Flash fiction selection from the 2008 issue
by Francine Witte
Sasha and her boyfriend are discussing whether to call them green beans or string beans.
“Look,” Sasha says in her usual cinnamon way, “they’re green and they’re beans.”
“Yes,” her boyfriend says. (He is nameless here for fear of a lawsuit) “But they look like strings.”
“Which strings are you talking about?” Sasha continues, “Romantic, violin strings or the kind you think you are tied down by?”
Sasha stops right there. She knows better than to bring up commitment during a routine bicker. But it’s too late and she sees her nameless boyfriend edging toward the door. Yes, he seems to be watching TV, but she knows it’s just a matter of time.
“Well, okay,” she says, “you win. We’ll call them string beans.” And then, under her breath, “even thought they’re not.”
“Good,” he says, pulling himself away from the Pussycat Dolls. “Because a grapefruit isn’t really a grape either.” She can see he is happy for the moment.
“And it’s barely a fruit,” she adds.
“Remember that for next time,” he says.
As if there is a next time, she thinks, because in her mind they have already broken up. Even though he doesn’t seem terribly broken. And there’s nothing at all looking up.