Friday, July 6, 2012
"Forbidden Memoir" by Diana Weeks
I have wanted to donate my personal journals to the University of Houston Women Studies Department since they let me do research in the archives there. I discovered they actually collect woman’s stories about how lives have been lived here in Houston. You don’t have to be famous!
A Cow town girl…I refused college…If you had to go to college to get a husband I just pitied you. Married in the fifties two weeks after graduation from high school, got pregnant in six weeks…became mother of three by 24…having our boy first!
We had our own home…furniture and car…I’d done what society expected of women then… but in private I’m thinking “What have I done to myself?”
My husband kept the kids so I could go to night school at U of H to take playwriting and many journalism classes. Mostly I’d audit…got no college credit, we couldn’t afford to pay tuition. I loved college…with no grades. My kind professor Alex got me on with CBS TV covering space shots at the beginning of space travel. I was staked out at astronaut’s homes in NASA with a dozen other reporters from everywhere, at the ready to interview the wife, if the space ship blew up. Not on my watch, thank heaven. That job leads to worthy contacts in a very fun career in news.
I didn’t even get close to a glass ceiling but had excitement galore. I want all young women to
enjoy their life as much as I do.
I found a journal from decades ago when I managed The Palmer House in exchange for free rent. Now I’m old and forgetful…Was it really as much fun as my memories? I had run away from our suburb home into the big city to be a full time writer after the children married. The four-plex in Montrose housed women upstairs …men down…three writers and a visual artist. Our home was full of benighted drama and travel at the least excuse!
I read from the old journal…
”Liz has broken up with Daren AGAIN…He had taken her to a family reunion. His mother is calling him daily to give up Liz… his older woman…and find a potential mother for HER future grand children. Liz wants them to open an art colony.” “Eddie, a widowed playwright friend has invited me to go on a cruse with him. Why not? …I’m in “lust” with the guy. He’s a magnetic kisser and has dancing fingers for my pleasure. Wow….” “Liz and I went downstairs to the artist’s “full moon” party Monday night… I left when we notice the handcuffs hanging on a nail by his bed.” “Liz went out for a smoke with our Russian translator for her play, Tolstoy is Dead. I haven’t seen her in two days.”
Yea…Mr. Journal…”We got a grant to go to Athens, Greece for a World Wide Women’s Playwrights Conference… with layovers in Paris, France coming and going. What could be more fun? Recently…During a heart attack scare…I casually mention to my two grown daughters visiting me at St. Luke’s Hospital my desire to donate my personal writing to the U of H women studies Archives. My oldest daughter sighs, “Just don’t write an autobiography.”
The younger moans…”Mom” in righteous indignation “Now…I’ll have to read everything in all your journals to see what needs to be blacked out.”
THE END
Monday, September 5, 2011
Thursday, July 21, 2011
First Grade
First Grade
A short story by Diana Weeks
First grade, it was all my neighbor and best friend, Ruth Junior, talked about the summer of 1941. Her mother, Ruth Senior, was telling my mother “Betty, I can barely wait for school to start…Joseph is on my last nerve.” Ruthy’s brother Joe is ten. We’re six, me barely.
My mom …never shy…spoke up. “Joan” that’s me…”says he’s been killing the girls’ horned toads”. .
We were collecting horned toads because they were mascots for Texas Christian University, our cow town’s higher education school…It was my Uncle Pinky’s idea…to collect horned toads.
He wanted them to dissect for a science project…they ran out of frogs.
My red haired Uncle “Pinky” lived with us…Pink marches with the TCU band. …Grandpa pays his room rent. His clarinet playing… got him a college scholarship.
Ruth sighs. “Joseph denies being a horn toad murderer…he claims it was an accident.”
Mom coughed. “The stolen red brick from the pile at the new house down the street…accidentally… fell squarely on the frog in the center of the girls back yard path… to your house…where our innocent girls… would… for sure find it”
Ruth sobered. “Well, I’ll have to tell his father…but the toads life was going to be taken by science….the toads weren’t going to escape and join the circus.” Mom gave a thumbs down sign…that means she doesn’t except the excuse. Both women laugh…Ruth Sr. adds “I don’t think Joseph was mad at the frog…he was mad at Ruthy for eating the last cookie yesterday.
Ruthy stood just behind me… huddled against the yellow flower covered paper on the hall wall… where we hold our breath and listened to grown ups talk. No crime is discussed in our presence.
Their next topic concerned where to have the doctor vaccinate us, a necessity to start school. Ruth Sr. did not want a big round scar on her daughter’s upper arm…where people can see it…like Joseph’s small pox scar had turned out.
We have appointments with the same doctor this afternoon. School starts next Monday, but we had to wait for payday to get the three dollar shot. I don’t care where I’m vaccinated just so the needle doesn’t hurt. They say it won’t… but it always does.
When our mom’s started talking about recipes…we quietly back away to cut out paper dolls in Ruth’s room.
Ruth has her own room. I’m back in my parent’s room since Uncle Pink arrived. Ha, he says I’m disrespectful for calling him “Pink” instead of Pinky.
Joe comes to the door of Ruthy’s room with his hand behind his back. “I just wanted to say I’m sorry.” Then he hands her a candy box and runs outside. Ruthy opens the box and screams…and drops the box and a green snake peeks out.
I picked it up. “Shhhh, it’s just a grass snake.” I dropped it out a window.
Ruthy made a fist. “We’ve got to get Joe back….We’ll tell him the snake escaped to Mom and Dads’ room… we’re for- bidden to enter!
Good idea I agree. “That will make him sweat. And that’s always fun.”
THE END
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
A short story by Diana Weeks
First grade, it was all my neighbor and best friend, Ruth Junior, talked about the summer of 1941. Her mother, Ruth Senior, was telling my mother “Betty, I can barely wait for school to start…Joseph is on my last nerve.” Ruthy’s brother Joe is ten. We’re six, me barely.
My mom …never shy…spoke up. “Joan” that’s me…”says he’s been killing the girls’ horned toads”. .
We were collecting horned toads because they were mascots for Texas Christian University, our cow town’s higher education school…It was my Uncle Pinky’s idea…to collect horned toads.
He wanted them to dissect for a science project…they ran out of frogs.
My red haired Uncle “Pinky” lived with us…Pink marches with the TCU band. …Grandpa pays his room rent. His clarinet playing… got him a college scholarship.
Ruth sighs. “Joseph denies being a horn toad murderer…he claims it was an accident.”
Mom coughed. “The stolen red brick from the pile at the new house down the street…accidentally… fell squarely on the frog in the center of the girls back yard path… to your house…where our innocent girls… would… for sure find it”
Ruth sobered. “Well, I’ll have to tell his father…but the toads life was going to be taken by science….the toads weren’t going to escape and join the circus.” Mom gave a thumbs down sign…that means she doesn’t except the excuse. Both women laugh…Ruth Sr. adds “I don’t think Joseph was mad at the frog…he was mad at Ruthy for eating the last cookie yesterday.
Ruthy stood just behind me… huddled against the yellow flower covered paper on the hall wall… where we hold our breath and listened to grown ups talk. No crime is discussed in our presence.
Their next topic concerned where to have the doctor vaccinate us, a necessity to start school. Ruth Sr. did not want a big round scar on her daughter’s upper arm…where people can see it…like Joseph’s small pox scar had turned out.
We have appointments with the same doctor this afternoon. School starts next Monday, but we had to wait for payday to get the three dollar shot. I don’t care where I’m vaccinated just so the needle doesn’t hurt. They say it won’t… but it always does.
When our mom’s started talking about recipes…we quietly back away to cut out paper dolls in Ruth’s room.
Ruth has her own room. I’m back in my parent’s room since Uncle Pink arrived. Ha, he says I’m disrespectful for calling him “Pink” instead of Pinky.
Joe comes to the door of Ruthy’s room with his hand behind his back. “I just wanted to say I’m sorry.” Then he hands her a candy box and runs outside. Ruthy opens the box and screams…and drops the box and a green snake peeks out.
I picked it up. “Shhhh, it’s just a grass snake.” I dropped it out a window.
Ruthy made a fist. “We’ve got to get Joe back….We’ll tell him the snake escaped to Mom and Dads’ room… we’re for- bidden to enter!
Good idea I agree. “That will make him sweat. And that’s always fun.”
THE END
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
Sunday, July 10, 2011
War Time
War Time
A short story by Diana Weeks
I was supposed to be listening to “Terry and the Pirates” on the radio with Buddy… my black mailer brother… but I was leaning towards the radio to give a “glance over the shoulder” reassurance look…I was listening to my mother and her close friend Gertrude talk…about the war with the Japs and the Not-zees”.
I’m not allowed to ease-drop…but that only makes it more fun…more a game that can be won or lost… Mother did not allow any talk about the war at our dinner table “War… is not… a fit subject… for children. We were always sent from the room… when an adult came into a room I was in… with another adult. I had to walk out or wait 10 seconds and get kicked out.
Mother might slowly say “Children, go play monopoly” to us and in a slight whisper she’d tell her companion…adult conversation is forbidden…for children
No argument about the unfairness…we live here too…Children are children and adults are adults…as adults they are given “free will”…do they give us children any “free will”…No “free will’s not for youth…kids need to be sheltered.. reality needs the wisdom you gain by living any way you want to…but not kids…they don’t know anything.
Me and my best friend Patricia. Pat is the niece of my mom’s best friend, Gertrude, whose two boys aged ten and six were on the floor close to the radio exiled like us…But they didn’t care to listen to women talk when Terry and his Pirates…straight from the funnies…were adventuring. Personally, I was “Brenda Starr”
I heard Gert thanking Mother and Daddy…he in absentee…for saying she and the boys could come stay at our house because of the housing shortage. Our house is a frame two bedroom, painted white with green trim. The war started just as we moved in. We did have the highest see – saw in the world.
I went to get a drink in the kitchen… to use the phone to call Pat and tell her the forbidden secret…that Gertrude was still in love with Uncle Al who was coming to visit us in a few months…he’s a civilian engineer with T B scars on his lungs.
Well she wasn’t even surprised as she had secretly read a letter Al had sent Gertrude. ..yesterday. But she didn’t know my mother and dad were going to let she and her boy move in with us.…at least til Al gets here…or…What if Gert’s Navy husband’s boat sinks?
Pat had taught me how to steam open letters. When we weren’t together …we were spies …trying to figure out what reality is…I have to practice and learn so when…? I do grow up…”I’ll free will… all over every body.
THE END
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
A short story by Diana Weeks
I was supposed to be listening to “Terry and the Pirates” on the radio with Buddy… my black mailer brother… but I was leaning towards the radio to give a “glance over the shoulder” reassurance look…I was listening to my mother and her close friend Gertrude talk…about the war with the Japs and the Not-zees”.
I’m not allowed to ease-drop…but that only makes it more fun…more a game that can be won or lost… Mother did not allow any talk about the war at our dinner table “War… is not… a fit subject… for children. We were always sent from the room… when an adult came into a room I was in… with another adult. I had to walk out or wait 10 seconds and get kicked out.
Mother might slowly say “Children, go play monopoly” to us and in a slight whisper she’d tell her companion…adult conversation is forbidden…for children
No argument about the unfairness…we live here too…Children are children and adults are adults…as adults they are given “free will”…do they give us children any “free will”…No “free will’s not for youth…kids need to be sheltered.. reality needs the wisdom you gain by living any way you want to…but not kids…they don’t know anything.
Me and my best friend Patricia. Pat is the niece of my mom’s best friend, Gertrude, whose two boys aged ten and six were on the floor close to the radio exiled like us…But they didn’t care to listen to women talk when Terry and his Pirates…straight from the funnies…were adventuring. Personally, I was “Brenda Starr”
I heard Gert thanking Mother and Daddy…he in absentee…for saying she and the boys could come stay at our house because of the housing shortage. Our house is a frame two bedroom, painted white with green trim. The war started just as we moved in. We did have the highest see – saw in the world.
I went to get a drink in the kitchen… to use the phone to call Pat and tell her the forbidden secret…that Gertrude was still in love with Uncle Al who was coming to visit us in a few months…he’s a civilian engineer with T B scars on his lungs.
Well she wasn’t even surprised as she had secretly read a letter Al had sent Gertrude. ..yesterday. But she didn’t know my mother and dad were going to let she and her boy move in with us.…at least til Al gets here…or…What if Gert’s Navy husband’s boat sinks?
Pat had taught me how to steam open letters. When we weren’t together …we were spies …trying to figure out what reality is…I have to practice and learn so when…? I do grow up…”I’ll free will… all over every body.
