how was your day

how was your day

by Kit Muldoon & Edward Wells II

"It was just another day." Norman drolled to his Mother.
"But I'm trying to tell you about my day.", she responded and quickly continued, "The bus was right was right on time. I can't believe that the bus driver left without me."
The other line began to ring and Vivian clicked over without announcing it.
Norman sat and listened to the noise of his wireless receiver humming with the fluctuation of other devices impinging on the frequency that it was tuned to.
Vivian clicked back, "Norman that is Roger. I met him today at the bus stop while I was waiting for the next bus. I'll talk to you later. Ok? bye." She hung up abruptly.
For a moment Norman listened to the fluctuations amplified in the sound of the dial tone and then placed the receiver on the base. He stared ahead and thought of the food in his freezer. There were bags of frozen peas, two reformed fudge-cicles that had melted and were now flat and an empty ice-cube tray. Norman placed his forehead on the table.
The green formica table smelled faintly of Lysol. Norman closed his eyes and though of his day.
The doorbell rang. Wearily Norman shuffled to the door and opened it.
"Hello. I'm Lydia and I think I have a machine that could make your life easier and better than it has ever been.", said the woman standing in the hall outside Norman's door. He stood there in his slacks and shirt that hung slack on his boney frame and thought of the rules of the building where his condo was located. Lydia stepped forward and Norman moved his left footback in a moment of apprehension. Lydia took advantage of the moment and walked completely into the apartment.
"This is a nice place you've got here.", she said standing in the dining area while looking around.
"Thank you. I think you aren't supposed to be here.", he said looking at her bag and clothes.
"That's ok. What's your name?", Lydia asked. She sat her bag down and stepped toward Norman with her hand extended.
"Norman." He rubbed his palm on the leg of his slacks and took her hand. Lydia gripped his hand and pumped his arm, working it at the elbow and smiling.
"I am here as a representative of Everyday Revolutions, Norman. You have probably never heard of Everyday Revolutions, and with good reason, but we offer people like you answers to problems of everyday. We don't offer our products to everyone, everywhere. We don't advertise and our unique services are only available through our personal representatives. As a matter of fact, in this whole building I only knocked on your door and in this whole city I have only four buildings to visit and in the whole state there are only four representatives. Do you get the picture Norman? You are lucky that I am standing here talking to you."
Norman thought about all of this and tried to convince himself for a moment that it was all true. He looked again at the bag. It was a large bag similar to a duffle bag that he had seen Olympic atheletes carrying uniforms and equipment in this year in China. It seemed to be made of a fuzzy material and each strand was of the brown spectrum. He thought it was ugly.
"Let's sit down Norman, I want to show you something." They both made their way to the sofa and sat down. Lydia pulled the bag around in front of her, up close, so that she could reach all of it. Norman inspected it more closely and noticed that it had many pockets with xippers and velcro and buttons and snaps. Lydia turned the bag and reached toward the smallest pocket on the end of the bag. She yanked the velcro fastner open. RRRsht.
She pulled a small object from out of the pocket and held it in her hands. She extended it toward Norman for him to inspect and kicked the bag out of the way a bit. Norman reached out to take the object and examine it.
"Don't touch it Norman. You'll kill us all." Lydia smiled and asked, "Do you have any tea, Norman?"
Norman looked at Lydia and then at the object and thought about Lydia's comment and the potential that he now assumed this object to hold.
"Do you like Constant Comment?" he asked.
"Yes, that's fine. I like mine with some honey or other sweetner.", she replied.
"I have Agave Nectar. It's made from cacti."
"Yes, I've had it before." She smiled at Norman and though to herself that she had finally been sent to the right customer at the right time. "Just put on the kettle and come back in here."
"Ok." Norman got up and went to the kitchen. The right front burner on the white topped electric range began to glow before the water filled the kettle. Norman placed the kettle onto the eye and walked into the living area to find Lydia leafing through his most recent copy of National Geographic. The cover photo was of the recent catastrophe at the North Pole and seemed an honest and sincere admission of the folly of Man and a genuine attempt to synchronize civilization at a point of awareness and an attempt to inspire action.
Lydia looked up. "I put the water on.", Norman said. They smiled at each other. It was only a moment, but Norman suspected that it was more than sufficient time for her also to entertain thoughts of possible lives. "Good.", she replied. "Come sit down.", she said patting the sofa. Norman slid down beside her, careful to avoid snagging his trousers on the quarter inch of broken spring that protruded from the cracked and broken leather. Her side of the sofa made a sound somewhere between a sigh and a fart as his weight displaced air trapped in the cheap foam cushions. "Excuse me", said Lydia, slightly embarassed, although for what reason Norman could not quite fathom. The couch's disrepair was not her fault, was not even Norman's, it had been like that since he moved in. Norman never sat on this sofa, preferring to conduct his domestic life in the vicinity of the formica topped table and the white porcelain stove.
"Let's get down to business.", Lydia said, picking up her sample from the coffee table. "I have here in my hand the key to solving all your troubles."
Lydia held up a small black box. It measured approximately 4X5 inches, and was divided into two halves, hinged at the top. Lydia opened the lid and revealed what seemed to be a featureless surface of black glass. EEEEeeeeeee.... The teakettle screamed for attention in the kitchen. Both of them started- Lydia nearly jumped out of her skin. "Just the tea.", Norman said, "Be right back."
In the kitchen Norman carefully considered his assortment of cracked and mismatched crockery. Would Lydia prefer the 'World's Greatest Go-fer' mug, or was 'Kiss the Cook' more appropriate. Norman thought perhaps this might be too forward, finally he selected the white cup with pink roses that his mother preferred on her infrequent visits. Placing the cups carefully on a tray he carried them back to where Lydia remained perched on the edge of the sofa, holding the mysterious box and muttering. Lydia absentmindedly set the device on the arm of the sofa as she reached for the cup Norman proffered.
They sat quietly, doing the tea thing, until Norman said, "Is the tea to your liking? I hope it' sweet enough, or not too sweet, or whatever it is that you like, I hope this tea is it."
Lydia smiled, she thought that Constant Comment was a bit grassy and admitted that to Norman, "-but as far as Constant Comment goes, yours is very nice." Norman smiled and commented "-the cinnamon is one of its redeeming qualities, though." "Yes.", she agreed.
They set their tea cups down on the table. She picked up the box from the arm of the sofa. "Now I want to tell you about this." She showed the box to Norman and then said, "Place your forefinger here in the center." Norman picked up his tea and brought the cup to his lips breathing down into the the cup, onto his tea. "Norman, the first time you place you finger on the surface it doesn't activate the device. It isn't that sort of button the first time." Norman sipped his tea and sat his cup down. "I like the smeel of cinnamon." He said and looked at the box. He slowly reached out his left hand and placed his forefinger onto the center of the glass saying, "You said it could kill us all." "This is the first time, it is only activating the device's lock and using your finger print as a key.", Lydia told him. "Ahh.", he replied watching the screen light with a black-blue glow. The screen displayed a message:

