Forum Activity for @carolinejensen

caroline.jensen
@carolinejensen
10/17/17 09:28:03PM
5 posts

Lime Green Bug


West Coast Eisteddfod Online Short Story Competition 2017


            I noticed him early on. The black truck behind me on the overpass. He was too close. I was doing five over, so what was his problem?
            He pulled out to pass. Then he cut me off. Swooped in front of me. I had to break. Jesus Christ, I hate it when people do that! Within the confines of my car I called him a few choice names.
            I turned off the overpass almost immediately behind him, wondering where he’d gone. I could see down the ramp as it curved north. Man, he must have been going.
            Then something came into my right peripheral. The black truck. Wheels still spinning up in the air. He’d gone through the guardrail and rolled it.
            I stopped on the shoulder and made my way down the short embankment.
            There he was, upside down, still confined in his seatbelt, just hanging there, suspended.
            He saw me coming.
            “Help me,” he said weakly.
            When I got about a foot from him, I got down on my haunches. “You cut me off,” I said.
            “What?”
            “You cut me off – back there on the overpass.”
            “Sorry.”
            “Are you?”
            “Huh?”
            “Are you sorry?”
            “I – I was in a hurry. Important…”
            “Well, it’s not so important now, is it? Looks like you’re not going to make it.”
            I took out a cigarette and lit it inhaling slowly, deliberately, deeply, then blew the smoke in his face.
            “Can you get me out of here?” His voice was barely a whisper.
            “Where did you get your fucking driver’s license? From a popcorn box?”
            “Can you just dial 9-1-1 for me, please?” he asked sheepishly.
            “Don’t have a phone.” I took another drag.
            “I do. I do. It must be here somewhere.” He looked around. “There it is!” He said it with the excitement of a child who had just found an Easter egg. He reached for the cell phone laying on the headliner. “I – I can’t reach it. I think my wrist is broken. Could you…”
            “Sure.” I flicked my smoke towards the back of the truck.
            “I – don’t –think – you – should – throw – your – cigarettes – there. – The – gas – tank – has – a - leak…” he labored.
            “Ooooh,” I said, as if I had just touched a hot iron. “You probably should have got that fixed.”
            I reached into the cab and retrieved the cellular phone being careful not to touch him. The whites of his bulging brown eyes were punctuated with broken blood vessels. His face had reddened from being upside down. He looked like a bulldog caught in a choke chain. “Wearing your seatbelt, I see. Good idea for a guy that drives like you. Protect yourself, to hell with everyone else, eh?”
            “I think I’m going to throw up,” he said, swallowing.
            “I wouldn’t if I were you. It’ll get in your eyes and you won’t be able to see. Yuk.”
            “Look, I’m sorry about that back there – cutting you off. I don’t think I did, but – ”
            I was losing what little patience I had. “Oh, come on now, you know you did. You did it on purpose.”
            “I didn’t see you. Honest to God.”
            “You didn’t see my lime green Volkswagen bug? What are you, blind?”
            “Lime green?” His face looked puzzled, as if he was trying to place it.
            “Oh, I know what you’re thinking. They don’t come in lime green. Painted it myself. Took seventeen cans of spray paint. Well, sixteen and a half – I got some left over for touch ups.” I took another drag off my cigarette and blew it in his face.
            “Look, I’m sorry, I’ll never do it again. I can’t feel my legs. Could you please help me?” He was begging now.
            “Not just yet. I want to tell you about my day. I had a miserable fucking day and you didn’t make it any better. My boss chewed me a new asshole because I didn’t have a report done on time. Then I spilled hot coffee on my favorite blouse, see?” I pulled at it to show him the stain. “Do you know how to get this out? Anyway, doesn’t matter. I think it’s set in there for good. Anyway, the bastard fired me – my boss, that is. You’re bleeding.” I said. “You should apply pressure to that.”
            “The phone…” He started to cry.
            “Oh, yeah.” I took it out of the breast pocket it had put it in and flipped it open. Then I flipped it shut and heaved it about fifty feet away from the truck and started to walk away.
            He was trying to get out now, heaving his body against the driver’s door.
            “Help me. Can you just give me my phone?” His voice was cracking through the sobs.
            I turned around. “Where are your manners? You didn’t say please.”
            “Please…please…”
            “Too late now.”
            “Look, miss, I’m starting to hurt real bad...”
            “Oh, stop your whining. Ten minutes ago you were macho man in a black truck and now look at you. Tch. Tch. Tch.”
            I started walking back up the hill.
            “You can’t just leave me here, you crazy bitch!” His voice was cracking with panic now, satisfying to my ears. I smiled to myself.
            I turned around. His face had taken on a grayish hue. I’d seen that color before. The color of ashes from paper burned in the fireplace. “What did you call me?”
            “Look, I’m sorry, sorry about everything, but you can’t just leave me here. I could…I could die.”
            “Yes, you could. You definitely could. There will be one less jerk on the roads, won’t there?” I kept walking         
            As I climbed back up the embankment I could hear him pleading with me, his voice getting weaker the further away I got.
            I looked up as an airplane roared over head. I could hear something else; an explosion, maybe? I could see yellow reflected in my sunglasses. Looked like flames. Of course, it could have just been the setting sun.
            I stopped for a brief second, but did not turn around. I took a deep breath and couldn’t help smiling. I had done the world a favor. It felt good.
 
