What Girls Really Think –by Berit Ellingsen

The guest blogger for the month of December is Berit Ellingsen, a writer I’m very fond of and lucky to know.

Berit Ellingsen is a Korean-Norwegian writer and science journalist whose work has appeared in various literary journals and anthologies, most recently or forthcoming in Thunderclap, Pure Slush, SmokeLong, Metazen and decomP. Berit’s debut novel, The Empty City, is a story about silence. This is her second story with predatorial fish.

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What Girls Really Think

 by Berit Ellingsen

  

They sat inside the smell of dead seagull, bleach and formaldehyde, beneath the mute stares of a stuffed red fox and a mounted brown and white marten that bared their small teeth ineffectually at the void.

The middle-aged museum taxidermist scrunched up his face, leaned forward and asked in a reverent tone:
            “Do you get a lot of attention from boys?”

The thin, twelve year old girl in front of him tried to duck away from his sour breath. She didn’t know the answer to his question, because it didn’t connect with reality. What did “a lot” mean? What did he mean by “attention”? Compliments? Invitations to dates? Tugs on her hair? She received nothing of the former but plenty of the latter. Her long hair seemed irresistible for pulling, sometimes so hard the roots creaked when the braid was tugged like a church bell by eager little hands.

There was something more to the man’s question than just his words and curiosity, something unformed and threatening, like the shadow of a leviathan passing below the surface. But she wasn’t interested, because the man wasn’t interesting, so she refused to search for it, or be scared of it, whatever it was.

“I don’t know,” she said. “Maybe sometimes.”

The taxidermist leaned back in his chair. He knew he had gone as far as he could risk.

The girl’s mind was cold and clear and still. She sighed and thought of the piranha in the display tank in the museum basement, how much she looked forward to watching them get fed and see the raw meat spread out in cloudy little chunks, blushing the water, instead of trying to reply to unintelligible, unanswerable questions.

Reading Stuff to Fill Your Personal Void

by Susan Tepper

Ever notice the kinds of stories people tend toward?   After a while you can almost fit a story to a person.  You could line people up and make it into a game show:  “Name That Story.”  What I’m saying, specifically, is that we tend to read things that match us, or fill the void in our lives, or in some way mirror our personal problems.  It seems to be the problems aspect that dominates our choice of story.  I’ve seen friends who are in relationship trouble just ooh and aah over stories that were sad like their own lives were sad.  It’s a response thing.  We’re like little rats in the Skinner Box.  We are stimulated to like or dislike through our specific neuroses and narcissistic tendencies.  A woman I know who has been cheated on by a spouse “likes” all sorts of stories where people are being treated even worse than she is.   It must bolster her spirit to know she isn’t alone in her misery.   Just get away from him, I’d like to be able to say.  Of course I can’t.  And she reads on.   There’s a guy I know who’s a serial cheater and is drawn to stories of great undying love.  A thing that he, as a serial cheater, will never have for very long.  It’s all quite interesting.   I did an experiment on myself.  I re-read stories that I initially despised, or that bored me, or that I thought just stank.  And in some cases during the second reading, the story took on a positive new light.  Some of them actually mesmerized me and had a glow.  How can this be? I thought.  You hated that story.  What is happening?  Is your taste slipping?  It was like when I studied Interior Design.  One of our teachers told us to never look at anything ugly for very long.  Notice it and move on, he said.  He said that if you look at it consistently, say in a showroom window, every day as you get off the subway, that after a while it will seem less ugly.  Then bit by bit it will start to grow on you.  And you will have creamed your taste.  And what is worse than an Interior Designer with creamed taste?  Nothing.  It’s a career-killer.  So when I read over the old stories, and started to like some, and some a lot, I had to stop and mull this over.  And I realized that the ones I now liked had somehow worked on me like a form of therapy, or cocktails, or some magic mushroom.  They created a distorted false reality.  But one which I obviously needed.  The stupid story about the wise-cracking tough gal, that initially seemed cliché, suddenly took on a strength and power I hadn’t noticed on first reading.  Of course on the second reading I was feeling terribly vulnerable, and it had been snowing for weeks, and I didn’t have a lot of new work being published, and my back had gone out, and I couldn’t find an agent for my third book. And my place was so dusty.  So this tough gal was just what I needed to buck me up.  I just adored her gum-chewing, ass-scratching tough girl toughness.  I tried it out on my husband.  I lowered my voice and cracked my gum.  What the hell is wrong with you? he said.  Well that immediately reduced me to tears.  Then I thought of the tough gal and I bucked up a bit.  If I were single, I could dress up and go out and look for some guy to make me feel gorgeous and all that.  I’m married.  I have to make due with what I’ve got.  So I go to the books and get my little fantasy jolt from the heroines who are doing just fine, thanks.   Of course as soon as the weather turned nice, they seemed like jerks again.  And I threw them aside without so much as a backward glance.  Thank god.  Because like the Interior Design guy said:  You don’t want to cream your taste.  It’s a career-killer.

