Features

Louise and George, Helen and Lloyd

By Andrea Carney
Tuesday December 23, 2008 - 10:07:00 AM

Recently sitting in our backyard, Louise knitting, me browsing through a collection of political essays called The Power to say No, the sun slowly starting its descent, Louise looked up thoughtfully and said, “You know, George, this house is awfully large for the two of us now that the children are grown.” 

“Louise,” I said petulantly, “this house was a tiny shack. The additions were done at your insistence.” 

“I know,” Louise’s chubby little hand tried to reassure me. “I love the house. I’m just saying wouldn’t it be nice to share it with someone else.” 

I really didn’t want a big confrontation with Louise. “OK,” I said reluctantly. 

So Helen and Lloyd moved into our upstairs. The two women were immediate best friends. 

Lloyd was a recently laid off computer programmer. Sitting in our living room, I said to Lloyd, “You know, Lloyd, let’s face it—we live in a society run by capitalist pigs who don’t care about their workers. That’s why you’re not working right now.” 

“Ummmm,” said Lloyd “Are you a commie?”  

“Commie!” I laughed, “It’s been a long time since I heard that term. There are no more communists!” 

“Don’t you believe it, George. They’re just wearing turbans now—but they still want to bury us and that makes them commies.” 

“You know something Lloyd—you’re an idiot.” 

“Yeah!” stammered Lloyd as he sat there pouting, “Who says so?” 

Just then the front door swung open and Helen and Louise walked in. 

“Hi, everyone,” chirped Louise. 

“Hi,” beamed Helen 

“You probably already know this, Helen, but your husband is a fascist.” I announced. 

“Come on with me,” Helen nudged Lloyd. Lloyd squinted at me suspiciously before following her upstairs. 

Lloyd seldom left the living room sitting in front of the television watching one inane T.V. show after another.  

One afternoon, I drove to the local pub to spend some time with a few of my old buddies. We watched a baseball game on television and I downed a couple pints before leaving.  

I was definitely coherent—not drunk. The light was dim—it was almost dark. I swear she ran directly in front of the car. 

I slammed into her, hit the brakes and jumped out of the car. I dropped to my knees and touched the body that now lay between my front tires. There was a little blood on her head but no overt bleeding. I was unable to find a pulse. All I could think was, “My God! I’ve killed Helen.” I ran to the house and banged on the front door. Lloyd answered in his bathrobe. 

“Lloyd, I’ve killed Helen.” I screamed. 

Together we ran to the car and looked at Helen. Lloyd was sniffling and sobbing over her corpse. “I guess we better call the police,” he managed to say. 

“No, Lloyd, I can’t,” I pleaded. “I’ve already got two DUIs. They’ll send me to prison.”  

Lloyd had dropped to his knees. “She loved me,” he sobbed. 

“Stop it, Lloyd,” I said nervously, “Help me get her body off the street.” We dragged Helen’s body to the back yard. 

“I don’t know if this is right, George,” Lloyd sobbed. 

“Help me with this, Lloyd. We’ll bury her here in the backyard. You can live forever in my house rent free. You will always be close to her and I won’t have to go to jail.” 

Lloyd looked up at me. “You know, George, I loved Helen and she adored me.” 

“I’m really sorry, Lloyd,” I said and rushed into the house to grab a couple shovels, a large flashlight and a black tarp to throw over Helen “Start digging.” I said as I picked up a shovel. 

“I can’t,” Lloyd said. So Lloyd sat there until I put down my shovel in exhaustion. Then he picked it up and did a little digging. There was no light from the house. 

“Aaaaaahhhhhh,” came a moan. 

Helen’s hand flopped out from beneath the black tarp. 

“My God! What do you think you’re doing?” Louise stood at the railing enclosing the deck and stared down upon us. 

Lloyd and I froze in the dull glow of the flashlight. Louise stormed from the deck and lifted the tarp. 

“Uuuuuuuhhhh,” moaned Helen. 

“Is, is, is she alive?” peeped Lloyd. 

Louise glared at me.  

The three of us managed to get Helen into the front room where we cleaned her up and bandaged her head. At the emergency room, they said she had a concussion and let us take her home on condition that we keep her in bed for week.  

After that our lives changed. Lloyd became much more serious about finding another job and Louise and I waited on poor Helen who was given our bed to rest up in. 

One morning, Lloyd and I sat in the kitchen having a cup of coffee before Lloyd left on a job interview in the city. I finally broke the silence. 

“You know, Lloyd, you have to admit that we, of the more liberal bent, are more concerned about humanity than you tight-fisted conservatives.” 

Lloyd stared at me and said, “Don’t preach your hypocritical moral shit to me. You were ready to bury Helen alive to save your own ass. We, of the conservative bent, are fiscally responsible enough to take care of our selves and not depend on government handouts.” 

“Yeah I saw how you take care of yourself, Lloyd,” I said contemptuously, “You were ready to bury Helen alive in order to get free rent for the rest of your life.” 

“George, I have a job interview to go to.” He left his coffee half finished, picked up his briefcase at the front door and left. 

I sat there pondering for a few minutes and then walked into the bathroom undoing my pony tail as I went. Looking in the mirror, I thought out loud, “You know, maybe it’s time I got a haircut.”  

