Strawberry Jam
by Michael Riordan
Many would be curious about why someone would marry Hugh—especially someone like Susan. Despite her big hands and deep-throated voice, men are intrigued by Susan’s arresting face and her energetic body. Anybody would expect Hugh to do something about his marriage, but Hugh pays no attention to whatever sinister circuits might be twisting at his feet, or in his house, or within himself.
“Not strawberry jam again, Hugh—you know the seeds get caught in my teeth, says Susan.”
“We’re out of grape jelly,” says Hugh.
Susan rolls her eyes and then quickly lassos her head with her stringed nurse’s lanyard before leaving for work.
Many would characterize Hugh’s drive to work as pleasant, even beautiful. Others would recognize the patina of pastoral charm. Hugh makes no judgments about his ritual: three or four traffic lights past century-old farmhouses and scattered cows. Anyone else might sigh: Ah, it’s good to be alive. Anyone else might start the day with fresh hope. Hope is not in Hugh’s internal vocabulary and he pays no attention to the cows.
Hugh sells computers at The Junction Box, a huge retail warehouse. He never reflects on why he’s never used his degree in electrical engineering to try something else. Hugh gets a commission on everything he sells, and his mechanical delivery convinces customers that they must be in the presence of an honest geek. His sales success frustrates his colleagues whose hard sell approaches often fail. For his efforts, Hugh scores regular bonuses, which—unknown to Susan—he keeps in a secondary bank account. This private knowledge is the most mysterious aspect of Hugh’s life. He doesn’t know why he has continued the secret; it is just something that became a habit. It is a smudge on his straight lines.
Dave Bonner sees Hugh drinking a cup of coffee at The Junction Box snack bar. Dave, assistant manager of software, gets a kick out of Hugh.
“Hey, Hugh!”
Hugh has heard this one since childhood. He knows it’s supposed to be a joke, but he never thinks it’s funny. He says nothing.
“Hugh, snap out of it, man.
“Hello,” Hugh says as he quickly checks his watch and sits across from Dave.
“Hey, did you get a good look at that codger couple I had to deal with, Hugh? Knew nothing about nothing—I mean, they shouldn’t even be allowed to own a computer. I mean, stay away from electricity, guys—ha-ha. Listen, I wanted to talk to you about tonight. I’m having kind of a party—hope you and Susan can come.”
“Your birthday, Dave?”
“Nah, just a party. Friday, you know—need to shake things out.” Dave is grinning and his head is bobbing to music only he can hear.
“That’ll probably be okay. I think I’d better be getting back now, Dave.” Without looking at Dave, Hugh drums his fingers along his empty paper cup before dropping it in a white trash bin.
“Not strawberry jam again, Hugh—you know the seeds get caught in my teeth, says Susan.”
“We’re out of grape jelly,” says Hugh.
Susan rolls her eyes and then quickly lassos her head with her stringed nurse’s lanyard before leaving for work.
Many would characterize Hugh’s drive to work as pleasant, even beautiful. Others would recognize the patina of pastoral charm. Hugh makes no judgments about his ritual: three or four traffic lights past century-old farmhouses and scattered cows. Anyone else might sigh: Ah, it’s good to be alive. Anyone else might start the day with fresh hope. Hope is not in Hugh’s internal vocabulary and he pays no attention to the cows.
Hugh sells computers at The Junction Box, a huge retail warehouse. He never reflects on why he’s never used his degree in electrical engineering to try something else. Hugh gets a commission on everything he sells, and his mechanical delivery convinces customers that they must be in the presence of an honest geek. His sales success frustrates his colleagues whose hard sell approaches often fail. For his efforts, Hugh scores regular bonuses, which—unknown to Susan—he keeps in a secondary bank account. This private knowledge is the most mysterious aspect of Hugh’s life. He doesn’t know why he has continued the secret; it is just something that became a habit. It is a smudge on his straight lines.
Dave Bonner sees Hugh drinking a cup of coffee at The Junction Box snack bar. Dave, assistant manager of software, gets a kick out of Hugh.
