A Short Story

Bob and Olga had never met. They were like two hummingbirds who had also never met. He was as tall as a 6 foot 3 inch tree and lame as a duck. Not the metaphorical lame duck either, but a real duck that was actually lame. Maybe from stepping on a land mine or something. She had eyes like two brown circles with big black dots in the center and a deep, throaty, genuine laugh, like that sound a dog makes just before it throws up. They were perfect for each other.

It was the 13th of July, Barbershop Music Appreciation Day and Embrace Your Geekness Day (look it up). The stage was set for an epic romance.

Bob looked up from his lonely bench and saw Olga riding her Segway through the park. She caught his eye like one of those pointy hook latches that used to dangle from screen doors and would fly up whenever you banged the door open again. Suddenly, shot’s rang out (as shots are wont to do) and our beloved Bob looked down to find a red spot spreading from his funny bone. He had been shot in the elbow… and it hurt. It hurt the way your tongue hurts after you accidentally staple it to the wall. His eyes stayed open just long enough to see the girl on the Segway turn back to investigate the sounds. Thoughts tumbled in his head, making and breaking alliances like underpants in a dryer without Cling Free. Then all went black.

Olga leaned over Bob… “Sir! Sir! Wake up!” in an attractively thick accent.

The sky had gone dark. The hailstones leaped from the pavement like maggots when you fry them in hot grease. Bob’s eyes flickered open to see her hair glistening in the rain like nose hair after a sneeze. He smiled and she smiled back. He was deeply in love. When she spoke, he thought he heard bells, as if she were a garbage truck backing up. When he spoke… she read his lips. Because she was deaf. She helped him up and got him to a hospital. They searched far and wide for the mysterious gunman that had brought them together but to no avail. Bob learned sign language, Olga became a ballerina and they lived happily ever after in a typical suburban neighborhood with picket fences that resembled Nancy Kerrigan’s teeth.

THE END