edith zimmerman

A very short story.

“What a beautiful ring you have there, Josephine,” I said. “Where did you get it?”

“I found it on the sidewalk, Mama,” she said, smiling.

“Ah, a sidewalk ring,” I said. “You know who makes those, don’t you?”

She kept smiling as she looked up at me. “No, who?”

“The devil, Josephine. It’s the devil who makes them.”

“Wh- what?” she said, her smile quickly fading.

“Yes, that’s right, sidewalk rings and all jewelry found on the street are made by the devil, from the bones and brains of people who’ve gone to hell, and every finger or body part that touches the jewelry will turn rotten and eventually fall off, of course.”

Josephine began to cry, and I saw that she was starting to take the ring off her finger.

“No, no, no,” I said gently. “You can’t take it off, Josephine, or your finger will come off too, immediately. It’s best to leave the ring on so the finger will rot more naturally and you’ll get a few more days of use out of it. You really should be more careful what you pick up off the street. Now go wash up for dinner.”

Tears sliding down her face, Josephine went to the bathroom to wash up for dinner.

It’s remarkable what children will touch, isn’t it? They’ll touch just about anything, and it makes me sick.

Hey guys! Tonight I am going to be reading some of these little stories at the comedy show Big Terrific, which is hosted by Max Silvestri, Jenny Slate and Gabe Liedman. Ba dump bump! I would be delighted and terrified if anyone who lives in NYC came to it! It is in Brooklyn, at Cameo (which is the space in the back of The Lovin’ Cup—you have to go down a hallway), and it starts at around 8:30ish. Here’s the info. It might be a disaster!

Also, yesterday I wrote something for The Awl, which is a website I love, and I’m just really happy about the whole thing. It is a very exciting week for me! Thank you for reading my website!

Thoughts, part 2.

I don’t ask for a lot in life, just a roof over my head at night and a small breakfast to eat in the morning. It would be so small that at first people would think it was fake.

And I would ask for a simple dress, but I would also ask that every other dress in the world be just a little simpler. And I would ask for a quiet closet to hang that dress in, where there would be a wall of TVs showing live video feed from every other person’s closet, to see what they were up to.

There would also be a fountain in the garden, where I could sit and reflect, and the fountain would be filled with tiny whales, which would exist because my friend invented them. Ten years earlier I would have saved that friend’s life, so she would feel bound to share her tiny whales with me.

I would be tall, but not too tall, and I would be smart, but not too smart. And I would be so thin that it looked like I was sick, but I would be healthy.

A series of very short stories.

“Claire, do you have throw up on your shirt?”

Claire looked down and saw that the front of her shirt was covered in throw up. “Oh jeez, yeah.”

“What happened?”

“I’m not sure,” she said with a shrug.

“Do you want a new shirt?” I asked her gently. “I’ve got a really cute one in my bag that you can borrow.”

“No, I’m good.”

“But don’t you …?” I trailed off.

“Nope, I don’t really care.”

“Do you want to use my cell phone to call someone?”

“No.”

“Do you want a ride home or anything?”

“No, I think I’m just going to lie here for a while.”

“Are you OK?”

“Not really, no.”

“Well, are you sure you don’t want my extra shirt at least? I really don’t need it, and your shirt is all—”

“Seriously, I’m fine. Just leave me alone. I want to lie down.”

“Are you sure, Claire? You don’t look so—”

“Shut the fuck up! Seriously, just shut the fuck up and leave me alone.”

I subscribe to a daily newsletter about health, diets and makeup. It’s great, it’s ridiculous, the colors are super pretty, I love it, whatever! Anyway, today their newsletter was about a makeup package called My Beautiful Breasts Kit, which is a makeup kit, for your breasts. For drawing on your breasts with highlighters, shading, and something called a bust stain. Adult women. Unbelievable. Makes me wonder if there’s something similar for guys, like “Draw Your Dick,” which would come with a marker for drawing your dick like three inches higher or something. “What? It’s totally natural—that part just stays flat.” Anyway, unbelievable. Unbelievable across the board. What a world!

