Wednesday must be what-the-hell day. Short things want me to post them on my blog; they don't care. Walk-the-talk Wednesday. Something new. Is it flash fiction, do I need to invent a name? I think there will be more where this came from. Be patient. And if it's a terrible idea, I will survive hearing about it.
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It was a summer morning. Rose Tortora gave that sales guy a real cuffing. We had watched him muscle what looked like hedgehogs, porcupines with wooden handles, out of his sample bag. Nobody ever buys anything on this street, he carped, bitter as sweaty hands grabbed the sample brushes back from my mom. Not today, she told him, the kindly let-down. Rose might as well have grabbed his collar, how she spun him around with her words. No one here will buy from you again, talk to us like that. Didn't they teach you any better? He always seemed wormy to me, pale loser radiating like an atomic glow, sagging shoulders, too many sighs. But when he showed up the next month, he was less minus-seeming than before. A lot more polite. Mom looked at the whole line before picking a vegetable scrubber and whisk broom. Dad hung the whisk broom on a peg over the workbench. I got to scrub the potatoes.
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16 comments:
A fine portrait of five, Marylinn - actually, seven when you include the potato scrubber and the whisk broom ; ).
I was transported back to my childhood kitchen, too - to shelling peas and shaking seeds from the heads of marigolds. Thank you. L, C xo
wv - hogratel (another creature?)
this smacks of the late fifites, and I can almost feel the dust and sun..
more more more!
Wonderful wonderful, wonderful. you are such a fine writer, Marylinn. Your posts are like finally discovered gems. They shine more brightly than the stuff we are used to.
Thanks.
I almost don't care to comment on the content, I simply revel in your way with words. But the content is fascinating, too.
r u 4 reel, ML?
god, i love this. i want to see it as a children's book, with wanda gag-like woodcut illustrations....
Wonderfully descriptive, "porcupines with wooden handles",:)...and then what happened? Read me more.
Claire - A hogratel does sound like a hybrid of ??? Thank you. Wanting to explore new-to-me forms and be fearless about sharing them without polish. All of you inspire me to new heights. xo
Denise - You've got it just right, the fifties, long summer days. There will be more and some tweaking of this. Thank you, it felt like an acceptable start. xo
Elisabeth - Thank you so much. I have thoughts of short, companion pieces...perhaps they will tie together or, with work, become more prose poems...I don't yet know. I so appreciate your encouragement.
Susan - Thank you, thanks a lot. I scarcely know what to say...I want to try your one-syllable fiction...and more along these lines. xo
Antares Cryptos - I guess my best suggestion is: stay tuned. We'll all find out what, if anything, happens next. =^--^= (sleeping?)
I don't always comment, Marylinn. But I never fail to read and enjoy none the less.
Robert - Thank you. This suggests something I might say when I have stopped somewhere and am not brimming with comments I want to record...a gracious alternative.
The guy was on our street about 50 years ago before he moved to the other place. My dad bought a brush.
..."he was less minus-seeming than before." Oh, Marylinn how you bend words. Just a beautiful little piece here. :)
KleinsteMotte - He may have moved to your place from ours, or had a very wide territory. Jobs I'm so glad I never had, door-to-door sales.
Jayne - Thank you. The words do beg us to come out and play, don't they. Some days are just more limber than others.
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