This small book contains two short novels by playwright and author Stephen Evans:
In The Marriage Gift, a quest to find the perfect wedding gift for a mysterious cousin leads a Minneapolis couple to question their own ideas and ideals regarding marriage.
In Paradox, a writer experiences the mysterious connection between memory and imagination.
ISBN: 978-1-7345135-4-7
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Praise for The Marriage Gift:
“A delicious romp through the maze of modern wedlock”
Rosy Cole, Author, The Wolf and the Lamb
Excerpt from The Marriage Gift:
The first recorded wedding gift was the apple given to Eve by the serpent in the Garden of Eden. Unfortunately, the serpent made an unforgivable faux pas: the Knowledge of Good and Evil was not returnable. www.Factuosity .Com
At the coat closet, they silently perform a complicated ritual of grocery exchange, removing their jackets without putting down any of the bags. Once the jackets are off, the bags are redistributed with a coordination at once effortless and thoughtless.
James walks through the kitchen door first and holds the swinging door open as Paula enters. Then he lets it swing closed, stopping it with his foot without looking behind him.
They stand in front of their predestined locations (James at the refrigerator and Paula at the pantry) and begin to put the groceries away. When they come across an item that does not belong in their respective domains, they execute an automatic exchange, tossing the item to the other, condiments under air traffic control. Once the process is complete, the reusable cloth bags are folded and properly stored until the next shopping venture. Then they sit in their assigned seats at the kitchen table.
Paula: Hungry?
James nods.
The ritual begins again, except in reverse, as they coordinate the construction of two sets of sandwiches. Only the drinks differ:
Milk for James.
Diet Coke for Paula.
There is still hope.
Excerpt from Paradox:
Baylor was not a fragile girl, though I could beat her two out of three in arm wrestling. So I was not completely surprised when she tackled me on the school lawn and sat looking down at me from a vantage point somewhere near my solar plexus.
Any normal person would have asked her why she had done it, but Baylor and I had passed that point long ago. I knew Baylor wasn’t normal and I was beginning to have doubts about myself, a symptom of extreme Bayloritis due to overexposure.
Not that I minded.
Sanity is a handicap in this world, ranking second only to intellect.
Most of us have one or the other.
Baylor had the other.
There weren’t many smarter than Baylor. There weren’t many prettier either. She was without a doubt the single most extraordinary human in my graduating class.
The only mediocre thing about Baylor was me.
No wonder I loved her.
