Tom Boucher- A Short Story

"Honey, quick question. Do you know where we keep the windex?" Tom says as he peeks his head through the door.

"Did you try under the sink?" Claire keeps her eyes on the detailed quilt she is making for the couple's new arrival. 

"Why would it be there?"

The motor of the sewing machine comes to a halt.

Claire frumps her eyebrows  and jolts her head back so Tom can get a good glimpse of her frustrated confusion "Why wouldn't it be there?"

"Okay, I'll check there. Thanks sweetheart." He knows there is no use in fighting about the location of cleaning supplies while his wife is 8 months pregnant with what seemed to a man of 22 years to be purely hormones. The journey of Claire's pregnancy has left out the thought that when the 9 months are over Tom will be a father. Instead he has filled his days with work, school, doctors appointments, trips to the drug store, forgetting something at the drug store and having to go back, the drug store not having mint chocolate chip Dryer's ice cream and only an off brand so he has to go to the gas station to check. Tom spends his nights making sure the dishes are done, the house is clean, the TV isn't too loud, the cat box is changed, keeping up the stamina to stay away from the video games and explaining that it would only be for 5 minutes when caught by Claire. 

When Tom looks in the mirror he no longer sees the young man he used to be a mere 8 months ago but a machine working against the odds of a hormonal pregnancy. 

"Honey" Tom peers through the door again.

"Don't call me 'honey' when I'm frustrated, you know that." 

"I'm sorry-um- Claire. I just didn't see the windex under the sink, do you think we have another spot for it?" 

"Not unless were out." 

"Should I get more? I think I have to go out anyway to get some more pickles and ice cream." 

"Sure. Wait. No. Wait. What are you even using for? What are you doing?" 

"I'm just cleaning up the bathroom a little bit before the baby gets here" Tom tries to throw in a joke. " It's like a port-o-potty in there"

"If it is it's because of you"

Tom, dejected, closes the portal to his sparse interactions for the day. Claire continues to fiddle with her machine, now looping threads an inch over the fabric. 

"God damn it, the tension is all fucked." She turns a knob, flips a switch and finally cuts the thread to relieve the quilt of the foot's hold. Upon opening the door to the bobbin, mounds of dust clouds are caught up in the mechanics. "Fucking fuck." She takes a deep breath to holler "Tom. Tom?"

Rushing footsteps grow loader as he reaches the door and swings it open like a knight in shining armor.

"Are you okay, Honey? Everything alright, do you need something?"

"This fucking machine is all fucked and- do you know where the little blower thingy is?"

"Blower thingy? Blow dryer?"

"No, why the hell would I need that? 'oh no my machine is broken, might as well break out the hair dryer!'. Jeez, you know what I'm talking about the thing for the computer, with the red tube thingy"

"You keep saying 'thingy' as if it-"

"Damn it, Tom. You're not helping. Can you just try to help, please? For once?"

"Okay, I honestly don't know what you're talking about"

Claire takes a deep breath and stares into Toms eyes, clenching her jaw. "The can of air that one uses to blow dust out of a keyboard. Does that help?"

"Oh yeah! The blower thingy!" Claire winces at his reaction as Tom opens a drawer unveil the thingy.

"I can't find it, I must've thrown it out when we moved"

"Really? Are you kidding?" Claire throws her arms out. Claire means this to be confrontational but Tom can only look at the open arms as a memory of a time they were once used to embrace each other. 

"I'm sorry. What do you need it for? maybe I can help?"

"No, I can do it. I don't always need you to do things for me" Claire denies Tom as she turns back to her machine sitting on a vanity desk with a decorative mirror. Tom is left with a grim reflection of his current life in which Claire sits between two machines. He tries to catch a glimpse of eye contact through the mirror with Claire while she tries to pick the clumps of dust out of the bobbin hole with tweezers. She finally notices the bags under Tom's eyes swell and as he release a tear. Claire seems to be void of any thought before thinking.

"What? What's wrong now?" When Tom doesn't answer she turns to face him. "What? Why are you crying? I should be crying! I'm stuck in this house all of the time wondering where you are. Do you know how fucking lonely I am? Do you know what it's like to have all of your friends drop you because you've gained the extra weight of a baby? Do you know what it's like to wonder who you are because you spend your entire life figuring out who somebody else is?" Claire is at the edge of her seat for an answer. "Huh? Do you? No! You have no fucking clue what it's like to be me. I hate this fucking-"

"Shut up!" Tom finally cracks and spills himself onto Claire. "You, HONEY, have no idea how much time, money, energy, love and caring I spend on only you. I am so fucking lonely. I don't know what it's like to have my friends drop me, but I do know what it's like to have to drop all of my friends because you made me do it when we first moved in together. You said I couldn't have Adam be my best man at our wedding. We have been blood brothers since grade school, he couldn't even come!"

"Oh my god, Tom. Adam is an idiot he would have come drunk, got everyone coked out and probably would have made an awkward toast and then try to make out with my mom" 

"Claire, you can be such a bitch sometimes. He's nothing like that you're over-"

"I'm a what? I'm a what? A bitch? Well you know what Tom? Fine, I'm leaving!" Claire jumps up to pack a petty hand purse. 

Tom quickly jumps back onto his tightrope. 

