Written In The Fog

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Vices - A Short Story

Written by Nelson Peralta Jr.

Chopping the last pieces of carrots that were needed to complete her chicken soup, Oliva felt the weariness creep through her back. Since working long hours at the local food market resulted in back pains which kept her awake during the night, Oliva did not sleep well the previous days. Her short brunette hair was pulled into a sagging ponytail, her bangs stopping before her eyes. She wished that the bangs were longer, so that they would cover up the purple traces that stressing labor had left beneath her eyes. She was not a vain woman by any means, but she remembered the feeling of adulthood privileges for which she longed when she was a small girl. Oliva dreamt of shades of lilac to contour her eyes, and a dash of red lip stain to plump her thin lips, the way actresses had their lips done. Acting. She breathed it and lived it. Always playing pretend with princess outfits made from old clothes, crowns made of paper plates, and a prince who always gave her the happy ending. Those were the days when she had no worries and lived in her own fantasies, fantasies that were still hidden somewhere beneath the brunette’s eyes. She stirred in the carrots to wait for the soup to come to a boil. She placed the top of the pot back on and waited. She rested against the marble countertop, the one that her honey bought her when he was still alive. She brought her hands to the countertop and felt the coldness. The memory of the day they had gone to go pick out the countertop still ran through her head. They had just left the store, and she and Honey were driving to go pick up their three year old Daniel from his dad’s house. Honey was not the biological father of Daniel, but he always treated Daniel as his very own. On the way to pick up Daniel, he stopped by the liquor store to buy some cigs. Honey was a good man, but he had a craving for the cigs from time to time. “Every good man has his vice,” was the thought Oliva had whenever they stopped for some cigs. He got back in the car, lit one cig up, and looked into Oliva’s eyes. Honey always complimented her for her beautiful brown eyes. He loved them. Oliva did not think her eyes were special. She considered them to be ordinary. She remembered how she stared into Honey’s eyes that day. Oliva was a good girl. A plain girl. She was not a vain woman by any means. But even the most good girls have vices. Her kick came from the yellow eyes of Honey. She loved her Honey’s eyes so much. Oliva’s mind was brought back to reality by the steam rising form the steel pot. She turned off the stove and retrieved a ladle and some bowls in which to serve the soup. Oliva carefully poured the boiling hot soup into the bowls. She placed four bowls on the table and called for her guests and Daniel to come eat. Mr. and Mrs. Orage walked to the dining table and sat next to each other. Oliva and Daniel were sitting opposite to them. Honey was no where to be seen. Oliva took a spoon and began to eat her soup when Mrs. Orage burst into tears. “How could this happen!” she cried. “How could this happen to our boy!” Oliva stoop up to hand her a napkin to dry the wet tears, and stood next to her. She embraced her mother-in-law softly and whispered in her ear “, I wish I knew why this happened to Alfred, too, June.” But she did know. Oliva knew what had happened to “Alfred” detail by detail. She still smelled the scent of the ocean, felt the breeze in her hair and heard the noises the old pier made beneath her feet. Honey had it coming. Oh, yes he did. And he knew it. Honey knew it. Oliva was a good girl. A plain girl. She was not a vain woman by any means. But even the most good girls have vices. Her kick came from the yellow eyes of Honey. She loved her Honey’s eyes so much. She smiled with the thought that she was the last to see those yellow eyes before they sank to the bottom of the ocean with the rest of “Alfred”’s body. She blew a kiss into the ocean before tying her hair into her usual ponytail and took the 405 freeway back to her house. She was running her lines in her head, the way she would react to the news. It was horrible! Honey had drowned? How? But he was a good man! She chuckled loudly. “Every good man has his vice,” she said “,and he needed to pay for his in full.”