Behind Closed Doors
“Just shove it in.”
He was passing by the cracked bedroom door, boots in hand, but those words, uttered in an insistent feminine voice, stopped him dead.
“I’m trying,” came the reply, also behind the door. “It’s just, it’s so big compared to the hole.”
That would be his dear too-sick-to-work-today brother. The one he’d been trying not to rouse from his sick bed. Yeah, right. He might be in bed, but he sure sounded plenty roused.
“Oh believe me,” she said, “it’s not that big. The problem is, you’re letting it bend.”
“Oh? Well, my dear, do you have any suggestions on how to stiffen it up?”
“You need to get it wet.” There was a pause, then, “Here, let me lick it.”
More silence, then he spoke. “I don’t see how that helped.”
“It really isn’t that hard, you know.”
“I know, I know.”
“Stroke it a few times, kind of twiddle it between your fingers. There you go. Now try.”
He could hear groans, then finally, “It’s impossible! I just can’t get it in!”
“Johnny got his in right away when he did it.”
Johnny smiled. That was true. But he hadn’t told her he’d had plenty of experience. Teresa liked being bossy, so what was the harm in letting her think it was his first time?
“Yeah, well, good for Johnny. He probably does everything fast.”
Well, not everything.
“One stroke, and it slid right in.”
“I don’t want to hear about Johnny’s strokes.”
“Honestly, I can’t believe you never learned this from Boston girls.”
“The ladies there were…no wait! It’s in, it’s in! I did it!”
This he had to see. He pushed open the door. Sure enough, Scott held the threaded needle triumphantly aloft.
“Dang, Scott. My thread was a lot bigger than that.”