fiction – Page 5 – DAVID V. MATTHEWS

Standard Procedure

October 1975, Conference Number Two:

Principal: “Mrs. Kazakis?”

Milo’s Mother: “That’s Ms. Henningsen.”

Milo: “My mom and dad got divorced.”

Principal: “All right, Milo. Please have a seat, both of you.” [Both of them sit down.] “So, I’ve spoken with Tommy regarding the incident. He says you did something to him, Milo.”

Milo’s Mother: “Did something? What did he allegedly do?”

Principal: “Maybe Milo could tell us. Did you do something to him, Milo?”

Milo: [No response.]

Milo’s Mother: “Cut the crap, Mrs. Goggins. What did Milo allegedly do to deserve getting beat up?”

Principal: “Well, Tommy says Milo grabbed him.”

Milo’s Mother: “Grabbed him?”

Principal: “Grabbed his—butt.”

Milo’s Mother: “Oh for Christ’s sake.”

Principal: “Did you grab his butt, Milo?”

Milo: “No. Why would I do that? He has a fat butt.”

[Tense pause.]

Milo’s Mother: “Milo!”

Principal: “And if he didn’t have a fat butt, would you grab it?”

Milo: [No response.]

Milo’s Mother: “I hope you don’t go around grabbing boys’ butts, Milo.”

Milo: “No!”

Milo’s Mother: “Or girls’ butts, for that matter.”

Milo: “I don’t grab any butts! I was just kidding!”

Principal: “You shouldn’t kid around about certain topics, Milo.”

Milo: “I didn’t grab his butt.”

Milo’s Mother: “All right, calm down.”

Principal: “I didn’t think he grabbed it. I talked with the eyewitnesses, his classmates, and they all said they hadn’t seen Milo do anything like that.”

Milo’s Mother: “They why the hell’d you call me here? I had to quit work early, and I need the money.”

Principal: “Standard procedure, Mrs.—I mean Ms. Henningsen.”

Milo: “My mom and dad got divorced.”

Principal: “You’ve said that already, Milo.”

Milo’s Mother: “He could say it a million times. I couldn’t stand being married to his father.”

Principal: “Well, I’m sure your dad has some good qualities, Milo.”

Milo: “Yes. He watches Spider-Man with me.”

The Child in Question

October 1975:

Principal: “Let’s get to the point. Your son beat up one of his classmates during recess yesterday.”

Tommy’s Father: “He did?”

Principal: “Yes. The child in question, Milo Kazakis, got not one but two black eyes.”

Tommy’s Father: “Is this true, Tommy? Did you really beat him up?”

Tommy: “Yes sir.”

Tommy’s Father: “Why’d you do it?”

Tommy: “ ’Cause he grabbed my butt.”

Principal: “You sure that’s what happened, Tommy?”

Tommy: [No response.]

Principal: “Because I talked with the other students there and—”

Tommy: “He did it when no one was lookin’. He’s a fag.”

Principal: “Watch your language, Tommy.”

Tommy: “Sorry, ma’am.”

Tommy’s Father: “Now, now, wait, what if this Milo kid actually is a, you know?”

Principal: “We have no proof of that. And even if he is—”

Tommy’s Father: “My son doesn’t lie. If he says this kid grabbed his butt, then that’s what really happened. Isn’t that right, Tommy?”

Tommy: “Yes sir.”

Tommy’s Father: “Tommy’s was just defending himself.”

Principal: “A little too much, it seems.”

Tommy’s Father: “He’s an energetic boy.”

Principal: “Right. As for Milo—”

Tommy’s Father: “Send him to a girls’ school, ha ha.”

Tommy’s Mother: “Ha ha.”

revised February 1, 2019

Flash Fiction (a Hundred Words or Fewer) #48: Why Does Peter Pan Fly?

Recess, fourth grade:

“Why does Peter Pan fly?” Tommy asked. Pause. “You’d fly too, if you got hit in the peter with a pan!”

Laughter from the other students. Except Milo.

“You fag,” Tommy said. “That joke was funny.”

“It was actually a riddle,” Milo said.

Tommy pushed him down onto the ground and commenced punching him in the face. Their classmate Douglas cheered the loudest.

Four decades later, in traction after crashing his SUV, Douglas did not remember the beating, nor would he ever. (Good thing for his health insurance, by the way.) (He despised Obamacare—goddamn socialist medicine.)

