The personalities between the two are apparent immediately. Both women are small in stature, but the way they hold the bodies speaks volumes. The smaller of the two stands with her head tilted down and I can see her eyes darting back and forth, as if she expects someone to jump at her. Her hands are in her pocket as she shuffles her feet.
“Jesus Sandy! Put your fucking shoes where they belong! Out of all the pairs of shoes yours are the only ones not facing the right way! It’s not like it’s that fucking hard.” Katherine, the other woman, stands glaring across the room, waiting for her words to be followed.
They are, without hesitation. Sandy scurries to the door, turns her shoes the right way and stands back up, returning to her previous stance of nervousness. She reminds me of a dog I met once. A beautiful Akita, black lab mix that had been through hell. That poor dog, beaten and abandoned, neglected, abused and abandoned again, before she finally got life by the ass and found the perfect home. Unfortunately she was scarred. Her head would sink low and her eyes would dart around at the slightest sign of tension, like Sandy’s are now.
They are, without hesitation. Sandy scurries to the door, turns her shoes the right way and stands back up, returning to her previous stance of nervousness. She reminds me of a dog I met once. A beautiful Akita, black lab mix that had been through hell. That poor dog, beaten and abandoned, neglected, abused and abandoned again, before she finally got life by the ass and found the perfect home. Unfortunately she was scarred. Her head would sink low and her eyes would dart around at the slightest sign of tension, like Sandy’s are now.
“Did you drop the tires of at the garage yet?” Katherine asks as she puffs her chest out a little. Her back is stick straight with her hands on her hips. Sandy says something, so muffled and slurred together that Katherine jumps on her again
“What? What the fuck is wrong with you? Open your mouth and talk. Christ! Did you take the tires to the garage?” This last sentence was said in a slow drawn out manner, like they do in the movies when they are implying someone is… slow.
“Not yet… I didn’t have time.” Sandy turns and starts down the hall to her room.
“You didn’t have time?” Katherine’s hands go up in the air as she speaks. “What the fuck did you do all day? What? You sat at Dunkin Donuts for a couple hours, then what? You’re telling me you couldn’t take twenty minutes and drop off the god damned tires so he can get it done? You know this whole world doesn’t revolve around you. He should fucking charge you for storage time cuz your damn truck is just sitting there. You wanna get that taken care of, sooner rather than later.”
Sandy says nothing, and goes down the hall to her room. Katherine turns around and walks to the sink as she continues to bitch. “Jesus, I’m so sick of spoon feeding her. I don’t know what the fuck she is thinking but she must have dementia kicking in or something. She just keeps getting worse and worse. Can’t ever understand a fucking word she says. She can move the fuck out for all I care. I’m done. I’m just all done.”
Whew, a relationship made in hell. I don't even want to know what that sick relationship actually is, though I have a guess.
ReplyDeleteThe writing itself here is superb--very clean, no wasted words, fine dialogue, sharp eyes on the writer (particularly the comparison of Sandy to the dog), very satisfying to the reader.