Writing Workshop Assignment #6: At Arms’ Length

For this week's assignment, our teacher had the class members fill out two pieces of paper: one with a job title, and one with a slightly unusual activity. Everyone put their pieces of paper in two separate piles, and drew a job and activity from the pile. The assignment was to craft a story in which the protagonist holds the job described, and the story ends with the activity described.

The cards I drew:

• Deli Clerk
• Massages a lover's back (actually, the card originally read "pops pimples off a lover's back," but I took some liberties)

One of the benefits of writing for a class is that it inspires you to write outside your comfort zone, or at least to write stories that you wouldn't write if left to your own devices. I don't know that I'd put this story together on my own, but I had fun working on it.

I sometimes feel slightly self-conscious if I'm writing about a romantic couple. It feels almost like writing science fiction for an audience of space aliens; even if the story makes sense to my eyes, I worry that it is ridiculous in a way that I can't perceive. But, I suppose that's true of anybody writing a story that is a bit outside of their own experience, and most good writers find ways of understanding outside perspectives and experiences in an authentic way.

At Arms’ Length

    Two weeks, to the day, after he started working in the family deli, Leo took up the cause of vegetarianism. Not for moral reasons, mind you: he didn’t think too hard about the indiscriminate slaughter of animals for food, and, after all, did not mind profiting from the practice. But, all day and every day, Leo was forced to handle meat, in all of its visceral messines. He ground it up, cut it up, saw slimy films of grease and blood congeal over the unprocessed flesh before it was cleaned up and readied for display.
    Leo knew precisely what went into a hotdog, and, as Bismark wisely noted, such knowledge was the opposite of desirable. Vegetables, crisp and clean, were more his speed.
    Long story short, Leo would forswear the sight of meat, its slime, its messiness, outside of work hours.
    Fortunately, during work hours, Leo was protected. His thick hair was contained in a net, a jaunty paper hat atop his head. A long-sleeved, polyester dress shirt, immaculately cleaned, covered his tanned arms, and a smock, emblazoned with the family name and a picture that Leo thought looked like a Mario Brother, further shielded him from the occasional splatter. Finally, and most importantly, his hands were continually encased in a pair of disposable rubber gloves.
    So, day in and day out, eight-thirty to five, Leo would, at arms’ length, encounter the disgustingness, taking some relief from the idea that he was removed from the, no pun intended, meat of it. Then, after performing a cleaning routine and closing up for the night, he would take the subway to Jackson Heights and his tidy little apartment.
    But this Thursday, he would get a reprieve; Marta, he learned, had finished her first college semester and would be taking the train back from Rutgers. She had wanted to see him. She had wanted to see him with some insistence. Little Marta, who had teased him when the two were in grade school, and who helped him with homework during junior high, and who bestowed him with his first kiss in high school. The two had remained pen “more than” pals during her long semester away, and now, for the first time in months, she was coming back. And she didn’t want to be picked up by her mom and dad at Grand Central Station. No, she wanted Leo to be there.
    Ma and pa, who had always liked Marta, practically pushed Leo out the deli door at two o’clock on Thursday. Flower in hand, and a timid smile on his face, he walked to the station, taking care not to destroy his outfit by splashing in a muddy puddle. His uneven breaths, visible in the cold winter weather, stood as witness to his nervousness. Leo breathed in and crossed the threshold to the station, and made his way towards the coffee stand where the two had agreed to meet.
    Leo ordered a decaf coffee, grabbed a handful of napkins, wiped the crumbs off an empty coffee table, plucked a book from his messenger bag, began reading, and was shocked when, from out of nowhere, he was confronted with a tight embrace and several sloppy kisses from Marta. He smiled and gave her a single-armed hug before the two headed towards the 7 line and Jackson Heights. Leo trailed slightly behind a skipping Marta, obliquely using one of the napkins to wipe the lipstick from his face. Leo sped up and awkwardly touched the tip of her fingers; Marta happily clutched Leo’s hand and did not let go until they reached the apartment building.
    Marta scurried up the apartment steps and down the hall; Leo walked up carefully, trying not to get too far behind. He smiled, and proudly opened the door to his well-maintained, if small, room. Marta giggled, pulled Leo in, and shut the door behind them.
    Leo tried not to show his surprise. “It’s so good to see you, Marta. It’s been so long...”
    Marta wrapped her arms around Leo’s neck, and the two kissed again. “I’ve missed you so much.” She loosened her grip and smiled.
    She gave him a strange look. “Y’know, Leo, there is something I have been wanting to try, and I saw this in the store and thought ‘why not,’ and...”
    Leo looked at her lovingly and inquisitively. “What is it?”
    Marta slowly pulled out a bottle of massage oil from her backpack. “I’ve never had a massage before, and thought it sounded so nice. Y’know, someone’s hands on my back, the oil seeping into my skin, just so soothing. We can do it right now.”
    Leo tried not to betray his skittishness, and tried to think of something other than those oils, now in their pretty little bottle, sullying his nice clean little bed. But, how could he say no to Marta? He had always liked her, maybe he had... well, he had loved her. Leo blinked and gave a small smile.
    “That sounds wonderful.”
    “Great! I’ll be in the bedroom.” Marta handed the dreaded bottle to Leo and scampered over to the next room, where Leo could barely see her removing her top and lying down on the comforter.
    Leo gulped and followed her. Closing his eyes, he opened the bottle, poured its contents onto his hands. He preemptively shuddered.
    But... what he expected, what he feared, didn’t feel so bad after all. To Leo’s surprise, the oil on his hands didn’t disgust him; it felt cool and smelled of lavender. He could see his girlfriend looking over her shoulder and smiling elusively. This would actually be... nice.
    Leo grinned back at his girlfriend, gently put his hands on her back, and commenced with the massage.