Page 1

DIALECT SAMPLE: Short fiction piece showcasing my ability to write in another dialect. A man finds a part of a finger in the bar he works in. His boss tells him the origin story of it. Piece also presents ‘story-within-a-story’ form.

FINGAH By Melissa Huedem “Yo, Pauly! What the hell is this?” I was sweeping the sticky wood floors of Ricci Bar, pushing loose dust and unwanted change to the middle of the room- My Saturday morning duty. The broom’s slender stick stood over me as I bent down to pick up the foreign object. “Whaddya want? I’m cleaning ova here.” Pauly’s stubby legs wobbled over to me. He looked like a top ready to tumble over. His ruddy face was about to pop. “This betta be good Sonny.” “What is dis?” I brought the rubbery stub close to my good eye. “Looks like some kinda Halloween candy or part ofa cos-chume or whatevah.” Dry burgundy slithered from the open jutted end to the top. It was cold like a Popsicle, but nubby like a Sour Patch Kid. I rubbed my finger over the front of it. Smooth on one side, swirls of fingerprints on the other. Pauly’s belly knocked into me as he leaned over the object. “Dat’s a fingah Sonny.” Pauly said it as calm as a cucumber, like he said everything else. “Whatya doin’ pickin’ up trash off the floor?” He whacked me on the back; my bones vibrated against his thick palm.


MELISSA HUEDEM

FINGAH

2

“What you mean? Like a real fingah?” I wanted to throw it on the ground in disgust but it was too fascinating to let go. Pauly teetered back to his position behind the bar counter. “What? You think I’m an idiot and I don’t know what a fingah looks like? That’s a fuckin’ fingah you’re holdin’.” “Why is there a fingah on the floor of this baahr?” I twirled it around between my own fingers. It moved like a ballerina spinning in perfect circles. The broken bones stuck out like two twig legs. “Because of some fuckin’ drunk idiot who don’t know how to impress a lady.” Pauly took a grimy towel and shoved it into a beer mug. His sausage fingers smeared against the glass as he moved the towel toward the bottom of the cup. “What like he cut his fingah off or whatevah?” I laugh at the prospect. “C’mon Pauly, just tell me what happened.” Pauly slammed his fists on the counter. “I tell you what happened and will ya get back to work?” “Sweah on my mother’s life.” “Okay. Put the, put that fuckin’ fingah down. What the hell is the mattah wit ya?” I gently toss the finger. Pauly pulls a cigar from a secret compartment behind the bar counter. After lighting it he puffs a cloud into my face. “So this guy came in last night. He was this white guy all ova: white hair, white skin, white shirt, white fingahtips.” “He was a fuckin’ albino?” I want to hold back my disbelief. “I ain’t never met no albino in my life and the one night I miss work one comes strolling’ in here.” “No. What the hell is the mattah wit ya? No not some fuckin’ albino.”


MELISSA HUEDEM

FINGAH

3

“You know the one with the red eyes.” I pop my eyeballs out to demonstrate. “I know what a fuckin’ albino is.” Pauly puffs again, “No, just some fat, old white guy in some Jesus get-up.” “So you’re sayin’ Jesus came in here last night?” “Will you shut the fuck up and let me tell the story? Or you can lick the floors this mornin’. Huh, how bout that?” I almost laugh myself off the barstool. I love pulling Pauly’s chain. He could take the gun from behind the bar and shoot me right then and there. Keeps the excitement going. “So this guy comes in here by himself. His got this dopy grin on his face. His hair was stickin’ out like someone tasered him all through the night. Like he had lightin’ bolts for din-ah.” Pauly, with the cigar between his sausage fingers, runs his hand from shoulder to waist. “He was wearin’ all white. Almost like a cape or whatevah. Went down to his fuckin’ knees. White pants. And Reeboks.” “What the fuck, Reeboks? Are you serious?” “Yea, white ones. Like a fuckin’ angel or somethin’. Anyway, so this guy still smilin’ takes a seat right ova here.” Pauly points to my left. “He orders, hell I don’t rememba” “What like somethin’ real heavy? Somethin’ fruity? What?” I try to move the story along. Pauly pinches the bridge of his nose. He is deep in concentration. “He ordered, uhhhhh, an Irish Car Bomb.” “How many of ‘em?”