 

 

Louise and George, Helen and Lloyd 

By Andrea Carney 

1000 

 

Recently sitting in our backyard, Louise knitting, me browsing through a collection of political essays called The Power to say No, the sun slowly starting its descent, Louise looked up thoughtfully and said, “You know, George, this house is awfully large for the two of us now that the children are grown.” 

“Louise,” I said petulantly, “this house was a tiny shack. The additions were done at your insistence.” 

“I know,” Louise’s chubby little hand tried to reassure me. “I love the house. I’m just saying wouldn’t it be nice to share it with someone else.” 

I really didn’t want a big confrontation with Louise. “OK,” I said reluctantly. 

So Helen and Lloyd moved into our upstairs. The two women were immediate best friends. 

Lloyd was a recently laid off computer programmer. Sitting in our living room, I said to Lloyd, “You know, Lloyd, let’s face it—we live in a society run by capitalist pigs who don’t care about their workers. That’s why you’re not working right now.” 

“Ummmm,” said Lloyd “Are you a commie?”  

“Commie!” I laughed, “It’s been a long time since I heard that term. There are no more communists?” 

“Don’t you believe it, George. They’re just wearing turbans now—but they still want to bury us and that makes them commies.” 

“You know something Lloyd—you’re an idiot.” 

“Yeah!” stammered Lloyd as he sat there pouting, “Who says so?” 

Just then the front door swung open and Helen and Louise walked in  

“Hi, everyone,” chirped Louise. 

“Hi,” beamed Helen 

“You probably already know this, Helen, but your husband is a fascist.” I announced. 

“Come on with me,” Helen nudged Lloyd. Lloyd squinted at me suspiciously before following her upstairs. 

Lloyd seldom left the living room sitting in front of the television watching one inane T.V. show after another.  

One afternoon, I drove to the local pub to spend some time with a few of my old buddies. We watched a baseball game on television and I downed a couple pints before leaving.  

I was definitely coherent—not drunk. The light was dim—it was almost dark. I swear she ran directly in front of the car. 

I slammed into her, hit the brakes and jumped out of the car. I dropped to my knees and touched the body that now lay between my front tires. There was a little blood on her head but no overt bleeding. I was unable to find a pulse. All I could think was, “My God! I’ve killed Helen.” I ran to the house and banged on the front door. Lloyd answered in his bathrobe. 

“Lloyd, I’ve killed Helen.” I screamed. 

Together we ran to the car and looked at Helen. Lloyd was sniffling and sobbing over her corpse. “I guess we better call the police,” he managed to say. 

“No, Lloyd, I can’t,” I pleaded. “I’ve already got two DUIs. They’ll send me to prison.”  

Lloyd had dropped to his knees. “She loved me,” he sobbed. 

“Stop it, Lloyd,” I said nervously, “Help me get her body off the street.” We dragged Helen’s body to the back yard. 

“I don’t know if this is right, George,” Lloyd sobbed. 

“Help me with this, Lloyd. We’ll bury her here in the backyard. You can live forever in my house rent free. You will always be close to her and I won’t have to go to jail.” 

Lloyd looked up at me. “You know, George, I loved Helen and she adored me.” 

“I’m really sorry, Lloyd,” I said and rushed into the house to grab a couple shovels, a large flashlight and a black tarp to throw over Helen “Start digging.” I said as I picked up a shovel. 

“I can’t,” Lloyd said. So Lloyd sat there until I put down my shovel in exhaustion. Then he picked it up and did a little digging. There was no light from the house. 

“Aaaaaahhhhhh,” came a moan. 

Helen’s hand flopped out from beneath the black tarp. 

“My God! What do you think you’re doing?” Louise stood at the railing enclosing the deck and stared down upon us. 

Lloyd and I froze in the dull glow of the flashlight. Louise stormed from the deck and lifted the tarp. 

“Uuuuuuuhhhh,” moaned Helen. 

“Is, is, is she alive?” peeped Lloyd. 

Louise glared at me.  

The three of us managed to get Helen into the front room where we cleaned her up and bandaged her head. At the emergency room, they said she had a concussion and let us take her home on condition that we keep her in bed for week.  

After that our lives changed. Lloyd became much more serious about finding another job and Louise and I waited on poor Helen who was given our bed to rest up in. 

One morning, Lloyd and I sat in the kitchen having a cup of coffee before Lloyd left on a job interview in the city. I finally broke the silence. 

“You know, Lloyd, you have to admit that we, of the more liberal bent, are more concerned about humanity than you tight-fisted conservatives.” 

Lloyd stared at me and said, “Don’t preach your hypocritical moral shit to me. You were ready to bury Helen alive to save your own ass. We, of the conservative bent, are fiscally responsible enough to take care of our selves and not depend on government handouts.” 

“Yeah I saw how you take care of yourself, Lloyd,” I said contemptuously, “You were ready to bury Helen alive in order to get free rent for the rest of your life.” 

“George, I have a job interview to go to.” He left his coffee half finished, picked up his brief case at the front door and left. 

I sat there pondering for a few minutes and then walked into the bathroom  

undoing my pony tail as I went. Looking in the mirror, I thought out loud, “You know, maybe it’s time I got a haircut.”