As part of a Tommy Boy production. Tales is a podcast created to bring
short stories to life. These stories will be brought to you by a number
of authors and narrated by yours truly, with some help from other amazing voice
actors and actresses. So bunker in, start that fire, hold your love
one close, and enjoy. We are to storytelling. We are story February
eleventh. Let me tell you the secret of the century. Being a single
parent is hard. Yeah, of course it's worth it than all, But
I'm not sure how anyone does this. By eighteen years shift at the hospital,
hurry home and check on Tommy, four hours of shut eyes tops,
and another eight hours work in retail, rinse and repeat. Yeah, it's
awesome. With a schedule that tight, you think I've frought at the mouth
for the chance to get some extra sleep. But lately my insomia is getting
real bad. The circles under my eyes are starting to look like a permanent
fixture. When Tommy's crying is ringing in my ears and I feel like I'm
about to shatter into little pieces, there's only one outlet. Late night TV
infomercials, to be exact, more infomercials than you can count. Sitting in
front of the ghostly blue glow of the screen is just about the only thing
that helps distract me from a one year rolls incessant whaling. Yeah, yeah,
before you revoke my good parents in card, I'll have you know Tommy
cries over nothing. The kids fed and watered, but he'll scream like it's
the end of the world. There's no feeling quite like slipping into a near
fugue state at two in the morning with the words by now and we'll throw
in a free pack of refills ringing around on your head like ping pong balls
ricocheting in an empty room. At some point, if you're lucky, you'll
slip into an unconsciousness and wake up with your face mashed into the couch.
I've pretty much seen them all by now, catalog them in my head.
There's a blender that promised to make meal prep five thousand percent more efficient,
the hair dryer from Heaven, the net cushioner that cure your arthritis, the
vacuum cleaner that connects the bluetooth and probably can't sleep with your wife. A
hundred perky men and women going on about weight loss pills and makeup and kitchen
knives and towels that revolutionize your life. No, really, we promise or
your money back, well all except one. Last night I saw a new
infomercial that I'm still not quite sure if I hallucinated or not. It was
maybe three am, and my mind was robbing, pulsing inside my skull at
all but given up on sleep. The blonde woman on the screen had just
finished her spiel about a Cubic Ziconian jewelry, and then this way too catchy
jingle was blaring from the TV. It was a chorus of high pitched voices,
I think, something childish, like you'd hear in a toy commercial.
The lyrics to the jingle flashed across the screen in fat, cartoonish letters.
Next, there was one of those before mortgages, you know, the clips
of people cracking eggs onto the floor or groaning about their bad back before for
the miracle product swoops in and save them. It was pretty standard, a
black and white shot of a young woman applying mascara in the mirror, making
an exaggerated mess of it by smudging it all over her eyelids. She frowned
at the finished results. The camera zoomed in on her clumped together lashes.
The whole time this gloom almost comical sad tune played in the background. It
transitioned into a full color scene of the woman beaman into the mirror. The
words spleno hung over her head, and the music was now generically upbeat.
Look, I hadn't slept in around thirty six hours, and I started to
feel like my brain was melting out of my ears. So I don't know
what I saw, but it sure as how, it looked like the pretty
girl brought a pair of tweezers up to her eyelids and began plucking out her
lashes one by one, all with a TV ready smile. Splayed across her
face, no time lasts or anything. It might have gone on for five
minutes or fifteen. When it was finished, she almost looked normal, but
if you look closely, you could see her completely bare lids. The infomercial
ended with the splee no jingle plane again. While the woman beamed into the
camera, she picked up a tube of mescara, looked at it, then
tossed it aside. It was so strange that I figured it had to be
a parody, complete with an after montage of overreacting and smiling. I know
this sounds crazy, but afterwards I felt almost relieved, like some small weight
I didn't even know what's there had been taken off my shoulders. Then Tommy's
crying sawed up again and the feeling was lost. February thirteenth, I saw
it again last night. Honest to god, I actually did pass out for
around an hour before waking up feeling like absolute crap. I peeled myself off
the couch to check on Tommy. He was sleeping for once, and I
promptly returned the living room to tune in to my favorite channel. I watched
the same toast of infomercial twice before it came on again. When the jigo
started, my heart sped up. Whatever this was, it had one hell
of a catchy tune, the kind that crops up in your mind at the
worst of moments. Call it morbid curiosity. I wanted to see what was
going to play this time. It was too early to be an April Fool's
prank, but maybe it was all a joke by someone with a seriously weird
sense of humor, or promo for an upcoming movie. The jingle ended and
the colors quickly faded to black and white. I watched as a middle aged
man came on the screen. He was dressed in his pajamas, his hair
tossled in a TV version of a messy BedHead. He stood in front of
the mirror and cuffed his cheek with a grimace, then opened his mouth to
inspect his teeth. They were yellow and crooked, some of them sitting at
angles that looked downright painful. I could see black spots of rot on his
molars. He poured a cupful of mouthwash and gargled, but his face creased
as if he was in agony, and he quickly split it all down the
drain. The scene shifted, and the now technicolored man was dressed smartly in
work clothes, his hair slicked down with gel spleno. Danced across the screen
in a burning pink letters. The counter was littered with teeth. He looked
into the mirror and smiled, revealing a completely toothless mouth with raw, bloody
gum. I should have been disgusted, but that reaction never came. Instead,
I was fascinated. Demand didn't look to be in pain. He seemed
more elated, And why shouldn't he be his pain was gone. I wondered
how he felt light, care free. I felt a little scared for feeling
the way I did, but I couldn't deny it either. Afterwards, I
stuck around to watch a mattress commercial, but found that my eyes closed of
their own volition, and I finally fell into a shallow, dreamless sleep.