            When I got home my cat was there to greet me as usual. “Oh, Miss Kitty, you wouldn’t believe the day I’ve had.” As she wound her furry self around my legs I proceeded to tell her all about it.

updated by @carolinejensen: 11/24/19 06:16:51PM
caroline.jensen
@carolinejensen
10/17/17 09:21:27PM
5 posts

Happy Birthday Marcy Lamport


West Coast Eisteddfod Online Short Story Competition 2017


            When Marcy Lamport woke up she had no idea what was in store for her. Her husband of 37 years had kissed her on the cheek at nine a.m. and said, “I’ll be back in a couple of hours.”
            It was August 14, 2014 -  her birthday. And not just any birthday – the big one – sixty-five. Marcy smiled and rolled over, wondering what he was planning. Every year he had a unique surprise for her birthday, sending a car to pick her up and take her somewhere special. Last year it was a flight over the city in a small plane; the year before it was sailing on a catamaran; the previous year it was a horseback trail ride in the country; another year it was a weekend at a cabin in the mountains. He had mentioned hot air balloons once, but Marcy didn’t like the idea. She hoped he hadn’t arranged anything like that. Well, she would just refuse to get in to the basket.
            She rousted herself out of bed grudgingly just after ten, took a shower, and put her housecoat on. Then she carefully applied her makeup. Marcy took her new black pants out of the closet and laid them on the bed. Then she looked for her new green blouse that the sales lady had talked her into, saying it matched her eyes. She flipped through her blouses twice and couldn’t find it. Then she saw the green material amongst her husband’s shirts. What was it doing there? Marcy shook her head. Had she placed the blouse there, or was this a little joke of Fred’s? No, Fred hadn’t seen it yet. Marcy had a moment of mild panic. She had been misplacing things lately. She vowed silently to pay more attention to things.
            Fully dressed, Marcy surveyed her image in the full length mirror. Her midsection was without definition after giving birth to two children and the onset of menopause. Something didn’t look right. Her blouse wasn’t hanging properly. Then she realized she had put the wrong buttons in the wrong holes. Perturbed, she righted the blouse. That’s better, she thought. She inspected herself with great detail,
Birthday / Jensen / Page 2
making sure everything was in order. She put a lock of her dyed brown hair (she swore she would never be grey) back in place. Still something was missing. Earrings. She decided on the diamond studs Fred had given her for Christmas. When she was finally satisfied she turned away from the mirror and checked the time on the clock radio. It was just before eleven.
            As she made her way downstairs she could smell the aroma of fresh coffee wafting up. As usual the coffee pot was hot and almost full. She poured herself a coffee, went around the kitchen island and set the cup on the table where the newspaper sat. She pulled out the chair and remembered that she needed her glasses. Marcy turned around and scanned the counter. They weren’t in their usual spot. Where had she put them this time? Her absentmindedness of late was annoying her.
            Just then, the doorbell rang. She opened the door to two men in black suits. Marcy figured them to be in their early thirties but it was difficult to tell because of the dark sunglasses they were wearing.
            “Mrs. Lamport?” one of the men asked perusing a sheet of paper.
            “That’s me,” Marcy said, her voice coming out in a singsong the way it did when she was excited.
            “Come with us, please,” the same man said with no expression on his face.
            “I’ll just get my purse.” Marcy answered. She started to turn and the shorter man stopped her.
             “You won’t be requiring it.”
            The man who had not spoken took her elbow and escorted her to a black limousine with darkly tinted windows. The back door was opened and she climbed in. The door was gently closed behind her, as if any noise was not permissible.
            “Oh, one more thing,” the first man said again. “Put this on.” He handed her a blindfold through the glass.
            As she reached for the black mask she felt a shock go through her fingers. Must be the dry air, Marcy thought. It wasn’t unusual for Fred to provide a mask for her to wear so she didn’t know where she was going. It was all part of the adventure.
            “Put it on now, please.”
            Marcy carefully pulled the mask over her head so as not to disturb her hair. An involuntary shudder went through her. The mask felt…strange. Marcy told herself she was just being silly. She folded her hands in her lap as she felt the car pull away from the curb. It must just be the excitement, she thought, that was giving her strange feelings. Fred had been asking some strange questions lately and Marcy had been trying to figure out what exactly he was up to. It was her 65th birthday – surely it was going to be big!
            They drove for about thirty minutes, or so it seemed to Marcy. She sniffed the air for clues. No manure smells, no flowery smells, no aroma of the sea. She was tempted to peek out from underneath the blindfold, but didn’t. Her anticipation was building. What on earth could Fred have thought of this year?
            Finally the car stopped.
            “Do not remove the blindfold, Mrs. Lamport.”
            The car door opened and she reached out her hand for assistance. The hand that grabbed hers was ice cold and she tried to snatch her hand away, but the man held on. Then, with a man on each side of her, she was guided over cement (her blindfold had shifted slightly allowing her a peak below her left eye) and through a doorway. Marcy sniffed again. A familiar odor, but she could not identify it. It was hot, too hot. She felt faint again.
            “Can I take the blindfold off now?” Marcy asked, her hands lifting towards her face.
            Ignoring her request, her hands were gently brought down to her side. The hands were warm this time. “We are going to sit you in the chair, Mrs. Lamport.”
            The two men lowered her into the chair. Marcy felt the warm leather underneath her hands. It felt like her very own recliner chair that she had at home. She tried to remember if she had seen it in the living
room before she had left the house. She would have noticed if it was gone, wouldn’t she? She ran her hands up and down the arms of the chair. Smooth. She reached down beside her for the lever that tilts the chair back. It didn’t seem to be there.
            “Please keep your hands still, Mrs. Lamport.”
            “Could you recline my chair for me?” she asked. Where was Fred? Why was she feeling so vulnerable?
             “Of course, we were just going to do that.”
            “Mrs. Lamport, today is your birthday. You are sixty-five years old, correct?”
            “Yes. That’s right.”
            “You were born on this day in 1949.”
            “Right again.” She tried to keep the singsong out of her voice.
            She was just starting to relax when she heard a buzzing sound. Then she felt restraints clamp around her wrists and ankles. Her heart started pounding. Maybe Fred had gone a little too far this time. She would have a word with her husband when this was over. He was never to do anything like this again.
            Marcy felt a stab of pain in her arm. A needle, she thought. “No!” She cried out. Within seconds her mind became fuzzy. She had been put under anesthetic enough times that she knew what was happening to her. But why? Marcy sniffed the air again. A hospital? A chill crawled up her neck. Had she forgotten about a surgery she was supposed to have today? Her gallbladder? No, she was sure she had already had that surgery.
            The medication was taking effect. She made an attempt to struggle against the restraints, but her body wouldn’t respond. “Where is my husband? Where is Fred?” Her mouth wouldn’t articulate the words clearly. Marcy was truly frightened by this time. Fred would never do something like this. What was going on?
            Her last thought as she drifted off was that her husband was trying to kill her. No, that was insane. Or was it? He had been acting a little strange lately. Was Fred having an affair? Had he arranged this to get rid of her? 
            At noon Fred Lamport entered the front door of his house. It was silent. He went into the living room. Marcy had been falling asleep in her recliner chair while watching the television. But the television was black and the recliner empty.  He went into the kitchen. A full cup of coffee was on the table. He touched the side of the cup. It was cold. The newspaper hadn’t been opened. Fred ran out of the kitchen and up the stairs to the second level calling his wife’s name. Maybe she slipped in the tub. It didn’t make sense to him because of the cup of coffee on the table. But his mind was racing. He checked the bathroom, the bedrooms and Marcy’s sewing room. She hadn’t sewn in a while, but maybe she had taken it up again. No noise. The room was empty. Fred felt the panic settle in. He feared that his wife’s dementia had escalated. She had wandered out of the house twice in the last month.
            Maybe she was in the yard, although she seldom went in the garden these days. As he descended the stairs the doorbell rang. Relief flooded him. She had locked herself out of the house. It wasn’t the first time that this had happened either.
            But when he opened the front door, it wasn’t his wife standing there. Two men in black suits faced him.
            “Mr. Lamport?” The tall one queried.
            “Yes?” Who were they? What did they want? They handed him a letter and walked away without a word. He watched as they got into a black limo.
            His name stared back at him from the envelope. He tore it open. Maybe Marcy had a birthday idea of her own and was playing a little game with him. Maybe she had figured out what he had planned and was already there. A smile briefly touched his lips. He unfolded the letter.
            Dear Mr. Lamport,
            It has come to our attention that on August 14, 2014 Mrs. Marcy  Ann Lamport (nee Stratton) will be       turning sixty-five years old.
            He shook his head slightly. Since when did the government send out letters congratulating people for turning sixty-five? He read on:
            It is my duty to inform you that due to the enormous numbers of births in from 1946 to 1950, after   the end of World War II, the older population is becoming too large. Due to the continuing recession The Government is unable to provide all citizens with the Old Age Pension Income when they turn sixty-five. Therefore The Government will remedy this in the following manner. A computer has generated a list of every person who will turn sixty-five this during the four year specified time limit and seven hundred and thirty names have been chosen at random. The Government has mandated that these unfortunate souls need to be eradicated. At this time, this mandate will only take place for the four years unless The Government deems otherwise.
            Mrs. Lamport has been taken to a secret location to be put to death by lethal injection on this day   at exactly twelve noon. No action is to be taken on your part. Rest assured that your loved one will be treated with the utmost respect and will not suffer unnecessarily. Her remains will be cremated and taken care of by The Government at no expense to you.
            We are truly sorry that this is the case, but you must understand that we are, in the end, creating     better lives four our countries younger population and continue to make it possible for the remaining senior citizens to have a better quality of life that they otherwise would.
             We sincerely hope that this event does not cause you any inconvenience or hardship.
            He read it again. It was surely a joke. Was this Marcy’s doing?
            It was unsigned, but the government seal on the bottom indicated that the letter was official. Fred looked at the kitchen clock. Eight minutes after twelve. He put his head in his hands and wept.

