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Short Stories 2009-2010
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The Rain
By Mary Gunderson
She stood on the one dry spot underneath the tree, looking out at the rain. It was like the rain that you saw in the movies. It fell slowly, deliberately. It was heavy rain. And for the life of her, she wished that she could cry like that rain.
She hadn’t cried in years. And before the last one, she hadn’t cried for almost a decade. But she wanted to. She really wished she could just let go and empty her body of all the pent up tears she had sloshing around her heart. More importantly, she remembered why she had hated the human race; the disappointments, the earnest moments spent in vain. She currently couldn’t remember why she had given her race another chance, but she had proven herself right once more. Just when she had found someone to give her love to, it had gone sour, just like it always did.
This was why she had decided, a long time ago, that she was destined to be alone. Either she was a cursed individual, or she sub-consciously pushed people away after a certain amount of time. Whichever reason it was, it didn’t matter. She was still better off not getting too invested into the affairs of other humans. No man was an island, but she could still try.
No expectations, no disappointments. That was how it went. Now she remembered. And if you cut out your heart, you didn’t feel compelled to use it. Also gave you a lot more space to put other bits of fluff.
Yes, that was right. Go back to the beginning. Start again. Renaissance. She should have done this months ago. She felt better. She was hollow again. If people wanted to fill her, she could handle it now.
Alone, yet surrounded. Silent, yet outspoken. Here, yet elsewhere. As it should be.
Crimson Red Nails
By Rosa Jundt
Today is going to be the first day of the rest of my life. Ok, that’s being a little dramatic. Let’s say instead that today is the first day of the rest of my life…that is after that whole sham of a marriage anyway. Twenty-two years of marriage is a long time, how am I supposed to recall what single life is like? How in the hell is a 44 year old woman with stretch marks and crow’s feet supposed to enter the dating world? Thanks a lot, Richard.
Almost seven months ago, I had caught Richard with his pants down, literally. Apparently going into the office over lunch hour to surprise your husband with a nice meal of all his favorite foods on his birthday isn’t a good idea when your husband has a new temp with freshly manicured, crimson red nails and perky, albeit fake as shit, double D tits. I found those red nails, not on her keyboard, but grasping Richard’s hairy ass which was furiously pumping away. Granted, I’d never really liked how hairy Richard’s ass was, but damn it, that was my hairy ass.
Of course, Richard came up with the most original saying when he finally noticed me standing at the door, “This isn’t what it looks like, baby.”
Uh…yeah right. Cindy, Sandy, or whatever the hell her name was, had an itch inside her pelvis and you, being the gentleman that you are, decided to help her out and scratch it with your dick. In those few moments after I found them, my faith in marriage, men, and myself flew right out the window, along with the food I carried, the picture from our honeymoon in Tahiti, and I would have tried throwing Cindy, but by then security had been called to escort me from the premises.
Why would they take me away? Was I the person who had strayed from the sacred vows of marriage? Was I the one breaking my best friend, my lover’s heart? It was him that should have been escorted from the building and taken straight to some back alley without even the courtesy of a blindfold and cigarette.
So, after being thrown out and permanently banned from his office, I decided to spend a little time with the two men that will never let a woman down, Ben and Jerry. After I was through with them, I moved on to Jim, Jack, and Jose. I was going through the ever popular men like crazy. Divorce proceedings were held soon after my ice cream/booze binges, leading me to my first disastrous attempt to reenter the dating world. Recalling it as if it was just yesterday, I was standing in front of my full length mirror in my bra and panties wondering how in the hell I was going to get through the blind date my girlfriend, Sheila, had set me up with.
Sheila said that he’s been divorced for five years, relatively attractive (albeit a bit balding), and she’d known him ever since her husband joined AA. Great…a recovering alcoholic who probably wouldn’t be appreciative of the fact that I would need to drink (a lot) to get through the night. I guess I really had no choice, though, I already told her I’d do it, just to get her off my case. To get over the nerves of choosing the right outfit, I decided that I was just going to close my eyes and wear whatever I pulled out of my closet. It just figures that I’d pull out the dress I wore to my Aunt Agnes’s funeral about 15 years ago. With its full length lace sleeves, shoulder pads that should have been outlawed in the eighties, high neck, and ankle length hem, this was not the little black dress that will “knock ‘em dead.” Well, it might‘ve-- it was just that hideous. What the hell? I thought, I’ll wear it anyway.
As soon as the horrendous thing was on, the doorbell rang, startling me out of my musings of how the last time I went on a first date, it was with Richard. Richard, the dick. Dick. I slowly made my way down the hallway, glancing briefly at the family portrait still hanging on the wall. There we were, the perfect family: me sitting on the loveseat in front of the fire in the family room, beside me are my two beautiful children, Molly and Brandon, and Dick behind us with his hand on my shoulder. The only reason why I haven’t taken it down yet is because of Molly and Brandon. I don’t get to see them much now that they are in college and doing their own thing, so it’s nice having all the pictures surround me, even if you can see a stupid Dick in them. I couldn’t help but chuckle at the last picture hanging in the hallway. During one of the nights I had spent with Mr. Cuervo, I seemed to have gotten the bright idea to tape a picture over Dick’s face. Dick is now Johnny Depp until further notice. Yum.
