Page 44 - the NOISE MAY 2016 Edition

A Way Out short story by Jury S. Judge
illustration by Callie Luedeker
carl picks up the end of the couch and yells, “Mabel, hurry up and help me with this damn couch! where in the hell are you?”
“I’m at the screen door. It’s stuck again.”
Carl drops the couch and yells, “Just kick it, damn it.”
Mabel balances a basket of laundry on her hip as she struggles to open the door. Carl rushes toward her.
Mabel says, “That’s okay, I got it.”
“Lazy bitch.” Carl grabs the basket from Mabel and throws it at the refrigerator. Mabel kneels on the kitchen floor and starts gathering up the clothes.
“woman, you mean to tell me that you were outside fooling around while I was left waiting here for you like some goddamn fool! I knew I shouldn’t have let you nag me into changing up that damn room. Thought it was a good idea at the time to shut up all your whining. should’ve known you would leave all the work to me.”
Mabel hides her trembling hands under her apron and says, “I’m sorry, Carl, but I had to get these clothes off the line before it rains. I keep saying it would really help if we had a dryer.” “This fancy schmancy remodeling of yours is costing me enough as it is without you
b*tching at me about wanting more stuff.”
“Carl, it’s just a couple cans of paint to freshen up those dull walls. And I got the fabric for
the curtains and throw pillows in exchange for that sewing I did for Mrs. Thrall.”
“Can you git you’re ass off the floor and help me with that couch now? Do you think that’s
possible, huh?”
Mabel looks in dismay at the clean clothes strewn across the kitchen floor and follows Carl
to the living room.
“Come on, woman, lift your end of the couch higher. If you didn’t sit around all day
watching the TV, you wouldn’t be so damn weak.”
“Carl, oh my goodness, already the room looks brighter with the couch moved against this
wall. I don’t know why I kept it in front of the window, blocking the light all these years. now, if we could just move that big, old bureau into the garage, I can re-varnish it. It’s depressing how beat up it is, how worn and tired it looks.”
“It’s worthless, is what it is, woman. no wonder the last people who had this dump left it behind.”
“Please, Carl, it just needs help. If I work on it, I could change it and give it a new life.”
“sh*t, woman, creating more work for me as usual. Go git my dolly, and don’t make me wait on you again.”
Mabel runs out of the house and quickly returns to the living room with the dolly.
Carl places the dolly under the bureau and moves it away from the wall.
“Oh look, Carl! How did we not know that this other door existed? And the doorknob looks just like an emerald. Like my birthstone! And all these years it’s been hiding itself
behind that big, old, bureau. where do you think the door leads?”
“you idiot woman! you know that’s an exterior wall. All that door can lead to is the outside!
But I guess I gotta prove it to you.” Carl shoves Mabel aside and tries to turn the doorknob. “It’s froze up.” He pushes on the door, but it does not budge. “what difference does it make, it’s gotta be blocked by those damn holly bushes climbing up the outside of the house.” He pushes the bureau to the back door. “By the time I git back from gittin’ this bureau into the
garage, I better see a sandwich and a beer waiting for me.”
Mabel jiggles the glass knob gently and it moves easily in her hand. “stop, Carl, and look.
It’s not stuck.”
Carl yells, “How stupid are you, woman? you just saw me try to open that door, and now
you think that you can on your own?” He laughs harshly, and rolls the bureau out of the house.
Mabel turns the knob and the door opens smoothly with the slightest, soothing whisper. Before her is a white room, not the type of white that glares blindingly, but the white of rest, quiet and peace. she stares longingly at the comfy-looking cot in the corner surrounded by neatly-upholstered walls that look like little pillows standing in attendance. searing like an electrical shock into her brain, she hears Carl scream from outside, “Mabel, I’m hungry!” she hesitates, and then with an expression of pure serenity she walks through and closes the door behind her.
The sound of the back door slamming shut reverberates through the house. “Damn it, woman, where’s my lunch?”
| Jury S. Judge is a writer and illustrator who makes her home in Flagstaff.
jury@thenoise.us
44 • MAY 2016 • the NOISE arts & news • thenoise.us
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