updated by @carolinejensen: 11/24/19 06:16:51PM
caroline.jensen
@carolinejensen
10/17/17 08:53:48PM
5 posts

The Catcher's Mitt


West Coast Eisteddfod Online Short Story Competition 2017


It was a Friday night. We had arranged to meet at The Catcher’s Mitt at nine o’clock. I arrived at quarter after, knowing that Edith was always at least half an hour late. It was now almost ten o’clock, a covert glance at my cell phone told me, and there was no sign of my friend. I had tried to phone her but she wasn’t answering.

I sat on the bar stool clutching my vodka and orange with both hands, although I didn’t know why. I loosened my grip, gave my bangs a careful sweep, looking around again for my unfaithful friend. I wondered, yet again, why on earth I was still friends with Edith. But I had to admit, she was a whole lot of fun when she finally showed up.

A man’s trousered knee touched my stockinged one as he climbed onto the stool next to me. I felt a little shock and tugged at my mini skirt wishing I had worn jeans instead. I looked up into piercing green eyes.

“I’m sorry,” he said in a silky voice. “I didn’t mean to be familiar.” He smiled, showing perfect white teeth. He swept his black hair back from his forehead with a sweep of his hand, a gesture that would have looked ridiculous and pretentious on anyone else.

There was something oddly familiar about him, although I knew we had never met. Then it dawned on me what it might be. He was the epitome of the man of my dreams, as stupid as that sounded, even to me. Tall, dark, handsome, not a jerk, loves his mother, has sisters who aren’t as pretty as I am… Well, the last two I was yet to find out, wasn’t I?

I was praying that Edith did not choose that moment to arrive, breaking whatever spell this man had me under.

