The true story of an exceptional boy

By Sara McDermott

In the summer of 1957 my sister brought her baby home.  I was 21 and the only one of my siblings still living at home.  I was always busy with whatever 21 year-olds do, so at first he was just a bundle of fluff to me.  He was always there in the crib and, when I paid attention at all, I just saw feet and fists waving from the blankets.

Time passed and eventually two of the little fists grabbed the rail and two big bright eyes followed me as I moved around the room.  Time stands still for babies.  His whole day amounted to eating, sleeping and watching me when he could.  I was relieved when he started to crawl as I’m sure he was.

Now a baby just getting around, even if it’s just to get from one side of the room to the other, is endless entertainment.  He tried to reach up to turn on the console TV and I laughed.  He tried to stand up and fell on his face, and I laughed while he laughed with me, as if we had a private joke.  I didn’t know it, and neither did he, but it was the beginning of a life-long friendship.  We always laughed at the same things and, even as a grown man, I could put him in stitches with a dumb joke or a snarky remark about the passing parade.  The thing I’ll always remember about Tom is his unfailing sense of humor.  We were merciless in making fun of politicians.  He  once told me he was going to write on my tombstone “She didn’t vote for Reagan.”

In time assaulting the TV wasn’t enough.  He looked like he wanted to go someplace so I bought a little car seat and drove him around town in my ’55 Olds.  He was still little then, and probably the best traveled 3-year-old in town.   He would take everything in with those big ‘ole eyes.  They never missed a thing, and I never got tired of seeing them light up as he took in the world from the passenger seat.

As he grew and entered school Tom make friends easily.  Tall and lanky with a trusting nature, he seemed content with his life.  But Tom had a secret and when, years later, he came out as a gay man, I realized school must have been difficult for him.  Characteristically he must have handled it himself.

I had moved to another town when he was ten, but it didn’t put a dent in our friendship.  I came home often and, many times, took the kids out for treats or school doings.  He had siblings by then, and I always noticed how he looked out for the little ones.  His sense of responsibility was far beyond his years, a trait that stayed with him through life.

When Tom ventured out to get a job I was surprised to hear that things didn’t go well at first.  He was fired from a couple of jobs and no-one seemed to be able to explain why.  He was honest and smart and a good worker so I pondered this but never asked him about it.

Time passed and I got older, but Tom still looked young.  He was working at a co-op and had found his life partner.  The bought a house together and, since by now we all knew he was gay, life seemed to have settled in for him.  Eventually he got a new job at an auto supply factory and was making enough money to afford a few luxuries.

It wasn’t until well into the new century that things began to fall apart.  In December of 2016 the plant he worked for permanently laid off employees with upwards of 20 years of service.  Tom had just passed the 18 year mark and was looking for a job at the age of 59.  He called often to report how the job search was going.  He went about it methodically, lining up openings and knocking down the interviews one-by-one.

On May 14th, Mother’s Day of 2017, Tom called in the afternoon to ask if I could come down on Monday the 15th to take him to a clinic appointment.  He said he was feeling very bad and had such pain in his back that he couldn’t lay down.  He had been seeing doctors about a cough and chest pain and had been told he had COPD.  He wasn’t able to get the oxygen contraption to work right and was getting panicky.  He related to me at the time that he had been asked to leave an ER the day before.  He was told that there was nothing wrong with him and that he was just trying to scam them for pills.

I was incredulous.  How could they do this to someone in such obvious pain?  Since he had an appointment at the Pulmonary Clinic the next day he said to wait until morning and pick him up, as he didn’t feel he could drive.

The only way I can describe the next two weeks is nightmarish.

I picked him up the morning of May 15th.  I was appalled to see that he had lost a significant amount of weight.  He stood about 6 feet 3 inches tall and had lost 20 to 30 pounds.   He had been told the reason for the weight loss was his constant coughing.

When we arrived at the hospital I said I would take him up in a wheel chair since he was clearly exhausted.  He had cut off all his long hair and I remember thinking he looked like a little boy only, instead of pushing him in a wagon, I was pushing him through the halls of this huge hospital.

The clinic treated him very well.  They took tests and arranged an opening at the spinal clinic to check out his back.  They set appointments and gave him some exercises to do and explained the oxygen dispenser to him.  I took him home and felt much better about his care.  Additionally he had gotten an appointment on May 22nd for x-rays and an MRI to determine what was causing so much pain and discomfort.

I decided to cool my heels and wait.  On Wednesday the 31st I called him and found out that the x-rays and scans had discovered stage 4 lung cancer.

