The Apartment Block series of Short Stories
Just over a year ago, I began a series of short stories centered around an apartment block. I live in an apartment block and was inspired by the thought of the characters who might live around me, (not that I’ve met many of them).
It is still a work in progress, and I know that I will probably need to rewrite many of the stories to recreate my first train of thought, which was to link them through certain events. At the moment I am working on other short stories, but I thought it would be fun (and useful) to post a few of the apartment shorts here to see what readers think.
Whatever you think, I am open to comments, and I appreciate you taking the time to read my work. The stories are also available on my blog PetraKidd.com along with other short stories I have written.
The first story is Pedro. A new story will be published every Saturday morning. In between stories, I will talk about my new foray into writing short stories for magazines and anthologies.
Pedro
Pedro
Living with Pedro isn’t by choice.
“You look like something I drew with my left hand.” He is sitting on the back of the couch, staring at me, his beady eyes shining with self-imagined comedic brilliance. The fact that he doesn’t have a left or even a right hand escapes him.
“That shirt must suit someone, but it doesn’t suit you.”
I ignore him, not that it makes any difference. There are occasions when I would happily punch him off his perch, but I remind myself that he’s nothing but a brainwashed bird. Perhaps he’s not that happy about living with me either, but for now, neither of us have a choice.
My marriage broke up two years ago. My wife left with Pedro. We were happy for around five years, but I got promoted and ended up having to work away a lot. Dana bought Pedro, an African Grey Parrot, for company. She named him after a hook-nosed Spaniard she met on holiday as a teenager. Her first love — apparently, as usual, there was no consideration for how I might have felt about that.
As her resentment of my solo trips grew, she took solace in teaching Pedro to insult me. At first, I found it funny, but the insults became steadily more vicious.
“Your parents must have been cacti because you are nothing but a prick.”
Pedro cocks his head to one side as if waiting for a reaction. His insults carry the northern Irish lilt my wife had, which is even more disturbing now that Dana is dead.
Three months after she left, Dana called to ask if I could look after Pedro for a few weeks. “I’m in desperate need of a holiday; it’s been hell at work, and Mandy asked me to go away with her. I can’t find a pet sitter for Pedro; would you mind having him?”
I thought that maybe I could teach him some new material and turn things around a bit. The thought amused me, so I agreed. Besides, it would leave Dana owing me, and although I couldn’t think of anything I could demand in return other than a particular bookcase she’d taken without asking me if I wanted it, I agreed.
Dana never came home. A tsumani hit the island she was staying on; she was swept out to sea, and six months passed before the remains of her shark-bitten body washed up on a distant shore. Mandy, who’d been lucky enough to escape, showed up at the apartment with some of Dana’s belongings. I don’t know who was more in shock, her or me. We sat drinking tea while I tried to think of positive things to say about my ex-wife, but having had to listen to Pedro telling me what a low-life I was for months on end, kind words didn’t come easy. My feeble attempts at retraining him had failed miserably.
“So, would you like to look after Pedro?” I asked, trying not to sound too pleading.
Mandy and Dana had been close friends since their teens, and I hoped she would agree. A long shot, as I knew she had cats.
“Pedro is used to you; he’ll be much better off staying here.”
Mandy looked uncomfortable; she obviously knew the foul things Pedro squawked out on his deceased owner’s behalf. I expect she and Dana had many a good laugh together at my expense. After making a few tongue-in-cheek suggestions on how to retrain him, she made her excuses and left.
I placed an advertisement on the vet’s noticeboard in the hope that Pedro can be re-homed. Whatever I do, I can’t seem to train him to quit the insults, and I really want to start dating properly. There’s no way I can bring a woman back to the apartment with Pedro running me down at every opportunity. Also, not everyone likes animals. Then again, I might end up with someone who pays Pedro more attention than me, and I don’t want that either. Let’s face it, I’ve been through all that before.
Even if Pedro could stop the insults, I really don’t want to be tied to a parrot for the rest of my life. Pedro is only five years old, and he could live until he’s 50 or even 90 years old if I keep spoiling him with tasty morsels. He’s fiercely healthy anyway. Despite the insults, I do feel sorry for him. Parrots are naturally friendly, but because of the repetitive put-downs, it’s hard to feel any affection for him at all. I shut him away from me most of the time; he can’t be happy to be alone. If I bought another parrot or animal to keep him company, then I would be even more tied. After so many years being unhappy with Dana, I think I deserve some happiness and freedom.
I’m off out now to meet a new lady for dinner, and Pedro is pacing up and down, shrieking that my teeth would make good jail bars; they are so gappy. I do have a gap between my two upper front incisors, and I avoid smiling because of them. Dana used to say that I should get the dentist to fix them, but I never got round to it. Maybe I should think about doing it now. I’m sure not all women are as shallow as Dana; she obsessed over her looks and loved to criticize mine. It’s almost as if her spirit has taken over. He’s glaring at me just as she used to when I had to go to work in the evening. I will admit, I have always been a bit of a workaholic, but the money I slaved to earn, paid for her cosmetic surgery and penchant for designer clothing.
Mandy brought me back Dana’s jewellery. Amazingly enough, despite floating all those miles and being nibbled by sharks, her gold bracelet and a couple of expensive rings remained on her. I didn’t want them, but Mandy insisted I have them. I’ll parcel them up and send them to my niece when I track her down; she’s another one who likes to disappear off to distant lands. Last I heard, she’d landed in Venezuela. Maybe she can sell the jewellery to help fund her travels. To be honest, I don’t care what she does with it. I have no emotions left when it comes to Dana or her belongings.
I stare at my reflection in the mirror. I smell nice. My confidence waned with Dana and Pedro always putting me down, so I looked up some tips online on how to be attractive to women. Apparently, smelling good is a big plus. The helpful lady on the perfume counter at my favourite department store recommended this one, and she upsold me body wash to go with it. My wallet is significantly lighter as a result, but now that I won’t have to pay for Dana’s plastic surgeries as she grows older, I’m pretty well off.
“If laughter is the best medicine, you could cure any sick person with your face.”
“I love you too, Pedro.”
I grab my jacket, quickly check the sky through the kitchen window to see if I need to take my umbrella, then lock up the apartment and look forward to a few hours in the company of someone who hopefully won’t insult me.
The Apartment Block Series of Short Stories
