Revenge
“Writing well,” Dorothy Parker once said, “is the best revenge.” In this issue, our writers tackle the all too human desire to even the score.
Diss Scent
Word Count 838
I had this boss, let’s call him John. He was the editorial director of a magazine whose name you’d recognize in a minute. He hired me after a two hour interview after standard business hours where behind a closed door he peppered me with questions about my personal life, who I knew, who I’d dated, did I dine downtown at Raoul’s or Patsy’s? About halfway through the interview he offered me a toot, which I declined although I generously said to him, “Go right ahead.” Cocaine, it turned out, was going to be the main trouble between us but I didn’t see that during the interview. My bad.
A Cold Cup of Tea
Word Count 994
The first time I should have wreaked revenge was the day I discovered my boyfriend in bed with another woman in my apartment. Instead, my first reaction was to offer them tea. I can only think that I was in such shock that the innate politeness my father had drilled into us as children took over as my default mode.
After I laid the tea things down on the coffee table, I excused myself and left my WestBeth apartment, and ran out onto Bank Street.
Models Wanted
Word Count 2800
1971. I’m seventeen. We’ve moved again, this time into a two-bedroom apartment. My brother Doug and I share a bedroom with twin beds. He’s nineteen. He sleeps hot and throws the covers off. I never look at him sleeping in case his pecker is poking out of his boxers.
Mother’s having toast and coffee, her jaw rotates in large, slow circles that remind me of a man-eating llama. Her eyes narrow as she focuses on some resentment, tough as jerky made from human flesh.
I pour molasses over a dollop of soft butter and swirl it with a knife.
Mother picks up the paper and studies it, then circles an ad.
“Look here, Janet Lynn. You could do this!”
Escape from Sfakia
Word Count 2888
1973
The village appeared out of nowhere as the ferry rounded the southwest corner of Crete, then coughed and sputtered slowly into the port of Choras Sfakion. Stone houses nested on the steep southern slope of the white mountains down to the sea, as if thrown there by a giant’s hand. I was twenty, on the plump side, with a bushy cascade of long, dark, curly hair worn loose or in one long braid. I wore cargo shorts, espadrilles and loose peasant blouses. When we docked, I began to explore the village of Choras Sfakion, or “Sfatch-YA” for short. I only knew that I wanted to stay, had to stay. And I had almost no money left. There were two seaside cafes with a few locals hanging out and not much else. I wandered around, climbed up a mountain path, saw a tiny store and went in. The stone shop sold a variety of vegetables, canned goods, Greek church icons with huge dark eyes and essentials like tools and dish soap. The proprietor was a good-looking, muscular guy named Nikos who was very friendly. We chatted a bit but he didn’t speak much English and my Greek was minimal.
With Friends Like These
Word Count 852
I was thirteen years old. My friend Laura, also thirteen, lived across the street from me. She was Italian, Catholic, serious. Every day she’d have her hair pulled back in a no- nonsense ponytail. Always she wore a gold cross on a chain necklace, plain skirts and blouses and shiny patent leather pumps with low heels. She looked like she was heading to work in an office or something. I was a goofy WASPy atheist with wild wavy hair wearing bell bottoms and t-shirts (with sayings of like If It Feels Good, Do It) and always clogs on my feet. Despite our differences, we were friends. Location, location, location. It’s not just a thing in real estate.
The Witch’s Exhaust
Word Count 1214
“Wanna play hide-and-seek?” I asked my friends..
“Nah. We need a big area,” Kevin replied. “We don’t have enough space. We know all the hiding spots in our yards. It’s boring.”
Guided by my nerves, I peeled the bark off one of our trees and stared at my neighbor’s lawn. Our unfenced yards required the maintenance of three swipes of a lawnmower, but this lot was magical. The property was the size of everyone else’s, but bushes, shrubs, and trees lined the perimeter. Lush ornamental grass extended beyond the garage, where a small walkway separated the structure from the vegetation.
“Look at her yard,” I said.
Leaves of Grass
Word Count 520
Everyone studying agriculture at UBC, when I was there, was required to take Soil Science 101. It didn’t matter whether you were in animal science or plant science, food science, poultry science or soil science, we all had to take it. It was the only class the hundred or so of us, in our year, were all in together.
It was interesting though, learning about clay versus silt versus sand, and how structure varies, and air and water are part of soil structure, and about the biologically active microscopically thin layer of water around every particle.