TINY TUESDAY (m)
Find a Conversation
TINY TUESDAY (m)
| Tue, 12-18-2001 - 10:22am |
TINY TUESDAY (m)
This week, I’m borrowing an idea from an exercise of Jessica Page Morrell’s.
Let’s turn our minds towards our stomachs. Write a short story or scene about a meal, anything from an intimate candlelit dinner for two to a huge family gathering at Christmas will do.
Have fun,
Mac

Pages
My TT: White Christmas (m)
As you can see, I've gotten no work done today. This idea hit me shortly after I posted the exercise this morning. Sorry, it went about 250 over the word limit.
Mac
* * *
Over and over, Doreen repeated, “Red. Blue. Yellow. Green. Red. Blue—”
“Would you SHUT UP?” Richard shouted.
Doreen remained silent for a moment, and then continued naming the color of the lights on the Christmas tree. Off in the distance, a scream from one of the other psychiatric patients forced the nurse on duty to abandon the dinning room.
Irv slid his chair closer to Doreen’s. “How about you give me a little Christmas present later in my room?”
Doreen didn’t respond. In fact, she didn’t even turn her head and move at all. Her eyes stayed locked on the tree.
“Okay. Well, how about you give me your banana pudding?” Irv said, reaching across her plate and taking her dessert.
A moment later, a burly black hand snatched the bowl from him and placed it back by Doreen’s plate. “How many times I gotta tell you to not eat other peoples food?” Samson, the only orderly working on Christmas day, stuck his face in Irv and waited for an answer.
“She ain’t gonna eat it,” Irv whispered under his breath.
“I don’t give a rat’s ass about that. The point is it’s her food.” Irv walked from the table, and then turned back. “And if I hear you asking for sexual favors again. I’m going to lock you up in Ward D.”
With that, Irv’s eyes lit up. “I…I won’t do…You ain’t gotta worry. No, sir. I won’t do that again.” Ward D was for sexual offenders. Truth be known, Samson had no authority to send anyone anywhere but the threat always kept Irv in line; he was scared of being sent there.
“Richard, is your wife coming to have Christmas dinner with you?” Doreen asked.
Since she rarely spoke, it startled him at first. “No, I don’t think she’ll make it.” He twiddled his fingers as he studied the plate before him. “Actually, she told me on the phone that she was filing for divorce on Monday.”
“Good God. What kind of woman kicks a man when he’s down?” Irv said. Then added, “Can I—”
“Take it,” Richard said, nodding towards his banana pudding.
“You’re probably better off without her.” Doreen smiled at Richard. She picked up her fork and began eating her turkey and dressing.
Richard, who was feeling guilty for shouting at her earlier, returned the gesture. “Thank you for saying that. I hope I believe it one day.”
Elvis’ White Christmas played on the radio. “I hope I never have a white Christmas again,” Irv announced.
“What? You don’t like snow.”
“Ain’t the white kind of Christmas I’m talking about.” Irv held a finger to his nostril and inhaled. “Cocaine.”
Richard stood up and strolled across the room. “Well, I hope I never have another white Christmas like this. These white walls can drive a person nutty.”
Doreen was still giggling when Samson pulled out a chair at her table and sat down. “Kiddo, looks like you’re enjoying that cranberry sauce.”
“The doc will be happy I’m eating, huh?” she said. “You know what I wished I could do?”
“What?” Samson asked, winking with his left eye. His fondness for the young woman was obvious.
“I wished we could go out in the snow and make angels. I used to do that as a kid. It was fun,” Doreen’s eyes filled with tears.
“How about some hot chocolate with marshmallows on top? He asked, quickly changing the subject.
Irv spun around. “Can I have some too? You got any of those big white fluffy marshmallows.”
“I reckon I do. You want a cup, Richard?” Samson yelled.
“Yes, thank you,” Richard answered as he shuffled from the room. “I’ll be right back.”
A short while later he returned his arms over flowing with hospital pillows. Tossing several to the scrawny man, he said, “Rip these open.” Although it seemed like an odd request, Irv did as he was told. White feathers floated about the room, and then rested on the linoleum floor.
Doreen stood up and sauntered towards the two men. “What in the world are you doing?”
“Manmade snow.” Richard motioned towards the floor. “Make your angels, Doreen.”
When Samson entered the room, he just shook his head. He never said a word about the mess as he dispersed the cups of hot chocolate. Rising his hand in the air, styrofoam cup clutched within, he said, “Merry Christmas, folks.”
I loved this story, mac.(m)
What a great imagination Richard had. Makes you wonder who's sick and who's not. All the characters were great.
Linda
cl-ozarker
"We are all apprentices in a craft where no one ever becomes a master." - Ernest Heminway
Just great! (m)
A wonderful rag tag bunch of characters. I can see this play out 'live' in action :)
Was Samson the only employee in the story? Has Irv been to detox before this place? You may want to check for spelling ('dinning room' in 3rd paragraph; 'Rising his hand' in last paragraph).
Very believable scene! I'd like to know these characters further :)
Eyewrite
Mac, what's the TT word limit - 500 words or 250? (nt)
My TT: Toast
Toast
He crumbles the muffet into his bowl and pats the contents level, then pours 1% milk over until the cereal almost floats. He picks up the amber glass jar of brown sugar, removes the clear glass lid, and scoops some sugar onto his spoon. Holding the spoon above the bowl, he sprinkles brown sugar with his left fingers until the surface of the cereal is evenly coated. He brushes the excess sugar back into the amber jar in similar fashion.
