Dear Readers,
Here is the thirty-fourth in
a series of fifty-two one-page stories I am publishing once a week on this
site. Thank you for reading.
Yours sincerely,
Matthew Sharpe
P.S.: A few people have told
me recently that they’ve tried to leave comments on this page and have been
unable to. If you are inclined to leave a comment, and the website prevents you
from doing so, would you kindly tell me so via email at poopsie.schmelding [at]
gmail.com? Thanks.
Story #34
A woman called Felix on the phone, said, “Hi, this is Sheila
from Transcorp with your credit score,” and then told it to him. “Is that high
or low?” Felix asked. “Low.” “How important is it?” “Well, Felix, I guess if
you’re planning to buy a house or a car or apply for a loan or rent an
apartment or an office space or start a business or get a job, it’s important.”
“I live with my mother and I’m set at my job so...” “Then why did you want to
know your credit score?” “Because I went on a date with a woman the other night
and she asked me my credit score and when I told her I didn’t know it, she
excused herself and left the restaurant.” “How rude!” “So, Sheila, you don’t
think a person’s credit score should be a criterion for falling in love with
that person?” “Felix, I was a math major in college, and I find numbers to be
beautiful and mysterious, whereas credit scores and all the other ways in which
we use numbers as an escape from recognizing how unquantifiable and unknowable
our fellow humans are, are a desecration of numbers and therefore abhorrent.”
“Sheila, isn’t this phonecall being recorded for quality purposes?” “Probably,
but my supervisor gets about four migraines a week and doesn’t have the time or
wherewithal to listen to the recordings. Transcorp sucks the life out of its
employees.” “Including you?” “Including me.” “Then why do you stay?” “I’m
supporting my parents and it’s hard to find a job in this economy.” “Sheila,
would you please go to dinner with me?” “Felix, yes, but first I have a
request.” “What?” “Come to my house tonight at ten o’clock, let yourself in
with the key under the urn, walk through the living room and down the hallway,
and when you get to the last door on your right, find the light switch on the
wall and push it down to the ‘off’ position. The whole house will then be pitch
black. Open the door. I’ll be waiting for you.” “Why don’t you want us to see
each other?” “I do, eventually. But not at first, because in this world you
can’t look at a face or a body without assigning them credit scores of beauty.”
So that night at ten o’clock Felix went to the address Sheila had given him and
did as she asked. When he turned off the light and opened the door, he heard
her whisper, “Felix, is that you?” “Yes, Sheila. Why are we whispering?”
“Because my parents are sleeping down the hall, and they are old and sick. Will
you place my hand on your heart?” He felt in front of him for her hand and
brought it to his chest. She said, “It’s beating so fast! Here, feel mine.” She
guided his hand to her heart, which pushed wildly against his hand through her
soft flannel shirt. “Come here,” she said, and guided him across the thick
carpet of the room, in which he could see nothing. “Here is a sofa,” she
whispered. He felt his way onto the sofa and she sat beside him. They were
still. He saw in the air in front of him the face of a clock reading 10:06, the
second hand racing down the right side of the clock and up the left, toward the
moment of his own death and well beyond. The clock vanished. Felix just sat
there and so did Sheila, into the night. “What do you think will happen
tomorrow?” he asked. “I don’t know,” she said, “but do you want to know what
will happen in thirty seconds?” “What?” Felix said, lifting his head off the
back of the couch in alarm. “I’ll fall asleep,” she said, and she did.
lovely!
ReplyDeleteIf I was assigning a number to the experience I had reading this story it would be a very high number. Thanks, Matt!
ReplyDeleteThanks, Stuart
ReplyDeleteStealing from my diary again...
ReplyDeleteAbsolutely brilliant! Nothing more need be said...
ReplyDelete~todd
Absolutely brilliant! Nothing more be said...
ReplyDelete