Minutiae



  Minutiae

  by Ariadne Burke

  Copyright Page

  Minutiae: A Collection of Details

  by Ariadne Burke

  Book & Cover Design: Copyright 2016 Ariadne Burke

  Cover Image Credit:

  effiestrinkets

  Author Photo by JoAnna Thomoson

  Copyright 2016 Ariadne Burke

  This e-book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This e-book may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you're reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was purchased for your use only, then please return to your favorite e-book retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Table of Contents

  Story One: Mania

  Story Two: Storytelling

  Story Three: After

  About the Author

  Mania

  The slow beep of the checkout counter felt like a siren relentlessly pounding into his skull. The quiet shuffle of feet were sledgehammers, breaking the tile, cracking the foundation. Four more people.

  Danny pushed his fingernails into his skin and gripped the bag of bread tighter. His sweaty fingers twirled the plastic.

  “Almost done, Danny-Boy,” Maggie said.

  Beep. Beep. Thank you. Have a nice day. Three more people.

  His hoodie slipped off his shoulder. Maggie reached over and pulled it up, picked a piece of lint off the arm. “They didn’t feed you enough there, I swear.”

  “Veggies, water, and pills. A+ diet,” Danny said.

  The old lady at the checkout couldn’t find her credit card. People murmured impatiently, checked their Twitters and Facebooks, desperate to fill empty seconds. The lady kept apologizing. Danny wanted to scream at her, to grab her wallet and yank out the credit card, to leave, but he squeezed the bag tighter instead.

  “You’re squishing the bread,” Maggie said. She placed a hand on his neck, scratched along his hairline. His shoulders fell, and the knot in his chest loosened. “Almost there, then we can go home and gorge ourselves on pizza rolls.”

  Beep. Beep. Thank you. Have a nice day. Two more people.

  The florescent lights burned into his retinas. Danny could feel his heart pounding, trying to escape his ribcage. To splat onto the black and white tiled floor, to thump where everybody could see it, could see the way he couldn’t control himself, couldn’t calm down, just like Dad said.

  Danny grabbed a case of Altoids and pretended to read the back. 0% fat. 0% cholesterol. 10 calories. Will not cure psychosis. Curiously strong. The mints inside shook violently, pinging off the metal, sounding like bullets.

  Beep. Beep. Thank you. Have a nice day. One more person.

  “You hate Altoids,” Maggie said. She placed a hand on his wrist, just enough that he felt her there. “Why don’t you get something else? Get a candy bar, we’ll have a junk day.”

  “You sure?” Danny asked, shifting his feet, eyeing the man who was now paying. He was talking to the cashier, making her laugh. “Doctors said I should eat as healthy as I can.”

  Maggie bumped his shoulder, grinning up at him like she did when they were three feet shorter. “Are you going to trust some asshole doctors or your older, much more intelligent sibling? Get a candy bar. You’re doing a great job, treat yourself.”

  Danny squeezed her fingers and grabbed a Butterfinger, putting it in the basket. Maggie looked at him with pride.

  Beep. Beep. Thank you. Have a nice day.

  Maggie stepped forward, placing the groceries down for the cashier to scan. Danny bowed his head, avoided eye contact. Brushed his arm against Maggie’s shoulder.

  The cashier made small talk as she scanned the groceries – “How are you? Nice weather. Are you on vacation?” – and Danny counted the seconds. Examined his palms, small half-moons imprinted on his skin.

  “Sir?”

  “Dan, can you put the bread on the counter?

  His arm felt like cement. He raised it, straining his muscles, snapping the veins, cracking his bones. The woman took the bag and ducked her head, meeting his eyes.

  “Sir, are you feeling all right?”

  Maggie stepped in front of Danny. “He’s fine, thanks.”

  The cashier continued staring, her eyebrows furrowing. The world desaturated, and Danny felt his brain expand, pressing against his forehead. He rubbed his eyes until he saw black spots.

  “Why? Why?” Danny asked. His voice stuttered. His cheeks flamed. “Is there something wrong with me? Do I look like a freak or something? What’s wrong with me, what’s wrong with you?” His lips flapped, moving up and down, forming syllables and sentences, but he couldn’t hear the words.

