RAW Short Story Contest Winner 2009

Frayed Yellow Rope

by Wendy Withrow

              Frayed, yellow rope holds the old couch in place as the station wagon slowly backs out of the street toward an outdoor stairway.  The couch looks like a Craig’s List score.   So does the station wagon.  A big, old Ford, it’s smashed in on the passenger’s side.  Duct tape covers much of the right-hand rear door.  The suspension creaks as the car bumps up the curb.

             As soon as it stops, both front doors open, and two women in T-shirts and jeans climb out and head for the open tailgate, where they study the criss-crossed rope holding the couch in place. 

              “It looks like a web spun by a deranged spider,” the passenger says. “And look at that knot!”

              “You’re the one who tied it,” says the driver, who leans over and begins working to untie the bulky knot.  Her long hair falls forward, getting in her face.  She alternates between struggling with the knot and tossing her hair back.  The other woman studies the stairs.

              “I wish you’d learn to tie real knots, Kim!” the driver snaps, straightening up.  She begins to braid her hair behind her head with quick movements.  “You tied this monstrosity.  You untie it!”

              Kim looks over, sighs, and squats down next to the knot.  “Sorry,” she replies with no regret,  “I was never a Boy Scout, y’know.”  She carefully untangles the knot.  “Okay.  Let’s get this thing out of here.”

              The women station themselves on either side of the couch and grapple for good handholds.  Planting their feet, they pull, and the couch slowly emerges.

              “I’ll take the other end,” Kim says.  The driver moves hand over hand to take the protruding end, and Kim goes to the other end.  Together, they pull the couch free of the car.

              “I think we should tilt it on its back,” Kim says as they readjust their handholds.

              “Why?  It’s easier to carry this way.  Can we just get moving?”

              “We’re not going to be able to get it around the corner,” Kim explains.

              The driver starts awkwardly backing up the stairs.

              “God, this thing is heavy!”

              “See, Jeannette?  If you’d been working on your upper body strength like me. . .” Kim says.

              “Oh, Jesus, Kim don’t start on that now!  Who’s got the time and energy for that?  Oh, right – people who don’t work for a living.”

              “Hey, cheap shot!  You agreed that I could quit my job to work on my book.”

              “I agreed that you could take some time off to finish your book – not work on, finish!”

              Jeannette sets her end of the couch down on the landing.  “I can’t hold this up any longer.  I’m about to drop it.  I’ve gotta rest.” 

              “Oh, great!  What am I supposed to do?”

              “Put your end down.  The legs will keep it from sliding back down the stairs.”

              Awkwardly, Kim sets her end of the couch down, keeping a wary hand on the arm, just in case.

              One of the doors on the landing opens, and two girls come out. 

              “Hi,” says the older girl.  “You moving in?”

              “Yep,” Jeannette answers. “Do you need to get down the stairs?”

              “Nah.  We’re okay.  You know, you’re not supposed to park there.  That’s a no parking zone.  The landlord’s always telling everybody.”

              “Yeah, well, we’re only parking there for a minute while we get the couch up the stairs and into our apartment,” Kim explains.  The two girls peer over the railing to get a look at Kim.

              “Are you sisters?” the older girl asks.

              “No, just friends,” Jeannette replies. “Are you two sisters?”

              “Yeah.  I’m Sally.  I’m ten.  This is my little sister Andy.  She’s seven.  Her name’s really Andrea, but everybody calls her Andy.  Are you moving into number four?”

              “Yep.”

              “Let’s get back to the couch, shall we?” Kim says. “Now, I think we’ll need to stand it up on end to get it around the corner.”

              “Stand it on end?  Are you crazy?” Jeannette retorts. “How are we supposed to do that?  Anyway, I think there’s room to maneuver it around the corner.”

              “I’ve moved a lot of furniture.  It’s not going to make the turn.”

              “Well, I say it is, so let’s just try it,” Jeannette insists, squatting down to lift her end of the couch.  “Man, this thing is heavy!”

              “You’re wrong,” Kim says, struggling to pick up her end. “But you have to have your way, don’t you, Jeannette?  It’s just going to be wasted energy.”

