For this next set, we wrote a set of lines that we thought would generate interesting stories and offered them to all takers. The next two stories, from Stephanie and Tony apparently have some kind of bet riding on them. They're really lots of fun (rather than morbid, like mine and Yune's).
(Stephanie's)
There was once a time I was sure - glibly so - that Dick Malaprop was the love of my life. Less than a week into our honeymoon, we filed for divorce.
In retrospect, it all started just with the wedding - a classic Southern horror show of a reception, complete with a squadron of flower girls-a-prancing (fitted in cloying, "salmon" gowns); buffet tables loaded with almond cake and scotch; and swarms of toadying clients-in-waiting.
Dick's family owned the largest button factory in the South, and as propriety dictated, the Malaprops invited everyone and anyone who was vaguely associated with clothing retail, or money. I distinctly remember thinking that I had come to my own funeral. "Welcome to end of Valerie Jones," flashed urgently through my subconscious.
By some miracle, we got through it - Dick, clasping my gloved hand and whispering words of encouragement, me, squeezing back with the urgency of a soiled baby.
Before the last guest was off the porch, we had loaded our things and left for Tahoe. I would have opted for something more exotic - the Galapagos Islands, or maybe Seborga, but I let him win this one, thinking "love is sacrifice."
Sadly for Dick, there are certain faults that become salient in cramped quarters over long stretches of time. As I drove (Dick was deathly afraid of steering - it reminded him of a childhood incident involving a bike and a tractor), he would talk with gusto about his best friend and mother. To give you an idea, a typical conversation went something like this:
Dick: "Did you notice the new mustache I'm growing?"
(It looked like a rat was crawling into his nose.)
Me: "Yes."
Dick: "I think it's a wonderful alligator for the new life I'm beginning today, uh, with you. We. Anyway, there are certain things I just know I'll miss, like Momma's infamous almond cake, which by the way, I don't expect you to reprobate exactly on your first try…but there are other things I can't say I'm not glad to be freed of, like cocktails with those difficult button-clients. Really, some of them were just implausible!"
Me: "...I see."
<Tense pause>
Dick: "Did I tell you about the time Momma rescued the church play from death by philanthropy. She really is the pineapple of entropy! I really can't see why you two haven't become aboriginal friends."
Me: "Well, there were a few instances…"
Dick: "Let's not make any referendums to the past. Promise to forget all ill-will, you must quite abbreviate them from your mind!"
Me: "Of course, Dick."
<Longer pause>
Dick: "Did I tell you about the new mustache I'm growing?"
Suffice to say that by the time we reached the ski resort, I was prepared to take drastic measures. On the way up the landing, I made up my mind not to wait for Dick. If nothing else, I deserved one solitary descent. 'It would be the last time,' I thought dramatically, 'the last time I can be Valerie Jones.'
Once we reached the landing, I slid off in the direction opposite Dick's. I think I might even have tripped him with my ski pole, just to gain a few seconds.
"Wait for me, Val!"
Instead, I launched myself, full-force, off the ledge. As I picked up speed and the wind whipped up my nostrils, I was filled with an unparalleled sense of freedom and power. Faster and faster I flew! People shrieked and covered their eyes. Oak trees careened out of my path at the last possible second.
I felt like a god.
And then, something awful happened. A wayward oak brought me to a painful collision and stop. Welcome to end of Valerie Jones, I thought again, as I lay there staring at an explosively bright sky.
Dick eventually made his way down my prone form and propped me up. As he felt around the wreck, rattling off reprehensions and broken bones (apparently, I had managed to fracture my tibia in three different places), all I could focus on were the measly hairs that bobbed and danced on Dick's upper lip as he spoke.
Without hesitation, I took hold and yanked. I claimed every last one of them, down to their roots, and released them to the wind. They scattered, unrecoverable.