a Short Fiction in Progress

“Hot dog buns, hot dog buns…. Ah!--hot dog buns.”

“Mmmm, no. We don’t want those.”

“What? They’re hot dog buns. We’re supposed to get hot dog buns. She said, ‘…and hot dog buns for the hot dogs’.”

“Here.” James pushed a new package of hot dog buns into Chris' chest, flagrantly letting the original package fall to the floor.

Chris stopped, stood. “Uh. What?”

“I don’t really like how those hot dog buns were sitting there. All alone and sideways, all in with the hamburger buns, singled out like a scorned lover and shit.”

“You. Are dumb. And you're a misogynist. There’s clearly nothing wrong with those buns.”

"Misogynist? What? I love women."

Chris veered his path from James and then James sharply changed his direction, too. This was the first time for either to step Top-Sider or All Star in the regional bargain outlet, The Giant-Grocer. Inside, everything felt kind of poor. Before walking out of Chris' sight, James shouted back, "Divide and conquer, no?"

Chris walked from the bread aisle to the deli and blew a deep breath up at his modest mane. Mustard, chips, more beer, and hot dog buns. All weekend plans were now seemingly revolving around an uncovered cache of Nathan's Hebrew National franks.

All day, at work and at home, myriad portents of a crummy weekend had been fleeting in Chris' direction. A cooler of hot dogs, their masthead. At home, his Google Alert predicted sunny & fine. It arrived with a suffocating haze of wind and pollen. At work, before lunch, Chris read over his MS Outlook calendar for Sat/Sun, marked 'boating with Jamie' with excitement. He returned from lunch, sat at his desk, and scowled at having to X out his Fri/Sat plans.

James was privately at fault for Chris being landlocked, not boating, and barbecuing with neighbors instead. Hanging out with Jamie, either way, was the main thing to Chris. James rightly sensed that and felt innocent as a babe. Getting these groceries, in a small way, provided Chris a sense of insurance for the salvaged Sat/Sun. James was walking leisurely through stacks of bagged cereals and whistled the chorus to The Wells Fargo Wagon.

It was early evening on the deck at Jamie's when Chris volunteered he and James to do the store run. Mitch’s presence partially spurred this too. Mitch, from two condos down. Mitch, whose twin lived in Minneapolis. Mitch, connoisseur of freebies.

Mitch said, on his role played that afternoon, in discovering the wiener treasure trove: “Yo, I’m like the fucking Hernán Cortés of getting free shit. Check these dogs, Dog.”

Mitch's elongated shadow blocked the setting sun from his captive audience’s eyes when he announced, “Alright, alright. Allow me to grace you all with a proper grilling demonstration. This demo will be performed by ME, since it looks like some of you are a bit weak on the coals.”

He held a large matchbox up in the manner of 007 and thumbed the drawer out of its sleeve.

Since "charcoal equals cancer" (source: Jamie), the grill was actually an electric, requiring no coals. But Mitch's sentiment was generally understood.

Chris stood up, set his cup down.

"Well, while the party has its infotainment being, uh, conducted, I guess it'll be safe for James and myself to be off to retrieve further supplies. Right, Jamie, yes? We needed more things? James, let's go."

James had been petting the golden doodle that came with Jamie’s summer condo arrangements, Caroline. Caroline got up when James did and ran over to the card table next to the grill where Mitch stood. Jamie sat with a tan leg folded over the arm of an old style lawn chair, dangling her foot.

“Yeah, Chris. You guys go ahead if you don't mind? It’s still pretty early.” She looked up with a beatific expression at the sky. The sky had hints of purple.

"Look at that dog. She just rolls right on over," the twin howled at Caroline rolling in the gravel.

"Ohh. She's okay. She just wants you to pet her belly," Jamie said.

"Rub her belly? Yeuch."

"It feels good to her! You appreciate it when someone rubs your belly, I bet."

"Yeah. But that's usually in a sexual context! Heh heh."

"And don't forget," Jamie yelled up the driveway, "hot dog buns for the hot dogs!"


