[stylist] underwear

Thu Oct 27 19:39:24 UTC 2016

Great story, Chris!
It's such a weird situation when you are friends with 2 friends that aren't getwithing along.
Vejas 

> On Oct 26, 2016, at 14:55, Chris Kuell via stylist <stylist at nfbnet.org> wrote:
> 
> There has been a lot of chatting on the list, most of which I haven't read.
> However, the 'underwear' subject line did grab my attention. And, I thought
> I'd share a very short story I wrote several years ago.
> 
> 
> 
> 
> 
> 
> 
> Underwear
> 
> 
> 
> By Chris Kuell
> 
> 
> 
> 
> 
> The sharp crash downstairs vaulted me from shallow sleep into consciousness.
> It was tough to determine exactly where the noise came from, but it was
> definitely breaking glass. The clock showed 3:08 a.m. Meg was still sound
> asleep on the other side of the bed; a gunshot couldn't wake her at this
> time of night. A familiar creaking climbed through the quiet of the night
> and I knew someone was in the kitchen. 
> 
> 
> 
> I rolled out of bed, dressed only in boxers, and went to investigate. The
> door to the guest room at the end of the hall was open a few inches and Doug
> snored like a badly tuned outboard motor. Lord only knows how Sara slept
> through that.
> 
> 
> 
> Downstairs, I got a quick peek at Sara's behind as she swept something into
> the dustpan. She was wearing plain white panties cut high on her hip. When
> she heard me approaching, she stood to cover herself with her long tee
> shirt.
> 
> 
> 
> "I broke a glass, I'm sorry," She said. Eyes red, she gave a quick wipe of
> her face with one hand.
> 
> 
> 
> "That's no problem. Are you cut?"
> 
> 
> 
> "No, it broke into three pieces. I'm such a klutz. It's all cleaned up now."
> 
> 
> 
> Sara bent as gracefully as she could, dressed only in a tee shirt and
> panties, and I enjoyed another flash of skin and cotton. Now, Sara is a
> good-looking woman. Not a Cosmo girl, but somebody that still gets a lot of
> attention at the beach. We've been close friends since we used to skip an
> early childhood development class, whiling away the afternoon drinking cheap
> pitchers at Astro's, contemplating all the problems of the world.  But I'm a
> guy, and guys can't take too much visual pleasure without suffering
> localized zones of intense gravity, pulling all the blood down out of the
> brain. 
> 
> 
> 
> "Here, let me help you."  
> 
> I wet some paper towel and wiped the area to catch any tiny fragments. 
> 
> "So, what are you doing down here at this time? Trouble sleeping?"
> 
> 
> 
> "Yeah," she said, arms folded protectively over her chest. My blood
> redistributed to my brain.
> 
> 
> 
> "I always have trouble sleeping when I'm traveling," I said. Sarah didn't
> respond. "Can I get you a drink? Juice? A glass of milk? Scotch? "
> 
> 
> 
> "Got any tequila?" 
> 
> 
> 
> "Oh, you want the high-test." I went to the liquor cabinet and took down the
> Cuervo. I poured us both a generous shot and we sat at the kitchen table.
> 
> 
> 
> "Do you mind shutting off the light? I'm feeling a little underdressed
> here." 
> 
> 
> 
> "C'mon, you look great," I said. She gave me a look and I shut off the
> light. 
> 
> 
> 
> Outside the kitchen window moonlight trickled in and illuminated her
> silhouette. I watched her pick up her shot glass. I grabbed mine and made a
> toast. "Nasdrovia."
> 
> "What the hell does that mean?"
> 
> 
> 
> "Beats me. My grandfather used to say it. Must be Russian for kiss my ass or
> something."
> 
> 
> 
> We clinked glasses and tossed our shots back. The liquor burned all the way
> down my gullet. Sara sat trance-like, staring out the window into the night.
> With a sigh she seemed to shrink a little in the chair.
> 
> 
> 
> "Can I have another?"
> 
> 
> 
> "Sure. No closing time here." I poured us both another shot, which scalded a
> little less than the first.
> 
> 
> 
> "So, has the drive been long for you?" I asked. Sara and Doug were old