Fingerprint confirmed

Fingerprint identified

Client: Norman

Device Status: Locked

"So, what does it do?", Norman asked while picking up his tea.
"I want you to hold it first." Lydia held the box out to Norman who, after taking a sip, reached out for the device. He held the box, noting the weight and solidity of the structure. "Do you need a refill on your tea, Lydia?" She replied with a shake of her head and continued to watch him holding the box.
"So, what does it do?", Norman asked again.
"I don't know.", Lydia replied and lifted her tea.
"I thought you said it could kill us all." Norman considered setting down the box as much from a desire to sip his tea as from the growing concern about its function.
"That may be exactly what it does. Since I'm not certain what it does I can't very well say that it won't, now can I?" She sipped her tea.
"What happens next?" asked Norman. As if in answer, the box began to vibrate, skidding across the table first in a wild circular pattern, then veering in a straight line and flying off at the point furtherest away from where the two sat. As it thumped on the carpet it began to beep. Numbers appeared on the black screen: 100, 99, 98...
"I'd like that refill now." Lydia said watching the nubers tick on the screen.
"Of course, will you join me in the kitchen?" Norman took her cup and stood. "Yes." Lydia got up and followed behind him, both looking at the '89' on the screen as they walked by. As they reached the kitchen Norman set the cups on the counter, placed his palms on the edge, lowered his head and exhaled deeply.
"Yes, I'm sorry Norman." Norman looked up at Lyida. "Is it that bad then?", he asked.
"I'm not certain, but I don't think that many count-downs on electronic devices end well. The tea is one of the best Constant Comments I've had though."
"Thank you for your honesty." Norman poured tea into both of the cups and handed Lydia's tea to her. "Should we leave after this?" he asked lifting his cup to his lips.
"I don't think it would help Norman. I think that if it is as bad as I suspect that it would be no better a block, mile, or city away."
"I didn't think it would end like this. I had always hoped to do something, if not heroic, at least something that would live on beyond me." Norman thought he could have been a hero, if the opportunity would just have presented itself. But no buildings on his route to and from work ever caught on fire. No babies or old ladies ever shouted for help from balconies lit by flames when Norman happened to be passing by. No one had ever sunk to the bottom of the pool when Norman went for his weekly swim, and no one ever needed the CPR that Norman had carefully learned at the Community Center where he spent his Sunday afternoons.
The phone rang. Norman tried to ignore it, but when the number of rings had reached 20 and the number on the box hand reached 50 he decided that he'd better find out who it was.
"NORMAN!", his mother shouted into the phone, "what have you been up to all day? Aren't you coming over to mow my lawn?"
"Mother, I'm sorry, but something has come up. I will not be able to mow your lawn today, or do any of the other little tasks you have written on the list tacked to the refrigerator. It is possible they will never get done by anyone now."
"Norman, what's going on over there? What's that beeping noise? Do I have to come over there?"
Norman suddenly realized that the phrase 'kill us all' just might include his mother. Maybe it wasn't so bad after all.
"Mother, I will talk to you later, ok? bye."
Lydia had been rummaging around in her fuzzy bag during this exchange, frowning with her lips pursed. She had already unpacked something that looked like a glass tuning fork, a round purple object with a green wire protruding from the top, and a longpiece of yellow string.
"What will you do with those?", Norman asked, tea in hand.
"The electric eggplant allows me to diagnoes the box.", Lydia said turning on the purple device. "Hand me the black device."
Norman got up and retrieved the black box. He placed it on the table in front of Lydia. The purple device immediately began to hum. Lydia lifted the tuning fork and struck it once. The hum of the fork and purple device were very much out of tune. Lydia began to press a button on the purple object. Each time she pressed the button the hum changed pitch until finally it was in tune with the fork. "You do that very well.", commented Norman. "Thank you.", replied Lydia.
"It's ready to diagnose now, then?" Norman set down his tea and for the first time pushed himself completely back into the sofa.
"Yes, we can begin the diagnosis." Lydia also sat back into the couch after setting the purple object next to the black one and laying the wire gently onto the screen that displayed in a cool blue a glowing '19'.
"Did you want some more tea?" Norman got up and made his way to the kitchen.
"No. No more for me right now.", Lydia called from the other room.
Norman smiled and grumblied to himself noticing that there was only one tea bag left.
He wrote on the list magneted to the refrigerator 'Constant Comment'. Then, having put the bag ina cup and pouring water over it, turned and returned to the sofa where Lydia was leaning forward and scrutinizing what the screen displayed.
"If you want more tea consider something other than Constant Comment. This was the last bag.", Norman stated, dipping his tea bag.
"That's really the only tea I think I'd like." Lydia did not remove her eyes from the display, but exhaled a single small puff that brought to Norman's mind the thought that when a couple is faced with the diagnosis of a box that may kill us all it isn't practical to pop down to the grocer's for a box of Constant Comment and so what he was holding in his hand and slowly sliding in and out of the darkening liquid within his cup was a testament to the reality of his extended solitude and perhaps on some level an effort toward some first and final 'Fuck You!' to the world.