THE END
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
Wednesday, June 29, 2011
The Phoney Bride
The Phoney Bride
a short story by Diana Weeks
I met Marian at a rich friend's pool party . Her stunning presence and innocent girlish laugh, made me wish I was straight.
My older favorite aunt wanted so much for me to marry before she died. She knew I had always lived with male room mates. But in her heart she didn't want to “in able a sinner”..she believed the right Woman could “turn me”.
Auntie Addie had a million dollars worth of texas panhandle oil land..her estate was worth..giving careful thought... To her feelings. She did pay for my university education.
I teach for a community college and make a so-so-living and get a bit of respect.....My last companion died of aids after 12 years together. If auntie did... Leave me her money... I could move to the penthouse at the Edison lofts, hire a house keeper and travel.
I'm thinking... What could be so difficult about landing a woman..I love to fish.... Just to put... Aunt Addie's mind at peace.
Aunt Addie was determined to insist I find the right woman... Because she just couldn't force herself to have her heir... A queer.. She was convinced the “right woman” could show me the joys of the right kind of love.
Not that this was ever discussed.....Certainly not.
I crossed the room to meet this lovely lady but she had on a wedding band. I introduced myself. She said she liked my name... Marvin.
“You are a good liar” I told her and she grinned. ”I was hoping you were single I whispered. “ I was going to ask you to dinner”.
“Where were you going to take me” she asked?.
“Where ever you want to go” thinking I had plenty of plastic in my pocket”?
She slipped the ring off her finger and dropped it in my hand. “I'm an actress...I'm just pretending I'm married... I'm auditioning for Maggie in “Tin Roof”. Next week.
I took her hand and put the ring back on her third finger.“I've got a gig for you”. She frowned. “It doesn't involve a donkey does it. ” I bust out laughing...We're just going to make an old lady happy...You'll play my new shy bride...For one fancy dinner in Abilene. She bubbled giggles..and assured me “ I'm good at blushing”
The End
All Rights Reserved
a short story by Diana Weeks
I met Marian at a rich friend's pool party . Her stunning presence and innocent girlish laugh, made me wish I was straight.
My older favorite aunt wanted so much for me to marry before she died. She knew I had always lived with male room mates. But in her heart she didn't want to “in able a sinner”..she believed the right Woman could “turn me”.
Auntie Addie had a million dollars worth of texas panhandle oil land..her estate was worth..giving careful thought... To her feelings. She did pay for my university education.
I teach for a community college and make a so-so-living and get a bit of respect.....My last companion died of aids after 12 years together. If auntie did... Leave me her money... I could move to the penthouse at the Edison lofts, hire a house keeper and travel.
I'm thinking... What could be so difficult about landing a woman..I love to fish.... Just to put... Aunt Addie's mind at peace.
Aunt Addie was determined to insist I find the right woman... Because she just couldn't force herself to have her heir... A queer.. She was convinced the “right woman” could show me the joys of the right kind of love.
Not that this was ever discussed.....Certainly not.
I crossed the room to meet this lovely lady but she had on a wedding band. I introduced myself. She said she liked my name... Marvin.
“You are a good liar” I told her and she grinned. ”I was hoping you were single I whispered. “ I was going to ask you to dinner”.
“Where were you going to take me” she asked?.
“Where ever you want to go” thinking I had plenty of plastic in my pocket”?
She slipped the ring off her finger and dropped it in my hand. “I'm an actress...I'm just pretending I'm married... I'm auditioning for Maggie in “Tin Roof”. Next week.
I took her hand and put the ring back on her third finger.“I've got a gig for you”. She frowned. “It doesn't involve a donkey does it. ” I bust out laughing...We're just going to make an old lady happy...You'll play my new shy bride...For one fancy dinner in Abilene. She bubbled giggles..and assured me “ I'm good at blushing”
The End
All Rights Reserved
Wednesday, May 18, 2011
Tuesday, April 12, 2011
Resourcefulness
Resourcefulness
A short story by Diana Weeks
Laury had looked forward to summer every day of the fifth grade. She absolutely hated to get up early. The only day her mother let her sleep late was Saturday. They both slept in that one-day of the week. Sunday's they had to get up to visit sick relatives or help some friend move. It was good deed day.
This was the first summer her widowed Mom had agreed to let her stay home alone. Laury promised to clean the house and have supper ready when her Mom got home from work, just like the housekeeper they had last year, before the insurance money ran out.
"Wow, she thought and hugged herself. "After Mom goes to work I can read". Laury could read all night if her mom didn't wake up and lecture about your body needing sleep...and turn the light out…it's getting in her eyes.
Big brother, Sam, had given her a powerful flashlight, for her ninth birthday, for just such occasions. Oh, Sam could make her laugh. And cry, when he would tell her a bedtime story wrong. "Cinderella's mean step-sister sees the Prince coming and gets a jar of Vaseline and spreads it all over her foot, and gets her foot in the glass slipper and the Prince has to marry her".
Laury would cry and sob. "Tell it right. Dad, make Sam tell it right". Her daddy would laugh, and come in and put his arm around her and say "You're too good for any man, even a Prince. And mean bad things happen". That turned out to be too true.
Reading was the only thing that captured Laury's mind enough to block out the couldn't hide hurt. Her daddy and older brother had been killed when she was nine, their car hit head-on by a drunk driver.
The second day of the new "summer deal", their electricity was turned off. It had been on last night, after they had eaten dinner, her mother bragged on how cool and neat Laury had made the house, the table set with fresh flowers, savory pinto beans, cornbread and canalope.
"You made me feel so welcome." Her mom smiled and smiled and kissed both her cheeks three times.
"Daddy always said he loved to come home, because he felt so welcome, we all went to the door to hug him". Tears tracked both their cheeks, but they didn't go into boo-hoos like they did for weeks, after the accident. "I am so pleased, if you keep this up, I won't wake you up to tell you what to do, before I leave in the mornings. I'll let you sleep. How 'bout that?" Then they both bawled and hugged. "You are so good. You don't worry me" her mother told her and hugged Laury again for a long time.
Laury felt like she was in heaven and didn't even have to die. She didn't wake up until ten the next morning and read the last two chapters of Rebecca Wells' "Little Alters Everywhere", before she got out of bed. She was surrounded by the "Princess' pillows" her daddy had given her for Christmas in 2001.
Her parents did not let 9/11 spoil their Christmas. She had a million funny family memories. Her parents could make everyday a party.
She splashed cold water in her face and put her matt down and did her exercise routine. Mostly stretching. Before the unthinkable, and her mom had to get a job as a doctor's receptionist, they did it together every morning. Now her mom gets up at five to do her yoga, but she didn't wake Laury until she was ready for work.
The sluggish youngster didn't know the power was off until she started to cook bacon for her favorite breakfast, a BLT, waiting for the pan to warm, she opened the fridge to get a tomato, and the light didn't go on. She held her hand above the heating coils on the stove and felt nothing. Still in her nightgown she went around the house clicking the light switches.
Yes, the power was off in their all electric home. That meant she couldn't turn on the air-conditioner at four to cool the house down. Had her mother forgotten to pay the bill?
Laury knew things were tight, the television had gone out and not been replaced, and her mother liked to watch the news. Plus her grandmother had put in a garden on her spring visit, and taught Laury how to weed and water the vegetables.
How could she have supper ready? Laury knew better than to call her mother at work. If they were behind on bills, she sure couldn't ask her to bring home fast food.
Laury got their big foam ice chest from the garage and filled it with everything out of the fridge, having a baloney sandwich for breakfast.
She hurried and made the beds and picked up dropped clothes and the scattered free weekly newspaper, and sat the table for supper, while she tried to think of a solution.
First, she would walk the six blocks to the neighborhood library, the only place she was allowed to go alone. Her books were due and she had read all five, including "Simple Recipes". She dressed in her red shorts and tie-dyed yellow tee shirt. "I'm going to look bright, anyway" she told herself.
Slowly Laury paced the aisles between the tall brown wooden bookshelves, distracted by her problem. She had to keep her end of the bargain. Her mother had bragged so on last night's supper.
Her grown-up friend, the librarian Mrs. Simmons, was putting up a display on solar energy. "What's the matter Laury, have you already read all our books"? she teased.
"No, but I want to", Laury assured her, stopping to look at the arrangement of new books. Her heart thumped and jumped like a frog, right there like magic, "Cooking with the Sun". She leafed through it and quickly found directions with a drawing of a simple solar cooker. All she needed was cardboard, aluminum foil, a clear plastic bag and a black pot. They had a navy blue roaster, that should be close enough. "What a great idea" Laury thought.
She rewarded herself with a thick adult book, "The Red Tent", and hurried out. Stopping behind the new dollar store, she picked up a large cardboard box. At home she cut out pieces and covered one side with foil, propping them inside her plastic baby bathtub from the attic, creating a big bowl shaped sun cooker.
In the garden she quickly gathered a small head of cabbage, onions, carrots, sweet yellow peppers, butter lettuce and two red ripe tomatoes for a salad.
Laury retrieved two lamb chops from the freezer, They were the last of the spring lamb, saved for a special occasion but she didn't want to risk letting them spoil. Her daddy's parents raised lambs, and gave them a slaughtered frozen lamb every Easter, so good and easy to cook. It was always eaten fast.
The girl carefully cut the vegetables in small pieces. She buttered the inside of the roaster artfully arranging the food, and put the covered pan inside a large plastic bag. She placed it in the center of her solar stove, and carried it to the sunniest spot in the yard.
Relieved that the book said you couldn't burn food in a solar cooker, Laurie sat in their shady porch swing and luxuriously read, intimate details about the women in the Bible…all afternoon. She had closed all the blinds and curtains and opened the front and back doors to suck a breeze through the house.
Laury's sun cooked supper was a huge success. "You are resourceful and that's a great blessing" her Mom told her that night, giving her a hewmungus hug. "Paydays tomorrow and I can get the bill paid".
That night, her mother did not wake up and say one time, "Turn off the light and go to sleep".
THE END
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
A short story by Diana Weeks
Laury had looked forward to summer every day of the fifth grade. She absolutely hated to get up early. The only day her mother let her sleep late was Saturday. They both slept in that one-day of the week. Sunday's they had to get up to visit sick relatives or help some friend move. It was good deed day.
This was the first summer her widowed Mom had agreed to let her stay home alone. Laury promised to clean the house and have supper ready when her Mom got home from work, just like the housekeeper they had last year, before the insurance money ran out.
"Wow, she thought and hugged herself. "After Mom goes to work I can read". Laury could read all night if her mom didn't wake up and lecture about your body needing sleep...and turn the light out…it's getting in her eyes.
Big brother, Sam, had given her a powerful flashlight, for her ninth birthday, for just such occasions. Oh, Sam could make her laugh. And cry, when he would tell her a bedtime story wrong. "Cinderella's mean step-sister sees the Prince coming and gets a jar of Vaseline and spreads it all over her foot, and gets her foot in the glass slipper and the Prince has to marry her".
Laury would cry and sob. "Tell it right. Dad, make Sam tell it right". Her daddy would laugh, and come in and put his arm around her and say "You're too good for any man, even a Prince. And mean bad things happen". That turned out to be too true.
Reading was the only thing that captured Laury's mind enough to block out the couldn't hide hurt. Her daddy and older brother had been killed when she was nine, their car hit head-on by a drunk driver.
The second day of the new "summer deal", their electricity was turned off. It had been on last night, after they had eaten dinner, her mother bragged on how cool and neat Laury had made the house, the table set with fresh flowers, savory pinto beans, cornbread and canalope.
"You made me feel so welcome." Her mom smiled and smiled and kissed both her cheeks three times.
"Daddy always said he loved to come home, because he felt so welcome, we all went to the door to hug him". Tears tracked both their cheeks, but they didn't go into boo-hoos like they did for weeks, after the accident. "I am so pleased, if you keep this up, I won't wake you up to tell you what to do, before I leave in the mornings. I'll let you sleep. How 'bout that?" Then they both bawled and hugged. "You are so good. You don't worry me" her mother told her and hugged Laury again for a long time.
Laury felt like she was in heaven and didn't even have to die. She didn't wake up until ten the next morning and read the last two chapters of Rebecca Wells' "Little Alters Everywhere", before she got out of bed. She was surrounded by the "Princess' pillows" her daddy had given her for Christmas in 2001.
Her parents did not let 9/11 spoil their Christmas. She had a million funny family memories. Her parents could make everyday a party.
She splashed cold water in her face and put her matt down and did her exercise routine. Mostly stretching. Before the unthinkable, and her mom had to get a job as a doctor's receptionist, they did it together every morning. Now her mom gets up at five to do her yoga, but she didn't wake Laury until she was ready for work.