Tom was calm.  A biopsy was scheduled for Thursday, June 1st.   On Thursday morning Bryan called and said Tom had gotten sick before they could do the biopsy and he wanted me to come down.  I found him in the ER feeling better and waiting for a room to open up.  It had been decided to do the biopsy Friday morning.  At around 5 p.m. I went home when the room became available.  It was the last time I saw him in a conscious state.

On Friday afternoon, after waiting most of the day, I received a call from Tom’s sister who told me Bryan had called and said we should come down as soon as we could get there.  I was still unaware of how bad the situation had become.  I thought we would be informed of what treatments were available and how to proceed.  I wasn’t prepared for what I found.  Tom had been found unresponsive on Friday after the biopsy.  He was on oxygen and heavy meds to keep him comfortable.  A nice young doctor from the hospital held up an x-ray and explained that the biopsy had shown the cancer had spread from his lung to his liver, spine and brain.

My shock was indescribable.  I knew instantly there was no hope.  This was Friday evening.  For several hours Thursday I had sat with him in the ER waiting for a room.  We had talked about everything and he was fairly upbeat except for the discomfort of lying on a gurney waiting for a room.  He didn’t look comfortable now, just tired.  The attending doctor told us there wasn’t much chance he would come out of the coma but we could talk to him to see if he could respond.  Tammy tried to call to him while I just stood there and worried that he might hear her and realize he couldn’t answer.

The nurses were coming and going, checking the mysterious machines that were keeping him breathing.  At about 3 a.m. we were told it was time to take the meds away to see if Tom could come awake on his own.

Just a few minutes later the doctor said that, with family permission, they would take the oxygen.  I was numb.  I saw the nurse un-hook the tube and tried to comprehend what was happening.

I looked at him and saw the little boy I had hauled around town so long ago, when anything could make him laugh and the future seemed secure and bright.  He was alone now, off in a place I couldn’t follow.

He died then, his eyes opening for the last time, but the light was gone.

An exercise in silliness

By Sara McDermott

 

So I joined a writers’ group, nothing formal, just a gathering of fellow scribblers with the same goal, namely to get someone to read our stuff.

Things were going well when someone suggested we try a writing exercise.  Didn’t I get enough of this in school, I thought?  I decided to go along anyway.

The assignment was as follows: describe any inanimate object of your choice and bring it to the next meeting.

With thousands of inanimate objects available I chose my Minnie Mouse key ring.  Why, you ask?  Well, c’mon, Minnie’s sense of style is hard to beat, and she radiates friendliness while hanging from a round steel ring screwed firmly into her skull.  Attached to the uncomfortable looking ring is a string of inter-connected smaller rings that culminate at the top on a larger ring.  This ring has over-lapping ends that can be separated in order to slip keys on it.  Poor Minnie, the more keys I put on the ring attached to her head the more pressure will be put on her scalp.  She doesn’t seem to mind, as her goofy smile is etched into her plastic face, apparently forever.

Professional models would kill for Minnie’s eyes.  Long curled lashes frame sparkling black eyes – no beady look for Minnie.  She looks you square in the eye and can out-stare you anytime.

Minnie is a lady too.  She wears white gloves with her bright red polka dot dress and matching polka dot bow.  The bow is perfectly symmetrical but doesn’t hide her magnificent ears.  Her ears define Minnie.  They sit grandly behind her bow as if holding it  up, and her face reflects her  pride in possessing such an attractive feature.

I wonder how she keeps those big yellow shoes on as she hangs from the steel ring.  I put it down to professional discretion.   After all, she is in a class by herself and can’t risk falling prey to impersonators.

To top if off, Minnie has a stunning body.  Her tiny waist emphasizes her soft curves and toned arms.  The little red dress has puffed sleeves that compliment her ram-rod posture.

As if all this isn’t enough, her smile never wavers, no matter how much I swing her around when opening doors or starting the car.   Her arms are always stretched out in greeting and her face is etched in the kindness of good fellowship.

Minnie, however, hasn’t much modesty.  Her lacy white panties show just below the bottom of her skirt.

I’m appalled, but Minnie smiles on.

 

 

 

 

 

A Short Story/Fiction

By Sara McDermott

The door slammed as Sharon cowered in her room, afraid Jack’s temper would boil over and the violence would be aimed at her again.

