âhand it in tomorrow, itâll be alrightâ and other lies by david goldmann
date: twenty-fourth, march 2021
location: brooklyn, new york
summary: cue stage right mr. book-sleuthÂ
his bag barely made a sound as he threw it between the two front seats of his dadâs old 86Ⲡbmw. quiet but not completely silent because it did have something to say⌠âthis trip to go and see his parents was going to have to be a short one.â it had to be. his publisher was breathing down his neckâ james cross had been absent from the new york timeâs best seller list for too long and if he didnât want to kiss his fancy new york city apartment (it had an actual bathroom) goodbye he was going to have to write another one. something quick, flashy and something that would keep his readerâs begging for more. david told him heâd have it in six months⌠it had been five, and the thirty-five-year-old had barely even written one sentence to its name. and none if you didnât think the the single line of fucks heâd strung together to construct the first one counted as a thrilling starting point.
ââ hi, rachel here.. sorry iâve missed yââ he hung up. voice mails irritated him to no end. always too short.. and with a habit of cutting you off just before you had everything out you wanted to say. where was the option to press 1 and finish the rest off? where was the option to press 2 and throw a string of obscenities at whoever decided that someone making a phone call had something they wanted to say that could be summed up in less than twenty seconds? like, if that was the case david wouldâve sent a goddamn-fucking-text. oh, whatever. heâd call her later. he despised texting and wasnât about to spend five minutes of his time trying to construct something that came off as âokay but not sorry sorry because it still wasnât his faultâ to his girlfriend right now. he had new york city traffic to battle.
by the time he was pulling up outside his parentâs house his phone had alerted him of a new email heâd just got. his heart picked up a beat. it was stupid to spend such a large amount of his week looking forward to her emails, but he did. only before he could pull it up his fatherâs knuckles met the glass of the driverâs side window and forced his attention there instead. âare you going to get out anytime soon or did you drive all this way just to keep me and your mother waitingâŚâ hi dad. after motioning for his father to step back⌠though for a moment enjoying the image of hitting him just a little with his door, david climbed out of his car and offered up a tight smile to the man in front of him⌠âi just got hereâŚâ he watched as his father glanced down at his watch and shook his head, before walking back off into the house⌠âwhen are you going to cut your hair⌠youâre starting to look like one of those meth addicts, David.â just for that, David decided he was going to grow it another three inches longer. âDavid!â he let his mom pull him against her chest as he stepped into the kitchen and attempted to steal a tasting of whatever she currently had under the foil⌠a quick snap of her small hand had him jerking away.. ânot yet⌠so, whatâs this i hear from Aaron that youâre single againâŚâ oh for fucks sake.Â
date: twenty-fourth, march 2021
location: queens, new york
summary: if people were weather, she would be a category 5 hurricane
There was nothing Hazel Crawford couldnât do if she put her mind to it -- well.. maybe besides balance a bottle of rose, four (new to her but old in the general sense of the word) hard cover books, and a pile of to-be-graded assignments in her arms while attempting to unlock her apartmentâs front door. She made the decision, without hesitation, to let her poor studentâs book reports and latest art projects scatter across her hallway floor in an effort to save both her wine and books (lifeâs true necessities). She could pick up the loose sheets of paper, after all â the bottle, on the other hand, would make quite the mess and she couldnât even bare the thought of first editions hitting the solid ground below her feet without cringing just the tiniest bit. She really hadnât had much of a choice.
After safely making it inside (dodging the army of animals waiting for her just beyond the door) and cleaning up the mess her lack of coordination had caused, Haze took a seat at her kitchen table and let out a sigh she hadnât even realized sheâd been holding â it had been a hell of a long day, Fridays were always tough. With the children on edge in anticipation of the weekend just out of their reach and the never-ending stream of emails from the school boardâs administrators subtly reminding her, once again, that theyâd appreciate it if she âtoned down her fashion choices just a little bitâ â which, come on, who doesnât love colour?! â she almost hadnât made it through the day. It was simply the thought of that very same bottle of rose that she had, only seconds before, guarded with her life did she make it through.. that, and of course, the knowledge that her babies awaited her arrival back home.