              “Does this have to be so much trouble?” Jeannette says, glaring down at Kim.

              “Only because you insist on having your way.”

              “Yeah, well, I wouldn’t exactly call moving into this dump ‘having my way.’”

              As Kim moves upward, one step at a time, Jeannette sidles over toward the door to number four.  Her end of the couch touches the wall, and Kim’s end comes up against the railing of the stairs.

              “Okay, Jeannette, now what?”

              Jeannette glares at the couch.  “Shit!”  She begins moving back toward the stairs, and Kim takes a step downward.

              “If you had a fucking job, we wouldn’t have to move at all, and we wouldn’t be having this stupid argument,” Jeannette huffs.

              “No, we’d be having the other argument about my not having a job.  Remember how attractive you found me when you learned I was a writer?”

              “Yeah, well, that was when I thought a writer was someone who wrote, someone who actually wrote, not someone who sat in front of a computer for hours, smoking cigarettes and drinking coffee and staring at the screen, typing one sentence every hour and then finally deleting it in disgust, because it wasn’t absolutely perfect, because it wasn’t Great Literature.”

              “Let’s just do one thing at a time, shall we?” Kim snaps. “Let’s save our breath right now for the task at hand, and have this argument when our new, little neighbors aren’t getting an earful.  Maybe their parents don’t cuss.  D’you ever think of that?”

              Jeannette drops her end of the couch onto the top step and turns to the girls.  “Do your parents ever fight?”

              They nod.

              “Do they swear?”

              They nod again.

              Jeannette turns back to Kim.  “There.  Okay?  I don’t want to wait until the right time to have this argument.  For you, the right time for an argument, or a discussion about our relationship, is always late at night when I’m exhausted and need to get some sleep, because I have to get up early the next day and go to work.  No, I want to have this argument on my schedule.”

              “Moving is what we both scheduled for today.  Can we just please get the couch up the stairs and into our apartment first?”

              “No, we can’t.  No!  I hate that we have to move here.  I hate being the one responsible for paying all the bills while you sit around.  Yeah, I thought it was cool that you were a writer, but you know what?  I don’t think so any more.  I think it would be cool if you were a bartender or a fucking lawyer, somebody with a real job that brings in money.”  As she speaks, Jeannette begins climbing over the arm of the couch and  precariously picking her way down its sloping surface toward Kim.

              Kim drops her end and steps back.  “What the hell are you doing, Jeannette?”

              Jeannette clambers over the arm of the couch and onto the stairs.  Taking the last two steps, she strides to the car and crawls into the back, throwing the couch seat cushions onto the blacktop.  Seething, she climbs back out and slams the tailgate shut.

              “Okay, so I don’t have any upper body strength,” she yells at Kim as she stomps to the driver’s door and yanks it open. “That’s because I push papers all day to earn the fucking rent, and come home tired with a sack full of groceries to find the sink full of dirty dishes you didn’t have time to wash, because you were too busy staring at the computer screen all day and not finishing your damned book!”

              “What are you doing?”  Kim runs over as Jeannette slides behind the wheel and slams the car door.  It bounces back open.  She slams it again, harder.  A puff of black smoke pours from the tailpipe as the engine starts.

              “Jeannette, what the fuck are you doing?  The couch is in the middle of the goddamned stairs!”

              “Deal with it!” Jeannette hollers, throwing the car into gear and pulling out.  Tires squeal as the car heads down the street.  Twenty feet of frayed, yellow rope slithers and bounces along behind it.

              Kim stares after the car and the snaky yellow rope.  She mutters “Damn it!”and strides back to the stairs.  Pulling a pack of cigarettes out of her jeans pocket, she lights one up and leans back against the arm of the couch, taking a long drag and blowing it out of her lungs forcefully.

              Sally and Andy peer down at her from the top of the couch on the landing.

              “Is she gonna come back?” Andy asks.

              Sally pokes Andy and whispers, “Shh!”

              Kim glances over her shoulder and up at the girls.  “I don’t know.  I hope so.”

              The girls look back at Kim, who glances back down the street and takes another drag.

              After a minute, Sally asks, "You need some help with the couch?"