SHORT STORIES
EXCERPTS
Deadeye Dixie
I didn’t know that I was in for a surprise when I went to visit my stepmother,
Jean, a year after my dad died of liver cancer. She remained as energetic as she
had been before my dad passed away. One of her activities was attending the
monthly dance at the Grange Hall. She asked if I would go with her and Norm, her
“friend” since Dad died, and she went on and on about how they always had a great
time, and “lots of friendly folks” would be there...
John Everman
John Everman went for a hike to sort out the conflicting emotions that had
been pulling him in several directions. He found that huffing and puffing the
rarified air pumped extra oxygen into his blood, and that seemed to clear the
conflicting thoughts that troubled him. His hike that day was a familiar web of
trails that he had hiked many times for exercise and escape. As he thought about
each possible choice and its consequence, he kept making wrong turns on the trails...
Misspelled
It wasn’t so long ago, and it wasn’t that far away. When and where is
irrelevant, except that a story must have a setting and time period. Setting: the
edge of the forest in Transylvania. Time period: Wednesday… pick one. Oh, but
there was a frightful storm that night. It was so frightful that everyone stayed
indoors, except for two young lovers...
Taking the Last Steps
You have been in this cabin for six months now, having resigned yourself to
bearing your illness alone. Living with another had always been a fitful and
uneasy relationship in which you felt like the outsider, seeking the company of a
companion to ward off the dread of being abandoned. That has always seemed to
be your natural inclination: separateness. You have loved between bouts of sorrow
and anger and loneliness, sometimes out of desperation. You have given love
briefly, and taken love in spells, dreaming dreams that you knew would never turn
out as the fabricated future that should have unfolded...
The Angel and the Boy
A child of the village fell gravely ill. The villagers prayed, and an angel
came in answer to their prayers. Some folks saw him tumble out of the empty air
like a gooney bird flopping over itself while landing on the beach. They were
disappointed, because the angel was old and decrepit, looking the worse for
centuries of wear. The boy had been sick for a long while and was very skinny, as
was the angel. They both looked like discarded stuffed dolls. Of all the
townspeople who had prayed for an angel, only one believed that this old angel
could restore the sick child to health...
The Dance Instructor
I was getting bored dancing the mashed potato and twist, and just gettin’
down with the local girls who came to the Enlisted Men’s club at the Navy base in
Davisville, Rhode Island. I had seen a ballroom dance competition on the rec
room TV before someone switched it to Johnny Carson. I liked the structured,
“this is the correct way to do it” discipline. You either did the Waltz step, or you
did something else, but you couldn’t get a good score from the judges looking for
Waltz steps. I had four months of training left before I shipped out for a one-year
assignment in Antarctica...
The Empty Hook
The old man sat on an upside-down five-gallon plastic bucket and tugged
lightly on the pole. The red and white bobber jiggled a foot toward him, and he
gave the reel a turn of the handle.
“There ain’t no fish in this pond,” said the boy who had just walked up and
sat down beside the bucket. “Ain’t nobody caught any fish here in years. Ain’t
even any turtles. Folks say it’s because it’s polluted, even though it’s clear.”
“I know,” the old man said and reeled the bobber closer to the shore...
Who in the World Is Jimmy Kent?
The sailor pushes up the collar of his pea coat and turns his back to the wind.
He shivers and digs his hands into his coat pockets for a pack of cigarettes and his
lighter. The night is moonless and as dark as his dress blues, except for the wide
expanse of stars and the light from the cafe/bus station. A bus is rumbling grey
smoke like a monster about to stir. This bus is headed south; the sailor is going
west. They part company in the middle of West Texas nowhere…
Wineries and Clouds
I’m sipping a Cabernet Franc at the Silver Fork Winery, with the cool wind
nipping at my collar, the sun warming my cheeks, and I am watching the leaves
chase each other between the rows of vines.
The clouds form slowly, then dissipate in the incredibly blue Carolina sky.
Two trees in the valley past the rows of vines sway in unison for a moment then
separate as the passion of the wind dies down.
I know why I’m here alone. To remember, to imagine. To dream of what
might have been, what could have been…
…
