National Novel Writing Month is just around the corner. Today we’re sharing Noah R. Sebek’s short story, “Circle Circle Dot Dot”. This story first appeared in the Torrid Literature Journal Vol. X Lost.
Circle Circle Dot Dot
By Noah R. Sebek
“I now pronounce you man and wife.”
“Are you sure that’s right?” she asked meekly.
“I think so,” he responded. “I think that’s all you really need.”
“Oh. Alright then.” She smiled, looking down at the ring on her finger. “I guess that means we’re married, then?”
“Sure looks like it.” I looked at my left hand, and then the ground. “I hope you’re happy with this, Sally.”
There was a moment of quiet, with nothing but the sound of the other children back on the playground, feet crunch-crunching on the wood chips, the old steel-chain swings creaking. Sally and I sat, examining the cherry-red, hard candy marital promises adorning our small, left hands. I may not have shown it, but I was really quite fond of Sally. Well, about as fond as a five year old could be. It’s always hard to tell at that age. I do know I enjoy the time I spend with her, sitting (read: fidgeting uncontrollably) next to her during lunch, right before we went outside for recess. I even shared the Nestle Crunch bar from my “Extra Cheesy Pizza Lunchable” with her, even though it’s my most favorite candy bar ever. If that’s not love, then I don’t know what is.
I looked back towards her. The sun framed Sally Rockford in all of her pigtailed glory. Well, I guess it’s Mrs. Alexander Reed now. We were married. We said our “I do’s” and got our cootie shots. I’m pretty sure that’s everything you need for a marriage, anyhow.
“So. Um. What do we do now?” Her question caught me off guard. “I would ask my mom but she still hasn’t gotten back from her work trip.”
“Well…” I stuttered. “I guess we go on our honeymoon? I’m sorry. I’m pretty new to this marriage thing.”
“That’s alright. I am too.” She looked down at her feet. She was a quiet girl. She could listen to me talk about anything. No one else really listened. Mom and Dad were too busy with my little brother and sister, and all of my friends just disagreed with me (which I don’t get, because Godzilla would totally wipe the floor with King Kong if they got into a fight, no matter what Tommy thinks). She was one of the few people my age that seemed to enjoy listening more than talking. She could listen, she could think, and she could have fun with me. I think those are all of the important criteria for wife selection. She also has a Slip n Slide, which is also a pretty rad plus.
I was pretty nervous about proposing, though. I felt for sure she would say no. I mean, she has her whole life ahead of her. I didn’t think she’d want to be tied down to a simple monogamous life just yet. She has high hopes and even higher potential, and she could probably get into any grade school of her choosing. She’s got it made. And me? I’m just a bummy five year old, sitting around on the playground, staying up past my bedtime, getting grounded. I’m no good for her. She doesn’t need a man like me. We weren’t really compatible, not even as friends. I mean, she was a girl. I was not a girl. This opposing-gender friend dynamic seemed to not only be avoided, but generally looked down upon by our peers. Sure, we could wave hi and throw things at each other, but boys and girls weren’t supposed to hang out with each other (unless we were forced to have a play date by our parents). No one even dared to mention marriage.
Well, except me, when I proposed to her so long ago. Two (or maybe even three) hours later, we were wed. And now we’re sitting here, on some far off corner of the playground, sitting and thinking in silence, with nothing but the companionship of our spouse.
This marriage thing seems pretty awkward so far. We’ll see what happens, but I think I’ll stick with it.
~
What a great way to spend a seventeenth birthday; didn’t do a damn thing, as per usual. Haven’t had a birthday party since that sleepover in 4th grade. There was a surprisingly large amount of sleep that occurred that night, which is atypical for a “normal” sleepover. I felt it was a disaster at the time, and haven’t had a birthday party since. I don’t mind at this point, though. I’m not one for tissue paper and halfhearted gifts anyhow.
Spent most of the day studying (read: dicking around on the internet and avoiding opening the AP Review books) and had a slice or two of cake. Such is the life of an Honors high school student with an early May birthday. My nights are filled with procrastination, reluctant work, copious naps that don’t do anything but make me more tired, and me beating myself up over my (lack of) work ethic. The mornings after are blurs of reluctant risings, groggy eyes, and half liters of coffee. Can’t wait for college.
I really wish Sally called. I know I’ve been really busy recently, but I would still love to talk to her. It has been way too long since we’ve spoken, but that can’t be helped. Everyone loses friends. I shook some of the sleep out of my eyes. I reached into my closet behind the dusty hiking-boots box and the pristine-condition empty Vans box. I pulled out the box that had my beat up old Converse high tops in them. Too torn up to wear, but too many fond memories to throw away. Also, they served as an excellent hiding spot for my half-empty pack of Marlboro Red 100s. I shoved the box into the pockets of my jeans and headed outside, grabbing the leash and our chocolate lab Stephen. I didn’t even need a furry little excuse to be wandering about outside. No one else was up at 2:17 AM in my house for me to lie to.
