vignette » otoh

The Big C

Posted by Tim at 02:24 on 2010/10/22

Oct 222010

Ginger sits on the love seat, surrounded by friends. “Momma is sure he’ll get better,” she says of her brother Fred, “but the treatments are probably just buying a little time.”

She talks about how hard it is to see her brother so sick, so weak. Her eyes brim with tears, but she doesn’t cry. Not yet. Later. When she’s alone again. Then tears will flow freely.

“Fred has no appetite,” she goes on. “I try to make sure he eats regularly, but then he gets sick and brings it all back up. Then I feel guilty for making him eat in the first place. But I can’t just let him starve either….”

The words trail off and seem to land gently on the parlor floor. “Another mess to clean up,” she thinks.

“Remember when you set the dog house on fire?” Everyone laughs a little. They smile weak smiles.

“Yeah,” Ginger recalls. “I was carrying water out there in Dixie cups. Fred dragged the garden hose over and put it out.” Another weak smile. “Daddy was really mad about that.” Then they all remembered, her Dad’s gone five years now. Same disease.

Shared sorrow though is easier to bear.

Note: This piece was posted last year. I’m reposting it in honor of Breast Cancer Awareness Month. According to the American Cancer Society, breast cancer is about 100 times more common in women than men and survival rates are about the same.

Read more about my Fred and Ginger vignettes here.

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The End of Fred and Ginger

Posted by Tim at 21:51 on 2010/01/14

Jan 142010

“So there IS someone else!” Ginger spits the words at me.

Seeing her lovely face all red and blotchy cuts me to the core. “Sweetheart, you know it’s not –”

“Don’t you dare call me ‘Sweetheart’ you bastard! My name is Ginger. Got it? Ginger! Not Linda. Not Julie. Not Suzanne. Ginger!”

I never tried to hide the fact that I changed their names when I edited pieces for publication. I never expected her to get upset over it though. “OK. Ginger. See, those are just pseudonyms. It’s still you in all those stories. After all, actors don’t use their real names when they play a character.”

“Hah! Actors! I knew you would bring that up. Just because people picture Astaire and Rogers when they see our names. Is that our fault? You’re the writer here. You thought this would be a good idea. It’s your fault. Yours!”

“I know Ginger, of course it’s not your fault. It’s mine. And I take full responsibility. But more than one reader has complained that these names pull them out of my — YOUR stories.”

“We don’t even look like them,” Fred adds. “In fact, we work hard to look different every week! Besides, we let you post that creepy animation a couple weeks ago. THAT was embarrassing.”

He had me there. That was embarrassing. “But, that’s part of the problem. I know you look different every week. You’re my little changelings, taking on the appearance of the characters in each story. To me, you ARE different. Not everyone can see that.”

“Pffft. If you were a better writer they might.”

Ouch! “And then,” I blunder on even with that knife in my heart, “people see Fred and Ginger two weeks in a row and think we’re continuing the same story. Do you know how hard it is to get someone back for a third week after that? They don’t need to come here to get confused.”

“See! It’s YOU, Tim. You made this mess. You said names weren’t important. I think you were just being lazy. And now you say you’re done with us?”

“I’m not done with you. You’ll still be in the drafts I write. It’s just… I need to change your names before I publish the stories.”

“Careful, folks,” Ginger waves both hands above her head, “he has an eraser and he’s not afraid to use it! Go ahead, make that stupid ‘getting rubbed out’ joke. You know you’re dying to….”

I can feel my face getting red. I’ve been pwned and punned in a single stroke. I never expected this to be so difficult… archive the old stuff, tap a few keys, a global search and replace. Now my characters are copping an attitude? What do they want from me?

“You know,” Fred chimes in, “we’ve tried to be everything for you — friends, siblings, lovers, spouses. Hell, we’ve KILLED and DIED for you. How can you just write us off like this?”

I look at them both. “I know. And I don’t want you to think I’m ungrateful. It’s just… I guess I always knew it would come to this someday. In order to grow, I need to move on.”

I move the cursor to highlight their names. My hand hovers over the delete key.