"If the diagnosis is good I'd like You to stay and we can get some more Constant Comment, Lydia." Norman looked at her with one eye while staring into his cup with the other and took a sip of tea.
"Norman. You aren't rude." Lydia reached out and took the cup from his hands and sipped the tea, then handed it back, her fingers touching his as they circled the cup. "I'd very much like to stay, if we don't destroy the world in the next few minutes."
Lydia smiled at Norman, and Norman thought that sitting here like this with the tea between them was just about the nicest thing he had ever done.
Just then the doorbell rang, followed by an insistent pounding on the door.
"Norman!", hiw mother shouted through the door, "what's going on in there?"
"Nothing, Mother", Norman replied, "could you please just go away now?" "Go away? Go away?- after I got Roger out of bed to drive me over here I am not going away until I get some kind of explanation. What do you mean 'you may never mow my lawn again'? Are you on some kind of drugs? LET ME IN NOW!!!!"
Norman looked at Lydia, who shrugged her shoulders. "I don't think she's going anywhere , you might as well let her in."
Reluctantly Norman walked to the front door. As he undid the chain the doorknob rattled. "Ok, Ma, just a minute." The door swung open resting against Norman who was now against the wall, where his mother couldn't see him. Her view from the door was of the sofa, where Lydia lounged, her long legs sticking out under the coffee table and one arm along the back. It was Lydia's idea of a casual pose. Norman's mother thought it was provocative. "Who the hell are you and what have you done with my boy?!", Norman's mother exclaimed.
"Mom, I'm alright.", Norman said, coming out from behind the door. "This is Lydia- she's- my friend." Lydia flashed a warm smile at Norman as if to confirm his assesment. "She's helping me with a project, for um- the Community Center."
Norman's mother, somewhat mollified, approached the coffee table. "What's this?", she inquired, "Some kind of TV? No wonder it isn't working- there's no channel 19. Here, I'll show you." Before either Norman or Lydia reacted, Norman's mother snatched up the box and punched the number 3. "My story should be on now.", she said. The box began to hum, then whine. Norman stepped back and felt Lydia's hand slide into his. He liked that, whatever happened at least it would happen while he was holding Lydia's hand.
On the screen the box was now displaying a whirling series of bright dots, like an illuminated tornado. Norman's mom said, "How pretty" and reached out to touch the screen. Suddenly she was gone! The box dropped to the floor. Still hanging on to Norman, Lydia sntached up the box with her free hand. On the fading display was a tiny woman floating into a universe of tiny stars.
"Oops!", said Lydia.
"That's ok. I like holding you hand.", said Norman. There was a pause in which Lydia looked at their hands touched together and held by their own strength and delicately sealed with their juices. It seemed good and entracing. She moved the outer corners of her mouth with a gentle steady slex and then Norman continued, "Where's my Mom?"
"Well Norman, your Mom has gone to a better place." Lydia looked at the box and her mouth straightened, her lips shaping into a stern and solid placid line.
"Ok, Lydia."
"Now, We have time to go get tea Norman; if you want to?" Lydia looked from the box to Norman's face and smiled. Norman smiled back saying, "Ok. The store is only down the street; we can walk. I have some other questions about my Mom though."
"Ok, Norman."
Norman walked to the door to meet Lydia. Lydia walked up beside him and took his hand. Norman opened the door and they stepped out into the hall.
"Where did she go?", Norman asked.
"Elsewhere. Not here. Elsewhen. Not now. It's ok, Norman, she's just somewhere different than here. That's what Everyday Revolutions does. Remember, I said 'solves the problems of everyday lives'? Well, not just your life Norman, but your Mother's too. She'll have the opportunity to have anything where she is going, Norman."
Norman looked at Lydia and smiled again, tightening slightly his grasp of her hand and the situation. "Can we go some place like that?", Norman asked faintly.
"It's ok if you don't want to go to the exact place that she has gone Norman -and yes, we can go to a place where we can have the opportunity to have what we want. Here Norman, tie this around your finger." Lydia looked at him while removing the piece of yellow string from her pocket. They continued to walk toward the store where there is Constant Comment waiting for anyone that will buy it.
Norman tied one end of the string to his forefinger on his left hand. Lydia tied the other end of the yellow string to her right forefingerand explained, "This will keep us together while the box transports us." Norman smiled. "Norman, have you ever heard of binding rituals?" "I'm not certain. I've heard of ceremonies where couples jump over brooms." They smile. Around the corner someone in a long trench coat that seems out of place on a sunny day walks out of the store that holds Constant Comment on its shelves.
Lydia laughs, "Norman! I'll tell you all about binding rituals. Are you ready?"
"Yes, I think I've wanted this for some time, Lydia." She presses the button, touches the screen - the string pulls taut and Norman disappears into the box after Lydia, the box drops to the sidewalk - the man turns the corner and picks up the box.

