2682. A special doll

Well, yes. People say that my little girl is a bit “different” but I don’t really like to admit to it. She’s all of seven and I like to think of her as just a normal little girl.

I’m managing okay – I think. Her mother died when she was five. Rather tragically in a car accident. For her seventh birthday I gave my daughter a doll. What the hell does a guy like me know about buying a doll? Anyway I got one but apparently it didn’t come with all the right clothes. She liked the doll nonetheless. But I got some of my late wife’s old dresses and took it to a dressmaker with the doll’s dimensions and asked her if she could make a couple of sets of doll’s clothes.

That was a couple of weeks ago, and the doll’s clothes arrived. They are perfect. In fact I nearly cried when I saw them on the doll. The little doll so looked like my late wife – especially with the fabric of her clothes now on the doll.

Just yesterday I heard my daughter playing with her doll in her room. She was talking to it. It caught me off guard because I could hear my late wife’s voice answering back. So I peeped in through the open door and my daughter was talking to the doll. It was quite sweet.

And then the doll answered back. It was my wife’s voice.

2594. Scrawny little twerp

James was at high school and didn’t have a girlfriend as such. All the others seemed to have a girlfriend or a boyfriend. Maybe not all; Cora Jones didn’t seem to have a boyfriend and she was the one that James liked the most. With the school dance coming up he had to invite someone but he was too scared to ask Cora in case she said no. So he put it off.

Then with just two days left to go he had to ask someone. He just had to. He hated the thought. He’d rather have a Chemistry test and he hated Chemistry. There was no way out. He had to; he just had to; had to; had to.

Going up to Cora Jones he asked her point blank if she would like to go with him to the dance.

“Who do you think I am, you scrawny little twerp?” said Cora. “Don’t you know I’m going with Nigel Wolland? At least he’s got a personality; and looks. And at least he’s partially co-ordinated enough to dance. So no. Bad luck, loser.”

James went home and the next three days he called in sick. He was glad Cora Jones said no. Imagine having to go out with someone like her. He didn’t go to the dance. He stayed home and watched television.

Repeat of Story 134: Veljka alights

(Today we begin a week or so of repeats. These stories are not necessarily the best, or the most popular, or the ones I like. I’ve chosen them fairly much at random so I can have the week off! This story, “Veljka alights”, first appeared on this blog on 21 February 2014. Some of you faithful followers who read and commented on this story back then are now old and haggard. Enjoy!)

Veljka began to notice Ramon at school. She was becoming quite infatuated by him; his good looks, his intelligence, his laugh, his sportsmanship, his studiousness, his jovial conversations. He was beautiful. But he hardly noticed her. She noticed him, saw him, heard him, all the time. She would sit in the back corner of the classroom paying little attention to the lessons. Her eyes were on Ramon.

How natural and lovely he was when he chatted away – to everyone but Veljka it seemed. She wasn’t part of his group. For the annual school dance, he asked Cassandra to be his date. Cassandra was a nice person. Veljka wasn’t the jealous sort. But it made her sad.

One day, Veljka was on the bus and Ramon got on. The bus was full, except for one seat next to Veljka. Ramon sat next to her. Their knees accidentally touched. Veljka’s heart raced. She thought she would burst. She thought she would die. She thought she would faint. She thought she would stop breathing. Ahhhh! He didn’t take his knee away.

“How’s it going?” said Ramon.

“Ah, ah, oh,” said Veljka.

“Tell me,” said Ramon, “is your hair naturally that shade? I notice it all the time at school.”

All the time! All the time! “Yes,” said Veljka. “It’s natural. But I was thinking of dyeing it.”

“Don’t dye it,” said Ramon. “It’s beautiful. I notice you all the time.”

Notice me! Notice me!

Ramon left the bus. “Catch you later,” he said.

“See you,” said Veljka. She got off the bus at the next stop. She had overrun her home stop by seventeen minutes. She danced the eight miles home.

1438. Grape harvest

Tristram was all of eighteen and he was there to help his uncle pick the grapes in his uncle’s not-particularly huge vineyard. Although it was a not-particularly huge vineyard, it still took a good week to harvest the grapes.

There was a house on the vineyard that was rented out. That was where Mr and Mrs Johnson lived with their daughter, Katie. Tristram thought Katie was rather stunning but she took no notice of him.

