My Cardboard Balcony

Maroon by Belinda Roddie Maroon: The color of her necktie, the lipstick on her mouth. The clip holding her overgrown bangs against her golden scalp. A napkin draped across an abundant lap. A curtain over a frosted window to her left. She raises her glass to happiness and love, and her Cabernet matches the tablecloth, the laces on her shoes, the buttons on her gray blazer's sleeves. Then, when she stands up, the glint of blue catches her eye, as one of the more esteemed guests approaches her side of the table with a smile glowing above the collar of her flowing, periwinkle gown.

"So what happened?" inquired Edna. "Old Howie go off on the barkeep in a drunken rage again?" Howie was fast asleep on the couch, with Ursula nursing a cut on his jaw with a pack of frozen peas. I just sat back and exhaled, cracking open a can of cheap beer. "Not the barkeep, no," I replied. "Some neighbor from his childhood, Owen or something? He showed up, and all Hell broke loose. Guess they had some sort of past rivalry or grudge or whatever."