Flight. Fight. Fix. Part 2

Flight. Fight. Fix. Part 2

by

D.A.Cairns

The Fight

‘I don’t know what that was Rhys, but I sure hope you got it all out of your system.’

The line at immigration moved forward. Rhys shuffled: feigned a contrite look and shook his head. ‘Sorry baby.’

‘I hope to God you aren’t planning on ruining our holiday like you just ruined everyone’s flight; especially mine.’

‘It’s not like I planned it.’

Rhonda glared at him until he reluctantly met her gaze. ‘It looked exactly like you planned it. Like it was scripted.’

Rhys laughed. ‘Get serious.’

‘Do I like look I’m joking?’

They inched forward again as another visitor had their passport stamped by a serious looking individual in a khaki uniform. ‘I’ll behave myself. I promise. I won’t put a foot wrong for the rest of the trip, and If I do it will be entirely unintentional.’

‘I’ll give you entirely intentional,’ she said before punching his arm.

Rhys had overdone it on the plane. Rhonda had simply ignored him, as had Deep Voice, even when Rhys had lowered his seat right onto the guys lap. The flight attendants remonstrated with him with every drink they brought him, as did every passenger whom he bumped into in his way to and back from the lavatory. During a quieter moment he had decided to try something else. Even though he had no original thoughts on how to force this break up, he managed to delude himself otherwise. Next was the flirt. He searched the adjacent queues on either side of theirs until he found something pleasing to his eye, then stared. Eventually Rhonda noticed his concerted attention and followed his gaze.

‘Don’t stare Rhys,’ she said. ‘It’s rude.’

‘Do you think her breasts are real?’

‘Do you think that’s any of your business or of any interest to me?’

‘I never asked about yours,’ said Rhys suddenly turning back to Rhonda, to her face first then to her chest and quickly back again.

‘I gave you plenty of chances to find out for yourself, dumbo.’

‘I’m going to go and ask her.’

They shuffled forward. ‘Ask her what?’

Rhys offered no reply, and before Rhonda could protest or grab his arm to hold him back, he was in the next line chatting to the woman who may or may not have had breast implants. He started with a smile and a quip; ‘I want to hedge my bets for the fast lane.’ She rewarded him with a smile which revealed she had spent a small fortune at the dentist.

‘Your teeth are amazing,’ he said. She thanked him. ‘I’ve had so much trouble with my teeth. I was thinking about ditching them all and starting again, but I can’t afford it.’

The woman nodded. The line moved again. Rhys waved at Rhonda who had not moved. ‘Your wife? Girlfriend?’

‘Can you keep a secret?’

She frowned an impossibly cute frown. ‘Yes.’

‘It’s our farewell tour.’

The woman’s frown deepened into something less appealing; something suspiciously like dim wittedness. ‘She brought me on this holiday to dump me.’

‘That’s horrible.’

‘Anyway, we were talking about how much your breasts cost.’

Rhys wasn’t sure what he was looking at now, but he didn’t like it. He liked it even less when it hit him in the face. ‘Arsehole!’

As he walked quickly back to join Rhonda he avoided looking at her and also tried not to laugh. Maybe he was losing his mind. His behaviour was further out to sea than he’d ever travelled, but instead of being concerned, he felt pleased; almost delirious. This was fun. Back in the queue, he received a pinch from Rhonda, then turned to smile at the woman behind him.‘She has trouble controlling me,’ he said.

The woman stared at him just long enough for Rhys to receive a mixed signal. Open to interpretation, he opted for the most self-gratifying explanation. He lowered his voice and leaned towards the woman who took a small step backwards. ‘Maybe you could do a better job.’ He winked and cringed.

‘The line is moving,’ she said.

Rhys turned and followed Rhonda who had moved a few paces forward courtesy of a whole family passing through the checkpoint. There were only two people in front of them now. Rhys had always thought he was charming. Always believed he was cool and impressive in a very masculine way. He’d never really tried out his skill though. Previously successes had been accidental. Even meeting Rhonda had been a case of serendipity. With the fireworks going off all around them, he’d never really had to try to win Rhonda’s heart. It seemed she was a ripe mango swaying on the tree. Open to love with all its mystery and adventure. Rhys was more like an overripe banana. Why was he thinking in fruit metaphors? It sounded ludicrous. It matched his sentiment.

Rhonda was very quiet, no doubt upset by his behaviour. A tiny seed of remorse threatened to bud in his heart. He wasn’t really a mean person. Not intentionally, though he was aware he lacked sensitivity. He was, as he had so amply portrayed on the plane, quite intolerant. He was even intolerant of himself sometimes. This moment felt like one of those times. As people do when they are trying to avoid awkwardness, Rhys brush stroked the silence with inane small talk.

‘That was a relatively quick march.’

‘It didn’t take long at all.’

‘Soon we will be out of the airport and in Bali.’

Rhonda finally turned her head and sighed. ‘Where do you think this airport is?’

A few clever quips sprang to mind, but Rhys held his tongue. His strategy, mixed and haphazard as it was, appeared to be having some impact. The decision now was whether to back off, maintain, or escalate. By following every little impulse, each mischievous prompting, he was not only wearing Rhonda down but also having fun. However, it was important to manage the timing.

They walked from the terminal out on to the concourse and were immediately assailed by a gang of hawkers. Rhonda was ready to talk turkey until Rhys reminded her they had pre booked a shuttle to the hotel. After a brief search they located their driver who was holding a handwritten sign with their names on it. While the driver led them to his vehicle, Rhys looked around, admiring the collection of ladies; both local and foreign. Rhonda ignored him, but he only cared a little bit.

