Category Archives: Story A Day

Why Not?

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Story #04 for Story A Day Challenge May 2016
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Oh, the places you'll go with a library card.

Oh, the places you’ll go with a library card.

Why Not?

Wouldn’t that be a kick, Tina mused, if this is the start of a new career? She stood in front of the bulletin board at the library, reading the notice for summer acting classes.

Learning to act might take some doing, but she thought she could. Maybe even discover she’s a natural at it. She imagined herself in a bit (but speaking) part in a play produced by the local theater group. She’d work her way up to a starring role in other plays, where on the night of the last performance, someone would approach her, asking her to be in a commercial for a local used sports car business.

She’d accept, of course. The car in the commercial would be a Ferrari 308 GTS, one like in Magnum, P.I. TV show from the 80s.

I’ll look good in that red, Tina decided. My gun-metal grey hair will be just the perfect contrast for it. I can see myself now: car peeling out onto the road, wind blowing in my hair. I’ll be driving, of course, but that’s not enough. I can’t just walk up to it, open the door, and get in. No way. There has to be action! I wonder where I can practice jumping into a car like that. I want to do my own stunt work.

Hardly realizing it, Tina raised her eyebrows twice and smiled, just like Magnum did at the end of the show’s opening credits. She started posing in front of the bulletin board, right there in the library lobby. She squinted in intensity, opened her eyes in surprise, sneered in disgust, softened her look in sympathy of someone’s sad situation.

She made a mental note to check on how to join the Actor’s Guild. She heard the director Robert Rodriguez had a movie studio in Austin. Maybe she could be an extra in one of his movies and Be. On. Her. Way!

For her last pose, she decided on a sultry come-hither gaze. She turned her head over her right shoulder, making goo-goo eyes at an imaginary handsome co-star. The young boy standing a few feet away stared at her.

She blushed, caught unawares.

“What are you doing?” he asked.

For a few seconds, she wondered the exact same thing. “Practicing my craft, kid. Get used to it. The next time you see me it will be on the big screen.”

Hey, it could happen, she told herself.

She tore off one of the phone number slips for the acting class, putting it in her purse. Why not?

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A Moral Victory

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Story #03 for the Story A Day Challenge May 2016
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03 A Moral Victory s

A Moral Victory

They’re everywhere, Tina thought, picking up a package of Circus Peanuts. (She calls them all Circus Peanuts even though more than one company makes the candies and names them differently.) She squished one through the bag. Oh, it’s so soft and fresh. They practically melt in your mouth, all that sugar and orange-y food coloring.

It’s just not fair, Tina sighs. I can avoid them by not going down the candy aisle in the grocery store, but in these other places, they are right near the registers. Why do all these other stores carry them? Tractor Supply, really? I can’t even buy bird seed without being tempted with candy? Cabela’s, too? What do Circus Peanuts have to do with farming and hunting? It’s even worse at Jo-Ann’s Fabrics and Crafts. That big long checkout lane where you have to wait for the next cashier. They make me linger with the candy right there at fingertip level. If I could speed past it, I’d be fine, but that is never the case.

Maybe if stores had a checkout stand just for diabetics, Tina thought, or people on restricted diets, or people with no willpower (I’m talking to you, little gray-haired old lady in the mirror), that’d be great. They could stock those shelves with non-sugary stuff, like, oh, maybe cute little notebooks and pens, key chains, camouflaged letter openers, or battery-heated socks. Something, anything other than candy.

Tina moved up in line, Circus Peanuts in hand. I’ll buy this bag and just eat a few. Sure, I can throw the rest away.

Tina is lying to herself, and she knows it.

In the car, she fastens her seat belt and opens the bag of Circus Peanuts, pops one in her mouth before driving out of the parking lot. Oh, oh, so soft. Good thing I got the small bag.

One by one, on the short drive home, the Circus Peanuts disappear from the bag into her mouth. She tries to make them last, saying, “Only one until I pass the big oak tree on the corner. Can’t have the next one until I’m past the STOP sign.”

By the time she arrives at her house, Tina is sick with the sugar overload. But that doesn’t stop her from eating them, no. She puts away the groceries and the bird seed and finally decides enough is enough. She takes the bag and goes outside to throw the remaining candy into the compost pile. She looks down at the bag, reeling from too much sugar, but still tempted. Walking towards the compost pile, she sneaks another candy peanut into her mouth.

She walks faster. Eats another candy. Starts trotting. Pops another one in. Her increased speed is matched by the speed of eating the candy. The faster she nears the compost pile, the faster she stuffs the candy into her mouth. For the last little bit, she sprints, clutching a candy in her hand as a reward for arriving at her destination so quickly.

Finally she reaches the mound and flings the remaining two candies away from her. And that, she announces silently to herself, is what you call a moral victory. I said I wouldn’t eat the whole bag and I didn’t. 

