Book store fiasco.
Tall guy hot with box of soap,
Humming in the rain.
His friend with tacos, singing.
Slipping on sidewalk in socks.
We used the Tankas for a marathon of different tones expressed in the form of flash fiction writing. It was a fun exercise. Here are a few of my favorites from the ones I created:
Past tense: Sarah had a book store. It was a complete fiasco. This tall guy worked for her and all he did was sweat all day. I gave him a box of soap for Christmas because his BO was getting on my nerves. He never washed. I told him grab a bar of soap and go hum in the rain - pretend the rain is your shower and lather up. He didn’t find this amusing. His friend always smells like tacos and sings badly. I told Sarah her employees were making her business slip off the edge. She didn’t believe me. I told her wait and see as she stood on the sidewalk, her self-esteem slipping, as she starred at her socks.
Metaphorically: Life is like a bookstore, with one fiasco after another. People come and people go. Some actually stay awhile, making themselves at home with their laptops, but you don’t mind. You enjoy their company. Occasionally, some hot tall guy walks in and you want him to take a liking to you. But he doesn’t. At least not in that way. He thinks of you like a sister and helps you with your car problems and lends you a box of soap if you are in need. He likes to walk in and out of your bookstore, as if he knows his inconsistency in remaining in one place pushes your buttons. One day you may ban him from your store for good, leaving him out in the cold and rain, humming his pathetic song. Then there are people like his best friend, who come into your bookstore, presenting you with every little thing your heart desires - even tacos. He’ll sing your praises, telling you how great you are when the world seems to think otherwise. Maybe that guy exists elsewhere, waiting on some random sidewalk, ready to slip into your book store unnoticed, tip toe-ing in with socks.
Personification: Books stores are my island retreat, pulling me away from life’s constant fiascoes. I walk straight up to the Hemingway section, starring at a copy of “The Sun Also Rises.” The binder stares back, warmly, understanding my inner-workings before I open my mouth to introduce myself. It’s tall and manly. It looks right through me, beyond this body of a soap box and into my heart. I hum a song in my mind as the rain outside becomes my back up band. “Pitter pitter boom, pitter, pitter,” it says. Besides the Hemingway book, a book about tacos tries to become my new best friend. I will not succumb to the harsh reality of the calories it will try to sneak into my hips at night. Some friend. I sing to Hemingway’s namesake as the sidewalks outside slip quietly away, folding the world into itself like a pair of socks, carrying it off into the distance.
Official letter: Dear Sammy’s Book Store,
This is to confirm that the author known as Fiasco will be hosted at your “Guest of the Week event.” Fiasco plans to read a portion of his latest book “Tall, Hot Guy with a Box of Soap, the Legend of Misty Creek” and sign his newest paperback “Humming in the Rain.” Fiasco’s only requests is that he is allowed to bring a friend and tacos. Also note, if you are not aware, fans of Fiasco may be slipping on sidewalks in socks on purpose, recreating a popular scene from “Humming in the Rain.” We are not libel for any accidents that may occur if that activity takes place.
Sincerely,
Ben Labeled, assistant to Fiasco
Long form: The rain kept me inside all day. Itching for adventure, I hopped into the car and drove to find signs of life elsewhere. As luck would have it, my car broke down outside of the bookstore. Realizing I left my cell phone at home, I ran into the store in search of a phone. I was dripping wet when I reached the customer service kiosk in the middle of the shop. It was the last place on earth I thought I would end up.
A tall guy in glasses, who looked awkwardly nervous with beads of sweat falling from his forehead, asked how he could help me. His name tag read Tom.
“Hi, Tom,” I said. “Do you have a phone I could use? My car broke down and I need to call AAA. I think it might be the battery.”
“Really?” he said in a surprisingly, deep and attractive voice. Sudden he didn’t look so nerdy anymore.
“I’ll check it out,” he said. He turned to the guy behind him, whose name tag read James. He told James he was going to step outside to see about my car. Tom then ducked under the counter and pulled out his rain jacket and a box of soap. “It’s where I hide my keys,” he said of the soap box, pulling out his key chain.
When we walked outside, he started humming in the rain. That’s when my short acquaintanceship with him turned quickly into a crush. Tom came to the same conclusion I did about the car: It was the battery. He offered to jump it with his car.
I felt like we were vehicle surgeons as Tom pulled, twisted and wrangled with jumper cable wires. My only job was to turn the key every time he said “now.”
By the fourth “now,” the car was purring like a kitten. I was happy but sad all at once, not wanting Tom to leave me. James walked outside with a bag of tacos. “Your order’s here!” he said to Tom.
I got out of the car as Tom put the hood down.
“Hungry?” he asked me.
“Boy, am I,” I said, smiling eagerly.
Walking back into the bookstore, the unthinkable happened. I slipped on the sidewalk in my socks and shoes. But the awesome part was that Tom caught me in his arms. I could smell his aftershave as his scruffy beard rubbed against my face. He looked into my eyes. I smelled his peppermint breath.
“Your car should break down in front of the bookstore more often,” he said, as he helped me to my feet.
As we walked back into the shop, Tom placed his arm around me.
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