The sluggish youngster didn't know the power was off until she started to cook bacon for her favorite breakfast, a BLT, waiting for the pan to warm, she opened the fridge to get a tomato, and the light didn't go on. She held her hand above the heating coils on the stove and felt nothing. Still in her nightgown she went around the house clicking the light switches.
Yes, the power was off in their all electric home. That meant she couldn't turn on the air-conditioner at four to cool the house down. Had her mother forgotten to pay the bill?
Laury knew things were tight, the television had gone out and not been replaced, and her mother liked to watch the news. Plus her grandmother had put in a garden on her spring visit, and taught Laury how to weed and water the vegetables.
How could she have supper ready? Laury knew better than to call her mother at work. If they were behind on bills, she sure couldn't ask her to bring home fast food.
Laury got their big foam ice chest from the garage and filled it with everything out of the fridge, having a baloney sandwich for breakfast.
She hurried and made the beds and picked up dropped clothes and the scattered free weekly newspaper, and sat the table for supper, while she tried to think of a solution.
First, she would walk the six blocks to the neighborhood library, the only place she was allowed to go alone. Her books were due and she had read all five, including "Simple Recipes". She dressed in her red shorts and tie-dyed yellow tee shirt. "I'm going to look bright, anyway" she told herself.
Slowly Laury paced the aisles between the tall brown wooden bookshelves, distracted by her problem. She had to keep her end of the bargain. Her mother had bragged so on last night's supper.
Her grown-up friend, the librarian Mrs. Simmons, was putting up a display on solar energy. "What's the matter Laury, have you already read all our books"? she teased.
"No, but I want to", Laury assured her, stopping to look at the arrangement of new books. Her heart thumped and jumped like a frog, right there like magic, "Cooking with the Sun". She leafed through it and quickly found directions with a drawing of a simple solar cooker. All she needed was cardboard, aluminum foil, a clear plastic bag and a black pot. They had a navy blue roaster, that should be close enough. "What a great idea" Laury thought.
She rewarded herself with a thick adult book, "The Red Tent", and hurried out. Stopping behind the new dollar store, she picked up a large cardboard box. At home she cut out pieces and covered one side with foil, propping them inside her plastic baby bathtub from the attic, creating a big bowl shaped sun cooker.
In the garden she quickly gathered a small head of cabbage, onions, carrots, sweet yellow peppers, butter lettuce and two red ripe tomatoes for a salad.
Laury retrieved two lamb chops from the freezer, They were the last of the spring lamb, saved for a special occasion but she didn't want to risk letting them spoil. Her daddy's parents raised lambs, and gave them a slaughtered frozen lamb every Easter, so good and easy to cook. It was always eaten fast.
The girl carefully cut the vegetables in small pieces. She buttered the inside of the roaster artfully arranging the food, and put the covered pan inside a large plastic bag. She placed it in the center of her solar stove, and carried it to the sunniest spot in the yard.
Relieved that the book said you couldn't burn food in a solar cooker, Laurie sat in their shady porch swing and luxuriously read, intimate details about the women in the Bible…all afternoon. She had closed all the blinds and curtains and opened the front and back doors to suck a breeze through the house.
Laury's sun cooked supper was a huge success. "You are resourceful and that's a great blessing" her Mom told her that night, giving her a hewmungus hug. "Paydays tomorrow and I can get the bill paid".
That night, her mother did not wake up and say one time, "Turn off the light and go to sleep".
THE END
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
Monday, April 4, 2011
Planet in Jeopardy
Planet in Jeopardy
A short story by Diana Weeks
Liza waited tables to get through environmental engineering at texas university. She went to work for “a green life” organization. As a fast Thinking photographer & activist in Washington D.C. She is so persuasive… the anti-green lobbyist fear she will bring them down.
Their diabolical leader tom, who protects the bottom line of many chemical industries, panics. He puts together a trip to the north pole so they can personally get the latest discoveries. He dares Liza to come along by saying “it’s not as bad as you think”. And she agrees.
While Liza is in the icy wilderness setting up her camera equipment, they leave her behind, alone without provisions... She sees their plane take off, and the wings waved goodbye. Murder is a joke to them.
Liza bangs her cell phone against a tripod…and taps the phone calling a local pal for help. She has to leave a message “come get the film” her phone goes dead. She works setting up her cameras to video the north pole melting.
Liza searches her backpack and finds a stray mint and tries to open the cellophane…can’t do it with gloves…starts to remove a glove…but it’s too cold she puts it in her mouth, still in the paper wrapping, Looks up and sees a small baby polar bear wanders into her camp...Shaking and unsteady.
Liza scoops it up…and turns on all three of the tripod cameras. She holds a tiny paw and waves it toward the red lights. The little body feels skinny inside the white fur. She unzips her coat and puts the bear against her blouse and zips it against her chest and dances singing “she’ll be coming round the glacier, she’ll be coming round the glacier… when she comes”, twirling until she gets dizzy and sits down on her backpack.
The tiny bear is still whining. Liza takes the mint out of her mouth, spits out the soggy paper and twists the round, red and white candy in the end of her scarf, spits on it and tells the bear…”try this, see if you like peppermint…I made you an old fashioned sugar tit”. Liza spits on the sugar tit…and the baby sucks it. Liza rocks back and forth.
Liza sings every song she remembers holding the baby polar bear to keep the animal alive and watches the moon rise until sleep overtakes her. The tears in her eye lashes turn to icicles. It makes a great picture.
The next day, an Eskimo journalist friend, Annie, arrives with a dog sleigh. The baby polar bear is gone but there are pictures and tracks of the mother bear… leading her cub away. Annie knells by Liza and tells her “you saved the baby bear. The mother found it”.
Pictures of Liza freezing to death, while trying to keep the baby polar bear alive are released to all media by Al Gore. A documentary is made… people were moved watching her death.
Tears spring to the eyes of everyone who sees the pictures. The public outcry is forcing congress to pass stronger environmental laws.
The End
All rights Reserved
A short story by Diana Weeks
Liza waited tables to get through environmental engineering at texas university. She went to work for “a green life” organization. As a fast Thinking photographer & activist in Washington D.C. She is so persuasive… the anti-green lobbyist fear she will bring them down.
Their diabolical leader tom, who protects the bottom line of many chemical industries, panics. He puts together a trip to the north pole so they can personally get the latest discoveries. He dares Liza to come along by saying “it’s not as bad as you think”. And she agrees.
While Liza is in the icy wilderness setting up her camera equipment, they leave her behind, alone without provisions... She sees their plane take off, and the wings waved goodbye. Murder is a joke to them.
Liza bangs her cell phone against a tripod…and taps the phone calling a local pal for help. She has to leave a message “come get the film” her phone goes dead. She works setting up her cameras to video the north pole melting.
Liza searches her backpack and finds a stray mint and tries to open the cellophane…can’t do it with gloves…starts to remove a glove…but it’s too cold she puts it in her mouth, still in the paper wrapping, Looks up and sees a small baby polar bear wanders into her camp...Shaking and unsteady.
Liza scoops it up…and turns on all three of the tripod cameras. She holds a tiny paw and waves it toward the red lights. The little body feels skinny inside the white fur. She unzips her coat and puts the bear against her blouse and zips it against her chest and dances singing “she’ll be coming round the glacier, she’ll be coming round the glacier… when she comes”, twirling until she gets dizzy and sits down on her backpack.
The tiny bear is still whining. Liza takes the mint out of her mouth, spits out the soggy paper and twists the round, red and white candy in the end of her scarf, spits on it and tells the bear…”try this, see if you like peppermint…I made you an old fashioned sugar tit”. Liza spits on the sugar tit…and the baby sucks it. Liza rocks back and forth.
Liza sings every song she remembers holding the baby polar bear to keep the animal alive and watches the moon rise until sleep overtakes her. The tears in her eye lashes turn to icicles. It makes a great picture.
The next day, an Eskimo journalist friend, Annie, arrives with a dog sleigh. The baby polar bear is gone but there are pictures and tracks of the mother bear… leading her cub away. Annie knells by Liza and tells her “you saved the baby bear. The mother found it”.
Pictures of Liza freezing to death, while trying to keep the baby polar bear alive are released to all media by Al Gore. A documentary is made… people were moved watching her death.
Tears spring to the eyes of everyone who sees the pictures. The public outcry is forcing congress to pass stronger environmental laws.
The End
All rights Reserved
Monday, March 21, 2011
Father and Son
FATHER AND SON
A short story by Diana Weeks
Erik’s first born; Cory was seven, his sister Paulette, four. The family had just moved into a new neighborhood…because Erik got promoted to assistant manager of a big grocery store and makes more money than the… public housing project they lived in…allowed…in 1958, Austin.
The rent on the three bedroom they now live in costs more than Erik’s raise…Betty finds a job to help but there are no neighborhood playmates, for Cory and Paulette. The project was filled with TU student’s families… an average of three kids in each apartment. Erik dropped out of UT his senior year to take the full time job.
A pregnant teen age neighbor keeps the kids while Betty’s at the ad agency, but everyday during nap time…Paige is on the phone. Cory undoes the window screen and helps Paulette sneak off to go visit their friends at the project. Cory and Paulette are out of sight… by the time Paige hangs up.
Paige panics at the thought of losing her job. It allows her to pay her parents rent. They are already mad at her. A kidnapping…just what she needed. She calls Betty and tells her the children are missing from their naps.
Betty burst into tears, realizes that won’t help…and takes a deep breath… “I’ve got the car, I’ll pick up Erik. I don’t think anyone would take the kids.”
Paige mutters “No one who knows them”.
“Wait, we taught them how to open the window screen in case of a fire. They may have walked over to the project. We’ll go there first. You have his emergency number …call Erik and tell him to be out front of the store. Stay there Paige… in case the children get back!
Erik starts running toward their 1952 Chevy and opens the door and jumps in...Before Betty can completely stop. Erik is crying. “Have you called the police? Paige thinks they’ve been kidnapped.”
Betty had never before seen tears on her husbands’ cheeks. She takes his face between her hands and kisses him. ”We’ll find them”. But no one they knew at the project has seen the children. The now silent parents drive up and down the streets between…and find the kids sitting on a curb… lost.
As soon as they get back to their house, Erik, a thoroughly frightened father takes off his belt and starts whipping Cory, who jumps around his father in a circle… his hands trying to protect his bottom from the leather waving in the air….Cory is yelling “Help, help” and Erik is ordering “Hold still”.
Suddenly, Cory shrieks loudly and holds out his left hand towards Betty. Cory’s’ little finger hangs at an un-natural angle; Paulette sobs “Don’t hurt my brother”!
Erik knew he went too far. “Betty can you get me back to work and take Cory to the hospital?”
“Oh no you don’t”, tears fill Betty’s’ eyes. “You were so scared he would run away again…you didn’t know what you were doing. Well Erik, you can explain to the doctor.”
Betty picks up Paulette and walks to the next room... Paulette leans over her mothers’ shoulder and sticks her tongue out toward Cory who sticks his tongue out at his sister…and wiggles it. Paulette laughs.
Erik clears his throat. Cory looks at his bent finger…and back at his daddy. “I think I hit it on the corner of the coffee table trying to get away.”
Eirk looks at his son and pulls Cory into his arms. Cory hugs his father’s neck with his right hand “We didn’t run away… we didn’t have anybody to play with.”
“You have your sister.” Erik told his son.
“She’s nobody!” Cory explains. “Can’t we move back?”
His father holds him,“Cory, you are one fast twirling kid. Maybe you’ll be a quarterback someday. And I’ll come to all your games…and say, I taught him everything he knows”.
The father-son laughter lures Betty. She comes in with a pillowcase pinned to make a sling and puts it around Cory to hold his arm and hand. She gets down on her knees to adjust the sling. “There, Cory, we don’t want you to leave without permission ever .again.”
Cory nods agreement and smiles. Betty gasps. “You’ve got a loose tooth. I’ll pull it in the morning.”
“I want dad to do it tonight when we get back”
Betty looks out a window, cups her hand above her eyes, “There’s the tooth ferry outside now…look”…Paulette and Cory peer out..”Oh, now she’s hiding?” Erik winks at Betty. She winks back.
THE END
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
A short story by Diana Weeks
Erik’s first born; Cory was seven, his sister Paulette, four. The family had just moved into a new neighborhood…because Erik got promoted to assistant manager of a big grocery store and makes more money than the… public housing project they lived in…allowed…in 1958, Austin.
