Flash Fiction – Consequence of Refusal by Rebecca Besser

CONSEQUENCE OF REFUSALBy Rebecca Besser

The nurse left work at five o’clock. The route she took home would take thirty minutes and she was already late. She ran all the way to her car, cursing under her breath as she accidentally stepped into a puddle left by an early morning rainstorm.

Shaking her soggy foot as she opened the driver’s door of her car, she didn’t notice the man standing less than three feet from her. If she had, she might not have flung water on him; it didn’t seem to matter as he was already soaked to the bone.

“Ma’am,” he said, “I hate to ask, but could you perhaps give me a ride?”

The nurse looked at him, noting how wet he was, remembering she was running late.

“I’m sorry, sir,” she said, closing her car door, “I can’t. I am running late for an appointment.”

He stood staring at her profile while she started the engine. He stepped aside as she shifted into reverse.

At the last minute, right as she was moving the gear shift to drive, he stepped forward, slapping her hood. Even with her windows rolled up the nurse heard him say something, although she couldn’t make out his words. When she glanced up from where he’d touched her hood, he was gone. Not walking away, but gone!

Shaking her head, the nurse shook of an ill feeling of premonition. Maybe I should have given him a ride, she thought fleetingly, and then she remembered her appointment.

Hurriedly, she pulled out of the hospital parking lot, almost colliding with another car. She didn’t even notice. After twelve hours on her feet, she was almost too tired to think straight, but she still managed the drive home.

Rushing into the house, she threw down her purse, and stripped off pieces of clothing as she made her way to the bathroom. She turned on the shower and sighed with relief as she stepped under the steamy, hot spray. The grit and sweat of her busy work day began to wash away, swirling down the drain.

She reached for the shampoo, squeezed a bit into her palm, and used it to lather up her hair. Just as she leaned her head back to rinse, the water stopped flowing.

“What the…?”

She turned around and twisted both knobs, trying to keep soap from running into her eyes. Nothing. No water came out of the spigot, not even a trickle.

Grumbling and swearing, she climbed out of the shower, grabbed a towel, and proceeded to fall flat on her face.

She silently thanked God she hadn’t smacked her head off the toilet when she fell. She scrambled, slipping and sliding, to her feet. She clutched the edge of the sink and took a couple of deep breaths, wiping shampoo bubbles off her face.

She tried the water in the bathroom sink, with no luck—no water there either.

Stumbling, swearing, wiping, she made her way to the kitchen, to the same results—no water. She growled, mutter, and swore some more.

On the brink of giving up and breaking down into tears, she remembered she had a gallon of water in the fridge.

Opening the door, she grabbed it.

She rushed back to the kitchen sink, ripped off the cap, and dumped it over her head.

After a couple of douses, she realized the liquid was still appearing white. She spread her hair apart and discovered she’d grabbed the milk by mistake.

Growling so hard it hurt her throat, she wrang out her hair, marched to the fridge, yanked the door open, and gripped the handle of the water jug, ripping it off the shelf. As she did so, it caught on the shelf above it. Everything went flying with the force of her extraction, pulling the shelf and all its contents out of the fridge and onto the floor. She dropped the water. The cap popped off the jug and water gushed out, mixing with the mess that now puddled in front of the fridge.

She uttered the most unladylike words she knew.

She was in mid rant when the doorbell rang, singing a half-chipper ding, dong.

For a solid minute she stood there, in a towel, milk dripping from her hair, in a puddle of water and food, hoping whomever was at the door would go away.

Ding, dong, ding, dong, ding, dong.

“I’m coming!” she screamed.

Walking dejectedly toward the door, she grabbed the handle, yanking it open. She gripped the towel where it meet at her chest to make sure it was closed.

Standing outside her door was her elderly neighbor, Maria, and the man who’d asked her for a ride. He’d changed into dry clothes, but his hair was still wet.

He looked her up and down with a knowing smirk.

The image of his saying something and slapping her hood flashed through her brain.

“Goodness, June,” Maria exclaimed in shock. “What happened to you? Is that milk in your hair? Why aren’t you dressed?”

“I was, uh, taking a shower,” June said lamely.

“In milk?”

“It’s a long story.”

The man with Maria laughed and tried to hide it as a cough.

June glared at him.

“I see,” said Maria, clearing her throat. “This is my grandson Mitch, I just wanted to introduce him to you, since he’ll be here for a couple weeks.”

June gripped the door to keep from falling over or yelling no. She didn’t know which she wanted to do more. All she knew was she didn’t want this man around, he was bad luck.

“Nice to meet you, June,” Mitch said, and held out his hand.

June looked at his hand like it was a snake, then reluctantly slipped her still damp hand into his for a brief shake.

“Nice to meet you too,” June mumbled.

“I trust you made it to your appointment all right?”

June’s lips tightened as she thought about the pint of chocolate ice cream in the freezer and the movie she had waiting for her.

“No,” June said stiffly. “I haven’t made it to my appointment yet.”

“Oh, that’s too bad,” Mitch said, grinning.

“Well,” Maria said, looking over June’s appearance. “We won’t keep you any longer. Have a good night, hope you make it to your appointment.”

Thinking about the mess on the kitchen floor, June doubted she would get any time to relax before she had to get some sleep so she could be up for her early shift tomorrow.

“I’ll try. I’ll probably have to cancel my appointment and reschedule.”

“That’s too bad,” Mitch said. “Have a nice night.”

June nodded and closed the door. No sooner had the latch clicked than water spurted out of all the faucets.

June rushed to turn them off, clean up the mess in the kitchen, and finish her shower. By the time she fell into bed, she was so tired she only had time for one thought before falling asleep. She would never refuse to help someone out so she could enjoy her own comfort again. Karma was too much work.

Copyright © Rebecca Besser 2010