Turning back towards the house, Tina sees a squirrel near the bird feeder, watching her.

“What are you looking at?” Tina asks, her words unintelligible, muffled by a mouth full of candy. “I left you some. Don’t complain.”

[Note: This also works with potato chips and those baked cheese fish-shaped thingies. The squirrel loves them, too.]

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No Room But For Love

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Story #02 for Story A Day Challenge May 2016
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02 No Room But For Love s

No Room But For Love

It was here they used to sit and talk. They came outside to escape the stuffed heat of an old building without air conditioning. Andy would announce, “Table for two, now open on the lanai,” as if he were a maître d’. Waiting for a breeze, they chatted.

Spring and autumn were their favorite times, when the weather was changing, when relief came in the guise of early spring days with a hint of warmth, or shorter autumn days, breaking the relentless grip of summer’s heat with splashes of cool nights.

Barbara always had flowers of some kind on the table. “Makes it look classy,” she said. Here, they’d share their day with each other. Their conversations started out with the usual complaints: problems with their apartments, teens out late in the neighborhood, prices at the grocer. Their bodies were a constant source of surprise, things going wrong in places and ways not covered in high school biology classes. Sometimes one would say, “It’s better than the alternative, right?” and the other would concur, nodding, smiling.

Once they got the opening routine out of the way, they drifted to more interesting subjects: memories, future plans, art, music, books, people, gardening. There was so much to enjoy in life and they were determined to enjoy their little part of it.

The table was just the right size for two, their ideas, hopes, and dreams. They built an imaginary field around it, protection from life’s rough edges.

***

The sirens were loud, insistent, rude. The ambulance drove away, stealing Barbara from the shelter of their sanctuary. Andy stood under the wisteria blooms, vision blurred by tears, breathing blurred by heartache.

After Barbara’s funeral, he sat at the table, not wanting to look at the empty seat. He decided not to let sadness creep into their refuge. He kept the table covered in flowers, so there would be no room for sorrow, no room but for love.

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A Chance

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This is my first time participating in the Story A Day challenge. We’ll see how it goes!

Story #01 for Story A Day Challenge May 2016
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01 A Chance s

A Chance

It had taken Francis almost a year to get the money for the voyage, stealing bits and baubles from around the manor. He tried to minimize the risk of getting found out by selling them only in places where his father’s name had no hold. Unfortunately, that also meant he got a lower price for the items. When something was discovered as missing, his parents blamed the servants.

Charles, the oldest brother, almost caught him once. Francis lied about the reason the crystal vase was gone, saying he broke it and asking Charles not to expose his secret. The lie wasn’t the problem, it was asking for the favor of a secret that started Charles to suspect something was amiss. There was no bond between Charles and his youngest brother, Francis, and Charles wasn’t stupid. If Francis was asking for something from him, Charles knew there was more to the story. From then on, Francis made sure he stayed out of Charles’ sight as much as possible. That really wasn’t much of a problem, as Charles was spending more time with their father when he attended court.

That had been Charles’ path from the beginning, as the eldest, the heir, as was tradition. Tradition led the second and third sons to their vocations as well: a military appointment and the priesthood. But as the fourth son, tradition would extend none of those advantages to Francis. He would inherit nothing, and his father would lay out no money for additional military or religious posts. His future would always depend on Charles’ generosity. When their father wasn’t around, Charles had made it clear he had no plans to share anything with anyone. Francis would be a pauper for all of his life, surrounded by prosperity he couldn’t touch.

This did not suit Francis at all.

So now it was time. The winds were favorable for the ships and they would soon be leaving England for the colonies. All his planning and efforts were to this end: passage to America. He didn’t know anyone there, wasn’t related to anyone. He’d be on his own with no turning back. That was a better future than living under Charles’ thumb, Francis thought. At least he’d have a chance.

His last theft from the manor was Charles’ shoe buckles, fancy with gold, silver, and gems; some from Italy. This time Francis sold them in the market in town and even hinted to the merchant who might be interested in buying them for a high price. He wanted Charles to have to pay to get them back, knowing Francis had stolen them.

***

That was a long time ago and Francis kept this story to himself. He thought about it a little more often now, as he rocked his grandson to sleep. After he became a father, he looked back, wishing he had left his parents a note to explain his leaving. That was his one regret. He wondered if Charles made up some frightful story in revenge, causing their mother heartache, making her cry even harder. He’d never know.

He was weary now, Francis was, old and gray. He didn’t live in a stone manor, didn’t have servants, tapestries, crystal vases, or a canopied bed. But he’d made a living, a good enough one in the colonies. All he ever wanted – and needed – was a chance. He readied himself for bed and looked forward to playing with his grandchildren in the morning.
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The origin for this story came from my research into my family history. I found that one of my ancestors, Francis Gresham, left England and came to America sometime around 1750. I wondered what his reason was for leaving his home.