“Theo,” he said, offering his hand.

“Patti,” I returned, taking it. His hand felt big and warm and comfortable.

I downed the last of my drink and he ordered me another. I took out a cigarette, instantly regretting it.

“I’m trying to quit,” I explained weakly. I clumsily dropped my lighter. As I prepared to get off the stool to retrieve it he laid his hand on my arm. “Don’t move,” he said, not taking his eyes off of me as he retrieved the fallen item.

He lit my cigarette – just like in the movies.

I couldn’t stand the silence so I blurted out, “I haven’t seen you here before.” I felt instantly stupid.

I’m not from here,” he replied.

My fresh drink arrived and suddenly I was very thirsty. I took a couple of large swallows knowing that I shouldn’t have.

I jumped as my cell phone jingled in my purse. I reached into the side pocket and pulled it out. It was Edith.

I flipped it open, turning slightly away from Theo. “Where the hell are you?” I asked as loudly as I dared.

“I’ve had an accident,” Edith explained.

“An accident?”

I’m all right. It was just a fender bender, really, but we have to wait for the police to get here. I was hit from behind and I took out a stop sign.”

I could feel Theo’s eyes on me.

“I can barely hear you above the music. I’ll go into the bathroom.” I said, sliding off my stool. I turned to Theo. “Excuse me. I’ll be back.”

“I know you will.” He said confidently.

The ladies room door closed silently behind me and muted the bar sounds.

I don’t know if I’m going to make it. I have a headache.” Edith was saying. “Are you okay there alone?”

Any other night I wouldn’t have been.

I blurted out, much to the disgust of a young girl coming out of a stall, “Edith, I’ve just met the most amazing guy!”

“Again?” My friend said sarcastically.

No, really, I have such a feeling about this one. It’s like…It’s like, oh, I don’t know, this is a movie and your accident was fate and….”

Edith cut me off. “How much have you had to drink?” She asked jokingly.

My phone beeped. “Oh, Edith, my phone is dying. I forgot to put it on the charger. Edith? Edith?” But she was gone.

Exiting the bathroom I could see Theo sitting in the same place, the stool – my stool – beside him empty. That was highly unusual in this place on a Friday night. When one body vacated a stool, ten were lined up to take its place. This was too good to be true.

Theo must be saving it for me, I thought excitedly. Yes, yes, this could be it. He could be the one. I pushed and shoved my way through the noisy crowd, hurrying towards my stool, my Theo, my future. Before I could sit, Theo whispered something in my ear – I could not hear what it was, but in the next instant I felt light-headed, and he was leading me towards the exit. Had he slipped something into my drink? He opened the exit door and I felt the hot June air hit me like a furnace in spite of the fact it was nearly midnight.

I hoped that I was not taking a journey into Hell, but I couldn’t seem to stop myself from sliding into the car seat as he held the door open for me.

***

I pulled the thin sliding door open. I stepped over a sill and out onto a planked sidewalk.

Where was I?

How did I get here?

Had I been drugged?

Was I dreaming?

Was I dead?

What was going on?

I stepped off the wooden planks and onto the grass. It felt like cashmere under my bare feet. I glanced down and wondered where my shoes had gone. I was still wearing my mini-skirt and I immediately felt self-conscious.

I was propelled by some unknown force on a trajectory towards two rock towers. They were about twenty feet square at the bottom and built like a rock climbing wall. It looked formidable at first, but as I started to climb it felt perfectly natural and I ascended with ease. As I reached the top, about thirty feet above the ground, I saw that it had narrowed into a smaller square opening with low stone walls and benches. Several people were sitting on various sides looking out over the hilly terrain. I followed their gaze and my eyes fell upon a stunning view of green rolling hills and trees that seemed to reach out to an impossibly blue sky. It was so bright I had to shield my eyes and cast them downward where I spied a girl below in a yellow sundress. I was wishing that I was wearing that dress instead of my mini-skirt. I felt a tingling all over my body and terror gripped me. Something was happening to me. But as I looked downward at my torso I

could scarcely believe I was wearing the very same dress. How it had happened I didn’t know. I looked over the wall again and the girl continued walking, still wearing the same dress. The girl bent to pick a daisy and I thought my eyes were deceiving me when I saw the flower grow back immediately.

Was I hallucinating?

Where was Theo?

I turned my head and he was standing two feet behind me.

“Where am I?” I asked cautiously.

Where do you want to be, Patti?”

I want to be…” Where did I want to be?

But he was gone again.

I descended the rocks the way I had climbed up. I was dying for a cup of coffee. When I reached the ground I turned around and a restaurant stood right before me. I slid the door open and stepped in.

A brief second of panic set in as I realized I had no money. What had happened to my purse? I didn’t see him but I heard Theo’s voice. As if reading my mind he said, “Have whatever you want. There is no currency here.”

At the table in front of me there was a cup of steaming hot coffee. I sat down and took a sip. It was the best I’d ever tasted.

I could smell roast beef and it occurred to me that I was hungry. When had I eaten last? Where had I eaten last? No sooner had I thought that I wanted a big plate of roast

beef, mashed potatoes, peas and tons of gravy, it appeared in front of me. I ate the whole thing, unconcerned about calories. Edith would laugh if she were here: “You not concerned about calories?” She’d scoff. “You read the side of the box twice.”

Surely I must be dreaming.

When I was done the huge piece of hot apple crisp and ice-cream I went back outside. I spied an old woman rocking in a chair. She looked harmless enough. I circled around her like a buzzard, but she did not seem to notice me.

I walked up to her and asked, “Can you tell me what time it is?”

“There is no time,” she laughed, and went on rocking.

“What do you mean there is no time?” I said, panicking. Was I going to die very soon?

