Rusty Tanton's Stories

Mark and Clara

2008-05-30T02:36:22Z

“I want to make love tonight,” Clara said.

The click-clack of banging keyboard keys was replaced with the steady whir of the ceiling fan. Mark craned his head around to look at her.

“But I can’t… we can’t…”

She shushed him, unbuttoned her blouse, and tossed it to the floor. He let out a sigh and stared at her as she made her way to the bedroom, unstrapping her bra.

“We just can’t…”

She unbuttoned her work slacks and tossed them on a stand in the corner.

“You heard me, now come here,” she said.

Mark rose from his chair and walked to the bathroom, filled his cup with tap water, and washed down several pills. He carried his glass with him as he walked over to the bedroom. Clara was nude except for her panties.

“Clara…”

She shushed him again.

“I don’t think we even have any condoms,” he said.

“I don’t care anymore. We’re in this together.”

Norman's routine

2008-05-14T20:23:28Z

“It smells like hot sauce and dog shit out here,” Norman said, addressing no one in particular.

He brushed flakes of dandruff off the collar of his coat, which floated away only to reveal more grit beneath. A middle-aged woman in a sun dress walked out the back door and across the yard.

“Motherfuckershitbitchcocksuckershitbitchfuckeraaaaaahhhhhh!!!!!!!!!!”

She kept walking as if she hadn’t heard him.

“GoddamnitallbitchIknowyouheardmefuckfuckfuck!!!!!!!!”

Nothing. He tailed her around the side of the house to the car port, which led to the laundry room. She was removing socks from the drier. He muttered as he watched her.

Then he heard a splash of water coming from the driveway and followed it. Two house sparrows were playing in a puddle. Norman approached them.

“You think you got is so good splashing around down there!”

Norman attempted to shoo them away, but the birds didn’t react to him at all, continuing to hop around and splash in the puddle.

He plopped down on the driveway and started to sob.

Billy and Robert

2008-05-07T21:03:06Z

The respirator let off wisps of air which sounded like someone sucking on a straw tapped into an empty juice box. The cardiogram occasionally offered a lazy beep.

Robert laid in bed, still, his eyes half shut.

From across the room, it was hard to tell where the white bed sheets and hospital gown ended and where what was left of Robert began.

Billy sat in a chair near the bed, reading an old issue of Sports Illustrated.

The cardiogram interrupted the silence with a protest. Robert’s eyes jolted wide open, and he groped around his side for the clicker that triggered his morphine drip.

Billy put down his Sports Illustrated and got up, then dug the clicker from between the mattress and steel tube bed frame. He leaned in close.

“Maureen said I could have your patio furniture. Is that cool?”

Robert nodded. Billy pressed the clicker a couple of times, then handed it back to Robert.

Robert’s eyelids drooped, and the cardiogram’s protest ended.

Moving the package around

2008-04-18T18:41:37Z

Vlad produced a shovel from the bed of his truck and handed it to the other man.

“We got to move this around every once in a while,” he said, speaking Russian.

They dug for a few minutes in silence.

“He had bad gas you know,” Vlad said.

“Who?” asked the second man.

“Hitler. He had terrible gas. Couldn’t keep his farts in around dignitaries, heads of state. Would run out the room wheezing like a cheap balloon.”

“Huh,” replied the second man.

Vlad’s shovel hit something hard. They poked it with their shovels. Then they dug around it until they could pull it out.

They threw the shovels in the bed, loaded the foot locker, and drove off.