[Note: Learn more about Fred and Ginger here. ~Tim]

The Day of the Wedding

Posted by Tim at 12:00 on 2010/01/08

Jan 082010

Fred shook with anticipation as he entered the bedroom. The wind that constantly blew in across the rocky coastline of his village rattled the windows. Or was that his teeth rattling? He had been granted one wish and this was it.

He sat on the edge of the bed and took a few deep breaths. His anticipation was palpable. The door opened and Ginger stepped inside. Fred rose to meet her. He reached out his hand and he could feel the blood rushing out of his brain when she interlaced her fingers with his. Tentatively at first, he kissed her, then hungrily, passionately. Gently, she broke their embrace to lead him to the bed.

They looked deeply into each other’s eyes while she removed all of their clothing. Taking his hand again, she pulled him onto the bed. He knew that she had experience and willingly let her take control. She lead him to pleasures he had never even imagined.

In the morning, Fred awoke alone. Today was the big day. The day of the wedding. He had the honor of representing his village. The path was lined with well-wishers as he strode toward the sea. His family and closest friends were waiting by the altar on a precipice high above the crashing surf. The wind whipped in from the cold water and it filled him with pride.

At the altar he embraced his parents and wiped the tears from his mother’s face. He turned and looked back at his village. He half-hoped to see Ginger, but he knew that by tradition she would be out of sight. Musicians struck up the wedding march. The wind howled in response and brought a salty spray over the wedding party. The sea was angry and needed to be calmed. The survival of the village was at stake. The village was offering her a husband. Fred stepped onto the altar and leapt to the water below.

[Note: Learn more about Fred and Ginger here. ~Tim]

Lost in Space

Posted by Tim at 14:08 on 2009/12/31

Dec 312009

Fred — that was the persona he had adopted on earth — floated in microgravity at the controls of his ship far above the blue planet. He knew he should shift back to his normal appearance and enter stasis for the long journey home. Instead, he adjusted his trajectory so that he hovered directly over a particular city in the southern United States. He hummed to himself and then softly sang, “Long distance information, give me Memphis, Tennessee….”

Observe and report. That was his mission. He didn’t even have to visit the surface of the planet. But he always did. Even the planets that were completely devoid of life, he thought, warranted at least a cursory personal appearance. Just so he could say he did. And he had a portfolio full of souvenir images for proof. The planets with life though, those were risky. He had to avoid interacting as much as possible and certainly wasn’t allowed to interfere. He had never counted on meeting Ginger.

While he knew that physics made it impossible, her eyes seemed to shine and twinkle with a light that came from within. Her voice was low and sweet with a musical quality to it. Music, human music, that was something else he had never counted on. He sought it out at every turn and that’s how he had met Ginger. There were musicians right out on the street here every day and night. He couldn’t believe how indifferent most of the humans were to what they were hearing. But some vocalized in tune with mechanical devices while others gyrated their bodies to the tempo. Ginger did both.

“Staring and slack-jawed” was the way she later told him he had appeared. She had said hello and reached out her hand for him to join her in the gyrations then laughed when she saw the look of panic on his face. She thought he was just too shy to dance with her. His first impulse was to turn away, get lost in the crowd and return immediately to his ship. But something kept him rooted to the spot. He had seen similar actions by humans so he tightened a couple face muscles that pulled the ends of his oral orifice upward and rotated his head laterally back and forth a couple times. And he kept staring, though he managed to tighten those jaw muscles.

Somehow, Ginger had found this endearing and when the band took a break she came over and talked to him. She used a lot of words he didn’t fully understand — they didn’t seem to match the dictionary definitions he had studied. But the sound of her voice mixed with the scent of jasmine that radiated from her body still hot from her recent activity. Fred was mesmerized. Even though his body wasn’t really human, he thought he felt an unmistakable attraction, a desire for his body to be close to hers. He had observed mating rituals across half the galaxy and he had never felt anything like this.

Fred suddenly realized he had gone way beyond just observing, that even this innocent interaction with Ginger might have far-reaching effects. Mumbling what he hoped was an acceptable excuse he left abruptly. “I hope I see you again,” she had called after him. “I’ll be here tomorrow night.” Nothing in what he knew about magnetism or gravity or nuclear forces could explain the drag he felt on his body as he forced himself away from her.