  Danny heard his sister talking to him, rubbing his shoulders, placating the cashier, but the words were jumbled, the letters were mixed up and running all over. Everything was spilling, everything was cracking.

  Abandoning the groceries, Maggie pushed down his flailing arms and yanked him through the front doors. Danny felt the rain on his skin, pushing down the flames, sliding down his throat and filling his lungs, calming him.

  “I’m sorry, Maggie, I’m sorry, so sorry,” Danny said. His voice broke.

  “It’s okay, Danny, it’s okay.” She soothed him, pushed the hair off his forehead. “It’ll be okay.”

  The sun was hidden behind the clouds. It blinded him.

  Storytelling

  The white tiled floor magnified even the soft footsteps of Melly’s ballet flats. Grasping Daddy’s hand, Melly looked around at the mint-green paint, the silver molding. It smelled like cleaning supplies and meatloaf. An older girl with narrowed eyes sat in a chair by the door, staring at Melly.

  “Where are we?” Melly asked. Daddy had taken Melly for a ride in the car, put her in the front seat like a Big Girl. It was a special occasion, he’d said. She had to be a Big Girl today.

  “I’ve got to talk to someone for Mommy, Little Bear.” Daddy looked tired. He’d worn the same shirt for a few days now, and a little thread hung from the bottom. Melly wrapped it around her finger, the tip turning a mottled purple.

  A desk stood in front of Melly, and she pushed herself onto her tiptoes, peering over the edge. A lady sat there, her lips candy-apple red, eyes sad, the source of the meatloaf smell.

  Melly gripped the tail of her stuffed kitten, a fifth birthday present from Daddy. While he talked with Meatloaf Lady, Melly snuck glances at the older girl by the door. The girl caught her eye and smiled, lips curling around teeth, like the smile Mommy gave Daddy right before she yelled at him. Melly stepped behind Daddy, hiding her face. The thread from his shirt made her finger numb.

  Meatloaf Lady stood up. Daddy grabbed Melly’s hand, and his bitten nails itched her skin. Meatloaf Lady’s heels clicked on the tile like train tracks. Melly closed her eyes and saw the black smoke of the engine, heard the steady clack clack clack.

  Melly followed Daddy and Meatloaf Lady up the stairs. The white tile continued, but up here the edges cracked and the pretty mint green paint on the walls chipped. Girls hid in doorways and peeked out around corners, their mouths puckering and their eyes laughing at her.

  “Daddy, I’m hungry,” Melly said. His jaw moved up and down, as if he chewed bubble gum.

  “We’re going to go play with some toys before lunch. How would you like that? You haven’t had new toys to play with for quite some time,” Daddy said.

  “Will Mommy be mad again?”

  He chewed more bubble gum. “No, Melly. Mommy won’t be mad anymore.”

  Meatloaf L
ady took them into a room with toys all over the floor: jump ropes and hula hoops, puzzles and books and puppets. Melly ran her hands over illustrated pages and dolls with soft curls.

  “Daddy,” she said in wonder. “Daddy, these are all new toys.” She placed a puppet in his hand. “Be careful, don’t hurt it.”

  “I won’t, Little Bear. They look like fun,” he said, brushing the puppet’s fur. “Would you like to stay here and play with them?”

  “I can do that?” she asked, looking at the front of a book with princesses on it, big ball gowns and glittering tiaras. Daddy nodded, and his eyes filled with stars. “Oh, thank you, Daddy. Will you stay and play with me?”

  “Not right now, Little Bear. I’ve got some things to do.” Sitting next to her on the floor, he reached over and plucked her stuffed kitty out of her hands. “Did you ever give your cat a name?”

  “Could you pick one for me? I’m bad at finding names.” She flipped through the princess book. She couldn’t read yet. Daddy read to her instead. He made silly voices when he read her bedtime stories, right before he tucked her in and kissed her head.

  Mommy used to read, but then she stopped. She never did the voices right, anyway.