I woke up feeling unsatisfied, like I had some unfinished business in a dream,
but couldn't remember what. February seventeenth, I've stayed up every night since
Tuesday and it hasn't come on a single time. I know what I saw,
but at the same time, I'm starting to doubt myself. Maybe I
dreamed it all up. Either way, I haven't slept a minute in three
nights. I almost crashed the card in the milk run for formula and diapers.
This morning. Tommy is driving me up a wall. I could swear.
He wakes up and starts sounding off the minute I get home, and
shuts up once I'm at work. God, I wish I had the money
for a sitter. Just one night of peace and quiet might be enough.
Nothing around me seems solid anymore. It's like the world is slipping away,
and there's only me, a sack of blood and bones, dragging itself to
places that feel like hollow imprints. I know I look like shit, but
I'm finding it hard to care. I wonder if this is how people lost
in the desert feel when they see the Last Mirage of cool Water. February
eighteenth. It came on at eleven am. I can't explain it, but
the moment I heard the first note of the jingle, I felt a wave
of relief crashing down on me. The world felt real again. I kept
my eyes glued to the screen. There was an eldly woman, this time
walking down instead of stairs to the same sad tune. With her quaked gray
hair and red sweater, she looked like a character out of a Christmas movie,
the sweet old lady about to serve her grandkid's chocolate chip cookies with a
smile. She wasn't smaller now, though. Each time her right foot made
contact with the steps, she went quickly shifting her weight to her left bad
knee. Once she got to the bottom, she rested on the banister and
caught her breadth. The next few clips showed her hobbling around the house.
I realized it was the same one that others were shot in and clutching at
her kneecap every few seconds. Right then it was if I could feel the
paint shooting of my leg too. I wanted her to be free of it.
I wanted her to feel light again. I watched as a TV cut
to a close up shot of the old woman's sleeping in bed. Her gray
hair was spread out on the pillow like a halo. The camera slowly pulled
out, revealing the rest of her nightgown clad body and the smooth, round
stump of her right leg. I noticed it had been severed just about the
knee, and it looked to have healed completely, the skin intact except for
a line of white scarren. I examined her face, with her mouth curled
into a smile. She was the picture of tranquility. I couldn't help but
smile myself. Her pain was going now discarded with the unbearable weight of all
that putrid flesh. For the first time in a long time, I felt
at ease, perfectly content. Even I kept smiling as the jingle ran again.
I didn't sleep for the rest of the night, but I kept grinning
anyway, enjoying the way those words rolled off my tongue. February twentieth yesterday
was the best one yet. I didn't go to work, just in case
I missed it. While I was gone, Tommy was crying as usual,
and he was annoying as ever, but I didn't let him distract me.
I kept my attention on the TV. The infomercial came on around midnight,
earlier than usual. It featured a man and his dog, a golden Retriever.
Even with the grainy quality, I could see that it was a beautiful
specimen, its coat sleek and his eyes bright. Too bad, it just
wouldn't shut up. Its barking went on and on all through the night,
and my heart clenched with sympathy. As the man groaned and clapped his hands
over his ears. The bark seemed to grow in volume until it was unbearable.
I shook my head as a man tried a pair of air plugs to
block out the noise. I knew all too well those didn't work. Tommy's
cries could penetrate through anything. I was on the edge of my seat waiting
for what came. Necks the black and white gave a way to color,
and the man went from tired and groggy to well rested. He got out
from the bed and stretched, then went to the kitchen to fix himself a
cup of coffee. Hum in the whole time. As a stream of coffee
poured into his mug, I noticed a large yellowish mass lying on the kitchen
floor. The dog's body looked broken, and its head was stained with a
bloom of red. But the man's newfound happiness was so infectious that I hardly
paid it any attention. The now familiar Spleno hung over the pear. I
realized my face was wet with tears of joy. The man had gotten what
he wanted. Silence. The tears kept coming even after the screen went black.
Spleno, It's a wonderful sound, a wonderful word. It takes all
your worries away. It makes you realize you have to hold on and if
something's standing in your way, then you have to get rid of it.
That night, I slept like a baby. This episode of Tales was written
and edited by Arthur Crystal Kat and narrated by Dee Madison. If you like
this podcast, please hit that follow up button and give the podcast a five
star review. Remember, if you want your short story on the podcast,
you can email me or hit me up on my social media. You can
find that information in the episode's listener's note. Also in a listener's note are
the links to the author's websites where you can support and or read more of
their short stories. As always, thank you for your support and to those
who have continued to listen and remember are the storytellers.