A short story written about 1990. 15 minutes reading time.
[I wrote this story in a single sitting, on the bus back from the Seattle opera following a performance of Wagner’s Percival. I thought that, for most of us, relationships are far less dramatic than Wagner’s operas, and yet they are still consequential. This was my attempt to write a story of an ordinary emotional dilemma.]
Piter walked into the small kitchen and put his coffee cup besides the dishes from last night’s meal. The porcelain sink was chipped and a thin crack above the greasy water was etched black. Piter, pulled out the plug and grimaced at his greasy hand, ‘shit.’ He crossed the worn wood floor to the bathroom and washed his hands, then noticed there was no towel. He wiped his hands on his blue jeans, put on his coat, slammed the apartment door and ran down the stairs to the street.
An old Ford pulling into the intersection was blared at by an approaching van. Under a papier mache sky a sporadic wind shook the now leafless trees, which rained onto their sodden leaves. Across the street an old woman in a grey coat raked her lawn. An old man with an umbrella stopped to speak with her. Piter knew none of his neighbours. His coat flapping in the wind gusts and splattered by the tree’s rain, he walked to the corner and crossed against the light.
When Agnes came home through the dark afternoon she carried a large bag of groceries. The street lights glistened on her bright yellow Mac as her tired feet trod carefully between the sidewalk puddles. At the house door she held open her purse with one hand, manipulating the door without putting down the groceries. As she went into the kitchen she said, ‘damn,’ put the groceries on the floor by the fridge, went into the front room and turned on the TV news.
An hour later, Piter hesitated before opening the door. ‘Hi.’
Angie didn’t look up, ‘You could’ve done the dishes.’
‘I’ll do them now.’
‘It’s so disheartening coming home to this mess.’ She looked up but Piter’s back was to her.
‘Piter?’
‘Yes?’ He turned around.
‘Let’s be nice to each other tonight.’
Piter looked at Agnes, her face wan below short, almost black hair, her nose a little to the left, her slightly overweight body and her red rubber boots.
‘OK, I’m sorry’, he flashed a wan smile, ‘I’ve been a bit depressed with nothing to do all day.’
‘Come sit by me.’
‘Just let me clean up first.’ He touched her shoulder lightly and went into the kitchen.
Agnes sighed, and slipped off her boots, carrying them to the door. She picked up her bright yellow Mac from the floor and hung it above the boots. She looked out of the window at the diagonal rain.
With much clattering, and one broken glass, Piter got the dishes done quickly. Picking up a stained cloth he stood at the kitchen door.
‘What should I do about this cloth; it looks like time to throw it out.’
‘You’re in charge of the kitchen Piter, don’t ask me.’
‘But I don’t know that kind of thing.’
‘I don’t want to come home from work and talk about rags.’
Piter went back into the kitchen and wiped down the stove and counter with the cloth and put on the kettle.
‘Do you want a coffee?’ he called.
‘I want a special coffee.’
Piter came to the kitchen door as Agnes lifted a small bottle out of her purse. ‘Amaretto!’
Piter crossed the room, leaned down and gave Agnes a hug, kissing her on the lips, cheek, nose, forehead and hair. ‘Thank you, sweet love,’ he said. ‘Being in the house all day doesn’t give much reason to be joyful. I’m glad it’s you that comes home to me each night.’
‘More kisses,’ said Agnes.
Piter got up and made Agnes breakfast. After scraping it off, he kept the burnt toast for himself. When Agnes left for work at 8.15, he did the dishes and swept the front room. When he went into the bedroom he saw that Agnes had fixed the bed and set the two cushions she’d made against the headboard. He went out into the rain at 9am.
Agnes phoned at lunchtime but got no answer.
Piter ate his sandwiches at the back of the library where he couldn’t be seen. The papers had no jobs he could apply for. He had looked at Maclean’s, Beautiful BC, and a skiing magazine, but finished none of the articles. As he folded his sandwich bag, a pretty young woman pushed a cart of books around the nearest stack. Piter self consciously cleared the crumbs off the table as she began to stack the books. He wished he had shaved that morning.
