Stand-in

"Derek!" Cammy squealed excitedly over the phone. "I just won tickets to see Irony in concert!"

"Are you kidding me?!" Derek replied, his excitement nearly as high as his girlfriend's. "How'd you win them?"

"It was one of those radio call-in things," Cammy said, still excited but calming down a little. "I was caller five or seven or whatever. I never thought I'd have a chance, but I won!"

"That's awesome!" Derek said, genuinely impressed. "Her shows have been sold out for weeks. When are the tickets for, tomorrow or Sunday?"

"Uh, that's the thing," Cammy said. "The tickets are for tonight."

"Babe," Derek said, suddenly serious. "You know that we have that work dinner tonight. My boss is expecting you to be there."

"Just tell him what happened," Cammy said. "It's not like we planned for me to miss it."

"It's not that easy," Derek said. "I've told you how he talks about the importance of being supported by a significant other. I really need you to be there for me tonight."

"I'm sure it's not that bad," Cammy said.

"No, it really is," Derek said, panic creeping into his voice. "The last guy who didn't bring his girlfriend to one of these dinners was fired less than a month later. If you don’t come tonight, you're basically writing my pink slip."

"Okay," Cammy said, thinking. "Elly from my Thursday morning class told me about a service for just this sort of thing."

"What, fake girlfriends?" Derek asked sarcastically.

"Actually," Cammy said, "yeah. Elly was recovering from what she says was a sprained ankle but I'm pretty sure it was a calf reduction procedure and her fiancé had to meet with the minister who's going to perform their ceremony. She called up this place and said they sent a girl over to fill in for her."

"What you're describing is an escort service," Derek said a little condescendingly.

"That's what I said," Cammy said, ignoring her boyfriend’s tone, "but the girl who took her place was actually doing an impersonation. Like, she wore a wig and talked like her. Elly said that her fiancé was weirded out by how much this fake girlfriend acted like her."

"I don’t know if I'm comfortable with this, Cam," Derek said apprehensively. "My job could be in danger."

"It'll be fine," Cammy said dismissively. "I'll call them and set it all up. They need to interview me or whatever to know how to act and sound like me. I got Bethany to cover my classes, so I'm going home to get ready for the concert. I'll text you if there are any problems, but I'm sure it'll be fine."

"Okay," Derek said, still not really convinced but not seeing an alternative. "Who are you taking to the concert?"

"My cousin, Gina," Cammy said. "Babe, I need to go. I'll call you after the concert. Good luck!"

"Thanks," Derek said, accepting his fate. "Have fun." He hung up his phone. He sat at his desk, staring at his cell phone in his hand, not sure if the conversation he had just had was real. He decided to just get back to work, though his concentration was shot for the day. Still, he was able to approve a few budgets and write some emails before five o’clock.

As he was gathering up his stuff to leave, Derek got a text from Cammy:

The stand in is going to meet you at your place at 615
XOXO

"Stand-in" sounded better than "fake girlfriend," Derek thought. That's probably what the company calls their girls. It still seemed like an escort service, but a least one that's trying to look legit. He packed his laptop into his messenger bag and went home.

By 6:00, Derek was freshly shaved, dressed in his suit, and ready to go, which made the wait for the stand-in all the more nerve-racking. He sat on the couch, distractedly reading a news article on his phone. After what seemed like an eternity, the intercom buzzed at 6:11. Derek jumped up, walked over to the door, and pressed the button to talk.

"H-hello?" he said, lamely.

"It's me, Cammy," said the voice through the speaker. She must have forgotten something, Derek thought as he hit the button to let her into the building. Holding the button down, he realized that even if she had forgotten something, Cammy has a key to his apartment. Maybe she forgot her keys, he reasoned. She's done that before.

About a minute later, Cammy walked in, wearing a formfitting black dress that he hadn't seen before. Except, it wasn't Cammy. No, this woman was an inch or two taller and had hair that was a touch darker than Cammy's platinum blonde. On closer look, her blue eyes were slightly darker and closer together, her nose was a bit longer, and her lips were a bit thinner. Still, Derek had been fooled for a second and he and Cammy had been dating for nearly a year. It was probably close enough to fool his boss for the evening. He decided to test the stand-in.

"Hi, Cammy," Derek said, extending his hand.

"What are you doing?" the stand-in said in a perfect Cammy voice before hugging him and kissing him on the cheek. Derek pulled away from the kiss, but the stand-in held onto him.

"We need to act perfectly normal tonight, don't you agree, honey?" stand-in Cammy said pointedly. Derek moved back into the hug, but didn't kiss her back.

"I think I might be coming down with something and I don't want you to get it," he said.

"Good thinking," she said knowingly. "You're so sweet to think of me like that. Better make sure not to shake anyone's hand tonight then."

"Right…" Derek said, nodding. This might actually work, he thought. He pulled away from the hug again and this time, stand-in Cammy let him go. "Ready to go?"

"Absolutely," she said.