"Claire, no I'm sorry. That's not what I meant. Look" Tom tries to mold Claire's hand into his. "Claire, listen. I'm sorry. I love you. I don't want you to be lonely. It's my fault. I didn't mean to" Claire snatches her hand away and continues to pack. Tom pounces back with another approach " Please, Claire. I'll do anything. Tell me. You can't leave- I need you." Claire gives up and begins to bawl. 

"I just wanted to finish this fucking blanket before the baby came." Tom wraps his hand around her head to bring her closer and envelopes her with the other. Tom brings his voice down as if he were talking to a child. 

"Shhhh. It'll get done. I promise." He begins to stroke her raven black hair." I hired some little mice and birds to come and finish it for you're too busy making a baby with your body" He feels a little puff of warm air on his forearm. He begins to smile just knowing he still could make her laugh, let alone that her arms were again being used to hug him back.  

Going to Write a Zine!

Trying to think up a way to design a diary-like zine isn't easy to do. Without a definite plot, the story runs amuck. Which is life at it's best. I guess the only things I have to look forward to are the retellings of what I find funny, inspiring, interesting and unique about life, and my own in particular. I have been a lazy fool for far too long, although to think of one's past in this way is ..great I think. To think that you were always perfect and at your best there is no where to lead to, besides keeping the balance of this perfection. 

I am blessed with an unfathomable amount of regret, mistakes and miseries to work with. I know how to better avoid them and I know personally of the outcome and symptoms. It's been 3 years that I have attended college in personal pursuits, rather than social and professional , after 5 years of avoiding the fact that I had been kicked out of high school and had nothing of an education under my belt. 

This was a shock to myself that I had been holding this off for so long. I have always in nature been a "go for it all" kind of girl. I liked to do homework, I didn't mind reading books when I was younger. I read at a slower pace and therefore felt stupider tempting the fate of an inner Billy Madison to shout out "ta-ta-ta-ta-taday, junior!" I have always liked being in the front of the class, keeping up, taking notes and paying the upmost attention especially when it came to english and creative writing classes. I of course got bullied for this, and had to cut gum out of my hair so many times that I had a bob by the end of the year giving a better chance at calling me a "dyke" and telling me that I looked like a boy. No surprise. 

I was pretty much raised by my dad, playing sports and dressing myself in jerseys and blue jeans. Any time I even touched grounds of an extracurricular activity I was deemed a teacher's pet, or an over achiever. I didn't understand when I was a child that it was one of the best qualities to have, at the time I almost felt cursed. 

I would cry almost nightly about the confrontations with other classmates. They stole my journal, they put down my art, they group together to point fingers when I was one of the only kids still standing during the spelling bee. No this doesn't hurt me anymore. I'm just giving you a little back story. This is all elementary anyway. 

Middle school was like the major leagues compared to my high school experience. I think it's the bout of new found hormones fluttering about. I didn't understand girl on girl competition, I had no idea that FRIENDS stabbed each other in the back, and I certainly didn't know until then that I was ugly or stupid just because I didn't gave a boyfriend. And didn't until high school. I guess after a few months and school changes I deemed myself a "loner". 

In high school I acquired a pack. It was nice, but i would change almost everything from then on. I no longer had myself anymore, I had other people to tend to and I wasn't used to this. Even in my home life I fended for myself. I was given 5 dollars at the beginning of the day to take the bus, get lunch, and come home. There I would make ramen and watch golden girls until my dad came home late at night (workaholic pretty much). I really did like being alone. I still do, but something in high school took that away. I spent too much time doing absolutely nothing that I feel like I lost a good few years developing myself. Especially those fine years that spit you right out into the world when their done chewing you up. 

An epiphany hit me and I got my G.E.D. with an 88% in english by the way (which is OK)! I headed up to city college to glorify my got education down slip and turn it into a diploma. I started taking philosophy and history classes. I loved writing papers and the assigned reading but there was a creative side of me that was lacking. 

I realized that I had been writing scripts since I can remember and had already thought of about a thousand stories thus far. So after a year and a half of lecture classes I enrolled in my first cinema class. I haven't left since. 

I am in love with film making. The process, the on the spot configuration, the challenges, the stories to tell, editing, working with people etc… it's all there. Everything. Why hadn't I thought of this before? Duh! 

So now I am waiting for my third semester to start. I have gone back to my ways and well, people will still be people. Yes I get called a teacher's pet, i get made fun of for color coding my lined scripts, and preparing detailed schedules of shoots but that's what's I want to do. I'm not doing any of this for praise from my teacher or any of the other students, but I'm finding that many other students are, and that's where their projects fall lacking. If I had the reader in mind this entire time I might have cut my elementary story short, but personally I felt that it rendered the post to a full circle, explaining my need to revert this thought that I should stop when people tell me to. Cause I have a feeling that most of the time they are telling me to stop, so they have no more competition. Pretentious? Maybe, if you think that. I think I'm calling out the hidden emotions that drive people to discourage others. 

Since next semester I am retaking a class (for the experience not the grade) I know what assignments to expect so I have already started to prepare them for my brain is restless but my nerves lead the thriving ambition to no where with nothing to do. Fear I say, I need school? No, I just don't want to start outside projects that I won't be able to finish. 

I guess I just needed to write all of this out for my own good to look back and see that at one time I did recognize this drive as a positive thing and not something that will ruin my sanity. 

I think all in all what I really need is to grow on this idea and keep forward thinking about telling my story without pondering on the wants of readers, and most of all keep it up. 

Thank you for reading. 

Elektra