As he eats, he listens to the plastic AM radio he bought in Hawaii on his honeymoon, in 1968.
When he empties his bowl, he sets it and the spoon on top of his wife’s clean place setting. Then he reaches for the bag of white bread and opens the clasp. He slips one slice into the shiny metal toaster and presses the lever down.
As the toaster heats, he opens the fridge and removes the tub of Becel and the mug of last night’s leftover coffee. He pops the coffee into the mid-1970s microwave and punches in 1:10. Back at the table, he opens the margarine tub just as the toast pops.
He slides the toast onto his plate and his knife into the margarine. He smoothes a generous amount of margarine over the entire surface of the toast, into all the corners and crevices. Then he selects the jar of tangerine marmalade, inserts his knife, and takes care to coat the toast surface evenly. He cuts the slice in half vertically and begins to eat.
When he finishes one half-slice of toast, he inserts the next slice of bread into the toaster and retrieves his reheated coffee. He takes one sip before the toaster pops again. He prepares this slice the same as the first.
He chews his toast and sips his coffee while he scowls at the neighbour pouring a kettle of boiling water over an icy truck windshield. When he finishes his breakfast, he’s careful to leave one corner crust and a swig and a half of coffee at his place for his wife.
A night with Jerry Garcia, oops I mean Cherry Garcia! (TT)
(Boy, these quickies are going to get me in trouble!!) *wink* Enjoy! Kat ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Wham! Slamming the refrigerator for the third time in less than two seconds, I shout, “I give up! I’m tired and weak, and all I want is to NOT care anymore." I’ve lost my job, haven’t been laid in two years, and gaining weight just contemplating eating.
Click..hummmm. Opening the refrigerator door, bending over to scan its contents for the forth time, I ponder another slice of quiche. It’s not like I haven’t tried to get laid. If that gorgeous, sweet twenty-four year old across the hall would just take the hint. I mean what do I have to do to get his attention?
Wham! You are not hungry.
I tried the see-through negligee. That was pitiful. I sat on that cold wooden floor for three hours burning my jasmine candle, sucking down two bottles of wine, which, of course, gave me the idea to act as if someone had knocked on my door as he attempted to unlock his apartment door. He shyly gave me a weak smile, and slid into his apartment quietly closing his door. Maybe his unanswered response had to do with the fact that I not only revealed my less then adequate breasts, but also a very lovely indentation that began above my right eye and continued across my cheek created by falling asleep on a CD case. Oh, and then slurring my words didn’t quite do the job to entice him into my apartment? Yah think, Grace!
Click...hmmmmm. Opening the refrigerator door a fifth time, I lean into the cold air, feeling my eyes begin to dry out. I wonder what this lighting does for my complexion. If you’re going to eat something, have a cup of cottage cheese. I’d rather chew on a piece of bark.
Wham! Give it up girlfriend, go pop in another video, anything, but DO NOT EAT!
I walk into the living room pick up the stack of video’s that I recently brought home from apartment C2's video store. I’ve been to the video store twice a week for the past six months trying to illicit a meaningful conversation from him. He smiles, keeps his responses to video selections, and quickly moves on to assist the other customers. I know he thinks I’m stalking him. I want to tell him, “Look, I’m not stalking you, I just need to get laid.” But, I’m pretty certain that would freak him out.
The videos crash and clatter to the floor as I toss them in the direction of the couch. That’s it! I’m going in. The sliver wear rattles as I yank open the drawer, and grab a soup spoon. I turn and open the fridge. Click…hummm. A blast of frigid air covers my face as I search out the Ben and Jerry’s pint of Cherry Garcia. Wham! I turn and slide down the length of the fridge, and sit on the floor. Well, CG you will have to do for now.
Peeling off the lid and making a feeble frisbee fling to land the lid in the sink, it sails and lands just short of the counter. I spot a hunk of chocolate astride a couple of cherries. Digging deep into the container, I scoop out a bite of ice cream too big for my mouth, skidding ice cream along both sides of my mouth as I shove the whole spoonful in. I close my eyes as I bite first into the chocolate with crunches and snaps, then find the cherries chewy-lis-ous. I may not get my chance with sweet cheeks across the hall, but this pint of B & J’s will get me close to satisfaction, at least for the next hour.
Oh, eyewrite...
I hope I got this right...the wife is dead?
I loved the descriptions, the radio, the foolish neighbor, each detail of making breakfast, and what I consider to be a sweet sentiment for his wife. And tangerine marmalade is a favorite of mine.
Good TT eyewrite! kat
Mac...submit this!! (m)
Obviously, it will have to be next year, but I love this, and I think the Journal of the Blue Planet would too. Really, Mac this is excellent!
Go Tiny Tuesday! kat
Thanks Linda (m)
Glad you liked that pillow thing and the story in general.
Hugs,
Mac
Eyewrite, thank you so much (m)
For your comments and questions. Actually, I had Samson and the nurse who ran off to help the screaming patient as the only employees working on this particular Ward. But you bring up a good point. They’d need more than those two in case they had some type of emergency. As for Irv, I don’t know the answer. May I ask why you asked? I do plan to expand this piece so whatever info you can provide me would be much appreciated. :-)
I admit I got a little too anxious posted without proofing this one too well.
Thanks again for your FB,
Mac
Pages