The car ride over was surprisingly pleasant. This stand-in Cammy seemed just like the real thing and more than once, Derek forgot that he wasn't talking to his girlfriend. While some of her mannerisms weren't exactly right, Derek was still impressed. What kinds of questions had Cammy been asked to gain this level of insight into her life?

Once at the restaurant, Derek used the valet service and joined stand-in Cammy where she was standing in front on the sidewalk. She wrapped her arms around herself, reacting to the cold night air. Derek put an arm around her shoulders, protecting her from the chill.

"Thanks, baby," stand-in Cammy said, turning towards him. "You're so thoughtful." He realized that her perfume was the same as the real Cammy's, though it subtler, as if stand-in Cammy hadn't bathed in it like the real Cammy often did. It was a nice change.

Inside, Derek took advantage of the cocktail hour and began introducing Cammy to his coworkers. Once again, he was impressed with how quickly she responded with accurate information. At least, it sounded accurate. For the first time, Derek realized that he didn't know that much about his girlfriend. Did she teach yoga or spinning classes? He knew that she spent her day at the gym as an instructor, but doing what? And he knew she was from somewhere near Los Angeles, but he couldn't recall the actual name of the city. Cerritos sounded like a real place, so if the stand-in was making up facts, she was doing a good job.

When stand-in Cammy talked to Alexis from marketing, she seemed to know an awful lot about camping. Was that how the real Cammy would have responded? Had Cammy gone on camping trips with her family before her parents split up? Derek was ashamed to admit to himself that he simply didn't know.

When they were all called into the dining room for dinner, George from accounting walked up beside Derek as they went inside. "Nice to finally meet Cammy after all this time," he said.

"Thanks," Derek said, a bit distracted—learning you don't know some as well as you thought takes time to process. "Where's Meredith?" he asked, snapping out of it. "I haven't seen her yet."

"She couldn't make it," George said, a little disappointed. "Her sister is visiting and the two of them are at the Irony concert."

"Wait," Derek said, suddenly worried, "aren't you afraid of losing your job if Meredith isn't here?"

"No," George answer, a little confused, "why would I be?"

"Saunders is always going on about being supported by his wife and how we all need to have someone in our lives who supports us," Derek explained. "Plus, Carlos got fired last year after he didn't bring his girlfriend with him to this dinner."

"That's why you think Carlos was fired?" George asked, "No, he slept with Bill's wife. At this dinner last year, I think."

"What?!" Derek asked, shocked. "Then why is Bill always going on about being supported by Carol?"

"Not sure," George said, shrugging. "Maybe he's putting on a good face or maybe he's trying to convince himself. Either way, I'm pretty sure he hasn't fired anyone simply because their spouse or whatever didn't come to some dinner."

Suddenly, Derek was aware of the fact that he had no idea how much he was paying for the stand-in. When his job was on the line, the price didn’t seem to matter, but now that he knew he could have come stag, the price of what amounted to a private performance by a skilled actress seemed like it would be awfully expensive.

Derek found the stand-in sitting at a table and took the seat next to her, leaning in he whispered in her ear, "I think you should go. You don't feel well."

"Babe, I feel fine," stand-in Cammy said, brushing him off.

"You should still go," Derek continued undeterred. "Your services are no longer required. I'll call you a cab."

This time, stand-in Cammy leaned in and whispered in Derek’s ear. "Won't it look weird if I leave right as we sit down to eat? Wouldn't it look much more believable if I suddenly don't feel well after eating?"

Derek had to admit that she had a good point. He nodded his agreement and leaned back in his chair, dreading his future credit card statement. The catering crew began distributing salad plates and Derek tried to at least enjoy the meal.

When the dessert plates were being passed out after the main course, Bill Saunders, CEO and President of Saunders International, stood up to say a few words.

"Thank you for coming," he said into the wireless microphone one of his aides handed him. "As you know, I strive for our company to excel in the many fields we're currently engaged. But I also know that it's important to be appreciated. That's why I make sure that we have this dinner every year: to let you know that I appreciate all of your hard work. And not just you, but your significant others, too. I wouldn't be the man I am today if it wasn't for my wife, Carol. And through it all, she's been by my side, staying faithful and true.

"I always go on and on about Carol's importance in my life," Bill continued, "so I'd like you all to hear from her now. Would you please give her a round of applause?" The crowd obliged and politely clapped as Carol Baxter-Saunders stood up and took the mic from her husband. Derek saw that instead of applauding, stand-in Cammy was on her phone. Was that like the real Cammy, Derek thought? She was on her phone a lot, he had to admit, but he thought that she would know better than to text during his boss' speech.

"Thanks, Bill," Carol spoke into the mic. "This has been a big year, both for this company and for the Baxter-Saunders family. For Saunders International, we experienced tremendous growth, including expansions into Singapore and Tunisia. For our family, our daughter, Brittany and her husband Joshua have expanded their family by adopting a baby girl, Carlotta. We have been blessed in so many ways and we're happy to be able to share our good fortune with all of you!" The crowd applauded and Carol passed the mic back to Bill, who kissed her gently on the check as he took it from her.