“No time. Just this time. The present.” The old lady’s voice was melodic. I realized she was singing. Her voice was sweet, like that of a young girl.

“What day is it?” I tried again.

“Today. Today is the day,” she sang again, her head bobbing from side to side.

She must have dementia, I decided.

I saw a road, which wound through some trees. The trees formed an archway which beckoned me. I started to walk down it and could not stop. One foot placed itself in front of the other as if I was on some kind of auto-pilot. As I proceeded down the meandering path I noticed that the scenery remained the same. I continued to walk, focusing on a single pebble. It never moved although my feet were. It was as if I was walking on a treadmill or in some kind of virtual reality gym. I reached out and touched a leaf. It was as real as anything I had ever touched.

The rocks beneath my unclad feet were smooth and round and comforting. It was as if someone was massaging my feet. Okay, so I’m dreaming and Theo is giving me a foot massage back in his big bed.

But there was no Theo and no bed under any part of me. I wandered along the infinite path aimlessly thinking I must surely be near the end. And just as I thought it, I was in a clearing with people all around. They were engaged in various activities. There were people walking, sitting on stone benches or rattan chairs, or just standing around chatting. Some were in groups, some alone. There were card games and chess and checkers being played. Loners under trees were engrossed in books. There were tennis, badminton, volleyball, basketball and baseball games underway.

I watched with interest as people joined the game and dropped out at random with not so much as a ‘goodbye’, or ‘see you later’ or ‘I’m going to sit this one out’.

I played checkers with an old man. I let him win. When I got up someone took my place.

I mixed batter for cookies.

I played a game of tennis, and won, which was interesting because I had never played the game before (although I’d always wanted to).

It seemed like whatever I wished for came true in this place. It was like paradise.

I stood still in the ambient air. There was no wind, not even a slight breeze, like there was a complete absence of oxygen, yet every breath tasted delightfully of clean air.

Where ever I was, this place was almost perfect – almost. But I felt lonely. I missed my family and friends.

I tried to remember how I got here.

I wanted another cup of coffee. And cake. Chocolate.

I headed back to the eating place.

It was there that I met Christina.

I was absorbed in the most delicious caramel apple torte (I had already devoured a piece of chocolate cake) with a side of tea when she plopped herself down beside me.

“Hello,” She said. “I’m Christina.” She was about my age, tall, willowy with long flowing black hair and eyes to match.

“Patti,” I returned. She didn’t offer her hand so I didn’t offer mine.

You may ask me four questions.”

The words ‘why four?’ almost tumbled out of me mouth but then I thought she might consider that one of the questions. I wanted to ask: Am I dead? Is this Heaven? Am I on another planet? Am I drugged? Am I in another dimension? Where the hell am I?

That was seven questions.

“Where are we?” I tried.

“We are here.”

“But where is here?”

“Where ever you want to be,” she replied. Riddles again, just like the old woman. Did everybody suffer from dementia? Would I become like them?

I thought about all the coffee I had drunk. “Why are there no bathrooms and why don’t I feel the need to go?” Was that one question or two?

Christina explained with a chuckle. “There are no bodily functions here. Going to the bathroom is a primitive reaction to eating and drinking substances. We are past it.”

Past it? I didn’t understand. I had one more question left that I could ask her, unless she wasn’t counting. “What about bathing, showering, washing our hair, brushing our teeth?”

“There is no need. You will remain as you came here.”

“You mean I will never get old and die?”

“You are taking advantage of me now. I think you have had your quota of questions. But I’m in a good mood today,” Christina said. “You are right. You will never get old here. There is no birth or death, or sickness in this place. You will never get fat, no matter how much you eat. Nothing about you will change – unless, of course, you wish it.”

I was mulling over what she had told me when she disappeared without saying goodbye.

Never get old? Never get fat?

I had to find her again. I had to find Christina. Or what about Theo?

As soon as I thought about him he appeared by my side.

“How many questions do I get to ask you?”

“Ah, you’ve met Christina, then.”

“She said I could ask her only four questions.”

He threw his head back with a laugh. “Oh, isn’t Christina a hoot? She loves to play games.”

“It seems like everyone likes to play games here.”

Theo just stood there smiling.

Why am I here? Why are you here? Who are you, Theo?” I was becoming more confused by the second.

I am who you want me to be. You know that, Patti.”

I started to berate him when my first realization struck me. I knew who Theo was. I knew why he seemed so familiar in The Catcher’s Mitt. Theo was my perfect man. The one I had been looking for all my life. I had manifested him. Tall, dark, handsome, smart and well mannered. And this place was my perfect world. A place where I excelled in everything I did. How often had I wished that I didn’t have to go to work or do any of the mundane daily chores? That I could do what I wanted, for as long as I wanted, without repercussion? A world without responsibility.

Even though this didn’t quite make sense to me at that moment I thought that I might be starting to understand. But in the next blink of my eyes, that understanding was gone.

Why can’t I wish my family and friends here if I can wish for everything else?”

You can only control your own destiny. You can’t control others. But you already knew that, Patti.”

Theo and I walked along the path. “When do I get to go home?” I asked after a brief silence.

Do you want to go home? Back to your old life?” Theo asked.

Was he trying to trick me? “I miss my friends, my family. If I can’t have them here…”

Ah, yes. Well, you can go now if you wish.”

Right now?” I wasn’t sure I wanted to go back at that exact moment.

We came to a clearing and I looked in the direction of his pointed finger and saw a ship docked. “There is the boat to take you back.”

What about you, Theo, do you want to go home?”

I passed up the chance to go home, so now I am stuck here for all eternity.”

What do you mean you passed up the chance?”

You only get one chance to go home,” Theo explained.

Why?”

He shrugged. “That’s just the way it is. You only get to make the decision once.”

