The Short Stories Of Mila Strictzer (11)
Joey thought that he probably would. "Alright, you win, you fucker, I got no answers." "Thank God, Joey. Now let me tell you something and you listen to me! I may not know a lot about politics, Joey, but I know I really don’t care about politics, either. I care about those men at the bottom of the sea, just like you do and I care that we lost ‘em; you and I both lost ‘em and you know it. But that is what happens on the sea, Joey, and I know you know that, too. Just like every other wreak that’s happened, if we’re lucky then we’re the next ones that’ll live on to tell other fishermen what happened to us so that maybe in the next squall, they’ll not go too far out, maybe one first mate will tell his captain a little louder to not be too greedy and turn back to home. I am just a fisherman, Joey, just like you. That is what we are, that is what we do, and you know it, too." "My dad, he was a fisherman, too." "And so was my own dad, Joey, and his too. He died in a wreak, shouldn’t that be my fate now too, huh?" They shared the last container of water together and slept, more tired now from a lack of energy. They both started to fade now, into that realm of semi-consciousness where they did not understand all that was going on around them. Their supply of water was gone now and about all they did was drift closer to death. Then Joey slipped into a full delirium; his dreams violent and clear in his head. He thought about his girlfriend toward the end. She was so pretty, what was she doing now? She was a good girl, she waited for him when he went away, and she knew that was his job, that he would never change because his father had done the same thing, she never gave him hell when he came home, she would just be glad to see him again, if he could only see her again. In his dreams, the captain recalled when he had been in middle school back in England. He had played rugby and when he finally made the team as a starter there was an initiation that every player had to go through. They had held him down on a table, removed his rugby shirt and then every single player on the team walked by, like a gauntlet, and smacked his stomach as hard as they could with their open palms. When it was over, he had a pink belly. The rite of passage was called "the stinger". They did not hear the chopper that flew over them from the US Coast Guard. It had taken off from a cutter only a few miles away. Neither of them were conscious when the midshipmen made their rescue and hoisted them up to the chopper from the raft, one at a time, the captain first, since he had a bad head wound. In the infirmary on the ship, they were still both unconscious, but alive. But they both recovered and stayed f/ishermen, like both their father’s had been. Now, Joey slowly opened his eyes. The room was white and he was uncertain of his surroundings. But he was certain of one thing and he smiled broadly. His girlfriend was there, looking down into his eyes, smiling, crying, too. She kissed him and put her arms around his neck as she leaned down. They would take a vacation, Joey thought, but not a cruise. Now for now, anyway. The man looked at his wife, as she sat at their dining room table, writing a letter. She had her head bent down close to the paper, lost deep in what she was doing. The man was reading a book on the sofa. It was fairly peaceful in the house tonight; they had eaten dinner and so far, no fight. The lamps in the living room were on and the traffic on the street was going by in its usual monotony. The book he was trying to read was not that interesting so he followed along in the pages with his eyes and let his thoughts drift a little about his wife. If he concentrated enough, he thought he saw his wife turn into a giant, black spider. She was the kind of spider with a big body and fuzzy edges. It had eight limbs instead of four and the spider suddenly turned and stared straight at him with evil, beating eyes; bug eyes. He jumped a little above the book he had been skimming. Now the spider jumped out of the seat, flew up the wall on its eight legs, ran to the corner, turned around and paused there. He jumped up from the couch and ran to the kitchen and grabbed a knife to defend himself with against the spider on the ceiling, in the corner, just staying there, staring at him with those beady little, evil bug eyes. He held the knife with both hands, trembling from fear that shook his whole body. He took the knife blade with one hand and reached back and threw it at the spider all the way across the dining room in the corner. It was a fine throw but the spider was just too quick and it darted out of the way. As the giant, black spider scurried to another corner of the ceiling it kept its head pointed at him the whole time, those beady bug eyes piercing deep down to his very soul. He felt his blood curl and his skin crawl. Then from nowhere, the spider started jumping around the room in a circle, ensnaring him with a web that was now coming from its web case at its rear end. He tried to make it to the door but couldn’t, for the thick line of web wrapped around his chest, then his legs and held them tight, too. To his horror, he could not move! A couple of more times around with alarming quickness and now he was tight inside of her web. Then the giant, back spider slowly crawled up to him, over her net, and as he was gagging for breath, she reached up and cut open a hole in the web for his mouth with a precision slice from one of her long, augended insectivorous black arms, still staring at him with those evil, beady eyes. He now gasped with terror for air through the small hole in the web, nearly insane from his fear. Then the evil, black spider spoke to him in a low, slow hiss! "You need to take out the garbage before you go to bed." "Ahhh!" "Did you hear me? You need to take out the garbage before you go to bed." He looked up from his book, lying open in his lap. His wife was still sitting at the table, the pen and paper down now and she was looking over at him sitting on the sofa. "Alright. Sure. But then I am going to bed." She looked back down at the letter resting on the table, picking it up again with one hand to read it. He got up