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Susan Tepper has published 3 books. Her latest is a novel collaboration with Gary Percesepe titled “What May Have Been: Letters of Jackson Pollock & Dori G”.

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Susan Tepper was gracious enough to give my blog some lovely reading fodder. While I enjoy her fiction stories, this op-ed piece was a nice change and a welcome addition. Thank you, Susan!

Take 5

by Olga Kieran

My oubliette is my innerchild – my 5yr old to be precise. She protects me from the elements of an adult world. Although she’s quite smart – she never feels the need to prove it. She’d rather giggle furiously as she chases butterflies during the day & fireflies at night. She can jump really high & run really fast & loves to spin until she’s dizzy & falls down…making her laugh every time. She’s as free as the wind. Divorce is not in her vocabulary nor is career choice or whether she’s a good parent or role model. Life is good – Ice Cream better. When life becomes too much……I take 5….and become 5. Its a fun place to be….even as I approach 5-0hhhhhhh.

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Olga responded to my Guest Blog Challenge and as soon as I got her response I knew I had to post it. It’s so freeing and honest, making me nod my head in agreement to her words, laugh at her feistiness and give kudos to her strength. Thank you Olga for your great writing and inspiration!!!

Surveillance by Jeffrey S. Callico

Surveillance

1.
 
We know you.
 
We know what you’ve been doing.
 
We know what size shoes you wear and that you go to parks.
 
That you sit on various benches and watch various people walk by.
 
We know more about you than anyone could ever imagine.
 
There are some things we like and some we don’t like.
 
You are exceptional in that you sometimes make us want to laugh.
 
But we never laugh.
 
We never laugh at anything or anyone.
 
Certainly not you.
 
Laughter here is off limits to our faces.
 
Take the other day.
 
You were walking in Fleethill Park.
 
You know.
 
The one with that red and orange and blue carousel/merry-go-round contraption.
 
You were sitting on the eastern bench.
 
No one else was around.
 
It was 9:07 a.m.
 
We saw your mouth moving.
 
As if you were speaking to/with someone.
 
There was no one.
 
It was 9:07 a.m.
 
We wanted to laugh.
 
But we didn’t.
 
We never do.
 
 
 
2.
 
You are unmarried and have never been married.
 
You have had two girlfriends in the past eight years.
 
One was Kim.
 
The other one was Angela.
 
Each one lasted a few weeks then vanished.
 
You wanted to marry one of them but she hated you in the end.
 
The other one used you but didn’t hate you.
 
She just didn’t like you very much.
 
That one was Angela.
 
You are boring.
 
You do nothing.
 
You sit on benches in parks.
 
You work a job but you hate it.
 
We know a lot about you.
 
Trust us.
 
 
3.
 
You report to work on time every day.
 
You are never late.
 
Check that.
 
You were late twice last year.
 
You had excuses that were not documented.
 
You are allowed two unexcused tardies per year.
 
You despise being late.
 
For anything.
 
Especially work.
 
But you hate what you do.
 
Your cubicle is gray.
 
It is a small cubicle.
 
The one you had before was bigger.
 
They reduced cubicle size to save space.
 
Your cubicle is much smaller.
 
You feel cramped when you sit in it.
 
The gray cubicle walls surround you.
 
It is your cubicle cage.
 
But you report to work on time and do your job.
 
Then you leave and go to parks.
 
Sometimes you go home.
 
4837 Ridgestone Drive.
 
Apartment H-11.
 
There is a vertical bookcase in a corner.
 
We know where you live.
 
We know so many things about you.
 
And it scares us.

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Please welcome a guest contributor – Jeffrey S. Callico. It’s an honor having him agree to let me post a piece of his work. Founder of the monthly E-Zine Negative Suck, Jeffrey S. Callico hails from Atlanta. Someday he plans to live somewhere in Maine but until then keeps driving around town looking for a place to park. His most recent poetry chapbook, Rough Travel, was published by Graffiti Kolkata Press in July 2010.