Sparks

Sparks

A Story by Charles Konsor

“See, if you get them to sneeze right when they orgasm it makes it last a lot longer,” Tom said with many hand motions accompanying his explanation. “It also feels really good for you. Like it tightens them up or something.”

“Right Tom,” I said. My eyes had long since turned away from him, looking now toward the river. I wished I was that duck bobbing carelessly in the water—the water would be cold so late in the year, but still . . . careless.

“No, I don’t think you understand Jack,” Tom said with more emphasis and more hand motions. “It feels really, really good. Not to mention the chick will be in love with you.”

“Right.”

How is that he ducks float so easily? I’ve never seen a duck sink. I don’t think they can. How is that?

“See it’s some chemical thing in their brain. The chemicals they release when they sneeze is the same as when they orgasm. God, and I never thought science would come in handy.”

“You know, Tom, I don’t really care.”

“What . . . about science.”

“No, I don’t really care about making a girl sneeze when she orgasms.”

“But . . .” Tom started, staring at me as if I hadn’t understood him properly. “They’ll love you for it.”

“Right,” I said, and turned back toward the duck. He was gone. Sank perhaps? No, ducks can’t sink. “And how do you even get them to sneeze?”

“It’s simple really. Just keep some pepper by the bed and throw it on them right when they start saying ‘I’m gonna come’.”

“F*****g hell.” I said, still looking for the duck.

“I know. It’s amazing how simple it all is.”

“Ducks can’t sink, can they?”

“Ducks? Who’s talking about ducks. We’re talking about b*****s, man.”

“Tom . . .” I started again, then paused as I decided on the proper reply. All I could come up with was mockery and sarcasm. Before I could settle on one or the other, however, my cell phone rang. “Hello?”

“Freshly ground pepper works the best,” Tom continued.

“Hello?” I asked of the phone, but the normal sounds of stagnant lifeheavy air and settling dustwere the only answer.

“I’ve also heard white pepper is really good.”

“Hello?”

“It’s harder to find white pepper though. You have to go to one of those big super markets.” Tom said. Only when I’d hung up did he realize I was on the phone. “Who was that?”

“Emily?” I said as I checked the caller ID.

“What’d she say?”

“Nothing . . . she just hung up. It’s like the third time she’s done that today.”

“Oh s**t, you know what, you should try that pepper thing on her. I bet she’d love it.”

“She’s my room mate.”

“So . . . she’d still love it.” Tom said. “Or I could do it to her”

“Bye Tom.”

“What? Where are you going?”

“Home.”

“Are you gonna try it on her.”

“No . . . I’m just gonna go see her.”

 

~

 

Coldplay’s Sparks was playing on the stereo, but there was no sign of Emily in our apartment. The incense stick had burned out long ago and the pungent smoke has faded from everything except the curtains and the couch. The cat slept in front of the window. I think he liked the smell of incense, and so he always stayed close to the curtains.

Sparks ended, but the stereo shuffled backwards, and repeated the song.

The mail on the table was nothing of note, credit card offers and shop ads, but I hadn’t brought it in. Emily must have been home sometime, she must have put on the song.

Sparksit’s a romantic song I suppose, its lyrics talk of love beginning, of the flickering flame of passion when it first alights in the eyes of romantics. The tune of the song, however, has more of a lonely feelnot really explicable, but lonely all the same.

As I moved to turn it off I found a pile of cat poop on the floor.

“D****t Tompkin,” I said, but the cat slept on, and there was nothing else to do but clean it up. A paper towel, the feces still warm, and I rushed to the bathroom to flush it away. As I washed my hands, however, I caught sight of something in the mirror. Something behind the shower curtain, a shape in the bath.

It was quite definite, not just a shadow, but a definite thing—indefinable in shape, but definably something—and slowly I pulled back the curtain to find Emily curled up in the bottom of the bath. Her eyes—larger than usual—stared at the wall, her arms were wrapped tightly around her knees, and she said nothing of my presence.

“Emily,” I said, my voice suddenly weak. “Are you alright?”

Still she took no notice of me, still she stared at the wall, but her muffled voice said softly. “No.”

“What’s wrong Emily?” I asked, it seemed right to use her name a lot. I don’t know why, but I keep saying it. And again she went silent. “Emily what’s wrong?”

“I don’t know.”

“You don’t know?”

“Sorry,” was all she said.

“No, no it’s fine.” I said, kneeling by the tub, wishing I could take hold of her hand, but her arms were still wrapped tightly around her knees. “But how about we get you out of there?”

I don't know why I said that. I'd probably heard it in a movie or something, and it did sound caring and compassionate, but Emily didn't move.

