Sparks

“See, if you get them to sneeze right when they orgasm it makes it last a lot longer,” Tom said with many hand motions accompanying his explanation. “It also feels really good for you. Like it tightens them up or something.”

“Right Tom,” I said. My eyes had long since turned away from him, looking now toward the river. I wished I was that duck bobbing carelessly in the water—the water would be cold so late in the year, but still . . . careless.

“No, I don’t think you understand Jack,” Tom said with more emphasis and more hand motions. “It feels really, really good. Not to mention the chick will be in love with you.”

“Right.”

How is that he ducks float so easily? I’ve never seen a duck sink. I don’t think they can. How is that?

“See it’s some chemical thing in their brain. The chemicals they release when they sneeze is the same as when they orgasm. God, and I never thought science would come in handy.”

“You know, Tom, I don’t really care.”

“What . . . about science.”

“No, I don’t really care about making a girl sneeze when she orgasms.”

“But . . .” Tom started, staring at me as if I hadn’t understood him properly. “They’ll love you for it.”

“Right,” I said, and turned back toward the duck. He was gone. Sank perhaps? No, ducks can’t sink. “And how do you even get them to sneeze?”

“It’s simple really. Just keep some pepper by the bed and throw it on them right when they start saying ‘I’m gonna come’.”

“F*****g hell.” I said, still looking for the duck.

“I know. It’s amazing how simple it all is.”

“Ducks can’t sink, can they?”

“Ducks? Who’s talking about ducks. We’re talking about b*****s, man.”

“Tom . . .” I started again, then paused as I decided on the proper reply. All I could come up with was mockery and sarcasm. Before I could settle on one or the other, however, my cell phone rang. “Hello?”

“Freshly ground pepper works the best,” Tom continued.

“Hello?” I asked of the phone, but the normal sounds of stagnant life—heavy air and settling dust—were the only answer.

“I’ve also heard white pepper is really good.”

“Hello?”

“It’s harder to find white pepper though. You have to go to one of those big super markets.” Tom said. Only when I’d hung up did he realize I was on the phone. “Who was that?”

“Emily?” I said as I checked the caller ID.

“What’d she say?”

“Nothing . . . she just hung up. It’s like the third time she’s done that today.”

“Oh s**t, you know what, you should try that pepper thing on her. I bet she’d love it.”

“She’s my room mate.”

“So . . . she’d still love it.” Tom said. “Or I could do it to her”

“Bye Tom.”

“What? Where are you going?”

“Home.”

“Are you gonna try it on her.”

“No . . . I’m just gonna go see her.”

 

~

 

Coldplay’s Sparks was playing on the stereo, but there was no sign of Emily in our apartment. The incense stick had burned out long ago and the pungent smoke has faded from everything except the curtains and the couch. The cat slept in front of the window. I think he liked the smell of incense, and so he always stayed close to the curtains.

Sparks ended, but the stereo shuffled backwards, and repeated the song.

The mail on the table was nothing of note, credit card offers and shop ads, but I hadn’t brought it in. Emily must have been home sometime, she must have put on the song.

Sparks—it’s a romantic song I suppose, its lyrics talk of love beginning, of the flickering flame of passion when it first alights in the eyes of romantics. The tune of the song, however, has more of a lonely feel—not really explicable, but lonely all the same.

As I moved to turn it off I found a pile of cat poop on the floor.

“D****t Tompkin,” I said, but the cat slept on, and there was nothing else to do but clean it up. A paper towel, the feces still warm, and I rushed to the bathroom to flush it away. As I washed my hands, however, I caught sight of something in the mirror. Something behind the shower curtain, a shape in the bath.

It was quite definite, not just a shadow, but a definite thing—indefinable in shape, but definably something—and slowly I pulled back the curtain to find Emily curled up in the bottom of the bath. Her eyes—larger than usual—stared at the wall, her arms were wrapped tightly around her knees, and she said nothing of my presence.

“Emily,” I said, my voice suddenly weak. “Are you alright?”

Still she took no notice of me, still she stared at the wall, but her muffled voice said softly. “No.”

