Kelley Bowles Gusich writes young adult novels under the pen name Kelley Kay Bowles and cozy mysteries under Kelley Kaye. Her debut novel, cozy mystery Death by Diploma, was released in February 2016, and is first in her Chalkboard Outlines® series. Book 2, Poison by Punctuation, was released April 2018. Book 3. Strangled by Simile, was released May 25, 2021 and the series will conclude with Book 4, Murder by Metaphor, in 2024.
Kelley has a new YA Paranormal series called The Meld.. Kelley’s young adult novel, Down in the Belly of the Whale is available with Kelley, the author, as narrator! (She used to teach drama and direct plays. She’s a ham.)
Kelley taught high school English and drama for twenty years in Colorado and California, but a 1994 diagnosis of multiple sclerosis has (circuitously and finally) brought her to the life of writer and mother, both occupations she adores and dreamed about way back when she was making up stories revolving around her Barbie and Ken.
Kelley has two wonderful and funny sons and an amazing husband who cooks for her. She lives in Southern California.
Kelley remains ever grateful to her readers for sharing their reviews, comments, and insights!
2024 Shrimpy Award-Winning Entry Zen and the Art of Monster Maintenance
(ALL ENTRIES UNDER STRICT COPYRIGHT PROTECTION! YOU MAY NOT COPY ANY PORTION OF THIS ENTRY WITHOUT THE AUTHOR’S DIRECT PERMISSION!)
And what is good, Phaedrus
And what is not good—
Need we ask anyone to tell us these things?
“Zen and the Art of Monster Maintenance”
A short story by
Kelley Gusich
Monster: derives from the Latin monstrum, meaning “omen”, from the root of monere (“to warn”) and also meaning “prodigy” or “miracle”.
“I can’t stand it anymore! He’s such an ogre!” wailed her patient, Crystal Memmon, teeth gnashing, arms flailing up and down, striking at the supple leather couch like it was her husband’s proffered cheek. “I want a divorce.”
Psychiatrist Jen Budinger sat calmly at her chair and restrained herself from patting Crystal on the shoulder like she would any tantrum prone three-year-old. “Would you like to talk about it?” she asked. “Do you feel like you are in danger?” Of course, if I were her husband and she threw fits like that on my watch, she could be endangering any relationship, anyway. Jen shook off the negative thought. Is it only Tuesday? It feels like Friday. Please, God, why can’t it be Friday? “I can get you into a shelter right away if you feel like you’re in danger. What has he done?”
Crystal propped elbows underneath her back and heaved herself to a sitting position. The term ‘heaved’ conjured pictures of a much heavier woman. Crystal was actually petite and voluptuous, with a curvy Marilyn Monroe figure. But it’s hard to pull yourself up with the weight of the world on your shoulders, and so she had to heave. “I don’t know. It’s like he does things to purposely make me crazy! Like, the dishwasher is right next to the sink, right? There is maybe a foot of space between them. But can he move ONE dish to the dishwasher? No! He piles them in the sink until they make this ceramic version of Mount Everest, and if I’m not careful, he’ll balance a mug at the very highest apex. If I don’t get to the pile soon enough, the whole thing may come crashing to the floor.”
A strand of blonde hair which had escaped Crystal’s perfect bun during the outburst fell over one eyebrow, and she tucked it primly behind one ear. “And lately he always forgets to say ‘bless you’ when I sneeze. I mean, doesn’t that seem like the most basic expression of love or concern for another person? A simple ‘God Bless You?’ I swear, at this point I’d even settle for a ‘Gesundheit.’ I’m just not feeling cherished AT ALL.”
Jen tucked a chunk of completely imperfect, always-disheveled brunette mop behind her ear, leaned forward and set elbows on her knees, hands under her chin. “So you’re not in any danger, then?”
Crystal pounded a fist onto the couch. “I’m in danger of winning the Most Unappreciated Woman in the World Award, GodDamnit!”
The clock on the desk ticked. It didn’t ring, or beep, or shrill. No cuckoo sprung from a small door to announce the end or beginning of anything. It just ticked once, so loudly it seemed to bounce from one of Jen’s eardrums and crash full force into the other one. “Soooo … that’s it for our time today,” she said. “Did you want to make an appointment for next week? Maybe we could talk more about your ‘not feeling cherished’ problem, or maybe we could go back and talk more about your fear of clowns.” Jen stood up and heaved Crystal off the couch and out the door before she could hear an answer.
* * *
“But, Dr. B, I just don’t think he should be allowed to do that! It’s … I don’t know. It’s fiendish. It’s tyrannical. I try to be all, like, ‘I am woman, hear me roar’, but this kind of thing makes me feel so powerless.” Vicky Paladin would only sit on the couch, because she said laying down gave her Restless Leg Syndrome. Right now she fisted her hands tightly to her sides and buried them in the leather padding. Her cupid’s bow lips reminded Julie of Betty Boop, but her hair was red and ponytailed, and she mashed those lips together tightly, creating a stiff line with a little ‘m’ on top.