I still wanted to hold her hand, I still felt like I should be saying her name. These were probably things I had picked up from movies as well. They didn't work, and Emily kept staring at the wall.

“Emily . . . do you think ducks can sink?”

It was a desperate attempt to make a joke, to lighten the mood.

“If they think about it too much . . . yes.”

“Oh . . . right. I suppose.” And I didn’t know what to say anymore. What do you do here? What do you say? How can you help? Do you know?

My phone rang, but I didn’t want to leave her.

“You can get it,” she said and so I did.

“Hey, I’m at the supermarket and I thought I’d pick you up some white pepper,” Tom said as soon as I answered. “You know so you can try it on Emily—” and I hung up the phone.

She was still in the bottom of the tub when I came back, but she was now staring at the rubber duck on the ledge of the bath. Behind it the shower curtain fluttered, pushed by an unseen wind moving through the bathroom. I sat on the toilet and we both watched the duck and dancing curtain.

“Do you want some tea?”

She just shook her head, or rather, let it fall in a general sign of no.

“Alright.”

We sat silent again, listening to Sparks on the stereo, watching the shower curtain, wishing we knew what to do.

“Who was on the phone?”

“Oh, no one . . . Tom.” I said. I couldn’t stand the silence which followed, however, and so I quickly added, “he wanted to buy me some white pepper.”

“White pepper?”

“Yeah . . .” and again the silence forced me to speak, “he has this idea that if he makes a girl sneeze right when she . . . well . . . when she . . . orgasms. He thinks it’ll make it last longer or something.”

The stereo sang ‘I saw sparks’, Emily’s eyes flickered to me, a smile slowly appeared to her lips, and she laughed. Not out loud, just a silent shaking of her body, but there was a smile on her face.

© 2015 Charles Konsor


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Reviews

first off, i love it when stories blend something heavy with something inane. Makes it that much heavier right? And in that respect your opening scene is great as Tom muses about pepper while Jack tries to figure out the phone. Love the interaction between the two there ("what.. about science?" haha). And i love how it then comes back. Also that his Holden-esque duck musing doesn't work on her, but Tom's does. This story is well constructed.

One of your strengths, still, is character interaction. There's a difference between just having dialogue and then actually having a MOMENT between two people. The end of your story is a definite moment. One observation i love is the silence FORCING the kid to speak on. It is as if it knows better than either of them what she needs.

raising the glass for ya again bro,
-dan

Posted 17 Years Ago


1 of 2 people found this review constructive.

i agree. i want more.
this is gorgeous.

Posted 17 Years Ago


1 of 2 people found this review constructive.

Great visualization and your character development seemed effortless....but I want more!!



Posted 17 Years Ago


1 of 2 people found this review constructive.

Cool story. I like how you didn't feel the need to explain too much to your readers. Sometimes, explanation is good and goes a very long way, but sometimes, just sometimes, saying little about a subject lets the reader figure out what certain things within the story mean for themselves. Sometimes, that beats anything any author, even the best of them, can say or explain away. A weird story and a very good story. Keep it up.

Hawksmoor...From The Bleed.

Posted 17 Years Ago


1 of 2 people found this review constructive.

This is quite a coming of age story. The diaglogue is funny. I wanted more description but I think you were trying to be more character centered.

Posted 17 Years Ago


1 of 2 people found this review constructive.

I loved the flow, the randomness that seemed natural, to life, to this story.

Ducks don't sink, they dive...

Posted 17 Years Ago


1 of 2 people found this review constructive.

I read this a week ago and couldn't stop thinking about it, so I came back to comment. Great flow. Wonderful characters. Beautiful. Beautiful. Beautiful.

Posted 17 Years Ago


1 of 2 people found this review constructive.

I liked the dialogue. It was believable, especially because each character had their own distinct voice. I could hear it and see it.

Posted 17 Years Ago


1 of 2 people found this review constructive.

I love this. The voice, language and syntax are all impeccable. Definately going on my favorites list.

Posted 17 Years Ago


1 of 2 people found this review constructive.

Good job. I don't like present tense though. But that's just me. You, however, can do whatever you want. And you already do.

I like your characters, once again. I think I'd like the story more if I had heard the Sparks song. Maybe I'll give it a listen sometime soon. Otherwise I enjoyed your duck metaphors, and the fact that you keep Emily's problems a secret. I'm sick of hearing about everybody's problems all the time.

Posted 17 Years Ago


1 of 2 people found this review constructive.


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2343 Views
41 Reviews
Shelved in 2 Libraries
Added on February 12, 2008
Last Updated on January 23, 2015

Author

Charles Konsor
Charles Konsor

Portland, OR



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