The rent on the three bedroom they now live in costs more than Erik’s raise…Betty finds a job to help but there are no neighborhood playmates, for Cory and Paulette. The project was filled with TU student’s families… an average of three kids in each apartment. Erik dropped out of UT his senior year to take the full time job.
A pregnant teen age neighbor keeps the kids while Betty’s at the ad agency, but everyday during nap time…Paige is on the phone. Cory undoes the window screen and helps Paulette sneak off to go visit their friends at the project. Cory and Paulette are out of sight… by the time Paige hangs up.
Paige panics at the thought of losing her job. It allows her to pay her parents rent. They are already mad at her. A kidnapping…just what she needed. She calls Betty and tells her the children are missing from their naps.
Betty burst into tears, realizes that won’t help…and takes a deep breath… “I’ve got the car, I’ll pick up Erik. I don’t think anyone would take the kids.”
Paige mutters “No one who knows them”.
“Wait, we taught them how to open the window screen in case of a fire. They may have walked over to the project. We’ll go there first. You have his emergency number …call Erik and tell him to be out front of the store. Stay there Paige… in case the children get back!
Erik starts running toward their 1952 Chevy and opens the door and jumps in...Before Betty can completely stop. Erik is crying. “Have you called the police? Paige thinks they’ve been kidnapped.”
Betty had never before seen tears on her husbands’ cheeks. She takes his face between her hands and kisses him. ”We’ll find them”. But no one they knew at the project has seen the children. The now silent parents drive up and down the streets between…and find the kids sitting on a curb… lost.
As soon as they get back to their house, Erik, a thoroughly frightened father takes off his belt and starts whipping Cory, who jumps around his father in a circle… his hands trying to protect his bottom from the leather waving in the air….Cory is yelling “Help, help” and Erik is ordering “Hold still”.
Suddenly, Cory shrieks loudly and holds out his left hand towards Betty. Cory’s’ little finger hangs at an un-natural angle; Paulette sobs “Don’t hurt my brother”!
Erik knew he went too far. “Betty can you get me back to work and take Cory to the hospital?”
“Oh no you don’t”, tears fill Betty’s’ eyes. “You were so scared he would run away again…you didn’t know what you were doing. Well Erik, you can explain to the doctor.”
Betty picks up Paulette and walks to the next room... Paulette leans over her mothers’ shoulder and sticks her tongue out toward Cory who sticks his tongue out at his sister…and wiggles it. Paulette laughs.
Erik clears his throat. Cory looks at his bent finger…and back at his daddy. “I think I hit it on the corner of the coffee table trying to get away.”
Eirk looks at his son and pulls Cory into his arms. Cory hugs his father’s neck with his right hand “We didn’t run away… we didn’t have anybody to play with.”
“You have your sister.” Erik told his son.
“She’s nobody!” Cory explains. “Can’t we move back?”
His father holds him,“Cory, you are one fast twirling kid. Maybe you’ll be a quarterback someday. And I’ll come to all your games…and say, I taught him everything he knows”.
The father-son laughter lures Betty. She comes in with a pillowcase pinned to make a sling and puts it around Cory to hold his arm and hand. She gets down on her knees to adjust the sling. “There, Cory, we don’t want you to leave without permission ever .again.”
Cory nods agreement and smiles. Betty gasps. “You’ve got a loose tooth. I’ll pull it in the morning.”
“I want dad to do it tonight when we get back”
Betty looks out a window, cups her hand above her eyes, “There’s the tooth ferry outside now…look”…Paulette and Cory peer out..”Oh, now she’s hiding?” Erik winks at Betty. She winks back.
THE END
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
Thursday, February 24, 2011
Going to Athens
Going to Athens
By Diana Weeks
Candace was sitting on the front steps of the four plex she manages, for some friends …in exchange for free rent. The Brit couple, who had lived downstairs fell so in love with the place they bought it…then suddenly got transferred back to London. Candace, a free lance writer, was anxiously… waiting for the postman. The magazine editor had told her a check would be in the mail. She sings “I’m just a gullible girl”.
Her across the hall neighbor, Mimi, an award winning playwright, drove up in her Mercedes, just as the postman turned the corner and walked toward them. Mimi got out and retrieved a letter from her backpack smacked a lip print on the back and said “I’ll trade”. The postman sniffed her letter….looks at the address. “I thought you broke up with Vincent…or is this the kiss off letter”.
Mimi “Maybe” and grabbed the envelope he handed her; Candace… didn’t even get any junk mail. She watched Mimi rip open a letter with foreign stamps, and start laughing with excitement. “They picked my play for the Women’s Playwright Conference in Athens, Greece. Candace covered her face with her hands…wanting to sob. Mimi pursed her lips. “Aren’t you happy for me?”
Happy for her? Candace wanted to kick her. “I know something that will make you feel better” Mimi said. “You can be the stage manager and I’ll write a grant to take the cast and you. It’s a two character just us four women….Just think we can fly in and out of Paris….Ou la la. You can write the grant for travel”.
Candace thought…So that’s how I got invited. Suddenly Mimi starts running after the postman shouting “Stop. Please stop.” Candace joins Mimi at the corner watching the postman walking away fast. “When I wrote that “Dear John”…I didn’t know I’d be going to Paris”. Candace feels sorry for her impulsive friend. “Come on…don’t worry…remember how good it feels to “make up”.
Mimi turns and laughs “You’re right Candy…I’ll get to make up with Vincent…in French”
“Oh yes, how romantic. Let’s plan some publicity” Candace, a retired reporter, suggests.
“Oh would you?’ Mimi rushes up the stairs “Oh Candy, Candy, would you get me on TV?”
“Yes, if you quit calling me Candy.”
The grants were requested and granted. Another project way underway…by the time it was time to go to the conference. Now a scene of Mimi’s play about Tolstoy had to be translated in to Russian...to be presented at a Russian Celebration…the week end before they leave for Athens.
Candace used an international angle of the two plays to get Mimi a TV interview set up for the Friday before they left.
Mimi was to go directly to the TV station after she takes the new pages to the translator. Candace was pacing the lobby of the TV station… thinking of calling the police to see if there had been a wreck…or if Mimi got car jacked….when the receptist motions her over. “Mimi can’t make it she had a flat tire.”
Candace remembers how handsome the translator is and stops worrying about her friend.
.
She didn’t see Mimi until the next morning….when she knocked on her door loudly. “You missed the TV interview. “
Mimi opened the door a crack and shrugged “Oh was the interview yesterday?” Candace didn’t bother answering. Mimi bubbled on, “Just think we’ll be in Paris Monday night. Vincent called me. He’s going to meet our plane and take us to our hotel.”
“Stop it. Stop it” Candace almost screams…It’s not fair, you’ve got success, men everywhere…I hate you!”
“Okay, if you feel that way… I won’t tell you that Vincent has a brother…in fact he sez he has three handsome brothers.”
“And I suppose they all own liquor stores”.
Mimi stretches her arms over her head. “Who cares? We’re going to Paris’.
THE END
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
By Diana Weeks
Candace was sitting on the front steps of the four plex she manages, for some friends …in exchange for free rent. The Brit couple, who had lived downstairs fell so in love with the place they bought it…then suddenly got transferred back to London. Candace, a free lance writer, was anxiously… waiting for the postman. The magazine editor had told her a check would be in the mail. She sings “I’m just a gullible girl”.
Her across the hall neighbor, Mimi, an award winning playwright, drove up in her Mercedes, just as the postman turned the corner and walked toward them. Mimi got out and retrieved a letter from her backpack smacked a lip print on the back and said “I’ll trade”. The postman sniffed her letter….looks at the address. “I thought you broke up with Vincent…or is this the kiss off letter”.
Mimi “Maybe” and grabbed the envelope he handed her; Candace… didn’t even get any junk mail. She watched Mimi rip open a letter with foreign stamps, and start laughing with excitement. “They picked my play for the Women’s Playwright Conference in Athens, Greece. Candace covered her face with her hands…wanting to sob. Mimi pursed her lips. “Aren’t you happy for me?”
Happy for her? Candace wanted to kick her. “I know something that will make you feel better” Mimi said. “You can be the stage manager and I’ll write a grant to take the cast and you. It’s a two character just us four women….Just think we can fly in and out of Paris….Ou la la. You can write the grant for travel”.
Candace thought…So that’s how I got invited. Suddenly Mimi starts running after the postman shouting “Stop. Please stop.” Candace joins Mimi at the corner watching the postman walking away fast. “When I wrote that “Dear John”…I didn’t know I’d be going to Paris”. Candace feels sorry for her impulsive friend. “Come on…don’t worry…remember how good it feels to “make up”.
Mimi turns and laughs “You’re right Candy…I’ll get to make up with Vincent…in French”
“Oh yes, how romantic. Let’s plan some publicity” Candace, a retired reporter, suggests.
“Oh would you?’ Mimi rushes up the stairs “Oh Candy, Candy, would you get me on TV?”
“Yes, if you quit calling me Candy.”
The grants were requested and granted. Another project way underway…by the time it was time to go to the conference. Now a scene of Mimi’s play about Tolstoy had to be translated in to Russian...to be presented at a Russian Celebration…the week end before they leave for Athens.
Candace used an international angle of the two plays to get Mimi a TV interview set up for the Friday before they left.
Mimi was to go directly to the TV station after she takes the new pages to the translator. Candace was pacing the lobby of the TV station… thinking of calling the police to see if there had been a wreck…or if Mimi got car jacked….when the receptist motions her over. “Mimi can’t make it she had a flat tire.”
Candace remembers how handsome the translator is and stops worrying about her friend.
.
She didn’t see Mimi until the next morning….when she knocked on her door loudly. “You missed the TV interview. “
Mimi opened the door a crack and shrugged “Oh was the interview yesterday?” Candace didn’t bother answering. Mimi bubbled on, “Just think we’ll be in Paris Monday night. Vincent called me. He’s going to meet our plane and take us to our hotel.”
“Stop it. Stop it” Candace almost screams…It’s not fair, you’ve got success, men everywhere…I hate you!”
“Okay, if you feel that way… I won’t tell you that Vincent has a brother…in fact he sez he has three handsome brothers.”
“And I suppose they all own liquor stores”.
Mimi stretches her arms over her head. “Who cares? We’re going to Paris’.
THE END
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
Sunday, February 13, 2011
Sad Valentine's Day
Sad Valentine's Day
By Diana Weeks
Dr. Richard Howard was into his second whiskey sour, when a friend passed the bar and gave him a strong friendly pat…that almost knocked him off his bar stool. “Sorry Dr. Dick” whispers the tall slender City Police Detective…
”What’s your beef tonight Chuck? Surely there’s been no malice on Valentines Day.” Dick mutters.
Chuck turns to the man sitting next to Dick “Mister, you’re sitting in my place.” as he helps him down.
Dick tells the customer. “Ralph, make an appointment with your family physician…I’m a pathologist”. Ralph strolls back to his booth to wait for the cop to scram so he can find out more from Dr. Howard later. ..about his sore throat.
Chuck raises a finger at the bartender…and tells his pal Dick “Everybody wants something for free.”
“But not you. Never you” Dick sips his glass. “Want to buy me a drink?”
Chuck signals the bar keep and points to himself and Dick, who covers the top of his almost empty glass with his flat palm. “No thanks Chuck. I can guess why you are here…it’s your old girlfriend Darlene.”
“You went with her too when we were in college…remember what a nice girl she was.
“Of course, she got my cherry. I was sorry when I heard her body was found in the park this morning.”
“Yeah, the new young Medical Examiner… who replaced you ruled accidental overdose... Darlene loved life. She never did drugs. I think her husband poisoned her. “After you quit, our Commissioners Court cut out budget money for autopsies.
“Oh, I see. You want me to do a free autopsy?”
“Not free …for the good of justice. No ones over there. I’ll go with you and my partner will look out for us. You don’t have to cut her up just test the contents of her stomach.
An hour later the two men are back in the bar. The doctor sits in his place at the bar. “You were right Chuck, but how are you going to explain it?”
“I’m going to show the M.E. and give him credit…and tell our ole’ classmate Chris, their life insurance agent…to drag his feet paying off the husband…until I can find where he bought it…Her killer’s going down, I promise.”
THE END
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
By Diana Weeks
Dr. Richard Howard was into his second whiskey sour, when a friend passed the bar and gave him a strong friendly pat…that almost knocked him off his bar stool. “Sorry Dr. Dick” whispers the tall slender City Police Detective…
”What’s your beef tonight Chuck? Surely there’s been no malice on Valentines Day.” Dick mutters.
Chuck turns to the man sitting next to Dick “Mister, you’re sitting in my place.” as he helps him down.