She had spent the better part of a ten-year marriage trying to cope with a different man than the one she had married.  It had started with slaps when she argued  and didn’t immediately give in to his demands.  The slaps changed to punches aimed at her ribs and midsection, followed by shoves and threats when she protested or started to cry.  She nursed her bruises and pain alone in the hope that, if she cooperated and didn’t defy him, the abuse would stop.

What had seemed during courtship like genuine concern and care for her had become a hideous game of control.  She knew the violence was escalating, and she felt a mounting fear when his irritation began to build because of some small transgression on her part.

When she finally confided in her mother she was told to stay and make the best of it.

“Try not to set him off,” she said.  Her mother wanted no part of a nasty divorce.

Jack had gotten wind of the conversation and let her know that leaving was not an option.

“You wouldn’t be foolish enough to start divorce proceedings,” he said.  “When I get through with your reputation you will be begging to come back.”

After that episode the threats became more frightening.  She tried to contact a women’s shelter.  When Jack found out his usual childish anger turned to a deadly, quiet rage that terrified her.

“I will never allow you to leave,” he said.

If she was ever going to get away it would have to be tonight.  The idea had been tumbling around in her head for weeks.  Jack didn’t know it, but his outburst was playing into her hands.  He didn’t approve of her going anywhere without him, so when she mentioned a shopping trip with her friend, Mitzi, he reacted typically and ordered her to cancel.  When she refused, he stalked out of the house assuming she would be there when he returned.

Sharon was calm when she got ready to meet Mitzi at the mall as they had planned.  She would have at least an hour or two before Jack left the tavern and headed for home.  He always drove his truck when he went out alone so she had the Lexus, the car he referred to as his baby.  He grudgingly allowed her to drive it because, really, he had no choice.  If she was to be a stay-at-home wife, as he insisted, she could hardly take care of things without transportation.  Sharon smiled to herself and checked the bottom of her purse for the one-way Greyhound ticket.

She trembled a little now as she guided the car into a parking place.  She had never been entirely on her own before.  Jack had taken care of everything, allowing her only the use of his Visa.  She felt in her pocket for the reassuring shape of the plastic card.

The mall parking lot, a vast expanse of cold concrete, did little to ease her sudden misgivings as she stepped out of the car and turned toward the shops huddled together a few hundred feet ahead.  Until now she hadn’t had time to agonize over whether she was doing the right thing, hadn’t thought what her life without Jack would be.   He had always taken care of everything.  She wasn’t sure she could handle freedom, she only knew she could no longer stand to have every phase of her life controlled.  The humiliating games he played robbed her of her will to stand up to him.  He often reminded her of the time she had taken a job.  She wasn’t prepared and had failed completely.  Jack never let her forget it.

The lights from the stores played over the shiny roofs of the cars parked row after row stretching out to the main highway.  A dank smell of gas and oil hit her nostrils, and the clunk, clunk of an old car parking a few aisles over interrupted her thoughts.  The pavement under her shoes felt rough and bumpy where pot holes had been filled with a black gooey substance.

A creak, as if a car door opening, startled her, and she drew her coat close.  How Jack would laugh if he knew she was afraid of noises in a parking lot.

A man approached her in the aisle of parked cars.  She hadn’t seen him until she heard the shuffle of feet as he neared.  A feeling of panic came over her, but he passed her and kept walking.  She glanced back, and he was just standing there watching her.  His face was in shadow, but the green baseball cap he wore was clearly visible in the light from the mall.  She noticed he was carrying a package, but he made no move to put it in the car nearest him, and she wondered what he would do next.  She tried to walk confidently.

“I’m imagining things,” she whispered to herself.  He was probably harmless.  “Maybe he thought he could hit on me,” she thought as a nervous giggle rose up in her throat.

Sharon entered the brightly lit area of stores and looked immediately for her friend.  Mitzi was standing alone by the fountain in the mall’s center court.  She was a small woman, but she always stood as straight as she could manage in order to add to her diminutive stature.  Sharon always laughed when Mitzi tried to look taller.  She barely cleared five feet and had the pixie face of a little girl.  She didn’t look like a co-conspirator in a plot to end a marriage any more than Sharon did.  They were just two suburban housewives out for an evening of shopping, Mitzi in her shabby chic faded jeans and Sharon in her pricy London Fog raincoat.

Mitzi approached her grinning nervously.

“Maybe we should go over everything,” she said.  “You have to be long gone when he calls me.

Sharon tried to look reassuring.   Mitzi could never keep her mind on anything for very long.  It would be up to her to keep calm for both of them.

