"Tonight! Our network is Proud to Present...
A VERY SONNY & CLAIRE VALENTINE'S DAY SPECIAL!"
"...featuring everyone's favorite tv cut-em-ups, Sonneeeeeeey... and Claire!"
*Crowd cheers*
"On this evening's program...a special musical number performed by none other than The Staples Singers!"
*Crowd cheers again*
"...and featuring, from the Andy Griffith Show... tv's Don Knotts!"
*Crowd cheers even louder, then laughs when Don's rubber face contorts during a knowing wink at the camera*
"...with special appearance by... Paul Anka!"
*Quieter applause, but applause just the same... I mean, who could possibly follow Don Knotts?!*
"And now.... your hosts... SONNEEEEEEY... & CLAIRE!"
*Curtains open, crowd stands and roars with applause*
(Alright, alright! Sorry there folks... I couldn't help fuckin' with ya a bit there! Hahahahaha!
Anyway, here's what really happened Valentine's Night...)
"Lucy! I'm home!"
(Crowd roars with laughter...)
(ok, I promise I'll stop this time hahahahaha)
Not exactly the most original joke, for sure, but my little roommate hasn't been weened on old sitcoms like I was. As far as she's concerned, I'm a regular Jackie Gleason.
Claire's a little slow to greet me, not that greeting me is expected of her. We're both just that happy to see each other when I get home from a long day of playing Uber to malfunctioning vehicles. The winter months have had me working long hours, a is always the case, so she's been extra clingy lately. I'm surprised her arms aren't wrapped around my ankle the moment I step through the door.
At the same time, she's begged and pleaded with me so often to take her along to that it's almost become a part of our routine. I'd love to have her with me. My own personal secretary manning the dashboard while I drive, but it's just too dangerous. Lately though, with a heavy blanket of snow covering everything she can see outside the sliding glass door, Claire's been perfectly content to spend her days at home where it's nice and warm.
I should be so fortunate. Someone's gotta provide, I suppose. Don't see Claire getting behind the wheel of a tow truck anytime soon.
I catch a glimpse of some movement near the base of my comfy recliner. Sure enough, there she is, tiny and precious as a diamond. I'm not exactly sure what she's up to, but she quickly stuffs something beneath the chair before climbing to her feet and sprinting in my direction.
"Sonneeeeeeeeeeeeey!" She cries out, just as enthusiastically as always. Her arms are raised above her head as she runs, a bag toothy smile stretched across her face... Christ she's so adorable. She leaps onto the toe of my boot and scurries up the criss-crossed laces like their the rungs of a ladder until she disappears under the cuff of my thick, blue slacks. She presses her entire body into the skin just above my sock line. I can feel the minuscule features of her face, her nose, her lips, her hair, rolling against my flesh as she nuzzles intensely. I think I can actually feel her smile.
"I'm glad to see you too, Short Stuff," I assure her. I let my little companion continue while I slip my foot out of my other boot. It lands with a loud clunk against the entryway tile, which gives Claire the signal to vacate my pant leg. She scurries back down my high top and waits patiently for me to remove the other shoe so I can give her the hand-elevator ride skyward for more loving nuzzles, face to face. She feels so warm and lovely against my beet red cheeks, my nose, my forehead. Like a delicate flower being grazed across my face. Soft and tickling in the best way.
"How's Chinese food sound tonight?" I don't really need to ask her, the sweet little runt is happy to eat anything I order, but it still feels thoughtful to ask. Claire rubs her tummy and licks her lips, then giggles at her own pantomiming and takes the end of my nose in her arms and hugs it tightly. If I'm Jackie Gleason, then she's my little Gale Henry.
"Tee-vee?" She asks politely. Some sappy Valentine's themed Hallmark original is already streaming on the 75" screen. Claire's days at home alone have been filled with cornball romances on whichever streaming service she's been obsessed with that week since she learned how to operate the remote. It's kinda funny if you think about it. The concept of entertainment has only really existed for her since she came into my life, but she's fallen down the stereotypically female rabbit hole of syrupy romances.