Opening the door revealed the Blind Date and I almost let out an audible gasp and thought to myself that he just may be considered legally blind with the size of the coke-bottle glasses he had on. I think the glasses also could have the reason why didn’t recognize that he didn’t have a toupee on the top of his extremely smooth, shiny head but actually some form of rodent or small dog. A Pekinese maybe. Yep. Pekinese, now that I look back on it. Thank you Sheila, this one was a real looker. Thinking maybe it really couldn’t be all that bad and he had to have some redeeming qualities, I invited him in and asked him if he wanted a drink.
“Uh, no thanks. I’m a recovering alcoholic. Sober now for three years last Tuesday.” he said in a flat voice that had no redeeming inflections of any kind.
“That’s respectable I guess…Well, I’m not and I believe I will have a drink before we go out.”
I reached for the single malt scotch that Dick had always loved and I realized that I have never liked scotch and that this Blind Date guy just wasn’t going to work out. If I was going to go out in the world, I was going to do it on my own terms. I gave some lame excuse and told him to go home, poured out the whole bottle of liquor, and called my daughter, Molly.
Concern filled her voice as she answered the phone, “Mom, aren’t you supposed to be on that date that Sheila set you up with? Is everything going alright? Mom?”
“I need dating tips.”
“You’re on a date now. Can’t this wait.”
“No, and I’m not out with that guy. I want to choose my own.”
“Ok, Mom, here’s what you need to do...”
Our roles had been reversed; usually she called me with all her problems, now I called her to get dating tips. Sad… I did pay attention to her advice though. The very next day, I went on a huge shopping spree….at Sacs with Dick’s alimony money. Molly had told me that first I need to stop dressing like a mom and start dressing like a cougar, wear something that makes you feel sexy and start from the inside out. Alright, I could handle that. Hello! Victoria’s Secret. Hair, it’s all about the hair, mom. Ok, haircut and style at Fenchino’s the ritziest salon in the city. Nails, when was the last time you got your nails done? Spa? Shoes? Everything. Go nuts with dad’s money she said, you deserve it after what he did to you.
I even went one step farther and joined a gym and after a few months I had toned legs, arms, and an ass that would make any 22 year old green with envy.
The next time I looked at my full-length mirror, instead of seeing a frumpy, woman who looked exactly like my mother, I saw a sexy, older version of what I looked like at 17. I felt like I had found myself again and was ready to take on anything. That night, I went out dancing at a club. I didn’t even feel awkward being alone, I just smiled at all the men and surprisingly, they all smiled back. A few even bought me drinks and asked for my number, some of them young enough to be my son!
In this smoky club, I was hot. I was a hot, sexy mama who was way better than any Cindy, Sally, or whatever. A man in his thirties with a full head of hair, a body like Brad Pitt, and the sexiest dimples asked me to dance and oh boy could that boy dance. Just as I was letting him put his hands wherever he wanted, I looked to the bar and saw Richard, sans bimbo temp Cindy staring at me with his jaw agape.
“Buy me a drink.” I whispered in the boy’s ear and we walked over to the bar, where I leaned on the bar right next to Richard while the boy ordered me my drink.
“Sarah, you look so phenomenal,” Richard said.
“You look a little haggard. Actually, you look like shit. Gained a little weight around the middle there, have you? I guess it’s not that noticeable…you’re middle-aged, a paunch is common. Don’t worry about it.” Richard’s hands moved to his waistband and I could definitely tell he was trying to suck it in, “Things not going well with you and Sandra?”
Richard looked back at me with a slightly shocked look on his face. “It’s Sylvie and no we aren’t together. Are you with this guy?”
“No, not really. Just met him tonight, he’s just buying me a drink and then who knows what’ll happen…” I smiled and rested my hand on the boy’s bicep, showing off my freshly manicured, crimson red nails.
First Impressions
By Elizabeth Zappa
Leona crawled across the plush red seats and looked out the window just as the train was pulling into the station. She could hear the shrill whistling of the steam and the screeching of steel-on-steel; could feel the jerking and tugging as the cars settled into place.
It was night outside—December—only a few days before Christmas. There was snow on the ground, in the air, falling silently, softly, as if the flakes were afraid of being heard. It was the snow you knew was there because it was so quiet. The whole world stands still when it snows like this.
Outside the window the world was dark and lonely, populated only by shadows. The buildings of Main Street were a mass of black. Dark, thin shapes protruded from the ground— streetlamps left unlit. The only light was the soft yellow glow coming from within the train station.
