Twenty-Five Things
By Lydia Fazio Theys

Beth, prim, cooperative and eager to please, waited for instructions while Sandra handed out pencils and lined yellow pads.

"Now, here’s the thing," said Sandra. "You write twenty five random things about yourself. It’s a game that’s been going around the internet. Charles thinks it’s silly, but I think it'll be a fun way to get to know each other, now that we're neighbors and all."

"Sandra," Beth said, "must the answers be complete sentences?"

Once underway, Beth wrote steadily, filling the page with stout, jolly letters.

"All ready?" Sandra said. "Ted, why don’t you start? Let’s each take turns reading one item."

"Okay," said Ted. "Here goes. I have seen all the Star Wars movies four times. No exceptions."

"That's the spirit," said Sandra. "Here’s mine: I can read Greek."

"Really?" said Ted.

"Yup. Learned it in college. Charles, let’s hear yours."

"Okay. I still can’t program our media center," said Charles.

"In good company there, buddy," said Ted.

"Me?" said Beth. "Oh. Yes. Okay." She sat up even straighter. "I often use a hatpin to punch holes in the eggs at the supermarket."

Ted gave Beth a sideways glance. "Well—okay. Uh—my turn again, huh? Yes—I used to run track in high school."

"I love the magical smell of the outdoors right after a thunderstorm," said Sandra.

"I like to eat the filling out of my Oreos first," said Charles.

"I enjoy examining my own feces," said Beth, looking like the winner of the spelling bee.

Sandra broke the long silence. "Mmm hmm—eh—Ted?"

Ted pulled his eyes away from Beth and said, "I—it’s—I hate accordion music."

"Good, good." Sandra took a deep breath. "Um—my favorite color is sage green," she said, a bit perkier than the situation warranted.

"I’d like to own a boat," said Charles, as if it were a question.

All three turned toward Beth, leaning in, breath held. You could have heard a drip from the next-door neighbor's faucet.

Beth said, "It's hard not to laugh when Ted and I have sex because he—"

"Okay! Okay!" said Ted, standing up, snatching the paper from Beth’s hands. "I think we should go. I'm just really, you know, sleepy."

"Oh! So soon?" said Sandra. "Here, let me take those papers for you." But Ted had already steered Beth to the door and was making all the right thank-you-style noises. He shoved the pages into his pocket.

"Sorry Ted spoiled the fun," said Beth. "He often gets sleepy suddenly like this."

Sandra and Charles stood at the front window, looking out through a finger-raised slat in the blinds. They watched Beth and Ted get into their car and drive away.

"Well, well, Sandra," said Charles. "Who would have guessed?"

"I know. She seems so—dull and harmless." Sandra sighed. "What do you suppose the other twenty-some-odd things were, if those were the first few?"

"I can't imagine, really. And furthermore, I don't want to know. It's none of our business."

"You're right. It's so awkward already. Imagine if we knew anything worse."

"Yes. Let's try to forget it ever happened."

Sandra began to straighten up the room. Charles turned off the outside light. Sandra plumped already-plumped pillows while Charles examined the drawstring on the blinds as if he had never seen it before.

"Charles," Sandra said.

"Mmm hmm?"

"Do you suppose if I got the pad that Beth used—and if I shaded it in with pencil—"

——

Lydia Fazio Theys lives in Connecticut with her husband and their Noah-like mixture of two great big children, two crotchety cats and a semi-toothless nearly-hairless Italian Greyhound. Woodland creatures have been known to wander in the cat door uninvited and stay for varying lengths of time. Lydia's work has appeared in flashquake, Cezanne's Carrot, Opium, Yankee Pot Roast, Gator Springs Gazette, Moondance, Quintessence, Somewhat, Mad Hatter's Review, Andromeda Spaceways Inflight Magazine, Quiction, HeavyGlow, All Things Girl and several anthologies, and on KRCB public radio and a coffee mug. The Junction Dance Theater in Pittsburgh used one of her flashes as inspiration for a dance.

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