And now he hovered. How odd, he thought, that indecision stills weighs heavily even in microgravity. The longer he stayed in human form the more desperately he wanted to stay on earth and seek out more time with Ginger. If he returned home as he knew he should he certainly would never again be trusted to go off-world. He could not orbit here indefinitely, he had to make a choice. Then he realized… of course, there is only one choice….

So, dear readers, I am curious. What choice do you think “Fred” made? Did he stay on earth, return home, or realize that he had another option? Please leave a comment.

[Note: Learn more about Fred and Ginger here. ~Tim]

Is That What the Kids are Calling It?

Posted by Tim at 00:01 on 2009/12/25

Dec 252009

Ginger held her breath, put a hand on each leg and spread them gently. Tentatively, she explored between them with her fingers. Fred began with short, sharp thrusts but settled in to longer, slower, smoother strokes. He carefully gave equal attention to both breasts. Ginger breathed again. Together they were determined to serve the perfect turkey and dressing dinner to their family for the holiday.

Happy Christmas everyone!

[Note: Learn more about Fred and Ginger here. ~Tim]

One Flew Over the Cuckold's Nest

Posted by Tim at 23:52 on 2009/12/17

Dec 172009

In her comment on last week’s post Aymiee asked whether I have considered a graphical interface for Ginger and Fred. While I’m not sure what she meant by that, it reminded me of xtranormal.com — a site that makes animated movies from your script. I dug up a draft I’ve had sitting around for a couple years. Originally, most of the story took place through instant messages between the two characters so it was already heavy on dialogue. Here then, is an update of that story and the resulting movie:

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[Note: Learn more about Fred and Ginger here. ~Tim]

Fred Writes Erotica

Posted by Tim at 23:10 on 2009/12/10

Dec 102009

“Miranda’s breath caught in her throat. The stranger’s eyes blazed. With one hand he held her wrist. With the other he tugged at her skirt and ran roughly along her –” Sigh.

Ginger closed the manuscript and tossed it on the reject pile.

[Note: Learn more about Fred and Ginger here. ~Tim]

The Mystery Writer Returns

Posted by Tim at 23:06 on 2009/12/03

Dec 032009

Fred tapped his favorite Montblanc pen absent-mindedly while staring at the monitor. He had used the pen as a murder weapon once. Today, it was just a distraction. Ginger breezed in carrying a tray. He loved her dearly, but disliked ever having his work time interrupted. Even unproductive work time like this.

“Have some tea, dear,” she said while pouring the hot liquid. With a sigh, he rolled his chair away from the desk and accepted the cup. “It’s almond and honey flavored,” Ginger continued. “Something new!” She grinned and breathed in the steam from her cup. Then her brow furrowed. “Fred, I’m worried about you.”

“Worried? Why?” He sipped the tea and tried to hide a grimace.

“You kill someone every week.”

“I write murder mysteries. That’s not the same as really killing someone.”

“I’m afraid it just keeps your head in that frame of mind. It colors everything else you do.”

“I don’t understand. What frame of mind?”

“You seem sad all the time. Your stories are all so sad.”

“Sad? The killer is always brought to justice in the end.”

“But only after terrible things have happened to people first.”

“Not innocent people. The people that die in my stories all deserve to die.”

“You really believe that some people deserve to die?”

“In my stories? Absolutely.”

“How about in real life? Drink up, sweetie. It’s good for you!”

“Well, yeah, but I’m glad I don’t have to decide about them.” He gulped down another mouthful.

“But someone has to decide?”

“Ginger, what’s really bothering you?”

“I’ve decided. You’re leaving me.”

“What? Sweetheart, I’m not going anywhere. What makes you think I’m leaving you?”

“I don’t think. I know. You’ll be dead soon.”

“Dead?”

“Yes, Fred. Dead. Poisoned.”

His tea cup shattered on the floor.

[Note: Learn more about Fred and Ginger here. ~Tim 6 Dec 2009]

FFF: Giving Thanks

Posted by Tim at 00:17 on 2009/11/27

Nov 272009

Fred winced involuntarily from the pain as he reached across the small folding table. He handed a paper plate to each of his guests. Then he passed the food around. It was hardly traditional holiday fare — ravioli and yellow corn, both from cans — but everything in his life was different now.

