she was horrible at telling jokes. yet here she sat, uncomfortably wedged between her date on the right and a guy wearing rust colored corduroy pants on her left. all she could see were knees and the sofa. the sofa (her host insisted on calling it a "davenport," as it was a piece that he'd rescued from his grandmother's estate) was covered in a slippery pale damask, and she had already spent most of the evening finding excuses not to sit on it. the beverage of the evening was a red sangria, which was inexplicable given that it was november and they were not in spain. tell the one about the turtle with no legs, hon, her date prodded. yeah, the turtle joke was a good one, but simple. "where do you find a turtle with no legs? wherever the hell you left it in the first place."
in her head, all she could think about was the joke that someone had told her long ago. it was so funny to her that even now, when she thought of it, it made her laugh so hard that it strained the limits of her bladder control. but she could never get the tone of the delivery for the punchline right. the joke was all about subtlety; the substance was really neither here nor there-- it was really a pun dressed up a little--the funny came from the delivery. but she loved this joke. her stomach hurt and her cheeks ached when the boy from college told it to her. perhaps she laughed so much then because she thought she was falling in love with him. but now, today, so much was riding on this joke: it was a 5th date, so an attachment was forming. he obviously thought she was capable of telling a joke, because they'd accepted the invitation to his friend's 40th birthday party (no gifts, just bring a good joke to tell, read the rsvp instructions), and giggled in bed that morning, as they thought of all of the inappropriate jokes they might say out loud in a room full of mostly strangers. she really wanted to tell that joke, though-- the joke that the boy from college told her. her date's hand pressed on her knee. hon, come on-- it's your turn; make em laugh tell the turtle joke-- it's classic! he said, and in his eyes there was something-and did he just call her 'hon'?
she told the joke. there were crickets. how do you get an elephant out of the theater? you can't. it's in his blood. another gulp of the november sangria didn't help. the tears were coming. there would not be a 6th date. she couldn't look up past the damned davenport or the rust colored knees next to her.
_Where does the General keep his armies?_
ReplyDeleteThere is a lot of tension here, and I can imagine those rust colored corduroys on that slippery damask (I even think I know what that sounds like). And I anticipated the sangria spilled on the davenport as well. Anticipation denied! So much tension. The date. The right joke. The strangers at a party. The wished for but oddly repellent intimacy of "hon." And we have no idea if she's the lead off joke teller, so there is tension there as well. And I don't know if she is crying because she likes this guy and knows there will be no date #6 or because she is angry at herself for taking the risk on the joke, or if she still thinks it's so damn funny that it makes her cry from laughter. And I totally love that. Tension, uncertainty, and rust colored corduroy.
Great to read your writing, Theresa. I really liked this; the way the joke wasn't just a slip in but a real centerpiece to the drama of the story was nice. I love how you set the scene in your first paragraph and - like Kate noticed - built the tension from the outset. Have to say I needed to look up the meaning of damask...but now I know!
ReplyDeleteI continue to be impressed with how short, sweet, and potent these stories can be.
Ah. The agony. No sixth date. I also like the tension here, and the uncertainty about the tears. She didn't really strike me as a crier (for sadness anyway) which lead me to questions the source of the tears.
ReplyDeleteI also like how you described the experience of hearing a well-told joke at the right time, and the sense memory of laughing so hard - and then acknowledging that not only can you not tell the joke that well, but that the joke wasn't really what made the experience so funny or memorable. It is happiness and loss all tied together.