Left the phone inside. Not expecting any calls, especially from Sally.
~
Three weeks. Three whole weeks since the ceremony. We’ve been married for almost a month, and no one has found out. It’s been pretty grand so far. We share lunches everyday (which is fantastic because Sally has these incredible oatmeal chocolate craisin cookies that her mom bakes that are the most delicious thing to ever grace my very seasoned and experienced 5 year old tastebuds) and sit together on the playground and in class. I don’t think I could live without her. She makes me feel so… so alive. You know how you feel when someone bigger than you, probably by four or five years, is pushing you on the swing? Your feet claw at the air, you rush past the ground, and you hurtle towards the sky? That split second, where you feel weightless, levitating, floating? That’s how I feel when I’m with her. Except I usually don’t throw up after being with her for five minutes (It’s not my fault, really. I have a pretty weak stomach when it comes to swings. And airplanes. And rollercoasters. Especially rollercoasters.)
There was just something about her. From the sunlight trapped in her bouncy golden locks to the freshly pressed vermillion dress that smelled of dryer sheets and pre-adolescent glee, she had a magical sort of air around her. A sort of ephemeral, mystical quality, not like the allure of a bearded Chris Kringle or the magic of finding the exact Lego block you needed to connect the two turrets of your Star-Wars X-Wing Fighter model. It was something unique to her, and I still couldn’t put my finger on.
Happiness came pretty easy to us. Neither of us asked for much. We both just wanted to be happy with someone, to be able to talk freely about anything, to nap occasionally for intervals of ten to twenty minutes, and eat sweets (we split cookies and candy equally; Sally didn’t like frosting, so I got to keep all of the cupcakes). A pretty simple existence. We lived well, and we lived happily. Neither of us could ask for more.
~
5 years and 172 days. That’s… probably around a million days or something. That’s how long I’ve been alive. And I can truly say, not a single one of those past days could even be compared to today.
It started like a normal day. I woke up, kicked off my Star Wars: revenge of the Sith sheets, and groggily sauntered over to my dresser. I swapped out my oversized hand-me-down sleepshirt for a handsome, hilarious graphic t-shirt. This one said “Be Nice to me or I’ll Sic My Ninja Monkey’s On You”. Comedic genius. I pulled on a pair of pants that made that swish-swish sound when the pant legs brushed together as you walked. Might be too hot for long pants, I figured. No matter; this normal looking pair of pants boasted zip-off legs as one of its features. So much versatility. I’m like a five-year-old pants ninja. I tucked the polyester pant legs back in the drawer, taking care not to misplace either of them, in which case I would have to walk around with only one pant leg and that would look ridiculous. The other kids would ridicule me. I couldn’t have that.
I ran downstairs and poured myself a bowl of Kix Puffed Corn Cereal. It tasted alright, as per usual. I glanced at the box: “Kid tested, Mother approved.” I don’t know what the hell that means. I wish mothers approved of more decent cereals, such as Count Chocula or Cocoa Crispies or Cocoa Puffs or something that didn’t taste so… un-chocolatey. I’m sure Moms would like the taste of those obviously superior cereals better than Kix or Cheerios (not Honey nut or chocolate Cheerios; just the regular old boring ones). Maybe they’re secretly stockpiling the good cereals for themselves. That makes a lot of sense, actually. Get it together, Moms. We’re onto you.
Well, then I jumped into the car, waiting to painfully bear the excruciatingly boring car ride to school. 7 painful minutes later, I was in front of my cute little school. I jumped out of the car, waved bye to my Mom, and joined the kids entering the front doors of the learning institution. I set my lunchbox in my locker, and walked into the classroom. It was decorated wall-to-wall with festive ribbons. I was perplexed, and then it hit me: this was Field Day. Today was the day where all of us students took a break from the strenuous tasks of counting pictures of animals and spelling words and reading entire sentences and got to go outside and play. Not just for recess, mind you, but for the whole day.
Glorious.
I bent down to tighten the Velcro on my light-up-when-you-step sneakers, which were the coolest thing since crustless peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. It was then that I realized, “Hey Alex. You can’t just go out there and run around like a fool today. You’re a married man, now. You have a family to look after, a wife who cares about you. And the stork may bring kids any day now. You can’t go get scraped up before that happens. You have responsibilities, duties (haha duties), things to accomplish.”
I was right. I stood up, sighed deeply, and looked for Sally. I picked her out of the mass of fidgety five year olds waiting to run free outside, and made my way over to her. She smiled as she saw me, and didn’t say a word. I loved her smile. She was one of those people who didn’t smile often, so when she did, you know it meant something.