“Edith, I can’t believe we finally invented tiny whales.”

“Oh my god, I know. But it’s true, and here’s all the tiny whales to prove it!”

Sachar and Edith lean forward and stare into a tank filled with tiny whales. A tiny whale surfaces, blows water through its tiny blowhole, splashes its tiny tail and then swims gracefully back under the water, which Sachar and Edith are able to watch through the sides of the tank. Another tiny whale surfaces, and then another, and another, in an endless cycle of splashing, blowing and swimming. At one point a tiny killer whale jumps out of the water and gnashes its teeth.

“They’re just so small,” whispers Sachar.

“I know—they’re tiny,” whispers Edith.

“But they’re all still fully functioning whales,” says Sachar. “They look and act exactly like regularly sized whales, only they’re tiny—about the size of a lobster. And some are even smaller!”

“That’s right—the super tiny whales are no bigger than goldfish!”

“I love them all so much it’s unbelievable.”

“Me too. It’s also so exciting to have invented something that will not only make us so rich, it will literally change the world forever. Sachar, there are so many things we will do with the tiny whales!”

“I know! God, I can’t believe we really did it—we really, literally, invented tiny whales.”

Sachar and Edith both start to cry, and as they cry all the tiny whales come to the surface of the tank and blow their spouts.

Special thanks to Sachar for actually inventing tiny whales.

A series of very short stories.

“Janice, did you stab yourself?”

“It looks like I did.”

“How far down?”

“Pretty deep. Hold on, let me see.” Janice sticks her finger inside the wound. The blood goes all the way up to her knuckle! “Eek, pretty far down. It’s about a whole finger deep.”

“Which finger?”

“Pointer finger.”

“Fingernail included?”

“Fingernail included.”

Thoughts.

I don’t want a lot in life, just a place to lay my head and a table to arrange my makeup upon. I would arrange it so that it spelled out my name.

And in the evening, when the sun is low, I would ask for a glass of white zinfandel and a backyard to drink it in. Behind the backyard would be a forest filled with birds, and if I accidentally spilled anything, a bird would swoop down and grab the wine, and spit it back into my mouth.

And if I had a cat, I would name it Rosie, and we would keep no secrets from each other. Rosie would have the body of a cat but the mind of a human male prince, and someday I would release the prince inside Rosie from his cat body, but not yet.

If it were cold out I would ask for a jacket, and if it were hot I would ask for a glass of water. And if it were in between I would remain silent, with a smile on my face that said “everything is fine.”

Hey guys! I drew a cartoon for a blog I really like called A Quiet Moment Amongst Friends. It’s goofy, but I’m excited! And I recommend going through other posts on that blog, too, because it’s really good.

A series of very short stories.

It was the first day of high school, and I was worried that people were going to make fun of my dolls. Until that moment I had always carried them around with me in a clear plastic backpack, but as I was heading out the door to catch the bus it occurred to me that other kids at high school might think it was weird. So I asked my mother what she thought.

“Why would anyone make fun of your dolls?” she said.

I shrugged. “I dunno.”

“That’s a ridiculous idea, Stacy,” she said, “and you know it.”

“I guess,” I said, looking at the floor.

My mom took a softer tone and put her hand on my shoulder. “Don’t worry, Stacy,” she said, smiling. “Why don’t we take a look at who you’ve got with you today!”

“OK,” I said as I turned around so she could see through my backpack which dolls I was bringing with me to high school.

“Oooh, I see Marjorie in a very pretty dress. And Kristy, and Rutabella—hello, Rutabella! Donnatreasure, Cassandraine, Jessalynica. Looking very lovely today, girls. Oh, and Frangelico—I almost missed you there at the bottom! No, Stacy—these are excellent choices for today. Nothing could possibly go wrong.”