At the Bali Dynasty Resort, Rhonda returned to her bubbly self, gushing about the lavish lobby bursting with greenery as it was, interspersed with gleaming marble and brass. Large wooden blade overhead fans moved the air around just enough to take the edge of the humidity. The peaceful and elegant tropical ambience seeped into Rhys’s bones calming the poltergeist within. He would lay off the bad boyfriend routine for a while, if for no other reason than he didn’t want to blow the holiday to hell too soon.

‘How good is this place!’ he said as they followed the porter to the far end of the foyer and into the elevator. Rhonda rewarded his new found positivity by taking hold of his hand and squeezing it. He kissed her cheek. She grabbed his face and forced her lips onto his. He nearly fainted. The discreet porter stepped from the lift when they door opened and quietly asked them to follow him. Rhys had trouble walking straight. ‘How good is this place!’ he said again.

It was normal for a natural wonder to far exceed the muted beauty displayed in photographs. Hotel rooms were a different story. Rhys braced for the disappointment as the porter opened the door. The first thing which always struck him upon entering a new hotel room was how much smaller they were in reality. The air conditioning had been running for some time; providing a perfectly comfortable interior which was tastefully furnished and not overcrowded. The bed was huge. A king which Rhys knew was two doubles cleverly conjugated. Beyond the bed sat a sofa which housed a pull out bed. Rhys had checked that. In case the bed was too small or if he should decide that he simply would not be able to sleep with Rhonda so close. He gulped, wondering how he was going to avoid nature taking its course. Still recovering from the forceful passion of Rhonda’s elevator kiss, Rhys began to seriously doubt his ability to resist. If he surrendered, all would be lost. He would be stuck.

‘Enjoy your stay,’ said the porter quietly before slipping away to allow the door to close softly on Rhys and Rhonda. The former ambled over to the double-glazed sliding doors which opened on to the balcony exposing a panoramic view of the ocean, the latter flopped on the bed and flipped around like a fish out of water. Rhys tried not to think about tsunamis. This was so stupid. He imagined his mates telling him what a dick he was to be trying to avoid what everyman lived for. They’d crap on about silver platters and looking gift horses in the mouth, and with every attempt to damn him with clichés, he’d find himself weakening. A rushing wall of water was on its way.

‘Let’s go for a swim!’ he said, wanting to get out of the room before wondering how on earth seeing Rhonda in her bikini was going to do anything to cool the fire in his loins. A voice in his head told him to get it over and done with. She wants it. You want it. What are you waiting for? What was he waiting for?

‘Sure’ said Rhonda, springing from the bed to land beside her suitcase which she tipped on its belly and ripped its zipper, opening it. She quickly found her bikini: the royal blue one. Rhys loved that colour on her. Loved it. Before he could say anything, she disappeared into the bathroom mercifully choosing to change out of sight. In his heightened testosterone fueled condition his imagination was more than capable of compensating.

When Rhonda emerged from the bathroom looking like a goddess or a sexy queen or something impossibly tanatalising, Rhys averted his eyes, then turned away.

‘Something wrong baby?’ she said. ‘This is your favourite.’ She was moving closer breathing her words. ‘I could take it off if you don’t like it.’ When her breasts pushed into his back, Rhys felt his knees tremble. He was about to turn and take what she was offering, close to letting her feel how much he wanted her, on the verge of exploding. Her hand slid down from his stomach to hit the target. Rhys leapt out of her embrace.

‘Fuck Rhys!’ she said.

He looked at her face, but did not see what he expected.

‘Why?’ she said, her voice crumbling, tears welling in her eyes. ‘Why?’

Rhys had never felt more guilty or stupid, or whatever the hell crazy mix of foolishness this was. Rhonda’s wounded expression quickly gave way to anger. ‘Fuck you!’ She shoved him in the chest, snatched up her towel and tote bag before storming out of the room. Rhys might have called out to her; to apologize, to beg her to stay, to say anything, but he was too busy collapsing on the floor in exhausted impotence. ‘Fuck Rhys!’

Mayor Hidey Seek

Mayor Hidey Seek

by

Mitchell Grabois

Her mama named her Ivana because the name would make her rich. There was nothing else around to pull that trick. Ivana went to the Gracie Mansion looking for Donald Trump, but her teacher told her: This ain’t where he lives.

My dentist kicked me out, not out of her office, but out of the  luxury condo we shared. From up high we could see cars drive through like baby teeth fleeing childhood. We drank martini’s and watched. I could go back to her office if I want to open my mouth to unendurable pain, but I don’t think I can do that. I suffer from Fear Itself.

This is where the mayor lives. The mayor, yeah, thought Ivana, the man that owns where she lives, all the buildings crawling with people like ants, where she sleeps in one room with her seven brothers and sisters and her mama and her boyfriend on torn mattresses.

You’re a baby, a wimp, a coward, my girlfriend, my dentist accuses. That’s all true, I say. What’s your point?
Gracie Mansion. She’s gonna tell the mayor to do something about the rats. She hates rats. Mist’ Mayor, give em a place of their own. A rat mansion.

There are heroes in Iraq and Afghanistan, she continues, and continues and continues, and every day the shrapnel pierces them, roadside bombs blow off limbs and give them closed head injuries, and you--you won’t have a silly root canal.

She’s lookin’ for the Mayor, lookin' for signs, lookin' for the Criminal Minds guys that guard him, keep him safe, keep him away from the serial killers and the perverts who lurk everywhere, who rape you or send you into free fall some other way.

I have no defense. I have to admit she’s right. All I have to fear is fear itself, but that fear towers above me like a monolith about to fall and crush me.

But Ivana doesn’t see them. The Mayor’s nowhere in sight. All her teacher shows them is stuff she calls “elegant.” Ivana’s mind tries to computes pawn value, but the numbers in her head don’t go that high.

Even if I had an attorney, I’d have no defense. I only hope she relents, blunts her own judgments, finds some mercy for this poor dental sinner.

