my barbecue.
By willy blake
She swatted me across the face leaving a single crimson line above my jaw. I had anticipated something coming, so I tried to lean back but she still caught me with a finger.
“Tell anyone and you’ll be sorry,” she said.
So at our annual summer barbecue when Jim said, “What the hell happened to you?” I played it out.
“Insane, eh? I’ve got to get myself an electric razor, man. Was in a hurry. Not paying attention. Next thing I know I’m scarred for life. Bleeding like a stuck pig.”
Just then Janet ambled over. “You boys talking about me?”
Jim said, “What did you do to your husband? Keeping him in line I see.”
I interjected like a cat. “Very funny, Jimbo.” I turned toward Janet and she shot me a killer glare with lightning precision. “You know my shaving accident.” I motioned meekly to my wound, then strongly toward Jim. “Mr. Funnyman is making a joke. Ha, ha, ha!”
Janet ever so gently touched the two-inch cut and then kissed it. “Silly boo-boo. The man needs an electric razor badly. You’re getting one for your birthday, sweetheart.” Then she kissed the cut again and put her hand on the back of my neck tousling my hair with her fingers. She gave me goose-bumps and a bit of a boner. “Anyways, I was just coming over to see if you boys needed a drink.”
“I’m still good,” I said.
“Sure, I’ll have another Corona. I’m not driving!” Jim said.
"Give me a minute, boys. I’ll be right back with your beer and some hors d'oeuvres.” Janet turned to leave and then stopped, “Howard, could I talk to you for minute? I need your advice on something.”
“Sure honey, be right there.” As Jimmy was looking at Janet’s ass, she was giving me another one of her killer glares. He was still drooling as he broke his trance to let me know, “Your wife is so hot. You’re a lucky man Howie, a lucky man.”
I stuck out my chest like a bloated frog and smiled, “Hey, tell me about it. I’ll be right back with your beer.”
“Yeah, make it quick. And don’t be trying to get any while you’re gone.”
“Very funny.” I pointed at him to acknowledge and then swaggered off.
Our kitchen was open and bright. Big glass doors spreading on to a deck and stone patio. A pool, a couple of fountains. The whole bit.
“What’s up, Jan?” I said. Then the TV in the corner of the kitchen caught my eye. The game was on so I watched for a second.
“Look the fuck at me, idiot.” She spoke in a harsh whisper and clopped around in her high-heels from the fridge to the oven to the cupboards to the counter, never looking up. “What the fuck are you doing? You’ve got to get the fucking food ready. I’ll serve it. God-damn it you’re useless and what did you say to Jim?”
I put my hand on Janet’s hand. “Nothing. I, I….”
“Never mind and please do not touch me. Just get me something I can serve….now! And, and, and please don’t forget to take your medication. I don’t need you fucking cocooning in a corner somewhere.”
I scrambled around, put a plate of finger foods together and slid it down the counter over to Janet. She swooped it up and said, “We’ll need a lot more and get this stupid door for me. I can barely ever get the freaking thing open. You were supposed to fix it.” She clopped outside in her slinky red dress. It showed off a figure that swept me off my feet twenty years ago. She’d aged well. She threw her head back and laughed as the sun lit up her platinum highlights. “Hey, anybody hungry?”
When I woke up the next morning and found her floating face down in the pool, I called her name but she didn’t answer. I know it will be tough on the kids for a while, but we’ll be okay. One’s off at college and the other’s barely home anymore. When this all blows over, I want to do something really special with them. Maybe we’ll go to Mexico for a while. I’d like to sell the house too, pay off some bills, buy a condo downtown, and do some different stuff.
to the sea
By willy blake
There was a time when their energy together snapped blue sparks in thin air. Echoes of their hearts pounding were heard for years after. Raw youthful lust and togetherness. Now strangers in different skins, they sat on a couch looking at pictures.
“We were something, eh?” he says.
“Yes, we were,” she chuckles and points out the big window, “don’t you like the view?”
“It is beautiful,” he says. “You’ve got the ocean and the boats right out front and the mountains out back. How can you lose?”
He puts his finger on one of the photos and sighs, “Oh god, I miss that farmhouse.”
“We had fun there. And you were so jealous? You thought I was sleeping with everyone.”
“I loved you so much. I guess I was a little crazy.”
“A little crazy?” She laughs, then fumbles in the box beside her and pulls out another album. This one is big and red with gold trim. She opens it and passes it to him. Then she grabs hold of the arm of her wheel chair and wrestles her way into it.
“Need some help?” he offers.
“I do this everyday on my own. I’m fine thank you,” she growls and then gently, “Want something to drink? I’m having a good stiff glass of port.”
“Mmm, not this time.”
Everything is quiet. Serene. She finishes her drink quickly and pours another. Ships coast past in the harbor. The cat finds a comfortable place on the windowsill. Sun beams in.
“Why did you leave?”
"What do you mean?” He does not look up.
It is quiet for a longer while before glass crashes against a bright yellow kitchen wall. Bits and pieces scatter on the counter and on to the floor. Port splatters and drips down from the point of contact. He looks at the wall, then at her. “You still have a strong arm.”
She ignores him. “What do I mean? Why did you fucking leave? Not a note. Not a word. Just your stuff gone!”
“It was a long time ago. Things were different. You know what we were like,” he says.
“Yah, I know what you were like. You went off with that young bitch.”
“Easy, now.”
“And left me flat. Such…an asshole.” She trembles as she speaks.
“You were no angel, either.”
She gets another glass, pours another drink. Tears well up. She swallows, bites her lip and waits. It is quiet and serene for a while again. “So you like my place? I’m really glad you came, you know. It’s been so long.”
He flips the page and smiles, “We were something, eh?”
About The Author
No stranger to creative endeavors, Willy Blake has turned his attention to fiction as another way to express how he sees the world. “I’m really a virgin when it comes to writing fiction, but I find it therapeutic,” he says, “helping me deal with the contradictions and connections of relationships. It’s soul food.”
Ex-performer/producer he’s had success as a school teacher. The opportunity came naturally in 2005, when he released—No Boring Practice, Please—(spelling and grammar workbook series) internationally. His first published short story, “Becoming Normal”, was in Blood Lotus last fall.To read more of Blake's writing, visit his profile @ EditRed