Tuesday, April 5, 2011

Featured Post-of-the-Day for April 5th

Flash Fiction by Kimberly Cawthon 4/3/2011

I fell in love with a woman who wore Sea Foam green.

I knew her dress was sea foam because I am a color expert. After 6 years at Arthur’s Top Coat, it could be pride or too much toxic lacquer fumes. Whether it’s melted brain cells or arrogance, I love color. I love that blue is never blue; it's Cerulean, Cornflower, Dusty Sky, Swimming Pool, Electric, and 5,000 other variations of shades, tones and pigments. I loved knowing Pam’s dress wasn’t green but a delicate mix of Pistachio, Banana Pudding, and Aqua. Cool, breezy, Sea Foam.

She sat down as I sipped my cappuccino. The shop was crowded and I knew my empty seat would be taken. I didn't know she would pull the chair back and asked to join me.

“I like your dress,” I said.

“Thanks,” she smiled. “It’s an old bridesmaid gown I had tailored.”

“How green of you,” I smiled back.

We spent a few hours at the coffee shop. I forgot about my dry-cleaning pick-up, helping Eddie move out of his apartment and picking up a jug of Drano for the clogged kitchen sink. I stared at her in her lovely folds of sea foam. A mermaid with a soy latte.

“Are you dating anyone?” I asked.


I ordered us some sandwiches.

By sunset, she wanted to walk. We trekked arm and arm into the tiny town—the spring air gently tumbling into summer warmth. We talked about this and that—the weather, favorite cookies, diplomacy in Eastern Sri Lanka—but her dress, it’s consuming color, it was a focal point of dialog. She told me it was worn for a June wedding on a golf course, her 9th ceremony that year. She carried pink tulips. The bride was a bundle of body-conscious nerves and forbid her maids to ingest any food. In her hunger, she stuffed gummy bears into the tulip buds. She sucked on the tiny bears as the bride and groom blubbered. I laughed and squeezed her hand.

We walked all the way to my house. She used the bathroom and then took off her sea foam dress. We rolled around on my Gun Metal Grey sheets; kissing, sweet words, tight thigh links and goose bump skin. She tasted like salt water taffy. I was her tulip engulfed gummy bear.

The next morning I spun. I shook with the spasmodic paint cans. She said we’d meet for lunch. We’d meet at Arthur’s. She wanted me to explain the difference of Robin’s Egg and Periwinkle in the most poetic language possible. I hadn’t brushed my teeth. Her taste was faint on my lips.

She walked in. She wore another green dress; Muddy Jungle, Algae, Deep Jade.

“I can’t see you anymore,” she said. “My husband wouldn’t like it.”

“You see,” she began. “It was freebie. He cheated once. I cheated once. We’re even.”

“So glad I could help you with that,” I swallowed spit that I wanted to hurl at her.

She walked out the door and blew me a kiss on the way out. Upon a second look, I think her dress color became a new green, one I had never beheld: Absinthe Vomit, Lizard Road-Kill and I’m-A-Deceptive-Sea-Foam-Bitch. I should create a swatch.