Back home, Ivana sees two men in her building knife fighting. She sees a crack pipe on the bathroom floor. Ivana feels it: she is becoming the place. The Mayor is hiding. That’s his name, another girl on the tour says. Mayor Hidey Seek.

Bio

Mitchell Krockmalnik Grabois has had over twelve-hundred of his poems and fictions appear in literary magazines in the U.S. and abroad. He has been nominated for numerous prizes.  His novel, Two-Headed Dog, based on his work as a clinical psychologist in a state hospital, is available for Kindle and Nook, or as a print edition. To see more of his work, google Mitchell Krockmalnik Grabois. He lives in Denver.

My Yard, My Rules.

This is the second in the series of "commemorative" stories. Not quite cricket season yet, but it's getting close, so here's one for the lovers of the greatest game of all.

Shout out to Alfie Dog's chief, Rosemary Kind. Thank you and good luck for the future. Check out Rosemary's novel The Orphan Train. I highly recommend it. Here is the first in a series of my short stories which she loved, and made available to short fiction fans around the world.

My Yard, My Rules

by

D.A. Cairns

Jimmy really didn’t want to go. He really didn’t, but faced with a choice between going or staying  home and helping his mum and little sister bake cookies, he took the least bad option. It wasn’t that he didn’t like cookies. He loved them. Could have easily eaten every packet which found its way into their home and every single warm and delicious smelling one that came out of the oven. Jimmy just did not want to make them. He would rather eat broccoli for breakfast everyday for a week than bake anything.

           

‘Are you coming or not Jimmy?’

Jack was Jimmy’s big brother. The destination he was so eager to reach was Theo’s house. It was a small ramshackle house on a corner block with nothing to recommend it except a very big, well grassed and flat backyard. Every summer it was the place to be. The neighbourhood kids would flock there each day after school and all across the weekend to play cricket. The nearest park was ten minutes drive away; too far to walk unless you were an Olympian, but who needed a park when they had Theo’s big backyard.

           

‘Yeah,’ said Jimmy with all the enthusiasm of a cat sleeping by a warm fire on a cold night. ‘I’m coming.’

           

The two brothers walked four blocks to Theo’s house, opened the front gate, strolled through to the side gate, opened it and proceeded down the side path, just like it was their own home. If Theo’s parents had any problem with the constant flow of children to and from their backyard, nobody knew about it. In fact, nobody knew for sure if Theo actually had parents because no one had ever seen or heard them, although it was highly unlikely, thought Jimmy, that Theo would have had the skill or the motivation to mow the yard. The pitch in particular would have done the nation’s leading curators proud.

           

‘G’day Jack,’ called Theo, looking up briefly before resuming his crouching position over the bat ready to face the bowler. The game had already started.

           

Jimmy looked around the yard, searching for a friendly face. Of course he knew all the kids; mostly boys Jack’s age or a bit older and a couple of girls who could not play and strangely seemed more interested in the boys than the game. Unfortunately Jimmy didn’t exactly like any of them. Maybe it was because they picked on him if  they bothered talking to him at all. Some times they just completely ignored him. Jimmy sighed and Jack left him to take up a catching position at silly mid on.

           

‘You’ll get hit there,’ warned Theo with a smile.

           

‘She’ll be right, Theo,’ said Jack. ‘More likely you’ll be out next ball!’

           

‘No close in fielders today,’ replied Theo.

           

Jack stood up straight, hands on his hips and stared at Theo. Jimmy thought his big brother looked very threatening. He had seen that posture before and always surrendered because he knew what would follow if he did not. Theo, however was nobody’s little brother. He was an only child.

           

‘My yard, my rules!’ announced Theo loudly and proudly.

           

Jimmy groaned inwardly. Typical Theo. Jack pumped his fist upwards towards Theo and backed away. ‘You’ll still be out next ball.’

           

The bowler who had waited patiently through the tense confrontation between Jack and Theo now began his approach to the crease. Jimmy watched Shah sprint in from twenty metres back, plant his foot in line with the stumps and then, with a whirlwind action, deliver the ball from his hand right onto Theo’s bat.

           

Jimmy heard the call of ‘watch out’ at exactly the same time as the ball thumped into his chest. It knocked him onto the seat of his pants and he felt tears welling in his eyes almost immediately. He bit his lower lip and stood up quickly as Jack rushed to his side.

           

‘All right, Jimmy?’

           

Jimmy rubbed the spot on his chest which stung like crazy and nodded.

           

‘Gimme a look,’ said Jack.

           

‘Nah!,’ said Jimmy bravely, ‘She’ll be right.’

           

‘Missed chance there,’ yelled Theo, still puffing after completing a double run. ‘That takes me to fourteen.’

           

Shah was on the way back to his mark but paused to ruffle Jimmy’s hair. Jimmy pulled away despite secretly appreciating the gesture.

           

‘That was no chance,’ said Shah. ‘Pointing couldn’t have caught that one.’

           

Jimmy shrugged.

           

Shah turned and stood at his mark studying the ball as he waited for Theo to nod his readiness. Jimmy was so glad they only played with a tennis ball. He could hardly imagine what a six stitcher would have done to him. The very thought made him shudder.

           

The bowler was on his way again, a determined look plastered over his face. Jimmy watched hoping like mad that Shah would get Theo out. That was the only good thing about backyard cricket at Theo’s; watching him get out. It was like a lonely ray of sunshine on a cloudy day to watch one of his petulant performances following a dismissal, which according to Theo was never justified. Jimmy was praying for it. C’mon Shah, get him out.

           

Flying from the whirlwind, the ball bounced not more than twenty centimetres in front of Theo and went passed the edge of the bat and on to hit his shin. Theo winced and staggered forward a few steps.

           

‘Howzat!’ cried Shah, accompanied by everyone else in the field. Jack was especially enthusiastic.

           

‘Not out,’ said Theo. ‘No LBWs.’

