Finger
2002-03-08 10:13 a.m.

I'm not very good at writing short stories, everything I write is loooong. But this is something I wrote this morning for my friend, Rebecca's Zine. I wanted to do something frivolous and post modern. Let me know what you think.

I eat well all during the week and exercise like I'm training for a marathon but Fridays at 5:30 are all about polluting my body as quickly and heavily as possible. As usual I was first to the bar and already lighting up a cigarette as I shrugged out of my pleather jacket. Yes, pleather, the poor diva's answer to fashion's dictates. I looked around for one of the surly waitresses and tried to catch her eye as she walked past me pointedly ignoring my pleading stare. I sucked fervently at my cigarette and watched the door for the other happy hour cronies, the other office drones that will drink themselves silly from 5:30-7:30 then go home and be in bed by nine on a Friday night. God, we were pathetic.

Trevor slid next to me in the seat, avoiding my vigilant watch by sneaking in through the restaurant. He loosened his tie and ran his hands through his dark hair so it stood up in chunks. He looked pointedly at my cigarettes like an addicted puppy until I slid the pack over to him.

"Ta. Want to play some stick? I'll buy."

"Sure." I was all right at pool and if I was going to play I should do it before I hit that 2 drink threshold.

"If she comes by order me-"

"A shot of tequila and a Rolling Rock, yeah, I know the drill."

I went to get a stick off the wall and claim the pool table closest to our booth. I wanted to kick off my high heels as they were killing my toes but I didn't trust the cleanliness of the carpet.

More cronies arrived and I did my Miss America wave until Terry and Madelyn saw me and came over. Both were toting huge over the shoulder bags identical to mine. With four people at our table the waitress finally deemed us important enough to take our order.

A tequila and rolling rock for Trevor, Madelyn drinks vodka martinis, Terry sticks to microbrews but still gets more wasted than anyone and I always get the same thing, double gin and tonic, extra lime.

Frankie (whisky with Budweiser chaser) came wandering in as Trevor and I were starting our pool game. He had managed to lose his tie somewhere between the office and the bar. His short blonde hair was immaculately groomed and I could already hear him launching into a wild tirade which was making the girls giggle uncontrollably. The gay men always get the cute girls.

"Your shot." Trevor nudged me and swigged half of his tequila.

I sank two balls and missed the last shot by a mile, story of my life. I stepped back to Trevor could circle the table in front of me.

That's when I saw it.

There was something gray lying under the table. Being an urban scavenger, I had to investigate. I crouched down and reached out to grab it then thought otherwise. It had a fingernail attached to it or should I say, the finger had a fingernail attached to it. It looked like an index finger. A long, fat index finger, probably belonging to a guy.

"Trevor!" I said in a high pitched voice.

He crouched down next to me and reached out to grab it. I slapped his hand away and made him look closer.

"Ick!" Trevor jumped up and hit his head on the top of the pool table. He jumped around swearing, clutching his head in his hands.

Frankie came over and crouched down next to me. "What's going on? What is that?"

"It's a finger."

"Is it real?"

"It looks real."

"What do we do?"

"It's too late to sew it back on."

"Who's is it?"

"I dunno."

Madelyn threw her arms around my shoulders and leaned against my back so she could peer at it.

"What is that?" she asked.

"It's a finger." Frankie said.

"Eeeew."

"Should we call the police?" I asked. "What do you do with a finger? Do you just throw it away or does it need a proper burial?"

"Like embalm it and put it in a tiny coffin?" Madelyn asked helpfully.

"What's going on?" Terry asked, finishing her beer.

"Anna found a finger." Madelyn said.

Terry jumped back like someone had burnt her. "Omigodomigodomigod." She muttered under her breath.

Under the table I recognized the sparkly platform shoes of our waitress. As she walked by, I grabbed her ankle. She looked down at me with a snarl on her face. I pointed under the table and said simply. "Finger."

The waitress screamed.

We were sequestered to our booth. Our pool game was frozen due to the fact that there was yellow tape wrapped around the table. There were about ten policemen milling around the "crime scene." Flashes went off as the crime scene photographer took pictures of the finger from every possible angle.

I sat with my head on Frankie's shoulder. He smelled like leather and Calvin Klein's Obsession. I wished for the third time tonight that he wasn't gay. Madelyn sat on the other side of me, her leg was bouncing up and down and she was shaking her head.

"Doesn't this beat all? Who could have imagined this?" She signaled to the waitress who jumped at her beckon. Due to the fact that we had suffered Post Traumatic Finger Disorder all drinks were on the house. We ordered our usual tray of poison.

An officer came over to our table. He was young and by the rabid look in his eyes, this was the most exciting case he'd received.

"Who found the body?" he asked.

"It's not a body, it's a finger and I did." I said.

"What happened?" he asked after he had written down every word I said in his little pad.

"I was playing pool with Trevor." I gestured to Trevor, sitting across from me. Trevor smiled and waved to the officer. "I stepped back and noticed something under the table. I bent down and looked closer and realized it was a finger. We told the waitress, she screamed, then called you."

"Did you touch the evidence?" the officer asked.

"We did not touch the finger." I said.

"What time was this?" he asked.

"5:52pm." I said.

"You're sure?" he asked.

I nodded solemnly.

"Thank you ma'am." And he went back to the crime scene.

Terry leaned across the table and whispered loudly. "He was cute!"

"Yes he was." Frankie agreed.

By 7:30 the excitement had worn off and we had gone past our normal state of intoxication into the realm of inebriation. I had to get home to feed the cats and watch some sitcoms, after all it was Friday night. Normally we part with gibes and insults but tonight everyone was tactile.

I hugged Trevor. "Can you get home all right?"

"My wife's meeting me at the car, she'll drive."

Madelyn dizzily linked arms with me so we could stumble to our mutual bus stop together. When we reached the door someone ran into us, nearly knocking me on my ass. He apologized and I noticed his left hand was bandaged up.

"It's under the pool table but you'd better hurry." We pushed open the door and walked into the crisp night air.

0 People have tried to sell me Viagra

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