Mitzi was supposed to stall when he called.  When Sharon didn’t come home he would be looking for the car and calling her friends.  She knew a missing person report would not be issued for at least 24 hours.  Even Jack would not be able to push the police on that.

Sharon’s mind raced over the details.  She probably could use the card for at least a day until they started looking for her.

“What’s the limit on your card?” Mitzi was asking her.

She had no idea.  Jack always took care of the bills.

“Maybe you should ditch it when you reach the coast,” Mitzi advised.

“Oh God,” Sharon thought.  She had enough money for the bus ticket and a few weeks lodging.  If she threw away the card she would lose the last connection to her old life.

She started to giggle.  Her old life would be left behind.  Jack would be left behind.  What if she ran up the card with some of the things Jack wouldn’t let her buy?  She could feel the sudden urge to laugh out loud when she told Mitzi what she was thinking, hysteria mounting in her with every second that passed.

Mitzi thought it was a fine idea. “What have you got to lose?” she asked.

“Isn’t the question, ‘what has Jack got to lose?'” Sharon cried.

They picked a gorgeous dinner ring that sparkled in the store lights when she put it on her right hand.  She was still wearing her wedding ring, which Mitzi was quick to point out.

“I’ll take if off later,” Sharon said.

They sat together then, huddled over the little iron table in the food court whispering and giggling over the plan.  Sharon was anxious to leave now.  Mitzi would take her time going home.  She would tell her husband that they decided to stop for a snack after the mall closed.

Sharon stood up and was surprised that her legs were still shaky.  She pictured the scene when she didn’t come home.  Jack would have had time to build up more anger at her defiance of him when he ordered her to stay home. There were dishes in the sink, something that always annoyed him.  Tonight she would miss the tantrum.  Tonight she would be on a bus heading to a new life.   Jack wouldn’t dare intimidate Mitzi about where she had gone.  Mitzi’s husband adored her, and he couldn’t stand Jack.

Sharon’s phone indicated a text from Jack.  He had decided to come over to the mall.  It wasn’t unusual for him to follow her in order to be sure she was where she said she would be.  The panic she felt was palpable.  She wouldn’t be able to explain the bus ticket in her purse.  If Jack found out she was planning to leave, life at home would be hell.

They would have to hurry.  Jack would be there in less than an hour.  They were approaching the outside door when Sharon noticed the man in the green baseball cap off to her right.  He was standing there alone holding the package he had been carrying when she passed  him in the parking lot.

She thought little about it as she took Mitzi’s hand and turned toward her.  “We’re in this together, right?” she asked.  She tried not to doubt Mitzi’s loyalty.  They had gotten this far.  She managed to ignore the quaking feeling that came over her when she thought of the future.

She didn’t see the flash of the bullets when the man in the greed cap raised the assault rifle and fired into the crowd of shoppers leaving the mall.

Sharon saw a man fall in front of her and heard a woman scream and run ahead of her for the door.  A young man locking the door of the Gap flew backward and slid into the wall on Sharon’s left.  A child in a T-shirt that read “Grandpa’s Favorite” screamed and tried to find her mother.  A woman lay face down by the fountain where frantic shoppers tripped over her in an attempt to get out of the area, get away from the bullets, get anywhere.

Sharon tripped over Mitzi, a little bundle of denim under her feet.  She could see the blank stare of death on her friend’s  face as she recovered her balance and started to run. The doors to the parking lot opened and she ran through them.  She could see the Lexus.  She could see the man in the green cap raise the rifle once more and aim it at himself.  She reached the car and was in it driving away with no memory of having started the engine.

Sharon’s mind raced.  She couldn’t help Mitzi now.  She had to think about how to carry out her plan alone.

The mall would be in chaos when people started to arrive in search of loved ones.  It would be hours before the police would let anyone in.  If the Lexus was still in the parking lot Jack would assume the worst.  She realized she could gain extra time because of the tragedy.

She turned the car around and drove back to the mall where she parked the car as close to the stores as she could.  The walk to the Greyhound depot would probably take an hour, but she knew it would be many more hours before Jack knew she was gone.

Sharon felt the tears start as the bus hurtled forward out of the city.  She cried for Mitzi.  She cried for her marriage and for her dreams shattered by an abuser.

She was terribly afraid.  What if she couldn’t make it?  Panic made her wonder if it would be worse alone.

For an instant she wrestled with her conscience.  Innocent people were lying dead at the mall.  She felt a pang of guilt knowing she had taken advantage of the situation.  She would never see Mitzi again, and it would be a long time before she could contact any of her family.

