Yellower

"Yellower" is a short story ekphrasis based on the painting by Grant Wood. I was inspired to write this piece by imagining modern, online dating during the late 1800s.

Under the orange light branching through the large oak tree, Raymond had found Marilyn, standing awkwardly across from him, tugging on the collar stuck to her sweaty neck. She was just like the rest of them, hair pulled back loosely in a low bun, face long and wanting, waiting to be chosen. Marilyn stood against a backdrop of trees and ladies, the dark green colors contrasting her marble-like shade.

            Sure, he had said, nodding his head in her direction. She gleamed then, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her fat earlobes, and walking towards her future groom. He was shiny and imposing, a long lanky figure with an heir of arrogance. Marilyn noticed his skinniness more than anything else about him and wondered what it would feel like if he touched her with his poky bones.

            She was lucky, she reminded herself. It was the third time this week she had stood in line at the town's square, hoping to be picked from the endless loop of clammy and desperate women. Now she would be wed to a boney, old man, and even though he was a farmer, she knew her mother would be proud.

            They were married that evening, only a half hour later, in the chapel that sat on the corner of town. When Paul the minister announced them husband and wife, Raymond had opted for a clutch of Marilyn's hand rather than a kiss on the lips. On the walk back to his house, Raymond had kept his hand in hers, and they both found to their surprise, that they rather enjoyed the feeling.

             Over roasted chicken and baked beans, they had lit candles and sat across from each other, unsure what to say. Raymond felt obliged to begin, asking Marilyn where she was from.  

            Here, she had muttered. Near the river.

            Ah, he croaked, stroking his beardless chin.

            That was all they managed to say for hours and as the last light weaned from the dying candle, they began their ascent up the stairs. Raymond was a tad nervous as he led her to the bed in the middle of the room and turned to face her. As he closed the distance between their faces, he noticed her eyes for the first time. They were a light, angelic blue that shone through the blackness in the room. He stretched his fingers around her and loosened the low bun, watching as her golden, thick, hair trickled over her shoulders in long waves. Marilyn's eyes flickered to his, anxiously, waiting for him to say or do something.