So this was a collaborative writing exercise. I wrote this along with my writing group buddy, Heather H-B. The topics of pickles and bicycles we pulled out of a hat. This is the result.
Jenny was late, and the traffic jam was no help. Along the sidewalks, screen printed T-shirts and funky jewelry was being sold, knick-knacks and bric-a-brac of all sorts, tchotchkes and dust collectors. Brightly colored banners flew atop the street lamps. The sun beat down on her black Lexus, and she fumbled with the controls on the door to roll her window down. The smell of hot dogs and pretzels filled the car. She missed her green Beetle, Kermit; she wondered if the mechanics were treating him with the love and respect he deserved, replacing whatever that part was that they said was broken. She turned up the oldies on the radio and sat back, waiting for traffic to move.
Her cell phone rang, and she jumped. She grabbed her purse off the passenger seat and dug through it, Luke’s ringtone setting her nerves on edge. She hit the speakerphone button.
“Hello?”
“Jenny, where are you? I’ve been here for half an hour. You know I have an important client after this, and I can’t afford to keep him waiting. It’ll take time to plan out the wedding.”
“I’m on my way, Luke. I told you, it isn’t the best day for this. The fair –”
“Oh, fuck the fair. Get here as fast as you can.”
“Luke, I—” But he’d hung up. She sighed and ran her hand through her hair. She adjusted her large-but-not-too-large sunglasses. The covered 37% of her face, the perfect percentage. One percent more would have been audacious, but these? These were just right.
Finally, the traffic started moving. The restaurant was normally fifteen minutes away, but at this rate she guessed it would take double or triple the time, not including finding parking.
She took a right at the next light and saw a parking spot on the street. She could fit. It would mean walking the rest of the way, which would take time, but it was probably faster than driving and trying to park closer. Most of all she just wanted out of the damned Lexus.
She parked, grabbed her purse, locked the car and started walking up the street. She passed by a table covered in intricately woven baskets, red and blue and green, that would have looked lovely in a newlywed’s home. The black woman behind the table gave her a warm smile, and she nodded in return. There was a man selling Native American pendants, and she stopped to eye the coyote necklace. She was fond of turquoise, fond of the way it complimented her eyes, but she remembered Luke and kept walking.
Minutes passed. Luke kept sending impatient text messages, but in the interest of time Jennifer decided to ignore them. Her heels ached from walking so fast, and she cursed herself for dressing up for this. It was only a lunch date.
“A pickle, ma’am?”
She slowed and turned her head to see a funny man in a bright green hat behind a food stand. The sign was a green octagon and read: The Pickle Stop. He waved his hand to show off the pickle jar in front of him.
“No, thanks.” She gave him a quick smile.
She was about to turn away in haste, but there beside the stand was a bicycle. She stopped to take a look, not knowing why. It was a pretty bright green color—the same color as her Kermit. It wasn’t locked up or chained to anything. She was drawn to it like she already owned it, like it belonged to her.
“Whose bike is this?” she asked the man selling pickles.
“What bike?”
“This one that I’m holding that was leaning against your pickle stand.”
He gave her a curious look. “No one’s.”
“Alright, then.” She took off her heels and stood on the hot sidewalk, barefoot. Luke would likely be furious because he thought bicycles were for Chinese people and retards, but she would return the bike later. Desperate times called for desperate measures.
There was no one around at the moment, so she took the handles and led the bike out to the middle of the sidewalk. She was glad she’d chosen dress pants instead of a skirt. She swung her leg over the bike and began to sit down.
“Don’t sit down!” said the Pickle Man. “Do not sit on that bike! Not yet.”
Jenny, perched above the seat of the bike in a half-squatting position, turned to look at the Pickle Man. He held up the pickle jar in front of his face; the pickles inside slowly swirled. He stared into the jar like a crystal ball. “Your future is filled with foreshadowing…”
“Huh?” said Jenny.
“Foreboding. I meant to say foreboding.”
“Oh. Okay…” She really wanted to get away from this weirdo, and she really wanted to get to her lunch date. And she really really wanted to sit down because the half squatting position was starting to making her thighs burn. “Listen, I’m kinda running late, so…”
“I see,” said the Pickle Man. “You neglect to hear the warning I’m giving you. I had this really great fortune I was going to tell you – one of the best ones I’ve had in a while actually—but if you don’t want to hear it, that’s fine.”