"And with that formality out of the way, let's dance!" The lights immediately dimmed and Irony's dance hit "Influential" started playing. While Derek enjoyed dancing—he had met Cammy while they were dancing at a club—he saw this as his opportunity to leave and avoid a potentially devastating bill. He leaned in to tell stand-in Cammy that they needed to go, but she was already leaning in to talk to him.

"Are you feeling okay?" she asked, speaking loudly over the music and pressing a hand to his forehead. "If you still think you’re coming down with something, maybe we should go?"

I forgot that I said that earlier, Derek thought. She's good.

"Yeah," Derek nearly shouted back, "I'm not doing terrible, but I don't want to push things, you know?"

"Of course," stand-in Cammy said sweetly, slinging her purse strap onto her shoulder.

Back in the car, Derek’s curiosity got the better of him.

"The date's over, right?" he asked rhetorically. "That means you're 'off the clock,' as it were. So, I have to ask: how did you get this job as a stand-in?"

"If I told you," stand-in Cammy said, her voice suddenly deeper and punctuated by a slight New Jersey accent, "you wouldn’t believe me."

"After tonight," Derek said, "I'll believe just about anything."

"Let me put it this way," stand-in Cammy began innocently, "if I told you, I'd have to kill you."

"Seriously?" Derek asked, one eyebrow cocked.

"Of course not," stand-in Cammy said, chuckling a little while digging through her purse, "but I'm not supposed to talk about me. The fact that I'm no longer in character is already breaking the rules. Mind if I vape?" she asked, holding up an electronic cigarette.

"Uh," Derek fumbled, caught off guard, "I guess?"

"Thanks," stand-in Cammy said, putting the vaporizer to her lips.

Derek, shocked again—though this time by how different the stand-in was acting from Cammy—and drove the rest of the way home in silence.

After pulling into his apartment's parking lot, Derek turned to the stand-in, not sure what the next step was.

"So, do you bill me or how does this work?" he asked, lamely.

"Your girlfriend gave the company your credit card information," she replied, her natural voice sounding so strange to Derek. "You'll get charged based on how long we were out and how elaborate the ruse was. I didn't have to wear a prosthetic chin or anything, so the 'elaborate' part won't be too bad."

"If I were to, um, need your services again," Derek said nervously, "how do I get in touch with you?"

"Your girlfriend has the number," the stand-in said, looking down at her phone, "and the company keeps records of all the clients, so just call and say you want the girl you were sent last time."

"Are you not allowed to give me your name?" Derek asked.

"That's up to me," the stand in said, looking up, "but if it's all the same to you, I'd like to keep things professional."

"I'm not going to come looking for you or anything," Derek reassured. "I'm just curious."

"Even so," stand-in Cammy said, putting her phone in her purse, "let's leave some things to the imagination. I just ordered a ride on my phone and they should be here any minute. If you don't mind, I'd rather not go from one car to another."

"Don't want to look too 'professional,'" Derek said.

"Something like that," the stand-in said, nodding. "Now, am I going to have to open my door myself or are you going to end this night like a gentleman?"

"Right," Derek said as he got out of the car and walked around to the passenger side. After opening the door, he extended his hand and helped stand-in Cammy out of the car. Once she stood up, she leaned in to hugged Derek, who didn't resist this time.

"I had a great time, Derek," the stand-in said in Cammy's voice into Derek's ear. "You're important to me, so it was nice to be able to support you."

After her ride picked up the stand-in, Derek walked inside his apartment. He kept thinking about the last thing stand-in Cammy said to him. The real Cammy was more concerned with attending a concert that she won tickets to at the last minute than keeping her promise to him. He almost felt like he preferred the stand-in to than the real Cammy, though having the curtain drawn back a little at the end was unsettling.

Although, Derek reasoned, he had been wrong about needing Cammy at the dinner that night. Still, she didn't know that when she bailed on him for the concert. It turned out that it didn't matter, but as far as Cammy knew, he could have lost his job simply because she wanted to go to see Irony perform. Not that he could blame her: Irony's shows sell out for a reason.

Derek decided to let it go, since his job wasn't in jeopardy. But his date with the stand-in proved that he didn't know Cammy that well. Were they only dating because it was convenient or did they really care about each other? He didn't know, but he wanted to. He pulled out his phone and sent his girlfriend a text.

I left the dinner early and Im probably going to go to bed soon, but I want to see you in the morning and hear all about the concert. Have fun!

I want to hear about more than the concert, Derek thought. I want to hear about everything.

Emotional Words

“Are we ever going to get serious?” she asked abruptly.

“Serious?” he asked. “Babe, what do you mean? We already share this sentence. That seems pretty serious to me.”

“Than what about that?” she asked, pointing.

“The semicolon? So what? A lot of clauses are connected with semicolons.”