“Vicky, let me try and restate what it is that you’re saying, and you tell me if I’ve got it right.” Jen gazed out the office window, noting a swallow that had perched on the windowsill. The bird stared at Jen out of one side of its face as Jen tried to gather her thoughts. “Your husband has lost his job, is that correct?” Vicky nodded, the frown-line with the ‘m’ bobbing up and down, but the full lips remaining hidden in her anger. “And he’s been looking for another job, but he wants you to start looking, also? Is that a correct statement?”
Vicky shifted uneasily on clenched fists, but she nodded. “Yeah, he wants me to do it too. I don’t work outside of the home, Dr. Budinger. You know I am a stay-at-home mom, and proud of it. I’ve always told you and I’ve always told him, this feminazi junk is baloney. I clean the house, I wash the clothes, I cook the food. I work hard enough and it’s up to him to provide the finances for us!” She clenched her brows together so fiercely they almost skipped over her nose and dipped down into the ‘m’. “It’s not fair.”
Deep, calming breaths. Jen inhaled and held it. “Aren’t your sons old enough to be in school during the day now?”
“Yes, they are. What’s your point?”
She shook her head. “I don’t know, I just thought—maybe you could do something for extra money while they are at school? Just to help until he finds another job?”
Vicky scoffed, “Oh, he has another job. Two, actually, but they don’t bring home anywhere close to the fabulous moneys he was making before. The oil rigs are like, total Beverly Hillbillies stuff, right? Black gold? Texas tea? But now he’s doing some security stuff at the mall, and then he night-stocks at Wal-Mart. There’s no comparison. His two paltry paychecks look like David next to the Goliath that was his old take-home.”
So does she not remember who won that fight? Again, Jen had to restrain herself from lashing out at her patient. “I understand your frustration, Vicky. Really, I do. It’s just that—well, this economy is very, very tough right now. Everyone is needing to make sacrifices, and—“
Vicky jumped up. Her red ponytail wiggled in fury. “My God, you sound just like him! Aren’t you supposed to be on my side? Helping me? I mean, you did help me with my fear of heights and spiders and the color orange, and you helped me quit smoking, I know. But now, when I come to you with a real problem, a serious one, and you’re advising me to go ahead and get a job? That isn’t therapy, that’s …” She stalked toward the door “… ridiculous. Did you know I haven’t even been able to afford a new sweater for this freezing weather? Maybe he could get another job to pay for it, and maybe I could get a new sweater then, or maybe—” Vicky ranted all the way out of the office, and after the door slammed Julie could still hear faint sounds of aggravation drifting back her way and slithering under the exit. Jen stared at the door and almost saw the remnants of anger, wisping like smoke.
* * *
I do this to help people. I do this to help people. I really, really want to help people. So why am I feeling like so many people don’t deserve to be helped? Jen sat behind her desk to wait for her next appointment. She flipped through the files that were piling up because she hadn’t updated her notes in over a week, and then shoved them aside and started tapping the rhythm to ‘For Those About to Rock, We Salute You,’ on the mahogany surface. She checked her watch. Her 10:00 appointment was late. Her fingers changed to pound out ‘I Love Rock’n’Roll.’
She was well into a fingertip chorus of ‘Don’t Fear the Reaper’ when the red light at the top of the door flashed twice, indicating the arrival of Hilary Jenkins, a new patient whom Jen was seeing as a favor. Hilary was suing her boss for sexual harassment and her lawyer, Andrew Markham, was a friend of Jen’s. He needed an evaluation of Hilary before he could proceed with his case.
He’d said, “I don’t know if I can win this one, Jen. Hilary is…well, she’s a piece of work. I know I’m good, and there are a lotta sexist scum out there that deserve a comeuppance, but I don’t think this guy fits the bill. Let me know.”
Jen clicked the remote that opened the door to her office, allowing access to the tall, coiffed woman standing there. She was wearing what looked very much like a librarian-type brown suit, but it was so tight her chest threatened to spill out like a pop-open can of grocery store biscuits. “Come in, Hilary. I’m Jen Budinger. Please, have a seat.”
“I’m not sure why I’m here,” huffed Hilary. “Do you think my idiot lawyer refuses to believe I’ve been sexually harassed?” Hilary pronounced the word ‘hare-est’, with the affect of a Shakespearean-trained actor. Jen always thought people who pronounced words like that, i.e. ‘mah-toor’ for mature instead of ‘machoor’ like normal people, were pretentious. Jen guessed she was supposed to be less judgmental in her chosen profession, but she couldn’t for the life of her figure out what people gained by putting on those airs.