I'm perfectly fine with it, I think it's pretty cute actually. I'd be doing the same thing if I could stay home all day just watching 60s Mexican Wrestler movies and Italian slashers. If anything, watching so much dialog heavy television has helped profoundly with her speech, much more than I ever could have. The stutter that she's struggled and frustrated herself with so much has almost disappeared, at least with her more often used phrases. Anyone who's ever said television will rot your brain can eat their heart out. God, she's so smart. I have to remind myself constantly that she is, in fact, a runt.
I place Claire on the cushy arm of the recliner where she stumbles over to the cup holder. She's claimed this space as her own, filling it with cotton balls, random fluff from the dryer, dust bunnies, shredded paper, and a small hand towel that she uses as a heavy blanket like a common pack rat. The tiny runt girl drops down into her own private, padded kiva and swings the towel around her until only her face is peaking out from the cozy little nest. I often wonder if it's what her former home might have been like. Nestled beneath someone's floorboards or hidden inside a wall. Trying to make the best of a terrible life among terrifying, dangerous, hateful monsters... namely, us.
The nearby Chinese restaurant delivers, thank god. I have no interest in going back out into that awful cold. It comes on like this every year, but nothing ever prepares me for just how goddamn freezing it can get in this part of the country. Working in it is even worse.
I order General Tso's chicken, extra spicy. Very basic, I know. I don't care. I love it, and Claire loves it... and it's always hilarious to watch her freak out when it gets too hot for her. Don't worry, I always keep a bottle cap of milk nearby so she can put out the flame.
After a quick bathroom break, I make trip to the fridge to retrieve a beer... the only thing I want right now that's ice cold. My trusty old lounger awaits me and kick my feet up immediately while simultaneously cracking open my mid-strength reward for a hard day's work. My weight jostles the chair quite a bit, but Claire is unfazed, barely turning away from her program. It's the usual bit: big city girl goes home to visit family after something goes wrong at work or in a relationship. Through happenstance, she runs into small town guy, usually an ex- boyfriend. They fight until they fuck. Enter big conflict which gets resolved by grand gesture. In your average Hallmark original, the sex is barely alluded to, but make no mistake, its lurking beneath the surface. I don't even need to know how far into the movie Claire is, but the familiar structure doesn't exactly make it difficult to catch up. There's such a set template for these gooey tearjerkers that some film student could write their doctoral thesis on them.
The two of us wait patiently for dinner to arrive. Claire remains fully absorbed in the film while I sip my beer and chuckle at the all the corny contrivances happening on screen. The tiny girl in the cup holder shushes me each time. I assume she's picked this gesture up from television because I sure didn't teach it to her. It's hilarious.
It's not too long until hearts are mended and credits role. I take the break in onscreen activity as my chance to run for another Rocky Mountain lemonade. This time, I pop the tab while still in the kitchen and take a big, deep swig. The alcohol building in my system helps to calm my nerves. I'm not an alcoholic, mind you. I rarely drink at all actuality. Driving a tow truck on icy roads, no matter how many years I've done it, still sends my anxiety through the roof. Add to that that my personal vehicle is a Toyota Echo that's old enough to vote with barely a suggestion of ground clearance. Just driving home becomes an adventure in itself once the snow starts to accumulate. So during the winter, don't fault me for indulging myself a little more than usual.
When I pull the can away from my face, I see Claire is no longer buried under layers of insulation in the cup holder, but standing at the very edge of the arm rest. Her legs are pulled together, one bare foot crossed in front of the other, beneath her short, homemade dress. A red number with white polka dots. One of my better efforts, if I do say so myself. If the guys at work ever got wind of me playing seamstress for a runt, I'd never hear the end of it.
Both arms are tucked behind Claire's back, trying to hide something. I approach her slowly, unsure of what exactly she's up to once again. I can only guess it has something to do with what she was hiding beneath the lazy boy when I walked in. She's smiling at me, but there's a weariness to it... a nervousness.
Great. What did she break?
I'm not mad. She could burn the place down and I wouldn't bat an eye as long as she was alright. I just wish she'd fess up when she does accidentally break something instead of trying to hide it. I came home about a month or so ago and found her trying to flush pieces of broken glass down the toilet. She'd accidentally knocked a glass off the counter and did t know what else to do. She'd later tell me she was worried I wouldn't let her live here anymore if I found out.
