Of Shapes & Shadows June 2005   Click to view Table of Contents Click to view photo gallery Click to view cover story

Fiction

Two Shorts
By Adam Jeffries Schwartz

 

For the Love of Butter

*photograph by Charlie O'Shields

His grandmother was obsessed with butter, no one knew why; it had something to do with cows. When she wasn't eating butter she was hoarding butter. When she was neither eating nor hoarding butter she was warning everyone in shouting distance to lay off her butter. (And she had quite the pair of lungs.)

His grandmother was nuts, everyone knew that.

Every morning his grandfather left the house. He'd retired, years ago, from the plant, so no one knew where he went. Finally, one day he stopped, he had to, he was dead.

Then his father died. It could have been an overdose.

Then, it was just his grandmother, her butter, and he. One night, over the empty table his grandmother said, "You know, they never listened. Did I not warn them? I told them to lay off my butter."

The grandson asked, "How do you feel about salt?"

"Salt's fine. Live it up. Just lay off the butter and we'll get along fine."

He did, and things were, in fact, fine until one day, unthinkingly, he brought home some olive oil.

It was a blood bath.

 

~

Paloma Picasso's Shoulder

Paloma Picasso has very white skin. She is also tall. She is not just tall for a woman, but tall for anyone. Tonight, at Christies in New York, at a party in her honor, she is attempting to look like a Grecian statue. One very white, very tall shoulder is exposed.

I'm a waiter, also tall, and I keep knocking into said Grecian shoulder with my silver tray.
Five, six times (I lose count) my tray hits her shoulder.

Each time she stares at me briefly, mute. She has black expressionless eyes.

If she did speak then I'd apologize.

I'd say, "I'm sorry. I'm a bad, bad waiter."

And she would understand. We would understand each other.

But she doesn't say anything, so I walk away silently.