This is the 6th in the series of Fluck Tuesdays.
Inspired by Oliver Fluck’s “Pleasure Zone.”
Photo courtesy of Oliver Fluck.
“What does moral mean?” Zolar asked enthusiastically.
“Your father is not doing moral things. Does that give you an idea?” Shaarleen huffed at her eleven-year-old son.
“So not having a steady girlfriend is not moral?”
“Don’t get smart with me, Zolar.” Shaarleen replied quickly.
“I wasn’t being smart, Mom. I don’t know what it means.” And he didn’t.
Zolar turned his head to look outside the passenger side window.
After a few minutes had passed, he asserted, “I can see why they call this the land of awes.” His eyes continued to follow the specs of greenness between the dry flaxen stretches of prairie fields spilling far into the horizon, opening the sky’s mouth even wider. His mother didn’t understand the pun because she wasn’t listening.
“A girl in my class—she is new, from Trinidad, but Dad’s not from Trinidad yet her skin sort of looks like his, but only sort of, like when he has been in the sun—thought it was ‘Wizard of o. z.’ not ‘Wizard of Oz.’”
“That’s nice.”
“There is nothing nice about that Mom,” Zolar snapped, “Kids made fun of her all day cuz she had never heard of Wizard of Oz and said ‘o’ ‘z’ instead.”
“Well, that’s not so nice,” Shaarleen replied. Then added, “Shouldn’t pay attention to people’s skin color.”
“Where is Trinidad? Is it named after someone’s dad?”
“I don’t know Zolar. Somewhere south.”
“Well Dad’s not from there.”
“No he is not. He is from Missouri. Misery.”
“You are not as funny as dad. Everyone has heard of it being called Misery.”
Well, funny is all your dad was, laughing his way right out of reality.
Shaarleen turned up the volume on the radio only to hear an advertisement about a furniture sale for the upcoming weekend at a mall in the town. A town so small she would neither remember having driven past it, nor register that even miniature cities were host to malls.
She appreciated how her thoughts slowed down while driving on the interstate. Or perhaps so many impenetrable thoughts, unable to keep pace with the speed limit on the highway, began unraveling as just one or two sound bites that repeated intelligibly.
She had tried her best in her and her therapist’s perspective. The long eight-hour drives every other weekend so Zolar could spend time with the father while she stayed with Barb and Will. Shaarleen never knew how uncomfortable it made Zolar’s father when she stayed with her friend—their old friends.
But now it was different. She now had someone and although she openly declared no one could officially ever take upon the father role for Zolar, she had decided she deserved a companion—in and out of bed.
She was confident that she had made the right decision until the court hearing provided a custody judgment. A young boy had no business growing up with a father who could never serve as a good role model—not just because he was a drunk—not just because he cheated on me, yes, it counts even if we were separated: I still took on two jobs to support us, how separated is that–
“Whoa!” Zolar exclaimed. Hijacking her out of her analysis. “What’s that place we just passed?”
“What place?” She looked outside.
“That place!”
“What place?” She ignored Zolar, now having assessed the image in the rearview mirror.
“Didn’t you see it? It looked magical with all sorts of lights. Didn’t look like a hotel to me. Was it a motel mom? What’s the difference between a hotel and a motel mom?” Zolar juggled his thoughts with his questions. According to him the hotel was named “Pleasure Zone” because that was what was written on the outside.
“Probably just a run down shack. Don’t worry about it,” Shaarleen explained, attempting, hoping to change the boy’s curiosity away from the bordello exposure. She decided she was never going to take this new route again.
“What’s a pleasure zone mom?”
“Zolar! Stop! Just stop! Your father has ruined you! Do you understand?” she screamed. “He has ruined you! Bringing home different women has messed you up! You hear me?!” she continued underneath unexpected sobs, “Do you hear me…”
“I am sorry Mom. Dad’s girlfriends never say anything about a pleasure zone. I didn’t know what it was,” Zolar said. And he didn’t.
“Your dad is self-absorbed. Sick in the head. You understand?! I need you to forget whatever you have seen him do or say! I promise you will be fine once you move in with me for good. He is careless.”
“Mom. I have never seen him do anything unmoral but drink beer while he watches T.V. after work. Did I use the word moral right, Mom?” Zolar asked. He tried to change the subject, feeling guilty upon having upset his mother who was to remain this way for the rest of the ride and until he was well in his thirties. He didn’t know, and neither did she, that it had nothing to do with him or even the father but more to do with the uncertainty a single mother accepted in a new relationship.
Zolar thought of telling his mother that the father had never brought home any of “the girlfriends” but decided against it for the fear of seeing her cry or hearing her scream, and worse, both.
Three weeks later, while watching the sunset through the window behind the television set, Zolar would hear the hushed sounds of a pleasure carved for a man and a woman. Shaarleen and her “new friend,” upstairs in her bedroom, explored the inevitable attraction borne between two competing needs and wants.
Zolar stepped outside onto the porch. The sky resembled the day they had taken a new route between two states.
There are places that stay with us long after we have driven past them not because they are prepossessing but because they are reprehensible, but that’s not even why, their existence remains incomprehensible.
The phantasmagorical shades of twilight in the sky created while the sun kissed the earth goodbye palliate man made deformities. Zolar decided he was forever going to enjoy sunsets.
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- Visceral Waves This is the 5th in the series of Fluck Tuesdays. Inspired...
A mother who is firmly living in fearful “state” of self-absorption after the breakdown of her marriage. Prepossessing, reprehensible, but ultimately incomprehensible to her.
Wonderful writing that captured and kept my attention throughout. Last paragraph was just perfect.
I really liked this story. Being from Kansas and having driven across the state several times, you hooked me with your imagery and the ‘land of awes’ line. Yes, of course everyone knows Missouri = Misery. Great job and glad I read it. Looking forward to more.
Beautiful piece, Annie. Identifiable on so many levels, and the characters are written so well. *Applause* I agree with the previous poster. The last paragraph was indeed perfect.
We recently discussed your fear of the inability to write fiction. After reading this, I find your fears unfounded and without merit.
Bravo!
This piece reminds me of “The Last Samurai” by Helen DeWitt. It’s one of most brilliant pieces of literature that I have ever read and was DeWitt’s first outing.
http://bit.ly/a56SaU
@John – I had never heard of this author or the book.I want to check it out now!
Thank you so much for your words. It means a lot.
Thank you all for reading and sharing your thoughts.
Annie, you capture Zolar well. I’ve known children like that. This is such a sad piece… the pushme/pullme of divorce and the child left inbetween.
Of course, I saw a very sad play yesterday and so I may be seeing everything through sad-tinged glasses today.
I see what you mean, this is different. This piece is a classical narrative, whereas the storyarms piece feels more like a challenging style exercise. But both are well executed and character driven. I like how in both pieces your characters appear fleshed out from the first lines. You set the atmosphere very well. I also like how the scene is not seen from just one of the characters’ point of view but alternate between how they each feel and think. Here – as with the storyarm story – the flow is very natural and rhythmic. It’s a really strong point of your writing, you shouldn’t hesitate to emphasise it.
Do you have a thing for names starting with ‘Z’? Just asking because I always have to watch myself or I’d name all my characters with names starting with ‘S’. I have no idea why.