Her wedding ring was still on her left hand.  On her right hand the dinner ring sparkled in the lights outside as the bus rolled along.

She realized she could not look back.  She felt a sudden rush of elation.  She had never considered before what freedom would feel like.  It settled over her like a calming blanket.

She tried to pull the wedding band from her left hand, but it had been in place too long.  When she finally wrenched it from her finger it slipped and fell to the floor where it rolled away under the seat.

She let it go.

 

“Boys Will Be Boys”

A Short Story – Fiction

By Sara McDermott

Mack never took his fishing pole home.  He wouldn’t have gone fishing without Aaron so why take the pole home?  It was easier to pick it up at Aaron’s house and go from there.  They had been friends ever since the seventh grade when Aaron had asked him to play catch one afternoon.

The school yard was full of kids that day, but Aaron was just standing there alone.  He didn’t have many friends – he always waited for other kids to come to him.  Asking Mack to play ball was a risk for him.

That afternoon he just stood there with the sun glaring in his eyes.  Mack felt a little sorry for him as he shifted from one foot to the other waiting for the older boy to answer.

“Why don’t you join the baseball game?” Mack remembered asking him.  Aaron didn’t answer.  He seemed to hunker down a little,to kind of draw into himself. Just then a stray baseball flew over their heads and one of the boys yelled, “Hey, heads up over there. Throw it back if you can find it.”   Laughs and hoots came from the rest of the kids as Aaron awkwardly picked up the ball and tossed it in the direction of the raggedy little diamond on the school grounds.  Most kids would have reacted, or at least felt shame at being mocked, thought Mack, but not a trace of resentment had shown on Aaron’s face. He just stood there waiting as if nothing had happened.

“Come on, lets see what you got,” said Mack, and the two unlikely pals began tossing the ball back and forth.

Thinking of it now as they sat barefoot on the river bank Mack began to wonder why he was drawn to this odd little kid.  He was older, having been held back one grade.  He was 15 now to Aaron’s 13.  The day was warm for May and, naturally, because Mack had skipped school, Aaron had too.

A car cruised slowly by on the blacktop road behind the river.  Both boys eyed it warily.  Neither wanted their parents to show up.  The car continued on and the boys went back to their fishing, one thinking of nothing much and the other musing over a friendship he found it hard to explain, even to himself.   He always led and Aaron always followed.

Aaron looked up and laughed.  “There goes that car again.  The guy must be lost.  What’s he looking at anyway?”  Mack pretended not to notice.  “I guess we better get going,” he said.  “Nothing’s biting anyway, and I have to get home.”

When they reached the street the car drove off in the other direction.

As soon as he dropped Aaron off Mack started to run as fast as he could, but it wasn’t fast enough.  The boys in the black car caught up with him and stopped the car.  The driver beckoned Mack to come to the window.  “Who’s your friend?” he asked.  “Could we use him?”  The boy in the car had a rough, worn looking face for his years.  Mack knew he was only twenty, but today he looked older.  His eyes were menacing and mean as he stared at Mack.  He held the edge of the window with one hand and pointed with the other.  “You haven’t bee around much lately.  We expected more from you.” His eyes narrowed further when Mack hesitated and he nodded to the driver to pull over.

“I haven’t had much time this week.  You know when school is out you will see more of me” Mack said.

The older boy smiled.  “We’ll count on it,” he said and added, “Maybe fishing is taking up too much of your time.”

A shiver ran up Mack’s back as he continued home.  He thought when he got the gun for them that would be the end of it.

“Where you been?”  Frank, his step-father, stood glaring at him from the top of the steps.

He hesitated.  He knew the trouble he would be in if the man he hated most found out he was involved with a gang.

“Just fishing with Aaron,” he replied.

“What Aaron sees in the likes of you is beyond me,” his step-father observed.

Mack didn’t care anymore what this stand-in parent thought of him.  He had his own friends and would soon be able to leave home.  He had learned that his battles would have to be fought alone.  He knew his mother was controlled and sometimes abused.  She had all she could do to survive herself.

Mack fought the bitterness that might have consumed him.  He endured the hatred that emanated from Hank and counted the days when he would be free of it and on his own.

Aaron often took Mack’s friendship for granted.  Mack opened up the universe for him.  The older boy spent time with him when others ignored him.  Mack ribbed him sometimes but he wasn’t mean about it.  Aaron just laughed it off.  He felt accepted and was gaining confidence.