Of course I'd never do any such thing as send Claire out into the cold over something so trivial. And I really didn't care about the stupid glass. Sure, I was a little annoyed about having to call the plumber to unclog the toilet, but I'd never yell at Claire over it. She doesn't know any better. And I'm sure the extreme differences in our sizes doesn't help. Even calm and relaxed, I'm sure I'm a lot for her to deal with. There's just so much of me and so little of her.
"What's up, short stuff?" I ask.
"Sonneeeey... I... uh... neeed tell you... a thing," she replies.
I take another sip of my Bud Light and place a hand on my waist. "Did something get broken, Claire?"
The little blonde runt seems confused by my question. "No. Claire no hurt Sonny things. Claire good."
I can't help but grin. Her speech may be improving, but she can still sound a little like a cavegirl from a Roger Corman b-movie at times. Like most of the things she does, I find it adorable. She catches me off guard with her perspective on things all the time.
"Alright then," I relent, feeling the weight of the work day hanging heavy, "I could use some good news. What is it?"
"Sit down Sonny please," Claire instructs. I do as the four inch high woman tells me. Like any good man, when a woman tells me to jump, I know when to say how high. "Lean back," she adds.
Claire pads her way across the back of my hand as it rests on the arm of the chair. She uses the length of my arm to make her considerable ascent to my chest a little easier on herself. She's still trying to hide the mystery object behind her back without also stumbling over the folds in my plain, black t-shirt. Before long, she's standing directly in the center of my chest, still wearing that nervous grin.
"Sonneeey... Claire... um... I... I want give Sonny gift," she fumbles through her words, more out of nervousness than her previous inability to form them. Finally, from behind her back, the item is brought to light.
It's a piece of paper, red construction paper actually. Claire unfolds it twice to reveal what appears to be a large, heart-shaped note. The corners are frayed and soft, but there's no mistaking it... Claire has made me a valentine card(!) This is no doubt the influence of the infamous Hallmark Network.
I have to think about the date for minute. Huh... no shit. I'll be damned, it is February 14th! It's been so long since I've given two shits about Valentine's Day, if I ever had two shits to give about it, that I'd almost forgotten it even existed.
As I look closer at Claire's gift, I can make out scratchings on its surface. No, not scratchings... it's a drawing! Claire has actually made a drawing! It's crude, barely more than stick figures, but it's artwork no less!
One figure is larger than the other, but holding them in its disproportionately larger hands. It's us! She can't read or write, but Claire has figured out how to represent the two of us through art! She really is astounding!
Where the paper note looked cartoonishly large in her hands, once she passes it into my fingers, it looks so tiny and fragile. My lips purse and I find myself fighting back the tears welling in my eyes.
"Claire make Sonny sad?" She asks, my reaction clearly not the one she was expecting.
"No," I reassure her. "Claire has made Sonny very happy. Sometimes people cry when they're happy too."
"Oh," she agrees, "Claire cry happy sometimes. Like Sonny." She adds, "when Claire think Sonny, Claire hurt. Here," she taps her hand on her chest. "But hurt make Claire cry happy too."
I wasn't expecting that last part.
"What was that again?" Certainly I must have misinterpreted what she was trying to say.
Claire tugs at the hem of her dress, now more nervous than before. Her eyes never leave mine though. "Claire want tell Sonny a thing..."
There's no 'caveman' gate to the words that follow. No strain. Nothing to be misinterpreted. She even uses "I" instead of her own name. It's the clearest and most erudite thing she's ever managed to say.
"...I love you"
Oh.
Uh...
Uh oh.
I care about Claire. Deeply. If it isn't obvious by now. I couldn't imagine my life without her anymore. Claire is every best part of every day.
But...
It's obvious there's more than just affection shared between two friends. Her eyes yearn. She's pining... dying to hear me say it back.
Woo boy. This could be messy.
"Listen, Claire... I care about you too, but... let's-"
"YAAAAAAAAYYY!" She screams at the top of her lungs. It actually makes me jump back in my seat. She proceeds to dance around on my stomach chanting, "CLAIRE LOVE SONNEEEE! SONNEEEE LOVE CLAIRE!" Over and over again.