Dick tells the customer. “Ralph, make an appointment with your family physician…I’m a pathologist”. Ralph strolls back to his booth to wait for the cop to scram so he can find out more from Dr. Howard later. ..about his sore throat.
Chuck raises a finger at the bartender…and tells his pal Dick “Everybody wants something for free.”
“But not you. Never you” Dick sips his glass. “Want to buy me a drink?”
Chuck signals the bar keep and points to himself and Dick, who covers the top of his almost empty glass with his flat palm. “No thanks Chuck. I can guess why you are here…it’s your old girlfriend Darlene.”
“You went with her too when we were in college…remember what a nice girl she was.
“Of course, she got my cherry. I was sorry when I heard her body was found in the park this morning.”
“Yeah, the new young Medical Examiner… who replaced you ruled accidental overdose... Darlene loved life. She never did drugs. I think her husband poisoned her. “After you quit, our Commissioners Court cut out budget money for autopsies.
“Oh, I see. You want me to do a free autopsy?”
“Not free …for the good of justice. No ones over there. I’ll go with you and my partner will look out for us. You don’t have to cut her up just test the contents of her stomach.
An hour later the two men are back in the bar. The doctor sits in his place at the bar. “You were right Chuck, but how are you going to explain it?”
“I’m going to show the M.E. and give him credit…and tell our ole’ classmate Chris, their life insurance agent…to drag his feet paying off the husband…until I can find where he bought it…Her killer’s going down, I promise.”
THE END
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
Monday, January 10, 2011
Glamour Shots
Glamour Shots
Short Story by Diana Weeks
Becky and Beverly’s forty year friendship started at a 1968 coffee break in another neighbor’s house. The hostess declared that she was canceling her subscription of Life Magazine for having nudity on the cover. “Why the magazines are mailed straight to our mailbox and sometimes I let the children bring in the mail. I don’t want them to see such trash”.
New neighbors, Bev and Becky, walked to their next door homes talking about how foolish it is to think we can protect our children from anything, much less everything. Both assumed their kids would do everything they had done… and anything new.
Now the kids are on their own. Bev lives in San Antonio, in an apartment, near grandchildren. Becky has been writing plays in Houston since quitting her reporter’s day job. Bev has been encouraged by Becky to write something. Bev decided to write about the only thing she really knew…her life story. And use real names.
Becky sprinkled in her pants having a coughing fit… when Bev called to tell her…she had signed a contract to publish her memoir. It will be in book stores this winter. Becky is envious…she has not gotten a play up in five years. Wham, her “beginner” friend writes a hit. Bev’s publisher wants a photo for the back cover.
She calls Becky about needing to come visit…The web revealed no Glamour Shot studios left in San Antonio…but one just outside Houston in the Woodlands. Considering themselves “natural beauties” the women, now in their seventies… had laughed at those people in the rich eighties…who paid big money for a picture of themselves to frame.
The appointment was made, a financial deal cut for the copyright rights. The friends arrived on time. The pre-shooting make-over began with a foundation applied with an electric powder sprayer. It gives face and exposed skin a glowy color. The photographer looks and acts gigolo-ish, touching Bev’s cheek, head or arm directing her…in a throaty voice to “Smile”.
When we looked at the proofs something was wrong with all but one. It was chosen and a check was written….but before the women got back to Becky’s apartment…Bev had decided that her eyes were too squinty and it was the photographers fault for telling her to smile…and cause her cheeks to puff up and squash her eyes.
A friend came by and Bev explained her doubts “My room mate is a photogher…She got $400 dollars for her last shoot, you can look her up on the web under Rabid Girl Scout.
“Would she shoot a few of me for fifty if we come to her” Yes. Becky dropped Bev off and went to find an ATM for the money.
By our return the young woman had shot four frames and one Bev loved. “Look…” she sighs in awe, Bev in the picture looks like a sixteen year old saint….the white hair around her face makes a holy halo. And it’s all over Facebook, Classmates, Twitter, Photo Bucket, Flicker, Mobile Me and her web site.
THE END
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
Short Story by Diana Weeks
Becky and Beverly’s forty year friendship started at a 1968 coffee break in another neighbor’s house. The hostess declared that she was canceling her subscription of Life Magazine for having nudity on the cover. “Why the magazines are mailed straight to our mailbox and sometimes I let the children bring in the mail. I don’t want them to see such trash”.
New neighbors, Bev and Becky, walked to their next door homes talking about how foolish it is to think we can protect our children from anything, much less everything. Both assumed their kids would do everything they had done… and anything new.
Now the kids are on their own. Bev lives in San Antonio, in an apartment, near grandchildren. Becky has been writing plays in Houston since quitting her reporter’s day job. Bev has been encouraged by Becky to write something. Bev decided to write about the only thing she really knew…her life story. And use real names.
Becky sprinkled in her pants having a coughing fit… when Bev called to tell her…she had signed a contract to publish her memoir. It will be in book stores this winter. Becky is envious…she has not gotten a play up in five years. Wham, her “beginner” friend writes a hit. Bev’s publisher wants a photo for the back cover.
She calls Becky about needing to come visit…The web revealed no Glamour Shot studios left in San Antonio…but one just outside Houston in the Woodlands. Considering themselves “natural beauties” the women, now in their seventies… had laughed at those people in the rich eighties…who paid big money for a picture of themselves to frame.
The appointment was made, a financial deal cut for the copyright rights. The friends arrived on time. The pre-shooting make-over began with a foundation applied with an electric powder sprayer. It gives face and exposed skin a glowy color. The photographer looks and acts gigolo-ish, touching Bev’s cheek, head or arm directing her…in a throaty voice to “Smile”.
When we looked at the proofs something was wrong with all but one. It was chosen and a check was written….but before the women got back to Becky’s apartment…Bev had decided that her eyes were too squinty and it was the photographers fault for telling her to smile…and cause her cheeks to puff up and squash her eyes.
A friend came by and Bev explained her doubts “My room mate is a photogher…She got $400 dollars for her last shoot, you can look her up on the web under Rabid Girl Scout.
“Would she shoot a few of me for fifty if we come to her” Yes. Becky dropped Bev off and went to find an ATM for the money.
By our return the young woman had shot four frames and one Bev loved. “Look…” she sighs in awe, Bev in the picture looks like a sixteen year old saint….the white hair around her face makes a holy halo. And it’s all over Facebook, Classmates, Twitter, Photo Bucket, Flicker, Mobile Me and her web site.
THE END
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
Sunday, December 26, 2010
Tyrone and Turner
Tyrone and Turner
A short story by Diana Weeks
Tyrone and Turner had been adversaries since birth. Tyrone was four when his brother Turner came along and spoiled Tyrone’s pampered “only child life”. Turner quickly began hogging all their working parents’ attention. Fate had put them together in retirement.
Turner left a career as an ace crime reporter. He took early retirement, at the request of his Paper’s Publisher, to stop the City editor from firing Turner, who missed a story… due to… what the Publisher called… Turner’s “large capacity for having fun”.
Turner was a copy boy when he got drafted in 1941… returning from three years in the South Pacific… married his high school sweetheart…went to college…and was welcomed back to a reporters job held for him. by his daily paper where he worked another thirty-five years.
Poor Tyrone,who daily exercises his neck… had never thought he’d get old…He is a retired health inspector…living on his paltry Social Security…it barely covers his beer and cigarettes. First he had tried to be a door to door vacuum cleaner salesman…but found it impossible to pass up a housewife’s come on. He felt the women took advantage of him when they didn’t buy a vacuum cleaner. He went on to become an insurance actuary.
Its Christmas Eve morning. Tyrone and Turner are finishing breakfast at the Early Bird Café. Turner watches Tyrone… concoct the recipe for his second cup of coffee… combining one and a half teaspoons of sugar and three packets of… torn… one at a time… powdered creamer. Turner mutters “’what delicate taste buds you must have.”
“My tongue has precise requirements.” Mack replies. “Redheads”.
The old men both laugh…and begin reading their papers. Turner starts at his first section, Tyrone his sports section…”Ty, look at these low sale prices…”
Tyrone, deeply into a football story doesn’t look or listen…Five minutes later, he looks up and asks Turner, “Have you finished your Christmas shopping?”
“Two weeks ago. That little TV you couldn’t afford to buy your son … is on sale for $19.99…Tyrone you have enough money to buy it at that price”.
Tyrone looks for the waitress for more water and holds up his empty glass... “Where is it? I don’t want to go all the way downtown. “
“Macy’s is all over town. There’s one at The Mall”…Turner bounces, eager to go somewhere. Tyrone is back to reading…three minutes later…Tyrone looks up again. “Okay… let’s drive into town this afternoon and I’ll get it for Mark.”
Turner moans “Let’s go now; we’re already fifteen miles on our way.”
“We can’t… I don’t have my checkbook.”
Not wanting to offer a loan he wouldn’t get back, Turner drives them back home.
They live forty miles outside Houston…on Turners’ G.I. Land deal… 20 acre ranch property…Turner in a converted Santa Fe Railroad caboose, Tyrone in a small trailer Turner had found for his ‘poor mouth’ brother… Tyron’s check book is found and he robustly agrees to go now.
From the look of the crowded parking lot…everyone had waited for sales. “Do you want to stay in the car? Tyrone asks “I’m just going to run in and buy the TV and be right back”.
Turner shakes his head “I need the exercise.” The two men look at each other and laugh… Turner the shortest takes the lead. Tyrone stops suddenly in panic…when they reach the automatic doors…opening into dense strolling shoppers. Fight or flight juice zoomed through Tyrone’s body.
Turner didn’t know Tyrone was missing until he got to the store directory. Turner climbs on a foot high display base and looks around the crowded store, he sees Chili, a cop he knew…outside talking to Tyrone, taking Ty’s arm and leading him inside. Tucker whistles loudly like a tropical parrot call and waits for Security officer, Chili, and Tyrone to look his way… then he waves his baseball cap…and points.
They meet in the men’s room. Tyrone had taught his energetic little brother Turner…that if he got lost in a store to go to the men’s room. The men’s room was where they made Santa a list of gifts…later waiting for their mother to get off at Neiman Marcus they went to the men’s room to tell nasty jokes…and talk about the girls they liked.
Turner‘s voice is firm. “You can’t be a quitter Ty. Your kid wants the TV on sale…you’ve got to complete your mission. … Making your little boy happy on Christmas morning…”
“This is like running with the bulls” Ty;s. head drops down so far his chin is covered with his brown muffler. Turner talks faster..”Why I bet our pal here will escort you to the electronic department. Do you have time Chili?” Turner slips him a five dollar bill,
Tyrone tells Chili. “Don’t hold on to my arm or people will think I’m under arrest’.
Turner speaks up. “Ty just pretend you’re blind”, hands his brother his sunglasses.
Tyrone puts them on and lets Chili lead him to the elevator. When the elevator opens they see a long line of folks clutching the little TV on sale… in their arms waiting to be checked out.
“Where’s the display of sale TVs, Chili?”
“Around to the left” All three hurry but discover only an empty shelve...Tyrone softly cusses.
Tuner picks up a slightly larger TV that’s on sale for $30.00 “He’ll like this bigger one even better and I’ll pay the difference!” The deal was done…Tyrone offered to tell Mark it was from both of them. Chili got Tyrone …still as a blind customer to the head of the line and Tyrone happily held the TV in his lap…all the way home…smiling at his little brother…and getting a grin back..
THE END
All RIGHTS RESERVED
A short story by Diana Weeks
Tyrone and Turner had been adversaries since birth. Tyrone was four when his brother Turner came along and spoiled Tyrone’s pampered “only child life”. Turner quickly began hogging all their working parents’ attention. Fate had put them together in retirement.
Turner left a career as an ace crime reporter. He took early retirement, at the request of his Paper’s Publisher, to stop the City editor from firing Turner, who missed a story… due to… what the Publisher called… Turner’s “large capacity for having fun”.
Turner was a copy boy when he got drafted in 1941… returning from three years in the South Pacific… married his high school sweetheart…went to college…and was welcomed back to a reporters job held for him. by his daily paper where he worked another thirty-five years.
Poor Tyrone,who daily exercises his neck… had never thought he’d get old…He is a retired health inspector…living on his paltry Social Security…it barely covers his beer and cigarettes. First he had tried to be a door to door vacuum cleaner salesman…but found it impossible to pass up a housewife’s come on. He felt the women took advantage of him when they didn’t buy a vacuum cleaner. He went on to become an insurance actuary.
