Tuesday, 13 September 2011

let them eat fruitcake: the new apartment

This is an assignment for Ms. Rosemary Graham's class: Craft of Fiction (English 261).

The task was to write, in three paragraphs, at least three characters moving around at least three rooms. So here it is, the first piece of writing at SMC.


“Girl, when you said you needed my help to redecorate your new apartment, I thought we were going to move some furniture around, not to plaster and paint the wall,” Roger said as he ever so daintily walked around the studio portion of my place that consisted of my bed and the kitchen. Even Tux, my black-and-white tabby with the Elizabethan collar around her neck trotted less delicately straight onto the pillow in the center of the main room, and she just got spayed. “Now how are you gonna cook when there’s no exhaust blower? You want your whole nook to smell like soy sauce?” he asked, his well-manicured fingers lightly touching and tracing the dints and nicks in the four walls that surrounded the main room. I just giggled gingerly and said, “I’ll buy a fan. Just wait till you see the bathroom,” I pointed at a door near the kitchen and with that, he closed his eyes and took an audible deep breath.

“Uh-uh, Craig, Honey, I am not going to set foot inside your… bathroom,” I glanced at Roger at just the right time to see him feigning a gag. Or so I thought. “I’ve cleaned it. It needs a bit more of an elbow grease to really get the mold off the tiles, but we can do it, right?” I retorted and before he could say anything, I grabbed his wrist and yanked it so we were crammed inside the tiny room, our knees brushing the tip of the bathtub and my right arm resting on the sink. We heard a meow and saw Tux standing in the doorway, curious with all the commotion; or probably telling us to shut up. She looked at us, then tilted her head upwards and wiggled her whiskers, smelling the air. As she merrily walked across the main room, Roger followed her out of the bathroom and I followed them.

“She’s right,” he said. I asked him who was right. “Your cat. This is the best place in the apartment, maybe even in the neighborhood.” We were on the balcony, on the top floor, where the skyline of the business district was visible, where synthetic features such as concrete and glass stood in front of the horizon. Tux was sitting on the rattan chair that came along with the studio, looking at the view Roger and I were looking at, savoring the breeze that had brought her, and us, there. “Well, if you want my help, I’m free this Friday and Saturday, but I might need a facial afterwards,” Roger gave in. “My treat. Full spa,” I said, smiling broadly as I looked at Tux and scratched her furry head. Despite the noise from down under and all around, I could hear her purr, and if a cat could settle in in this place, so could I.


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