Kale and Lentils

I give to you an overheard, paraphrased, one-sided phone conversation at Whole Foods Bowery in New York City in eleventy-one words...

‘I’ve been working out.’

‘Yeah, I have a trainer.’

‘I lift weights and do cardio four times a week.’

‘But I’m still a skinny bitch. If you saw me you’d say I look exactly the same.’

‘I’ve been going for three months. He says I’m exercising and eating right. He tells me to be patient.’

‘I eat like a fucking bird.’

‘Yes, kale and lentils and other tasteless shit. Do you know how much protein powder costs?’

‘I’m over it.’

‘What’s worse is I’m surrounded by people who do nothing and look perfect.’

‘I know.’

‘I know.’

‘I know!’

‘I’m never going to find anyone anyway. Why do I even bother?’

Rats

I give to you absurd ramblings in eleventy-one words...

I smell a rat.

You do?

No, it’s a colloquialism.

Oh.

I mean someone is up to no good.

Why do you say that?

Strange things are happening.

What strange things?

Things have gone missing.

They have?

Well, you don’t pay attention.

I do.

Not to missing things.

Like what?

Like rats. They go missing.

But they mostly come back.

What about when they don’t?

I’m not sure.

Exactly. That’s why I smell a rat.

If rats go missing, how do you smell them?

The fact that rats go missing is the colloquial rat I smell.

I’m confused.

That’s exactly what they want.

Who?

Those responsible for the missing rats.

Oh.

B

I give to you a true story in 2 times eleventy-one words...

‘What’s the strangest thing on the menu?’ Chad asked the pubescent Cambodian waiter.

The waiter smiled and nodded, a trick I often encourage if you’ve no idea what’s being said.

Chad chuckled with exasperation. He looked back at the menu – written entirely in Khmer, but with pictures – and then back up at the waiter, ‘Do you have any bugs or insects?’

The waiter smiled more widely, nodded more vigorously.

‘Bzz?’

‘Bzz?’ the waiter responded curiously.

Chad pointed excitedly at the menu and reiterated, ‘bzz.’

The waiter contemplated for a moment, then said, ‘B.’

‘B?’ Chad inquired.

‘B.’

‘B?’

‘B. Bzz.’

Chad considered, then his face brightened, ‘Bee! Bzz! I’ll take that!’

-

Shortly thereafter, we were served something akin to a small casserole. Rectangular and brown in color, it sat upon a banana leaf.

‘I guess it’s a free appetizer, maybe something to cleanse the palate,’ he commented. He tried it. ‘A weird texture. Gritty but a little sweet.’

I tasted it and confirmed his assessment.

‘But what is it?’

I shrugged.

Chad called the waiter over. ‘What is this?’

‘B.’

‘B?’ He paused. ‘Oh, bee! This is bee? Wait, what?’

Chad was flummoxed. The waiter tried to find the words to explain. Then, it hit him.

‘B baby.’

‘B baby?’

‘Baby bzz.’

‘Bee babies? Oh, larvae!’

The waiter nodded.

We laughed.

Humming

I give to you a true story in eleventy-one words...

My grandfather and I watched television in the den. ‘No Whammies!’ the contestants repeatedly screamed until he pressed mute. He continued to entertain with a soundtrack of coughs, burps, snorts, farts, and squeaks interspersed betwixt the murmuring of a tune existing only in his head. His cacophonous interlude soon gave way to a nap.

I moved to the living room couch.

It was then that I heard my grandmother in the kitchen. Sifting through coupons. Clicking her rosary beads. Washing a dish. Cleaning the countertop. Throughout these daily tasks, she hummed Lara’s Theme with her sweet, soft, and soothing voice.

I closed my eyes, smiled, and lingered in that perfect moment.

Oven On Low

I give to you the story of my grandmother's birth in eleventy-one words...

It was February 12, 1923. A burly man greeted the doctor; concern shone in his eyes. ‘Come! Come!’ the man urged. They found the man’s pregnant wife in bed. The husband looked at the doctor. ‘Too early,’ he whimpered.

‘Three months too early,’ the doctor replied gravely.

The doctor soon delivered a premature baby girl. He snipped the umbilical cord, wrapped her up, and headed for the kitchen. Once there, he turned the oven on low, opened the door, and put the baby in a baking pan.

‘You will need to keep her on low with the oven door open,’ he explained. ‘I will be back to check on her daily.’

Lights Out

I give to you a story in eleventy-one words...

I gaze out the window. There’s an emptiness in the frigidity, a silence in the snow white sheet superimposed on the ebony desolation. Suddenly, I watch as the lights flicker and die. The scene is pitch. Only my lone clove candle battles the stygian void.

There immediately comes at my door a knock. Thinking it might be a needy neighbor, I grab the candle, unbolt the lock, open the door, and peek into the hallway just in time to see the far hallway door close. I look down and see the faint outline of a card. I retrieve it and read, ‘Come down within five minutes; your life depends on it.’  

Sleepover

I give to you a story in eleventy-one words...

He stepped into the darkness, clicked his phone’s power button, and watched it die. He shook his head to dislodge the fog from his brain. ‘Think’ he urged himself. But only a fractured stream of pregnant pauses filled his mind.

‘You okay?’

He turned to see the barkeep. ‘No, not really.’

‘C’mon in.’

He followed.

'I have a cot in the basement.’

‘Thank you.’

The bartender opened the creaking door. ‘Sleep well, son.’

With that, he inched onto the first step and spied into the darkness. The door suddenly closed behind him; the light went out. Before he could turn, the step disappeared. He fell onto a pile of bones.