En route to The Giant-Grocer, James told Chris he was detecting a latent depression beneath Jamie's social graces. When Chris was backing the car down the driveway, James said he watched Jamie 'hip-bump' Mitch and say, "make way and let a lady show you how it's done." It was kind of pitiful.

"Since school, she’s always, like, making Mom Jokes. Guess it comes with the territory." The territory meaning their university's Department of Education. That was James' evidence.

"Haven't you noticed anything like that, Chris?"


Chris and Jamie's families were friends and so they had grown up being friends. When they were still preteens, Chris and Jamie had spent a picturesque afternoon on her aunt's property in the country while their families were gathered to delight in a new remodel. The sun shone bright on the two children. They laid stomach-down on mounds of moss near the edge of the woods. They cloud gazed and blew at dandelions. They spoke in dreamy cadences and just generally mirrored the depictions in Jamie's A. A. Milne china collection. Jamie confessed to Chris she felt guilty whenever she left a stuffed animal from her bed at night and Chris recognized that guilt. He enjoyed and remembered the innocent camaraderie.

The next year, Chris tried recreating that moment, hoping this time to spark a youthful romance. It was early autumn and they were at the food court. He told a personal admission to Jamie in the hopes of her reciprocation. The confession was not about stuffed animals and it left Jamie nonplussed. Chris felt awkward and from then on voluntarily relegated his friendship to simple acquaintanceship. James met Chris and Jamie both at individual times in school and was responsible for the two's glad reintroduction.


James, after hearing the full minutes from Chris on his last meeting with Jamie as kids: "Ahem. So, what was it you said, exactly, in confession to Jamie back then?"

"Ahem, James. I'll say this about that.You may be made privy to any detail about my life that your little soul can think of. Except for that."

"Oh. You would tell anything to me. But you won’t. Tell. That. Kind of weird. Chris.”

"James."

"What, are you a gay? I mean, it's fine if you are. Just say so, no judgments" said James, smirking. James loved to act generous. He waited a few beats until it seemed he'd dropped the issue. Then,

"So, I can know anything about your life, Chris. Except for that."

"Sure."

"But if I did find out what that one thing is, is that on punishment of death? Is what I am to understand, Bluebeard? Ha, ha, beard!"


The Giant-grocer's dairy products were all unfamiliar and unappetizing and would forever compose Chris’s vision of what bargain grocers had to offer. There was a lack of uniformity to the bargain assortment of generics. There was an unattended cart with a margarine tub in its foldout basket and the front-row display of cream cartons were slightly bulged from rapid temperature change. Chris was usually one to pass any questionable item with his nose up, but today he felt sympathy for all of them.

Chris chose a bottle of mustard that looked like a television prop and lingered with it near the front of the store. James was meandering, taking redundant stock of the chip and dip varieties and their contents. They both forgot the 'more beer' part of the list, but surely Mitch had some kind of in with a beer company promoter.

James licked his lips and blew loudly Seventy-Six Trombones, rounding out his Music Man repertoire; Duke of York was slowly brewing to the medley's surface. In earshot, an auburn-haired cashier was kneeling down to verify a product price in tea and coffees. She stood and returned to her register and on her way restocked the dropped package of buns to their display. She had felt rather energetic since she woke up that morning and was glowing.

James and Chris reassembled their duo at her checkout line. James perused the point-of-purchase fridge display with the soft drinks. Chris gave him a queasy glance of disapproval and slung his bag of buns and mustard onto the belt. He smiled at the cashier.

James held up his chip selections individually for Chris before laying each down to the conveyor.

"Got all the crowd-pleasers," he said. "Cool Ranch. Mesquite. And Classic."

The cashier continued smiling warmly, putting the wind-filled bags into larger tan sacks.

Chris said, "Crowd-pleasers?"

"Yeah," James said, twisting open a bottle of Squirt. "Who doesn't love one of those?" And took a big swig of the drink.

Chris frowned the corner of his mouth a little and then laughed. He could find no fault in that logic.