  “All right, then,” he said. He scrunched up his face all funny and stared at the kitty. “How about Harry?”

  “It can’t be a boy’s name, Daddy, she’s a girl kitty.”

  “Of course, I’m sorry. How about Dierdre?” Melly nodded. Daddy kissed Dierdre’s head before handing her back. “All right, Little Bear. I’ve gotta go now.” He put a hand over his eyes and then pulled it away. His stars fell. “I love you, Melly. I love you.”

  “I love you too, Daddy. See you soon.”

  Daddy opened his mouth, then closed it. He waved goodbye and left, Meatloaf Lady following.

  Melly looked at the book again. He’d teach her how to read soon. Daddy was a wonderful storyteller.

  After

  Marita sat on the floor in the living room, the windows open for once. Her face was drawn and her cheeks hollowed, the skin stretched too tightly and the pain shown too clearly. She held a toy truck in her hands, tracing the spokes on the wheels with a chipped fingernail. The pale sunlight turned her into a wax figure, stuck in place.

  “Did you finish packing his clothes away? The truck will be here soon.” David’s words hung in the air like stale breath.

  “Yes,” his wife answered, her voice harsh in the silence. “I just haven’t taped the boxes closed yet.”

  She placed the truck down on the carpet, keeping her hand over it like a cage. David couldn’t look at her anymore, just sitting there holding that truck, so he went to tape up the boxes, passing through the kitchen and the dining room and the now-spare bedroom. The house seemed so much more empty without the chaos. The stairs looked crooked and the floors felt uneven.

  On top of the largest box of clothes was a pair of socks, barely as long as David’s hand. They just laid there, a pair of white socks with blue stripes, as clean as the day they’d been bought. He picked them up and placed them in his pocket. No one would have to know.

  He moved the boxes next to the front door and looked into the living room again. She was still sitting there, looking down at that damn toy truck.

  David wanted to say something, to yell at her to put it down, stand up, and tape the boxes herself so that he wouldn’t have to look at those socks, but the words stuck in his throat, so instead he stood there and looked at Marita. David looked at Marita and Marita looked at the truck and both of them tried to pretend everything would be all right.

  “The last hospital bill came,” she said. “I put it on the counter.”

  “All right. We’ll get the payment in.”

  David wanted her to say something else, to say that she loved him or that they’d support each other through this, but she didn’t. Of course, she was probably wanting him to say the same, but he couldn’t.

  Her fingers were still tracing the wheels of the truck, and it was all suddenly too much. The colors were too bright and too muted and he could hear the house creaking around him, the floorboards settling to fill a vacancy that never should’ve been there, and it was all too much.

  “Please, Marita, put the damn truck down.”

  She snapped her head up to look at him.

  “Don’t tell me how to mourn. I’m working through it instead of pretending that everything’s like it was before.”

  David reached into his pocket and squeezed the socks. “I’m not pretending anything, I’m accepting what happened and trying to still function like a human being. All you do is sit there and look at his toys.”

  “Oh, so now you’re getting angry at me for hurting? For not doing anything? When you didn’t do anything when he was sick?” Marita’s lip trembled and she bit it. She still didn’t let go of the truck.

  “There was nothing we could’ve done, I’ve told you this again and again. It didn’t matter what kind of research you did, he wasn’t coming back from that,” David said. “At least I was there for him, like you should’ve been.”

  She reeled back, her head bumping the edge of the coffee table, tears and snot running down her face, and David knew that he’d gone too far, pushed too hard, but he couldn’t bring himself to care. The windows were open and there was a breeze coming in.

  Marita’s fingers loosened on the truck. David gripped the socks tighter. The doorbell rang.

  About the Author

  Ariadne Burke is currently working towards her BFA in Creative Writing for Entertainment at Full Sail University in Orlando, Florida. A fan of fantasy, drama, and poetry, Ariadne has been writing since a young age. She’s worked as a student mentor, an editor, and a co-writer on multiple short films. 

  Ariadne can be contacted via:

  Twitter: @AriadneBurke

  LinkedIn: Ariadne Burke