           

‘What?’ protested Shah.

           

Jimmy watched as Shah and Jack and another boy, Mat, approached Theo. This was interesting thought Jimmy, very interesting indeed.

           

‘No umpires to rule on leg before so we can’t have it,’ said Theo.

           

‘But that was an obvious one,’ said Shah. ‘You know it!’

Theo seemed unruffled in the middle of a circle of anger. His voice was calm if perhaps a little higher pitched than usual.

           

‘My yard, my rules!’

           

For a moment it seemed as though that might have been the end of the game. Jack was so angry and frustrated that he was paralysed apart from his fist which Jimmy observed was clenching and unclenching mechanically like it had a mind of its own. Jack was thirteen and Jimmy had noticed how much he had changed over the last year. Half the time he could still be kind of cool and fun, the other half grumpy and mean, and every now and then he would just explode suddenly like a dormant volcano. You just had to get out of the way when he erupted or get smothered to death by steaming lava. Jimmy hoped that he would be a bit more controlled when he reached the big one three than big brother Jack was.

           

Finally after complaints from some of the other boys, Jack and Shah backed off and the game continued. Shah bowled his last delivery, a slower one bouncing high outside the off stump which Theo swung at and missed, and then someone called drinks. It was a good call thought Jimmy because although he had only been there for a little while and contributed nothing to the game except amusement for the others due to his misfortune, it was a hot day and he was thirsty.

           

Theo had other ideas.

           

‘One more over before drinks,’ he said.

           

Jimmy could not see how one more over could make any difference other than to make everyone thirstier. His mouth was already as dry as a handful of hot sand.

           

‘New bowler,’ called Jack.

           

‘Let the kid have a crack,’ suggested Theo.

           

All eyes were suddenly and horrifyingly on Jimmy. As he withered under the multitude of staring eyes, he tried to speak, to say thanks, but no thanks. When Shah handed him the ball and wished him luck, Jimmy’s heart and head were pounding as though they wanted to break out of his body. Jack strolled over and placed a comforting hand on Jimmy’s shoulder as he walked him back ten metres from the stumps at the non-striker’s end.

           

‘Here’s your chance, Jimmy,’ said Jack, too kindly.

           

‘I can’t even bowl properly.’

           

‘Sure you can.’

           

But I don’t wanna bowl, Jack.’

           

‘Sure you do,’ insisted his big brother while slapping his back a fraction too hard. ‘Sure you do.’

           

The walk back to the start of his run was taking longer than trying to swim through mud. It was only Jack’s firm and persistent push that kept Jimmy going.

           

‘Look,’ said Jack as they stopped. ‘Just bowl it straight. Six balls and then we can have a drink, okay?’

           

‘He’ll smash me all over the place.’

           

‘Maybe he’ll give us a catch then. You know, he’ll have a false sense of security, and get careless.’

           

Jimmy was solidly unconvinced. Jack slapped him on the back again and made Jimmy cough before he ran back to his position in the field at deep point.

           

‘C’mon Jimmy,’ he called loudly. Other voices joined in.

           

Shrinking inside and wanting to run away and hide somewhere, Jimmy rubbed his hand on his pants to get the sweat off, then stared at the ball. Maybe the ball itself could work some sort of miracle for him. Jack had said he should just bowl it straight for six balls, that’s all. That’s all, scoffed Jimmy to himself. I’ll be lucky to get even one ball on the pitch.

           

More cheers of encouragement filled his ears but he wasn’t sure if they were sincere or not. More likely, they were waiting to laugh at his failure. He took a deep breath and closed his eyes as he squeezed the ball inside his right hand. Then he was off on a slow deliberate run up which he hoped showed concentration and serious intent to the batsman.

           

At the crease he rolled his arm over and was pleased to see the ball fly straight albeit in an awkward looking high arc. On descent to the stumps the ball was greeted by the middle of Theo’s bat, the impact sending it racing through the air, above the grass at square leg, past the fielder and into the Colourbond fence on the full. Bang!

Jimmy jumped at the sound.

           

‘Six!’ cried Theo triumphantly.

           

‘It’s four,’ said Jack. ‘Six is over and out. Universal backyard cricket rules.’

           

Theo stamped his foot. ‘We’re not in the universe. We’re in my yard and I say it’s six!’

           

‘Whatever,’ said everyone in unison except Jimmy.

           

As he received the ball from Shah via the ground after he dropped it, he was congratulating himself on bowling straight. Brimming with confidence, Jimmy marched back to his mark, turned and waited for Theo before running in to bowl. He ran faster this time, maybe too fast but he couldn’t stop now. With his eyes fixed on the target, his rolled his arm over, bent his back and let the ball go.

           

When he raised his eyes from the pitch, Theo had already played a shot but Jimmy could not see where the ball had gone. Then he heard the cries of excitement.

           

‘It’s yours Jimmy. Look up. It’s yours.’

           

‘Catch it! Catch it!’

           

Jimmy still couldn’t see the ball and the sun was burning his eyes and blinding him as he searched the sky.  Still they called to him and still he searched. How could a ball stay in the air for so long? What had happened to gravity? Where was it?

           

‘Where is it?’ said Jimmy out loud.

           

Then he saw it. Through tightly squinted eyes, he saw the furry green ball spinning in the sky directly above him. He stared at it and raised his hands. The sounds of shouting and cheering were now muted by his desperate concentration. Jimmy watched the ball descend slowly towards him, shuffled his feet and lifted his hands a little higher.

           

Someone was saying something about soft hands but Jimmy wasn’t sure what that meant. The ball suddenly reached him and hit his open hand hard. Instinctively he closed his fingers to capture it but he was too late. The ball bounced up off his palm and into the sky once more. Still, Jimmy kept his eyes glued to the ball. He took a few steps forward as it descended again and this time when the furry pelt kissed his hands he snapped his fingers around the ball like a mousetrap, and made the catch.

