Larry and Lenore by Ashley M. Boutin

Though incomplete, the end is near. This piece was supposed to be a short, but it turned into a long short much too long to simply be a short.

Larry and Lenore

[incomplete]

by

Ashley M. Boutin

Larry sat in the living room rocking in his old rocking chair. Lenore made date bars in the kitchen. Larry snored loudly, though he was very much awake, and Lenore tunelessly whistled.
“Lenore!” Larry snorted abruptly. “Lenore! Stop that damned whistlin’. I can’t hear my tele-vision.” Lenore stuck her head out from the kitchen, plastic pink curlers falling over her thick grey eyebrows.
“Shut that damned box off and do somethin’ ya ol’ fool,” she refuted and then disappeared back into the kitchen where she continued to whistle and mix, the spoon tap, tap, tapping against the glass bowl.
“Lenore!” Larry growled, sitting up in his chair and gripping the orange armrests. “Lenore! Lenore! Lenore!” he shouted, blood pulsing to his face. She ignored him and continued to whistle and tap, whistle and tap, whistle and tap, tap, tap, tap, tap. “Woman!” he shouted again, straightening his posture. She whistled louder. “Woman!” His heart beat rapidly. “I think I’m havin’ heart attack!” The whistling and tapping abruptly stopped and Lenore ran into the living room.
“What do ya mean you’re havin’ a heart attack, ya ol’ fool?” Larry held his chest with his right hand. “You were at the doctor’s yestaday and he said you’re just fine. You aren’t havin’ no heart attack.”
“I am too havin’ a heart attack. You ain’t no doctor,” Larry said, still holding his chest. The black and white picture on the television faded in and out.
“Fix that there tele-vision while you’re just standin’ there,” Larry barked as he sat back into his chair.
“What about your heart attack, fool?” Lenore put her hands on her hips.
“It stopped. Fix that there tele-vision,” he ordered, staring at the television. She didn’t move. “Fix it while you’re not doin’ nothin’.” Lenore sighed loudly and went back into the kitchen. “Lenore!” Larry hollered. “What are you doin’?”
“Puttin’ my bars in the oven!” she shouted, the spoon tapping against the bowl.
“I guess I’ll have to do it myself,” he sighed, dragging his large hand over his thin layer of white hair. Larry stood up, groaned, walked to the television, moved one of the rabbit-ear antennas, and returned to his chair. The television scrambled. “Lenore, my heart!” Larry shouted again. She slammed the oven door closed, wiped the counter with her dishcloth, and returned to the living room where Larry inertly sat in his rocking chair, his eyes closed and head slumped slightly to the right.
“Oh my Heavens,” Lenore said, placing her hand over her mouth.
“You weren’t even gonna try to save me!” Larry opened his eyes and sat up. “Well, I wouldn’t save you either.” He began rocking again. “Fix my tele-vision.” The phone rang. “Lenore, my tele-vison needs fixin’!”
“And the phone needs answerin’,” she said, running back into the kitchen.
“Hello.”
“Oh, you’ll have to talk to him about that. He said he’s not payin’ anymore
because of ‘all those damned commercials,’” she said in a deep voice, mocking Larry.
“We owe you how much?”
“He hasn’t been paying for how long?”
“No, we don’t need cable anymore. He has those antennas now.”
“I can’t guarantee nothin’, but I’ll tell him ya called.”
“Bye.” Lenore hung up the telephone and went back into the living room, where Larry rocked in his chair. “Tin foil!” Larry sat up straight. “Get tinfoil. That’ll make it work!”
“The cable company called. You owe them $254.97,” Lenore said.
“What are they gonna do? Turn the cable off?” He paused for a moment. “Wait a second. They already did! Get tinfoil!” Irritated, Lenore went back in the kitchen to get the tinfoil.
“What do ya want to do with this, fool?” she asked, emerging back into the living room with the entire roll.
“wrap it ‘round the antennas. It’ll make the tele-vision come in.” Lenore tore off a piece of foil and aggressively wrapped it around the antennas. “Well, doesn’t that look stupid,” Larry said. “Do something with it. Make it look like a flower, you know, like Origimi.” Lenore glared at him and squeezed antenna angrily. “Hold on. . . Hold on. . . By God, I think you fixed it!” A clear black and white image appeared on the screen. “Andy Griffith. I haven’t seen this in years,” Larry chuckled. Lenore let go of the antenna and the television scrambled. “Why’d ya go and do that?” he asked.