"Claire, please listen to me... I... um... we need to talk about this." It's no use, she's completely enraptured.
Then the next bomb drops.
"CLAIRE SEX SONNEEEE NOW!"
What's that now? I think.
"What's that now," I exclaim.
In a flash, Claire has slid down the under side of my gut and landed at the base of the little pup tent that forms in my pants when I sit down. You know what I'm talking about, fellas.
"Claire do special pet! Feel real good." She grabs hold of the tab on my zipper with both hands and aggressively begins to yank it down.
"Uh, Claire? What're you doing?!" It's like she doesn't even hear me.
"Sonny see! Special pet make Sonny happy!"
"Woah! Claire! Wait a second!" I beg, recoiling further into my seat. This can't really be happening.
The yanking at zipper continues. "Clare know. Claire special pet Claire when Sonny at work!" Thanks for the overshare there, Claire. Glad to know you're keeping yourself busy, I suppose.
This is all coming on way too fast. Meanwhile, the spritely little minx has already managed to open my fly and is trying to wiggle her way in. Her tiny breasts graze against my manhood through the fabric of my Fruit of the Looms. The ticking of her fingertips on my body as she fumbles against my underwear for easier access feels like she's made of electricity. Blood rushes to the region and my neglected pecker rises to attention like a prairie dog on alert. Fucking Christ! What the hell is happening?!
"Ooooooooo," I hear her muffled moan coming from between my legs. I'm not sure if it's an impressed reaction or one of disappointment.
*Audience hoots and laughs at Sonny's discomfort. Camera cuts to Don Knotts, mugging surprise right into the camera. Audience erupts in laughter.*
(I know, I know. I promised I'd stop. I have all the self control of a heroin addict with ADHD, hahahahaha!)
This is completely out of control.
I have to do something. I have to stop this. Now.
Before the horned-up runt can burrow any further into my trousers, I manage to catch her by the ankle and pry her from the mouth of the denim cave. She yelps in protest, maintaining a death grip on the teeth of my zipper like a stubborn cat digging in its claws.
"Claire! Let go! Now!" I feel awful having to be so curt with her, but my stern and heightened tone of voice achieves the desired effect. Claire releases her hold on my fly, looking scared, confused and disappointed all at once. She dangles upside down in front of my face with her foot pinched between the pads of my fingers. I quickly drop her into my free hand to avoid hurting her, and to make sure I have her full attention. She cowers against the base of my fingers.
"Claire, I'm not mad. You don't need to be scared, ok? How many times do I have to tell you, you don't ever have to be afraid of me? You know this!"
The tiny female in my palm crawls forward, tears already welling up in her eyes. "Sonneee? Sonny no love Claire?"
"What?! No! I mean...," I stutter.
Yep. Just as I thought. This is gonna be a real mess.
"Please Claire, can you just settle down for a minute and let me explain myself?" She looks so hurt I want to die.
"Why Sonny no want sex Claire?" She asks. "Claire love Sonneee! Claire want sex Sonneee! If Sonneee love Claire, why Sonneeee no want sex Claire?!"
Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuck.
I pinch the space between my eyebrows and wince my eyes shut out of frustration. Fuck the Rom-Com gods right now. She's obviously been watching more than just the saccharine bullshit the Hallmark channel shovels out. Fuck you, Tom Hanks. Fuck you, Meg Ryan. Fuck you, Julia Roberts. Fuck you, Rob Reiner. Bust most of all, fuck you Hallmark.
"Claire, listen to me very carefully," I'm still all clenched up, but am actively trying to calm myself down. "That stuff you've been watching, those movies, that's not real life. It's all pretend. I've explained it to you many times before."
Claire shakes her head and pouts, "No! Sex mean love!"
"Thinks don't work like that in real life, trust me," maybe they do for some people, but certainly not for me.
Claire tilts her head out of confusion, "big pee-ple no sex big pee-ple?
"No... I mean yes... I mean... fuck," someone should put me on a committee to broker peace in the Middle East because I'm obviously handling this like a fucking pro. "Those people on tv, that's not how people act in real life. They're actors, reading from a script. Hell, I think the lead in the one we just watched is gay in real life."
