fiction

Darling Dearest

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Darling Dearest was very good at taking care of herself, which is how she ended up living all alone on a houseboat. She used to live in an ordinary house with her parents, until the government told everyone to Stay Where You Are. The night of the announcement, Darling Dearest packed a small bag filled with only the essentials, crawled out her window, and walked down to the dock.

Darling Dearest loved many things about her houseboat. It had wooden floors that she liked to polish until they smelled like lemon. The kitchen had the most delicious smoothie ingredients like bananas, frozen raspberries, and hemp seeds. On the counter was a magical blender that cleaned itself. 

A rope ladder connected the kitchen to the upstairs room, which was filled with books, toys, and beanbags. When sat upon, each beanbag made a different sound. The red one whistled, the one with yellow polka dots sighed, and the blue one farted. Brightly colored lightbulbs were strung from one corner of the ceiling to the other. The lights responded to Darling Dearest’s moods, and, to cheer her up, turned brighter on the days she felt sad. The only time she ever felt sad, however, was when she finished a really good book or took the last bite of chocolate cake. The rest of the time, Darling Dearest was happy.

Her houseboat had a green, checkered couch that turned into a waterbed when Darling Dearest squeezed a fuzzy pom-pom attached to the side. She had a TV with many channels including one that only showed episodes of Adventure Time and Full House. The TV was voice-activated, and when Darling Dearest came back from a swim, she could call out, “Play the one where Stephanie starts kindergarten.” 

Most of all, Darling Dearest loved her balcony that circled the top level of the houseboat. She liked to recline on her lounge chair with an orange popsicle and feel the sun on her belly. When she got too hot, she’d spray herself with cucumber water from her glittery spray bottle, and when that wasn’t enough, she jumped from the balcony into the cool water below. Darling Dearest read many books on her balcony, and often had dinner there while watching the sun set. She always made a wish on the first star. Sometimes it was hard to think of a wish, when she felt that she had everything she ever wanted. At those times, she’d make a wish for the world. 

One day after her swim, Darling Dearest was on her balcony enjoying a quesadilla with extra jalapenos and a cup of black coffee, when something flew out of the sky and hit her on the head. “Ouch,” she exclaimed, “What was that?” She put down her quesadilla and licked her fingers. She looked down, and there, next to her white plastic chair was a large, brown, hairy coconut. “Where did that come from?” Darling Dearest said to no one in particular. She often spoke aloud, but not because she wished for someone to answer her, but because she enjoyed hearing her voice, which was medium-pitched and singsongy. She reached down and picked up the coconut. It was heavy, like a small bag of groceries. She plopped it down on the table next to her plate. 

Darling Dearest had never seen a coconut in person, but she had read about them in The Encyclopedia of Fruit.

She took a bite of quesadilla, and stared at the coconut. She took a sip of coffee and stared at the coconut. Finally, it began to roll from side to side. Darling Dearest was not scared. She knew that the best surprises often came in the form of interruptions. 

The coconut began to speak. “Hello!” it said. “Nice to see you.” The voice was low-pitched and friendly sounding. 

Darling Dearest adjusted her sunflower hair clip and leaned down to speak to the coconut. “Hello!”

“Would you mind letting me out of here?” 

“Do you want me to cut you open?” Darling Dearest asked.

“Yes please. I’ll stay to one side.”

Darling Dearest told the coconut that she’ll just be a minute, and went to the upstairs room where she kept her machete in a leather case hanging on a wall hook. 

“I’m back. Are you on the right side or the left side?”

“If you’re looking at the coconut, I’m on the left.”

Darling Dearest gave the coconut one strong whack and it split right down the middle. There, standing on the left half was a tiny man wearing a brown three-piece suit and a red necktie. He smiled and waved. “Well isn’t this a glorious view?” he said. “Would you mind helping me out so I can get a better look?” 

The tiny man gracefully leapt into Darling Dearest’s open palm. He dusted himself off and small white flakes blew off his body into the warm air. He stood on his tiptoes and looked around. “It really is spectacular,” he said. “I can see why you love it here.” His voice was loud, given the size of his body. “Are you drinking coffee, Darling Dearest?” he asked, craning his head over his shoulder, staring at the table. 

