Tag Archives: friendship

Damien (A Story of Connections)

Damien was running down the street, and for a man who never runs and has a few extra pounds, it was quite a sight. The combination of a tie flying over his shoulder, his jacket in flight behind him, and a bright red face all told people ahead of him to get out of his path or deal with the aftermath. He almost didn’t hear the muffled yelps as he turned a corner but stopped fast enough to make a group of nearby children liken him to a cartoon character.

As he followed the cry for help, he checked his watch and knew he was already going to be late, a few more minutes wouldn’t hurt. He followed the sad whimpers until they led him to a small alley. He discovered the poor little guy, a tiny Scottie limping around in a circle and tearing up.

“Hey there boy,” he said in his calmest voice, forcing his heavy breathing aside for a moment. “What’s the matter?” The pup looked up at him with the saddest eyes he’d ever seen, even including the poster of the sick puppy he had on the wall of the office in his veterinary practice. It didn’t take long for him to spot the small twig wedged into the jet-black dog’s paw and he pet the little guy to calm him down.

“Don’t worry little fella. Let’s check your tag.” He let the dog sniff his scent and then checked the dangling gold emblem attached to the collar. “Duffy, huh? Okay Duffy we’ll have you fixed up in a jiff.” The dog reacted positively to hearing his name, barked and then rolled over, offering the damaged paw to the doctor.

He had the twig out in a few seconds and Duffy jumped up, barked twice, and took off.

“Guess you won’t be paying me,” Damien said to no one in particular. He started a bit as he checked his watch. His friend who set them up specifically told him not to be late, and it was 7:07, a few minutes past the appointed meeting time. He ran to the alley’s edge and hailed a cab.

As he checked himself in the window of the small restaurant, his eyes refocused on the single woman sitting alone in the restaurant, his date. He panicked. Her strawberry-blonde hair, beautiful eyes, amazing body, he focused back on his reflection and knew he never had a chance, even if he had been punctual.

He was better off standing her up than facing rejection again. Another taxi later and he was on his way home.

August (June) A Story of Connections

Watch for more connected stories as the days go on. I am writing a bunch that can both stand alone and become part of a bigger picture. I hope you enjoy them!

August was pouring hamster food into the little dish when the mail dropped through the slot and landed on the floor of her gallery. The sound startled her a bit and the pellets poured over the edges of the bowl and onto the desk.

“Damn.”

She put the bag down and ran to the mail before Stephen, the homeless boy she hired to help in her barely-making-ends-meet gallery, could beat her to it. She started sifting through the envelopes, quickly hiding any that had her real name on them.

“Who’s June?” the boy asked from behind. She turned to see him holding an envelope.

“Give that to me, Stephen! Shouldn’t you be working?”

“Geez Aug, I was just trying to help. It slid under the welcome mat.”

She snatched it out of his hand and went to her desk.

“Want me to finish feeding the little guys?”

“Sure. But some of them are girls.”

Stephen gave her a “whatever” shrug and opened the top of the cage. Small black hamsters started scurrying from all corners of the gallery’s yellow hamster tubes that seemed to line the walls. He laughed.

“Are these things like gremlins or something? I swear there are five more since last week.”

August looked up from the papers that now littered her desk. “Huh?”

“Did one of these guys have babies?”

She pushed her long brown hair behind her ears, bringing to light just how much they stuck out. But Stephen didn’t care. She looked at the cage from her seat.

“Oh Petunia had babies on Wednesday,” she said absentmindedly.

“With who?”

“Vernon, of course.”

“Did you name one Dudley?”

“Huh?”

“Never mind.” He smiled.

August’s phone played a little song signifying a text message, which she read.

Are we still on for tonight? – Jennie.

She quickly replied. Yes, he said he would be at the restaurant at seven.

It rang again less than a minute later.

Okay. I’m still not sure about this.

She would have to respond later. The jingling bell let August know a customer had just entered, so she had to get to work.

“Can I help you?”