slack grows in the yellow string as two bodies kiss

i really think

i like it!

needs work.

Comments

ecwthe2ndMarch 14, 2009

Hey, Thanks for the comment. It's ... comprehensible and maybe a couple of other '-hensibles'. Though I'm not certain what typo(s) after typo(s) You may be seeing, I apologize if any did distract. 'props' to the 'peeps'
ecwthe2ndMarch 14, 2009

Hey, Thanks for the comment. It's ... comprehensible and maybe a couple of other '-hensibles'. Though I'm not certain what typo(s) after typo(s) You may be seeing, I apologize if any did distract. 'props' to the 'peeps'
SimoneMarch 12, 2009

strongest elements: description of place, the physical universe of the story; creation of characters in a limited space. Weakest element: the final sentence. It doesn't fit with any of the rest of the story. Also, edit your shit before you post it! Typo after typo distracts from the quality. Peeps are reading it, show your audience respect. Could this be the beginning of something delicious? I think it came from a delicious place.
ecwthe2ndMarch 8, 2009

yes; I see, o- what's that? Tell Me more; could it be the beginning of something delicious?
LongFormFebruary 19, 2009

LIST 1 1.1 I Think The Dialogue Is Great or? Too Much Talking To The Detriment of Coherence 1.2 Is There Too Much Ground Covered Here or? The Scope of This Piece Is Huge But Its Time Frame Is Narrow, Thus Justifying Its Brevity 1.3 Is The Mother Character Necessary-- She Too Annoying To Care About or? The Mother Supplies Much Needed Comedic Relief