[stylist] Weekly Writing Challenge

[Bridgit Kuenning-Pollpeter]

Since I broke my ankle, I am not going out much, so no coffee shop conversation to observe, but I will write about another convo I witnessed.

Conversation drifted from the kitchen. Not quite a whisper, not quite loud enough for everyone to hear. Key phrases pricked my ears. Idiot and divorce and loser on drugs and caused a scene popped in and out of the otherwise buzz-like quality of the conversation.

Like a five-year-old child, I walked towards the kitchen, stopping at the entry. The buzz congealed into solid words and phrases.

"And he did it in front of all the parents. He's such a screw-up. And I told Karen she needs to call the lawyer, but she just won't do it."

"Yeah, but everytime she calls or emails or even texts, the lawyer charges."

Ceramic cups clunk, whispering against the wooden table top.

"I know, but in this situation, it's worth it."

"It's all provoked by the new girl." The tone is low, the voice shifting a bit, as if leaning closer to the other speaker.

"Oh, everyone knows that." A laugh surely joined by a smirk punctuates the sentence. "I was talking to Annie the other day, and Karen got so mad, but I don't care. I told Annie that her mommy is her only mommy no matter what anyone else says. Then we talked about all the evil step-mother's in the fairytales." Another short, padded  laugh highlights the conversation. "I reminded her of all those wicked step-mothers."

A comic gasp fills the conversation followed by a sigh. "But if that gets back to Tom, it could be used against Karen."

"Oh, how would he know?" The voice snickers before sipping, ice chinking against the cup.

"If Annie says something by accident."

A gruff echoes as if the speaker has a cup to their mouth. "I don't care."

"No, but it could look bad for Karen."

"Well," a long pause, "He's such a loser. He doesn't deserve anything." The voice is oozing with chilled sarcasm. Malice almost tinging the edges of the statement.

The only picture in my head is a woman sitting in a rocking chair, knitting her victims names with long, sharp knitting needles, precision detailing her craft.

*Dialogue was retained to the best of my memory.

Bridgit