Flash Fiction (a Hundred Words or Fewer) #47: My Spider-Sense Is Tinkling

His first day in fourth grade, during recess, the new kid, Milo, approached a group of several boys, the cool boys (they liked TV and hated girls), and announced “My Spider-Sense is tinkling.” Then he sang “Spider-Man / Spider-Man / Always pees when he’s in the can.” The boys’ leader, Tommy, picked up a rock and threw it at the fleeing Milo, missing him by a centimeter. (The school had started teaching the metric system, prior to the national changeover that would end up never happening, inches and miles and so on serving as a vital component of American exceptionalism.)

Flash Fiction (a Hundred Words or Fewer) #46: The Planning Session’s Penultimate Intersectional Proposal

Renée made the planning session’s penultimate intersectional proposal: we should sneak socialist vegan brunch fliers into the free weekly alt-papers distributed at the gourmet coffeehouse (which attracts lots of progressive or at least not very reactionary customers, according to what her wife, a barista there, has told her) on the ground floor of the Republican law firm-slash-fossil fuel lobbyists’ skyscraper downtown. Tanya, somewhat facetiously before offering the final proposal, suggested picturing a scantily-clad babe on the fliers to appeal to the Bernie Bros, causing Caroline to wonder whether a scantily-clad Bernie would work better. Laughter ensued. See, we have fun.

Flash Fiction (a Hundred Words or Fewer) #45: Good Luck with That

Last week, a newbie named Hasker started trying to get us to unionize. He said we deserved a living wage, a voice in the company’s future, all that socialist crap. He got fired the next day—for incompetence, the company said. I’ll bet someone informed them before I could. Anyway, Hasker filed a complaint with the National Labor Relations Board. Trump’s board. Good luck with that. Meanwhile, I’ll enjoy my promotion to department director by buying everyone drinks tonight at Wolves Gentlemen’s Club, that great reason for working your ass off. One lap dance would have cured Hasker for sure.

Flash Fiction (a Hundred Words or Fewer) #44: Self-centered

I felt like posting this image, though it has nothing to do with the story.

My sister, who’s thirty-eight, thinks I’m jealous of her ’cause she’s never been married or had kids. She’s also never had sex, a fact she brags about as the organizer for her virgins’ group. “You don’t need to have sex to have a worthwhile life,” she says. Maybe, but having sex certainly helps. I think she’s too self-centered to get laid, frankly. And too judgmental—she called me a Nazi ’cause first I called ICE on the illegals next door, then I filmed the arrest and posted it.

Fuck her, so to speak. Everyone should see what happens to lawbreakers.

Flash Fiction (a Hundred Words or Fewer) #43: Front-row Seats, Baby!

I’m the organizer for the local V-CARD group. I’m also a thirty-eight-year-old virgin, and I assure you, I lead a fulfilling life; I have friends and a great job and my theater subscription (front-row seats, baby!). Sure, I wish I had an intimate relationship sometimes, but you don’t need a sexual or romantic partner to feel worthwhile. I always tell that to my fellow Carders.

My sister, who’s thirty-five and lost her virginity at fourteen, told me “I wish I had your life, with no asshole ex-husbands or bratty kids.” Her exes are assholes, but her kids are actually individualistic.

Flash Fiction (a Hundred Words or Fewer) #41: Virtually Legal

“You’re under arrest for possession of marijuana.”

“What? Come on, pot’s virtually legal.”

“That’s not the same as actually legal, now, is it?”

Another rich white boy, looking for cheap drugs in this neighborhood. I could tell he was rich due to his tie-dyed T-shirt—a little too new-looking, like straight from a boutique.

So I arrested him. Later, a couple scumbags almost beat him to death in the holding cell. That bummed me out a little, I’ll admit; I was still a rookie. But the law’s the law. And he’ll have a story to tell. Everyone needs a story.

Flash Fiction (a Hundred Words or Fewer) #40: Nosmo King & the Filter Tips

In 1961, at college, I formed a band called Nosmo King & the Filter Tips. I’d come up with the name. I smoked like a chimney, but so did everyone else.

There were four members. I played drums. We did sloppy covers of rock-and-roll songs. (Everyone also drank like a fish.)

We never released a record or taped anything. Although we stunk, we should’ve documented our youthful exuberance.

We broke up in ’63, after graduating. We never played together again. This morning, our lead guitar player died from emphysema, making me the last surviving Tip. Somehow, I don’t feel lucky.