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
Monday, March 21, 2011
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
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)