Keith’s Karmic Kaftan
“It’s not a dress,” Keith said to her, “it’s a goddamn Kaftan.” The exasperation in his voice was total.
Jennifer took a step back to give the outfit a more thorough examination. The majority of it was made from a thick, almost puffy, rough yellow silk that made it drape down in stiff lines, obliterating the shape of the man underneath. The long sleeves opened wide at the arms, with each cuff almost two feet long. There was a wide sash, belted loosely at the waist, and a thick hem at the bottom less than two inches shy of making contact with the floor, but covered with all manner of stains anyway. Etched across the entire surface in sparkling metallic embroidery were a dozen colorful birds of all varieties, their wings shining out in silvery purples and reds, each one of them perched at the end of a golden branch.
It seemed almost comically ancient, like something from a incredibly boring documentary, or an etching from a thick college textbook on ancient cultures. It didn’t cover Keith as much as it smothered him, and Jennifer hated it. “It makes you look like a New Age hippy perv.”
“Thanks.” He put his hands on his hips, amplifying the ridiculousness of the costume. “I’m one fourth Persian, on my dad’s side.”
She rolled her eyes. “So this is an ethnic pride thing? Are we going to be eating Baba Ganoush and Falafel from now on?”
Jennifer stared straight into Keith’s eyes. She had to admit he was kind of cute, in his own sad puppy-dog way. “Have you ever heard of Karma?”
“I’m not stupid.” It was odd to the point of annoyance to see him acting so confident when he looked so utterly ridiculous. “If you do bad stuff, then bad stuff happens back. Right?”If he’d told her that he was a transvestite it would have been more satisfying. She’d dealt with kinky boys before. This was just dumb.
“Mostly like that, although you only pay for stuff when you reincarnate.“
“I don’t believe in that.”
He took a step forward and closed the space between them. “So what are you worried about?” The swaying of the fabric made the images on the outfit almost seem to come to life, birds and branches flashing as Keith moved. The cloth swished around his legs with a sound eerily reminiscent of wind rustling through branches. Jennifer gasped in spite of herself.
“You’re being weird Keith. That dress is kind of freaking me out.”
“Kaftan.”
“Whatever.”
“Anyway, all the bad things you do all build up over your life.” Keith swirled his hands through the air to punctuate his point. “And that’s weighed against all the good things that you did. So you’re supposed to try and build up the good stuff, or you end up getting screwed when you come back, and become a fly, or a worm, or something like that.”
“Sounds like a pain in the ass.” Now Jennifer was getting a headache, which was remarkably like the feeling of being totally pissed off. She’d come here to hang out with Keith and maybe figure out where they were at after three months of dating. He’d been fun up to now—mostly. But honestly, she needed a whole lot more or a whole lot less. “And what’s that got to do with me, or us, or your stupid Kaftar?”
“Kaftan.” He held up one of the drooping sleeves, revealing it to be even longer and more ridiculous than it had first appeared. “It’s a family heirloom called Karmic armor. Whatever you do when you’re wearing it, matter how bad it is, doesn’t count against you.”
Jennifer’s mind made a few quick calculations, “So what are you going to do, stab me?”
He rolled his eyes. “It’s not cop-proof. I’m dumping you Jennifer.”
She blinked from shock, then let out a snort of laughter. “The hell? If anyone is getting dumped it’s you.”
“Why, because you’re too hot for me?”
The word maybe jumped out of her mouth before she could stop it.
“I swear to God, you’re one of the most conceited girls I’ve ever met.”
She felt a tightness in her eyes that meant if she didn’t get a lot angrier very quickly she was going to cry. “Listen to yourself, frat boy.” She wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction of seeing tears. “Don’t b a jerk.”
He smiled. “But I’ve got the Kaftan.”
“Screw you and your stupid magic dress.” She grabbed her coat and headed for the door. “I’m out.”
“I just want to tell you one more thing Jennifer,” Keith said, yelling loud enough for hear him clearly as she tottered into the hallway on a pair of strappy high-heels that had seemed awesome when she put them on. “It wasn’t me, it was you!”
She turned around and opened her mouth to tell him about all the bad things that were going to happen to him for being such an asshole and how breaking up with her was the biggest mistake he’d ever make, and how he’d spend the rest of his life regretting it—and then she heard a sound. It was a high pitched chirp. One, at first, and then a chorus, as if all little birds on his dress were talking to her, laughing at her while her suddenly ex-boyfriend stood there with his arms crossed and a shit-eating grin on his face. “C’mon Jen. Let me have it. Tell me alllll about it.”
“Go to hell. I hope you come back as a slug.”
She slammed the door behind her, but she could still hear his muffled words through the door, “I thought you said you didn’t believe in Karma.”
Maybe a bit of a strange reply, but I like the template you use and I really wanted to let you know! With some nice posts this blog is really good :)
I like the idea of what you’re doing here Andrew. I especially like this as a personal assignment that you’re sharing with us both to keep yourself honest and to get feedback. Good choice.
I like this story too. Interesting flow. One of my favorite lines: “She’d dealt with kinky boys before. This was just dumb.”
A couple of suggestions:
1. Do a couple of passthroughs before you post the stories. You’ve got a couple of sloppy errors that will frustrate readers and keep them from returning (ex: “So what are you were worried about?”). If I don’t feel like it was worth your time to edit it, will I feel like it was worth my time to read it? Unless editing it falls outside of the rules of this exercise, which leads me to…
2. I’d like to see a quick and dirty explanation of the rules of what you’re up to here, right at the top or on the border. I don’t want to have to hunt for it. Something like, “Micro fiction. Every day. In under an hour.” Or whatever the parameters are. (If I’ve missed it, apologies.)
Keep it up!
-xtien