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I cannot tell a lie, most of the time.

There are only two reasons to wake up early on the Wednesday after Mother Nature dumps a foot of snow in your city: you have to shovel the drive, or you can’t wait to check out the word of the day.

My husband purchased a (monster) snow blower several years ago, so a buried driveway doesn’t stir me from slumber. But, the word of the day…now, that’s excitement!

Today’s word on Wordsmith.org:

pervaricate. verb intr. to avoid telling the truth by being ambiguous, evading, or misleading.

Let’s get right down to some flash fiction business.

****

Ellen had been driving Gary crazy for the past three weeks.

Her desk sat in front and to the left of his, and every time he picked up his coffee for a drink, he saw her rolling her head.

Left.
Right.
A long, slow roll to the left again.
And, hold…back to center.

On that particular Wednesday, Ellen wore a shirt with a collar that rested three inches out from the base of her neck. With her left hand, she pulled her auburn hair around to fall over her left shoulder. The right side of her bare, sand colored, smooth neck – the side facing Gary – shimmered, open and vulnerable.

He sipped. She rolled. He shuffled papers, and sipped again. The last, long roll forced Gary out of his chair. He walked over and stood at the front of her desk. And, he waited, while she rolled back to center.

“Oh! Geez, Gary, you scared me.”

He cut right to the point. “I studied Chiropractics.”

“What’s that you said?” Ellen ran her hand down the right side of her neck.

“I know the ins and outs of the neck like you know that iPhone.”

They both glanced over at the iPhone. It flashed, with a new message of some sort, Gary could only guess.

Ellen turned back to Gary. “You’re a chiropractor? So, why are you working here?”

“There wasn’t much money in my field.”

“Really.” Ellen’s face showed doubt.

Gary started to sweat.

“Your right side bothers you.”

“Yeah,” she said. “This awful kink in my neck refuses to go away, since, like –”

“Three weeks?” he finished.

“About.” She squinted.

“I see it all the time. I studied Chiropractics. I can fix it.”

“You can fix it?”

“Your neck.” His heart raced.

Ellen paused, but then agreed to stand up. She let Gary take her head and neck gently in his hands. Her hair fell around his fingers as he guided her head through another set of rolls. Then, he put his right hand on her chin, and his left around the back of her head. He twisted and snapped.

What followed was a sucession of pops and cracks.
Then, a scream.
A punch.
A gasp.

After the commotion, Barbara walked into the office and found Ellen holding the back of her neck with both hands. Gary sucked in air as he slumped over with his hands at his stomach.

Barbara sighed. “Playing Chiropractor again, Gary?”

“Playing?” Ellen looked up and muttered several obscenities.

“Ellen, you’re still new here,” Barbara said. “I should have told you this from day one. There are three things you need to know about Gary: coffee hound, neck fiend, full of shit.”

“I know Chiropractics,” Gary groaned.

Barbara rolled her eyes. “Oh. And, Ellen. If he ever mentions podiatry, keep your shoes on.”

Barbara turned to leave but looked back once more.

“By the way, I’m going for coffee. Anybody want a cup?”

“Hazelnut,” Gary grumbled, as he wobbled back to his desk.

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Big Mouth Bass

Today’s Wednesday’s Word entry comes to you as a result of Jamie Grove’s suggestion in a recent post on what to do when you don’t feel like writing: put A to B. Get thy butt to thy chair, and write anyway.

***

The theme this week on Wordsmith.org is eponyms: words based on a person’s name. You have to be famous and/or do something really ingenious for your name to become part of the English language. For some odd reason, Wordsmith.org doesn’t acknowledge any eponym related to me. Clearly they don’t know the story of how I became a Lion’s Club member, even though I’m a woman. I only stayed in for a year, and it might be a figment of my imagination (or a nightmare), but still….

However, the name André Maginot comes into focus with today’s word of the day:

Maginot line. noun. An ineffective line of defense that is relied upon with undue confidence.

You can read about André Maginot here, and learn how his great line of defense fell short in actual protection.

Now, on to some flash fiction.

