Henry Ballard sat semi-tranquilly at his kitchen table, staring into the infinite space his mind created where cupboards, cereal boxes, dishes and a pantry might ordinarily inhabit. His fingers tapped ceremoniously in response to a tune heard only by him.
“You know, Trudy…” he began, now staring across the table, “if it weren’t for you, there wouldn’t be anyone in the entire world I could count on.”
“Now, Henry, you know that isn’t so.”
“Oh, stop right there, my dear, I’m calling bullshit! It is, too, so! You know it and I know it… the whole damn world knows it, they just won’t admit it because they want me to die so they can take my money!”
“Why do you say that? John and Becky come to see you every week, and sometimes they even bring the kids.”
“Yea, John and Becky… I keep hearing about the great lawyer and his trophy wife,” then leaning closer, he continued, “you know they’re trying to put me in a home.”
“I’ve never heard them mention it.”
“Well, you better wake up and smell the coffee, sister, because times, they’re a-changin’,” Henry bellowed at Trudy, setting his eyes upon her and cocking his head slightly, “and, by the way, may I say that you’re looking a little peaked, this morning, have you been sleeping all right?”
“You know I don’t like it when you get worked up like this, Henry. Why don’t you eat some toast… it’ll make you feel better.”
"Trudy, they say I'm losing my marbles."
"Oh, pshaw... you're fine, my darling, maybe just a little too hard on your family. If I were you, I wouldn't give it another thought."
Staring at Trudy, Henry smiled, one of those closed-mouthed, eyes scrunched, self-conscious grins he’d developed to acknowledge when someone had successfully called his bluff.
"Yes, I suppose you’re right…” the bluster gone and his voice suddenly transformed into a mea culpa squeak as he grabbed two slices of bread out of its protective plastic wrap, “a body needs to eat. Thanks for reminding me.”
Placing the two slices of bread in the available slots, Henry pushed the handle down and Trudy’s heating coils turned cherry red.
13 comments:
Aha! Good old Trudy the Toaster! She'll tell you what you want to hear every time! I like this. It puts loneliness into perspective.
I thought that was a super sexual ending, and then I read the comment and it all came clear.
Shirley-- thanks. I got the idea from a radio commercial while I was driving my 90 miles home from the office. Maybe I should start listening to NPR...
amuirin-- Ha! I hadn't even thought of that connotation... maybe the story would be better if I had. (I think I've been type-cast...) :)
Well, I mean, she listens better than the blender...
well bub... i guess i am not as lonely as i thought i was....... this was adorable....
I would leave a message
but my can opener
says no no no
grrrrrrr
love from
here to there
klk
Oh I get it Henry really is losing his marbles and Trudy is a reflection of his inner conflicts and all of this was a metaphor for self reflection...mmmm
Wow...I guess my face was pointed in the direction of a gutter instead of at the scene reflected off a happy Pollyannaish kitchen appliance cuz I thought Henry was about to get lucky and find love in the kitchen...Oh well, I'll read a little more carefully next time...Thanks Bob
Cool, humour depth characterisation, cool bananas,
poetman-- Everyone sounds so disappointed when I try to play it straight. Now I know I've been type-cast! Oh, well, it comes with the territory, I suppose.
Sheesh... you write ridiculous stuff for ten or twenty years and people start expecting it! Go figure...
A toaster, and the past year I've been talking to a mute coffee maker... I got to go to the bank and open an account and get me one of them - you have a great and unique vision - thanks, a fan
...hello Bob...poet to Bob...no disappointment...from this sector...be yourself...I like you...just the way you are...limit - its the limits...of comments...sometimes its hard to put a short concise comment together ...at least thats true for me...Peace Poetman
hfurness-- By all means, do... but make sure you get a toaster with chrome on the sides. It's a little more difficult to see Trudy with a white one.
poetman-- not to worry, all is well. It would be difficult for me to write anything other than what I do, anyway... maybe impossible. It is my cross to bear. I must have been very evil in my formative years for the Fates to subject me to their dalliances.
That's great!
The ending was superb.
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