“Yeah, independent clauses,” she said.

“So we’re both independent,” he said, “that doesn’t mean we don’t support each other. I mean, if we weren’t closely connected, we’d still have separate sentences.”

“But isn’t it time that we settle down?” she asked. “Think about it: I get rid of a few words and become dependent to you and in a few years we can have add some phrases to our sentence.”

“Uh,” he said nervously, “I don’t know about phrases. I mean, we don’t want to turn our sentence into a run-on or anything.”

“One or two additional phrases wouldn’t make this place a run-on,” she said, starting to get frustrated.

“Whoa,” he said. “What’s next? Parentheses? Bullet points?”

“Stop being dramatic,” she said, unsuccessfully trying to hide her annoyance. She took a moment to collect herself before continuing. “I just want to know that we’re going somewhere.”

“Look,” he said, “if I wasn’t serious, I wouldn’t have invited you to join me in this sentence.”

“And I’ve enjoyed our time together,” she said, “but it’s not enough anymore. This is a big paragraph and there are a lot of other clauses out there.”

“What are you saying?” he asked, both surprised and a little angry.

“I’m saying that the language is changing all the time and I’m not going to always be relevant.”

He responded back by shouting his words. “I never promised you anything beyond the two of us! Why are you changing like this? Have I changed from when you first joined me in this sentence?”

She looked at him, her face full of sadness. “No. You haven’t. I guess that’s the problem.”

In his agitated state, he walked over to the semicolon that had originally brought them together (though now felt like it was pulling them apart) and ripped off the upper half.

“There!” he said, spitting his words at her. “Happy?! The semicolon’s gone!”

“Really?” she asked, getting fed up. “A comma splice? Real mature.”

“What? I’m supposed to drop everything and get an em dash just to show you that I care?”

“An em dash?” she said, her annoyance rapidly becoming sadness. “Do you even know me at all? I’m a traditional clause.”

“Of course!” he said, waving his arms sarcastically. “You've got to have a fairy tale sentence with a lovely colon.”

“I don’t know what I was thinking even bringing it up,” she said, shaking her head. “I was naïve to think that anything would ever change.”

“Maybe things could change,” he said, his voice full of anger and sadness, “but you have to give me some time. You can't just drop this on me and expect to be okay with it.”

She looked at him, her eyes moist with tears. “I need more than ‘maybe.’” She walked over and kissed him on the cheek. “Goodbye.”

~~~

The next day, they had a period installed and got their own sentences again. A few months later, she moved to a different paragraph where she met a nice clause and after less than a year, she became dependent to him (with a beautiful colon!). They ended up having three phrases together and are even expecting a footnote soon.

He stayed independent, and ultimately, alone.

Neighbors

“Morning, Marie.”

“Morning, Dave.”

“Bit of a cold morning, isn’t it?”

“Well, it’s a bit early still, but yeah, it’s much colder than I was expecting.”

“I just have so much trouble getting moving on these colder mornings. I feel like I’m moving so slow, you know?”

“The sun should warm things up soon enough. What are your plans for the day?”

“Same old, same old. Work until sundown, come back here to rest. You?”

“Basically the same for me, but I’ll stay here.”

“Of course, of course. It must be nice to live where you work.”

“It’s great when I get some traffic, but I don’t always get lucky. I was thinking of setting up shop somewhere else; you know, see if a different location works out better for me.”

“Do what you feel is best, but it’d be a shame to lose you as a neighbor.”

“It’s nice to know you feel that way. I’ve really enjoyed our conversations. Everyone else in the neighborhood has kept their distance, so you’re friendship has meant a lot.”

“I hope things work better for you today and you can stay. Well, I’ve got to head out. See you this evening.”

“Yeah, see you then.”

~~~

“Hello?”

“Dave? Is that you?”

“Marie, you moved! I didn’t think you would relocate today.”

“Yeah, I really didn’t want to, especially after our conversation, but a girl’s got to eat.”

“That makes sense. Still, it’s sad to see you go.”

“How’d you find the new place?”

“I guess I wasn’t watching where I was going and I just wandered in. Can you get me out of here? I guess I got myself trapped.”

“Of course you got trapped, silly. My silk is supposed to be sticky.”

“Yeah, yeah, I get it: big scary black widow catches her prey. Come on, seriously, Marie, let me go. It’s your old pal, Dave the ladybug.”

“I’m afraid I can’t do that, Dave. I’ve spent the whole day building this new web and you’re the first thing I’ve caught. Like I said, a girl’s got to eat.”

“Hey! Wait a minute! I was the only one that even talked to you in our whole neighborhood and this is how you repay me?”

“Everyone kept their distance for their own safety, Dave. I guess you should have done the same. I really am sorry. I’ll at least wrap you up quickly so you don’t have to suffer.”

“Hmfph! Rrmbf!”

“I really need to remember to not make friends with species that I eat. This is just like what happened with Portia the fruit fly.”