The gentleman had an expensive Armani suit covered by a Burberry jacket and scarf; he had money and she shook a little with the hope that her little gallery might actually make a decent sale.

“No, just browsing,” he responded.

“I’ll be right over there if you need me,” she said, pointing to the counter. She returned to her mail as the man looked at a section of sculptures. He gasped once, twice, and a third time as he went over the selection. He approached the counter.

“I’ll take those two, and that one. Do you have anymore by this artist? Her sculptures are amazing.”

She looked at the works and shook her head. “Sorry, not right now. But if you give me your card I can have the artist call you directly. She’s a close, personal friend.”

He nodded and pulled out a silver card case, removed one, and handed it to her as she finished ringing him up. Stephen was already packing the sculptures in bubble wrap as the man handed her his credit card.

“That’s $458.”

She swiped, he signed with the quickness of a busy man and turned to find Stephen waiting, three boxes in his arms.

“Follow me to my car?”

“Sure thing, sir.”

August’s hands trembled a little as she put the receipt into the register. It was by far the largest sale her little suburban gallery ever had. She would have to celebrate tonight.

Jennie – A Story of Connections

Jennie’s strawberry blonde hair seemed to attract the wrong kind of guy, so she’d given up on them. She focused on her dancing and sculpting, her two passions in life, and spent free time making small terrariums out of old, useless objects. Her most recent creation, a small vine in an old light bulb, was a hit the last time she had the girls over for sushi. They each wanted one, but it would take Jennie another year to go through that many light bulbs.

Her luck with men seemed to be common knowledge in her life. Her friends, neighbors, even acquaintances seemed to know about it. Acquaintance meaning her associate, August, who sold some of her sculptures in a small gallery just down the street from the  vegetarian restaurant where she now sat waiting for, according the August, the “Man of her dreams.”

Jennie had always said she wanted to marry rich. This man was a vet. She didn’t even know how much a vet made. Was he August’s vet? Did she actually bring those little black rats to a vet when they were sick? Jennie shuddered a bit but couldn’t complain; her work seemed to sell fairly well at the little gallery that smelled a bit like a pet shop. But hey, the income padded the small checks she got from the theater where she danced, so she couldn’t complain. Sure, August was a bit of a flake, but she’d known her since college, where she’d excelled and August had eventually dropped out.

The clock over the bar read 7:04. With the schedule Jennie had to keep, combining dance practice, staying fit, her clay studio time and the small events a human being needs to survive, she was a busy woman and stuck strictly to a schedule. If this man, this veterinarian, didn’t show up soon, she would order without him. She had no problem eating alone in a restaurant; she’d done it plenty of times before and could easily do so once again.

The waiter approached. “Can I get you something to drink?”

7:06. “Yes, I’ll have a glass of the house wine. Red.”

He nodded and walked away. She checked her phone for texts. Nothing. After a quick check of her purse, she found the small notebook she kept where she transcribed ideas, either for sculpture or terrariums, and started a sketch of an old kitchen jar from the 1970s she bought at a secondhand store last week and scribbled light drawings of the plants she would fill it with. The waiter brought the wine and she checked the clock.

7:10.

She sipped the wine, checked her phone again, and went back to the sketch. Once she was satisfied with that, she flipped back a few pages to some drawings she’d made of a homeless man in the park the other day and worked on them a bit, perfecting them for a sculpture project she had in mind.

7:13.

The waiter walked by and she flagged him down to order her dinner.

Thanksgiving Alone, 1913



Rebecca stared at the empty post card, unsure of how to apologize for missing her parents’ fiftieth anniversary party. Her cousin would surely be there, and she just couldn’t deal with seeing him again after their encounters. It would be too painful. He would get that look of excitement on his face, she would see his smile, and they would end up back in the situation that she’d already put an end to more than once.

She bought her parents a Thanksgiving post card to combine both excuses in one shot; he would be going to that as well. She thought back to the first day when they were hiking to the top of Mount Glade to the famous sunset lookout. Time was running out because she wasn’t in as good of shape as she’d thought and they needed to rush to make it in time. He beat her to the top and as she climbed the final rocks saw him with myriad colors in the background, holding out his hand to her, and she accepted it. Her hand stayed in his without either of them noticing until it was too late.