> friends visiting us from St. Louis. Once a year they drove back east to
> visit. We were all tight back in college, and we aren't family, so they
> usually crashed with us for a few days.
> 
> 
> 
> "It's killing me. The quiet, its so... pervasive. There's nothing there."
> 
> 
> 
> "What do you mean?"
> 
> 
> 
> She put the empty glass to her lips and sucked out another few drops.
> 
> "I'm leaving him," she said. She rolled the glass gingerly in one hand.
> 
> 
> 
> "Who?" I asked. "Doug?" 
> 
> Maybe I wasn't thinking straight. Sara and Doug had been a couple for as
> long as Meg and I had-nearly 15 years. We were in their wedding and they
> were in ours. They were our kid's god-parents.
> 
> 
> 
> "Sara, I'm so sorry. Why?"
> 
> "He threw out my underwear."
> 
> 
> 
> "He threw out your underwear. so you're leaving him? Doesn't that seem a
> little drastic? I mean, you must have more. In fact the ones you are wearing
> look fabulous."
> 
> 
> 
> "They weren't just underwear, Steve. They were my favorite underwear. Our
> favorite underwear." She blew a loose strand of hair away from her face. "I
> got them when we went to Cozumel. Back then, I couldn't wear them ten
> minutes before he was pulling them off again, raring to go."
> 
> 
> 
> The silence enveloped us. I struggled for something to say.
> 
> "Why did he throw them out?"
> 
> 
> 
> She stared into the bottom of her shot glass and reflected for a moment.
> "Because they were old and faded and represented a me that he doesn't see
> anymore." She wiped her cheek. "They just didn't fit anymore."
> 
> 
> 
> I found the Cuervo and poured us each another shot.
> 
> "Is there someone else?" I asked.
> 
> 
> 
> "No," she answered. "Well, yes, sort of, but no."
> 
> 
> 
> "Say again?"
> 
> "I've been with another guy off-and-on for the last few months, but he isn't
> the reason. He is dumb as a stump and can screw like a jackrabbit-that's
> all. But he helped open my eyes; made me feel wanted again. I haven't felt
> wanted in years."
> 
> 
> 
> "Hell, that's not true, Sara. I wanted you just ten minutes ago. I wanted to
> bend you over the table and."
> 
> 
> 
> "Stop it. pervert," she said. She didn't throw her shot glass at me, so I
> figured I hadn't crossed the line yet.
> 
> 
> 
> "Do you have an exit strategy?" I asked.
> 
> 
> 
> "Not yet. I've only come to the decision on this trip. I've tried to talk
> with him, a car ride can be a wonderful thing for marital communication, but
> we're not on the same page. Not even in the same library."
> 
> 
> 
> "Well, you know you are always welcome here."
> 
> 
> 
> "Your wife might have something to say about that."
> 
> 
> 
> The blood returned to my brain and we sat in silence for another minute.
> 
> 
> 
> Sara stood up, "I've got to try to get some sleep." I put the tequila away
> and set the shot glasses in the sink. She turned and stood in front of me in
> the dark kitchen.  "You can't say anything to Doug. I haven't told him yet."
> 
> 
> 
> Doug and I were old friends, but I was always closer to Sara, chatting with
> her on the phone once a month and exchanging e-mails on a regular basis.
> 
> "I'll keep it quiet. but I hope you will give this more thought."
> 
> 
> 
> She stepped close and put her arms around me.  An inch from my face she
> said, "Thanks," then kissed me softly on the mouth. The tequila vapors
> spilled into me and before I had another blood migration she stepped away
> and went upstairs.
> 
> 
> 
> 
> 
> 
> 
> 
> 
> 
> 
> _______________________________________________
> Writers Division web site
> http://writers.nfb.org/
> stylist mailing list
> stylist at nfbnet.org
> http://nfbnet.org/mailman/listinfo/stylist_nfbnet.org
> To unsubscribe, change your list options or get your account info for stylist:
> http://nfbnet.org/mailman/options/stylist_nfbnet.org/alpineimagination%40gmail.com