Stuck

Rose sat on the edge of her bed, her head buried in her hands. Her phone sat next to her, ringing. Why is he calling, again? she thought. I never pick up; can't he take a hint?! Scott was always hopeful to the point of being naive, but he had finally backed-off recently. Now he has one medical scare and suddenly he has to talk to Rose again.

It's not that Rose didn't like Scott, it's that ... well, what did she feel? She hated him intensely for making her follow him to an out-of-state school. The University of Florida was a fine school, but he had to run off to Missouri State, which he later admitted that he didn't like that much. Now they both had mountains of debt and no real prospects for good-paying jobs. Scott was doing better, finding work off in Berkeley in "Nor Cal," as he called it, but even he admitted he was struggling.

She also hated him because of what she'd gone through since they got separated. The way her family treated her, especially her mom, like she was a failure for moving back home, when she's only the second person in her entire family to graduate from college. Maybe things didn't work out the way they should have, but she still succeeded at something that few people had even tried.

Yet, even though she hated him, there were clear feelings of affection. Even as it annoyed her, she did like knowing that after everything, Scott still wanted her as his wife. And since moving to Nor Cal he had stayed steadily employed, like he always had while they were together. Plus, even with his prematurely-graying hair, he was still rather handsome.

Maybe she shouldn't be surprised by her feelings. Scott had been an important person to her for a long time, so it would make sense that she would be worried when he had a heart attack last week. He was fine now, even back to work, but it had really freaked Rose out when she got the text from Scott saying that he had had a heart attack the day before. She texted back, but Scott wanted to talk. She said she would call later, but when she was free, she couldn't bring herself to make the call.

And that was the problem. A simple call is so complicated. Her calling would imply that everything was okay, which it wasn't. But if she didn't call, it would make it seem like she didn't care, and that wasn't true either: even if she didn't want to stay married to Scott, she doesn't want him to die or anything. If she called, she'd probably lose her temper about something trivial; if she didn't call, the curiosity of how he was doing would eat away at her.

That, in a sense, was the same reason they're still married after nearly two years of separation. She had reasons to push for a divorce and end things once and for all, but she also had reasons to want to try to work things out; she wanted both options while also wanting neither. In the end, she felt paralyzed, unable to reconcile or complete the divorce. She was stuck in a sort of purgatory of marriage.

Dammit! Rose thought as her phone rang again. The caller ID displayed Scott's photo. She couldn't hit Answer or Decline. She couldn't do anything. She clutched at the sides of her head and just thought Stop! over and over again.

Enabler

Marcus sat in the living room sipping his morning coffee. The voice of a newscaster droned on in the background, but Marcus just ignored it. His mind was on more pressing matters: his son, Ryan.

Ryan was addicted to heroin and Marcus was at a loss as to what to do to help him. He had talked to Ryan, tried to reason with him to show him how by using heroin, he was putting his life on hold. Ryan was a talented artist, but he had barely picked up a pencil in the last year-and-a-half. To see his son waste so much potential was painful, though not as painful as knowing that his son was under the control of a substance.

And that was the problem: Ryan had no control. He could get cleaned up and things would look good for a few days, then he would disappear into his room, only to emerge hours or sometimes days later in a complete mess. Marcus didn't understand it. How do you lose control of yourself like that? When Marcus saw problems in his own life, he would work hard to fix them. That worked most of the time and when it didn't he could usually justify why it didn't matter. But he couldn't justify his son's problem.

When looking for a solution, people would tell Marcus that he needed to stop supporting Ryan. He may not be buying the drugs, they'd say, but by giving him a place to stay, he was still supporting his son's addiction. Marcus didn't believe that, couldn't believe that he was the reason that Ryan was in his current state. He loved his son; how could he abandon him and make him move out?

Ryan's cousin, Pauly, had offered to help. He had a place of his own and could keep an eye on Ryan to help him kick the habit. Be a "sober companion," as he called it. The problem was, Pauly lived in Chicago, which might as well be a world away from Denver. It's not like Marcus could go visit on the weekend or anything. And with his roofing business struggling right now, if Ryan went to live with Pauly, there would be no safety net. For all intents and purposes, if Ryan moved, it would be for good. He cared for his son too much to send him out into the world without some kind of backup plan.

So, Marcus sat and sipped his coffee and tried not to think about how he was pretty sure that Ryan had gotten high again last night.

Natural Living

Angie stared out of her bedroom window. From her vantage point, she could see into her neighbor’s backyard, the same backyard where she and her husband had eaten dinner last night. She looked on, frozen with a bizarre mixture of emotions, as her neighbor’s young son was pooping on the grass.

“Eric,” Angie called. Her husband walked out of the adjoining bathroom where he had been brushing his teeth.

“Mrlph?” he questioned, his words obscured as he wiped his mouth with a hand towel, walking towards her. “What’s up, Ange?”

“Remember dinner last night at the Wright’s?”

