the fridge
"Can't go in that junkyard." Josie walked with her hands stuffed in the pockets of her puffy red coat.
"Why not?" Paul followed after her eating fries out of a bag, five at a time.
"They got a fridge in there. You suffocate."
"Not if you just stay out of it." He hadn't even wanted to get into the junkyard until Josie told him he couldn't. It was dark, and too cold to even think of climbing a fence.
"They had a whole family suffocate in there."
"You mean the kids."
"I mean the whole family."
"Must be a big fridge."
"It's big all right." Josie laced her fingers behind her head and stared over the rusted barbed wire that spiraled along the top of the fence. "Must be something to look at. Must be beautiful."
Paul stepped up behind her. His breath puffed white in the cold. He was eating as fast as he could, but the fries were cold already, and so were his fingers. "You're full of shit, anyway."
"No," Josie said. "Ask anyone."
Paul gave up on the fries and tried to huck them over the fence, but the bag came open, and the fries just scattered lamely over the grass. "Well, what the hell, then?"
"Maybe they wanted to be found together. In a million years. When archaeologists dig up the junkyard, they wanted all four of them there. It might have worked, even. It was only chance somebody found them, you know--it took a couple of weeks."
"They had to have got rid of it by now," Paul said.
"Or maybe they just thought they could get out again." Josie walked up to the fence and pressed a white hand against the chain. "I think it's kind of romantic."
"No way they still got it in there." He walked to the fence, too, and looked through a gap in the plastic slats that ran through the chain links.
Josie moved behind him and covered his mouth with one cold hand. He couldn't talk because of her hand, or he would've said, 'What the fuck?' She pulled his knit hat down over his eyes and pinched his nose shut.
Paul couldn't see, and he couldn't breathe. He could feel Josie's breath on the back of his neck. He tried to turn away from her but she didn't let go. Finally he brought his hands up, grabbed her hands and pulled them off, and turned to face her. She was close to him, nose almost to his. Her eyes were wide, a strange look in them, and she grabbed his arms and kissed him.
Paul froze like a cat lifted by the scruff. Her lips were cold. She covered his eyes with her fingers. He let them close, eyelashes brushing her palm.
"See?" She whispered, close to his ear. "Romantic."
Paul was in no position to argue, not waiting for her to kiss him again like that. But he told himself that he was going back there the next day to find out if the fridge was still there, and if it was, he was going to tear the lid off that thing himself.
The hands that slid under the back of his coat were cold enough to make him gasp.
"Why not?" Paul followed after her eating fries out of a bag, five at a time.
"They got a fridge in there. You suffocate."
"Not if you just stay out of it." He hadn't even wanted to get into the junkyard until Josie told him he couldn't. It was dark, and too cold to even think of climbing a fence.
"They had a whole family suffocate in there."
"You mean the kids."
"I mean the whole family."
"Must be a big fridge."
"It's big all right." Josie laced her fingers behind her head and stared over the rusted barbed wire that spiraled along the top of the fence. "Must be something to look at. Must be beautiful."
Paul stepped up behind her. His breath puffed white in the cold. He was eating as fast as he could, but the fries were cold already, and so were his fingers. "You're full of shit, anyway."
"No," Josie said. "Ask anyone."
Paul gave up on the fries and tried to huck them over the fence, but the bag came open, and the fries just scattered lamely over the grass. "Well, what the hell, then?"
"Maybe they wanted to be found together. In a million years. When archaeologists dig up the junkyard, they wanted all four of them there. It might have worked, even. It was only chance somebody found them, you know--it took a couple of weeks."
"They had to have got rid of it by now," Paul said.
"Or maybe they just thought they could get out again." Josie walked up to the fence and pressed a white hand against the chain. "I think it's kind of romantic."
"No way they still got it in there." He walked to the fence, too, and looked through a gap in the plastic slats that ran through the chain links.
Josie moved behind him and covered his mouth with one cold hand. He couldn't talk because of her hand, or he would've said, 'What the fuck?' She pulled his knit hat down over his eyes and pinched his nose shut.
Paul couldn't see, and he couldn't breathe. He could feel Josie's breath on the back of his neck. He tried to turn away from her but she didn't let go. Finally he brought his hands up, grabbed her hands and pulled them off, and turned to face her. She was close to him, nose almost to his. Her eyes were wide, a strange look in them, and she grabbed his arms and kissed him.
Paul froze like a cat lifted by the scruff. Her lips were cold. She covered his eyes with her fingers. He let them close, eyelashes brushing her palm.
"See?" She whispered, close to his ear. "Romantic."
Paul was in no position to argue, not waiting for her to kiss him again like that. But he told himself that he was going back there the next day to find out if the fridge was still there, and if it was, he was going to tear the lid off that thing himself.
The hands that slid under the back of his coat were cold enough to make him gasp.
posted by Daniel Heath at 01:01
4 Comments:
Man I've missed your quirk(iness)s. That's a little unsettling. Just grating enough.
Do the SF folk know how lucky they are?
Happy New Year.
That would be a big fridge.
Love the cold. It inhabits the story well, like another character. However, somewhere between the fries scattering on the grass and Josie calling the family's demise romantic a threadbare piece of the tapestry gets revealed and suddenly the pageant doesn't quite fit together for me anymore. Some nice (if damn discomfiting) moments though. Gold in the pan for sure.
Anne: I mean to not be quite so lame about not posting scratch fiction this year; we'll see how it goes.
Bones: Damn big. And damn fine, too.
EllieJ: Thanks for stopping by. Glad to hear some of it worked for you. I'll settle for gold-in-the-pan... beats croissant-dissolving-in-puddle, which is what I get sometimes.
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