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December 1, 2014
by Lee Eiferman
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Mayor Bans Satan

IMG_6205Our Mayor lives in the fine Victorian, a “painted lady” on the corner of Jefferson and Vine across the street from the scummy playground. He’s raised his three strong sons there and instilled in them the belief that they can accomplish anything they set their mind to. All it takes is willpower and a sense of purpose.

He watches from his perch on the third floor the comings and goings in the playground and counts the empty vials, Baggies, the forgotten beer souring in cans stacked neatly against the wall. Just last week a labradoodle was found chained to the bike rack outside Shop Rite. The owner, a well-known comedian who curses freely on stage, had sold his home and left without taking his dog with him. What kind of man does that? What kind of mother yields to distraction so that her children end up spending countless hours unattended? The abandoned dog, the lost children, the theft of iPhones that he reads about in the police blotter proves to him that Satan has pitched a tent in the town square. His town square.

The Mayor, constrained by the guidelines of democracy, enlists the help of his buddy Sherman who holds three Masonic degrees and is the Grand Poobah of the local chapter. Standing in front of a Virgin Mary statue on New Year’s Eve, the Mayor strikes the ground in front of Our Lady’s feet with a sharp compost aerator, declaring above the blare of horns and shouts of Happy New Year that Satan is hereby banished from the town.

Sherman uses a dull pitchfork. The tongs bend and fail to pierce the frozen ground. But Sherman yells with an undeniable gusto, filling the Mayor’s heart with certainty that in the coming year his town will flourish. He pictures the darkest corner on the bleakest street lit with God’s love. Knowing full well that if the public could sound the depth of love he feels for this town, they’d drum him out of office so fast he’d swear Sunday was Tuesday, the Mayor insists that Sherman take an oath of secrecy.

November 11, 2014
by Lee Eiferman
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My Friend Methane

IMG_6120Jessica’s family would have nothing to do with her. Her Mom, with tears in her eyes, said that in her day they called it tough love. She had burned through the affections of countless men as she perfected her story and now she was on her own. Hers was a sad story involving an abusive childhood, an unlikely discovery of a miracle compound that neutralized hexachlorobenzene in the water and all she needed was twenty thousand dollars…and so on.

Following her arrest, Jessica was given two options; serve time or serve humanity. With no one to turn to for advice, counsel or comfort, Jessica chose the later. The Geneticists, particularly the young one with the creepy gleam in his eyes, were immune to her charms. They described the experiment on her body as if they were rewriting an old house and leaned on the word “merely” to minimize the consequences of their action as in “We’re merely converting your body from oxygen to methane.”

Three years into her journey to Titan, Jessica was made Captain. Of all the rapists, murders and other unrepentant criminals on board, Jessica was the only one who was capable of maintaining order without jeopardizing playtime. All in all, leaving behind the obligations that come with living on a dying planet appealed to her. It was a pretty good life. That is until she and her team breathed the fresh air on Titan, which smelled distinctly like farts.

June 15, 2012
by Lee Eiferman
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That’s Entertainment

The building that houses the doctor’s office sits over the busy commuter train station. Every time a train pulls in or out, every time a train roars past, the floor shakes. Not just for a few seconds. Patients giving blood, hearing bad news, the enfeebled, the elderly are continually confused, wondering – is it me or the floor that’s shaking? A young couple, recent transplants from California, felt the 4:32 express barreling past and rushed to the door jambs while gripping the walls. That was a good one. The nurse and two receptionist continually mine the patients’ reactions for new sources of endless amusement. One of the receptionists was offered a new position at a law office up the street and away from the train station. She lasted all of two weeks at her new job. Missing the floor show, she begged the doctor to take her back, claiming that since leaving she has gained five pounds from sheer boredom.

May 22, 2012
by Lee Eiferman
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It’s Not About the Jade

The fire is raging out of control. Hot flames lick the parched bristlecone pines and majestic blue spruces up the hill as Lanie races into her split-level home that she’s owned now for a grand total of three weeks. She rips through the moving boxes constituting a landmine in the sunken living room. She can hear her two wolf hounds howling in the back seat of her truck parked in the driveway as she continues her search for that special something that is so critical and vital to her that she’s willing to put her own life as well as those of her dogs in jeopardy. Five boxes to go and she’s still coming up empty-handed. Her gaze is singularly focused on the content of the last remaining boxes. There, cocooned in bubble wrap, is her heart shaped silver jewelry case. In its shiny reflection she sees a dance of orange light. The front door is now engulfed in flames. The dogs have grown quiet. The air is thick with smoke. Dimly, she registers that her jewelry case is burning the tender palm of her hand. Realizing, maybe too late, that it’s not about the pearls from her Mom or the jade earrings given to her by her ex in the first flush of love, she let’s go and runs

May 21, 2012
by Lee Eiferman
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Math Problem

May and June (their names have been changed to protect the innocent) walk into the Math test armed with opposing attitudes. Though both, roughly speaking, have mastered the material equally, which is to say, they’re not overly or poorly prepared; May is convinced she’ll ace the test, while June pictures the worst. May is wearing a bright red frilly blouse, however, for the purposes of this story, what she is wearing is irrelevant. What we want to know is how does May and June’s attitude affect their performance on the test. I’m sorry to report that in the middle of the test there’s a fire drill and Mr. X., known for his disregard for tests, gives everyone a B and moves on to the next subject, poetry, his favorite.