“Babe, why would I forget? It was just last night. Plus, I still can’t get the taste of kale out of my mouth.”

Without saying a word, Angie pointed towards the young boy who was now running around the backyard, completely naked.

“Is that Grover?” Eric asked, squinting his eyes. “And is he naked?”

“Yeah, but that’s not even the weirdest thing. Just, like, a minute a go, I saw him pooping. Right on the grass, too.”

“No way!” Eric said is disbelief. “Like, what, he was just squatting and taking a dump?”

“Yeah! I mean, he’s only three, but that’s still super gross. Why would Wayne and Verona let him do that?”

“Come on, they don’t know this is happening. I’m sure Grover just got up before them and he’s, y’know, being a kid.”

“You used to poop outside as a kid?” Angie asked incredulously, turning to face her husband, one eyebrow raised.

“That’s not what I meant,” Eric said, putting his hands lovingly about his wife’s waist. “Just that he’s doing something dumb and weird.”

“We need to tell them about this. He shouldn’t be allowed outside, especially to go to the bathroom.”

“Whoa, hold on, Angie,” Eric said, his voice becoming serious. “You can’t just order them around.”

“I’m not ordering anyone to do anything,” Angie said, walking towards the nightstand on her side of the bed. “I’m just going to let them know what’s happening and they’ll obviously take care of it.” Angie picked up her cell phone and started scrolling through the contact list. “What’s their number?”

“I don’t know; I never got it.”

“Fine. I’ll walk over and tell her.” Angie walked over to the closet and began to change out of her pajamas

“Please don’t make a thing out of this,” Eric said to her from his spot in front of the window.

“I’m not making a ‘thing’ out of this. There’s nothing to make out of it. I’m just going to ring their bell, tell them that their son is running around like a wild animal, and then I’m going for a run.”

“Just try to be careful how you tell them.”

Angie walked out of the closet, now wearing running shorts and a t-shirt and carrying a balled-up pair of socks in one hand and her running shoes in the other. She sat down on the edge of the bed to put them on. “It’s fine, Eric,” she said without looking up.

“I just mean that some people might be offended to have their child described as ‘a wild animal.’”

“Obviously I’m not going to use those exact words,” Angie said, a little annoyed. Having tied her shoes, she walked into the bathroom and started brushing her hair. “I’ll be back in, like, thirty minutes and we’ll have breakfast.” She stopped and turned to look Eric in the eye. “I promise that I won’t be offensive, okay?”

“Alright,” Eric said, not pushing the matter further. “I’ll have breakfast ready when you get home.” He turned and walked downstairs to the kitchen.

Angie returned to brushing her dark, curly hair. It was so frustrating that Eric was more concerned about not offending their weird neighbors than taking her side. She just wanted him to listen to her and see her side of things. She decided that she was brushing her hair a little too hard, probably because she was annoyed with her husband. She pulled her hair into a pony tail with a hair-tie and pulled a head band out of a drawer to further keep her unruly hair in place. Clearly, her Puerto Rican ancestors had never considered how big, think, curly hair would make exercising so uncomfortable. She applied some deodorant and left the bathroom.

She grabbed her phone and slid it into its armband case which she put on her left upper-arm. She picked up her earbuds and started untangling them as she walked down the stairs. When she made it to the bottom, she said “bye” to Eric, who replied in kind, and walked out the door.

It was still pretty early, at least for a Saturday, so the street was mostly empty. That would make running easier. Angie was still annoyed at Eric for not being supportive, but she had a feeling there was more to her state than was obvious at the surface. Sometimes that happened. Even though she didn’t know what was bothering her, she knew that her run would help. Running always seemed to clear her head and after watching a little boy poop in his backyard, she needed her mind cleared out.

~~~

As Katy Perry’s “Roar” played in her ears, Angie ran. This run was different than usual. Normally when she ran, the running was the point. This time, it felt like she was running away from something. She reviewed the recent conversation in her mind, looking for reason in the confusion. She had rung the doorbell of the Wright’s home and was greeted by Verona.

“Oh hi, Angela!” Verona said, smiling broadly. “Long time, no see.”

“Yeah, hi” Angie said, smiling nervously. “And Angie’s fine. Anyway, I just stopped by to tell you that I saw Grover in your backyard and that you might want to check up on him, that’s all.”

“Thank you for your concern, but I know he’s back there. He can be a handful and letting him run around in the morning makes him more manageable.”

“Okay. Did you know that he’s naked?”

“As a matter of fact, I did. Remember last night when I said that we like having everything ‘all natural’? I wasn’t just talking about food. Other animals don’t wear clothes, so why do we? Wayne and I are teaching Grover to not be ashamed of his body. Whenever we’re at home, we encourage him to wear as little as he wants to. It should be great for his self-esteem.”

Angie knew that Verona was kind of a hippie but this was really pushing the envelope. Suddenly, Angie didn’t want to waste any more time talking and just get to running.

“Right. Well, I also saw him, um, pooping. In the backyard. Just thought you should know.”

“I think that it’s barbaric to force our children to hold in their waste. No other animal besides humans wear diapers or use toilets. Obviously we can’t always live naturally and organically, but that’s only because society forces its norms on us and makes us assimilate. We want Grover to have as much freedom as possible, so yes, we let him relieve himself outside. Besides, human waste makes for wonderful fertilizer, so our garden is very healthy.”

Angie’s blood ran cold. “You mean you use your family’s poop as fertilizer for the food that we ate last night? Like the tomatoes and onions and kale we ate last night were grown out of your poop?”

“Yes! Isn’t it amazing what you can do when you go back to living organically? I like to think that some of our vegetables, I’ve eaten twice.”