“No. I do want to hear it.”
“Nope. Too late. I’ve already forgotten it.”
“Pleeeeaaase?”
“Listen,” said the Pickle Man, “I realize you’re busy, and you don’t have time to hear the whole thing, but it’s really important, so I’ll jump to the end part.” He pulled two pickles from the pickle jar and placed them in a separate, smaller jar. “Take these pickles. The first pickle is an enchanted pickle. It will bring you great luck and joy. The second pickle is a cursed pickle. It will bring you tremendous anguish and ruin. Choose to eat your pickles wisely.” The pickle man handed Jenny the jar of magical pickles.
Jenny looked closely at the jar. “But they’re just pickles,” she said.
“They are not just pickles! They are metaphorical!”
“Huh?”
“Magical. I meant to say they are magical.”
“Can I sit now? My legs are getting tired.”
“Hmm? Oh. Yes. Sit. For chrissakes, sit.”
Jenny put the pickle jar in her purse and pedaled away to her lunch date thinking about magical pickles, Luke, and possible nuptials. She doubted the pickles’ magicalness, but Luke loved pickles. Maybe they’d make a good peace offering.
There it was, finally. Luke’s favorite Italian café. She’d rather have had the date at the less expensive, less crowded bakery near their apartment, but Luke had his tired “client” excuse, and this had to be the place. She pedaled up to the front of the café and leaned the bike lovingly against the wall by the window. The bike ride had been dreamy, like she’d been waiting her whole life to ride that bike.
Jennifer stole a glance at her phone: You have 13 unread messages.
Jennifer walked inside and saw Luke who was scowling. By chance he was sitting right in front of the window she’d just parked the bike. She approached him, and leaned in to greet him with a kiss, but he recoiled.
“Geez,” he said. “You’re all sweaty and gross. Get away from me.” Nearby customers looked up at her as if to confirm Luke’s appraisal. She sat down like nothing was wrong, placing her purse in the seat next to her.
He put down his menu and pointed out the window. “What the hell is that? What the fuck happened to the Lexus I leased for you?”
“That’s Kermit Jr., my new bike.”
“You got here on that? I never knew you had a bike. You know how I feel about bikes.”
“That’s not important. I’m here, let’s start talking. You said you talked to your mother?”
“No, Jenny. It is important. This is why I can’t get you nice things.”
“Come on Luke, we don’t have much time to talk.”
“Actually,” Luke said, sizing her up, “bike-riding might do you some good, get rid of all that excess weight.” He made a motion indicating the belly area.
Jennifer looked down at herself. Apparently he hadn’t noticed the four months of strict dieting.
“That’s the other thing,” Luke was continuing. “How come you were so late, if you knew the fair was happening?” He folded his arms and narrowed his eyes, the sign that he wouldn’t give it up.
“I underestimated traffic, that’s all. We should have met at the bakery.”
“You know this place was easier for me. My next client is only a few minutes away from here.”
Jennifer was getting angry. She felt like there was a ball, hot and white, rising from her guts into her throat. She didn’t know where it came from, but she was afraid to let it escape. She was afraid she might cry. “Easier for you? What about what’s easy for me? In the time it took me to get here, I could have started on my long list of errands--which is only getting longer, by the way--now that the wedding is getting closer. I’m sick of doing everything the way you want it.”
Luke stood up. She groaned quietly, bracing for the scene she knew was coming. He raised his voice. “You know what, Jenny? I’m sick of how you’re always making a fucking scene.”
“I only want you to listen—”
“No! You listen! You call me when you feel like being responsible about planning this wedding. Until then, it’s off.”
He whisked his coat off his chair and strode out of the café. The noise inside quieted. The people sitting at the surrounding tables looked at her. She took a deep breath to keep from crying, picked up her purse, and put on her sunglasses which she now wished were a whole lot bigger. Walking calmly out of the café, she apologized to the waiter.
The bike’s handlebars were comforting to the touch as she walked it to the corner of the building. She had to do something, anything, to keep from thinking too much. She hopped on the bike and pushed the pedals.
