Right or Left

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


They hit traffic on Varick as they waited to get into the Holland Tunnel.

“What am I doing?” Darren blurted.

“Driving? Well, no, sitting in traffic,” Chris quipped.

Darren ignored him. “Is this the dumbest thing I’ve ever done?”

“Nope, you’ve done dumber.”

Darren side-eyed him before continuing. “Am I making a big mistake?”

“Of course. You’re leaving the best city in the world.” He paused for effect. “And me with it!”

Hairline fractures formed in Darren’s stoic exterior. They sat in strained silence.

“Listen, Tequila,” Chris used the nickname he had given Darren years earlier. “There’s no mistake to make. There’s no right or wrong. There’s only right or left.”

Seeds

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

Murray had planted the seeds of Darren’s departure nine months earlier.

It was at Murray’s sendoff in Tribeca. An army of finance folk littered the pretentious bar gulping overpriced cocktails and quarreling over chic seating. Murray, a fairly senior leader and Darren’s former boss, lay sprawled on a couch between his boss and the head of the department. They traded quips and thickly veiled insults. After a few more drinks, Murray was just short of sloppy. That’s when Darren heard his name spoken above the corporate din. Darren turned to see Murray pointing a finger with unfocused eyes and a stupid grin.

From Darren’s loosened lips escaped an uncharacteristic, “Oh shit.”

Departure

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

‘Twas the day after Christmas, and Darren descended the walk-up’s stairs for the last time. He stuffed a bag into the rented Buick and forced the door shut. ‘Time to go,’ his best friend, Chris, announced from the passenger’s seat as a truck pulled behind the idling car. The truck driver signaled his displeasure. Pete, Darren’s roommate and sometime lover, emerged from the building. Darren hugged Pete, then slid into the driver’s seat. ‘Wait! Let me get a pic,’ Pete cried. He captured them, their heads jutting from their respective windows, with the just-opened World Trade Center as the backdrop. With that, the duo began their adventure from Soho to Soma.

Hey Siri

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


Tess greeted Susan and suggested, “Let’s set up your device.”

After a few false starts with passwords, Tess asked, “Do you use Siri?”

“Yes, though it’s a real pain.”

Tess chuckled. “First, say ‘Hey Siri.’ Then, make a request.” Another shopper interrupted, and Tess moved away from the table.

“Hey Siri.” No response. “Hey Siri!” Still nothing. Susan tried at least ten more times, to no avail.

When Tess returned, Susan grumbled, “It isn’t working,”

“Your Siri must be cranky. I have an idea.”

“Please, I’ll try anything.”

“Say ‘Hey Siri, I’m sorry.’”

“Why?”

“Just try it.”

Susan spoke reluctantly, “Hey Siri, I’m sorry.”

Siri replied. “For what? Please be specific.”

Duck

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



“I’ve a duck,” he proclaimed, “for Christmas day.”

“A duck, do you say? Why buy it today?

‘Tis but the fifth; why tease me with fowl…”

(A passing grimace did his face betray.)

“When twenty long days have we to delay?”



“I’ve many glad notions ‘bout what I’ll do,

Like boil or bake it or toss it in stew.”

Ere he the fowl in the freezer stuffed

And fled the kitchen with plenty ado.

I meanwhile snacked on a roasted cashew.



Upon reentry he said not a word

Neither greeting nor mention of the bird.



My last bid to embrace him proved a bust;

As he scampered away, I stood nonplussed.

Weights

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

Doug slid weights onto each side of the barbell, then sat to start his second set.

A silver-haired woman lurked nearby, eager to speak. She inched toward him; her eyes searched Doug’s for acknowledgment.

Startled, Doug removed his headphones in wary anticipation.

“Will you put these weights away?” The rebuke smoldered behind her poorly masked curiosity.

Eyebrows furrowed, he drawled, “Sure.” His intonation rose at the word’s conclusion as if he, himself, wasn’t convinced.

“Well, people don’t.” She harrumphed and slunk away, though continued to monitor him.

When Doug completed his final set, he felt her probing eyes but didn’t meet them. Instead, he scanned the gym with an amused expression.

Jingle Bells

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

Celia started singing Jingle Bells. After a few words, she and her family transformed the restaurant into a festive wonderland.

Ted, the restaurant’s manager approached with a stern expression; Andrew, the girl’s father, stood.

“You are bothering the customers.”

“But everyone’s singing. Don’t worry, we’ll tip well.” Andrew motioned to sit, but Ted grabbed his arm.

“Don’t touch me.”

“She needs to stop.”

“Or what?”

“You’ll get thrown out.”

“Try it.”

“Excuse me?”

Andrew turned. Ted grabbed him again. Andrew reflexively threw a punch that put him on the floor.

The song stopped. Everyone and everything, except Andrew, disappeared.

Gas hissed causing Andrew to collapse. “Prep him for the next trial.”