Flash Fiction Friday: The Perfect Fit
by Grant Wamack
Sherry Haueer sat on a park bench sipping on glue and flipping through the latest issue of Jigsaw Now! But she couldn’t help but admire all the beautiful couples, walking hand in hand. All of them fit together so perfectly.
Sherry grew jealous of the other jigsaw pieces that walked around. Why did she have to live most of her life unfit for others?
My curves are just as beautiful as theirs right? She thought. If not more?
Just look at this cheesecake covering my chest. I’m just as rich and appealing. Am I not?
Obviously that was a big fat no, because even though Sherry was pretty, she never could quite fit with her jigsaw boyfriends. Not only sexually, but on every other facet of the jigsaw spectrum they were seriously lacking.
She was tired of lonely nights watching jigsaw porn and browsing through countless nobodies on that new trendy dating site, Puzzled. All she wanted was to fit in and find her perfect match. Was that too much to ask?
Half asleep and ready to turn in for the night, her cell phone vibrated on the table. She ignored it at first, but her curiosity soon bested her indifference.
“’Ello…who is this?”
“It’s your grandma. Don’t you recognize my voice buttercup?”
Sherry sighed and wished she had left phone vibrating. “Yeah I just…I don’t know. It’s been a long day.”
“Well buttercup I called you up cause just this morning I met this fine gentleman. You know one of those cute literary types you like. He was reading Kaska or who is it again?”
“Kafka. The guy who wrote the story about the man who wakes up as a bug.”
“I don’t know who would ever wanna read about insects. That’s disgusting and weird.”
“Everyone’s entitled to their opinions.”
“That’s true, but I set you two up on a date. I know you need a man in your life. We all do.”
Sherry felt sick to her stomach at the prospect of going on a date with a stranger and not just any stranger, one that was handpicked by her musty ass grandma of all people.
“I guess I can go.”
“That’s great buttercup! You’ll love em’ I promise.”
Sherry sat in a cramped booth sipping on a glue shake. She was a nervous wreck, staring out the window inspecting every guy who walked by. Some of them caught her frantic eyes appraising their bodies and they sped up their pace to get out of eyesight.
This is ridiculous, she thought and glanced down at her watch. It was a couple minutes past four.
I’m giving him one more minute and then I’m leaving.
Then he walked through the door. Time slowed dramatically. He was multi-sided which was a good sign and he didn’t trip all over himself like other pieces usually do.
Maybe grandma was right for once she thought.
He squeezed into the booth and looked Sherry over. She felt weird, but it seemed like he approved of what he saw.
“You’re beautiful. You’re grandma’s words can’t do you justice. I mean I had an idea, but…damn.”
Sherry blushed and turned away shyly. “Oh you’re too much.”
“Am I coming on too strong?” He unleashed that perfect grin of his that split right through her soul.
“No you’re doing everything just right.”
“Oh I hope so.” He laughed. Even his laugh was beautiful. This was unbelievable.
“Hold on…I don’t even know your name?” She asked.
“Really? Like Don Juan?” Sherry leaned forward gazing into his green eyes.
“Not really. Just Juan. Plain old Juan. Nothing special about it really.”
Sherry was lost in the forest of his eyes-the vivid green leaves and vegetation spread out into infinity.
“So can I ask you a question?”
“What?” Sherry worried she had done something wrong and perhaps all of this may have been one huge mistake.
“Don’t worry. It’s nothing heavy. Kafka or Gogol?”
“Kafka hands down.” Sherry sipped her glue, appreciating the sticky texture on her tongue.
“I think…I love you.”
“I think I love you too.”
Juan grabbed Sherry’s hand and squeezed it.
This just might be the perfect fit.
Grant Wamack is the author of Notes from the Guts of a Hippo. Also, he is a rapper, traditional artist, and super journalist for the Navy. Check his blog out here: http://grantwamack.wordpress.com/