She meandered her way between the street fair’s smiling patrons, and once again the ride was dreamlike. She felt as if she were floating though them, disconnected from their sunny reality. Unaware of any effort to propel or steer the bike, she felt as if it was guiding itself. Most of all she felt numb; the white, hot ball in her stomach had gone out, turned cold, become something else. It was all she could see, this dark hole inside of herself, this hole that Luke has scooped out with his sneering words, his controlling grip. And the more she thought about it, bigger it grew. The more she thought about it, the more she felt like she might fall right into it, like it might consume her whole.
And then Jennifer looked up, and she was on the boardwalk miles away from where she’d parked the Lexus. At some point she stopped letting the bike guide her; she had a hold of the handlebars and was walking along side it. It was dusk, and the sun was setting into the sea. Despite the beautiful view, the boardwalk was deserted. She was alone. She found herself in the place where Luke had proposed to her. As the sun touched the horizon she began to cry. She cried until the moon rose and the stars came out. She cried until she was completely exhausted. And when she was done crying, a final tear rolled down her cheek and onto her lips. She tasted its saltiness and realized that all she had eaten that day was a half a grapefruit and a cup of coffee.
Jennifer was hungry. She sat on the seat of the bike and took out the pickle jar. What would it hurt? Pickles weren’t on the diet, but--fuck the diet!
In the moonlight the two pickles inside looked identical. She realized she hadn’t paid attention when the Pickle Man explained which was which. But, she decided it wouldn’t matter. She already felt like she was on the path of “anguish and ruin,” so it wouldn’t change things much. She picked a pickle and took a bite.
The instant she took a bite, the bike disappeared. She was now sitting on the chest of a very startled man. She too was taken aback. She looked from the man to the pickle and back again. Magical pickle, indeed.
Jennifer meant to apologize, but her mouth was full of pickle. What came out was, “Mmmpphthphtphhhtmmpth.”
The man looked at her and started laughing. He laughed so hard that she bounced right off his chest. And he kept laughing, harder and harder, until he was holding his sides, gasping for breath, laughing until tears streamed his face. He laughed until it seemed the very firmament was ringing with the sound. He gave Jennifer a hug. The embrace was so warm and reassuring, Jennifer felt the cold hole inside herself melting away, filling up with the sound of laughter until she too was laughing.
Finally when the air was once again still, the man held Jennifer at arm’s length and looked down at her and smiled. “I’m Kermit,” he said.
“I’m Jennifer.”
“Jennifer, do you believe in love at first sight?”
[2238 words]
Jenny was late, and the traffic jam was no help. Along the sidewalks, screen printed T-shirts and funky jewelry was being sold, knick-knacks and bric-a-brac of all sorts, tchotchkes and dust collectors. Brightly colored banners flew atop the street lamps. The sun beat down on her black Lexus, and she fumbled with the controls on the door to roll her window down. The smell of hot dogs and pretzels filled the car. She missed her green Beetle, Kermit; she wondered if the mechanics were treating him with the love and respect he deserved, replacing whatever that part was that they said was broken. She turned up the oldies on the radio and sat back, waiting for traffic to move.
Her cell phone rang, and she jumped. She grabbed her purse off the passenger seat and dug through it, Luke’s ringtone setting her nerves on edge. She hit the speakerphone button.
“Hello?”
“Jenny, where are you? I’ve been here for half an hour. You know I have an important client after this, and I can’t afford to keep him waiting. It’ll take time to plan out the wedding.”
“I’m on my way, Luke. I told you, it isn’t the best day for this. The fair –”
“Oh, fuck the fair. Get here as fast as you can.”
“Luke, I—” But he’d hung up. She sighed and ran her hand through her hair. She adjusted her large-but-not-too-large sunglasses. The covered 37% of her face, the perfect percentage. One percent more would have been audacious, but these? These were just right.
Finally, the traffic started moving. The restaurant was normally fifteen minutes away, but at this rate she guessed it would take double or triple the time, not including finding parking.
She took a right at the next light and saw a parking spot on the street. She could fit. It would mean walking the rest of the way, which would take time, but it was probably faster than driving and trying to park closer. Most of all she just wanted out of the damned Lexus.
She parked, grabbed her purse, locked the car and started walking up the street. She passed by a table covered in intricately woven baskets, red and blue and green, that would have looked lovely in a newlywed’s home. The black woman behind the table gave her a warm smile, and she nodded in return. There was a man selling Native American pendants, and she stopped to eye the coyote necklace. She was fond of turquoise, fond of the way it complimented her eyes, but she remembered Luke and kept walking.
