The Anniversary

This story was inspired by actual events. It should be painful--this story depicts a couple doomed from the beginning. Read on and find out what happens... (Oh, and this writing is much more advanced than in "The Fall.") Enjoy!


The Anniversary
by L. A. Sandwina

She had not called him green eyes in over six months and it had been his birthday. As he swings their car into the driveway she sighs heavily. It had been a long hour's drive back from San Francisco. The car comes to a halt and the mirror catches the man searching her clouded eyes for their previous light. Grabbing the door handle she escapes.
With the man right behind her, she makes it through the door of their rented home first, forgetting or not caring to turn the switch on her direct route to the bathroom. Left in the dark the man hears the knobs creak, the pipes groan and finally, though he could not see it, the water rush over their dilapidated tub.



On the ride to the city they smile and joke and laugh. The vehicle speeds toward the bright lights, curving around the serpent road and eventually bursting forth from the Sausalito hills. Her hand finds his and together they sit, careening toward San Francisco. Once on the tight grid of streets the only preoccupation is finding a place to park. First they try a garage, its sign blinking red demanding them to turn back. The two after are the same. Seconds whittle away into minutes into a half hour. Finally a spot on a side street thirteen blocks away. With no other choice, they take it. The man grabs his jacket with the tickets and the woman her purse. Her shoes clack along beside him.
--Hurry darling.
--I'm going as fast as I can.
--Well we're already late, the man urges, grabbing her wrist like a child's.
They make their way, navigating the impossible throng of night crawlers, ever-present with dirty and clean alike. Tables on the sidewalks with trinkets of this and that. Knockoffs. Buy this, no buy this! A woman sitting cross-legged with large cards on a cardboard box screeches
--Death? Love? Ever-present hope! Find out here what the future holds for you! She shuffles them under her liver-spotted hands.
The man catches the last part, wondering where she gets her sources. Pushing deeper into the heart of the city the couple rockets toward their final destination. Coming around a corner, hands gripping tightly, they collide with a man and she is swallowed up by the crowd. The offending man continues on, not concerning himself with an apology. She catches up and once again they set off.
Finally the SF Playhouse, exhibiting Bill English's Six Degrees of Separation. The woman attempts to smooth her hair as the man tugs her through the doors. That damn usher. So adamant!
--I'm sorry, sir, but we can't let you in without your ticket.
--Do you think I'm dressed like this for fun!?
--Please, we've come all this way, the man's wife says.
--Really, ma'am, I am sorry. Now, if you please...
Turning a very big back to the couple, the usher attempts to finalize the conversation. The man hears the lead actor's warm voice through the heavy wooden doors and flies into a rage. His yells invade the auditorium until the usher throws him headlong onto the cold pavement.
--Baby, are you alright? The man grunts and picks himself up, waving off her attempts to help him. We'll just go get that nice dinner you told me about, okay?
The man grumbles and asserts a general direction. A few blocks over he halts in front of the restaurant Postrio under a single-lighted awning, staring. The restaurant is so busy the two are forced to wait outside. The man kicks at the ground and watches two bums moving away from them to the end of the block. Coming the other way, another bum staggers, falls, stands and stumbles into the two obviously higher class bums. Tattered rags from head to foot this knot-bearded fellow ventures nearer, his slanted sight landing on the couple. He sets a haphazard route toward them, teetering, his arms waving to steady the movements his feet attempt to make. He scrapes against the wall, crashes into a parked car, and tackles some poor bush. The man watches this perverse modern dance get closer, wrinkling his nose. The bum reaches his formidable prey,
--'ass you gatt anyy cha...change...munny...ssirr?
Having not seen the preceding dance the woman opens her purse and dives in, the better to be rid of the rotten cabbage stench offending her delicate sensibility.
--What are you doing? the man demands, reaching over and closing the woman's hand in the clasp of her purse. That man has been drinking, smoking, shooting shit God himself hasn't heard of and you want to reward him for it? Not a chance in hell.
--Comme onn mann, you gatt itt.
--Not a chance in hell, buddy.
The bum, used to defeat, disappears into the darkness across the street and falls against the adjacent building. The man's wife tilts her head out of the light and looks across at the bum. Feeling cheated out of the chance to help a man that obviously needs it she wrenches her arm free of her husband and walks briskly across the asphalt river. The man, seeing what she is doing, curses and spits at the empty sidewalk next to him. The woman reaches the tattered heap and apologizes for her silly, selfish husband. She takes out a twenty dollar bill and holds it in front of the leech. He wheezes, coughs, sits as upright as possible and from his tilting world and manages
--Thank youu missesss. Slopping his hand over hers he even conjures up a compliment, Youu loook boootifull...'at's yerr nname?
--Cheryll, and you?
--Friendss call mee Chevvy, like a rock. He coughs out a mucus-filled laugh.
--Pleased to meet you...Chevy.
With a warm smile the woman turns and ambles back toward her husband, furious and red. She knows he will take it out of her later. The Maitre' De pokes his pointy head out of the door, coughs into a white-gloved fist ever so politely,
--It will be twenty minutes for all those waiting outside. With that the small head disappears, the man imagines, into a warm dining hall filled with happily chatting lovers eating delicious food off chilled forks.
The man huffs and puffs at the outrage of waiting so long for reserved seats but does not have enough energy to blow the house down. Despite the white hot rock in his gut and the magma flowing over his cold heart, the puddle next to the curb stares back at him calmly. He has a great urge to jump in, stomp around, and listen to his anger sizzle in the cool water, drenching his best clothes and auspiciously soaking his wife.
From somewhere deep inside his thoughts the man starts to recognize a belabored breathing, a phlegmatic hyperventilation. The man's wife hears it too and turns a frightened eye to her husband. Together their eyes and ears fall on the bum across the street, a bundled heap of nothingness. The grunts grow louder and closer, a whish whish noise accompanying them. Peering intently into the dense darkness between them and the bum, the couple leans out of the lamp light, straining their eyes. A passing car lights the leecher across the way. The woman shrieks in disgust and the man hears the bum's husky voice spewing forth his wife's name over and over and over.



