"Why do I insist on writing about the writing assignment before I actually tackle it?" The question was stated more like a demand than a question and Barb looked up, a bit startled by the ferocity in Herman's voice.
"Why do you?" Barb shot back, impatient to return to the sappy survey she was filling out in the fashion magazine. "Does your significant other make unreasonable demands?' the next question read. The choices were: yes, no, sometimes, I don't know. Barb circled none of the choices and scribbled, "none of your business" in the margin of the page instead.
Herman didn't answer her and returned to the laptop resting on the coffee table. Ew, this week's prompt is too damn hard! I like the ones that let me use irony or satire or outright humor. But this? It's horrible. Not up my alley at all.
He wiggled his fingers over the keyboard, almost a pantomime of typing. He thought about that action instead of trying to find an idea to propel him into the assignment.
A propeller. Does that have any potential? Why can't this be one I can play with? Why can't it be something like the quilt Barb showed me the other day that was featured in that magazine; the art quilt showing a robber stealing a mannequin from a lingerie store because the quilter had misread the name of the quilt contest name? The contest theme had been "Art Takes Shape" but the quilt artist had read it as "Art Takes Form" -- so she had Art be a robber stealing a "form" from the shop.*
SIGH! Why couldn't this be the story of the Fuller Brush Man making his first sale to a Mrs. Danger of Elm Avenue in some dusty, dinky little farm town somewhere far away and unknown? Yes! I can see it. "Farmers Gazette front page headline 'Fuller sells First Brush to Mrs. Danger'"... yes! That's it!
Herman attacked the keyboard now, so fiercely that Barb looked up from her magazine again. Seeing her movement out the corner of his eye, he glanced over at her and gave her a stupid grin. Barb turned back to the survey again.
"Does your significant other have irksome quirks?" Again, the survey offered the options of yes, no, sometimes, I don't know. This time, Barb scribbled "What's it to you?" in the margin.
This was the last question. The key then told her that a 'yes' answer counted as one point, 'sometimes' was two, 'no' was three, and 'I don't know' should score a zero. A score of 30 on the 10 question test was awesome, according to the author of the survey. A 20 was okay, but be careful. However, a score of 14 or lower was very bad. A score of 10 or lower was very, very bad; the author suggested getting out of the relationship as soon as possible. Barb calculated the score. ZERO! Oh no! She had to get out of here, now!
Barb dropped the magazine as nonchalantly as she could on to the loveseat as she uncurled her legs from under herself and got up. She left the room as quietly as she could. No sense in disturbing Herman now. Now that she was leaving him finally. The magazine told her she must leave -- it would be dangerous to stay. Her significant other was too unpredictable and unstable. It was true, it had to be. He had gotten a score of ZERO on the survey.
Oh course, he would get a zero. Barb hadn't circled any of the choices to any of the questions. She had scribbled insane comments to the survey author in the margins, though, by each question; things like the "it's none of your business," "I'm not telling you" and "how dare you ask that?".
Barb was in the kitchen now. She let out the breath she had been holding. So far, so good. Herman was so concentrating so intensely that he hadn't even noticed her absence. Good! Better not take any further chances though. Where are my car keys? There they are!
Barb picked them up and let herself out the back door. She didn't pull it tight behind her so that Herman wouldn't hear the click and be alerted to her departure.
Sometime later, Herman had finally posted the assignment and looked up to offer to get Barb a snack and he noticed she was not in the loveseat. He wandered over and idly picked up the magazine on his way to the kitchen to nuke a bag of popcorn.
While waiting for the last kernel to pop open he glanced through the magazine and found the survey. He stared at it for just a few minutes then glanced around. Yep, Barb's car keys were gone from the key hooks by the door. He began to laugh. It had worked after all!
He had written this survey. He had sent it to the magazine under a pseudonym knowing that if it was ever published, Barb would read it, take the survey and this would be the result.
Barb always worked through these things as if it was a legal obligation to read every word in the magazine and do everything it said to do. She was deviant just enough to answer the way she did, determining to not let "them" know anything. It was if she also believed the publishers of the magazine could see what she was writing and they would know whether she had even looked at the survey or not. They would be angry with her if she just skipped the survey.
He knew the score would be ZERO. He knew that she wouldn't understand that the zero score was because she had not answered any of the questions. Herman also knew she would then apply that zero to him and determine that the problem was him. And she would do whatever the survey told her to do. When he had questioned her about it a long time ago, she had said simply, "Survey says! Don't you know that surveys say things! You can't ignore things that say things and the things they say."
Herman kept laughing. Barb was gone! Finally gone! It had been easy. Far too easy, almost. Just had been a long wait. Now, he wondered how much more of a wait it would be to get the check for the survey article from the magazine publisher since they "pay on publication." Barb was gone and he would get paid for it too!
Herman went back to his laptop and logged on to see if anyone had commented yet on his entry for the blogging meme "Fiction Friday," all the while humming happily to himself.
(C)2008 Susan Berg All Rights Reserved
* Yep, a real quilt in the current issue of Quilting Arts Magazine.
Friday, January 25, 2008
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