Minutes passed. Luke kept sending impatient text messages, but in the interest of time Jennifer decided to ignore them. Her heels ached from walking so fast, and she cursed herself for dressing up for this. It was only a lunch date.
“A pickle, ma’am?”
She slowed and turned her head to see a funny man in a bright green hat behind a food stand. The sign was a green octagon and read: The Pickle Stop. He waved his hand to show off the pickle jar in front of him.
“No, thanks.” She gave him a quick smile.
She was about to turn away in haste, but there beside the stand was a bicycle. She stopped to take a look, not knowing why. It was a pretty bright green color—the same color as her Kermit. It wasn’t locked up or chained to anything. She was drawn to it like she already owned it, like it belonged to her.
“Whose bike is this?” she asked the man selling pickles.
“What bike?”
“This one that I’m holding that was leaning against your pickle stand.”
He gave her a curious look. “No one’s.”
“Alright, then.” She took off her heels and stood on the hot sidewalk, barefoot. Luke would likely be furious because he thought bicycles were for Chinese people and retards, but she would return the bike later. Desperate times called for desperate measures.
There was no one around at the moment, so she took the handles and led the bike out to the middle of the sidewalk. She was glad she’d chosen dress pants instead of a skirt. She swung her leg over the bike and began to sit down.
“Don’t sit down!” said the Pickle Man. “Do not sit on that bike! Not yet.”
Jenny, perched above the seat of the bike in a half-squatting position, turned to look at the Pickle Man. He held up the pickle jar in front of his face; the pickles inside slowly swirled. He stared into the jar like a crystal ball. “Your future is filled with foreshadowing…”
“Huh?” said Jenny.
“Foreboding. I meant to say foreboding.”
“Oh. Okay…” She really wanted to get away from this weirdo, and she really wanted to get to her lunch date. And she really really wanted to sit down because the half squatting position was starting to making her thighs burn. “Listen, I’m kinda running late, so…”
“I see,” said the Pickle Man. “You neglect to hear the warning I’m giving you. I had this really great fortune I was going to tell you – one of the best ones I’ve had in a while actually—but if you don’t want to hear it, that’s fine.”
“No. I do want to hear it.”
“Nope. Too late. I’ve already forgotten it.”
“Pleeeeaaase?”
“Listen,” said the Pickle Man, “I realize you’re busy, and you don’t have time to hear the whole thing, but it’s really important, so I’ll jump to the end part.” He pulled two pickles from the pickle jar and placed them in a separate, smaller jar. “Take these pickles. The first pickle is an enchanted pickle. It will bring you great luck and joy. The second pickle is a cursed pickle. It will bring you tremendous anguish and ruin. Choose to eat your pickles wisely.” The pickle man handed Jenny the jar of magical pickles.
Jenny looked closely at the jar. “But they’re just pickles,” she said.
“They are not just pickles! They are metaphorical!”
“Huh?”
“Magical. I meant to say they are magical.”
“Can I sit now? My legs are getting tired.”
“Hmm? Oh. Yes. Sit. For chrissakes, sit.”
Jenny put the pickle jar in her purse and pedaled away to her lunch date thinking about magical pickles, Luke, and possible nuptials. She doubted the pickles’ magicalness, but Luke loved pickles. Maybe they’d make a good peace offering.
There it was, finally. Luke’s favorite Italian café. She’d rather have had the date at the less expensive, less crowded bakery near their apartment, but Luke had his tired “client” excuse, and this had to be the place. She pedaled up to the front of the café and leaned the bike lovingly against the wall by the window. The bike ride had been dreamy, like she’d been waiting her whole life to ride that bike.
Jennifer stole a glance at her phone: You have 13 unread messages.
Jennifer walked inside and saw Luke who was scowling. By chance he was sitting right in front of the window she’d just parked the bike. She approached him, and leaned in to greet him with a kiss, but he recoiled.
“Geez,” he said. “You’re all sweaty and gross. Get away from me.” Nearby customers looked up at her as if to confirm Luke’s appraisal. She sat down like nothing was wrong, placing her purse in the seat next to her.
He put down his menu and pointed out the window. “What the hell is that? What the fuck happened to the Lexus I leased for you?”
“That’s Kermit Jr., my new bike.”
“You got here on that? I never knew you had a bike. You know how I feel about bikes.”
“That’s not important. I’m here, let’s start talking. You said you talked to your mother?”
