| Jason Stout lives in Atlanta, Georgia with his wife and five children. His stories have appeared in Every Day Fiction, Pequin, Shine! and Flashquake. "Larry Legend", his story about French Lick, Indiana and basketball great Larry Bird, has been nominated for a Pushcart Prize. For additional information, please visit his website: jasonstout.jimdo.com. |
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| Henry and His Best Gal Henry stood at the sink and started scrubbing his hands. He found Lava worked best at removing the blood. Later, when he showered, he would even use it on his hair. The soap left his hair a bit limp, but by tomorrow it would be fine. The clothes he would have to burn. As he began working under his fingernails, he sighed. Maybe in time Erin would understand how things were supposed to be. He thought about the first time he met her. It was a Thursday night and Kilroy's was packed. He sat at the bar nursing another Heineken. Erin squeezed in to place her order and bumped his shoulder. He nearly dropped his bottle and looked up prepared to tell off yet another rich, frat boy. But it was her. And she was perfect. Her thin, high voice when she said she was sorry was perfect. Her strawberry blond hair pulled back tight in a ponytail was perfect. Her ridiculously green eyes were - But she was so obtuse, so careless. So... unobservant. She had walked away with her drinks and he stared after her. For an hour, he sat at the bar, devising opening gambits and creating clever repartee. He finally stood up, trembling, prepared to make his move. He walked toward her table, but she and her friends were just getting up to leave. He changed course hastily and moved to lean against a nearby pillar. He watched her walk toward the door. A man at the next table - one of those frat boys again, complete with Polo shirt and penny loafers - stood up as she moved past his table. The man took her by the elbow and she stopped as her friends continued to the door. Their voices were too low to hear, but he saw the man take out his cell phone and plug in some numbers as she talked. Henry could tell she was annoyed by the frat boy. The way her eyes kept darting back to the door. The way she crossed her arms in front of her body, hugging her purse. Finally, she managed to detach herself from the conversation and left. He watched her walk out the door, then looked back at the frat boy who was getting high-fives from his friends at the table. Later that night, as he followed the frat boy back to his apartment, he named the girl Erin. As he waited behind the nearby tree for the frat boy to unlock his door, he wondered why she put up with the frat boy's nonsense at the bar. As he brought the brick down silently on the back of the frat boy's head and shoved him into the apartment, he thought maybe he should start going to Kilroy's every Thursday night just in case she showed up again. As he rifled through the dead frat boy's belongings to make the killing look like a robbery, he wondered what her major was. Probably English. She looks like an English major. He showed up at Kilroy's at six o'clock the next Thursday so as not to miss her. His heart raced when he saw her walk through the door at 10:30, her hair again in that tight ponytail. He sat at the bar so he could watch her in the mirror without being obvious. After he followed her home and took her trash bags back to his apartment, he learned from her credit card bill that her name was actually Brittany. Erin suited her better. The next week's trash offered up her class schedule. He learned she was a Psychology major. How disappointing. He also discovered she did not eat as well as she should. How did she stay so thin while eating so much ice cream? He occasionally thought about striking up a conversation with her at Kilroy's, but he got so nervous, he hadn't yet summoned the courage. He was beginning to wonder if she would ever notice what he was doing for her. What was it going to take to get her attention? Eventually, someone may notice the three dead frat boys were all at Kilroy's the night they died. Eventually, someone may notice they were all killed on Thursday nights. Eventually, someone may spot him following her. But not yet. His hands and body clean, his sink wiped down, his clothes burned in the fireplace, he crawled into bed and set the alarm. It's an early morning tomorrow. She has yoga on Friday mornings. Henry loved yoga. |
| Jason Stout |
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