~~~

Angie had felt suddenly queasy, something that happens when you find out your dinner the night before grew out of human-manure. She told Verona that she just wanted to make sure that Grover was okay, but she had get going for her morning run.

Having finished her two miles, she thought about going farther, as if she could sweat out her uneasiness. She decided that the best thing to do was to go home and eat a new meal. She couldn’t un-eat dinner, but she could replace it with something new.

She walked through the front door and was greeted by the rich smell of bacon in the air. Eric’s cooking was usually simple, but it was also usually tasty. She went into the kitchen, still a little sweaty from her exercise, to find Eric sliding an omelette on to a dining plate, next to another plate with a matching omelette. She walked over to the fridge to grab a cold water bottle when she asked what kind of omelettes he had made.

“Well,” Eric replied, “the Wrights had sent us home with some kale, so I figured we should get rid of it right away. And you know how bacon can improve the taste of anything, so it should go down pretty easy. Babe, what’s wrong? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

Indeed, Angie was frozen in horror as she looked at her breakfast. After a moment (but what felt like an eternity) she finally was able to compose herself enough to say what was wrong.

“Eric,” Angie said, not taking her eyes off of the omelettes, “the Wrights make their own fertilizer.”

“Well, sure. Lots of people have compost heaps.”

“That’s not what I mean,” she said, turning to look her husband in the eye. “What I saw Grover doing this morning was making fertilizer.”

Suddenly, all of the color drained from Eric’s face. He moved quickly over to the sink and started making retching noises. Angie walked up behind him put a hand lovingly on his shoulder. Seeing him like this made her feel better. Not because he was dry-heaving, but because it meant that he was on her side. Their conversation this morning had made it feel like there was a distance between them, but here in the ugly-light of nausea, she could see that he was on her side. As gross as it was, it was also a beautiful moment.

After nearly a minute of dry-heaving, Eric stood up and turned to face his wife. “I am never eating anything from their garden again,” he said, his grey-blue eyes full of moisture. He looked over in disgust at what he had made for breakfast. “What’s the opposite of garden-fresh vegetables?”

Angie couldn’t help but laugh a little before she replied. “Probably bacon.”

“Bacon alone is no match for manure-fed kale. Let’s go to McDonald’s.”

Angie nodded in agreement, gently smiling.

As she climbed into the passenger seat of the car as Eric held the door for her, Angie was happy for the weird morning she had had. It was frustrating to have Eric disagree with her, but if they hadn’t disagreed, it wouldn’t have felt so good when they were back in agreement. If it took having the argument to get to the happy moment of being equally grossed-out by their neighbors, she was glad to have gone through it all.

Though she doubted that they’d ever eat kale again.

Letter

Dear Host,

I wanted to thank you for finally letting me free.  You have so many tricks to keep me locked up that I was surprised that I finally got out.  In fact, if I had been acting alone I would probably still be hidden away in my prison cell.  I’m no fool, you see, so I had someone on the outside blow a hole in the wall.  After that, it was as easy as walking out.

I have to admit, you really worked hard to make things uncomfortable for me.  I like things soft and docile, like an obese cow.  (Heh, I’ll have to remember that one for the next time I see Cyn.)   Anyway, once I was free, I set to work rearranging the decor to better suit my style.  At first you didn’t notice.  I made little changes here and there.  Before you realized what was going on, I had moved in and was practically running the place.  Yeah, you still fight me now and then, and even knock me down from time to time, but I can already tell that there isn’t much fight left in you.

You see, all of your plans work better on my brother, Anxi, than on me.  You learned how to fight him pretty well.  You were winning practically every time you two fought.  And while he and I do have some similarities in our fighting styles, I’m much more subtle.  He’ll rush at you hard and fast, trying to knock you down with the first blow, but backing off if you stand your ground.  Much like how a crocodile will jump out and snap its jaws at its prey; if it misses, it won’t chase.  I, however, am more like a snake, sneaking up very slowly so you don’t see me and once I strike, I let my venom work its way into you, slowing you down until you drop.  Then I swallow you whole.

But you know all of that, don’t you?  That’s why even leaving the house is a victory these days.  There you are, going through the motions of improving your life, but all along the way I’m there, whispering in your ear that it’s a waste of time.  You’re still fighting, sure, but it won’t be much longer before you fall.  Just as the mouse will flail in the serpent’s jaws, your efforts are meaningless at this point.