Its Christmas Eve morning. Tyrone and Turner are finishing breakfast at the Early Bird Café. Turner watches Tyrone… concoct the recipe for his second cup of coffee… combining one and a half teaspoons of sugar and three packets of… torn… one at a time… powdered creamer. Turner mutters “’what delicate taste buds you must have.”
“My tongue has precise requirements.” Mack replies. “Redheads”.
The old men both laugh…and begin reading their papers. Turner starts at his first section, Tyrone his sports section…”Ty, look at these low sale prices…”
Tyrone, deeply into a football story doesn’t look or listen…Five minutes later, he looks up and asks Turner, “Have you finished your Christmas shopping?”
“Two weeks ago. That little TV you couldn’t afford to buy your son … is on sale for $19.99…Tyrone you have enough money to buy it at that price”.
Tyrone looks for the waitress for more water and holds up his empty glass... “Where is it? I don’t want to go all the way downtown. “
“Macy’s is all over town. There’s one at The Mall”…Turner bounces, eager to go somewhere. Tyrone is back to reading…three minutes later…Tyrone looks up again. “Okay… let’s drive into town this afternoon and I’ll get it for Mark.”
Turner moans “Let’s go now; we’re already fifteen miles on our way.”
“We can’t… I don’t have my checkbook.”
Not wanting to offer a loan he wouldn’t get back, Turner drives them back home.
They live forty miles outside Houston…on Turners’ G.I. Land deal… 20 acre ranch property…Turner in a converted Santa Fe Railroad caboose, Tyrone in a small trailer Turner had found for his ‘poor mouth’ brother… Tyron’s check book is found and he robustly agrees to go now.
From the look of the crowded parking lot…everyone had waited for sales. “Do you want to stay in the car? Tyrone asks “I’m just going to run in and buy the TV and be right back”.
Turner shakes his head “I need the exercise.” The two men look at each other and laugh… Turner the shortest takes the lead. Tyrone stops suddenly in panic…when they reach the automatic doors…opening into dense strolling shoppers. Fight or flight juice zoomed through Tyrone’s body.
Turner didn’t know Tyrone was missing until he got to the store directory. Turner climbs on a foot high display base and looks around the crowded store, he sees Chili, a cop he knew…outside talking to Tyrone, taking Ty’s arm and leading him inside. Tucker whistles loudly like a tropical parrot call and waits for Security officer, Chili, and Tyrone to look his way… then he waves his baseball cap…and points.
They meet in the men’s room. Tyrone had taught his energetic little brother Turner…that if he got lost in a store to go to the men’s room. The men’s room was where they made Santa a list of gifts…later waiting for their mother to get off at Neiman Marcus they went to the men’s room to tell nasty jokes…and talk about the girls they liked.
Turner‘s voice is firm. “You can’t be a quitter Ty. Your kid wants the TV on sale…you’ve got to complete your mission. … Making your little boy happy on Christmas morning…”
“This is like running with the bulls” Ty;s. head drops down so far his chin is covered with his brown muffler. Turner talks faster..”Why I bet our pal here will escort you to the electronic department. Do you have time Chili?” Turner slips him a five dollar bill,
Tyrone tells Chili. “Don’t hold on to my arm or people will think I’m under arrest’.
Turner speaks up. “Ty just pretend you’re blind”, hands his brother his sunglasses.
Tyrone puts them on and lets Chili lead him to the elevator. When the elevator opens they see a long line of folks clutching the little TV on sale… in their arms waiting to be checked out.
“Where’s the display of sale TVs, Chili?”
“Around to the left” All three hurry but discover only an empty shelve...Tyrone softly cusses.
Tuner picks up a slightly larger TV that’s on sale for $30.00 “He’ll like this bigger one even better and I’ll pay the difference!” The deal was done…Tyrone offered to tell Mark it was from both of them. Chili got Tyrone …still as a blind customer to the head of the line and Tyrone happily held the TV in his lap…all the way home…smiling at his little brother…and getting a grin back..
THE END
All RIGHTS RESERVED
Tuesday, December 14, 2010
Tuesday, November 23, 2010
Thanksgiving Murder
Thanksgiving Murder
A short story by Diana Weeks
Mom told me not to name the turkey the church ladies gave us. It was my job to feed the bird corn to get her fat before she gets the ax on thanksgiving.
I named the fowl Jean Harlow after Pa's favorite movie star. I had noticed our scrawny turkey had a “sure” natural stride like Miss Harlow.
I started talking to her, assuring her that I would help her escape. Yes; I wasn't going to stand by and watch the murder of my new friend.
My folks had to send my twin brother Bubba to work on Uncle Al's farm. I'd been alone with 'them', our parents, who were both out of work and cranky. I had heard one of the church ladies call us 'the most pitiful family in the congregation, a pure insult.
Miss Harlow would strut around the empty chicken yard. Our flock of chickens had been sold the week before the early frost had killed ma's kitchen garden.
“Don't worry about a thing” I told Miss Harlow. “There's a bunch of wild turkeys in the woods. I'll take you there.”
“Hey kid, I like it here” she insisted.. “Food hand delivered.
“Are you crazy? They'll kill you!
“Of course…the way I taste…it thrills the tongue. Yum yum … eating a drum stick or thick slices of my breast. I makes people happy”
“For one day” I say.
I like your folks. I want them to get to keep their turkey eating tradition. Getting together to eat gives families comfort.
It's barbaric. I've got it; you could start laying eggs to earn your keep.”
“No, that hurts. I want to be a thanksgiving turkey. I'll get all the praise! I don’t have to compete with decorated trees or presents for attention. A turkey spirit never dies. I'll come back as. Santa’s elf, the Easter bunny…or the tooth ferry.
I don’t think…I'll be able to eat you. I threw Miss Harlow some more corn…from my apron pocket…and told her. I don’t thing I’ll be able to …eat you.
You must…you can’t ruin the balance of nature. While I’m being stuffed…I’ll find out what the children want for Christmas and be sure they get it.
I can till you right now…I told Miss Harlow… I want a bicycle. But I still won’t eat but maybe one drum stick.
“Gobble, gobble…enjoy me”…she shook her turkey tail feathers.. “Cheer up…a turkey’s spirit never
dies.
My brother made up a Thanksgiving poem last year…when he had to feed the Thanksgiving turkey.
A TURKEY NEVER DIES
Turkey dressing hotly roasted
Turkey sandwich lightly toasted
Turkey salad made of legs
Every meal it’s on your plate
I use mine for fishing bait
Two weeks past Thanksgiving Day
You may turn up in a soufflé
Enchiladas stew or hash
Even Turkey succotash
With imported caviar
Or a chocolate candy bar.
You can feed all the troops
On the Turkey carcass soup…on the Turkey carcass soup.
Miss Harlow flapped her wings, laughed loud and gobbled. Yes child, it’s true. …Turkeys never die…
Mom just doesn’t want you to land on her hips or Pa’s tummy.
THE END
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
A short story by Diana Weeks
Mom told me not to name the turkey the church ladies gave us. It was my job to feed the bird corn to get her fat before she gets the ax on thanksgiving.
I named the fowl Jean Harlow after Pa's favorite movie star. I had noticed our scrawny turkey had a “sure” natural stride like Miss Harlow.
I started talking to her, assuring her that I would help her escape. Yes; I wasn't going to stand by and watch the murder of my new friend.
My folks had to send my twin brother Bubba to work on Uncle Al's farm. I'd been alone with 'them', our parents, who were both out of work and cranky. I had heard one of the church ladies call us 'the most pitiful family in the congregation, a pure insult.
Miss Harlow would strut around the empty chicken yard. Our flock of chickens had been sold the week before the early frost had killed ma's kitchen garden.
“Don't worry about a thing” I told Miss Harlow. “There's a bunch of wild turkeys in the woods. I'll take you there.”
“Hey kid, I like it here” she insisted.. “Food hand delivered.
“Are you crazy? They'll kill you!
“Of course…the way I taste…it thrills the tongue. Yum yum … eating a drum stick or thick slices of my breast. I makes people happy”
“For one day” I say.
I like your folks. I want them to get to keep their turkey eating tradition. Getting together to eat gives families comfort.
It's barbaric. I've got it; you could start laying eggs to earn your keep.”
“No, that hurts. I want to be a thanksgiving turkey. I'll get all the praise! I don’t have to compete with decorated trees or presents for attention. A turkey spirit never dies. I'll come back as. Santa’s elf, the Easter bunny…or the tooth ferry.
I don’t think…I'll be able to eat you. I threw Miss Harlow some more corn…from my apron pocket…and told her. I don’t thing I’ll be able to …eat you.
You must…you can’t ruin the balance of nature. While I’m being stuffed…I’ll find out what the children want for Christmas and be sure they get it.
I can till you right now…I told Miss Harlow… I want a bicycle. But I still won’t eat but maybe one drum stick.
“Gobble, gobble…enjoy me”…she shook her turkey tail feathers.. “Cheer up…a turkey’s spirit never
dies.
My brother made up a Thanksgiving poem last year…when he had to feed the Thanksgiving turkey.
A TURKEY NEVER DIES
Turkey dressing hotly roasted
Turkey sandwich lightly toasted
Turkey salad made of legs
Every meal it’s on your plate
I use mine for fishing bait
Two weeks past Thanksgiving Day
You may turn up in a soufflé
Enchiladas stew or hash
Even Turkey succotash
With imported caviar
Or a chocolate candy bar.
You can feed all the troops
On the Turkey carcass soup…on the Turkey carcass soup.
Miss Harlow flapped her wings, laughed loud and gobbled. Yes child, it’s true. …Turkeys never die…
Mom just doesn’t want you to land on her hips or Pa’s tummy.
THE END
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
Wednesday, November 10, 2010
Christmas Party Crasher
Christmas Party Crasher
A short play by Diana Weeks
Set – The Apex Oil Company's conference room.
Characters : Sonya – Executive Secretary
Shirley – Sonya's best friend and room mate a secretary
At rise: Sonya is on the phone listening and making notes.
SONYA
Yes sir...yes sir...(pause to listen and make notes) Yes sir...
Shirley enters and flops down in the Chairman's puffy dark leather arm chair .Sonya puts her finger across her lips.
SHIRLEY
Yes sir, yes sir...sort of has a rythumn...
SONYA
Thank you sir. (hangs up phone)
SHIRLEY
Our land lord called and threatened us with eviction.
SONYA
My boss just promised me a nice bonus if I host the company Christmas party next week. Mr. Charley's got a date to go to the Mayor's party so he can't stay.
SHIRLEY
You said they weren't giving a party this Christmas.
SONYA
True...but in September, the Chairman's wife spent four-thousand dollars for a designer dress to wear to the office Christmas party.
SHIRLEY
So now they're optimistic. What's the budget, do they get us a couple of boxes of doughnuts?
SONYA
No. My boss Charley is giving me a company credit card. We're going to be okay.
Shirley puts her hands together pointing under her chin.
SHIRLEY
Thank you Jesus for another month we don't have to move back home.
SONYA
Plus ...the company party will be the same night we had invited our friends over for wine and crackers, bring your own cheese bash. Now they can enjoy smoked turkey and baked hams.
SHIRLEY
We call our friends and change the address to here?
SONYA
The lady needs people to see her dress.
SHIRLEY
Do you think the Chairman will notice fifty people he doesn't recognize?
SONYA
No, we don't have faces to him.
SHIRLEY
Wait a second. Most of them are looking for jobs.
Are you inviting company vendors. (Sonya nods yes.) Our friends can make contacts.
They laugh and hug.
SHIRLEY (con't)
How did you find out about the four-thousand dollar dress?
SONYA
A pal...his secretary, who he makes do his personal bills. I had her remind the Chairman
of the pity of not getting to wear such a dress. He's the type who wants to get his money out of everything.
THE END
All Rights Reserved
A short play by Diana Weeks
Set – The Apex Oil Company's conference room.
Characters : Sonya – Executive Secretary
Shirley – Sonya's best friend and room mate a secretary
At rise: Sonya is on the phone listening and making notes.
SONYA
Yes sir...yes sir...(pause to listen and make notes) Yes sir...
Shirley enters and flops down in the Chairman's puffy dark leather arm chair .Sonya puts her finger across her lips.
SHIRLEY
Yes sir, yes sir...sort of has a rythumn...
SONYA
Thank you sir. (hangs up phone)
SHIRLEY
Our land lord called and threatened us with eviction.
SONYA
My boss just promised me a nice bonus if I host the company Christmas party next week. Mr. Charley's got a date to go to the Mayor's party so he can't stay.
SHIRLEY
You said they weren't giving a party this Christmas.
SONYA
True...but in September, the Chairman's wife spent four-thousand dollars for a designer dress to wear to the office Christmas party.
