethan shook his head. “When I met you the first day of classes, I thought you were different. You went to my art exhibits and my poetry recitations. You seemed to understand me. I guess I was wrong.”

“I came here, didn’t I?”

“I don’t know why. None of your ‘friends’ bothered to come. It just proves what I’ve known all along—nobody would miss me if I died tomorrow.”

Zoe sealed her eyes and clenched her fists. “Would it help if—“

“I don’t want to hear it!” shot Ethan, waving his hand dismissively. “It won’t change that I’m cursed to be an outcast everywhere I go. Even home isn’t home anymore. I sent that e-mail to everyone I knew, and even my parents haven’t tried to stop me. What does that tell you?”

Zoe wrung her hands, her eyes staring at the floor and her body tense. “I don’t know…”

“It tells me that I am, and always will be, alone.”

Zoe stood there in silence.

Ethan glanced at the window as the thunderous hum of the passenger jet whined in his ears. “My flight is here finally,” he said, looking back at Zoe. “I have to go.”

“Where?” she asked, her voice cracking.

Pages: 1 2
Short Stories, Literary, Drama

Gravedigger

After weeks of searching, I’d finally found a decent job—at a graveyard. But after only a few hours of work on my first day, Adam, my boss, insisted I come with him outside. My buddies told me this wasn’t good, but hey, what am I supposed to do? Tell him, “No,” and get fired?

Adam led me into the heart of the graveyard, an ocean of dead yellow grass peppered with black and gray headstones. When we reached the center of the property, Adam stopped, and handed me a rusty shovel. “Dig, boy.”

“For what?” I retorted. “Jack Sparrow’s pot o’ gold?”

“You heard me–dig. And don’t stop ‘til I tell you.”

With that, he walked away.

I sighed, and stabbed the ground with the shovel. The soil was strangely soft. I quickly piled it into a dry heap, nearly suffocating on the dust cloud that enveloped me with every scoop of dirt.

Hours passed. Adam never told me to stop. Heck, I never saw him again that day. The hole deepened, and I slowly descended into it. I didn’t notice how far down I was until I stopped briefly to wipe the sweat from my forehead. The ground was eye-level with me. I cursed my dumb luck, and threw another shovel-full of dirt over my head.

When the ground was a foot over my head, I heard several gruff voices talking about things I don’t care to repeat. After a few minutes, there was a loud thud, like something had been stabbed into the ground.

“What’s going on?” I called.

“Just keep digging, just keep digging,” said one of the voices, sarcastically. I heard his friends laugh and give him high-fives. Then they left.

I kept digging.

Darkness was descending. I’d lost track of time. Where’s Adam? How long do I have to keep digging? I could hardly see above me. Was this some kind of cruel joke? My veins burned, my muscles screamed in pain.

I kept digging.

“Hey!” a voice from above suddenly called.

Sighing, I said, “Is that you, Adam?”

“No,” he said, and quickly moved on. “Do you realize what you’re doing?”

“What do you mean?”

“You must stop now!”

Pages: 1 2
Short Stories, Literary, Comedy, Satire

All Our Passions

2 Comments

All Our Passions
By Nathan Marchand

“I’m still here, my darling. I just dozed off a little.”

“Then maybe you should take a break. You’ve been there for hours.”

“Oh, hello nurse. I didn’t hear you come in.”

“I moonlight as a ninja.”

“Heh-heh. No, I can’t leave my Joseph. I want to be the first person he sees when he wakes up from this coma.”

“How romantic! I hope he appreciates having such a vigilant wife.”

“Trust me, he does.”

“Just don’t squeeze his hand too hard. I’d hate to put it in a caste after he wakes up.”

“I think he’ll be fine. He has strong hands.”

“I’ll go get you some coffee.”

“Thank you.”

…

“It’s me, your blonde goddess Mercedes, my love. I’m the only one here now. I know that Corvette was your favorite car, but it was totaled in your accident. The police are still trying to figure out what caused it. I know you’d never do anything to wreck it. You loved it almost as much as you loved me. I promise Daddy will buy you a new one when—”

“Get away from him!”

“Jeffrey! What’s wrong with you?”

“Get away from my twin brother, dirty whore!”

“How dare you barge in and talk to me like that! I’m his wife!”

“Stop lying! I know about your plot.”

“What plot?”

“Don’t play innocent with me! The man lying on that bed isn’t Joseph—I’m Joseph!”

“You’re insane!”

“Am I?”

“Yes. You were always jealous I married your brother and not you.”

“You drugged me at our wedding reception, and then had my twin brother take my place.”

“I’d never do such a thing!”

“You treacherous slut! I know Jeffrey stole you from me and the two of you conspired to have him take my place and have me put away in some loony bin.”

“I love him, Jeffrey. I’d—”

“STOP CALLING ME THAT! I’M JOSEPH! I’M THE MAN YOU MARRIED!”

“No, you’re not! The man I married is lying there after nearly dying in a car accident.”

“Haha. Who do you think caused it?”

“What?”

“I cut the car’s break line so it’d look like an accident. If I couldn’t have you, neither would he!”

“You bastard!  I’m calling the nurse.”

“No, you won’t!”

“Let go of me!”

“Shut up, bitch!”

“Ahh! Ow!”

“Did you like having sense smacked into you?”

“Someone will hear this and call security!”

“Not with this chair barricading the door. Even then, it’s your word against mine.”

“Idiot! Joseph, Jeffrey, whoever is in that bed may be in a coma, but he’s heard everything. He’ll know what you did and tell everyone!”

“Not if I can help it.”

“Don’t you touch him!”

“Out of my way!”

“Ahhh!”

“Once I pull this plug, I’ll finish what I started.”

“No! Please—”

BEEEEEEP!

***

Jeffrey shot from his bed, gasping.

“Are you okay, Jeffrey?” asked his wife, who was sitting in bed next to him. “You’re as pale as a ghost and sweating like a pig.”

“Mercedes…I…”

“Was it Jeffrey or Joseph who pulled the plug?” interrupted a TV announcer. “Did Mercedes really plot to run away with her husband’s brother? Find out tomorrow on All Our Passions.”

“It’s weird watching this show because two characters have the same names as us.”

“What are you watching?”

“I couldn’t sleep, so I turned on the cable TV. It was tuned to the Soap Opera Network. I’m sorry if it woke you. I thought I’d turned it down enough. I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay. Trust me.”

“Did you have a nightmare?”

“No, but I wish I had.”