A Collection of Short Stories Scott Randall a Creative Writing Project
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LEARNED HELPLESSNESS a collection of short stories by Scott Randall A Creative Writing Project submitted to the College of Graduate Studies and Research through English Language, Literature and Creative Writing in Partial Fulfillment of the Requirements for the Degree of Master of Arts at the University of Windsor Windsor, Ontario, Canada 1998 Copyright 1998 Scott Randall National Library Bibliothèque nationale 1+1 of Canada du Canada Acquisitions and Acquisitions et Bibliographic Services services bibliographiques 395 Wellington Street 395. rue Wellington Ottawa ON K 1A ON4 OrtawaON K1AON4 Canada Canada The author has granted a non- L'auteur a accordé une licence non exclusive licence allowing the exclusive permettant à la National Library of Canada to Bibliothèque nationale du Canada de reproduce, loan, distribute or seii reproduire, prêter, distribuer ou copies of this thesis in microform, vendre des copies de cette thèse sous paper or electronic formats. la forme de microfiche/nlm, de reproduction sur papier ou sur format électronique. The author retains ownership of the L'auteur conserve la propriété du copyright in this thesis. Neither the droit d'auteur qui protège cette thèse. thesis nor substantial extracts fkom it Ni la thèse ni des extraits substantiels may be printed or otherwise de celle-ci ne doivent être imprimés reproduced without the author's ou autrement reproduits sans son permission. autorisation. Acknowledgments 1 am grateful to Dr. John Ditsky and Dr. Alistair MacLeod for their tirne, their writing, and their warm, generous hearts. Thank you. for Sharon Anne and Katrina Ernber Contents First Impressions ........................................... -1 Two Ends of Time Are Neatïy Tied ............................. 8 Sunday's Routine .......................................... ..2O According to Hoyle ........................................ *.27 Natural Light .,............ ................a....*....*..**.*37 Object Permanence... ......................................... 44 Variations On Nailpolish As Foreplay .........................51 Spoken For .........................a....................-***63 The Woman Who Works At The Cotton Ginny .................O.*.77 Want On The Subway Line ................................ ...*.89 Planted Paradise ....-....................................... -100 Shall Have No Dominion .....................................116 Headcheese ............................................... ..127 The Grace of Synapses .......................................136 The Warmest Room .......................................... .146 Read Through The Day .......................................-162 Tin And Aluminum Anniversary ...............................184 In A Library. On The Thirteenth Floor.. ...m.......*........202 A Zoo Story ............................................ -***205 Fuck This Noise .......................................... ..213 First impressions Yesterday was the last day of April, and as 1 was driving from the post office to the grocery on my weekly errands excursion, 1 noticed that the bulb behind rny tachometer had burnt out. It was no problem, really - just another srnall errand to add to my day, And so after cashing my GST cheque and exchanqing the last of the American money left over from a weekend trip to Detroit, I drove to the Volkswagen dealership. Haruki smiled a smile as soon as 1 came in the door. "Mr. Zwaigenbaum, it is, as it always is, a genuine pleasure to see you." "Good af ternoon, Haruki. " "Surely it is not yet time for another oil change?" "No, no," 1 assured him. "It's just that the bulb behind my tachometer seems to have burnt out." "1 am sorry, Mr. Zwaigenbaum. There really is no reason for such shoddy workmanship. No excuse at all. We can give you a full refund for the car right here and now if you wish." "Goodness , no, Haruki. Let's just replace the bulb, shall we?" 1 saw no reason to cause a fuss; Haruki wasn't entirely to blame and it is, after all, a random universe. Nations crumble, new civilizations rise and bulbs burn out. This is just the way of the world, 1 told myself as 1 took a seat in the waiting area. The dealership never fails to offer a broad range of reading materials. The newest of Newsweeks, -New Quarterïys and -New Womans were al1 right there on the table before me, 1 chose the Travel section of the weekend Globe --and Mail and readied myself for an enlightening article on Brazil, but found I could not concentrate, Sornething was wrong, A feeling, a sixth sense, bad karma, vibes - cal1 it what you will - but 1 couldnlt get over the uneasy sensation that no one was looking at me. I put the paper down, waited a moment and was certain. I'm not being watched, 1 told myself absolutely. A quick glance behind the counter got to the bottom of things. Someone had hung a calendar of French Impressionists next tu the warranty guarantee "We Will Give You A Full Refund For Your Car Right Here And Now If You Wish." That Manet fellow's "Bar at the Folies-Bergerew was pictured above the twenty-nine blocks of February, and sure enough, there was that blasted barmaid with her eyes, eyes that didn't seem to follow me where ever 1 moved. This won ' t do at all, 1 shouted to myself. Here it was, nearly May, and someone had let that barmaid stare out condescendingly since February. Something must be done, 1 thought, and I'm just the man to right this wrong. 