Short Stories II

Cardboard Dew

Martha Lance Stewart.

Her name was harsh, like the vocal fry that leaves her dialogues short.

Martha Lance Stewart...

She wouldn't want to have to say her name anymore than her Mother did. She understood.

Martha Lance Stewart!

'Martha'... it's just not a suitable name here. 

Jesus... 

Martha rose with a start, her flattened hair sticking to the back of her shoulder. Extending her arms ahead of her, she sighed at the sight of herself. Her room's side mirror showed her a girl with hair clearly chemically straightened to hide her boyish body, not to mention the fuscia lipstick smeared across her cheek.

She sighed again, kicking the bed sheets to the side as she ran her hands through her hair. If she wanted cardboard, she decided, the least she could do was look decent first. Especially when it's at her boyfriend's home.

Pulling the door opened slowly, she crinkled her toes just enough to make it across the slick floor without a trace. The living room was spiked with dust bunnies illuminated by the morning light, making it even more clear how often he cleaned this place. She didn't think much of it though, keeping in mind that the ancient building was crumbling by the day.

Martha glanced over her shoulder, being sure that no one else was in the home. Hayden would've already arrived at work by now, leaving her to her habit.

Martha stumbled into the kitchen, a room containing various cardboard grocery boxes, where actual groceries should've been found. Living with a man who stocked up on his packaging companies' boxes made her habit even easier to manifest. Of course this wasn't the reason why she decided to court him for the past three months, but it was definitely a much appreciated enablement.

Any food product of the imagination's box could be found on the crimson countertops, with the intensely appealing aroma making it even more irresistible. Dust billowed from the bottom of the mound as she lifted the packaging, noticing a small carrot box tucked in the bottom.

Martha took her time tearing a square from the carrot logo printed on the front as the tang of carrot made her mouth water. Dust and carrot, what an interesting combination.

The hint of carrot made the ritual even more exciting as she continued piling her mouth with cardboard pieces, leaving her fingers scolded from the tearing. She didn't mind this though, flicking the blood drops surrounding her manicure like water suds after washing your hands.

Within seconds, the small carrot box vanished from her orange-painted fingers. Surprisingly, she found herself surprised at how quickly her binge had ended. Whatever color her nails were painted at the time would always chip away to raw nail, leaving her with not only guilt, but also a 60 dollar manicure thrown out the window.

 In a rush, she smothered her hands in vaseline in order to at least save her skin. Martha sighed, kicking away her headrush as she bent over the counter to begin another binge. Intrusive thoughts as minimal as the consciousness of her nail health could trigger one, and this time it did.

"Martha... Lance-stewart..."

Martha paused for a moment, feeling the cool air weave within her fingers. It was slight, much like the memories of her mother. But not nearly as loud. Her voice was still engraved into her inner monologue, which is something that not even the morning breeze can do, unfortunately.

She straightened her arched back as she held a sheet of cardboard in her trembling fingers, hesitating with this bite. Her mind shifted from the compulsivity to her boyfriend, which was a rare thought pattern nowadays. It was almost as rare as thinking about her mother, who stayed in the foggy part of her mind.

Martha sighed, chewing the box piece as both the thought and voice of her mother began to fade into the background, leaving Martha with her habit.

It seemed easier that way.

The home phone suddenly began to buzz, clicking to call as she picked up the chunky pink phone. She cleared her voice briefly before hearing the reception connect.

"Hello, madam!"

Martha's smile twitched as she drummed her fingers on the side of the phone. She loved being spoken to like a matriarch, despite working minimum wage as a women in '56, not to mention the black neighborhood he lives in. This was the most that she got.

"Hey, how's your morning so far?"

"Pretty good, pretty good, but hey, I have a quick question before my boss cuts the line. Do you know if the rat traps I put in the kitchen vents are workin'?"

Martha frowned, glancing at the opened slit on the wall. 

"I suppose, the cheese is still hanging in there."

"Oh, well my boxes started disappearin' in plain sight again. Did you see anything about that in the newspaper?"

Martha caught herself before gasping, holding her breath for a second to mellow her thudding heart. 

"Of course... I threw a few away this morning. So it's nothing to fret."

"OH fantastic... god knows what my boss would do if he found out I was usin' my boxes to feed the house rats!"

Hayden chuckled on the other side of the line as I slumped my shoulders in relief. 

"You ain't neva gon get married with that kinda diet-who the hell told you about that a'one?"

There was her voice again, that cricket screech in the back of Martha's own. When she was angry, she became illiterate, and when she became illiterate, that was when it was time to play with her rag dolls in the attic. There weren't many places to go in their one-room house, so she spent a lot of time in that dusty old attic. It must've been what made her comfortable in Hayden's elderly home.

"Madam?"

Martha shot her chin up with a start at his voice. She'd completely forgotten that he was there, or even that the chime of the heavy telephone was still resting against her ear.

"Y-yeah, sorry about that. I began spacing again is all," Martha breathed with a sharp grin.

"But I'm going to have to let you go so I can wash up for work. Love you lots, goodbye-"

Martha slammed the phone back onto the wall before he could respond, breathing heavily as mother's voice continued sounding. 

The more cardboard she ate, the more the voice was heard, but the cardboard was what silenced it for a bit, and that was hard to give up when it became more and more constant.

Martha frowned at the stack.

"Martha Lance... stewart, I am telling you right now, you will never find a man, let alone a husband. Not even if you're humble with a decent nose job, you'll still be sitting in my attic counting the minutes like the embarrassment you are. So sit yourself up and shove those breasts into this corset!"

In the moment, Martha froze. Sixteen year old Martha was growing spiteful of mother's actions by now, but no word of any sort could fix anything. Not that she knew this at the time, anyways.

"You know what, Mama? That's funny considering that I haven't seen a man walk into this house in fifteen yea-"

Mother had slapped the words out of her mouth before she could speak them, leaving a pulsing hand mark on her freckled cheek.

"Mama..." She'd breathed, more frustrated with her mother's inability to listen than another handprint on her body.

Martha shocked back to reality, where her sweaty hands rested on the kitchen tops, leaning towards the tipping mountain of boxes. Her cheeks were hot, with sweat beading on her compressed hairline. Martha felt tears budding on her lashline as she swung her arm towards the robust box in front of her, taking no hesitation in shredding the box sides in consumable squares.

It was just Martha and her habit, that little addiction that she holds so firmly in her mauled hands... that of eating cardboard.