By Prospero Dae
John was a young stockbroker with blue eyes, a strong chin, and sable hair as thick as a cut pile carpet. But this story isn’t about John–it’s about Mary.
Mary was a welder at an industrial plant and had creamy white skin and a sparky personality. At work she wore a protective helmet (how useful); elsewhere she unleashed a cataract of long hazelnut hair.
One trepidatious morning Mary argued with herself: was it a faint line or was it her imagination? Yes, it was a line. She was sure of it now. Oh, this story is about John after all.
Did you mean feint, a trick designed to distract?
No, but I like homophones. I should have tried to work the word pair in somehow though.
John had beautiful hair. Mary had beautiful hair. But only Mary wore a protective helmet? Considering the unreliability of devices on both sides of this issue these days, she might be wise to seek a second opinion, perhaps from someone who has a lab in the cellar and keeps rabbits. There’s such a thing as faint, but no such thing as slightly pregnant.
I concur with Roxana, above: this is brilliant.
It takes two to tango. And John, who could have been named Dick (for two reasons), does not have to fiddle with pregnancy tests–trying so hard to interpret the meaning of practically nonexistent markings. Am I or am I not? I am, determines Mary. Better tell that Dick, sorry–John. I think rabbits have these problems too.
this is simply brilliant.
naturally
I love the idea of the protective helmet at work and the cascade of hazelnut hair elsewhere… But then, your story isn’t about Mary, it’s about John. So I like John’s blue eyes and strong chin, and his sable hair that would serve as a carpet. I also like the scene of Mary arguing with herself on that trepidatious morning. And all because of finding that dreaded faint line – which unites the two of them. Oh dear… second opinion time indeed.
Leave it to Millie to be Pollyannaish. Where she sees a loving couple, I see a scoundrel blissfully unaware of the consequences of his actions (see my comment to Cynthia). But my interpretation is no more correct than yours. It’s interesting that fiction can allow for such uncertainty, and so casually, like a one night stand–and still make sense! Thank you for your slant on this–I honestly can’t find a thing wrong with it!
Anything worth reading is worth re-reading. Now I am wondering why—given the givens—anyone must necessarily conclude that the faint line news is bad news?
Bad news…that’s because the author is a misanthrope. But, as you know, the last person you want to canvass an opinion from is the author, since it is likely to be about as useful as a can of bug repellant in a hungry lion’s den. But maybe John’s thick hair has touched you in some way. I like Mary because she sparkles (literally and metaphorically).
I like Mary, too, as you’ve created her, and John’s hair…well, I must say I don’t find him attractive (and am actually partial to a certain measure of baldness in a man.) I’m all set to make him a cad. However, I think it’s most interesting—and a virtue of this tale—that one can also see Mary’s trepidation as either hoping yes, or hoping no, depending…..The story really is about her!
Oh, I am so confused now–which is a good thing. I am reminded of our friend Oscar Wilde who expressed my sentiments, though far more eloquently: The mystery of love is greater than the mystery of death (Salomé, 1893). So there it is. The mystery of love begets confusion.
It’s hard to know which is more entertaining, the story or the subsequent running commentary.
Either way you have made my morning. Thank you.
Barry, I’m glad the piece and the unfolding drama made your morning–meanwhile poor Mary is soon to have her mornings made with the spectacle of morning sickness. Ugh.
Oh my, can it be that Mary is or isn’t – reading the tea leaves. Then there is John. Who is our John? Is he or isn’t he – we know nothing except for . . . I like happy endings will you allow it here?