“Oh, Ms. Jenkins, he just needs a professional evaluation as a part of his documentation. I only have a few questions.” Jen gestured to the couch so Hilary could sit.
“I suppose, if you must.” She breezed past Julie, past the couch, and perched a bony butt at the edge of Jen’s sacred doctor chair like she owned it. Excuse me? Jen and the sparrow, who was still sitting on the windowsill, exchanged questioning looks. “Proceed with your questions. I have everything written down and dated, though, everything that creature ever said to me is saved to print.”
Hilary scooted back and made herself comfortable in the aforementioned sacred chair, then lifted a manicured finger. “August 21st: ‘You look very charming today, Ms. Jenkins.’ Disgusting lechery.” She raised another finger. “September 29th: ‘Is that a new skirt? Lovely.’ You’d think he was trying to bed me right there.” Finger number three: “November 4: ‘You are soooo smart and efficient, I am thankful to have such an intelligent assistant, Ms. Jenkins.’ I’m surprised he didn’t fling his clothes off at that very moment.” She compressed the three fingers together and jabbed them toward Jen’s face. “Would you like me to continue? Or have you heard enough about that monster?”
Jen’s jaw dropped. The sparrow darted away. “Ms. Jenkins. Hilary.” She shook her head. “Do you mind if I call you Hilary? Good. Hilary. Are you telling me you’re suing your boss for paying you compliments? You’re taking a miracle of modern etiquette and squashing it like a cockroach?” Hilary opened her mouth to reply, but Jen was too quick. She reached out and yanked Hilary out of the sacred chair, pushing her toward the door. “And I should mention, I am not at all clear as to why anyone would be paying you a compliment, because in the thirty seconds I’ve known you, you’ve overpronounced the word ‘harass’ for no reason other than your own pretentiousness, you’ve insulted my friend Andrew, and you’ve taken it upon yourself to sit in a chair that was perfectly designed for me, that I searched for for three years, and that no one is allowed to sit in but, you guessed it: ME. So if you have an employer who can see enough good in you to pay you compliments, you shouldn’t sue him …” Jen grabbed her clicker on the desk, clicked it, and the door popped open just in time for her to shove Hilary out. “… you should marry him!”
* * *
Ugh ugh ugh. Jen sat in the sacred chair, banging the clicker on her forehead. I really do want to help people. Maybe I’m in the wrong profession. If I can’t find the good in my patients, at least enough to help them find the good in themselves— She pulled knees up to her chest and covered them with her shirt, then rested her chin on top of them and closed her eyes, shaking her head and flinging angst off her forehead like droplets of sweat.
She popped her knees back out of her shirt and leaned back, settling down for a good cry when the red light at the top of the door blinked twice. Huh? I don’t have any more patients scheduled today? She wiped her eyes, stood to straighten her blouse, and pushed the remote button.
The person who stood in the doorway was, oh … maybe five foot four. That was all Julie could tell, except maybe her gender, because of the long skirt. She (?) also wore a long-sleeved red blouse and black gloves (??), plus a wide-brimmed black hat with a veil (???!). She stood with shoulders back and gloved arms down at her sides.
“Hello,” said Jen. “Can I help you?”
The apparition in the veil stepped forward, thrust out a hand and shook Jen’s vigorously.
Ow.
“Oh, yes. I hope so.”
Sounds like a girl, shakes like a gorilla.
“I’m Annie. Can I trust you?” She pulled a hundred-dollar bill from the edge of the glove and thrust it forward. “Is this enough money to be your patient? At least for a few minutes?”
Jen took the bill and turned it in her hands. The sparrow returned and lit on the windowsill. “My fee is one hundred dollars an hour, which if you know anything about psychiatrists really means fifty minutes. Plenty of time. So please, sit down.”
Annie bypassed the sacred chair and sat in the center of the couch. Jen pushed around a pile of papers on her desk, pulled out a notebook, and sat down. “So, Annie. What brings you here today? What would you like to talk about?”
“I’d like to talk about my life.” Jen nodded, and Annie took off her gloves and folded her hands in her lap. Jen looked down and started. What the?? The hands were covered in coarse brown hair. “Don’t be afraid,” said Annie. “I’m not going to hurt you.”
She took those hairy hands and lifted the hat. Dark brown eyes stared from a face that was also covered in brown hair.
It’s fur, thought Jen. Her face is covered in fur.
“It’s okay, Dr. Budinger. The moon is waxing tonight. Next week it’ll be full, and my husband and children will lock me away for a while, and everything will be fine. For the majority of the month we’ll live a life to be grateful for. That’s what I wanted to talk to you about.” She pressed her hair behind her ears, and Jen noticed a sharp claw untangling a knot. When she looked back up to Annie’s face, she could see a fang overhanging her bottom lip.