“No, Jenny. It is important. This is why I can’t get you nice things.”
“Come on Luke, we don’t have much time to talk.”
“Actually,” Luke said, sizing her up, “bike-riding might do you some good, get rid of all that excess weight.” He made a motion indicating the belly area.
Jennifer looked down at herself. Apparently he hadn’t noticed the four months of strict dieting.
“That’s the other thing,” Luke was continuing. “How come you were so late, if you knew the fair was happening?” He folded his arms and narrowed his eyes, the sign that he wouldn’t give it up.
“I underestimated traffic, that’s all. We should have met at the bakery.”
“You know this place was easier for me. My next client is only a few minutes away from here.”
Jennifer was getting angry. She felt like there was a ball, hot and white, rising from her guts into her throat. She didn’t know where it came from, but she was afraid to let it escape. She was afraid she might cry. “Easier for you? What about what’s easy for me? In the time it took me to get here, I could have started on my long list of errands--which is only getting longer, by the way--now that the wedding is getting closer. I’m sick of doing everything the way you want it.”
Luke stood up. She groaned quietly, bracing for the scene she knew was coming. He raised his voice. “You know what, Jenny? I’m sick of how you’re always making a fucking scene.”
“I only want you to listen—”
“No! You listen! You call me when you feel like being responsible about planning this wedding. Until then, it’s off.”
He whisked his coat off his chair and strode out of the café. The noise inside quieted. The people sitting at the surrounding tables looked at her. She took a deep breath to keep from crying, picked up her purse, and put on her sunglasses which she now wished were a whole lot bigger. Walking calmly out of the café, she apologized to the waiter.
The bike’s handlebars were comforting to the touch as she walked it to the corner of the building. She had to do something, anything, to keep from thinking too much. She hopped on the bike and pushed the pedals.
She meandered her way between the street fair’s smiling patrons, and once again the ride was dreamlike. She felt as if she were floating though them, disconnected from their sunny reality. Unaware of any effort to propel or steer the bike, she felt as if it was guiding itself. Most of all she felt numb; the white, hot ball in her stomach had gone out, turned cold, become something else. It was all she could see, this dark hole inside of herself, this hole that Luke has scooped out with his sneering words, his controlling grip. And the more she thought about it, bigger it grew. The more she thought about it, the more she felt like she might fall right into it, like it might consume her whole.
And then Jennifer looked up, and she was on the boardwalk miles away from where she’d parked the Lexus. At some point she stopped letting the bike guide her; she had a hold of the handlebars and was walking along side it. It was dusk, and the sun was setting into the sea. Despite the beautiful view, the boardwalk was deserted. She was alone. She found herself in the place where Luke had proposed to her. As the sun touched the horizon she began to cry. She cried until the moon rose and the stars came out. She cried until she was completely exhausted. And when she was done crying, a final tear rolled down her cheek and onto her lips. She tasted its saltiness and realized that all she had eaten that day was a half a grapefruit and a cup of coffee.
Jennifer was hungry. She sat on the seat of the bike and took out the pickle jar. What would it hurt? Pickles weren’t on the diet, but--fuck the diet!
In the moonlight the two pickles inside looked identical. She realized she hadn’t paid attention when the Pickle Man explained which was which. But, she decided it wouldn’t matter. She already felt like she was on the path of “anguish and ruin,” so it wouldn’t change things much. She picked a pickle and took a bite.
The instant she took a bite, the bike disappeared. She was now sitting on the chest of a very startled man. She too was taken aback. She looked from the man to the pickle and back again. Magical pickle, indeed.
Jennifer meant to apologize, but her mouth was full of pickle. What came out was, “Mmmpphthphtphhhtmmpth.”
The man looked at her and started laughing. He laughed so hard that she bounced right off his chest. And he kept laughing, harder and harder, until he was holding his sides, gasping for breath, laughing until tears streamed his face. He laughed until it seemed the very firmament was ringing with the sound. He gave Jennifer a hug. The embrace was so warm and reassuring, Jennifer felt the cold hole inside herself melting away, filling up with the sound of laughter until she too was laughing.
Finally when the air was once again still, the man held Jennifer at arm’s length and looked down at her and smiled. “I’m Kermit,” he said.
“I’m Jennifer.”
“Jennifer, do you believe in love at first sight?”
[2238 words]
