Ten-Finger Exercises

maybe it was the audience's fault...hmmm

This was just my second session at the short story class, part of the extended learning program at the community college--meaning it's for people over 50. Or maybe they're all Democrats and were afraid I was saying bad things about their candidate. One thing I know for sure, very few of them seem to be Facebook literate, and so were unacquainted with the barrage of political trash that's being posted there. I was trying to make a spoof on it, but nobody laughed.

The Fact-Checkers


“Did you see this latest thing I re-posted on Facebook about President Perry?” James called to her. He was spending his morning as usual, tucked away in the computer room at the back of the house.

Diane was in the kitchen tackling a new recipe, and she wanted to ignore him. Not him, really, just the anti-president stuff he was always posting. But he needed attention, so she put down her spatula and went back to see whatever it was he wanted to show her.

He was leaning forward in his office chair, peering intently at the screen, not even looking around when she came in the room.

“See, this proves it,” he said. “Perry was actually on the Titanic when it sank. Here’s his name on the manifest. He’s had twenty-seven plastic surgeries, can you believe it? He must be 90 at least by now. By golly we can’t elect a president that old. And he says he’s only 62. What a liar!”

She stood a pace behind him, her hands on her hips. As he scrolled down the page to show her the evidence, the original post’s vitriol leapt out at her.

“I don’t like that,” she said quietly. “It’s demeaning. It’s a personal attack, not about the issues at all.”

“There, see,” he said when he reached the page he wanted. It was as if she hadn’t said a word. “It’s the manifest from the Titanic, signed by the owner of the Cunard Lines. What do you think of that!”

“Hmmm,” she said, but she didn’t tell him what she was thinking. “I’d better get back to my baking.”

As soon as she reached the kitchen, instead of picking up the cookbook or a utensil, she pulled her iPhone from her pocket. Googling made everything so easy. She was ready for his next announcement. It wasn’t long in coming.

“Look at this, will you?” he urged, and she again went to his side. “It’s an affadavit signed by the plastic surgeon. Is that good enough for you?”

She paused a minute, then decided. “First of all, it wasn’t even a Cunard ship, so somebody’s making that part up. Second, the oldest living survivor was Mary Davis Wilborn, and she died in 1987. If Perry had been on the Titanic, he’d be over 100 now. It sank in 1912. Don’t you think that’s a little far fetched? And the plastic surgery thing to make him look young is so ridiculous I don’t see how you could fall for it, no matter who signed his name to what.”

James was silent. He didn’t mind a challenge, he thought, but this was a cruel rebuff. Was she calling him stupid? Was she an ‘Other’ Party supporter after all? That’s what they always said about anyone who had the nerve to blow the whistle on their candidate.

Diane rested her hand lightly on his shoulder, but he shrugged it off. She leaned over to kiss the back of his neck but decided against it and walked slowly away.

Back in the kitchen, she whisked the eggs with a fury. What was she supposed to do?
She didn’t want him to make a fool of himself. Truth be told, she didn’t want him to embarrass her either. They had many Facebook friends in common. What if they thought she agreed with his outlandish ideas? Well, they probably knew her better than that, she thought. Maybe she should ‘share’ some ’Other’ Party political statements. That would show her position to be clearly different from his.

But it wouldn’t really. She wasn’t honestly in favor of the incumbent president herself. He might talk about how much he cared for the poor, but she’d read too much about his past to believe that. The slumlords he’d won cases for, pushing the poor people out on the street in freezing weather, and the big housing project that went up, putting a lot of money in a lot of pockets but not helping the poor that time either. And those ‘pockets’ contributed heavily to his campaign.

Most of all though, she cared about James. She didn’t want him to be hurt. Maybe if she posted what she’d just been thinking, that would be a show of solidarity for him. She planned what she would write as she finished putting the cake in the oven, then went to her laptop.

Opening up to Facebook, she typed in her status carefully. It didn’t support either political party. In fact, she made it clear that she was still undecided. She’d be deluged with bipartisan propaganda now, she knew. She pushed the ‘Post’ button anyway.

Almost immediately a post appeared above hers on the feed. It was from James again.

“Sources near the President reveal his intention to invoke Executive Order 13537, making it illegal to route cruise ships across the North Atlantic except during the three months of summer.“

“Oh, James!” she murmured, her head in her hands.




Ann Wren Howard
October 8, 2012
839 words