           

Jimmy gripped the ball tightly as he was mobbed by the others and jostled with backslaps and hugs.

           

‘You got him, Jimmy,’ said Jack breathlessly. ‘You got Theo out.’

           

‘It’s not out,’ yelled Theo. ‘It was a no ball. Chest high full toss. That’s a no ball.’

           

Jack broke from the pack of congratulators and ran for Theo. He was right up in his face before Theo knew it. ‘You’re out!’ he snarled.

           

‘No,’ said Theo calmly. ‘It was a no ball.’

           

Jack turned away in disgust as Theo said, ‘Play on. Four balls to drinks. I’m twenty not out.’

           

Jimmy was still floating and still tenaciously holding the ball in both hands as a chant blossomed in the heat. He wasn’t sure who started it but it quickly caught on like a fire through bone dry bushland.

           

‘Out! Out! Out!’

           

Everyone joined in, even Jimmy now emboldened by his success. Theo meanwhile was trying to counter the chant with his usual words of last resort, ‘My yard, my rules.’

           

Someone changed the chant to ‘Theo’s rules suck! Theo’s rules suck!’ Then, as a group, they marched off down the side of Theo’s house, through the side gate, across the front lawn, out the front gate and away down the street all the while shouting in unison, ‘Theo’s rules suck! Theo’s rules suck!’

           

One week later, the neighbourhood kids gathered for a meeting to discuss Theo’s rules. Jimmy was pleased that his debut wicket, that of the almighty Theo had been the catalyst that sparked the monumental protest, but he missed playing. Everyone wanted to play and Theo’s yard was as close to the Sydney Cricket Ground as most of them would ever get. Theo had been badgering the kids during the week, cornering them in small groups and one on one when he could, trying to convince them to come back and play. The kids all knew that Theo was pretty much only interested in himself and his delusions of glory on his personal field of dreams, so they held fast. Despite itching to resume the battle, they resisted his attempts to persuade them.

Finally, Jack and Shah assembled the gang and convinced them to play.

‘No more Theo’s rules,’ said Jack. ‘That’s the deal we take to him, all right?’

‘Right,’ said Shah. ‘It’s cricket and we play according to the laws of this magnificent game or we don’t play.’

Jimmy and a few of the others laughed at Shah’s haughty and indignant tone. They all knew how much he loved the game and so did they. Jimmy hadn’t stopped bragging about getting Theo out in his first over. Caught and bowled: the catch of the year, an absolute classic. It was the hot talking point. That, and the mass walk out which would become a legendary event in the history of the neighbourhood.

With the agreement of all those assembled, Jack and Shah went to talk to Theo. Jimmy tagged along just to see Theo’s face when the ultimatum was delivered. Theo might not like it, in fact, he’d probably hate it, but he needed players because cricket is not a game of solitaire.

Theo looked defiant when they arrived at his place. He was in the yard tossing a ball up for himself and whacking it against the fence. Once again, Jimmy wondered about Theo’s parents and their lack in interest in the pockmarked Colourbond fence.

‘What do you want?’ he snarled.

‘To play cricket,’ said Jack calmly.

‘Where’s everyone else?’

‘We need to make a few changes around here, Theo,’ said Shah.

‘If you want to play, you know the deal, my yard, my rules.’

Jack and Shah turned away immediately. Jimmy, suddenly and inexplicably bold, said, ‘Your rules suck!’

Theo lunged forward, but Jimmy stood his ground as Jack and Shah appeared by his side. ‘You’re a slow learner, Theo,’ said Jack. ‘Cricket rules or no cricket. That’s the deal.’

The sound of cicadas became deafening as the hot westerly wind washed the three boys. Theo was looking at the ground, scuffing at the grass with his foot, and making grumbling sounds under his breath.

‘What’s it gonna be, Theo?’ asked Shah. ‘Do you want to play with us, or with yourself?’

It seemed like such an obvious choice to Jimmy that he couldn’t figure out why Theo was stalling. ‘Come on Theo. What’s it gonna be? Are you scared I’ll get you out again?’

Theo growled but said nothing. Finally, he nodded his head while continuing to avoid their eyes as they made it crystal clear to Theo that everyone would get a fair go from now on. Or else.

Jimmy looked forward to every match, and he marvelled at his earlier reluctance. He never dropped another catch, and he, like all the other boys, had the chance to bowl and bat, and field where they wanted to. A new spirit had descended on Theo’s backyard. Everyone was a winner, and the great game of cricket was honoured. But Jimmy could still not figure out what those girls were doing there in Theo’s backyard. Maybe he would ask Jack about it one day, but for now he was going to be having way too much fun to care about anything else.

Body Hugger

Shout out to Alfie Dog's chief, Rosemary Kind. Thank you and good luck for the future. Check out Rosemary's novel The Orphan Train. I highly recommend it. Here is the first in a series of my short stories which she loved, and made available to short fiction fans around the world.

Body Hugger

by

D.A. Cairns

(first published in Alfie Dog in 2012)

Whenever and wherever the sales pitch was heard, Dave the Gadget Lover took it personally.  If they said it was all the rage and a real must have, then Dave had to have it. He was always a sucker for a new gadget, a new toy with which to amuse himself.  With a high paying, low stress job in the public service and only himself to feed, Dave had more than enough disposable income to accumulate the latest and greatest scientific novelties and technological marvels.  He had a wonderful time with his collection of innovative time-wasters.  They called them all time-savers but years and years of pouring good money down the gurgler had taught him that they saved him no time and cost him a packet of money.

