Can’t be (the Corona Chronicles)

It was a perfect day for a parade.

The organizer, a local restaurant owner, was quoted, “We’re hard working Americans. We have our rights. We need to work.”

Cars, trucks and tractors were covered in red, white and blue. They stretched for a mile slowly making their way through town honking horns and waving to the cheering crowd.

The crack of the gun was barely audible. Cars abruptly stopped and whispers drifted down the street.

“Someone’s been shot.”

“A kid.”

“Not Amy, she’s only three.”

“It can’t be.”

Sirens and lights filled the street as the hushed crowd dispersed.

Fiction 101: The goal is to tell a story in 101 words or less.

Our soul knows (the Corona Chronicles)

Tuesday bleeds to Wednesday to Thursday to Friday to who knows or cares. Meals morph from a creative endeavor to scouring for palatable sustenance. TV, or more accurately streaming, drifts from overwhelming choices to muddled distractions. Whether shack or castle, home feels too crowded. And the Internet just plain sucks.

No matter our “creature comforts,” or our being in control our soul knows that we do not know what we have always known. And our commitments and connections will wonder, while bearing the ache and scars, long into the future.

Fiction 101: The goal is to tell a story in 101 words or less.

Work with me, people (the Corona Chronicles)

“Let’s go. Wait, where’s Stevie?”

“I told you teenagers sleep late.”

“We’ve got six people. This chart shows the day in 30-minute increments. Each person has a designated workspace and device. We’ll have two breaks to evaluate progress and lunch together at Noon.”

“Sheesh, recruiter said I couldn’t join the Army without a diploma.”

“Why does Acie get the kitchen table and Marq the new IPad?”

“None of my friends have to work more than two hours a day. This sucks.”

“Work with me, people. This is the greatest opportunity for family connection we’ve ever had.”

Fiction 101: The goal is to write a story in 101 words or less.

August Family Outing

It’s the Oregon Coast, the water is freezing. Biting wind stings my freckled skin, which will be neglected and burn, guaranteeing pain for days.

Dad starts playfully leapfrogging waves and digging in the sand. He’ll soon progress to drinking and we’ll soon progress to ignoring him. Mom will sit, her eyes, and life, hidden behind over-sized sunglasses.

We’ll hunt shells, chase the tide and make driftwood forts. Eventually devouring whatever we can find for lunch then rushing back to fun and freedom.

For us, this is as close to family and summer as we can hope for.

Fiction 101 - the goal is to tell a story in 101 words or less

I think it happened something like this… #6 - Boredom

#6 - Boredom

The guys grew tired of record stores, sporting goods, and watching girls. We ended up in a stationary shop. Wandered while the lone clerk reluctantly followed. I picked up a stapler, wove through the shelves, turned a corner, slid it behind some envelopes, and bolted.

The clerk met us at the exit. “I think you forgot to pay for that stapler.”

“What stapler?”

“The one you picked up.”

“You accusing us of stealing? Go ahead. Call the cops.” We smirked, shrugged, offered up our empty pockets.

He feigned looking, backed off. “Get out. Don’t come back!”

We laughed and walked away.

I think it happened something like this… #5 - Russell

Russell

His puffy red face and misshapen mouth were the result of beatings and non-existent teeth. 

He collected bottles and scavenged garbage while mumbling threats to imagined people. He’d pedal fast, bent over the frame of his rusty, crooked bike. Kids would chase and taunt, but never really tried to catch him. Nobody wanted the game to end.

We heard rumors that he lived in a shack near the market. Some older kids bragged to a wide-eyed audience that they sure showed him. “We broke in and trashed the bum’s place.”

I stayed clear of Russell, out of fear or pity.

I think it happened something like this… #4 - Until Morning

Until Morning

On the best summer days, we’d play with friends all day and sleep outside at night. You might get to have one friend over. Maybe two.

We’d wait for lights to dim and our parents to sleep. The big maple at the end of the block was our gathering place. We whispered jokes and lies in the dark. Coughs stifled laughter. We’d light and flick matches; in later years, we smoked. Sometimes Denny would strip naked and run around the street.

At the sight of a house light or sound of a car, we scattered to our sleeping bags until morning.

I think it happened something like this… #3 - Clyde

We knew safe territory. Cut troughs, trails in the woods and trees to climb. There were shacks in forgotten pastures, as if put there for us.

And we knew the places to avoid. Crabby old people or reactive young parents. Most frightening was the house where Clyde lived. He was a few years older than us and strong beyond unbelief. Everybody called him retarded. It was all we knew. He’d yell and chase. Attack at his little brother’s command.

We never saw him at school. He disappeared by the time we hit high school. No one knew where. No one asked.

I think it happened something like this… #2 - A Wad of Bills

Story #2 in a series of 6 fiction 101entries (a story in 101 words or less) exploring growing up in the '60.

A Wad of Bills

Donny showed us the wad of bills, lots of bills. We followed him to the drug store lunch counter. Burgers, fries and sodas. Cherry for me. Whatever we wanted. He sweet-talked the waitress. She was maybe sixteen, but to us she was a woman. He offered to buy her presents. She refused. Time wore on and someone mentioned getting home for dinner. Donny promised more tomorrow.