and went to the kitchen to get the garbage. As he walked back by her with the garbage in his hands, she looked at him and, nervously, he looked back at her, into her eyes. And they seemed a little more narrow then usual. She had grown up a nice girl, not very pretty, but nice. She still went to her prom and had a few boyfriends. But she was in her fifties now and not so pretty at all anymore, despite her many efforts. In the afternoons, after her job was done at four, she would like to watch some of the soap operas and The Oprah Winfrey show, especially. She usually cooked some food and then watched TV until late at night. She had plenty of money for herself since she still collected from her dead husband’s insurance policy. The whole house smelled like the perfume that she always wore; Angelica. Even the furniture smelled like her perfume. About a week ago, one of her friends had told her about a person who could help. This person would be able to fix things, she had explained. "Simone, he does wonderful things. He works magic." "Oh, stop now, what do you mean?" She whispered back, wanting to know more. "He makes you look better, Simone, but its magic. It doesn’t cost that much." "Is that so?" "My good friend did it, and she is so much better in every way now, she did just a little bit but it made such a big difference. She is so happy with herself now." "Is she, really?" "I can ask her for his number if you want, Simone." "What happens?" "Well, you meet him in a hotel room and he does everything in only a few minutes and then you are all done, just like that. I will ask how much it is, too, if you want." "Is he…you know, safe?" "Well, yes, he’s an older man, and besides, she never said anything about that." "Is it really easy?" "Yes, Simone. He uses something, I don’t know what, but it is magic. I have seen it with my friend. She is so happy now, you just don’t know." "Is that so?" "I’ll give you his number, if you want, tomorrow. And I will find out how much it costs, too." "That would be good." And there the man’s number sat on the little table stand that the phone rested on. She looked at the small piece of paper for a minute and then picked up the phone and punched in the man’s number. After a few rings, someone answered in a slow voice, "Hello?" She felt very nervous all of a sudden and her cheeks flushed red. "Is this…the doctor?" She asked but she was not sure if he actually was a doctor or not. "Yes, may I help you, please?" "Well, yes. I have heard…you can do things to…help." "Yes, it is indeed possible." "I would like to do that, if it is possible." "Well, would you like me to set up a time for an appointment with you?" "Yes, I think so." "Is Friday alright?" "That would be fine with me." "We shall meet in room 421 in the Hilton by Miami Beach at nine o’clock in the evening." "Okay, doctor." "I will see you there, then." "Okay. Goodbye, doctor." "Goodbye." And she hung up. She went over to the mirror that was part of the living room hutch. She looked closely at her reflection the mirror and carefully stared at the lines and wrinkles that were clearly visible on the edges of her eyes and her mouth when she smiled. Then, she thought about her body. It was hanging in too many places now, she told herself. If she could just somehow fix it a little bit, then it would not be so bad and she would be much better and happier, she told herself. She went into the den and took out a big picture book from a drawer where she kept all her old memories. She sat down in a dusty, cushioned chair and slowly flipped through the large pages of family pictures. She found some pictures of her husband and her when they were both very young, not long after they had married. As she looked close at a picture of the two of them, she was not thinking about her husband but about how she looked standing next to him, with his arms around her shoulders and a big smile on his face. The next day she went to work but the whole day she thought about the possibility of looking better from the surgery the man would perform on her. She was a little nervous; even scared. Certainly it was off the books, she knew that, but her friend had said everything was easy and besides, there were a lot of people doing it like this, she knew that, too. So all day she did her typing at her job and then she went home and changed into nicer clothes. She drove to the Hilton, which was not too far away and parked her car and went up to room 421. She paused at the hotel door for a moment and thought about just what she was getting into. A thought flashed in her head-how had the doctor known what room to meet at if he had not already booked it when they first talked? She dismissed the unwelcome premonition and tried her best to resist the nagging thought to turn around because all she could think about was doing anything to help her look better. So she knocked on the door. A man opened the door and said, "Hello?" She looked past the man, to inside of the hotel room, with suspicion. To her surprise, there was another man in the room with the doctor and he was a young man. "He is my assistant. Please come in. What is you name, ma’am?" "Simone," she answered and slowly stepped into the hotel room. "What is it that is ailing you?" "You mean, what is making me looking bad?" "Yes." "Some sagging…on my back side. And…and, my lips." "Well, first we will inject a small amount into certain places in your lips to fill them out and then we will take care of your…back side. The procedure will not take long. If you could sit on the chair, we shall begin." She looked into the man’s eyes for a moment for any kind of reassurance and then went over and set her purse on the dresser and stepped to the chair, which was pulled out in the middle of the room. Some vials and instruments were sitting on a coffee table that had been pulled next to the chair. As she went to sit down, the young man stepped next to her. She sat down in the chair and then the young man placed a bed sheet around her like a barber might. The man came over and said, "Okay, were going to start with your lips, of course, you are aware of the payment?" "Yes, my friend told me, how much is it?"
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