“How do you know my name?”

The tiny man took a deep breath and said, “I am your grandfather.” 

She leaned over and stared at his miniscule bushy eyebrows and chin dimple. “Grandpa! Why are you so small and how did you get inside of a coconut?”

Her grandfather rested his hands on the tops of his thighs, took another deep breath, began speaking and did not stop until the coffee was cold and the sun had set. He told his granddaughter what happened after the government told everyone to Stay Where You Are. Many people got sick from the virus and some people died. Darling Dearest’s parents had both gotten sick, but thankfully recovered. He spoke of Darling Dearest’s grandmother, who smoked clove cigarettes and wrote rhyming poems about nature. He said their love was like a pavlova, sweet and filling without ever feeling like you’d had too much. The tiny man’s tiny eyes filled with tears when he described the moment of his wife’s death, when he held her hand and promised he would always love her. 

“And that’s when the shrinking began.”

Darling Dearest wiped her tears and said quietly, “The shrinking?”

“Soon after your grandmother died, I began to shrink. Slowly at first, but then very quickly. Soon my wedding ring fit my wrist.”

Darling Dearest had read many books but never one about a shrinking disease. “Were you scared?”

“Yes.” The tiny man held his index finger up towards the sky. “Until I remembered my coconut collection.” He smiled. “Do you collect anything?”

“Shells,” she said softly, “And duck figurines.”

“Did you know that coconuts stop people from shrinking?” Darling Dearest had not read this in The Encyclopedia of Fruit.

Darling Dearest looked around at her balcony and inside to the upstairs room with the rainbow lights and the farting beanbag. She could not imagine living inside of a coconut. 

“But you’re ok? You don’t have the virus?”

“I’m more than ok, Darling Dearest. Never been healthier. And you. Look at you. You have taken good care of yourself, being alone on this houseboat. I am proud of you.”

She was happy her grandfather was here. At night, he slept next to her on the couch, curled up on a bamboo coaster.

In the morning, they both noticed his feet were hanging off the coaster and his vest was tight around the middle. After a breakfast of coffee and scones, followed by a refreshing swim, Darling Dearest stared at her grandfather. Crouching down to look into his eyes, she declared, “I think you’ve grown, Grandpa.”

He smiled. “I also noticed this, Darling Dearest, but I didn’t want to say anything until after our swim. Indeed, I have grown nearly one inch since I arrived yesterday. I think it is because I am no longer sad.”

The next several days were filled with storytelling and smoothie making. And all the while, Darling Dearest’s grandfather kept growing. 

“I don’t think I need to live in a coconut anymore Darling Dearest,” her grandfather announced one afternoon, after an episode of Adventure Time.

“You wouldn’t fit in one, Grandpa!” They both laughed. 

Darling Dearest had also noticed something changing within herself. She had really enjoyed living on her own for quite some time, but her grandfather’s arrival had made her realize there was nothing quite like the company of someone you love.

“Grandpa?” Darling Dearest said, placing her hand on his. “Would you like to stay here with me?”

“I would like that very much,” he replied.

Darling Dearest sighed with happiness. And then the two of them played backgammon. They didn’t even notice when the first star appeared. 

Conflict Resolution

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The worst thing Vanessa ever did was steal a man’s laptop. And jacket.

She often went to the café with the stained-glass windows in the late afternoon, after her shift at the halfway house. Today she got an Earl Grey tea and splurged on a raspberry scone. The man was already sitting at the next table over, working on his laptop. He nodded at her as she sat down and made no effort to help her with the pile of things she was balancing: her purse, a steaming mug of tea, a small plate, the newspaper, and her red cardigan slung over one arm. It would have been nice, she thought, if men were still pulling out chairs. 

She discovered the round table was wobbly, so she ripped out an ad page in the newspaper, folded it into a perfect square, and slid it under one of the legs. “Smart,” the man said. Vanessa nodded. He continued, “Originally I was sitting there. But then I moved over here.” Vanessa said nothing and turned to the crossword. His comment was what Vanessa’s mother would have described as “non-information,” something Vanessa’s father was full of apparently.