May 16, 2012
by Lee Eiferman
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Watch the Gap

Eric’s fear of dentists is so acute that he’s been chewing his food strictly on the right side of his mouth for the past year rather than get to the root of the problem. But when the pain in the left side of his mouth becomes unbearable and he’s unable to choke down another milkshake due to his raging lactose intolerance, Eric sees no other option but to visit the “Gentle Dentist” in town. Comfortably sedated, listening to Joshua Bell, Eric floats along in a twilight sleep as the Dentist gets to work on his upper first and second molars. Time passes. Eric looks around, sees that he is now descending deeper and deeper into a dark, fiery, hot tunnel. His wife, the love of his life, waves hello. She’s dressed in a white gauzy number. Like Isadora Duncan he thinks and half expects her to dance and lead the way forward. Instead, the lush violin pulls him along. Slipping and grasping at the wet veins of coal and shiny gold, Eric knows that he will turn to glance back at his wife and in that moment he will lose her. He emerges into the daylight, feeling a profound sense of loss as his tongue probes the new empty spaces in his mouth.

May 5, 2012
by Lee Eiferman
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Princess’ Prerogative

When Irene was little she believed she was a princess and told everyone so. It was a bit unclear exactly where her domain lay, and frisky Uncle Albert, the bachelor, delighted in watching her squirm as he pursued this line of inquiry. Princess of what he demanded, denying her the cakes and cookies he’d brought along until she could locate her kingdom on the Rand McNally globe.  Irene’s eyes shifted between the stacks of Napoleons oozing with cream and her shiny tiara. Pointing to a little island north of nowhere, Irene projected a sense of triumph. She grabbed her Napoleon and bolted, knowing full well that she had no kingdom and that Uncle Albert was right. But she’d be damned if she’d give him that satisfaction. That is after all a princess’ prerogative.

May 2, 2012
by Lee Eiferman
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Cassoulet

If Marie’s date had been more charming, funny, maybe less self-centered, she might have been tempted to order a second martini and linger. Instead she invented a home life that included a parakeet and a clever cat and begged off. If she had been in a rush to return to her empty apartment, Marie probably wouldn’t have noticed the slip of smoke wafting from her strange neighbor’s door. She knocked on his door until her knuckles turned red and then dialed 911. Once the fire was extinguished, Marie, the hero(ine) of the evening, was allowed inside. On the stove top, inside a stainless steel pot, Marie found the charred remains of what looked like cassoulet. Parked suspiciously beside it was the hefty Sunday Times.  Marie had to wonder why a cook with the chops to cook something as sophisticated as cassoulet would chose a flimsy pot guaranteed to burn and then “accidentally” leave dry kindling beside it.

April 26, 2012
by Lee Eiferman
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Deal with the Devil

I went down to the crossroads, computer in hand. Midnight was approaching and I was ready to make a deal with the Devil. I wanted to write a cogent script. One without narrative holes or flabby motivations. Sculpt it around a story that you could watch with a full bladder and forget that you needed to pee because it was that good. The moon was rising. Conditions were ripe. A chorus of cicadas serenaded me as I waited. And then suddenly hush. Not a sound. A tall man with a high brimmed hat, the sort that Abe Lincoln favored appeared then. Held out his outstretched palm. I offered him my computer. He touched it with both hands. Gave it back and was gone. The cicadas returned. The next morning, before showering or even brushing my teeth, I hit the power button. Nothing happened. Instead, I smelled a faint odor of burnt toast. Luckily I was backed up.

April 16, 2012
by Lee Eiferman
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In Memoriam

I read this morning that a fire ravaged the old Brown Hotel up in the Catskills. I can’t recall ever spending Passover or late summer there with my family. In fact I’m pretty sure we stayed at a lesser hotel down the road and would trudge over to the Brown, walk the lobby and check out the evening entertainment. Maybe it was on the parquet floor at the Brown’s hotel where I danced with my father. Wearing new patent leather shoes that pinched and new stockings that felt so strange, I’d be whisked across the floor while a band played a smooth fox trot. We were a team then. My right hand cupped in his, the left side of my rib cage alert to the slightest shift in pressure, saying I’m taking you here now. Here comes a dip. And now, a fancy shuffle move to impress your Mom.