by Jeff Dupuis
A man in the throes of a breakup is selling all of his possessions on Kijiji and Craigslist. Greg’s couch, his VHS tapes, obsolete desktop computer, and cow-shaped clock – it all must go. Between pot smoking, pizza eating, and watching Alfred Hitchcock’s Rope, he meets with would-be buyers, taking his old life apart piece by discount piece in order to figure out what went wrong.
HALF OF MY LIFE is up for sale on Kijiji, the other half on Craigslist. Now I just have to count down the minutes on my La vache qui rit clock—a steal at five bucks by the way—and see who comes calling. Technically the clock’s not even mine, but I’m selling everything.
My digital camera is still looped around my wrist and dangles as if from the gallows. This morning, like a crime scene technician, I carefully photographed the apartment and everything in it, room by room. Then I uploaded all the pics, and am now open for business.
The telephone rings and I part with my couch for forty bucks and the bullshit Ikea lamps covered in Chinese lantern paper for fifteen each. I prop the screen door open with an old phone book kept only for that purpose, and let the pot smoke drift off the balcony into the alley behind my building.
A nice mellow lowers itself onto the apartment like a painted wood moon above the stage in a play. The next call is for the obsolete desktop computer—mouse, keyboard, monitor included—all for ten dollars. It’s almost useless, but someone’s grandma will want it for writing e-mails to grandchildren or schoolfellows from the old country. “Agnes, can you believe it? Me, owning a computer!”
The lady on the phone asks all sorts of basic questions so I take out a pen and pad and write down instructions on how to use the thing in my clearest stoner scrawl. I add little pictures for further clarification.
“You will hold it for me, won’t you? I’m driving an awfully long way,” she says.
“My word is my bond.”
“It’s for my mother.”
“Of course it is.”
An idiot grin hangs across my face like a “Happy Birthday” banner on the back wall of a surprise party. I hang up the phone and rest it on my thigh, too lazy to shift and squirm until I can slide it into my pocket. The cow on the clock smiles at me, a perpetual, old-friend smile, as if this is the first time we’ve seen each other in years and all is forgiven.
My first customer arrives, a sixty-something man with wire-frame glasses, the kind who tries to intellectualize the hard-on he’s had for the Beatles for the past half-century.
“Nice apartment,” he says, quietly.
“Nice turtleneck,” I say.
about the author
JEFF DUPUIS writes fiction, poetry and satire. He is madly in love with baseball and still daydreams that he can become a world-class athlete from the comfort of his basement. His work has been published on The Barnstormer and in magazines and journals such as Valve, Foliate Oak Magazine and University of Toronto Magazine.
from the library
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Winner of the 2015 Friends of Merril Short Story Contest, When I'm Old, When I'm Grey imagines the strange — and strangely familiar — forms that fear and longing can take, as we venture forth into the unknown of the future.
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