It had already been a long day. Unlike her average workday which consisted of folding laundry and playing boardgames with adults with schizophrenia, today Vanessa attended a conflict resolution workshop. It was led by a man with a distracting mustache and a woman in a pencil skirt that prevented her from taking regular-sized steps. Vanessa learned about empathetic listening and different kinds of conflict styles. Hers was Avoidance, as determined by Moustache. Three other people also got Avoidance, and so they all stood around a poster board and wrote things down like, “Don’t enjoy fighting,” and “Choose my battles.” 

After the lunchbreak, they had to role-play conflicts from their own lives. A woman with a nose ring had a boss who didn’t check in with her enough. A man in a Golden Gate Bridge t-shirt felt ignored at management meetings. A woman organizing a social justice event was not getting enough help with outreach, and a man retiring at the end of the year hated his board of directors. 

Vanessa’s conflict was that a coworker made too many boob jokes. She had not confronted him about this. In the role play, she played the part of Boob Man, and Nose Ring asked her if there was any conflict at work he wished to discuss. Vanessa/Boob Man said, “No, everything is great at work.” Everyone laughed and Pencil Skirt said, “You were supposed to come with an example where both parties are aware of the conflict.” Vanessa and Nose Ring spent the rest of the exercise talking about shoes, and the recent Planned Parenthood debacle.

Now, at the café, Vanessa had finished her scone and was trying to think of a seven-letter word for renegade. The man next to her stood up suddenly, put his phone in his pocket, closed his laptop, and said, “Watch my stuff? I gotta tinkle.” Vanessa nodded.

As a regular, Vanessa knew that the bathroom was down a long hallway, out a side door, and down an alley. She also knew that no one over the age of three should use the word tinkle. She looked around. There were a few tables of students from the Jesuit college around the corner working on homework. 

She stood up and bussed her mug and plate. She put on her cardigan, slung her purse over her shoulder, and nonchalantly slid the man’s laptop into his black backpack. She grabbed his brown leather jacket from the back of the chair, and the backpack, and quickly exited the café. She knew this would be the last time she’d come here, so she inhaled deeply as she left, logging the smell. 

Outside, Vanessa’s eyes widened, her heart raced, and she began to run. Her purse bonked against her side and the man’s bag jiggled up and down her back. She clutched the leather jacket against her chest. Glancing over her shoulder, she didn’t see anyone following. She ran two more blocks and turned the corner to the bus stop. Just her luck, the 40 was approaching. She boarded and walked straight to the back of the bus, past people on their phones paying attention to nothing. 

The ride home was quick. By the time she ran up the three floors to her studio apartment, she was breathing heavily, and her back was sweaty. She ripped off the backpack and tossed it on the couch with the jacket. The cat was desperate for food so she opened a can. She filled a glass with water and chugged it in the middle of the kitchen, staring over at the bag and jacket.  

It was dark outside before Vanessa felt ready to unzip the backpack. She pulled out the laptop and slid it under the couch. She found a notebook with just two pages filled in. Meeting notes. He was preparing for a presentation on sales numbers and forecasting. In the middle pocket was a banana, which Vanessa peeled and ate in three bites. There were two pens, a news magazine, a granola bar wrapper, and a folder from a real estate company containing fliers of homes for sale. Vanessa reached down to the bottom and felt around. There, amidst the crumbs, she felt something small and round, with rough edges. It was a pretty shell, white on one side, and mother of pearl on the other. She put it on her coffee table, next to her Ruth Bader Ginsburg action figure and a book of places to visit before you die. 

Vanessa showered and changed into sweatpants and her Warriors t-shirt. She put on the stolen brown leather jacket and looked in the mirror. It was huge on her and smelled of cigarettes. Leaning in to stare at her reflection, Vanessa said in the creepiest voice possible, “I gotta tinkle.” She burst out laughing and fell to her knees. She rocked back and forth with laughter, smacking her palms on her thighs. Before today, the only thing she had ever stolen was a 99-cent bottle of silver nail polish when she was 12. Now look at her. One conflict resolution workshop and she’s a criminal. She kept laughing until she got hungry and made some pasta.