Mack didn’t take Aaron to meet his other friends.  He kept to himself more that summer.  Aaron was usually busy with his family in the summer so an occasional fishing trip was their only contact for the three months of vacation.

He didn’t see much of the gang either.  They were ignoring him. He regretted getting involved with them.  He worried what they might be doing with the gun he had taken from Frank’s locked gun case.  He smiled to himself when he remembered how easy it had been to jiggle the lock and open the case.  One thing the gang had taught him that might be useful.

Fall came and school started and the boys took up their friendship again.

Mostly the talk around school was of several convenience stores that had been robbed over the summer.  Two men had gotten away with a few thousand dollars.  The cops couldn’t get there in time to catch anyone, and no-one knew how they managed to leave the scene so quickly.

“They just disappear into thin air,” Mack heard someone say.  “They must have help.”

Aaron laughed out loud.  “Maybe the cops are just too slow,” he said.

The kids standing around all laughed.  It was always fair game to make fun of cops.  Mack laughed too, but a chill hit him.  No-one had been hurt – yet.  Mack shivered again.

“I bet they use a gun and have a look-out,” Aaron said.  “They’re probably professionals.”

“No way,” a grade school kid piped up.  “My dad said they’re local cause they keep hitting convenience stores.  Professionals hit banks.”

Aaron laughed and looked at Mack.  “Maybe they’re practicing.”  The gathering of kids laughed and drifted away.

The two friends walked away toward the river.  Mack wanted to stop and get the poles, but Aaron put him off.  “My dad has the garage full of junk,” he said.  “We probably couldn’t find them.  Besides I’m kind of tired of fishing.”

Something didn’t seem right to Mack.  He had been to Aaron’s house a few days before and hadn’t noticed any junk in the garage.  His friend was lying he was sure.  He decided to find out what was in the garage that Aaron didn’t want him to see.

He sneaked over to the house that night.  Aaron’s dad never locked anything up so he just opened the door of the garage and walked in.  At first he didn’t see anything much, a few old boxes, some garden tools and the fishing poles right where they had left them.  But under an old blanket he saw something shiny and new looking.  Mack pulled out a new lap top computer with Styrofoam still clinging to the edges.

Just then the door opened and Aaron stood there asking him what he was doing.  Mack could just stare dumbfounded at him.  He realized immediately what must be going on.  Aaron must have gotten involved with the gang robbing convenience stores.  Where else would he get the money to buy something like this.

“Are you nuts?” he remembered yelling.  “Those guys will get you into a lot of trouble.”

“It’s none of your business,” Aaron screamed.  “I just stand guard for them and they pay me out of what they steal.   It gives me some spending money.”

“You’ll be spending time in jail if you get caught,” Mack said.

“We won’t.  You wouldn’t say anything, would you?”   Mack didn’t answer.  He wouldn’t turn Aaron in, but he worried the gang was taking advantage of him.  Once the robbery spree was over they would desert Aaron, or worse, blame him if they got caught.

“You better stay away from them,” he said finally.

Aaron became agitated and angry.  “I thought we were friends,” he yelled.  “Get out of here before I turn you in for prowling our garage.”

Mack went home.

Aaron, fearful that his old friend would blab to the police, lost no time in contacting the gang leader.

“You need to shut him up,” the boss told him. “You aren’t playing around with choir boys here.  Two of us have been to prison and we don’t intend to go back.  You shouldn’t have shot your mouth off about us.”

Aaron sank down to the floor.  Mack was right.  He was in big trouble.  He had felt so grown up and cocky.  Now he was just a fourteen-year-old boy in a mess he didn’t know how to handle.  There was no-one to ask for advice so he waited to hear from the others, blindly hoping the whole thing would blow over.

It didn’t.  The next day he saw Mack and neither spoke  Mack told himself he didn’t care – one less friend to worry about, he thought.   Sometimes he was tempted to tell someone, if only to get back at Aaron for throwing him out of the garage.  It would serve him right, he was getting too big for his britches anyway.  But he didn’t tell, and things went on as before.

The gang members were nervous and keeping tabs on Mack without him knowing. They knew where he spent his time and noticed that he was usually alone now.

Around Christmas the police were called to a small grocery store.  The 911 operator reported a robbery in progress.  Things had gone horribly wrong.  The owner had been shot and killed, and two bystanders wounded when three men in ski masks had come into the store and demanded money.  Shots were fired when the owner refused to open the cash drawer.  The robbers were gone.  A young boy had been seen standing around outside during the robbery.   A witness said he looked to be about 13 or 14 years old and had disappeared after the shooting.