After school, we anxiously waited for Donny, dreaming. Doug arrived. “Donny’s dead. He took that money from his dad’s wallet. He’s grounded forever.”

After mumbling and a few shrugs, we started a ball game instead.

I think it happened something like this… I Wonder (1 of 6)

This is the first in a series of stories based on memories of growing up in the 60’s. Each story is 101 words or less.

I wonder

I wonder what stuff in my memory is more story than fact. Like Johnny from Sunday school, who swallowed his gum and choked to death.

It happened at the grocery store. In my memory, he was wearing a navy blue suit with short pants, because that’s what he wore to church. I was always glad I never had to wear short suits. He was with his grandparents, so his parents didn’t see him go.

I think we would have gone to the same school. We might have been in class together, maybe even sat next to each other, but we didn’t.

Sadie

Mr. Parker gave us Sadie. She was brown-red with white flecks. Her tail and tongue flapped when she ran. She followed me to school and slept with me every night.

One afternoon, Billy, the biggest kid around, threw a punch at me. Sadie lunged, pressing her teeth on his neck as a deep growl escaped her throat. Billy squirmed loose and took off. I ran home to Mom, bawling, gasping for words of explanation. Sadie was protecting me.

Mom was sitting on my bed, not Sadie, in the morning. “I’m sorry. Dad took her to the pound. She won’t be back.”

"Mystery Lode" chapter 1

http://www.bellinghamherald.com/2011/07/11/2089795/mystery-lode-chapter-one-a-surprising.html

Whatcom writers shine in 'Mystery Lode,' Herald's new serial story

http://www.bellinghamherald.com/2011/07/10/2092824/whatcom-writers-shine-in-mystery.html

My Best Stuff

I’d always wanted to do stand-up. My family was funny. Dad was so quick; his words would be in the next county before the cousins got the joke.

This was my moment. I had an audience, the coveted captive kind.  They were laughing, crying and choking. Everything I said was killer, even the words that slurred worked.

I used my best stuff. The teenage couple “lost” in the woods. A priest, a pastor and  a rabbi go fishing.

Then she cut me off. “The anesthesia will wear off in a few minutes. You can have visitors in an hour or so.”

Not a Bad Start

A real kiss with a real girl. Not Mom, Grandma, or one of those Aunts I hardly know.

I wanted to get it right. You only get one first kiss. I mean, a guy could become a hero, or mess up and never live it down.

We were walking home together on Tuesday. My hands started sweating. Heck, everything was sweating. I wanted to run but stopped walking instead.

“Becky.”

She turned. I lunged, making a smacking sound, almost missing her lips. She started to laugh, but smiled. We started walking again, silent.

Not a bad start for a third grader.

I’m Ready

I promised Mom if she grounded me one more time that I was leaving. She never believed me. You gotta understand…a fourth grader can only take so much.

And don’t think I’m stupid. I’ve been preparing. I started saving my allowance and hiding granola bars. Thinking of what to take, where to go. I’m planning.

Parents are meeting with the teacher tonight, getting my grades. I know what’s coming. Two weeks of no TV, no games, no friends after school. Study time.

Can’t do it. Tomorrow, after school, when she sends me to my room, it’s time for action. I’m ready.

Someone Else’s Story

It would be news, if it weren’t so common.

Local kid makes good. Until another small business fails. A lifetime’s dreams evaporate into legal arguments and red ink. Credit card living bleeds into personal bankruptcy. Divorce and distance from the kids; a typical chapter of this story. Suicidal thoughts fluctuate with counseling appointments and an increased dosage. Until the insurance dries up. A boarded building, an empty house. Another body in line at the mission. The one they used to ignore on the drive to work.

But it’s a recession. These things happen. They’re just supposed to happen to someone else.


In honor of Project Homeless Connect Thursday March 3 in Bellingham.


http://www.whatcomvolunteer.org/events/project-homeless-connect/

She found her peace

Sitting by the window, she’d seen it all. Rain, in its near unending forms, could come at any time in Oregon. The annual dusting of snow could produce a bitter blizzard, just once or twice a decade. Without warning, fog was an early morning surprise as it drifted over the ground. Those dismal gray days replicated for weeks on end. But there was an occasional bright sunny summer day too. In the evenings, the moon shined bright as it danced through its phases, creating its own calendar. She knew her place and found her peace in sitting and watching in silence.

Resolution

A call and settlement cancelling the court date, ending the work of lawyers and insurance reps.

After long days of waiting news came from the hospital. She was six, brain damaged.

Her mother wailed as the ambulance left surrounded by sirens, flashing lights and confusion. People ran in panic, a neighbor called for help.

Blood pulsed from her gashed head, pooling in the street. We froze after hearing flesh, bone and steel collide. She was out of sight, I’d choked a prayer, we’d swerved. She’d bolted into the street.

It was dusk, we were driving back to school.

Right over the plate

The baby-faced rookie wipes sweat from his forehead. Looks straight into the eyes of his childhood hero. His mind races, split-seconds before the action.

Last game of the season, my first year in the bigs. Neither team’s going anywhere. He was playing when I was in little league. Never faced him before. Sounds like he’s done after today. Full count. One chance to put him down… or make his day. Why not? Throw him a fat one, let him go out with a dinger.

The ball heads toward home, maybe going seventy-five, right over the plate. He swings high.

“Strike three!”