‘I come here most days to look at the job ads,’ he said.
‘I was doing that until last week,’ she said.
‘Oh.’
She paused from stacking the books, ‘I know how hard it is to get a job,’ she said sympathetically.
‘There’s nothing,’ said Piter
‘I finished library school three years ago and I’ve only worked a year since. This job’s only temporary’.
‘Well I hope for your sake it lasts.’
‘Thanks.’
Piter had been a sporadic searcher for work, but for the next two weeks he went to the library daily- at about the same time and carefully shaven.
Piter arrived at Sally’s with a bottle of wine. Agnes was at her weekly woman’s meeting.
‘Ah, you’re early. I was just putting dinner in the oven.’
Piter sat in the kitchen watching Sally’s hips moving beneath her tight wool dress.
‘I’ve got some wine.’ He gave Sally the bottle.
‘It looks very expensive; you shouldn’t have spent all your money.’
‘Well I didn’t bring anything last time and you went to so much trouble.’
‘That was my one sure-fire dish; now I’m afraid you’ll be getting something more typical of my hit and miss style,’ she smiled.
‘I should have brought the wine last time.’
Sally laughed, and gently touched his arm.
After eating a slightly burned risotto, they moved onto the couch with the remains of the wine. Sally slipped off her shoes and sat with her stockinged legs on the couch. Piter touched her knee. They both put down their glasses.
Occasional clouds drifted past the waxing moon as Piter stood on the corner of Sally’s street. He was already twenty minutes late. Tonight he was sure Sally would let him sleep with her- but he hadn’t told her that he lived with Agnes. His chest was painful. He wanted Sally’s soft breasts, which he had felt through her wool dress. He imagined them mohair soft.
‘You’re late.’
‘I missed the bus,’ he put a cheaper bottle of wine on the table.
‘You look a little depressed.’
‘I’m going to lose my unemployment money.’
‘What will you do?’
‘I might have to get a job,’ he tried to make more than a thin laugh.
‘Poor you,’ Sally said tenderly.
Piter lowered his eyes.
Later he lay next to Sally in her small bed. Their love making had been ineffectual. He had come unexpectedly; she had not had an orgasm. Sally’s hand slowly and repetitively stroked his thigh. It was becoming aggravating. He put his hand on hers.
‘I’m sorry I wasn’t very good.’
‘It’s alright. It’s like that sometimes the first time.’ They both lay still.
Piter knew he must do something. He nuzzled her soft breasts with his closed lips.
This time they worked better together and afterwards lay bathed in sweet body smells.
Later, he said, ‘I’m glad you had an orgasm too.’
Sally squeezed him, ‘mmm, it was really nice.’
Piter, knowing he had to go soon, luxuriated in the touch and quiver of Sally’s down-soft skin.
‘You’re tickling me.’
‘I’ve got to go.’
‘Oh.’
Piter dressed quickly and then said, ‘I’ll call you tomorrow, sweet Sally.’
When he got home at 11.30, Agnes was in bed reading. He stooped to kiss her.
‘You smell funny.’
‘They put a free sample of deodorant in the mailbox.’
‘Oh.’ She closed her book, and turned off the bedside light.
Piter went into the bathroom and had a shower.
Agnes climbed the steep stairs carrying a bag of groceries and a large parcel covered with stylish Christmas trees coloured rainbow, silver and gold. She put the parcel down to open the apartment door, walking through the unlit front room to the kitchen. Wearily, she put the groceries in the fridge and filled the kettle, pushing aside a stack of dirty dishes to plug it in. She took a cup from the cupboard and coffee from the freezer.
Bringing the parcel in from the door, Agnes noticed Piter laying on the sofa, his lower back bare. A blanket had slipped down and lay bundled around his legs. One shoe lay upside down on the floor, the other beside it.
Agnes closed the door behind her, put down the parcel and went into the kitchen. As she stood she heard the kettles quiet fury next to the single cup. Brushing aside a lone tear, she reached into the cupboard and put another cup beside it.
writesimon 