The Button

Flash fiction I wrote for an assignment in my creative writing class at SNHU.

There is a button missing from one of the jackets.

An expensive, hand carved ivory button that sits brightly in the palm of Vu’s soft hand, with an intricate bead design around the edges and two holes that make the creature etched into its front come alive when attached with some contrasting thread. Like, red.

The type of button reserved for the custom orders made by clients who pay Vu a lot of money for his perfectionism, and, whenever she comes into his waiting room, for Mrs. Lawrence. For her collection.

The jackets are supposed to be ready by five o’clock today. Mrs. Lawrence picked up three silk blouses and two wrap dresses that Vu made himself at eleven o’clock this morning. Now, it’s four o’clock. There is no time for Vu to get another button from his friend Anh. There is only hope that the jacket customer will forget or show up after Vu locks the door.

Vu, who goes by John when Mrs. Lawrence is in the waiting room, and he doesn’t know why he chose that name except that it sounds like the name of someone Mrs. Lawrence would say yes to if he asked her to eat a five course dinner at the Morning Glory restaurant.

“Tonight? Well, I suppose I could move my plans with Mister Ambassador.”

And Vu would say, “Why don’t I bring your blouses and your dresses to your apartment so you don’t have to come here yourself? It’s too much work for a fine lady like yourself, to come all the way here.”

Except Vu, John, looks forward to the visits from Mrs. Lawrence, and always manages to find a beautiful, unique button to give to her.

She always says, “Oh, John, you shouldn’t have.” But he must.

He must.

But today, he can't find the button, and his disappointment is profound because he feels he has lost something much greater than a button that fits in the palm of his hand.