“Hey, Hugh!”
Hugh has heard this one since childhood. He knows it’s supposed to be a joke, but he never thinks it’s funny. He says nothing.
“Hugh, snap out of it, man.
“Hello,” Hugh says as he quickly checks his watch and sits across from Dave.
“Hey, did you get a good look at that codger couple I had to deal with, Hugh? Knew nothing about nothing—I mean, they shouldn’t even be allowed to own a computer. I mean, stay away from electricity, guys—ha-ha. Listen, I wanted to talk to you about tonight. I’m having kind of a party—hope you and Susan can come.”
“Your birthday, Dave?”
“Nah, just a party. Friday, you know—need to shake things out.” Dave is grinning and his head is bobbing to music only he can hear.
“That’ll probably be okay. I think I’d better be getting back now, Dave.” Without looking at Dave, Hugh drums his fingers along his empty paper cup before dropping it in a white trash bin.
At 7:15 P.M., Dave’s apartment is all set: a suburban mousetrap with cheese and crackers, booze, and a naughty notion ready to spring down hard. All set.
Susan and Dave exchange whispers in the kitchen. Dave reaches over Susan for more glasses as her spidery fingers fill a large pewter bowl with potato chips. Susan shudders as Dave drapes over her.
On Monday, Dave Bonner calls in sick and then makes love to Susan. The big store survives without its assistant software manager, and Hugh sells a pricey computer system. A couple of weeks later, Dave Bonner transfers to the west side. This deception goes on for three months because Susan has waited to tell Hugh. It is Susan’s turn to dry the dishes. Hugh washes a plate and slots it into the drainage rack.
“Hugh, I’ve got something to tell you,” Susan says.
“Okay.”
“You know Dave Bonner?”
“Dave transferred to the west side store. He was getting sick a lot.”
“Well, that’s just it. He wasn’t getting sick, Hugh. He’s been coming over here and we’ve been, you know, together—and Saturdays when you thought I was getting my hair done. That’s when I go to his place. I’m going to go live with him, Hugh. He gives me what you can’t. He is, uh, what you aren’t. Sorry. I didn’t know how to tell you.”
“Your hair always looks the same,” Hugh mumbles.
Susan sheds a tear and places a bony hand on Hugh’s shoulder and says it’s probably all for the best, that someday he will look on this as a good thing. Hugh notices a tiny brown ant attempting its long journey across the Formica. Susan then talks about how she had been drowning, but Dave rescued her when Hugh couldn’t. Hugh hears all this and crushes the ant with his index finger.
“You understand, Hugh? What choice do I have? I mean, really?”
Susan tells Hugh she will need a few days to move her things out, that Dave has a cousin who is a lawyer, and that it would probably be okay for Hugh to use him, too.
Hugh registers none of this because suddenly he is convulsing. Some unfamiliar entity quakes within him. Hugh feels it take over, vibrating, pulsing. Hugh wouldn’t have a word for it, but it is almost lust. At first, there is a formless sense of chaos, but then Hugh finds that he can adjust—take control at will, so instantly. A sudden want expands within him and there is no mistaking his purpose. In his mind, Hugh shapes his desires and focuses close like a touchscreen. Yes! Yes! I see it! So clear! With this defibrillating surge, something has been freed, unclogged, and Hugh watches his own awful but glorious energy as it thrashes through the kitchen. His penetrating scream scourges language itself and slashes heavily like dull-bladed scissors.
It is not clear whether Susan is finally proud of Hugh for his initiative. It is the first and last time she would see such resolve in him. In the morning, Hugh steps over Susan’s body and makes a cup of coffee. He envisions a newer world on some island—or maybe just some small town downstate near the water. He can imagine the sun rising over a glistening sea. He can picture himself with a boat, and he thinks he will change his name: He likes the sound of “Peter Jenkins.” First, he needs to get to the bank. “Peter Jenkins,” he says as he closes the door behind him.