What about your family?”

To them I am dead.”

I was getting confused again. “But you came to The Catcher’s Mitt?”

Your imagination brought me there.”

Are you saying you don’t really exist?”

Of course I do. I’m here aren’t I?”

I couldn’t take anymore riddles. I just wanted to go home, but not just yet.

How long do I have to decide?”

As long as the ship is docked.”

How long is that?”

You know there is no time here. It leaves when it leaves.”

So, if the ship leaves I’ll never be able to go home again?” I asked.

That is correct.”

And if I walk back there,” I pointed over my shoulder with my thumb, “I will be here forever?”

That’s right”

I stood looking at the boat. I had more questions to ask, but Theo was gone.

I wanted to ask him if he regretted his decision to stay in this place. Whether he had wished he had gotten on that boat. I wanted to ask him what the ratio was of people who stayed and those people who left.

I wanted both worlds. I wanted everything. But I couldn’t have it. I had to make a choice. I could hear my mother when I was twelve years old shopping for shoes. I found two pairs that I really loved but I couldn’t have both. So I made a choice. And all summer long I wished I had picked the other pair. But if I had picked the other pair I probably would have wanted the ones I chose. This choice was going to be harder than choosing a pair of shoes.

I wanted to stay in this paradise where everything was ideal. I could have what I wanted and be who I wanted and not have to lift a finger. No calories, no diseases, no death. Maybe it would get boring here after a while. There would be no challenges.

I thought about my old life. It wasn’t so bad. I thought of Edith. I thought of my mom and my brother. Life just wouldn’t be the same without them.

I decided I wanted to go home. I walked toward the ship, hurrying my pace as I got closer, fearing it would leave without me.

When I was just about at the gangplank I hesitated, taking a final look back. I could see Theo and Christina in the distance. I couldn’t tell if they were waving goodbye or beckoning me.

I stepped onto the boat.

Then I changed my mind.

I turned around to disembark.

But it was too late. The ship had left the dock.

***

My cell phone rang. “Hello?” I said sleepily.

Where have you been?” It was Edith. “You were gone all weekend. I’ve been trying to get hold of you since yesterday morning. I even went to The Catcher’s Mitt last night to see if you would show up. That place was really hopping.”

All weekend?” I asked incredulously. “What day is it?”

It’s Sunday.” My friend answered.

What time is it?” I asked, remembering the old woman’s response to my questions.

It’s six o’clock,” Edith stated.

Six o’clock? What the hell are you doing calling me at six o’clock in the morning?”

It’s six p.m., as in afternoon. I’ve been trying to get hold of you all day. Where have you been? I was getting worried about you. Thought maybe you’d been murdered or that guy had you tied up with duct tape over your mouth in a basement somewhere.”

All weekend? I was gone all weekend?” I reached over to the night table for my cigarettes and took one out of the pack. I looked at it and was repulsed at the thought of drawing smoke into my lungs. I knew I would never smoke again.

So give me details. That guy must have been really something. What did you do?”

I quit smoking.” It was the only thing that made any sense at that moment. It was the only thing I knew for sure.


The Catcher's Mitt 3406 wds.doc - 49KB
caroline.jensen
@carolinejensen
10/17/17 08:50:07PM
5 posts

Magdalena McTavish


West Coast Eisteddfod Online Short Story Competition 2017


We were warned by the grownups never to go near her house or even into her yard, but for two curious eleven year olds it was a temptation we couldn’t resist.

There were only four houses on our street separated by acres of forest. My friend, Cheryl, lived in one of them. Mrs. McTavish lived in the old brown clapboard house perched on the hill at the end of the road across from Cheryl’s.

No one knew what became of her husband. He disappeared one day many years ago. The adults said that she killed him and kept him in the basement in a deep freeze.

“Let’s go spy on the old witch.” Cheryl blurted out one day.

“We shouldn’t.” I said.

“Oh, don’t be a baby, Annie.” Cheryl was turning twelve in a couple of weeks and figured she knew everything about everything.

“It’s almost supper time. I have to go home.” I said weakly.

“You’re just a ‘fraidy cat.” She taunted.

“Am not.”

“Are too.”

“I gotta go.” I turned and hurried away.

“I’ll meet you down at the slough tomorrow at lunch time.” Cheryl called after me.

I knew where she meant. We had gone to that spot once before but we were too scared to go any farther.

Just before noon the next day I left the house giving my mother an extra big hug, like maybe I was never going to see her again. My legs were already shaking. But I had to do it – I didn’t want Cheryl to go to school and tell everybody that I was a wimp.

We climbed through the opening of the fence where so many children had gone before us – and one of them hadn’t come back. Had Luke Cartwright really fallen into the slough and drowned or…?

“Wait! Something’s got me!” I screamed.

“Oh, you ninny. It’s just your coat caught on a broken board.”

We waded through the bushes until we could see the McTavish house through the clearing. The old woman was sweeping off the porch with an old corn broom that was worn away up to the stitching. She didn’t look like a witch, I thought, she just looked like an old lady. Her hair was the color of straw, not black like a witches’, and hung in ratty clumps down past her waist. She didn’t even have a witches’ hat or a black cat – not that we could see, anyway.

Mrs. McTavish looked up in our direction shielding her face from the sun. Had she heard us?

“She’s looking right at us!” I whispered hoarsely, trying to hide behind a skinny tree.

“Shhhh!” Cheryl warned.

“Who’s there? Come out.” Her voice was soft and sweet, not at all like I had imagined. “It’s okay. I won’t hurt you.”

We showed ourselves.

“Well, if it isn’t Cheryl Smith and Annie Brecks.” Mrs. McTavish said.