She had left the door ajar—a splinter of flickering light draws a line across the hall. Had she meant to close it? There must be candles and the outline of his wife's neck in the mirror if he dare put his eye to the crack. He catches his breath and stalks forward slowly. Excitement courses through his veins as if some heart beneath the boards would start pounding at his temples. Yet he still imagines the reflection of his inadequacy standing in the hallway mirror, tapping its toe in expectation.
Meeting the light, a momentary lacteal blindness leaves splotches of black and purple across the man's vision. When it clears he breathes involuntarily. She turns from her hot bath, steam separating his eyes from her view and reaches for the knobs to cut off the water. The man freezes, unfreezes, and shuts the door.

The Fall

This short story comes from a writing exercise I did. I've left out much of the editing process because this story embodies the basic complications arising in more complicated situations from my more literary works; it will help you get acquainted with my darker themes.

The Fall

by L. A. Sandwina

I fell into a well. The well is twelve feet deep. I want to get out, but I can't. I think Teddy was lying. He told me the well leads to the Batcave. Teddy is my big brother. He is four years older than me and almost thirteen! He will get mommy. My ankle hurts from falling down. It made a noise like a stick breaking when I landed. It feels bad and my toes are cold. I want a fire. Teddy tells me the Indians make fire with rocks. There are rocks down here, maybe I can make fire. Indians must be tough. They only have bows and arrows and the cowboys have guns. I guess I could be brave like them if cowboys tried to shoot mommy. Where is Teddy?

I am the shortest kid in my class and everyone calls me Tiny Tommy. Teddy is big. He is two years older than me and so smart. I wonder how he got so tall. Maybe he can tell me how I can get tall. If I was tall enough I could reach the top of the well and pull myself out. I wonder if anyone is tall enough. What does enough mean? I think it is a magic word that makes it so if there is a certain amount of something you could do something else. Like if I had enough chickens I could do a backflip, or if I was orange enough I could fly. I don't know what flying has to do with being orange, but if I could be that orange I would. I would like to fly. Birds fly, except for things like ostriches and penguins. I guess if I were a bird I would have to be one of those because I can't get out of the well, and if I were some other bird I would be out by now.

I wonder if Teddy forgot about me. That would be bad. Stupid Batcave. Bats fly, are they birds? They don't seem like birds, they don't have any feathers. Maybe they're just bald. That's gross. Bald birds. I saw my uncle kill a chicken once by grabbing the head of it and twisting the body like a basketball attached to a rope. The entire head came off. The other kids chased it when he set it down on the grass. I tried to be brave and not cry but it wasn't my fault. I hadn't gotten any of the candy from the pinata and dad hadn't brought my favorite teddy bear and mom wasn't around to hold me. Uncle Ed started laughing and I tried to tell him it is mean to laugh at people when they hurt but I couldn't because I started hiccuping. I hate Uncle Ed. I bet he would laugh at me for my ankle hurting if he were here. He wouldn't even lower me a rope and help me out. He'd just sit there laughing.

My toes are cold, I wonder if they're blue. Maybe I should try screaming again. Come on Teddy, get help. I hope he didn't forget about me and go inside. Mom probably made dinner by now. I bet she's making peanut butter and jelly with the crusts cut off and potato chips and some lemonade. I'm hungry. What if they don't come and find me and I starve? Then I would be like the skeletons in closets mommy says daddy has and that's why he's not here.

I've been down here for three or four hours, probably. That's almost the whole day! Trisha was supposed to come over and we were going to play adult house. Now I won't get to play with her and we won't ever get to kiss and get married and get a puppy because I'll be dead. Maybe I should write a note to her. I could put it in a bottle and when it rains the bottle with float up to the top of the well and she'll know that I like her. I don't have a pencil, or paper, or a bottle. Maybe I can write it with one of the rocks down here on the wall like in that story mom told me the other night about that Count of Cristo. But he escaped. Maybe I could escape. No, wait, my ankle made that cracking noise, I can't escape.

Well I guess I should try to write on the wall. I hope Teddy comes back with mom soon, its getting dark and I don't like the dark. Was that a light? Is someone coming!? Please! Help! I'm trapped down here! Teddy? Where's mommy? Well go get her! Why not? What do you mean? I never said that, please get mommy. What ya do that for? Stop it! Teddy! Take those boards off there! It's dark! Teddy please, Teddy...

Creations

Well hello there. This is my brand-spanking-new, mind-altering, substance abusing blog-hack's paradise. I'm going to attempt to make the most of this domain by flooding it with my creative works including short stories (which may or may not be true), poetry, songs, and musings about the miscellaneous. If you're new to my blog, no worries, it's fairly simple: enjoy it! Of course all comments are welcome and encouraged...

L. A. Sandwina