Getting Mugged by William Musgrove
Managing editor Dacia Price on today’s short: Good dad : Bad dad. In this fabulist short, William Musgrove—expert of the genre—weaves a story of choice in which his characters are offered the miracle of a do-over; a life on consignment. Musgrove’s ever present humor and sharp wit belie a poignancy found within the implications of this choosing. “Getting Mugged” is a narrative about happiness, responsibility, and the consequences of our decisions but it is also a joyful indulgence into an absurd world in which anything is possible.
getting mugged
1. Brandishing a handgun like a cop directing traffic, a mugger demands all the money in Greg’s wallet or his life. Greg glances at his cracked Timex. Realizing there’s no way he’d make it in time, Greg gives up his life. He hands the mugger his keys, pats his back pocket to make sure his wallet is still there, and lets the mugger know he has ten minutes to get across town to Lincoln Middle School for his son’s piano recital or his now ex-wife Suzan will claim he cares only about himself, that he’s a bad dad. The mugger nods, sprints out of the dimly lit alley, and peels away in Greg’s rust-covered station wagon.
2. The mugger, driving ten miles over the speed limit, can’t believe he’s going to be late for his son’s piano recital. To be fair, he only recently became a father, but he doesn’t use the term “became.” Instead, he says “blessed,” like a prayer has been answered. Practicing his apology, he envisions his future relationship with his son as the grafting of one tree to another.
3. Like an action movie star, the mugger cranks the station wagon’s steering wheel and drifts past the brick sign welcoming him to Lincoln Middle School, Home of the Fighting Tigers. He swerves through a sea of minivans sporting a variety of stick-figure family decals on their back windshields. His tires squeal and create black half-circles on the asphalt. He parks behind a sedan with a sticker stuck to its bumper reading: My son is an honor student. My son, my son, my son echoes in the mugger’s head like a mantra. He exits the station wagon, counting. One Mississippi. Two Mississippi. Three Mississippi. Running toward a pair of glowing double doors, the mugger promises to make up every late second.
4. The mugger claps. On a gleaming wooden stage, his son bows. Suzan chides him for always being late when it matters. He tells her he’s a new man, both figuratively and literally. Leaving the auditorium, the mugger hums one of the tunes his son played. He’s not sure what it is but wants to know. He waves as Suzan and his son pull out of the school parking lot. Then he drives to the river, where he flings his pistol into the water like skipping a stone. The cold metal bounces and then disappears.
5. Inside his cramped studio apartment, the mugger sits at a table and writes a list of ways to make up for lost time, to make his son happy. A knock. He answers the door. A lanky twentysomething stands there, asking for a donation to help protect the killer whales, but it doesn’t matter what charity it is. The mugger hands over every crumpled bill in his wallet.
6. Standing in the dimly lit alley, Greg counts the money left in his wallet, counts it again. Not enough to start over, not even enough for another beer, so he shapes his fingers into a fleshy gun and holsters it in his jacket pocket. As people cut through the alley, he asks them if they’re happy. If they say yes, he states it’s either all the money in their wallets or their life. They always cough up the cash, but the numbers still aren’t adding up. Tired, Greg starts walking and crosses the river, where he finds the mugger’s washed-up pistol resting in the mud on the shore.
Will Musgrove is a writer and journalist from Northwest Iowa. He received an MFA from Minnesota State University, Mankato. His work has appeared or is forthcoming in The Penn Review, Wigleaf, The Florida Review, The Pinch, Tampa Review, and elsewhere. Connect on Twitter at @Will_Musgrove or at williammusgrove.com.
