White Lie

A Story by Woody

the consequences of a lie, even if it is white, can be extremely detrimental to your family

In the absence of clouds, the sun was arrogantly strutting in a wide expanse of blue. It was unseasonably warm in that October morning. Birds, those who had not yet decided to pack up and head south, were flitting from tree to tree on either side of the street, competing to produce the best warble. The front lawns of the houses looked as if an artist-gardener used a ruler to make them straight.

This divine tableau went unnoticed to Jerry Kin. He trudged along the pavement, head bent, each step felt like walking on shards of glass. No, there was nothing wrong with his feet or legs. The stabbing pain he felt was in his… errr, how shall I put it? His rear end.

He’d just left the doctor’s office with bad news. He needed surgery. His hemorrhoid was in an advanced stage. A trip to the bathroom meant a torture session. Hell, he couldn’t even have the pleasure of a fart. Sitting straight was impossible. His wife, Shirley, finally convinced him that dilly-dallying wouldn’t make the problem go away.

Jerry’s now lying on his stomach. He’s still feeling woozy and rather euphoric. The surgery was a success. They fixed his.. thing, though it means he’ll have to live on soups and mashed potatoes for the foreseeable future.

His father’s sitting on a chair at the head of the hospital bed. His mother’s sitting further away. They’re both relieved that their son’s.. errr exit is fixed and running, no pun intended. (or maybe it is intended. I know me. I can be gross, so please stop complaining! You don’t live with me. I have to put up with me.)

Shirley is on the other side of the bed, pretending to whisper in his ear but is in fact nibbling at his earlobe. His son, Harry, and his daughter, Derry, are out in the corridor, having a cigarette on the sly by the open window and sharing a joke. They hear hurried footsteps and turn to see Stew Hizadic striding towards them, looking worried. His longish hair is all over the place and his glasses are precariously perched on the tip of his pointy noise. If he doesn’t push them back up, they’ll surely fall on the floor. He stops in front of the boy and girl and uses his middle finger to hoist his glasses where they belong. Huh! What did I say?

Stew is Jerry’s best friend. They’ve known each other since elementary school. Wives, try beating that!

Not bothering to say hello, he enquires about his buddy,

“How is he?” he pants, looking worried.

“He’s fine, don’t worry,” reassures the son,”

“Can you believe he never told me about this surgery?”

“I’m sure he didn’t want you to worry. It’s no big deal, really.”

“What did they operate on, anyway?”

Embarrassed, Harry and Derry looked at each other, not knowing how to describe their father’s predicament.

“Well, it’s…”

“His ear,” blurts out Derry.

“Oh, Lord!” exclaims Stew and storms into the room. He greets everybody with a cheery “Howdy all?” then strides towards the prostrate man.

“So? Keeping secrets from your old friend, you sonofagun?” he says and

gives him a friendly slap on the bum and turns to the father, not noticing that Jerry has turned purple. He buries his face in the pillow to muffle his scream while biting on his lower lip.

“You know,” he tells the befuddled father, “I knew this would happen. I told him once if I told him a thousand times to stop inserting objects in it.”

“He did what?” spluttered the father, turning red.

“He had this nasty habit of inserting in it anything he laid his hands on and jiggle it about. He seemed to enjoy it. A match, his finger, a pen. Jesus, he even thrust a key in there, once. He had this psychotic urge to cleanse it. Of what? I ask you.”

They hear a dull thud and turn to find the mother slumped on the floor, unconscious.

© 2015 Woody

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barleygirl

You're killing me. I thought for sure this was going to end with Harry-Derry-Ear (I grieve to think I'm starting to anticipate your far-fetched plays on words!) No really. I glided thru the 1st paragraph thinking: "Wow this bloke isn't all crudité after all!" But my marveling at your gentle artistic words was short-lived. Another fun device of yours is similar to addressing "the fourth wall" in drama -- the way you insert asides between yourself & the reader. You're still a mystery unfolding to me . . . *smile*

Posted 9 Years Ago

1 of 1 people found this review constructive.

9 Years Ago

thank you very much, Dear. I did have an ulterior motive when I chose the names, only I messed it up.. read more

Will Neill

Woody you had me transfixed, at first I began to read your brilliant discriptions and thought this guy is trying to steal my best story writers crown ( I know deliousinal right?) Then we get to what you do best..I should have known it would turn into another comedy write and I wasn't disappointed. I laughed out loud when he got his bum cheeks slapped and nearly choked on my sandwich that I was enjoying at the time.( I think you have a secret plot to kill me with your well honed writing to get my throne ..I will never give it up easily ha! Ha! You scoundrel) All joking aside (pardon the pun) another great write my friend and one I really enjoyed reading.
Take Care.
Will