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A Dish Of Yogurt
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TITLE (EDIT)
A Dish Of Yogurt |
DESCRIPTION
Sometimes we assume too much, and sometimes we don't assume enough.
[1,158 words] |
AUTHOR
Paul V. Fornatar |
ABOUT
THE AUTHOR
After forty years of teaching school, I thought I would spend my retirement years writing. I've published five books, two novels, a teaching memoir, and two anthologies of short stories. Also tucked away in my drawer are 8 more novels, and 325 short stories, 75 have appeared in various magazines. I guess I love to write. It makes me feel young.
"Addio, Mama Mia" was the first story I submitted in my writing career. It was purchased in four days.
[March 2000] |
AUTHOR'S E-MAIL ADDRESS
[email protected] |
AUTHOR'S OTHER TITLES (3)
A Family That Stays Together (Short Stories) The old bromide about the family that prays together stays together is carried to an extreme here. [895 words]
Addio, Mama Mia (Short Stories) A Priest visits his aged Mother. [1,495 words]
Flight Of Angels (Short Stories) Maybe it's something about airports, maybe it's flying and maybe it's something else. Check it out on your next flight. [1,038 words]
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A Dish Of Yogurt
Paul V. Fornatar
I was at that point in my life where men begin to read shorter books and go on longer vacations. Looking into my morning mirror puzzled me and made me worry over what future I had left. Then I met Zelda.
She was sitting at a yogurt shop at a replica of an old soda fountain. She wore a breezy sun hat with a pink ribbons Her cheeks were shinny, and her eyes spilled out with an electrical energy that made me sit next to her. I thought of the Gainsborogh painting titled �Pinkie,� and felt a surge of energy run through me.
I could smell her glorious scent as I waited for the boy to come for my order. I was afraid to look at her, but I felt her presence and leaned ever so slightly toward her. I felt ridiculous. Here I was forty years old and she must have been sixteen at most. There was a springtime about her that made me feel fifteen again.
�You like chocolate?� I asked. What a dumb opening line I thought. I was feeling foolish.
�Chocolate makes the world go around, at least for me it does.� Her green eyes haunted me as soon as she flashed them in my direction.
�Are you alone?�
�Aren�t we all alone?�
�Well, I�m here with you, so I�m not alone.�
�I was speaking metaphorically,� she said. She had dimples. Dimples drive me crazy.
�Are you still in school?�
�Yes.�
�High School?�
She stuck her plastic spoon into the little mountain of chocolate yogurt and swiveled her stool facing me.
�Do they allow you out of the home this late in the morning?�
�Are you kidding?� I asked.
�Yes! I�m in my last year of college and probably just a few years younger than you are.�
�That�s sweet. You should get your eyes checked soon.� They must be mighty long years I thought. �Do you dance?� I asked.
�No.�
�How could you be so beautiful and willowy and not dance?�
�Nothing ever happens when you dance. It�s so phony. I�d rather sit in a dark corner and discuss a weighty issue.�
�You�re in political science?�
�No. I�m in clay and crayolas.�
She had me there. I didn�t have the slightest idea what she was talking about.
�An artist?�
�No. A teacher.�
Here I am sitting with a child who is soon to teach children and my mind is full of things children shouldn�t be thinking about. �A noble profession,� I said. I had to say something.
�I hope so but not too noble. I think teaching is a gritty activity, especially at the level I�ll be teaching.�
�What grade?"
�Kindergarten.�
�Oh, kindergarten!� I said it sounding like I was an expert in the field and had my kindergarten certificate hanging next to my law degree.
�You must have gone to one when you were a little boy.�
I could barely remember being a little boy much less kindergarten.
�You do remember it, don�t you?� She sounded like my third, fifth and seventh grade teachers.
�What�s you�re name?� I asked. I had to get out of school.
�Zelda O�Donnell.�
�Isn�t that an oxymoron?�
�What do you mean?�
�Well, Zelda isn�t an Irish name.�
�It is when your father is Irish and your mother loves reading F. Scotts Fitzgerald.�
�Zelda, yes, his wife.�
�Did you know her?�
�I�m not that�yes, I read about her.� I was beginning to feel funny.
�Some think she was crazy. That�s why my mother and father gave me the name.�
�You weren�t crazy when you were born were you? I mean��
�They thought it would a catchy name, unforgettable. People would always remember someone called Zelda.�
�I guess it�s important.�
�What is?�
�Your name.�
She finished the last of her yogurt and looked longingly at her empty cup and then at the machine.
�Would you like another yogurt?� I asked. I felt like her father on a Sunday afternoon outing.
�I can afford my own. I don�t want you to think I�m easy.�
�Easy?�
She noticed my confusion.�What�s your name?�
�Martin Van Buren MacCormack.�
She giggled. She signaled the boy behind the counter and said, � Two large yogurts for my father and me.� The boy smiled and turned to fill the cups.
�Your father?� I said. I wasn�t that old, I thought.
�It�s such a fatherly name. Why didn�t they call you George Washington MacCormack?�
I didn�t say a word. When the boy set the yogurt in front of me he said, �And this is yours, Daddy.� He winked as if he was doing a Stan Laurel imitiation.
�Now be a nice boy and don�t get any of that chocolate on your nice white shirt,� she said wiping my lips much like my mother did when I was a child.
�Okay, I give up. What did I do wrong?� I said.
�You assume that there is a schedule for people to live up too. How old are you?�
�Forty. I just turned forty.�
�I�m twenty-four. I was in the convent for a while.�
�Convent?�
�Your hear well for an old man.�
�I can�t picture you in a convent.�
�Neither could some of the others. They didn�t think Sister Zelda would sound too good.�
�Are you happy to be out?�
�I was happy to be in. I think you make your own happiness. You decide to be happy or miserable. You know--- a cup of tea at ten, a large yogurt or even an old fellow can make my day seem special. We don�t give the right things the right value.�
�You�re smart for someone so young.�
�When are you going to ask me?�
�Ask you what?�
�To go out.�
�Go out?�
�I�m sure the term was around when you were young.�
�But I�m older than you are.�
�What does that mean in terms of enjoying one another, having a solid friendship, and even more maybe?�
�Well, people��
�No, I�m asking you. Does happiness begin at a certain age and end on a specific date?�
�Are you sure you aren�t taking philosophy courses?�
�I�m sure. I�m sure that I�m not going to clutter my life with all the little rules that narrow minded people spout because they�re so unhappy.�
�Well, would you?�
�Would I what?�
�Go out with me?�
"Depends.�
Now she would wiggle her way free from old daddy I thought.
�Depends?� I asked.
�I might be busy when you want to go out.�
� Well, when are you free?�
�Depends.�
I got off the stool. �I�ve been on this merry-go-round before. Okay--- I give up. Depends, depends.Depends are for��
She understood my allusion and smiled. �Depends on if you�re free too.�
She was playing games with me, but I enjoyed playing the games. That was years ago. Now I enjoy a sunrise, a nice day, sitting on a swing, and even eating chocolate yogurt when I�m with Zelda McCormack and the kids.
C.1999
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COPYRIGHT NOTICE
© 1999 Paul V. Fornatar |
STORYMANIA PUBLICATION DATE
March 2000 |
NUMBER OF TIMES TITLE VIEWED
2258
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