"What gay?" Claire asks for clarification.
"Never mind," the last thing I need right now is to get sidelined explaining the complexities and nuances of human sexuality to someone who's current understanding of such at the present time is: Claire sex Sonny. "These things are much more... they're very... it's complicated."
She doesn't seem to buy into anything I'm trying to tell her. As astutely as I've managed to express myself, who could ever blame her. I may as well be as monosyllabic as she is.
Sonny Stressed. Sonny very fucking stressed.
Claire hops down from my palm and back onto her perch atop my stomach. She leans in, brow furrowed and very serious. "Girl meet man. Girl want man. Man want girl. Man sex girl. Bad thing hap-pen man and girl. Man sex girl more. Man and girl happy." She taps out the points she's trying to make on her palm, and in her own simplistic way, is arguing her case better than I am.
As a side note, I can't help but feel impressed that she noticed the Rom-Com formula herself. Show me another runt that can comprehend a pattern. But I digress...
"Yes, that's how those movies say it's supposed to be, but it's a fairy tale." I hate this. Her sense of wonder is so lively. To have to crush her spirit like this... it's like taking a knife in the stomach. "It's make believe, Claire. There is no set plan to love. It happens for some people... and others never find it. Those who do are lucky, but even then... there's no such thing as a happy ending."
Claire's tears are absolutely killing me.
I continue pulling the emotional rug out from under her... because I'm an asshole. "People break up. They get divorced. Hell, some of them even kill each other because they want the relationship to end that badly. I'm sure every last one loved each other in the beginning."
This is cynical. Fuck, cynical would be an uptick from where I'm at right now. This is bleak... even for me.
The runt has dropped to her knees and is staring blankly at the spots in my shirt where her teardrops soak into the fabric. I place the tip of my finger underneath her chin and raise her gaze to meet mine. Offering her a sympathetic grin, I continue... because I don't know when to stop.
"There is no set plan. I have no doubt that what you're feeling is real, Claire, but you have to let things run their course. You don't have to offer yourself up like it's just a...a... a step in an algebra equation."
"What al-gee-bruh?"
"Nevermind."
I promise, I am trying to make a good point here.
"Sex is good. Sex is really good... but it's even better when it comes at the right time. When both parties are ready. Does that make sense?"
Claire wipes the moisture from her face and nods mournfully. "Dumb movie," she groans.
"Those movies can be fun, Claire. If you enjoy them there's no reason why you should stop watching. Just be aware that they're selling you a lie. I mean, just because I like scary movies doesn't mean I'm gonna go out and hurt somebody, does it?" It's a terrible analogy.
The little blonde nods again.
I start to ask, "so, are we-"
Knock knock knock
Just then, the loud banging from the apartment door signals the arrival of our dinner.
Thank fucking god.
A welcome interruption, one like I've never needed in my life. "Be right back," I tell her as I carefully remove her from my shirt and place her on the arm of the recliner.
With the delivery man paid up and a styrofoam container full of delicious chicken and rice steaming in my hand, I hope to God this evening's dramatics will finally calm down. Claire's valentine gets tucked safely away my wallet. Something to gawk at when I'm in a bad way, out there on the road, when I need it most.
Deep down, I hope that Claire's paper thin attention span has helped her move on to something else. She's sitting back in the cup holder with her hand towel blanket pulled over her head once again. Her attention isn't the tv though. Her back is towards me, staring out the sliding glass door into the winter wasteland. Or wonderland. Depends on your perspective.
Obviously this isn't over.
"Food's here," I inform her. My voice cracks as I speak. Why would I say that? She knows it's here.
Claire doesn't say a thing.
After retrieving a fork from the kitchen, I call back to her, "you want me to make you a plate?" Yes, you heard that right. I've purchased tiny dollhouse plates for my tiny roommate.
Still no response.
Great.
The silent treatment. From a four inch tall runt. This is a first.
Can't say that I blame her though.
What the fuck is wrong with me?
Do I have to destroy every good thing in my life?!
Do I have to drag her down with me?
I go ahead and make up a plate for her anyway, taking great care to cut perfect Claire-sized portions. Being honest here, I think I'm just stalling. The heaviness in the room is suffocating.