The news accounts said the police were looking for the boy seen outside by witnesses.  The police were asking anyone with information to come forward.

Aaron got his orders.  Keep your mouth shut , otherwise things could get ugly.  If anyone talked it would be over for them and they knew it.  Aaron was ordered to lure Mack to their meeting place.

Aaron wasn’t dumb.  Murder charges against the shooter would result in accomplice charges for him.  He was terrified and desperate to keep Mack from talking.

The police weren’t dumb either.  They knew of gang activity in the area and were trying to find out names of the boys involved.  They cruised around the school and questioned students and teachers.

Mack showed up at the old warehouse when he learned Aaron wanted to talk to him.  He walked in slowly.  The place was deserted.  He didn’t hear the shot that killed him but he saw the flash of the bullets when Aaron raised Frank’s gun with both hands and fired.

“Life Goes On”

A short story-Fiction/Fantasy

By Sara McDermott

THE YEAR IS 2025

The only world I know is the flat hard surface beneath me and the glaring yellow lights above.  I have grown used to the assaults on my body and no longer cry out in protest when people push me around with little respect for my comfort.

Things weren’t always like this I can tell you.  I remember a place of soft lights and times of peace and quiet.  Others like me were all around, and the days were routine and orderly as we waited for our turn on the table.

I was moved on a Saturday and found myself transferred to this bar.  To this day I don’t know why the bosses chose to send me here to be used by people whose camaraderie and good fellowship stand in glaring contrast to the dull, day-in and day-out sameness of my life.

Every day interesting conversations flow around me.  I can’t take part in them, but Phil can.  Phil is the bartender and I’ve noticed he can hold his own with the best of them.

Phil doesn’t use me.  I admire him for that but I sometimes wonder how he escaped the likes of me.  I hear him say that my influence will wane someday as times change and there is no longer a need for someone like me.  That makes me feel lonely, but sometimes I get close to a patron and feel that I have made a friend.

Cindy used to come in on Tuesdays.  She always sat by me, maybe because she needed me more than the others. I would listen to her troubles as the night wore on.  She often seemed sad, and lonely too.  Cindy died I heard.  I never was able to find out exactly what happened to her.  No-one talked about it, and I soon forgot.

It’s still early so Phil is getting ready for the evening business.  He has all the bottles lined up and has checked in all the waitresses for the night.

Ouch!  I wish Phil would be more careful when he moves me out of his way. I slammed into the end of the bar that time.

I really shouldn’t be lonely.  There are plenty of people around, and it’s fair to say that  quite a few of them couldn’t get along without me.   It’ a puzzle for me to ponder.  I have plenty of time to wonder about such things at the end of each day when the noise subsides and the lights dim.  Can this be all there is – days of abuse followed by lonely nights?  Once the bath is over and the stink washed off, only the walls witness my despair.

I had become leery of making friends after Cindy died, but Todd was different.  He came in often and, like Cindy, he usually sat near me. The jokes and laughter seemed to follow Todd.  He always had a crowd of people around him listening to his stories, and charmed by his infectious laugh. When he died suddenly a sadness hung over the bar for days.

I should have known, I thought.  It doesn’t pay to get too fond of the patrons.

But you can’t grieve forever.  Life in the bar goes on.  Different music blares and styles change, but I stay the same.  Sometimes I’m barely noticed and other times I’m sought out and, still other times, I’m pushed aside to make room for strangers who come and go and never notice me.

Almost ten years have passed now, and my situation hasn’t changed much.  The room has grown dingy and the crowd has changed slightly.  Phil mentions how a lot of his old friends are gone – passed away, he says, before their time.

THE YEAR IS 2035

Yes, it has been ten years since I first landed here. The place is getting older and more run down, but people still come here to drink and socialize.  They look at me but don’t really see me.  Sometimes people I’ve known for a long time shun me. They look my way but never move closer, and I wonder what I have one to turn them away.  They still laugh and drink, but they seem to have forgotten that I was once important in their lives.  I call them fair weather friends.

I can do without them I say to myself. After all, I’ve grown accustomed to my life now and rarely think about what life might have been had I gone to a better place.

Sometimes I don’t mind being alone.  I can observe people while they socialize without my influence.  They seem to pay more attention to each other and less time reaching out to me for comfort.  It’s curious, but no-one would want to hear my opinion anyway so I stay quiet and time passes.

