The phone had seen better days. But not many. The person who saw it on her morning walk didn’t know that though. At first, she figured it was an old phone that a lazy person just tossed out the car window instead of disposing of properly. “The laziness,” she muttered.
Continue readingEvery 5-Saturday month, I attempt to write a short story. Last month’s story was called The Most Beautiful Story. Now, before you begin thinking that is a bit of a presumptuous claim on my part, let me explain. I am not claiming the story I wrote was the most beautiful. Rather, it was the pursuit of the protagonist.
Continue readingHarrison opened his eyes. It took a few moments for him to see enough of his surroundings to realize he had not, in fact, died yet. He was still here. Wherever here was because at the moment he couldn’t remember.
“Hey Pop,” his son Brian said. He held Harrison’s hand and squeezed it. “Still here.”
At this point, Harrison had no recollection of who Brian was or what he was saying. But he could feel the loving pressure on his hand and realized he was somebody he probably knew once. It made him frustrated that he couldn’t remember but there was literally nothing he could do about it.
“He’s awake,” Brian said to his sister Fran who sat at a desk at the other side of the room.
Continue readingUp until this moment, Harrison had only managed to go to one funeral. That was for his father nearly twenty years ago and it was awkward. He didn’t mourn his father’s death. He couldn’t. He mourned the loss of his father when he left his family years before. By the time his funeral came around, he was already grieved out. So, that was a different experience than what he felt today.
Today he was at Mrs Carrington’s funeral. It was much different than his father’s. The anticipated crowd size was so much that the services were being held in a community center. Good call. Harrison looked around and didn’t see an empty chair. He could also see people standing in the hallway. Of course Mrs Carrington would have so many people wanting to come and pay their respects. She taught school for over 30 years. Every year there were probably 20-30 students in her class. She probably made each one feel as special as she made him feel when he was in her class. That was a lot of influence.
Rachel snuggled into his arm and whispered, “You okay?”
He nodded. “She was a great teacher.”
She nodded her head.
Continue readingIt was the clicking that made Harrison restless.
“Hey,” he called out from the cell he occupied. “What is that clicking sound? “
No response.
“Sounds like it could be trouble with your furnace.”
No response.
Continue readingThe first memory Harrison still vividly remembers is when he was nine years old. Mrs. Carrington was his teacher and reminded him so much of his own mother that he slipped up one day and called her mom. The other students laughed. He never really recovered from that embarrassment. At least, not for the rest of the day which for a nine-year-old, was an eternity.
Fortunately for him, Mrs. Carrington did actually remind him of his own mother because of her tender heart, she allowed him to stay in the classroom during recess. On the pretense of helping her get the classroom in order but as he reflected on it in his older years it was to provide a safe place for him to avoid further teasing. The small recess reprieve only intensified the teasing he received on his walk home after school.
Continue readingDid my little Christmas story sound familiar? Perhaps a few elements that you have seen before? It is not an accident. December’s short story was inspired by 1987’s Overboard. Well, I should say partly inspired by the Kurt Russell and Goldie Hawn movie. In an indirect way though.
Continue readingMike sat in the chapel by himself for quite a while. It was like a floodgate had opened and he could remember everything. His name, he knew his name. Dr. M. Jameson Weatherly. When he met Cara in college, he went by his first name, Michael. She had always called him Mike. But after finishing medical school and embarking on his professional career, he went by Jameson. He thought it sounded more prominent and would earn him more respect than just being another Mike. Only Cara called him Mike these days.
The two had met during college and married soon after. Cara had earned her teaching degree so she helped support Mike through the rest of his schooling. When she became pregnant with Andrew he was excited but also a little annoyed. His plan was to wait until his career was established but a careless night accelerated their plans.
Continue readingThe two of them sat at the kitchen table. Cara rubbed her hands together then on her pants to wipe the sweat off. She repeated the process several times.
“Relax,” Mike said and held her hands to make her stop. “You got this.”
She smiled and shrugged but did not share his confidence. This was her third try at taking the stupid test. If she failed this time it was back to square one. Meaning a different plan because she would not try again. The first two times she could accept the failure because she was able to blame her lack of study time. Between teaching and raising her own kids there was no left-over study time. This last attempt though, she had study time. Mike was a huge help. Which meant she needed to reciprocate the kindness. It was time he knew the truth. The kids were going to hate her for telling him but it was time.
Continue readingMike looked out the passenger window quietly. He hadn’t said a word since he got in the car. But neither did Cara. They rode in silence.
“Look,” Cara finally said as they took an exit off the interstate. “There are some things you should know.”
“What? Like the fact you are kidnapping me?” Mike asked derisively.
“Funny,” Cara said though her tone did not suggest amusement. “You have three kids…”
Mike winced.
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ck's days 