edith zimmerman

A very short story.

“I’m bleeding really bad,” I said to the person on 911 who picked up the phone. “I’m standing in a bucket, and it’s already almost all the way filled up with blood.”

Squawk squawk squawk.

“Why am I standing in a bucket? To catch the blood, obviously. What am I going to do, let it flow onto the floor?”

Squawk squawk squawk.

“Of course I put bandages over the wound—what am I, an idiot?”

Squawk squawk squawk.

“You shut up.”

Squawk squawk squawk.

“Oh, you jerk, that’s not nice. I’m hurt!” I started to cry.

Squawk squawk squawk.

I cried more loudly. “Now the bucket is running over onto the floor! Are you happy now? Are you thrilled?” I sobbed.

Squawk squawk squawk.

“I said, ‘Now the bucket is overflowing, you jackass!!’” I sobbed even harder, just feeling absolutely horrible.

Squawk squawk squawk.

By this point I was so weak that all I could do was whimper “Nuh-uh” and drop the phone into the bucket with a plop.

Hello! I wrote two more columns for The Awl—one went live today, the other went live two weeks ago. Ladies write the craziest letters! Anyway, I hope you like them. But if you don’t, I still recommend The Awl—it’s a terrific site. Also, who am I talking to when I say “you”? I don’t know!

A very short story.

It was a dark and stormy night, and I was alone in my house when the phone rang. “Hello?” I said. “Who is it?” But the person on the other end was silent. “This is Edith Zimmerman, who are you?” I asked. “I love to talk with people, please say something!” But no, there was just more silence along with a few snatches of ragged breath and a faint sound of knives being sharpened. “Hello hello? Oh well, I’m so excited you called, anyway, because whenever I get to talk to someone it’s so awesome for me. So first let me just say a big thank you, this is really, really great.” And here I paused to let whoever it was say something, like “You’re welcome,” or whatever, but they were still so quiet! Although the sound of knives was getting a little louder, I guess. “OK, so, what are you up to?” I said. “Cooking? You getting ready to chop something up for dinner? Carrots? What?” Just then I heard a low groan, garbled and throaty. “Hey, you’re talking!” I said. “You’re going to talk to me! Yay! I can’t wait for what you’re going to say!” I was smiling so wide I could hardly contain it! It felt like the smile was so wide it would rip off the sides of my face and peel backward until my entire skull was exposed in the biggest, happiest smile ever.

A very short story.

The firelight flickered on the underside of James and Maria’s faces, and a coyote howled in the distance. “I love being out here with you, James,” Maria said, smiling.

“Me too,” said James, smiling as he poked the logs with a stick, sending a plume of sparks into the air.

“Looks like we’re not the only ones making sparks fly tonight,” Maria said, smiling.

James smiled. “You mean these logs?”

“That’s what I’m talking about,” Maria said, smiling.

“I love, love, love that we can read each other’s minds,” James said.

“I know!” Maria said, smiling. “Guess what I’m thinking of right now?”

“Hmm… A pen?”

“No.”

“Logs?”

“Yes!” she screamed, laughing.

“God, it’s freaky, isn’t it?” he said, shaking his head in wonder.

“It can be really scary, sometimes, yes,” Maria said, her smile fading and a look of terror taking its place.

James grunted in agreement, and they lapsed into silence.

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.