The Crying Story by T. A. Young

Boo-hoo, as we say in Staten Island, New York City, New York.

Ornella Splice is crying. She sobs and wails and moans and heaves with the weight of her sadness. She is soaked in her tears. There are traces – bubbles – of saliva in the corners of her mouth. She tries to utter words, but she is incoherent: all she seems to say is, “mwah mwah mwah,” or the subtle variant, “mwaw, mwaw, mwaw.” The former is reminiscent of the Staten Island  dialect; the latter more common in the midwest. The subtle alteration in endings moving west is attributed by D. M. Pollard to the shift from crop farming to cattle herding during the middle and late seventeenth century. Pollard does note that Staten Island, itself, had no agriculture to speak of, shifting inexplicably from a foraging culture to a labour-union-kickback-and-freeloader-dependant culture, probably explained by the reluctance to become literate.

Ornella’s words – we use the term loosely –  are elongated by the endless repetition of the initial syllables. “My hu-hu-hu-hu-husband…….” – each syllable a grunt worthy of a lumberjack lifting an ancient oak tree onto his flatbed. There is no end to her pain, and seemingly no end to the scene, which is at Klib Leslean’s backyard barbecue.

She sits at an umbrella-ed picnic table with Pabst Dorlin, Kinsley Trach, and Fabs Glenwarts,  who try to console her as they relish her suffering, because that’s what friends do. Ornella’s husband, Derbly, has been “doing it” with someone who is not Ornella. Ironically – and by ironically, we mean typically –  that someone is sitting at the same table and is the prime consoler. “The rat, “says she, “the dirty so and so,” as she takes a pull from her bottle of Angst Lager.

It’s a close neighborhood filled with above-ground pools and big, gossip-fueled women. I want to extend the reference-slash-metaphor by saying something like, “and the men brag about their having ‘big slides’”, but I don’t know if I’m being ambiguous or dirty. Anyway.

The crying, damn it, the crying. Stay focused. 

 Pabst offers her some water because it appears that dehydration is a real possibility. Sometimes a person’s physical well-being is more important than irony, and on those very rare occasions, we must… something something something.

 The point here is the fancy saying, “Ars longa, vita brevis,” which some say is German for, “Irony is more important than humans.” Others are sure it comes from the Bible, and before you start shouting, “Digression!”, keep in mind there is one heck of a lot of crying in the Bible. Tears by the bucket-load. And look at what all their tears got them: bupkis. You can look this up: God, Himself, says tears should be hidden in a bottle. Hopefully, a bottle of Jack Daniels where they can stay good and hid. Even He says, “Boo-hoo,” but you know, in that holy way to make you feel like you mean something.

Ornella is grateful, but takes the glass and places it on the table. Her hands are shaking so much, Fabs is this close to calling 911. Fabs’ husband, who is a really nice guy, comes over with a tray full of burgers. He knows what’s going on and he wants to be helpful, so he puts the tray on the table and says, “C’mon, ladies, delicious burgers with the works!” and he takes one of the burgers and puts it in front of Ornella because he really believes the secret to happiness is meat.

Well, you would think North Korea just sent a missile to the Dorlin residence. Pabst gets mad and says to her husband, Amstel – I’m kidding, I’m kidding – Armand, “Are you a dingbat or what? The woman is bereft! She can’t even swallow a sip of water and you’re giving her a cow on a bun! Are you trying to kill the woman? Use your noodle, for heaven’s sake!” Ornella tries to calm Pabst down, saying, “It’s okay, it’s okay…I’ll have some later. I just have to pull myself together. I’m a wreck.” Everyone was relieved because at least she was saying real words. Sometimes it takes other people’s troubles to pull you out of your own. My brother told me that: he’s a loan shark.

The bottom line is, Ornella worked things out with her husband. By that I mean she got the house, the car, half of her husband’s portfolio and bank account, half of his pension, half of his social security, alimony, child support, and health insurance forever. He, on the other hand, got a mild cardiac infarction and the motivation to work until he’s ninety.  It did not have to end this way, but the genius said in court, “To tell the truth, the sex was worth it.”

And that should be enough to cover the subject of telling the truth.

T. A. Young

Image : A burger and chips (fries) from Pixabay.com