Wee Boy, Poor Man

I thought i might share some of the writing exercises i've been doing in class here. Some i'm keeping to myself, because they're turning into larger pieces, but here's one that stands alone and likely won't go anywhere beyond being the output of an exercise:



Wee Boy, Poor Man

"'Ow do ye feel aboot the flight?" Big Fuchsia shifts in the teak chair, recrosses one thick leg over the other. "it's rather long innit?"

Tiny Navy nods vigorously, blinks too much. "Nine hours."

Big Fuchsia's lips twist. "aye, long that." She picks a tendril from her messy bun with one quick-bitten nail, checks her cheap watch. She tsks at the time, stirs another sugar straw into her frothy coffee. Too many rings weigh down her fat hands, hinder her ability to maneuver the spoon.

"That's just the first flight. Then to Chiner, you know, twice as much again past that." Tiny Navy skips over to the counter, grabs a couple more napkins. She moves like a teenager, but her freckled, lined face belies an adolescence twenty years gone. Her auburn bob was an expensive haircut two months ago, but now it's time for a trim and some product.

"I hate to be so nairvous, but it's weird you know?"

Big Fuchsia nods sagely. "Oh mi-god, indeed."

"And me a woman alone."

"Oh, I know."

Tiny Navy shudders, rubs her hands up her arms against some conjured chill, despite the warmth of the crowded coffeeshop. "And he don't want me to go."

Big Fuchsia shakes her head, shame-shame. "It canny be a comfort, you alone so far away."

"Ye know the problems for im go way back."

"Oh aye, poor man."

"'e's those abandonment issues, ye know." Tiny Navy's fingers flutter around her like bone insects.

"Just a wee boy inside, poor man."

"aye, aye."

Big Fuchsia picks at a callus on her heel, shifts the clunky platform espadrille off the wide ball of her foot. The silence stretches out between them like a clothesline. Big Fuchsia digs in her pleather bag for some lipstick, then hangs out her dirty laundry. "i donno how ye stand it, if i'm honest."

Tiny Navy slits her eyes. "Well i love 'im don't i?"

Big Fuchsia looks to heaven, waves invisible flies away.

"Don't i?" Tiny Navy turns her eyes to daggers, plucks at the cuffed-up sleeve of the oversize men's jacket bagging around her narrow shoulders. Her cell vibrates. She and Big Fuchsia look at one another, then at the phone. Big Fuchsia shrugs. Tiny Navy snatches up the gadget and her putty satchel and skips toward the door. She has to take this.