You may not know Millie. She is the main character in the novel I mention when I talk about how much I love rewrites. Millie lives alone, and she likes it that way, for the most part. She requires a large cushion of personal space, for sanitary reasons and because of her suspicion of most people. She prefers to observe life from a distance, behind a window or behind a desk or in the shadows. Over the phone, she is amicable; in person, quiet or curt.  Today, I imagine Millie and the Maginot line.

***

Millie’s best line of defense lay in tight formation along the top edge of her place mat. As she tore off bite-size pieces off her bran muffin and chewed, with purpose, she studied each pill: fish oil,vitamin E, vitamin D, and (the catch-all) Mega-Mix Iron Supplement – iron complemented with vitamins C and B12, a dash of Folic Acid and a pinch of Copper. The Mega-Mix, her mother insisted, would boost her energy and give a little color to her cheeks.

The Mega-Mix pill was the same color and length as her mother’s manicured nails, the one on her index finger to be exact. The image of her mother’s nail, in bright corral polish, pointing to and tapping the vitamin brochure, was fresh in Millie’s mind.

“You need all of these, Millie,” her mother said as she ran her finger down a list of vitamins for women over forty.

“I’m thirty-nine, mother.”

“You can never start too early. Besides, you’re pale as a ghost and you sleep too much. Get this one for sure,” she tapped over the picture of the Mega-Mix.

The vitamins came in the mail yesterday. Millie hadn’t opened them until this morning. Now, studying the Mega-Mix pill on the table, she saw it had the thickness of a marble. She was worried. She had a high gag reflex. The other three vitamins would be hard enough. She decided to take the Mega-Mix last.

She took a deep breath. Her right hand scooped up the fish oil and, like a catapult, shot it into her open mouth. Her left hand swung from the side and grasped her water glass. She flooded her mouth, so that the pill floated for a brief second. Then, she tossed her head back as if she were in a fit of laughter and swallowed, forcing the pill down her esophagus in one strong gulp. She repeated the process two more times then paused at the Mega-Mix.

Continue reading “Big Mouth Bass”

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Incidental Fame

Well, it’s Wednesday. And, Wordsmith.org threw out a doozy today:

artiodactyl. adj. having an even number of toes on each foot.

At first, I read the definition wrong and thought, everyone has the same number of toes on each foot. Big deal.* Then, I remembered a girl back in middle school who lost one of her big toes in an accident with a lawn mower. She wore sandals anyway.

That’s intriguing, and brave. I could write about that.

But, the definition says an even number – like two, four, six, eight. Therein lies the challenge to write a story about feet that sidestep the standard five-toe precedence.

***

It was only because Allison royally pissed off her sister, Maggie, in 2007 that she agreed to the pre-wedding hair, nails, and make-up gig. She was still making amends for the Prom Queen shake up that happened their senior year at Rosemont High.

In high school, Maggie wore a cheerleader outfit and Allison dressed in Goth. When it came time to choose the Prom Queen, half the school voted for “that Carson girl.” It wasn’t until Maggie tried to take the stage, and the crown, at the Prom Dance that they both realized the school voted for Goth, not Glamour. The principal waved Maggie off the stage and motioned for Allison to take the spotlight.

That night, Maggie screamed across the dinner table that she was appalled and angry and “HUMILIATED!”

Allison shrugged her shoulders. “I had no idea,” she told her parents. “You know me, I only went to the Prom, because Maggie insisted!”

Maggie didn’t talk to Allison for the next two years.

Last Christmas, when Maggie got engaged, Allison agreed to stand up in her wedding. Wanting to keep the peace, she promised to do whatever Maggie asked to prepare. An up-do was hard enough to swallow, but when Maggie mentioned pedicure, Allison almost choked. In silent defiance, Maggie dared her to say no, to give good reason for another Maggie boycott. But, Allison just smiled.

“Sure, just say when and where!”

It was on a Saturday at a nail salon in a strip mall on the northwest side of town. After an hour and a half bus ride on a 100 degree day, Allison welcomed a foot soak and a rub. She eased her anxiety by reminding herself Maggie was the star of the show. All I have to do is sit, smile, and let them paint.

Continue reading “Incidental Fame”