Thanksgiving was an enormous loss for her. Some of her best childhood memories were those of her father giving thanks before they all dug in. He always named each of his children on that list, and the rare attention from the patriarch always made her heart skip a beat. Of course, he was always thankful for the roof over their head, meals, and baseball games, but she sat anticipating the sound of her name coming from his lips. And now she would miss it.

As she started to scribble the kindest words she could muster for her parents, they flowed rather smoothly. She finished and looked at it, rereading every word and wondering why her hands were shaking. It was horrible to avoid her family because of a few mistakes, but she had no choice; seeing him again would start it all back up and it was wrong. She read the letter once more and realized that it sounded more friendly than loving, but she had to send it as is. Thanksgiving was in two days and it she didn’t have time to go out and buy another card.

A Warm Vacation

Click the image for my Etsy store.

Dear John

Vintage photograph sent to me by Gina Esguerra. Click it for her blog.

She sat down to write him the last letter he would ever get from her. Years of letters had gone unnoticed, unreturned and discarded in the waste bin. She was tired of it all, of him. Thousands of meals, never a single thank you. She didn’t know a single one of her friends who had the guts to leave their husbands, but she would do it. A job was lined up, she had a room with her sister’s family, everything was set.

Maybe he would learn to appreciate the next woman who came into his life. Maybe not. But more importantly, she would be happy.

The Best Burger

Photograph by Gina Esguerra. Click the photograph for her amazing blog.

He opened the car door as if to get out when she stopped him,

“We drove an extra hour for this?”

“Trust me…best burger and fries I have ever had.”

“Where are we, anyway?” she said as she gathered her giant sunglasses and wallet and placed them into her Coach purse.

“Rosie’s Den. Arizona. Look, it’s on the steps!”

“Grand,” she said as she got out of the car. “Wait, where are my sunglasses?”

“You just put them in your bag. Look at these windows! Can you believe this?”

“You can’t even see inside there’s so much shit hanging in them.”

“Hmm, I was actually going to say there’s less stuff than I remember.”

She walked to the door and waited for him to catch up and open the door for her.

“Since when do you wait for me to hold the door?”

“It’s filthy…I didn’t want to touch it.”

He placed his hand on the small of her back as she passed him, then followed her inside.

The fluorescent lights by the door flickered as they entered, buzzed a bit and she turned in an attempt to leave, but he stopped her. “Trust me,” he said to her as an old woman with an obvious mustache in a vintage waitress outfit which was too small for her age approached them, her short skirt revealing antique, wrinkly legs with more varicose veins than either had ever seen.

“Hi! Two, please,” he told her in a cheery voice as his girlfriend shuddered. She clutched her purse tight against her chest as they were led to a booth right next to a bright Arizona Lottery sign in the window.

“Ugh, these windows are filthy! Don’t they ever wash them?”

“How could they with all that stuff on them?” he asked.

She shrugged as the waitress brought them menus. “I’m Flo,” she said.

“Really?” he asked.

“Yes, really,” she said with a bitter tone. “Do you want to hear the specials? Because I’m not wasting my breath if you already know what you want.” She took a cigarette out and lit it.

“Um…you know that’s illegal these days, right?” she asked the waitress.

“Huh?”

“Never mind.”

“We already know what we want,” he said, picking up both menus and handing them back to Flo. “We’ll each have a burger and fries with a chocolate milkshake.”

Flo took both menus from his hand and practically stomped off as if this weren’t part of her job.

“There are things hanging from the ceiling back there covered in flies. This table looks as if it hasn’t been washed in ages. And did you see the cook back there?” She nodded toward the kitchen, which they could see through an order counter. Flo brought a burly balding man their order. He wore a filthy wifebeater covered in what could be years of spills, his hairy chest sticking out of it. “He is disgusting.”