“Come along, dear.” --A smooth hand, long fingers bare except for a wedding ring, reached out for Leona. The voice was soft, like the snow, afraid of being heard. Mama was tired from having to hold on to little baby Herman, who was one-year-old and cranky from the long journey.
Leona hesitated. The world outside was cold and gloomy. Empty. Once they left the station that was all there would be; an endless abyss of darkness in the eyes of the six-year-old girl. But Papa was there, in the station waiting for them. She had not seen him in so long and had grown a lot since he had left New York. She hoped he recognized her.
She took her mama’s hand and clutched her small suitcase with the other. Mama carried Herman and her travel bag; the porter would get the rest. They stepped briefly into the bitter cold as they walked across the platform towards the warmth of the station. The arctic air bit at Leona’s cheeks. She wanted to push her wool scarf further up her face but she didn’t want to let go of Mama or her suitcase. They were soon inside, though; all of them tangled up in the tender embrace of Papa, who had lost weight and now had a thick brown beard. He laughed at everything and Leona felt a little better. Mama beamed with joy for the first time since Papa had left. Even sleepy Herman perked up a little when Papa took him into his arms. In that moment, with them all united as a family again, everything felt just right. However, as they headed towards the door to leave she shrunk closer to Papa, who was carrying a lantern to guide them to their new home. That moment of happiness was brought to an abrupt end as the door closed behind them and they were walking back into the night.
Back into the cold and wind; a wind that never seemed to stop. It had come out of nowhere and it blew and blew the whole time they were walking to their new home.
“It’s because there’s nothing out here to stop it,” said Mama, adjusting the blanket covering Herman so that the wind would not get to him.
Leona knew that tone in Mama’s voice. It was the same voice she used back when they were still all together back in the cities, in New York, when Papa wanted to move out west. Mama had insisted that there was nothing out there: no people, no opportunities, nothing. But Papa had been in contact with a friend of his who had told him about an opportunity to buy a dry goods store in a small town in the Dakotas. The town was on the rail line, there was a space above the store for them to live, and the population was (slowly) growing. Papa won the debate, pointing out that this could be the only opportunity they could have to get out of the dirty, smelly, crime-ridden city. Out west the land was unspoiled, the air clean, and the people good. Papa had won, and obedient, genteel Mama had let him head out west first to get things prepared for their arrival.
Leona had been excited when Papa talked about moving out west. There would be new places to explore, new animals to watch, and new friends to make.
But she had been frightened, too.
“The Indians will get you and scalp the golden curls right off your head,” said her cousin, Edmund, tugging on her pigtails.
“You’ll get lost in a blizzard,” said Grand-mama Bertha, “or sucked up in a tornado. The wind will swoop down right outta the sky and whisk you away.”
“Just don’t get trampled by a herd of buffalo,” said Uncle Harvey.
So many scary, bad things that could happen! Did Papa really think it would be safer out there? But Leona had even less choice in the matter than Mama.
Now, looking around the town, Leona wondered about Papa’s choice. Mama was right: there was nothing beyond the town. The road they were on seemed to come from nothing and end in nothing. The buildings on Main Street were so small and short compared to the tall buildings of the city! They were all made of wood, too. There was no brick or concrete in sight. The town was absolutely silent. Back home there was always dogs barking, babies crying, and traffic on the streets with people shouting and wagons clattering, even in the middle of the night! And it was never so dark! It was as if the train station and Papa’s lone lantern were the only lights around from there to the cities. The swinging glow from the lantern barely pierced the darkness, avoiding any dark nook or cranny, not even straying to the porches of the post office, tailor, or bank. It only lit the way immediately in front of them, seeming to cling to Papa just as Leona did.
Finally, they reached their new home. It was a two-story, wood frame structure, with the store on the first floor and their home on the second floor. Papa had kept the stove going so that by the time they got there it was toasty and warm. The top floor was not much larger than their apartment back in the cities, with a kitchen, sitting area, and two bedrooms. It was strange not to hear neighbors through thin walls. The rooms and furniture were simple, but Mama would fix that up soon enough. She had always been able to make any space look pretty. Leona stood at the front window, looking out into the snowy night and down onto the empty street. She thought she saw an Indian creeping around, but Mama told her not to be silly and Papa said there were no Indians nearby. That made Leona feel a little better, but not much, especially when Papa added that it could just be a coyote.
Leona could not sleep that night as she lay in bed in her new home. The silence of the new town was too loud for her ears, and the questions that plagued her mind were no help: What was there going to be in the morning, when the sun finally came up and wiped away the darkness? What about Indians and buffalo and tornadoes? Or coyotes? And could they really be happy being surrounded by nothing after being surrounded by everything?
Only the future held the answers, and the future, with all of its answers, seemed as far away as the empty horizon in the distance.
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