It was hard on the back bending over to pick the grapes, and hard on the knees if one crouched. Tristram devised a one-legged stool that he tied around his waist and loins. That way he could stand, move and sit, stand, move and sit, along the rows of vines. He looked like a wasp with a great big proboscis sticking out of his bottom.

Katie came out of the house and saw him. She laughed and laughed and laughed. You’re all invited to their Golden Wedding Anniversary party this coming Saturday.

Poem 67: Broken branches

The wind that broke the branch
forced it to twist and dance before
it died. And what is more,
it stripped it to the core and slashed
its leaves and bark, and bashed
it ‘til it snapped and crashed upon
the ground. Its life had gone.
Death ended all the fun the wind
enjoyed.

The young girl danced at his
command; her captor’s wish;
his power; his lust; a dish; spittoon;
his weekly afternoon
delight. She fell quite soon. He spread
her legs and shot her dead,
a bullet to the head. He’ll get
another bit of meat next time
he goes to town.

(The form of this poem is based on the Vietnamese Luc bat. The poem was “driven” by the abduction of 110 schoolgirls by Boko Haram in the Nigerian town of Dapchi).

To hear the poem read aloud click HERE.

1060. Church dance

Gunson wasn’t keen to go to the annual parish dance. They’re all into religion, said Gunson. Going to church was the last thing on his mind when he went to a dance.

You’re all of nineteen, said his mother, and it’s work, work, work. All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy.

So Gunson grudgingly put on his best semi-casual attire and went to the dance. He walked into the church hall and there was Cressida! Cressida! He’d never laid eyes on her before. She was radiant. She was the best thing since sliced bread. He asked her for a dance, and they danced all evening.

How was it? asked his mother the next morning.

It was alright, mumbled Gunson.

A few weeks later, Gunson’s mother was puzzled.

I can’t understand why you’ve started going to church on Sundays, she said.

704. Anyway, there was this girl

Anyway, there was this girl. I had only just met her the night before, at a party at the surf club. Not that I belonged to the surf club but anyone could go to the beach party, and since I was staying at the beach for a week or so over summer I went to the party. And I met this girl.

And the next day we accidently ran into each other again, and we were lying next to each other on our towels on the sand. We were sunbathing. And I asked her if she could rub some suntan lotion on my back, hoping of course that one thing would lead to another. Not on the beach mind, but later somewhere or something. So she rubbed the suntan lotion on my back, and I had to make sure I didn’t turn over because that could’ve been embarrassing, with me in my speedos.

And then she asked me to rub suntan lotion on her back and the strings to the top part of her bikini were undone and I had to turn over but what the heck, these things are just natural anyway. So I did that and we were lying down again when this big muscular freak came ambling up the beach like he owned it. And he was one of the surf life-savers who spend three quarters of their day in the gym and the other quarter hoping people wouldn’t drown. And he kicked sand all over my back, which was greasy from the suntan lotion.

Well, I thought I’d better not make a fuss, because of the girl. I wanted her to see how nice I really was. And the guy came back and kicked more sand, and this time at the girl as well. So I said, “What did you do that for?” and he just laughed and said, “Go fuck yourself.”

Then the girl said, “Why didn’t you stand up for me, you wimp?” and I said I was just trying to be nice.

So the girl upped and left and ran after the muscular surfer, and as far as I know they went into the back of the surfing club building, and whatever-her-name-is and the surfer have been doing it for the last half hour.

Listen the story being read HERE!

665. It’s a boy!

© Bruce Goodman 6 August 2015

Moira and Archie had five daughters: Muriel, Betty, Grace, Mary, and Eunice. They loved their daughters greatly, but sort of hoped for a son. Don’t get me wrong; if they had five sons they would’ve hoped for a daughter.

Archie read and practised everything he could find to increase the chances of creating a boy. He drank lots of coffee before doing the deed. Apparently coffee greatly excited the male spermatozoa and they swam to the egg in an enthusiastic sprint.

He ate less fruit and vegetables because little X-chromosomes liked their fruit and vegetables too much. In fact, he had a strictly alkaline diet because little Y-chromosomes disliked acid. He upped his intake of sodium and potassium, and of calcium and magnesium. He consulted the Chinese Lunar Calendar. He hit the chocolate, because according to the copy of Women Today and Yesterday in the dentist’s waiting room, skinny people produce girls.

And you know what? It worked! It worked! They had a boy! This was a few years back.

Today, David (or Davinia as she is now known) is the apple of her father’s eye.