We spent the rest of the day, undisturbed, just sitting together. It was so comfortable, just plain wonderful. Her head rested on my shoulder, and my arm made its way around her shoulder. A smile spread across her face, and it stayed there for the rest of the time we were together.
It was wonderful.
~
It’s so painful. It’s almost unbearable, really. Sure, maybe all other seventeen year olds would say that waiting for a call you’re expecting is horrible. But it’s much worse when you’re hoping for a call you know won’t come.
I think I was finally starting to feel the effects of the cigarettes on my lungs. There was just a tickle I felt sometimes, when I was sprinting to catch the train. The damn Metra schedule. Sporadic train times and a whole lot of stress. Only one more year of this, thank god.
It was the second week of June, now, and Junior year was coming to a close. Not my favorite year, by far. Wish it were as carefree as Kindergarten. Those were the days… hanging out with friends the whole day, nap time. God, it was magnificent. That’s where I met Sally in the first place, at the ripe young age of four and a half. We really didn’t worry about anything back then. She didn’t know her Mom died, and she smiled back then. Her smile started fading away as time wore on and life became less a wondrous fantasy and more a harsh reality. I don’t think I saw her smile at all during the latter portion of seventh grade, and that was the end of it. I mean, everybody loses friends as time wears on, no matter how close.
We didn’t talk much then. That was her last year at school, the end of it. If kindergarten was blissful ignorance, then sixth grade was the calm before the storm, and seventh grade was the torrential downpour that followed.
I wonder what she’d think of me now, face faintly illuminated by the glowing tip of a half-finished cigarette, laying in the middle of the field of the park we used to play in. I had to take care to ash the cigarette to the side of me, as not to have the still-hot ashes singe my face. I don’t know when not getting burnt tobacco remains all over me became a priority or even a worry. We never worried about things back then. We couldn’t. We were young and much happier.
I can’t get over it, though. I’m a rational, reasonable person (as far as I can tell). You shouldn’t be this upset from missing someone you were close to. Yes, you don’t talk anymore, you don’t sit together and do nothing together, you don’t do anything together. You can’t hold onto everything good forever. That was certain. Just as certain as the adenocarcinoma in Sally’s pancreas, just as certain as her eventual slow, painful end. Everybody loses friends. Some to distance, some to time, some to terminal pancreatic cancer. You can’t get hung up on that forever. Sally eventually got over the fact her mother had the same affliction, and she was hopeful she wasn’t a lucky winner of the cancerous genetic lottery. Some people have all the luck at the worst of times.
The glowing tip of the cigarette fizzled at the end of the filter. I stood up and stomped it out. I walked over to my bike, checked on the chain to make sure it didn’t slip off again. I patted my pocket to make sure I still had my reds, and got onto the old, steel Schwinn frame. I looked up at the few stars visible in the sky, still shining relatively brightly even throughout all of this light pollution. I can’t get hung up on her death forever. There will be many more deaths in my lifetime, and I can’t internalize it, pretend to control it. I’ll just need to shoulder it and move on. Isn’t that what us adults are supposed to do? Feel less, live more. Strange how maturity works.
I made my way home, threw the bike in the garage, and kicked off my shoes as I went upstairs and laid down. I didn’t check my phone: I wasn’t expecting any calls.
~
Two. Whole. Months. This is the longest I’ve ever stuck with anything. I can barely focus on a TV show for a half an hour. But I’ve toughed it out. I’ve been a (happily) married man for the last two months of my life, and I’ve loved every second of it. Sally is just so wonderful, and we’re so genuinely happy. She’s been over at my house already, and I’ve met her dad without any difficulties. Still haven’t met her mother though. She’s still on that business trip. But if the snack time with her father was any indication, I should be able to ace the part of “meeting her parents”. I was damn adorable, and her father never once questioned my ability to become the breadwinner for our little family. Well, maybe that’s because we haven’t told anyone we’re married yet. We’re getting to that part. But we both know, and that should be all that matters, anyhow.
Sally’s opened up a bit more. She definitely speaks more now than she did before, and her smile is becoming more and more frequent. She asked how I was enjoying it, these last few months. I told her it was fantastic.
“Oh,” she said smiling. “Do you think we will last?”
“Yes.” I responded. “I think we’ll last for a long, long time. Forever wouldn’t be an over exaggeration.”
That’s the truth. These two months felt like forever. I’m sure a “real” forever wouldn’t feel much different. She smiled, larger than I’ve ever seen. I leaned in and kissed her on the cheek, almost automatically. We both immediately leaned away, blushing, and saying “yuck”, “eww”, and etcetera. We looked back at each other. We smiled and laughed. Maybe the kissing thing would have to wait a while. But this marriage thing is definitely wonderful so far. I think I’ll stick with it.
Volume X was published on April 1, 2014. Click here to purchase a copy.
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