“Just you wait. This burger is the best thing you’ve ever eaten. I guarantee it.”

A loud sizzling noise emitted from the kitchen as he said that as if to support his point.

She started rooting through her purse for something and started pulling out objects as she searched. Hair brush. Makeup. Birth control pills. Wallet. Finally she found what she was looking for, a wet-nap.

“There’s a bathroom.”

“I am not finding out what the bathrooms look like here. I’d rather use a port-a-potty.”

“You won’t use those when we go to football games.”

“Exactly.”

He started to look around at the many items hanging in the old diner. Random papers hung next to the register on the window; a few were bad checks while others seemed to be orders from companies they were awaiting. The open sign flickered a bit as Flo was suddenly next to them with their meals, which she slammed down in front of them a little too hard, throwing a few fries off each plate.

“Anything else?”

“No, I think we’re good,” he said with a huge smile.

He waited.

“What?”

“I want to see you try this.”

She sighed and picked up the burger. A quick turn showed the cheese sliding down the edges, a thick burger and a roll that had seen better days. As she sunk her teeth into it a pickle started to escape from the other side, but that didn’t matter. Her eyes widened as she savored the bite. She chewed with precision and finally swallowed the bite.

“Well?”

She smiled. “I hate when you’re right.” She sunk her teeth into another chunk of the burger as he picked his up.

“See? Told you.”

“Oh my God, it is SO good.”

He took a bite and did the same, except he frowned at the burger and looked at it as he chewed.

“What is it, hun?”

He put it down.

“Hmm. It’s not as good as I remembered.”

 

Flash Fiction Published!

I’m proud to announce a collection of my stories was published in a lovely publication called The Fifteenth Dame Lisbet Throckmorton Anthology:


Click the image to order the book on Amazon. It was an honor to be selected with such beautiful stories and talented writers.

My collection are a bunch of short flash fiction pieces that take place in a coffee shop. There are two sections, Despair and Hope, some of the stories continuing from the Despair section to the Hope section. I’m really excited! Here are a few example flashes:

She removes her hood, as directed.  He wants to see her eyes as she ends it.  She sighs and takes a sip of tea.  He spins his mug of coffee on the saucer, noticing the tiny cracks in the glaze.

~

From above, all that could be seen was two people calmly reading.

From below, all that could be seen was a serious, ongoing foot war.

~

It was their first date, blind at that, and conversation was fairly smooth.  But he knew it would all work out because as she ate her giant marshmallow square, she broke a piece off, rolled it into a bite-sized, mouth-appropriate ball in the palms of her hands, and carefully regarded it between her finger and thumb before popping it into her mouth.

~

She loved sipping the hot rooibos tea but regretted her decision to sit inside on such a nice, clear night.  She looked out the window with an air of regret, but lacked the initiative to move.

 

When Grandpa Was a Kid

This, along with many others, is available for sale on my Etsy.

An Elevator, Groceries and a Dog

He walked up to the elevator, which seemed to be taking a lot longer than usual. A young woman stood with seven grocery bags wrapped around her wrists with four more resting on the floor under the buttons while another waited with a dog calmly sitting on the cold linoleum floor.

The bell on the elevator dinged and waited that moment that always occurs between the bell sound and the doors opening and he watched as the grocery girl stood there, just staring at the bags she wasn’t currently holding. He had no idea how she’d even carried so much from the market to the building.

“Can I help you with those?” he asked her.

She laughed awkwardly and nodded. “I was just trying to figure out how I would get them on before the doors closed.”

He returned a laugh, grabbed her bags and carried them onto the elevator. The girl with the dog hit the five button and looked at both of them expectantly.

“Oh I’m on five too.”

“Seven,” she said. “Feel free to put the bags by my feet.”

“No problem,” he said as he followed her instructions.

“Thanks so much,” she said with a smile. He nodded as the doors opened and he followed the girl with the dog out.

As the doors shut and the elevator slid away, the girl with the dog said, “What, do you have a thing for her or something?”

“No,” he responded. “I have a thing for helping my fellow human beings.”