Kitchen scissors can be dull, but they can be within easy reach. And sometimes, as if shiny and galvanized, they can cut through flesh in the path of purification or renewal. Meanwhile, Susan’s sad face grows whiter, but her lips retain the color of strawberry jam.
Susan and Dave exchange whispers in the kitchen. Dave reaches over Susan for more glasses as her spidery fingers fill a large pewter bowl with potato chips. Susan shudders as Dave drapes over her.
On Monday, Dave Bonner calls in sick and then makes love to Susan. The big store survives without its assistant software manager, and Hugh sells a pricey computer system. A couple of weeks later, Dave Bonner transfers to the west side. This deception goes on for three months because Susan has waited to tell Hugh. It is Susan’s turn to dry the dishes. Hugh washes a plate and slots it into the drainage rack.
“Hugh, I’ve got something to tell you,” Susan says.
“Okay.”
“You know Dave Bonner?”
“Dave transferred to the west side store. He was getting sick a lot.”
“Well, that’s just it. He wasn’t getting sick, Hugh. He’s been coming over here and we’ve been, you know, together—and Saturdays when you thought I was getting my hair done. That’s when I go to his place. I’m going to go live with him, Hugh. He gives me what you can’t. He is, uh, what you aren’t. Sorry. I didn’t know how to tell you.”
“Your hair always looks the same,” Hugh mumbles.
Susan sheds a tear and places a bony hand on Hugh’s shoulder and says it’s probably all for the best, that someday he will look on this as a good thing. Hugh notices a tiny brown ant attempting its long journey across the Formica. Susan then talks about how she had been drowning, but Dave rescued her when Hugh couldn’t. Hugh hears all this and crushes the ant with his index finger.
“You understand, Hugh? What choice do I have? I mean, really?”
Susan tells Hugh she will need a few days to move her things out, that Dave has a cousin who is a lawyer, and that it would probably be okay for Hugh to use him, too.
Hugh registers none of this because suddenly he is convulsing. Some unfamiliar entity quakes within him. Hugh feels it take over, vibrating, pulsing. Hugh wouldn’t have a word for it, but it is almost lust. At first, there is a formless sense of chaos, but then Hugh finds that he can adjust—take control at will, so instantly. A sudden want expands within him and there is no mistaking his purpose. In his mind, Hugh shapes his desires and focuses close like a touchscreen. Yes! Yes! I see it! So clear! With this defibrillating surge, something has been freed, unclogged, and Hugh watches his own awful but glorious energy as it thrashes through the kitchen. His penetrating scream scourges language itself and slashes heavily like dull-bladed scissors.
It is not clear whether Susan is finally proud of Hugh for his initiative. It is the first and last time she would see such resolve in him. In the morning, Hugh steps over Susan’s body and makes a cup of coffee. He envisions a newer world on some island—or maybe just some small town downstate near the water. He can imagine the sun rising over a glistening sea. He can picture himself with a boat, and he thinks he will change his name: He likes the sound of “Peter Jenkins.” First, he needs to get to the bank. “Peter Jenkins,” he says as he closes the door behind him.
Kitchen scissors can be dull, but they can be within easy reach. And sometimes, as if shiny and galvanized, they can cut through flesh in the path of purification or renewal. Meanwhile, Susan’s sad face grows whiter, but her lips retain the color of strawberry jam.
Michael Riordan, Chicago-born, has taught in the U.S., Australia, Singapore, and China, where he was professor of writing and film. He was co-founder and director of Creative Action Now, a Singapore-based English language school. His stories, poetry, and nonfiction can be found in Short Edition, Consequence, Epoch Press, Front Range Review, Tether’s End, and elsewhere. He won first prize for nonfiction in 2020 Ageless Authors and third prize in 2022’s LIGHT story contest. He is a member of The Association of Writers & Writing Programs, The Australian Society of Authors, and Breast Cancer Network of Australia. Michael and his wife Mary live in Arlington, Texas. Find him online at www.clippings.me/wordsticks.