She reached her hand under the table and was instantly treated to a very wet but welcome and familiar lick â that was Pancake, her golden retriever. He was always the first to say hello. The moment Hazel walked through her apartment door, she knew her man would be waiting for her, tail-wagging like she was the greatest sight heâd ever seen (when, in reality, it was the opposite, she was quite sure). Next, she spotted Mochaâs dark tail from around the corner. She chuckled softly, as she rose from her chair and reached for both the animalâs empty food dishes which sat neatly beside her refrigerator atop themed mats (sunflowers for Pancake and crescent moons for Mocha -- each a representation of their extremely unique and utterly perfect personalities).
âAre you two cuties hungry?â She practically sang as she poured Pancakeâs dinner into his bowl first (otherwise, the pup would eat the catâs food without second thought - he wasnât the smartest crayon in the box but that only made Hazel love him more). After sheâd situated Pancake, she worked on Mochaâs fishy dinner. The feline finally made an appearance, head-butting her leg as a way to say âwelcome home, momâ before digging in herself. It was then did Haze wander through her apartment, eyes dancing over her messy living room (which, she made a mental note -- that sheâd more than likely ignore -- to clean this weekend) and headed into her bedroom.
The room, lined with more books than most libraries housed, was Hazelâs very own slice of heaven on earth -- the same could be said about the rest of her apartment, sure, but there was something very special about her bedroom (and no, she wasnât about to throw out some extremely corny line about this being where the magic happened). Instead, this room held all her most prized possessions, including her two fish: Salmon and Gillfunkel. Their fish tank sat atop her small desk, right by her bedroom window. The Neon Tetrasâ were as much a part of their little family as Mocha and Pancake or even herself, which would be clear to anyone given the chance to steal of a glimpse of their tank (which was ever so often featured on her Instagram page) -- decked out with castles and gems, plants and algae, tunnels and other playground-esque accessories -- simply put, the two fish lived a life of luxury. Â
Hazel reached for the tiny holder of fish food, which was tucked away in her desk drawer. She twisted off the top and quickly sprinkled some flakes into the water and smiled as her fishies swam together towards them, their tiny fish mouths sucking the food in like in the same, almost too-adorable, way they did each morning and night -- a sight the brunette never grew sick of.
As she made her way back into her kitchen, she grabbed her treasured bottle of rose and, with the precession only an expert wine opener could posses, uncorked the bottle and poured herself a healthy glass. Her fingers slipped around the stem, her other hand reaching for a half finished bag of gummy worms sheâd left on the counter the night before. She turned quickly on her heels, only stumbling slightly (which, for her, was a definite win) and headed towards her living room -- dropping down onto her comfy couch the second her legs hit the base. Haze settled in as swapped the bag of candy for her phone, which she tugged out of her pant pocket, but not before tossing a cherry favoured worm between her teeth.
No problem, she wasnât the type of girl who had to wait for a man to reach out to her -- and besides, David wasnât a man in that sense. Sure, he was a man but he wasnât her man.. Hazel wasnât even sure she had a man and if she did, he would more than likely be found at a sleazy, outrageously priced, hipster bar in the middle of Manhattan; with a crowd of over-cologned men who truly believed they were godâs gift to women -- he definitely would not be found in her emailâs inbox, a wonderfully witty subject line waiting just for her eyes to be treated to.
With her iPhone balancing against her knees, Haze giggled to herself between sips, as she typed away at her new email.
Subject: re: re: re: Hungarian Princess seeking handsome American man with large banâheart and much generosity
Email:
DG,
I know youâve been waiting patiently for an update on the ever-so-exciting saga âWhere have my left shoes been sneaking off too?â
Well, I forgot something on my way out this morning and had to come back home, caught the culprit redhanded..
Turns out, Mocha has been framing Pancake this entire time. That tiny kitty is too smart for her own good, and poor Pancake.. he just wants to be a good boy.
How Mocha fit my boot in her mouth is beyond me but I always have been prone to believe cats are of an intelligent species. She was dragging all my left shoes into the spare bedroom, hiding them behind a dog bed Pancake likes to settle into for his afternoon naps.
I suppose, the moral of this story is I shouldnât be so quick to blame the man down the hall (who, like I mentioned in my last email, drinks far too much milk for an adult man). You can call off the elaborate manhunt we previously planned, Mocha has been given a good talking too and my left shoes? Other than a few teeny tiny teeth marks, theyâve been safely returned.
Any who, enough about my personal zoo (Iâll spare you the details of Salmon and Gillfunkelâs fish spat this morning.. it got ugly), how was your day?
Hope it wasnât as chaos-filled as my own.
Adios (for now),
HC