MELISSA HUEDEM

FINGAH

4

“Two. Plus a couple of beears. But he was already drunk when he came here. He was shoutin’ shit like, ‘WOO-EEE THAT’S GOOD STUFF’ and dancin’ like he was caught on fi-yah.” “Demonstrate for me, Pauly.” “You wanna lick the toilet seats, is that what ya want, huh?” “C’mon I’m just havin’ some fun witchya.” I punched Pauly on the arm. Lightly. “You want me to finish the goddamn story or not?” Pauly stuck the thick cigar in his mouth. “Hmm?” “Okay, Pauly, what happened next?” “You gonna interrupt me or what?” He pulled the cigar from his mouth and rested his palms against the countertop. “So this guy is tryin’ to get these otha guys next ta him to laugh. He’s puttin’ on a fuckin’ show for them. He’s tellin’ jokes, tumblin’ out of his bar stool, dancin’ like a penguin. And these musclehead assholes are just laughin’ at the poor guy, tryin’ to get him to do more shit. They’re all laughin’ like coyotes. Yippin’. But dis guy don’t care. He’s drunk as hell on hell.” He puffs a big cloud this time making me choke. “So where does this fingah come in?” I cough out. “It’s comin’. These guys tell dis White Guy to look across the baahr for a girl to take home. All these women were with their men except for t-ree of ‘em. This cute brunette with these dime dimples became the apple of dis guy’s eye. Her name was Sheila. So these muscleheads get her attention. They say, ‘Hey, what does this guy have to do to go home witya?’ The girl tells dem he has to impress her wit a trick. She was jokin’ and all. Dat girl wasn’t about to go home wit anybody. But this Albino Jesus crazy


MELISSA HUEDEM

FINGAH

5

Fucker takes his index finger and puts it between his yellow chomp-ahs.” Pauly takes his cigar and places it between his teeth. “He gnaws on it and everyone is watchin’ him and laughin’. No one thought he was gonna do it. So we all just let him eat on his own fingah like it’s fuckin’ veal shanks or whateva. But after like two minutes we still watchin’ this guy go at it. Blood is smeared on his teeth, drippin’ from his chin.” Pauly’s face contorts in disgust. “The whole baahr goes silent. And everyone sees dis guy is serious. He’s got half of his fingah off. It’s hangin’ there, from the side of his mouth. Then he keeps gnawing on it, makin’ this noise like he’s actually enjoyin it. Like he hadn’t eaten in days. “But no one is gonna stop this guy. Whatta we gonna do with the fingah that’s already half off? Stitch it together like we’re some fuckin’ housewives or whateva? Get outta here. We just let him finish his biz-ness. When he finally bit the top of his fingah off he spit it into his hand, blood painted on his fuckin’ grin, dribblin’ his Jesus cape. Sheila was as pale as the white hair on dis guy’s head. You know what this crazy fuck does next? He takes the fingah and kneels down like he’s fuckin’ proposin’! But before the girl can ann-sa him the guy passes out on the flo-ahr. Smilin’ like a dope. Just layin’ there cold as a polah bear. He looked like a fuckin’ polah bear. Like a polah bear that just killed a dolphin or whateva. His stomach was still bouncin’ so we knew this guy wasn’t dead.” “So what’dya do wit ‘em?” Pauly shrugged. “Someone took him to tha hos-spit-all. Afraid he’d bleed to death from his fingah.” “Who would take the guy to the hos-spit-all?”


MELISSA HUEDEM

FINGAH

6

“Sheila’s friend or whateva. I don’t know. She goes up to Sheila and tells her they should help the guy out. I think she fell in love wit the crazy bastard.” “Jesus fuckin’ Christ. And they didn’t bring the fingah wit ‘em?” “Lost it on the way out. Tumbled from his fat hand.” “Shit, Pauly. What are you gonna do wit the fingah now?” “I ain’t doin’ shit with that fuckin’ fingah.” He turns around grabbing a beer mug and the dirt-speckled towel. The cigar still sits safely on his bottom lip. He turns back around facing my gaping face. “What’s the mattah wit ya? You gonna stare at me all day or you gonna get this fuckin’ place clean?” I get up and pick up the broom leaning on the jukebox. Before I start sweeping I take the finger and stick it in my pocket.

Fingah  

A short story piece about a man who finds a finger on the floor of a bar. His manager tells him the origin of the mystery finger and it's no...

Read more
Read more
Similar to
Popular now
Just for you