Jen gripped the chair arms and glanced wildly about, not sure what to think or what to say. The sparrow watched with interest. “They … they lock you up?”
Annie nodded. “It’s necessary for the full moon. I can’t be held responsible for my actions during that time, and I would hate to hurt anyone. Garrett feels the same way.”
“You’re a … a …”
“A werewolf, yes.”
“And Garrett?”
Annie nodded again, this time vigorously, and smiled. Now the fangs were in full view. “Garrett is my husband.”
“And is he …”
“A werewolf? No, he’s just a man. A wonderful man. Oh, he has his faults, surely. He’s only human. We’re still working on that whole ‘leaving the toilet seat up’, but, you know—”.
What is happening here?. This doesn’t seem real. Jen glanced over at the sparrow, who hadn’t moved. “And your children? Are they?”
“No, they are normal children.” Her smile grew wider. “Although Henry is currently convinced that he’s Spiderman, and he gets really frustrated when he tries to climb up the wall and doesn’t stick like he thinks he should.”
Jen took a deep breath. “That sounds like something a normal, imaginative child would do. But how … ?”
“How did a normal human man meet and marry a werewolf? What can I say? We fell in love. That was before I got bitten, but he didn’t even blink, I swear, when I changed. He just said, ‘Well, darlin’, it looks like we’ll have to be apart a couple days each month. Just to keep everyone safe. I’ll be thinking about you the whole time, though.’
So that’s what he does. The rest of the month is like heaven: he cooks for me, we keep a beautiful house, we play board games, and we both work to make a life for our children.”
“You both work?”
“Yes, Garrett is an architect, and I am a medical transcriptionist. Doctors send their recordings to me via the internet, and I type them up. It’s good money, with good benefits, and it only succeeds in reaffirming my belief that every day above ground is a good day. Don’t you think?” She looked at Jen and winked. Jen couldn’t help but wink back, and when she glanced over to where the sparrow was still nestled in the corner of the windowsill, she could have sworn he winked too.
“Don’t you get lonely?” Jen asked. “I mean, never being able to show your face in public. Hiding out in your house all day. Doesn’t that get lonely?”
Annie shrugged. “Nah. It’s impossible to get lonely when the people you love are kissing you goodbye when they leave each morning and then coming into your house at the end of each day. I know there are many people out there who are struggling. If I could talk to them—without fear of them screaming and running away,” she chuckled. “—I would tell them to try, just try and find something good in their lives, whether it is children or music or books, or whatever. I think looking at the good things really, really hard sometimes makes the bad things easier to deal with. What do you think?” Annie stretched her arms out to Jen, imploring.
Jen looked at this woman, and she couldn’t really see the fur, or the fangs, just the girl. “I think you’re right. I think I am so glad you came in to be my patient today. You certainly made me look at my day and my life a little differently.” She stood up. “You know, I feel like I should give you a hug. Can I give you a hug?” Annie stood and opened her arms to envelop Jen.
She was warm and furry, and Jen felt like she was hugging her childhood teddy bear “I’ll tell you a secret,” Annie said. She stood back up and pulled on her gloves and hat. “I do have a friend besides Garrett and Henry and Elizabeth. She comes to my house when we play board games. She’s a vampire, and I have to say—216 years of playing chess makes you a heck of a strategist. I have yet to beat her. She’s not very good at Guitar Hero, though. She’s still trying to beat me. My favorite is the Edgar Winter Group’s ‘Frankenstein.’–I’m on ‘expert’ with that song. Do you think that’s what they’d call irony?”
Jen laughed. “I think that’s what they’d call it.”
“Well, thank you so much for seeing me today, Dr. Budinger. I should go now—I’m cooking tonight and I need some time to prepare the spaghetti pie—it’s Garrett’s favorite.”
“My pleasure, Annie. Say. I have one question.”
“Shoot.”
“Why did you come to see me today? You certainly don’t need therapy.”
“No, I just felt the urge to talk to someone new. And I knew if I was your patient, you’d be bound by doctor/patient confidentiality.”
“Of course. I’ll never tell anyone about you.”
“Oh, they’d probably never believe you anyway. I just wanted to be sure to protect Sophie, because no one is supposed to know about her.”
“Sophie?”
“She’s the vampire.” Annie smiled one more toothy smile, and then she was gone.
Jen watched the door close behind her. She looked around her office, at the piles of notes, the leather couch and the Ikea chair. She walked over to the windowsill and sat down, putting a fingertip to the window. The sparrow clicked on the glass with its beak, nodded to Jen, and flew away.
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Thanks Joshua! _=]