1 stood firmly in front of the counter, cleared my throat and brought Haruki over with a two-fingered wave. "1 am sorry about the delay, Mr. Zwaigenbaum. Perhaps it would be more convenient to simply replace the car for you. We can give you the newer mode1 and throw in air conditioning, of course." "Haruki, That doesn't concern me right now, What does concern me is the calendar hanging on your wall," He looked over his shoulder, turned once again to me and apologized. "You disapprove of the French Impressionists, Mr. Zwaigenbaum. You are right; it is an eyesore beyond forgiveness. " "No, no, Haruki," 1 interrupted. "Once again, you have misunderstood me. Although, 1 must admit, I'm not overly enthusiastic about al1 that brush stroke foppery, what's troubling me at present is the fact that someone has neglected to turn the pages of your calendar, 1 mean, what happened to March, for goodness sake?" At long last, understanding swept across his face- 1 returned to the waiting area satisfied. 1 mean, if it ------------ -- pppp-------------- haàn't been for me, April, too, would have been ignored. Who knows how long that barmaid would have been allowed to lean on the counter waiting impatiently with that blank look of boredom al1 over her face? Twenty minutes later, 1 departed from the Volkswagen dealership with a new bulb behind my tachometer, satisfaction, and a fresh understanding of Brazil. That was yesterday. Today, 1 must admit to myself that 1 was, essentially, being dishonest with Haruki, Today 1 sit in my brown vinyl arrnchair, 1 replay the entire event in my head and 1 am not at al1 satisfied. When it comes right down to it, 1 was being dishonest with myself, 1 was being dishonest with myself throughout the whole ugly incident and that, like burnt out bulbs, will not do, The truth of the matter is that I've had an inner quarrel of long standing with that barmaid. You see, whomever Manet modeled this barmaid after bears a striking resemblance to a young lady 1 fancied, once upon a good many years ago. Her name was Annie Price and 1 fancied her from the first moment 1 saw her with a scalpel in her hand, Annie was my lab partner in undergraduate Biology, and she and I dissected good many a frog together. And mice? Oh, we went thcough our fair share of mice too. Our lab coats matched, there was £ire in her eyes and by third year, we were vivisecting and poking pigs, calves and snakes. Only later did 1 discover that she had been conducting rabbit tests with a second year Chemistry student al1 through our courtship. Only later did 1 learn the smell of formaldehyde had misled me, Only later did 1 learn that women, like first impressions, were not always to be trusted. I was shamed, yes, but 1 didn't let her adulterous ways interfere with our roles as lab partners. Twice a week, 1 continued to read anatomy aloud from Our texts while she lifted and prodded the innards of several species, but the wonder of it was gone. My head didn't thrill when she passed me the scalpel and our arms touched; 1 was, 1 must admit, just going through the motions for the sake of formality. At the end of the semester, we parted ways and 1 haven't since seen the likes of Annie Price. And so, 1 probably wasn't being fair with Haruki. He reolly is a fine fellow - sends me birthday, Christmas and Canada Day cards ever since 1 purchased the car three years back - and he had no way of knowing that the sight of the barmaid would keep me front sleep for a whole thirty-six hours. Thirty-six hours of rehearsing what 1 would Say to Annie Price the barmaid if 1 ran into her today, fifteen years after we cut into our last specimen together. Would 1 tell her 1 never married? Well, it would probably corne up in conversation, but 1 wouldn't want to open with that information. 1 could just look at her sadly and say "Annie, 1 think we should see other people." That'd let her know that I was over her, but that the pain she caused me had turned me bitter and unpleasant, No, I wouldn't want to give her the satisfaction. No * What 1 would do is walk calmly up to the bar and sit myself in front of her. I'd make sure to stride directly towards her at a confident, unhurried pace and I'd make eye contact with her as soon as 1 entered the banquet hall to ensure that she was looking only at me, Where is the Bat- at the Folies-Bergere, 1 wonder.