The year before he had awakened on that cool, crisp Thanksgiving Day blissfully entwined with his beloved wife Ginger. The birth of their daughter Vera the previous week had precluded any traveling, but they looked forward to starting new traditions with their new little family. Vera’s demands were nearly constant but they had been preparing a small feast in the moments they could manage over the last couple of days.

Fred kissed Ginger lightly, hoping she would get a few more minutes of sleep. Then he slid out of bed and leaned over Vera’s crib. He was briefly overcome. All his senses registered — angelic face, rhythmic breathing, baby powder, the incredible softness of her cheek as he brought his lips close. He had thought he knew how powerful love could be when he had married Ginger, but his love for this child was all-consuming.

He stopped in the kitchen to put coffee on the stove and then stepped outside. He picked the newspaper up from the porch and looked eastward. The sun was just a glow on the horizon and he stood there shivering to watch it rise. It was silly, he thought, but he had made it a point to watch the sun rise every day since Vera was born. Silently he said a prayer of thanks as he breathed in the autumn morning. Mostly it was the smell of the leaves scattered across the ground. And then… smoke!

He rushed inside to find the house full of dense, black smoke and the kitchen ablaze. He shouted Ginger’s name and crawled toward the bedroom. He never made it that far. He awoke days later in the burn ward and began a long slow recovery.

When he finally got to visit the graves of his wife and daughter, he fell into an unconsolable sobbing heap. The painful rehab dragged on for months. His business closed and his insurance was about to run out. He was already a month behind on the rent for the small room in which Chuck and Dave, two other long-term patients at the rehab center, now joined him for the holiday meal.

Any summary of his life at this point would conclude that in a year he had lost everything — his family, home, business, and health. The only thing he had not lost was his faith. So he clasped his withered hands, bowed his head, and said, “Let us give thanks.”

[Note: Learn more about Fred and Ginger here. ~Tim 6 Dec 2009]

FFF: The World's Most Expensive First Date

Posted by Tim at 22:20 on 2009/11/19

Nov 192009

Ginger felt like a fool and worse, a cliche’, sitting on the couch in T-shirt and sweatpants, holding a half-empty carton of Ben & Jerry’s Chocolate Therapy™ ice cream with The Notebook playing on the TV. When the phone rang she read the caller ID, muted the movie, and took a deep breath before answering.

“Hi, Mom.”

“Nothing, just… got home from a date.”

“Yeah. Internet-boy, uh, Fred. That was tonight.” As if you didn’t remember! she wanted to say but, of course, did not.

“Well, I think I can say I’ve been on the world’s most expensive first date. He flew here from Tuscon, rented a limo, brought me a bouquet of daisies, took me to Le Province for dinner….”

“Of course not, Mom. He’s at a hotel. He flies home in the morning.”

“Yes, I know what you told me. Meeting someone in person that you met on line is — Mom! He’s not an ax murderer or anything like that!”

“I don’t know, it was… awkward….”

“Mom, can we talk about this tomorrow?” Or even better, never again? Why couldn’t she just say that to her mother?

“Okay. I love you too. Bye”

Another spoonful of ice cream melted down her throat while a tear traced a path down her cheek. She turned the volume back up in time to hear Duke say, “I’ve loved another with all my heart and soul and for me that has always been enough.” Then her tears flowed freely.

Ginger had lied about the flowers. She was sure Fred knew that daisies are her favorite, but he arrived empty-handed. And she would never tell her mother she had paid for everything — the plane ticket, the car, the fancy restaurant, the hotel. But it wasn’t the money that made this date so expensive. Ginger was giving up hope that she would meet someone to love with all her heart and soul.

[Note: Learn more about Fred and Ginger here. ~Tim 6 Dec 2009]

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The Big C

The End of Fred and Ginger

The Day of the Wedding

Lost in Space

Is That What the Kids are Calling It?

One Flew Over the Cuckold's Nest

Fred Writes Erotica

The Mystery Writer Returns

FFF: Giving Thanks

FFF: The World's Most Expensive First Date

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