Welcome to another 800 Word Story, this time a solo effort.

That means you get two stories from the same prompt. As usual, due to my procrastinating nature, I pulled out this story in a few hours yesterday but had to get up at the crack of dawn to write it. Still, sometimes the best ideas enter my mind under pressure.

Limited as it may feel sometimes, “A Life of Small Protests” is but one example of a woman’s strength and empowerment.

I’m also curious to see how Bill interpreted this prompt. To read his story, “There’s Weird and There’s Weird” follow the link here.

Hope you enjoy.

* * *

Prompt: There were seventeen cats living in Larry’s basement

For more of my stories, go to FREE READS.

* * *

* * *

A Life of Small Protests

Francine had a way of telling a story with so many exaggerated twists and turns that it became unbelievable. “There were seventeen cats living in Larry’s basement,” she said, “that man was always bizarre.”

“How do you know he lives with seventeen cats?”

“He told me when I saw him crossing the street.”

A breath hitched in my throat. “You saw him? Did you talk to him?”

“No, if anything, I tried avoiding him, but he saw me …” Her voice took on a high-pitched squeal.

Larry never liked cats.

“… And he was bulging in places where I didn’t know men his age could still bulge, wearing a tight checkered pair of pants, took everything for me not to stare at his huge—”

“Stop! I don’t want to hear it.”

“Bouquet, a huge bouquet of flowers which was absolutely gorgeous—roses, lilies, tulips. Wait …what did you think I was going to say?”

“Never mind.” 

“Seriously Katherine, he’s not a bad catch … if you don’t mind weird, I guess.” A dismissive wave of a hand accompanied her comment. 

“Francine, stop telling lies, will you? Your frivolous comments are not welcome. You never knew Larry, none of us did.”

Her expression of indignation was pure theatre. “Fine then, that’s the last time I tell you anything!” She turned on her heel and strutted off with a few choice words aimed at me, bitch being one of them.

I must confess, if there’s anyone who ever knew Larry, it was me. A riddle wrapped in a mystery inside an enigma?

That was Larry.

I’d describe him as esoteric, but never, ever weird. He had encyclopedic knowledge about endless subjects like he’d spent years researching the topic. He spoke in specifics with authority, so unlike Francine who might gossip about the new dentist in town, Larry would turn the conversation to the history of dentistry. 

“Did you know that in pioneer times, tooth-pulling could be offered by farmers with the right instruments or that in Medieval Europe, traveling carnivals featured dentists who wore necklaces of teeth they’d extracted to showcase their skills? And then there was the dreaded tool called a dental pelican which remained in use for the next 400 years. It was developed by a French physician … can’t recall his name … oh wait … it was Guy de Chauliac.”

It made Larry endlessly fascinating, even if my time with him was abruptly short. 

+++

Small town. I hate it here but I won’t leave my elderly parents. They need me even though the arthritis in my hands can be so bad somedays, my mother ends up preparing dinner for me instead of the other way around. 

Small minds like Francine’s, like so many of these small-town minds. I’d be one of them had it not been for Larry. He hadn’t crossed my mind in years, so although the mention of his name today rattled me, I remained calm. That he might be back in town was probably the one piece of Francine’s fairy tale that rang true. Our time together was fleeting, but it was a good time, certainly better than a lifetime of unfulfilled wants. I got to travel, see different cultures, experience how other people lived. It altered my outlook of the world. When I returned from our first and only trip to Mexico, my parents were none too happy with what they labeled my new-found liberalism.

Dad said: “Don’t come around here with that leftist way of thinking.”

I immediately knew then, that I had changed for the better. That’s when I saved up my money and continued traveling as often as I could. 

+++

The knock came just before eleven. I knew exactly who it was. With my hair brushed and a touch of mascara, I glanced at my reflection in the hallway mirror; it pleased me.

I held my breath and pulled open the front door, then exhaled. The huge bouquet did indeed contain roses and lilies, but there were no tulips. Instead, the many stems of orchids caught my eye—my favourite flower in my favourite shade of pink.

I saw the man I’d fallen for all those years ago, the man I married and was still married to, the man who left me.

“Hello, Katherine.” He handed me the bouquet. 

“Larry.” I held the flowers and stood firm. 

“May I come in?” he said with quiet confidence, without a hint of remorse.  

The brief time I had to think of what I wanted to say didn’t make it easier, but thanks to Francine, I was prepared.

“No, you may not.”

His expression changed. “Look Katherine, I—”

“Consider yourself lucky. I’m giving you the courtesy of telling you good-bye, which is more than you ever did.”

I stepped back and quietly closed the door. 

***

Thanks for reading and feel free to comment. 🙂

~eden