“How did she know our names?” I asked Cheryl, grabbing her arm. My heart was pounding so hard I thought this must have been how old Mr. Saunders felt when he had that heart attack last year. He died. Maybe I was going to die, too, although I’d never heard of a kid dying of a heart attack before, but that was probably one of those endless somethings adults never told you the truth about…

Cheryl was pushing me ahead of her up to the steps of the house.

“Oh, such sweet children.” I pictured her stirring some concoction in a cauldron, at least I think that’s what those big pots were called, with me and Cheryl tied to wooden chairs with duct tape just waiting until the temperature of the soup was right…

Mrs. McTavish was saying, “I never had any children.” She sounded so normal, just like Aunt Hilda who was going on eighty.

“My Aunt Hilda never had any kids either.” I said through a dry mouth.

Cheryl punched me softly in the back.

Mrs. McTavish continued as if she hadn’t heard. “Don’t be afraid. I don’t get many visitors.”

Cheryl and I stood there not saying a word and, let me tell you, for Cheryl to be speechless was quite a rare thing.

“Come on up and let me get a closer look at you two.” Mrs. M. had put her broom aside. “And watch that third step, it’s loose.”

It was like she had a spell on us. We walked like zombies up the steps to the landing. I wanted to turn and run but my legs wouldn’t go the way I wanted them to.

“I’ve got something in the basement for you girls.” The sweet voice continued.

She couldn’t be a witch with a voice like that, could she? But, of course, she could change her voice…

Cheryl stopped just before she reached the door the old lady was holding open for us. “Mrs. McTavish, I don’t think we should…”

“Call me Magdalena, please.”

The next thing I knew we were almost at the bottom of the basement stairs. I scarcely remembered walking down them. Maybe the witch had transported us…

The basement was dark and smelled like mould. Magdalena McTavish pulled a chain that turned on a bare hanging light bulb. The old woman walked over to the deepfreeze and lifted the lid. “Come closer,” she beckoned with a crooked finger, her voice cracking just the tiniest bit.

“Look at her finger,” Cheryl whispered. “If that isn’t the finger of a witch…”

“My Aunt Hilda has fingers like that, and she’s not a witch,” I said.

Cheryl shoved me towards the deep freeze and I almost tripped and fell.

As the lid creaked open I couldn’t believe my eyes. “Cheryl…”

I turned around but she wasn’t behind me. My heart started pounding faster. Then I saw her in the shadows. My friend looked like a corpse. “Cheryl, come here and look at this,” I ordered, though my voice shook with fear.

Cheryl crept up slowly, peering over my shoulder.

Our eyes fell upon brightly colored Christmas wrapped boxes.

“Oh, my God! She’s chopped up Mr. McTavish and gift wrapped him!” Cheryl exclaimed, covering her mouth with her hand. “I think I’m going to barf!”

The old woman’s crooked finger pointed at a large box. One large enough to hold a head, I thought. “No. No. Not that one,” she said, putting the crooked finger to her lips. She chose a smaller, flatter one and carefully unwrapped it the way Aunt Hilda did to save the paper. Mrs. McTavish lifted the lid and shoved the box towards us. “Chocolate covered cherries. My favorite,” she said.

I turned around to face Cheryl, who still had her hand over her mouth. I whispered, “She thinks they’re chocolates. She must have that disease that old people get when they forget things. She’s forgotten she murdered her husband and chopped him up into pieces and dipped them in melted chocolate and put them in old boxes of chocolates that she had saved from past Christmases and then rewrapped them up in the Christmas wrapping paper!”

But then, maybe they were just chocolate covered cherries – which I loved. I don’t know how one ended up in my hand, but I put it to my teeth and just as I was about to bite down Cheryl slapped my hand and the frozen chocolate made a sound like a marble when it hit the bare cement.

“No thanks.” Cheryl said to Mrs. McTavish. “We have to be going now.”

And with that we flew up the creaking stairs two at a time, out the front door and down the landing steps, avoiding the loose one. We didn’t stop running until we got to the road.

Breathing hard, we turned around. Mrs. McTavish was sweeping the porch the same way as when we first got there, as if nothing had happened. Had it happened? Were we really in the basement? I looked at Cheryl and she looked at me. Was she thinking the same thing?

Magdalena McTavish died the next day.

A week later a moving truck showed up and took the furniture away. Jimmy Larsen and Sean Stiller watched with me and Cheryl as they carried the deepfreeze out. The two men stopped to close the lid when it popped open. A whitish chocolate rolled out onto the ground. It rolled all the way across the street and didn’t stop until it hit the toe of Sean’s boot, where it broke apart.

“What is that!” Sean asked, jumping back, trying not to look scared in front of Cheryl who he had the tiniest crush on, I knew.

“It looks like an eyeball!” Jimmy exclaimed.

The four of us stood and stared at it until Jimmy flicked it with the toe of his running shoe into the ditch, where it rolled out of sight in the underbrush.

            “What the hell is that?” Sean asked, using the h-word to impress Cheryl, who he had the biggest crush on.         

            “Yikes, is that blood?” Jimmy’s pubescent voice cracked.

            The four of them stood and stared at it until Jimmy flicked it with the toe of his running shoe into the ditch, where it rolled out of sight in the underbrush.

A few weeks after Mrs. McTavish died, the house was torn down and the four of us went down into what was left of the basement and looked everywhere to see if we could find some old bones or body parts that might belong to Mr. McTavish. “A scull would be so cool to find. Maybe it would be worth something,” Sean said seriously one day. Every day we went to ‘our place’ as we called it on the phone so the parents wouldn’t know where we were going. We went until a man told us he would charge us for trespassing if he caught us snooping around there again.