     On a bright Autumn afternoon, Dave walked home from the train station through the shopping centre and past his favorite gadget shop, Dynasty 21.  He had to look twice to make sure he wasn’t dreaming when he saw the front window of the store, which was usually reserved for the most eye-catching and dynamic product currently on offer, boasted three mannequins in suits.  Worried the place had turned into a men’s fashion store, he raced inside.  The whole store heard Dave’s huge sigh of relief when he saw that everything was as it should have been.  A myriad of electronic gadgetry lined the walls and shelves.  Clocks, watches, mobile phones, pagers, heart rate monitors, mate-finders, electric shavers, toothbrushes, ear cleaners, nose hair trimmers.  The list was endless.

    Still bothered by the dressed up dummies in the window, he asked the sales assistant.

    ‘What’s with the suits in the display window?’

    ‘The latest thing...’ began the wide-eyed and clean cut young man.  Here we go again, Dave thought to himself.  How much is this one going to cost me?

    ‘It’s called,’ continued the eager sales assistant, ‘a smart suit.  It monitors your blood pressure and heart rate.  Helps regulate your body temperature.  Has a built-in internet mobile phone and personal organizer with appointment reminder service.’

    He had Dave hook, line and sinker even before his next statement.

    ‘It can even get you lined up for Saturday night, if you know what I mean,’ he said as he winked at the Gadget Lover.

    ‘You had better give me a closer look at one of those,’ said Dave, like the gullible customer he was.

    After the assistant showed him one of the smart suits and explained again all its features and a few others, like its ability to locate lost  keys, Dave tried it on and noticed it was heavier than a normal suit, but comfortable nonetheless.

    ‘It’s weighty.  What’s it made of?’ asked Dave.

    The assistant smiled widely.  ‘The latest purpose built synthetic fiber.  It generates electricity when exposed to light.’

    ‘No batteries?’

    ‘No man, it powers itself.  You can even plug your laptop into your pants.’

   Dave produced his credit card in a flash and bought himself eleven hundred dollars worth of smart suit.  In his excitement he forgot to ask how the hell you were supposed to wash it with all the circuitry sewn into it.

    On the inside of the left arm of the jacket, between the elbow and the wrist was a soft LCD display panel which he held up close to his face to cut the glare of the sun.  Dave pushed a button and heard a female voice announce the time, air temperature and his current body temperature in a deep smooth newsreader’s voice.  Very impressive.  By the time he arrived home, the suit no longer felt heavy and the Gadget Lover was so pleased with his new purchase he decided to go out, something which he never did on Monday night.  The wide-eyed fellow in the shop mentioned the suit could line a man up with a suitable woman for Saturday night but what about Monday night?

    It took some time to understand how the smart suit’s Hunter program worked but eventually Dave felt confident enough to go out and test it.  Firstly he had to find a girl who caught his eye and then touch her for at least five seconds, skin to skin.  The Hunter would analyze the DNA sample he collected from the contact and determine her compatibility rating.  Apparently a score of at least three was needed for the pursuit to be worthwhile as it indicated friendship.  Four indicated physical attraction on top of friendship, while five was marriage and children and happy ever after.

    Bristling with the kind of confidence only the self assured and self indulgent could possess, Dave the Gadget Lover headed into the city.  The local hotels would be filled with men and although he enjoyed the company of men, he was desperate to find out if his smart suit could really deliver on its promise to set him on the road to romantic paradise.  All the ladies would be in the trendy inner city clubs, sipping their fancy-named cocktails and talking about themselves, their appearance, their weight, and their love life.  It was not unreasonable for Dave to expect to score at one of these clubs even without his smart suit.  How much more chance did he stand with it?  A betting man would have happily plonked his house on the Gadget Lover getting a woman’s love within ten minutes.

     At five-thirty he rode the escalators from the platform up to the Chalmers Street exit of Central Station.  By the time Dave reached Elizabeth street, he was beginning to feel some pain in his left arm and that pain soon became sharp and insistent to the point where he was forced to stop walking. Grabbing the offending arm as if that would stop the pain he then tried to push up the sleeve of the suit to look at it.  It felt like all the hairs on his arm were being plucked out at the same time. The suit didn’t move at all as though it was glued to his arm.  In panic, Dave tried to remove the coat but he could not get his left arm out although his right arm was free and the coat was off his back, turned inside out.  He began to pull at it frantically and curse it, all the while unaware that he was attracting an audience. 

    A brave soul called out some encouragement.  ‘That’s it mate, keep fighting.  You’ll get it off in the end.’

    The crowd laughed as Dave blushed and hurriedly reinserted himself into the smart suit before sheepishly walking away from the onlookers.  The pain in his arm had stopped but the pain of embarrassment burned in his face as he continued northbound along Elizabeth Street.  Finally he arrived at the door of Lizzie’s Place, an upmarket cocktail bar normally full of smartly dressed women in the 25 to 40-year-old age bracket.

 Inside the bar was dimly lit and half full.  Dave was thirsty and more than a little unnerved by the mysterious pain in his arm.

     After ordering a Kamikaze he checked to see whether the coat slid up and down his arm easily as it should have done.  It did, but soon afterwards he felt a tingling sensation run across his back, like a light brush by a finger.  Although not an unpleasant feeling it was nonetheless unsettling as it persisted until Dave could no longer stand it and he  reached around his back to scratch it. At that moment, shooting pains attacked his right arm and it began to twitch.  Instinctively he held his right arm tightly to the bar with his left hand and decided he should leave before he lost control of himself totally.  Dave wanted to try to get the coat off but was afraid of a repeat performance of what had happened earlier.  He wondered to himself if maybe he should contact technical support for the coat, but before he could do anything, the girl of his dreams elegantly perched her tightly clad rear end on the bar stool next to Dave, and offered to buy him another drink.

   At that crucial moment, he had a choice to make and a mission to consider.  How could he refuse?  Termination now would be unacceptable, so he extended his hand to her and introduced myself, remembering to maintain at least five seconds continuous contact in order to get a reading for the Hunter.