THE YEAR IS 2045

A big change has come into my life this year.  I have been moved to a new place.  Early in the year 2040 things began to change in a strange way.  More people hung around all the time, but they seemed to pay less attention to me than ever.  Gradually I noticed that I had more privacy.  One day I was pushed all the way out of sight and no-one came near me at all.  People were saying things that hurt my feelings.  They said I was obsolete and that I belonged in a museum.   They said that, by 2050, no-one would remember what my purpose in life had been, and that it was good riddance to the likes of me.  Maybe Phil was right.  I noticed that people were using me less and less, and, sure enough, by the end of this year I was transferred to this quiet place.

Instead of bright lights and commotion all around me I have been assigned a place of quiet and beauty.  I am the only one of my kind in the room and I revel in the knowledge that I seem finally to have found the niche meant for me all along.

Some days people walk by me and stare quietly at me and remark on how beautiful I am, and how the have never seen one as pretty as me.  Some try to reach out and touch me, but signs nearby caution on-lookers to respect my dignity and old age.

THE YEAR IS 2050

I am at home in the new place now.  I rest here content and even grateful that the bosses saw fit to prolong my life and give it some meaning.  Most of my old friends were either thrown away or destroyed when smoking became illegal in 2049.  I was one of the lucky ones.

I may only be an ashtray, but I will live forever in this museum.

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I remember the 1980’s as the decade of the jock.  Running and fitness came of age just as I hit middle age. But I take my fitness where I find it and so, at the age of 48, I re-discovered roller skating.  Not the sidewalk skating of my childhood, not speed skating around and around a track, but figure skating on wheels.  Repetitive, tooth grinding practice done on 19 foot circles painted on the floor.  Figures are the ABC’s of artistic skating, and once mastered, they translate into dance and freestyle events seen at competitive skating meets.

Now, no-one, in 1984, would have described me as athletic – not even close.  My idea of grueling physical activity was riding my bike uphill.  Add a certain amount of gawkiness and fear of competition and you have my future in roller skating.

They trained me anyway.  Well, they tried.  That must have been quite a spectacle.  All 5 feet, eleven inches of me navigating a big circle to nowhere in order to develop poise and grace while rolling along on one foot.  But what the heck!  I dived in and spent the next thirty years in various roller rinks around the mid-west.  Maybe practice didn’t make perfect, but it was a lot of fun trying.

Control is the essence of graceful skating, but control of my sedentary body came hard.  I decided early on that school figures were the devil’s revenge for my non-athletic youth.  How hard could it be, I thought, when the coach demonstrated the first technique.  “Just push yourself away and try to stay on the painted line” she said.  How hard it could be was immediately obvious to me as I came to a standstill about two feet from the starting point.  I felt like an elephant on wheels.   I wanted to leave and forget it, but it’s hard to make a grand exit with roller skates on, so I stayed and, to this day, am grateful for the benefits I gained from competitive skating.

Meets were a combination of dread  and fun, if you can put the two together.

The shy girl from Cedar Rapids was told to get out there and look the judges in the eye in order to exude confidence.  Okay!  But three people standing there with clip boards ready to record my slightest mistake did not exactly stoke my competitive fire.  It took several meets before my legs stopped shaking enough to lift my head and look anyone in the eye or anywhere else.

All figure skaters learn tricks to stay calm and trace the line.  One of my favorites came from a coach in Ames when I practiced at his rink much later.  “You want to be a good tracer?” he said.  “Keep your belly button over the line and your body will follow”.  It seemed logical to me and I often pictured my body lined up and my naval following the figure line when I competed in Ladies Figures at invitational meets.

Time passed and progress came slow, but I began to enjoy the challenge;  the early morning events that tested my dedication to the sport, the fun of having my club mates cheer me on through a dance routine, the feeling of accomplishment in getting through it, and finally realizing that, win or lose, I was enriching my life through physical and mental discipline.

Skate club members become good friends even while competing with each other.  You can’t hold a grudge against people you see every week.  It would be too exhausting.

Over the years I have made lifelong friends and seen accomplished skaters executing elegant dances with seemingly perfect techniques.

I never reached elegant in my skating.  I didn’t move above the standard forward figures when I competed, and I never tore up the floor in dance, but I had a great time.  I had never been a dancer so it came hard, but I have tasted sheer joy.  I have skated to perfectly timed music on choreographed dance patterns.   I loved the freedom of moving around and around the length and width of a skating floor,  just me and the music and my eight wheels.

 

 

 

 

Thanks for joining me!

Good company in a journey makes the way seem shorter. — Izaak Walton