            Our adventure was over, it seemed. As we turned to leave on that last day, Jimmy stepped on something that stuck to the bottom of his shoe. He lifted his foot up so he could see underneath. “Yuck, you’ve stepped in some dog poop.” Sean laughed.

            “That’s not a dog turd.” Cheryl said. Her face went white as she whispered, “It’s old McTavish’s eyeball.”

            Cheryl and Sean took off running. Jimmy and I started to laugh. “We sure fooled them,” he said, wiping the chocolate covered cherry off of his runner. He had dropped it on the ground when Sean and Cheryl weren’t looking. I saw him do it. He put his finger to his lips as if to say ‘shhh’. Since I had a bit of a crush on him, I decided to play along.

I think he likes me, too.

                               

 

 


Magdalena McTavish.doc - 33KB

updated by @carolinejensen: 11/24/19 06:16:51PM
caroline.jensen
@carolinejensen
10/17/17 08:47:00PM
5 posts

Rudy and Eleanor


West Coast Eisteddfod Online Short Story Competition 2017


Eleanor was an eighty-four year old widow. The first time I saw her she was wearing a beige wool skirt falling just below her knees, a plain white blouse, a brown cardigan, heavy stockings and sensible shoes. She was a large woman, not fat but big boned, and tall.

Summer had come to an end, my two boys were back in school – high school now – and my husband had finally gotten that management position which meant he was spending more time at work. All this left me feeling quite useless. Nobody seemed to need me anymore. I had been a housewife (or homemaker, or domestic engineer, or whatever the current politically correct term was) for the whole twenty years of my married life, and now my fortieth birthday loomed large in front of me. Something was missing in my life.

On top of all this, my best friend Shelly had just started a part time job at the coffee shop down the street, putting an end to our weekly visits. She told me they were hiring and that I should apply but I didn’t feel ready. I thought about scrap booking classes, or yoga, or aerobics to decrease my ever-expanding middle, but I couldn’t get excited about any of it.

So, after perusing the local newspaper one day, I decided that I would do some volunteering at the senior’s complex.

I didn’t know quite what to expect from Eleanor. Would she be senile or coherent? Would she be fun to be around or a bitter old woman?

Eleanor’s face seemed to light up, her blue eyes glowed as told me stories about growing up during the depression and what it was like during the war. She had been a teacher in a one-room schoolhouse in a small town in rural Alberta. That was how she met Rudy, she told me. “He delivered wood to the schoolhouse and he took a fancy to me and he would come early in the morning on school days and light the fire in the old wood stove. He was so nice to me. He was only supposed to deliver wood once a week, but he came every day to start that stove so I wouldn’t have to. And I didn’t mind, you know, he was such a good looking chap.”

After a short silence I prompted her. “And you fell in love.”

“Well, after a while, yes. I mean, I was lonely, what with the war being on. And he was too.”

“He wasn’t in the service?” I asked.

“No, they wouldn’t take him because he wore glasses. Lucky for me. That he wore glasses I mean. I wasn’t a pretty girl, you see, and the less he could see of me the better.” She gave a short laugh. “I don’t really know what he saw in me. There was such a shortage of men around and plenty of girls.”

I spent every Wednesday afternoon for three months with Eleanor. She told me stories about her and Rudy. She would tell me the same stories week after week changing little details here and there, but I always listened eagerly, realizing how boring my own life really was. Oh, it wasn’t that bad, I had a good husband, a typical accountant, I suppose, but not romantic like Eleanor’s Rudy.

“Rudy would bring me wild flowers from the field – and occasionally he would pinch some out of someone’s garden for me. I would jump on the back of Rudy’s motorcycle – he didn’t have a car. It was during the war, you know, and gas was rationed. And we would go for a picnic.”

“What did you have to eat with all that rationing of food?”

“Sometimes I would make sandwiches and sometimes we would have nothing. Ellie, he would say – that’s what he liked to call me – Ellie, he would say, you’re all the picnic I need.”

On another visit she told me:

“Rudy would take me to the pictures and we would hold hands and occasionally he would put his hand on my knee.” She told me.

And on yet another:

“We would go down to the creek and peel our clothes off and go swimming on a hot summer day.” Eleanor mused.

But the one she loved to relate the most was:

“The best outing was when we took the train to the city and he took me to a fancy restaurant to eat. Oh, it was grand!” I marveled at the way she could describe the restaurant in detail and exactly what they ate.

“How long were you married?” I asked.

She appeared lost in her reverie looking out the window. “What?” She asked turning towards me, pouring us another cup of tea.

“How long were you married?”

Ellie thought for a moment and replied. “Forty-five years.”

There was a lull in the conversation. Eleanor seemed to have become quieter over the last few weeks. “And you never had children?” I asked.

“Children? No.” She sighed. “Perhaps God was angry with me for what Rudy and I had done.”

“I’m sure God wouldn’t deny you children for Rudy stealing flowers from someone’s garden. Or skinny dipping in the creek.” I said. She didn’t respond. She looked out the window as if reminiscing about those days long ago. In the silence I asked gingerly, “How long has your husband been…gone?”

She thought for a longer moment and said, “I expect it’s about fifteen years now.”

“And you still miss him.” It was a statement rather than a question.

Eleanor took a sip of her tea, a puzzled look on her face. “Who?”

“Rudy. Your husband.”

“Oh,” She patted my hand, “Rudy wasn’t my husband. Walter was my husband. He was overseas in the army.” Seeing the puzzled look on my face, she leaned towards me and whispered, as if someone might hear, “Rudy was my lover.”

I never learned more about either Rudy or Walter, for Eleanor died in her sleep that night. It was as if she had bared her soul to someone (me) and she was ready to leave this world at peace.


Rudy & Eleanor - 1021 words.doc - 28KB

updated by @carolinejensen: 11/24/19 06:16:51PM