    ‘I was just leaving actually,’ he said coolly.

    ‘Seems like I arrived just in time then, doesn’t it?’ she replied in a delicious voice.  Before withdrawing her delicate hand, she gave Dave’s a little squeeze, signaling that she wanted him.  It was too easy but he still needed to know about the compatibility factor so he discreetly wiped his hand on the sensor pad located just below his left armpit, and activated The Hunter with a subtle push of a button.

    ‘All right, I’m drinking Kamikazes.  Thank you.’

    She smiled, her full lips parting to reveal straight, unnaturally white teeth.  Appearances were obviously as important to this woman as they are to me, thought Dave.

    ‘I thought a man could only drink one Kamikaze before he was under the table.’

    ‘Most men,’ said Dave, meaning to impress her.

    A mobile phone rang and it took some time for Dave the Gadget Lover to realize it was his because he had never heard it ring before.  He pressed the answer key on the control pad and extended the speaker rod from the suit’s collar, up level with his ear. It was technical support.  Were these smart suits mind readers as well?

     ‘This a courtesy call to see if you and your new smartsuit are getting on, okay?’

     ‘That’s an interesting way of putting it,’ Dave said.

     Not wanting to have this conversation in front of his new friend, Dave excused himself and moved out of earshot.  When he explained the pain he had felt and the tingling sensation, the support guy told him not to worry because those feelings were a normal part of the smart suit working out his body rhythms.

    ‘You understand there are electrical reactions occurring in your body almost continuously as your thirteen million nerve cells and four million receptors relay information to your brain and back to all parts of your body.  The smart suit is merely working out your individual patterns so it can relate to you better.’

    Sounded like nonsense to Dave but he asked, ‘How long will these pains continue?’

    ‘Normally they occur sporadically over a twelve to twenty four hour period.’

    ‘I should have been told that when I bought the suit.’

    ‘Yes you should have.  Please don’t worry.  Your body will not suffer any permanent damage.  We guarantee it.’

    ‘You guarantee it?’ asked Dave dubiously.

    ‘Yes.’

    ‘Thank you for the call.  Good-bye.’

    Apologizing to the lady, he sat down and sipped his drink when suddenly he became aware of a beeper sounding and realized again it was the smartsuit.  The Hunter had his results, and the good news was she scored four which meant a green light for this relationship.  Dave was stoked.

    ‘Let’s go,” he said, and she simply obeyed.

    When Dave the Gadget Lover, who just got lucky stood up, he felt his right arm stiffen and then his left arm, and in a matter of seconds Dave could not move either one.  The woman noticed and asked what was going on, so he told her all about the suit and the phone call. She accepted that with a look of bemusement. Soon the painless paralysis ended and they left Lizzie’s Place but before they had taken two steps, another beeper started going off and Dave’s phone rang again. He turned off the beeper and answered the phone which was a wrong number and then had to clutch his left arm as it began twitching again.

    ‘Let’s catch a cab back to my place,’ suggested an increasingly aggravated Dave.

    She agreed, they hailed a taxi, and rode in silence for one hour back to Dave’s home in Gymea Bay.  It was clear to Dave that the woman wanted to have sex and nothing else and there was no way he would complain about that, but there remained in the back of his mind, the unanswered question as to whether he would be able to get his jacket off.  Maybe I won’t need to, he thought.  But what about my pants?  They belonged to the suit as well although he had not yet had any problems with his legs. He spoke too soon.

    The step up to the front door of Dave’s waterfront home was too much for him when his left leg started to twitch, and before he could get it under control, it turned to jelly and Dave the Gadget Lover fell in a heap on the balcony.  His lady friend laughed believing him to be drunk, and Dave laughed hard as well in a vain attempt to save face.  He was looking like a fool but on the positive side she was still there.  His smart suit had helped Dave close this deal very quickly but it was also the most likely thing to cause its failure.

    He ran into his bedroom ahead of her and tried to remove the wretched suit but that resulted in a fresh outbreak of beepers and buzzers, until he stopped trying to remove it.  She called to him from the hall where he had rudely left her, so he hurried back and immediately kissed her passionately on the lips.  Then the suit started tickling him and he began to laugh and squirm.  Initially she laughed with him but when Dave failed to stop after they broke physical contact, her laugh downgraded to a smile and then died to a frown.

   Dave the Gadget Lover stood there helplessly as the suit made his arms swing up and down in an exaggerated marching fashion.  She stood there, stunned and motionless, her mouth wide open and her chest heaving.  This is absolute madness, Dave thought to himself as he experienced a total loss of independent movement.  Finally she had seen enough and without even a smile or a wave she left him there with his smart suit which was making him feel like a bloody idiot, and had just started to squeeze him.  It was like being hugged except the suit could embrace much more of his body at once than any two arms.

    ‘Stop it!’ ordered Dave.  ‘Stop it right now and let go of me.’

    More bells and beeping sounds followed his command, this time increasing in pitch and frequency, which Dave took to mean the suit was not going to obey his wishes.  Again he tried frantically to remove it, the jacket first then the pants, but it was hopeless and he found himself unable to suppress the rage which was boiling inside his veins.  Dave the Gadget Lover cursed his so called smartsuit for its stupidity, in a voice no softer than a scream and he used words he never used and he exhausted every last ounce of energy desperately trying to remove the suit, or at least stop it from squeezing him because it was killing him.

    The sudden realization that he was being killed by his clothing would have been funny if it weren’t so terrifyingly real.  He began to have trouble drawing breaths as the pressure on his chest increased and he started to sweat, but when he wiped some sweat off his forehead he discovered it was blood.  Death was upon him and there would be no escape.  This wonderful technology had either malfunctioned or maliciously designed to destroy his life by extracting the very breath from his lungs.