SHIRLEY
So now they're optimistic. What's the budget, do they get us a couple of boxes of doughnuts?
SONYA
No. My boss Charley is giving me a company credit card. We're going to be okay.
Shirley puts her hands together pointing under her chin.
SHIRLEY
Thank you Jesus for another month we don't have to move back home.
SONYA
Plus ...the company party will be the same night we had invited our friends over for wine and crackers, bring your own cheese bash. Now they can enjoy smoked turkey and baked hams.
SHIRLEY
We call our friends and change the address to here?
SONYA
The lady needs people to see her dress.
SHIRLEY
Do you think the Chairman will notice fifty people he doesn't recognize?
SONYA
No, we don't have faces to him.
SHIRLEY
Wait a second. Most of them are looking for jobs.
Are you inviting company vendors. (Sonya nods yes.) Our friends can make contacts.
They laugh and hug.
SHIRLEY (con't)
How did you find out about the four-thousand dollar dress?
SONYA
A pal...his secretary, who he makes do his personal bills. I had her remind the Chairman
of the pity of not getting to wear such a dress. He's the type who wants to get his money out of everything.
THE END
All Rights Reserved
Sunday, October 31, 2010
Halloween Lovers
Halloween Lovers
a short story by Diana Weeks
The idea of visiting an old cemetery was Kyle’s and it was their first date. Joyce was skeptical. Why do you want to go there? Kyle dropped his head. “My Grandmother died last month and I promised to keep flowers on her grave. It won’t take long and then we can go to the party your friends are having. I want to meet all your friends because you look darling in your doctor’s costume”. This appeased Joyce...
Joyce looked around “I don’t see any flowers”.
“I thought we’d drive by a Kroger. There’s a vase already there because she was buried next to Grandpa so their double headstone is up...
Grandpa picked the best flower from his garden everyday, he put it in a crystal bud vase he gave her the first Christmas they were married in 1952..It was kept in her kitchen window over the sink. And she’d give him a bodacious kiss so mushy my Mom would say “Mother, not in front of the children”.
Joyce was touched… that this leather clothed motorcycle riding tough guy talked about such sweet family feelings. Joyce had run to the window when she heard the throbbing cycle motor stop outside. Her mother looked and turned white. “That thug must have gotten lost from his, from his, Hell’s Angels gang!”
“Mother, he’s a very nice guy, don’t be so judgmental.”
“Oh yeah, where did you meet him?” She stood with her hands on her hips and made Joyce feel five years old.
Joyce’s mind whirled…do I tell the truth or lie?”
“Well…answer me.”
“In the grocery store…last week when you sent me to buy bread because Dad forgot.”
Her mother walled her eyes and held on to her hips until her finger tips pressed into her tummy. “What department? I want details”.
“He was looking at the steaks”. Joyce stopped there and left out… in the mark down nook where she was looking for lamb. He joked with the butcher and said to me” The butcher ought to wear a blue bandana to hide his face. He can’t even look me in the eye.”
I couldn’t resist answering “He would if you smiled at him”. Kyle laughed and smiled at the butcher and got a smile back. “Just for that he told me “I’ll buy one for you, we’ll grill em at the park this weekend.”
“Oh heaven help me…Joyce, you’re in love! She looks out the window. Her mother presses her hands against her heart and takes deep breaths…and says a quick soft “Hello” and left the room at a run to get her husband.
“I’m sorry you have to meet both my parents” Joyce whispered.
“Heck…” he gave her a ‘You can trust me” smile. “I want to meet them”…Joyce wanted to hug and kiss him right there.
The cemetery was very dark. But as soon as they got parked, he pulls out the biggest flash light Joyce had ever seen, hands her the yellow tulips and took her free hand. They started walking towards the darker wooded section. They stopped behind a large hedge and heard a low giggle. Kyle pulls Joyce behind it,. “That’s Grandma?!”
A ghostly male voice speaks as Joyce squats to sit on the ground…”Darling I’m so longing to hold you”. Kyle curiously peeks over the hedge and whispers “It’s them”. They hear the ghosts breathing softly at first, then harder and faster…then the sound of the spirits falling easily to the ground…”Darling, it’s king sized…let me help you off with your dress…” A soft female voice...”…It lifts up you know.”
Kyle squeezed her hand…”I think we better leave them alone…I’ve got a blanket in my saddle bag…I don’t want you to get grass stains on your white coat…we’ll come back later with the flowers. I want to get to know you! Did I mention that I’ve heard you sing at Jane’s Place….I was in the patio but you made my heart jump. Did you really write that beautiful song?”
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
THE END
a short story by Diana Weeks
The idea of visiting an old cemetery was Kyle’s and it was their first date. Joyce was skeptical. Why do you want to go there? Kyle dropped his head. “My Grandmother died last month and I promised to keep flowers on her grave. It won’t take long and then we can go to the party your friends are having. I want to meet all your friends because you look darling in your doctor’s costume”. This appeased Joyce...
Joyce looked around “I don’t see any flowers”.
“I thought we’d drive by a Kroger. There’s a vase already there because she was buried next to Grandpa so their double headstone is up...
Grandpa picked the best flower from his garden everyday, he put it in a crystal bud vase he gave her the first Christmas they were married in 1952..It was kept in her kitchen window over the sink. And she’d give him a bodacious kiss so mushy my Mom would say “Mother, not in front of the children”.
Joyce was touched… that this leather clothed motorcycle riding tough guy talked about such sweet family feelings. Joyce had run to the window when she heard the throbbing cycle motor stop outside. Her mother looked and turned white. “That thug must have gotten lost from his, from his, Hell’s Angels gang!”
“Mother, he’s a very nice guy, don’t be so judgmental.”
“Oh yeah, where did you meet him?” She stood with her hands on her hips and made Joyce feel five years old.
Joyce’s mind whirled…do I tell the truth or lie?”
“Well…answer me.”
“In the grocery store…last week when you sent me to buy bread because Dad forgot.”
Her mother walled her eyes and held on to her hips until her finger tips pressed into her tummy. “What department? I want details”.
“He was looking at the steaks”. Joyce stopped there and left out… in the mark down nook where she was looking for lamb. He joked with the butcher and said to me” The butcher ought to wear a blue bandana to hide his face. He can’t even look me in the eye.”
I couldn’t resist answering “He would if you smiled at him”. Kyle laughed and smiled at the butcher and got a smile back. “Just for that he told me “I’ll buy one for you, we’ll grill em at the park this weekend.”
“Oh heaven help me…Joyce, you’re in love! She looks out the window. Her mother presses her hands against her heart and takes deep breaths…and says a quick soft “Hello” and left the room at a run to get her husband.
“I’m sorry you have to meet both my parents” Joyce whispered.
“Heck…” he gave her a ‘You can trust me” smile. “I want to meet them”…Joyce wanted to hug and kiss him right there.
The cemetery was very dark. But as soon as they got parked, he pulls out the biggest flash light Joyce had ever seen, hands her the yellow tulips and took her free hand. They started walking towards the darker wooded section. They stopped behind a large hedge and heard a low giggle. Kyle pulls Joyce behind it,. “That’s Grandma?!”
A ghostly male voice speaks as Joyce squats to sit on the ground…”Darling I’m so longing to hold you”. Kyle curiously peeks over the hedge and whispers “It’s them”. They hear the ghosts breathing softly at first, then harder and faster…then the sound of the spirits falling easily to the ground…”Darling, it’s king sized…let me help you off with your dress…” A soft female voice...”…It lifts up you know.”
Kyle squeezed her hand…”I think we better leave them alone…I’ve got a blanket in my saddle bag…I don’t want you to get grass stains on your white coat…we’ll come back later with the flowers. I want to get to know you! Did I mention that I’ve heard you sing at Jane’s Place….I was in the patio but you made my heart jump. Did you really write that beautiful song?”
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
THE END
Thursday, October 21, 2010
Mother's Funny Halloween
Mother's Funny Halloween
A short story by Diana Weeks
I had been feeding a stray Halloween orange and black calico cat on the sly for two weeks …I got caught when I used the last of Mothers’ coffee cream…only because we were out of milk.
The back kitchen door bangs open…her “Greatest Mom” coffee mug splashed black coffee on her hand…and made her howl …in her rush to find me…Mother points with her elbows, hands on her hips, “Betty, is that a cat?”
I tried to lie my third grade… troubles away. “The cat just turned up hungry this morning… I was afraid she was going to starve to death.” I rambled on tenderly stroking the cat’s silky back. My red headed brother Steve, who’s ten and thinks he owns the world, looks out the kitchen door…watching Mother give me “the magnet look” that grabs and holds on.
Mother walks around me. “What’s her name?”
“Princess” I blurted. “Feel how soft she is.”
Steve proclaims… “Caught red handed” and goes back in. Mother comes over and pets Princess…and picks her up. “This cat is probably just lost…her family may be walking down the alley now”…Mother put her hand around an ear “Yes…here kitty kitty”…as she’s walking toward the back alley.
“I know Daddy doesn’t want us to have cats… ever since he accidently rolled over the neighbor’s “…but Princes’ll stay in the back yard and Daddy won’t even know she’s here.” Mother puts her down on the ground and Princess runs away up the alley.
“She’ll come back”. Mother takes my hand. “You don’t find cats…cats find you. Don’t ever ever …let her in the house…” Mother ordered. “This afternoon we’ll fix a box for her under the back porch… get ready for school”
I might have gotten away with a secret pet…Daddy runs a grocery store and leaves before we wake up and comes home after we’re asleep…He is too tired to complain.
@#$%^&(*_+ my Princess sneaked in and had a litter of six kittens in my parents closet…and best of all…it happened on the next Saturday and we got to watch the last three kittens come out. It was so exciting.
Daddy came home for lunch and was greeted by my little sister Kimberly… who told him she discovered our cat having kittens and took his hand and pulled him to his closet. “I didn’t know what was happening” she explained “but I saw blood”.
“Debora!” Daddy called. Mother came in and gave him a hug…and a long kiss.
“Isn’t it great …they’re getting to learn about life…just like you did living on a farm”.
Daddy had helped us move Princess and her still wet kittens…to my closet. He barely gave me time to get my ballet shoes out of the way. I heard Mother tell him several times…just till they’re weened”...And give him a deep kiss. Mother thought I couldn’t see them.
. …Finally, its Halloween my favorite holiday and Mother is baking cookies to give trick or treaters. She let us eat two each right out of the oven.
Mother didn’t believe in buying Halloween costumes. “What fun is that? You all get to create your own costumes. You can be whoever you want to be”.
“Can I be a ghost? I found the sheet” Steve waved it in my face and threw it over Kim’s head.
“Steve, you were a ghost last year. This year you can be really scary…a mummy” then she laughed her cackling “witch” laugh and started tearing the sheet into long strips and wrapping them around Steve’s limbs taping the ends with scotch tape. I stepped on strips as they fell rounding on the floor. …Kim joined me stomping. Steve yelled. “Mother make them stop getting my costume dirty”.
“Thank you girls, you don’t want it clean… a mummy has just raised-up-out-of-the-dark ground… he’s been scratching upward from the grave.”
I joined Mother’s movements sing songing “The mummy’s mad with anger about his dirty finger nails…”
We were all laughing when Daddy came in from their bedroom with one of his house slippers in his hand…extended toward us. “Smell this…all my shoes smell like piss.”
Mother smiled. “I’ll have the closet all cleaned out when you get home tonight”.
“I can tell by that determined look…” teased Daddy kissing her goodbye. We waved his 65 ford along. When he was out of sight…Mother pulled us into a huddle.
“Six lucky kids… who come here… to our house… for trick or treat will win …their very own little kitten” Mother jumped her cheerleader dance. “Yea, let’s hear it…I’ll tie a sweet bow around each neck…blue for boys and pink for girls…if we can tell. Steve speaks out…”in my Boy Scout book.”
Mother becomes director of our annual Halloween show. “Steve you go down and scare the kids over to us…I spoke up. “Especially … groups with no adult tagging along”.
Kim put on Bet’s pink ballet tutu…you can pass out the cookies.”
“Betty you can get our laundry basket for the kittens….the basket that’s short enough for them to peek over and look cute. And Betty…you my blond golden girl. can be the judge…you can pick out the winners”.
Until she said that… I was going to cry to keep all the kittens.. I could advise each child who got a kitten…to cross their heart and hope to die… promise to take good care of their new pet.. Honestly I was glad Mother thought of this…I felt so powerful getting to pick winners.