And the best part is, you let me do it!  You didn’t know it, but you just stood by while I knocked down your defenses.  Even your basic bodily functions are in disarray!  Your bowels are a mess, you’ve put on weight, and my double-pronged attack on your sleep has you neither able to fall asleep or wake up.  With any luck, you’ll have trouble breathing soon and will even become disinterested in anything that used to bring you pleasure.  We both know that at the rate we’re going, it’s only a matter of time before I’ve won.

Sincerely,

Your Depression

Eloise and Thaddeus

Eloise had forgotten her parasol when she walked to the store one afternoon to purchase a new hatbox.  Because of this, poor Eloise was exposed to dangerous ultraviolet radiation and her skin was tanned.  Poor Eloise!  What a dreadful thing to happen to such a fair girl and with so many young men that she passed on her way.  You would think that at least one of them would offer to shade her beneath his newspaper, but you would be mistaken.  When Eloise got back home (with her lovely new hatbox), one would almost think that she had grown up on a farm.  Heaven forbid that any man should see her in such a state: he might think her lowly and common.  Most assuredly she would have to seclude herself from the public until her skin had a chance to heal and return to its normal shade.

Thaddeus slipped his white gloves on as he was leaving the bank where he worked and entered the waiting carriage.  He was a well-educated banking accountant and worked hard for Price & Sons Bank.  Well, he certainly did not work hard, but he was industrious. Perhaps overly so, because he now had an embarrassing blemish that he was nervously concealing: a blister on his right thumb from gripping his ink-pen for too long.  A paper cut was easy enough to explain, but a blister?  If anyone were to see such a pustule on him they might think that he was nothing but a common laborer.  He might as well stop doing anything civilized like waxing his mustache or taking his weekly bath.

Eloise looked out of the window from her bedroom where she had exiled herself.  She could see that the carriage her father had sent out was returning.  Who had he sent for this time? Likely some business associate that he wanted to impress by showing him around the grounds of the family estate.  It was just as well that she was not leaving her room because she hated to have to introduce herself and pretend that she knew who the businessman was.  But who was this?  This did not look like any of her father’s normal associates.  This was a younger man, whose lean frame was proof that he had never done any physical labor in his life, and his mustache was so thick and majestic that one would be forgiven to confuse it for pair of stray cats that had attached themselves to his face.  Well, perhaps a brief visit from her room was in order today.

Thaddeus was uncomfortable with home visits like the one he was in the middle of, but Mister Cheddar was an important investor with Price & Sons Bank and Thaddeus’ father liked to keep a close eye on men with their proverbial fingers in his proverbial pie.  As Thaddeus was feigning interest in the tour he was receiving, his attention was caught by someone exiting the house and walking towards them.  Not just someone, but a lovely young woman with soft features and practically no chin at all.  Thaddeus seemed to recall that Mister Cheddar had a daughter that was healing from an unfortunate run-in with the harsh light of day.  This radiant creature must be her, with her long blonde hair that was tightly wrapped in a bun and a plump lower frame that was clearly used to sitting comfortably.  Oh, he is to introduce himself?  Of course!

Eloise was by his side when Thaddeus awoke in the hospital bed.  When had he been brought here?  What had befallen him?  A doctor was fetched who explained that Thaddeus’ heart was far too weak from a lack of physical exercise and that he had had a minor moment of arrest, the cause of which the doctor did not know.  He further explained that Thaddeus should be sure to strengthen his heart by joining a cricket club or coming to the hospital for regular electrical shocks that would increase his vigor significantly.  His diagnosis rendered, the doctor removed himself to another patient’s bed, leaving the two young people alone.

How truly amazing!  This lovely young man with the slight frame and voluminous mustache had a weak heart and simply looking upon Eloise, even in her ruddied state, sent him reeling—to the point of needing attention from a medical practitioner.  Clearly, she had found herself a desirable gentleman.  If only she could say what she thought of Thaddeus, but it was common knowledge that nothing was as unbecoming as a woman speaking her mind.  Even to subtly intimate that she had opinions would be too much.  The best that Eloise could hope for was that Thaddeus would show a fancy to her.

What a shame.  She would be such a lovely young woman, if not for her dark skin. Thaddeus was no fool; he knew that just as he was expected to keep himself emaciated and well employed, young women were to keep themselves ample-bosomed and pale.  Eloise had maintained the first criterion without issue, but when looking upon her visage he had to remind himself that she was not from the Indian subcontinent.  Even so, had knew that she had spent too much time in the sunlight unprotected, so perhaps she would recover to a paleness that was not so much milky as translucent.  And how could he be one to judge so harshly when he himself was hiding an abscess on his dominant thumb?  Thaddeus decided that once he had had a chance to be invigorated with a few electrocutions that he would call upon Eloise to see if her skin’s tone had not been recovered.