    It’s killing me, thought Dave, as he felt himself losing consciousness, and he said a prayer without believing it or knowing why.  The final pathetic cry for help of a doomed man with nothing to lose by asking for the help of a God whose existence he had denied his whole life.

     When Dave woke up, a comforting warmth bathed him and he savored it. There was a powerful sense of rightness, a deep sense of belonging soaking into his skin like the ultimate healing balm. Dave smiled with the realization that he was physically all right. He had survived. His closed and his smile broadened. A voice invaded his bliss.

      ‘How do you like those smartsuits, eh?’

      There was laughter in that voice but not ridicule. Dave opened his eyes and saw a familiar face, dazzling yet not unbearable. Awesome but not frightening. The sound of many waters spoke again, ‘Welcome home Dave.’

The Devil Wears a Dressing Gown

I've recently released a collection of short stories called The Devil Wears a Dressing Gown. It features both previously published and unpublished stories.

To celebrate its release, and to entice you to buy the collection, I thought I would share some of the stories here.

Gravel Rash

by

D.A.Cairns

‘Don’t fall and get gravel rash.’

     The voice was unfamiliar, maybe imaginary, but the message was well known to him. From the first day he had pedalled free of the training wheels attached to his new bike, Brendon’s mum had warned him and worried for him, with those words. All kids crash their bikes and rip up their knees. Brendon had the scars to prove his childhood bravado just like most of his friends. No big deal. He always replied to his mum that he would be fine and usually he was.

     Did he really hear someone say that to him just now? He was alone, wasn’t he? Gravel crunched and jostled beneath the tyres as he rode through Lakeside Park on his way home from work. Had he started the trip after dark, he would have ridden the long way home but an extra fifteen minutes to avoid the park was fifteen minutes he wasn’t willing to give up tonight. He had a date. Samantha Ewells had finally said yes.

     Daylight was being folded away like a piece of paper soon to be imprisoned in the darkness of an envelope. Brendon pedalled harder. He would probably make it through the park and reach the freeway before the black night began to reign but he maintained his pace, even ramped it up a little. There was no way he was going to be late home tonight. He had to make up time. That truck was to blame. The one which arrived late at the Toyota dealership, around the corner from the depot, to unload its cargo of new Camrys. The whole road was blocked for ten minutes as the driver made numerous attempts to reverse the truck into the lot. Brendon had sat there staring at it and tapping anxiously on the steering wheel. Wondering why him, why tonight and trying to not to think of having to make Samantha wait. She might not wait. He had cursed under his breath as he waited impatiently. Must have been a new driver. Inexperienced.

     Now he was running late. Running out of time. This was an experience that Brendon could have done without. He had heard stories about people going missing in Lakeside Park. Everyone said it was no place to be after the sun had gone down. The only ones to disregard the danger were the drunken fools and deviates who frequented the park in order to debauch and destroy themselves under the cover of darkness. Brendon would have happily avoided them for the rest of his life.

     In the quiet of the dusk, the only sounds were Brendon’s heavy breathing, a squeak from the pedals on each revolution, and the chuckle of the gravel underneath his tyres.

     ‘Be careful of gravel rash.’

     Brendon’s first instinct was to stop and listen closely without audible interference but fear kicked in and pushed him on. Was he hearing things? The gravel seemed looser, less willing to support and carry his weight, and he struggled at times to control the handlebars and stay on course. The night was black and heavy now. The acacias which lined the track leaned in closer to him, whispering seditiously. He flicked on his night light which was perched in the centre of the handlebars, but the battery was so low it barely reached the spinning tip of his front tyre. Hot, sweaty and panicking he wondered how much farther to the freeway? He looked up for a moment but could not see through the opaque gloom. Suffocating gloom. That was what he felt. This was bad. Very bad.

     ‘Don’t fall. You’ll get gravel rash.’

     ‘Shut up!’ yelled Brendon frantically at his invisible taunter. ‘Shut up!’

     Forcing himself to concentrate on controlling the bike, afforded Brendon some peace from the persistent paranoia, but some one was watching him. He knew it. Somehow keeping up with him. One of those perverted pariahs who lived in the park was teasing him, tormenting him.

     He felt the front of the bike dip suddenly and then rise again as though he had ridden through a pothole. His left hand was jolted free of the handlebar grip but he quickly re established a firm hold. The knowlegde that he must be nearing the edge of the park, encouraged Brendon and strengthened his aching legs. He imagined he could now see the headlights of vehicles flickering through the trees as they roared southbound along the F6. Then he realised he was sinking.

     A violent and immediate stop catapulted Brendon over the handlebars and onto the gravel path. Having somehow managed to maintain a one handed grip on the handlebar, he pulled the bike down on top of him as he fell and it landed pedal first against his chest.

     Too stunned to move initially, Brendon just lay there. Insistent and angry pain advised him that he was still alive. A gush of air left his lungs as he exhaled, then he coughed for a minute or two, wincing with each contraction of his diaphragm. As he pushed the bike off himself, he felt the rough gravel nibbling at the skin around the back of his neck and calves. A strong sucking sensation against his right knee caused a new burst of pain as the sharp edges of the gravel cut his skin. He heard a sound close to him. Very close. A murmur. Low and indistinct. Garbled as though someone was talking with a mouthful of food.

     No longer pinned by his bike, Brendon tried to wrest himself free of the disturbingly soft gravel but the more he twisted the tighter he was held. If he could have he would have screamed for help but the only sound to escape his mouth was a pathetic mumble. If he could have he would have kept fighting his unseen enemy but fear immobilised him. His very last thought as the gravel swallowed him alive and crushed him, was that if only that truck had not blocked the road, he would have been home now getting ready for his date with Samantha instead of dying alone in Lakeside Park.

     Just before his head disappeared beneath the rippling surface of the gravel track, he heard the voice again, ‘I warned you about gravel rash, didn’t I?’