“What’s wrong Emily?” I asked, it seemed right to use her name a lot. I don’t know why, but I keep saying it. And again she went silent. “Emily what’s wrong?”

“I don’t know.”

“You don’t know?”

“Sorry,” was all she said.

“No, no it’s fine.” I said, kneeling by the tub, wishing I could take hold of her hand, but her arms were still wrapped tightly around her knees. “But how about we get you out of there?”

I don't know why I said that. I'd probably heard it in a movie or something, and it did sound caring and compassionate, but Emily didn't move.

I still wanted to hold her hand, I still felt like I should be saying her name. These were probably things I had picked up from movies as well. They didn't work, and Emily kept staring at the wall.

“Emily . . . do you think ducks can sink?”

It was a desperate attempt to make a joke, to lighten the mood.

“If they think about it too much . . . yes.”

“Oh . . . right. I suppose.” And I didn’t know what to say anymore. What do you do here? What do you say? How can you help? Do you know?

My phone rang, but I didn’t want to leave her.

“You can get it,” she said and so I did.

“Hey, I’m at the supermarket and I thought I’d pick you up some white pepper,” Tom said as soon as I answered. “You know so you can try it on Emily—” and I hung up the phone.

She was still in the bottom of the tub when I came back, but she was now staring at the rubber duck on the ledge of the bath. Behind it the shower curtain fluttered, pushed by an unseen wind moving through the bathroom. I sat on the toilet and we both watched the duck and dancing curtain.

“Do you want some tea?”

She just shook her head, or rather, let it fall in a general sign of no.

“Alright.”

We sat silent again, listening to Sparks on the stereo, watching the shower curtain, wishing we knew what to do.

“Who was on the phone?”

“Oh, no one . . . Tom.” I said. I couldn’t stand the silence which followed, however, and so I quickly added, “he wanted to buy me some white pepper.”

“White pepper?”

“Yeah . . .” and again the silence forced me to speak, “he has this idea that if he makes a girl sneeze right when she . . . well . . . when she . . . orgasms. He thinks it’ll make it last longer or something.”

The stereo sang ‘I saw sparks’, Emily’s eyes flickered to me, a smile slowly appeared to her lips, and she laughed. Not out loud, just a silent shaking of her body, but there was a smile on her face.

Reviews

[Abigail Romans]

this story pulls you in and doesn't spit you out---ever. for i am still thinking about it........what a way to just end.

well done.

[Adrienne Charette]

I've read this story numerous times, but haven't gotten around to commenting it yet. Or if I have, I don't remember. The point is, I remembered the story and didn't forget to comment on a later date. Know what that means? This is an exceptional story that imprinted itself onto me by means of sheer brilliance.

I love the way Tom thinks white pepper will make an orgasm last longer (hand motions? Yuck!). The story made me curious as to what happened with Emily, and since you don't tell me I'm left wondering. *le sigh* Going in my favorites. Kudos to you, Charlie!

[Edmund Jonah]

Well done! The characters of the two men are well defined. The character of the girl is a mystery. I would have left her in the bathtub to stew. A small explanation might have made her more sympathetic. Not my type of girl. But the story is well told.

[L. L. Jacobson]

damn, damn, damn.
What's wrong with me today?
heeheehee.

[L. L. Jacobson]

uh, that's B R I L L I A N T .

I really can spell. Promise.

Damn keyborad. Darn fingers...

[L. L. Jacobson]

WOW! Is that true? I'll have to sneeze next time...hahaha.
You are just BRILLINAT, and this is going in my favorites.

[Alicia]

a favorite, it's funny and feels like real life. good job

[Six Impossible Things]

NEED to add this as a favorite.

[Ross Davison]

This is classicly great! Everyone knows a "Tom", and you capture the ocasional absurdity of friends along with dragging the reader into a heartfelt concern for "Emily". And the missing duck, an excellent touch! Great work!!!

[Kristi Brooks]

I really enjoyed this story, and the progression from some truly innocuous conversation into something else. I also liked that you never told us what the problem with Emily was, because in the end, it doesn't matter. She could have been any one of us at a moment in crisis, and that just adds to the story.