The third “treat” kitten given away was tearfully returned. “If Dad had been driving our group around tonight I could have kept “Frisky”. I’d already named her”. Kim gave her two cookies.
The next gaggling group of five …had two screeching girl twins…dressed as bats…black bats…each won a kitten. And a boy my age smiled and said he’d always wanted a cat to give his mom for her birthday tomorrow. “Go on” Mother laughed.
I had on Mother’s old white waitress uniform that was this years nursing uniform…with a red cross printed on my paper folded nurse hat. I got to use my toy hypodermic to give shots to the boys my age. What a great Halloween.
THE END
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
A short story by Diana Weeks
I had been feeding a stray Halloween orange and black calico cat on the sly for two weeks …I got caught when I used the last of Mothers’ coffee cream…only because we were out of milk.
The back kitchen door bangs open…her “Greatest Mom” coffee mug splashed black coffee on her hand…and made her howl …in her rush to find me…Mother points with her elbows, hands on her hips, “Betty, is that a cat?”
I tried to lie my third grade… troubles away. “The cat just turned up hungry this morning… I was afraid she was going to starve to death.” I rambled on tenderly stroking the cat’s silky back. My red headed brother Steve, who’s ten and thinks he owns the world, looks out the kitchen door…watching Mother give me “the magnet look” that grabs and holds on.
Mother walks around me. “What’s her name?”
“Princess” I blurted. “Feel how soft she is.”
Steve proclaims… “Caught red handed” and goes back in. Mother comes over and pets Princess…and picks her up. “This cat is probably just lost…her family may be walking down the alley now”…Mother put her hand around an ear “Yes…here kitty kitty”…as she’s walking toward the back alley.
“I know Daddy doesn’t want us to have cats… ever since he accidently rolled over the neighbor’s “…but Princes’ll stay in the back yard and Daddy won’t even know she’s here.” Mother puts her down on the ground and Princess runs away up the alley.
“She’ll come back”. Mother takes my hand. “You don’t find cats…cats find you. Don’t ever ever …let her in the house…” Mother ordered. “This afternoon we’ll fix a box for her under the back porch… get ready for school”
I might have gotten away with a secret pet…Daddy runs a grocery store and leaves before we wake up and comes home after we’re asleep…He is too tired to complain.
@#$%^&(*_+ my Princess sneaked in and had a litter of six kittens in my parents closet…and best of all…it happened on the next Saturday and we got to watch the last three kittens come out. It was so exciting.
Daddy came home for lunch and was greeted by my little sister Kimberly… who told him she discovered our cat having kittens and took his hand and pulled him to his closet. “I didn’t know what was happening” she explained “but I saw blood”.
“Debora!” Daddy called. Mother came in and gave him a hug…and a long kiss.
“Isn’t it great …they’re getting to learn about life…just like you did living on a farm”.
Daddy had helped us move Princess and her still wet kittens…to my closet. He barely gave me time to get my ballet shoes out of the way. I heard Mother tell him several times…just till they’re weened”...And give him a deep kiss. Mother thought I couldn’t see them.
. …Finally, its Halloween my favorite holiday and Mother is baking cookies to give trick or treaters. She let us eat two each right out of the oven.
Mother didn’t believe in buying Halloween costumes. “What fun is that? You all get to create your own costumes. You can be whoever you want to be”.
“Can I be a ghost? I found the sheet” Steve waved it in my face and threw it over Kim’s head.
“Steve, you were a ghost last year. This year you can be really scary…a mummy” then she laughed her cackling “witch” laugh and started tearing the sheet into long strips and wrapping them around Steve’s limbs taping the ends with scotch tape. I stepped on strips as they fell rounding on the floor. …Kim joined me stomping. Steve yelled. “Mother make them stop getting my costume dirty”.
“Thank you girls, you don’t want it clean… a mummy has just raised-up-out-of-the-dark ground… he’s been scratching upward from the grave.”
I joined Mother’s movements sing songing “The mummy’s mad with anger about his dirty finger nails…”
We were all laughing when Daddy came in from their bedroom with one of his house slippers in his hand…extended toward us. “Smell this…all my shoes smell like piss.”
Mother smiled. “I’ll have the closet all cleaned out when you get home tonight”.
“I can tell by that determined look…” teased Daddy kissing her goodbye. We waved his 65 ford along. When he was out of sight…Mother pulled us into a huddle.
“Six lucky kids… who come here… to our house… for trick or treat will win …their very own little kitten” Mother jumped her cheerleader dance. “Yea, let’s hear it…I’ll tie a sweet bow around each neck…blue for boys and pink for girls…if we can tell. Steve speaks out…”in my Boy Scout book.”
Mother becomes director of our annual Halloween show. “Steve you go down and scare the kids over to us…I spoke up. “Especially … groups with no adult tagging along”.
Kim put on Bet’s pink ballet tutu…you can pass out the cookies.”
“Betty you can get our laundry basket for the kittens….the basket that’s short enough for them to peek over and look cute. And Betty…you my blond golden girl. can be the judge…you can pick out the winners”.
Until she said that… I was going to cry to keep all the kittens.. I could advise each child who got a kitten…to cross their heart and hope to die… promise to take good care of their new pet.. Honestly I was glad Mother thought of this…I felt so powerful getting to pick winners.
The third “treat” kitten given away was tearfully returned. “If Dad had been driving our group around tonight I could have kept “Frisky”. I’d already named her”. Kim gave her two cookies.
The next gaggling group of five …had two screeching girl twins…dressed as bats…black bats…each won a kitten. And a boy my age smiled and said he’d always wanted a cat to give his mom for her birthday tomorrow. “Go on” Mother laughed.
I had on Mother’s old white waitress uniform that was this years nursing uniform…with a red cross printed on my paper folded nurse hat. I got to use my toy hypodermic to give shots to the boys my age. What a great Halloween.
THE END
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
Sunday, October 3, 2010
Driving Lesson
Driving Lesson
a short story by Diana Weeks
"I can learn how to drive!” I thoughtfully celebrated when I woke up on my fourteenth birthday. I had requested a driving lesson as a gift from Daddy. It had been my secret wish when I blew out the candles on my party cake last year.
We lived close to bus lines and hadn’t had a car until after the war, when Uncle Buddy sold Daddy his 1940 Chevy. Bud decided to re-up in the Navy when his wife Ruby left him for a 4F-er who drove a Cadillac.
I could understand Aunt Ruby. I loved cars. My favorite game was identifying makes, model, and year, driving on Berry, the busy street a block away. I got many right, even from that distance.
As soon as Daddy put down his empty coffee cup beside his yoke-stained breakfast plate, I told him I was ready for my driving lesson. He laughed, like he’d hoped I’d forgotten.
I was lucky it was Sunday. Dad was off work from the print shop, and mad at our preacher for starting a building fund and expecting Daddy to sign up for monthly payments. Daddy was on strike against money-hungry Baptists.
Before Daddy would even let me get in the garaged sedan, he raised the hood and showed me the battery, radiator, surrounding hoses, and spark plugs. I bounced on my toes screaming inside “Let’s go!” But no, he showed me how to check the air in the tires with a fountain pen air gauge. Inside I was jumping.
Daddy smiled. “Well, get in!” I bolted for the driver door.
“No,” he strained not to yell. “Let me back us out of the driveway, and drive us where there’s not much traffic.”
“There’s no traffic here on our street,” I said smiling. He backed the vehicle and parked by the curb. Then he slowly exchanged places with me. His face flashed “I’m going to the dentist” fear. Thank goodness I had reached my full height, five foot three. My feet reached the pedals.
Daddy explained the horizontal right pedal was the gas, always to be respected. The clutch is tricky, he explained. It is for changing gears without killing the motor. Reverse is in the far corner of the invisible “H” pattern for the gears. There’s a special quarter-size silver button on the left side of the floor to tap to turn up and down the headlights high beams. By the brake pedal and the emergency brake handle.
I knew how to drive in my mind. Why was he boring me with all this? I did fine with turning on the key and pressing the starter which purred. I slowly pressed in the clutch and gently let it out while pressing on the gas pedal and shifting to first. The Chevy rolled backward. It was a perfect reverse execution. Dad started breathing again.
I turned right on Berry Street and shifted into second, and then to third. Wow, this is so easy. This is more fun than boys! Out of nowhere, a red truck streaked in front of me. “EEEK!” I hit the break so hard, the car jumped and stopped.
I got it started again, just as the light changed to green. But my smooth maneuvers, letting the clutch out and pressing the accelerator, didn’t mesh. The car bucked like a horse. I took my foot off the brake, and the car rolled back and hit a blue 1950 Buick. The whack sounded like a bonk. Oh no, the lady driver wore a purple hat.
Daddy was out of the car, seeing if everyone was all right. Cars stopped around us. I got out to look at the car I hit, and our back bumper, and it all looked fine. The thick chrome bumpers saved both vehicles from damage. I apologized and turned back to the driver’s seat, but it was occupied by Daddy.
“We’ll try again next year,” Daddy told me.
“Next year? That’s forever! I’ll be dead by next year. Or at least you will be,” I thought. But I didn’t say a word. Walking back in the house, I was mentally making a list of every neighbor, relative, and friend who might trade a driving lesson for a car wash.
THE END
© 2009, Diana Weeks
ALL RIGHT RESERVED
a short story by Diana Weeks
"I can learn how to drive!” I thoughtfully celebrated when I woke up on my fourteenth birthday. I had requested a driving lesson as a gift from Daddy. It had been my secret wish when I blew out the candles on my party cake last year.
We lived close to bus lines and hadn’t had a car until after the war, when Uncle Buddy sold Daddy his 1940 Chevy. Bud decided to re-up in the Navy when his wife Ruby left him for a 4F-er who drove a Cadillac.
I could understand Aunt Ruby. I loved cars. My favorite game was identifying makes, model, and year, driving on Berry, the busy street a block away. I got many right, even from that distance.
As soon as Daddy put down his empty coffee cup beside his yoke-stained breakfast plate, I told him I was ready for my driving lesson. He laughed, like he’d hoped I’d forgotten.
I was lucky it was Sunday. Dad was off work from the print shop, and mad at our preacher for starting a building fund and expecting Daddy to sign up for monthly payments. Daddy was on strike against money-hungry Baptists.
Before Daddy would even let me get in the garaged sedan, he raised the hood and showed me the battery, radiator, surrounding hoses, and spark plugs. I bounced on my toes screaming inside “Let’s go!” But no, he showed me how to check the air in the tires with a fountain pen air gauge. Inside I was jumping.
Daddy smiled. “Well, get in!” I bolted for the driver door.
“No,” he strained not to yell. “Let me back us out of the driveway, and drive us where there’s not much traffic.”
“There’s no traffic here on our street,” I said smiling. He backed the vehicle and parked by the curb. Then he slowly exchanged places with me. His face flashed “I’m going to the dentist” fear. Thank goodness I had reached my full height, five foot three. My feet reached the pedals.
Daddy explained the horizontal right pedal was the gas, always to be respected. The clutch is tricky, he explained. It is for changing gears without killing the motor. Reverse is in the far corner of the invisible “H” pattern for the gears. There’s a special quarter-size silver button on the left side of the floor to tap to turn up and down the headlights high beams. By the brake pedal and the emergency brake handle.
I knew how to drive in my mind. Why was he boring me with all this? I did fine with turning on the key and pressing the starter which purred. I slowly pressed in the clutch and gently let it out while pressing on the gas pedal and shifting to first. The Chevy rolled backward. It was a perfect reverse execution. Dad started breathing again.
I turned right on Berry Street and shifted into second, and then to third. Wow, this is so easy. This is more fun than boys! Out of nowhere, a red truck streaked in front of me. “EEEK!” I hit the break so hard, the car jumped and stopped.
I got it started again, just as the light changed to green. But my smooth maneuvers, letting the clutch out and pressing the accelerator, didn’t mesh. The car bucked like a horse. I took my foot off the brake, and the car rolled back and hit a blue 1950 Buick. The whack sounded like a bonk. Oh no, the lady driver wore a purple hat.
Daddy was out of the car, seeing if everyone was all right. Cars stopped around us. I got out to look at the car I hit, and our back bumper, and it all looked fine. The thick chrome bumpers saved both vehicles from damage. I apologized and turned back to the driver’s seat, but it was occupied by Daddy.
“We’ll try again next year,” Daddy told me.
“Next year? That’s forever! I’ll be dead by next year. Or at least you will be,” I thought. But I didn’t say a word. Walking back in the house, I was mentally making a list of every neighbor, relative, and friend who might trade a driving lesson for a car wash.
THE END
© 2009, Diana Weeks
ALL RIGHT RESERVED
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