We’re trying (the Corona Chronicles)

“I… can’t… take… this… shit… any… more!”

“Come on Kris, language. Your Father and I are trying to make the best of these tough times. It’s hard on everybody.”

“I don’t care. I’m outa here. You don’t understand. I need some friends.”

“You aren’t going anywhere. Keys and phone, NOW!”

“But…”

“Taking away friends and games seems the only way to get you to listen.”

“Come on!”

“This isn’t a conversation. Take that laptop, go to your room and get your school work done.”

“OK.” …Does she really have no clue what I’m going to be doing all morning?

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

Too much pain (the Corona Chronicles)

I always believed in America, God and country. Had to protect our rights.

Trusted my President. He knew what was best and would take care of us. He said, “Don’t fear.” “Liberate.” “Go back to work.” My soul raged. Crazy liberals weren’t shutting down our country.

Covid-19 infected my husband, fear, hospital, pain and so alone. Then our granddaughter. My secret favorite. Same result, only much more pain.

This is beyond what I can take. I refuse to be next. Thanks for your love and support. I pray my leaving this way doesn’t cause you too much pain.

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.

What else could I do? (the Corona Chronicles)

I’ve been trapped in that apartment. Living on the first floor I hear everything.

Next door either that baby’s crying or the parents are arguing over whose turn it is to change diapers. Above me it’s always video games and movies at full volume. Maybe I should offer to buy them headphones.

But A-9 was always so quiet. No toilet flush. No slammed doors. No whisper of conversation. Sad that she got so sick and died so alone. I’m sorry, wish I’d known. I would have done something. You’re sure it was the virus, right, Officer?

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

I'm dealing with it, I promise (the Corona Chronicles)

Denial

Time, time, time, getting time back as commitments and obligations evaporate. My proverbial dreams coming true.

Anger

Barrage of internet jokes and memes are becoming too cute, too hollow and too real.

Bargaining 

Daily, like I know what day it is, I vacillate between, “This isn't bad, I have everything I need.” and “This is crazy, when will it end?

Depression

Family, friend, neighbor, co-worker… me? When and how close will it hit?

Acceptance

Do I have any choice, power or control? Providence, fate, karma, coincidence, or divine plan? You tell me.

* With thanks to Kuebler-Ross & Kessler
Fiction 101 - The goal is to tell 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

not what we expected

So glad you came home, Sis, I’m going crazy.

What do you think’s happening?

They’ve been bossy and bitchy for weeks. Nobody remembers I’m graduating and need help with college plans.

Yeah, I’m getting married and Mom doesn’t return my calls. It’s got to be divorce. They think because we’re grown we can take it. I’m guessing that’s why we’re going out to dinner. They want to tell us together, all adult and proper.

Kids, things have been stressful lately. Sorry, we’re overwhelmed with reorganizing our lives… because we’re having a baby.

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.”

Back of the Bus

We giggled holding hands on the bus in fourth grade. Our first dance was at the seventh grade sock-hop. In tenth grade, I surprised him with a kiss in the library. We said a rushed goodbye on graduation night. Lost contact until the ten-year reunion, both married with kids. At the twentieth, he sobbed, telling me of his divorce. The thirtieth, I unloaded the grief of my husband’s cancer. The fortieth coincided with our sixth anniversary and I felt like a kid again, holding his hand and dancing. Duty and habit led me to the fiftieth, without him, I left early.