Joe's spending Christmas Eve at Uncle Spud's body shop when his ex,Mary Sue, shows up PG. |
Approximately 1220 words For our holiday party, members in my local writing group write stories based on a prompt. The stories are supposed to also include mandatory words. This year's prompt was "a holiday visit," and the words were paresthisia (pins and needles sensation), parthenogenesis, and psithurism (the sound of wind in the trees). Since we're mostly SciFi, horror, or fantasy authors, the silent expectation is that the story will be in one of these genres. The stories are also supposed to be less than 1000 words--we read them at the party. This is the story I came up with at the last minute--the party is Friday, Dec 8. It's too long, and the genre is a stretch. My narrator is a good old boy, so fitting the words in was tough, but I think I made it. The fun part of writing this story was working the lyrics from ten different songs into the narrator's tale, a challenge I created for myself. If anyone can see what to cut to make this less than 1000 words, I'd be interested. I could get there if it weren't for those pesky words. I also don't want to eliminate the song lyrics, since I think they make the story. In any case, feedback as always welcome. PS If you believe in the immaculate conception, you'll probably hate this story. Just know I'm trying to make fun of the irony-impaired narrator, not religious belief. PPS Turns out the party is Saturday, so I've got another day to play with this. I managed to shave 100 words off without losing anything. I even managed to squeeze in two more song references! Changed the title, too, and the ending to at least give it the appearance of a semi-fantasy story. A Bubba Christmas MIracle See if you can name the dozen songs whose lyrics or titles are paraphrased in this story Mary Sue waddled into Uncle Spudâs Christmas Eve party and the first thing I noticed was that she was wearinâ blue velvet. Just like that night last March when she lost her lovinâ feelinâ and dumped me. The next thing I noticed were her eyes, bluer than velvet, spittinâ daggers at me. I guess I shouldnâta laughed at her yesterday when she told me she was still a virgin. I mean, it's not like I got personal knowledge of it nor nothin'. But, look at her! She must be eight months PG if sheâs a day. Sheâs biggerân a frigginâ house. Jesus Christ, does she think I ainât got no eyes? Cousin Vinny slouched up to where I was standinâ, chugged down some beer, and burped. He straightened his Santaâs elf hat while he said, âHey Joey, who knocked up Mary Sue?â He gave me a sly grin and fisted my shoulder. âWas it you?â âTâwerenât me, and she ainât talkinâ.â Vinny was a pain, âspecially lately. Heâd been struttinâ âround like he was a Mafia Capo or somethinâ. He'd showed up for the holidays last week with a couple of other wise guys from out east. He burped again. âWhoever done it better watch out. Better not lie, neither. Iâm tellinâ you why: my Popâs flyinâ into town tonight with his Consigliere. That Rudie, heâs got a nose for shit.â I could believe Uncle Nick was a Capo. To be safe, I repeated, âWell, âtwerenât me what did it. Sheâs done been gone to Coffeyville for beauty school since March.â That made Vinny snort beer out his nose. âBeauty school? It sure didn't help her looks noneâ.â I had to admit she was kinda horse-faced, and the extra lard from beinâ prego didnât help none. But I was sweet on her once. Still was, truth be told. Sure, she never gave out, and never gave in neither. She was frequently kind and suddenly cruel. But she's always a woman to me. Time to change the subject. âPlace looks good. All Christmas-like.â Uncle Spud had gussied up his auto body shop so it looked like Santa had thrown up all over the place. Vinnie nodded. âYeah, âcept for the cars.â He pointed at a sliver BMW sittinâ over the grease pit. It was covered with red and green streamers. âPop bought one just like that a coupla months ago. Set him back two hundred grand.â I could believe that car cost a shitload of cash. Uncle Spud let me sit in the back seat, and the leather was softer than a babyâs butt. Speakinâ of babyâs butts, Mary Sue had wallowed up to the food bar and was porkinâ out on corn fritters. I couldnât take watchinâ her, so I went for a walk. Typical crappy Tulsa weather. The wind whispered through the trees, and I thought about Mommaâs dumb word-of-the-day. Psithurism. She was always ragginâ on me to better myself. All the leaves were brown and the sky was gray. âSteada beinâ warm at home, here I was, Oklahoma dreaminâ on a winterâs day. In went into the church in the strip mall across the street. I closed my eyes and pretended to pray. âSteadâa prayinâ, I thought about Mary Sue. Iâd written to her, last July. I gave the letter to the postman. He put it in his sack. Next morning he brought my letter back. Return to sender, address unknown. No such number, no such zone I thought âbout that night when she wore blue velvet. too. Now she was in Uncle Spudâs body shop, wearinâ âbout an acre of blue velvet. Just like that night, today there's somthinâ I've got to say to her, but every time I try to tell her, the words just come out wrong. If only I could say I love you in a song. I sighed. Bye bye love. Hello loneliness. I thought I was gonna cry. Instead, I headed back to Uncle Spudâs party. No sooner was I there than my geekoid cousin Billy Bob latched onto me, sportinâ an eggnog mustache. âGood to see you, Joey. Whatâs up?â The sky, you dweeb. âNot much. I just went for a walk.â âItâs chilly out there. Gave me paresthisia.â I rolled my eyes. Even Vinny was better than him. The jerk smirked at me. âIt means âpins and needles.ââ I smirked back. I laid todayâs word-of-the-day from Momma on him. âI didnât notice. I was busy listenin' toâ the psithurism.â Billy Bobâs eyes got kind of a glazed look. Gotchya! A shriek from the crowd interrupted our dangling conversation. The party chatter faded to the sound of silence and everyone turned to gawk. There was Mary Sue, next to that fancy Beemer, squattinâ over a disgusting puddle of water and shriekinâ her head off. âOh god, oh god. My water just broke!â In nothinâ flat, Momma was right there, holdinâ her hand and strokinâ her forehead. I pushed closer. Momma opened the door to that Beemer and half-carried Mary Sue into the back seat. At least she quit her hollerinâ. Momma asked her, âMary Sue, how long you been havinâ contractions?â She was pantinâ like sheâd just run one of them Marathon things, but managed to get out, âThem was contractions? I thought they was gas.â Well, she did fart a lot. And no one ever said she was smart. Momma repeated, âHow long, Mary Sue?â âI guess maybe four hoursâooooOOOOEEEE.â Momma turned to me. âJoseph Conrad Campbell, you git your butt inside this car. This woman needs you. You gotta hold her hand. With contractions cominâ this fast, sheâs gonna have this baby lickety-split.â No one messes with Momma. I got my butt in the car and I held her hand. Made me feel warm inside. Tainât much to tell after that. Just a lot of screaminâ and cussinâ from Mary Sue. I even learnt me some new words. After âbout twenty minutes, she squirted out a tiny baby boy, all wrinkly and squirmy. Away in a back seat, no crib for his bed, he lay down his slimy head. The three wise guys, they gave Mary Sue some bling theyâd brought back from the east coast. Perfume and stuff. Best of all, me and Mary Sue, we made up. She still insisted she was a virgin, so, stupid as that sounded, I apologized for laughinâ at her. Thatâs all it took. Well, that, and me finally gettinâ those words to come out right. DIdnât need no song, neither. As to Mary Sueâs virgin claim, parthenogenesis was one of Momma's words last month. I mean, if there's a science word for what she claimed, it must be possible, right? Anyways, all I care about is that we're back together. Well, that and the baby, of course. We named him Jesse. |