The U in QUILTBAG

Sometimes life gives you the option for a u-turn...and sometimes you shouldn't take it.

Here’s a selection from the start of “Undone,” the second QUILTBAG plutogram story. Tomorrow, I’ll share a few insights I’ve picked up while writing these…

From the computer of
Uma Hunt
23 Union Junction
Churchton (suburbs), UT 84144

Dear Future Uma,

I’m writing you because recent events have underlined just how useful long-term perspective can be for me. Unintentionally, I’ve pretty much mucked things up. And Uma, before you give me that uplifted eyebrow—as I guess you’re already doing—try to understand. I’m not usually so…unthinking.

I’ll jump in just before it all unraveled…

"Uma, I don't know," Ursula fussed, wringing her hands in unease. They sat across from each other in the uncheerful comfort of the funeral parlor's consultation suite. "Uncle Yury loved the old USSR, but a Russian-themed funeral? In 2024? In public? Even with the occupation in Ukraine?"

Uma let Ursula unpack the issues uninterrupted, waiting until she was ready. Like her coiffure of curls, her suit was tasteful and uncolorful, but what really gave her authority was her unflinching understanding.

"Ursula," she began, her voice a soothing undertone, "Uncle Yury's love for his homeland... it was unwavering, wasn't it?" She watched the uncertainty flicker out of Ursula's red-rimmed eyes, supplanted by unbidden memories.

"Unwavering, unyielding, unstoppable," Ursula chuckled, her countenance sunnier despite tearful eyes. "He'd make us ukha soup, he’d end his day with a cup of kvass, and he urged us all to live it up on Russian holidays, especially Maslyanitsa."

"Then isn't it uplifting to honor that?" Uma leaned forward. "Your family might have uncertainties, but they understand love, right? We'll keep it tasteful—a celebration of his unique story. Not political, just cultural."

Ursula's smile unfurled like a banner in a gentle breeze. "A celebration," she echoed, and Uma could see the idea take root. "Yes, we can usher out his collection of Matryoshka dolls, and maybe even use a balalaika player."

"Exactly!" Uma beamed, her heart buoyed by the way Ursula's face now lit up with each new thought. "And if anyone is upset, just remind them—it's not about them. It's about commemorating Uncle Yury's undying passion."

"Thank you, Uma," A newfound purpose underscored Ursula’s gratitude. "You always know just what to say."

"It's my job to unearth the true essence of a person's life," Uma replied with a wry twist of her lips. "Plus, I have an unusual knack for navigating the uncomfortable."

They shared a chuckle, the kind that acknowledged the utter absurdity of life and death, and the unexpected intersections of joy amidst grief. As Ursula left feeling uplifted and understood, Uma’s thoughts turned to more mundane subjects. Thursday was a date night.

— — —

Uma fumbled to unlock her rented bungalow, nervous flutters already urging her forward. As always, she mused, it was unknowable how much of her mental upheaval sprung from her own hunger and how much was a puppyish eagerness to please. But no matter. Soon she’d be in Ruth's upbeat presence, dancing the uncertainties away.

She undid her suit and pants and made for her wardrobe, the one that held clothes far from the umbra of her daily somber attire. She felt fabrics under her fingers until they paused on a dress—a bold ultramarine number that seemed to pulse with life. Would it be too much? Uma bit her lip.

"Tonight's about rhythm and Ruth," Uma muttered to herself, donning the dress as if it were armor against her own unspoken feelings. "Not unresolved existential crises."

The mirror reflected back a woman not quite familiar—curly brown hair unraveled from its updo, the dark clothing replaced with a burst of color. An upturn of her lips, a slight nod of approval, and she was sure she was ready. Almost undoubtedly sure.

An ululating ringtone cut through the hush—a tune suited to Ruth, one Ruth herself had chosen. Uma's heart pumped an up-tempo drumbeat as she answered.

"Uma! Uber's here and I'm in it. Get your luscious ass down here and jump in! Our chauffeur Ulysses need a pick-me-up. It’s urgent!"

Uma blinked, unsure if she heard right. "Uh, come again?"

Ruth's voice crackled with mock urgency. "Uma, I'm serious! Ulysses is utterly undone. Unglued. His girlfriend up and left him. He's so upset, he's barely able to utter a word or uncurl from his fetal position to drive. I need your unparalleled people skills, stat!"

"En route," Uma replied before ending the call, a smile tugging her lips upward despite herself. Trust Ruth to find unforeseen adventure in a simple car ride. She zipped herself up and dashed out the door, anticipation bubbling up in her veins like uncorked champagne.

In the unassuming burgundy SUV, Ruth greeted Uma with a grin that could have outshone the streetlights illuminating her ginger hair. Ulysses glanced at them through the rearview mirror, his eyes unrested after a long shift.

"Hi, Ulysses, I'm Uma, and this unstoppable force of nature is Ruth."

"We’ve met," Ulysses replied, with a small laugh. "Where to?"

"Urban Fruit Pub," burbled Ruth, "but take your time. Luck has been unusually generous to you tonight, Ulysses. All over these United States, newly single men like yourself are trying to understand what hot women want—but this ride has delivered you us, two hot women who will unveil our untold secrets!"

“Of course,” said Uma, “unlike your potential partners, we are two women who are not dating men…”

“Unimportant!” shouted Ruth.