I place Claire's plate and a bottle cap full of milk at the rim of the cup holder and take my own spot next to her. She still hasn't turned around. Dear god, it hurts to have her so angry with me.
"Food'll get cold," ugh, the words feel even stupider coming out of my mouth than thinking them.
"Not hungry," she finally replies, but it's not exactly the warmest response, is it?
Suddenly I'm not feeling like eating either.
She grumbles something... it sounds like dumb Sonny. She's not wrong.
I set my plate down on the floor next to the base of my lazy boy. This is when I remember that Claire had stashed something beneath it. Reaching my hand beneath the dust flap, I pull out a stack of the same red construction paper she made her valentine card from. Except, there's dozens of them. The stack is made up of them, som more well-formed than others in different stages of progression. I can see her process, how she tried over and over again to get it right. Realizing she had no cutting tools to work with, I examine her work even closer. There so tiny, it's no wonder I miss them on the final product, both there are meat microscopic teeth marks lining the edges. Claire actually nibbled the paper hearts into shape. Each card also had artwork drawn on their magenta surfaces. What start out as childish scribbles begin to take shape into recognizable figures.
This isn't a whim. This isn't the result of television's influence. Claire has been thinking about this... about us... for a while.
It's all I can take. Now I'm the one sobbing.
When I look back over at my miniature friend, she's finally looking back at me. Tears still fall down her cheeks to compete with my own.
"Claire... I'm so sorry," I say as the words choke in my throat and my jaw starts to throb. "I... I didn't know. I'm... I'm so sorry. Please come here. Can I please hold you?"
Claire stands up from her cup holder nest, her watery eyes still so full of life and hope. I'm not sure she's ever seen me cry like this before, and despite the fact that she's angry with me, she still looks concerned.
I don't even give her the chance to climb onto my hand of her own accord, scooping her up as fast as I can and holding her gently against my face. "I'm so sorry, Claire. Don't change because of me. Don't let that spark in you die. I'm so sorry I am the way I am. Please don't forgive me.
This is the most vulnerable I've ever felt. With anyone.
My head feels light. A thousand thoughts race through my mind.
How can this possibly work?
How can she possibly care about a guy like me?
Does she really love me, or am I just convenient. I'm the only person in her life.
Does she really understand what love is?
Would she leave me for someone her own size given half the chance? I mean, I'm not the Elephant Man, but I'm no Brad Pitt either.
How little would it take for her to dump me and forget me? Someone better looking with so much less emotional baggage?
What am I to her anyway? A friend? A potential lover? A caretaker? Nothing but the only normal sized person that doesn't want her exterminated?
Has this ever happened before? Is it even legal for us to be together?
What if people found out? The world isn't exactly friendly to these tiny people, warranted or not.
What would people think?
Am I nothing ore than future tabloid fodder? I can see the headline now:
Man Falls for Runt: True Love or Grotesque Perversion?
Normally I couldn't care less about the court of public opinion, but there's more at stake here than having my name dragged through the mud. There are so many more questions. Important questions. Ones that have me worried.
What if someone wanted to make an example of me?
What if they tried to lock me away?
What if they tried to take her away?
Because the truth is... I love her too.
I do love her.
She's the only truly good thing in my life.
"I love you too, Claire," I whisper...
"...more than you'll ever know."
The problem was never about Claire's naïveté about the world. Her wide-eyed optimism is beautiful and makes be want to be better. No, the problem is with me. It's just that hard for me to grasp... to believe... that anyone, even a four inch tall runt, could ever love me.
*Audience awes in unison, then applauds as curtains close.*
*Credits roll*
*Announcer: "The Sonny and Claire Show will return with The Staples Sisters right after these messages from our generous sponsor, Asbestos. That's Asbestos, the miracle mineral of the future!"*
(Ok, I think I've got that out of my system now haha)
Sonny and Claire will return!
Previous installments:
https://shrunken-women-board.com/phpBB3 ... f=9&t=4809
https://shrunken-women-board.com/phpBB3 ... f=9&t=5436
https://shrunken-women-board.com/phpBB3 ... f=9&t=5735
. I promise I’m not a schizophrenic that’s gone off his meds 
