Fiction: Good Suburban People Part 1

(this is my attempt to modernize O'Connor...at one time, I thought there could be a whole book of these kind of stories, but, on reflection, perhaps that's making my influence too literal.)

“Hi, it’s Joel…did you decide on a Bible yet?”

“What Bible?”

“We met after church…you were with your mother…”

“….”

“Last week.  You said you’d think about it.”

“Look, dude, you seem like a nice guy, so…”

“Thank you.(blush)"

"Everybody says that and and then they don't do anything...I was just pulling your chain, Ok?"


"You don't even pull your own chain, though, do you?" She typed(evil grin), sent the message and logged off.

Her mother said “Joy, dinner is ready, when you are.”

“Mama, I wish you would respect my wishes and call me Helga.”

“But it’s so harsh and Scandinavian.”

"I’m Scandinavian, Mother. “

“On your father’s side. He told me he doesn’t like the new name either.”

“Well, lucky that you agree during the three minutes a year he thinks about me then.” Helga replied, while inspecting her chipped  blue nail polish.She wasn't sure if it looked tough, or just trashed. Maybe she would leave it just to drive her beauty-school dropout mother nuts for a day or two.

“Did you get in a fight on twitter again?   God knows why you spend so much time talking to those losers living with their parents…”

“What do you think I am?” Helga asked, kind of enjoying it when the pointed comment made her mother’s face crumple a little.  Plain facts were always her mother’s Kryptonite, especially about the leg and all that.Even ten years in, Helga’s mother acted like she should just put her leg on and hop through life with a brilliant smile on her face. To that end, her mother never liked to acknowledge Helga’s injury more than she could help, though she did take on most of the household chores without much complaint.

 Which is why Helga softened her tone and said “No fights today.  I just don’t feel like a Joy.”

“You are to me.”

“That is really cheesy, mother.”