domestic

Tony’s baby

Parenthood hit Tony Lawson like a summer storm. Yes, very much like that. A sudden, unexpected stroke of fury, a violent collision of opposing fronts.

“Tony, you jerk, meet your son.”

The sky was cloudless above the executive lot, but the air crackled around the words.

Tony fumbled his iPhone, and it fell toward the brilliant concrete.

He caught it, held it against his heart.

There stood Sandra behind his silver S-Class, rolling a big navy-blue stroller forward a few inches and then pulling it back, coming closer each time to the rear-bumper of the coupe.

My baby! he thought.

I wrote this story for the 100 Word Challenge: “Parent” at Thin Spiral Notebook.

The Presence

By Jim Anderson

The wind chimes were driving him nuts.

“They’re pretty,” his wife said, without looking up from her book.

“Pretty loud!”

“Go take them down, then.”

“All right, I will.”

He set aside his laptop, leaned forward in his chair, and then stopped. It seemed too easy. He studied his wife for a moment, sensing a trap.

“Really? That would be OK with you?”

“Sure. Go ahead. What’s to stop you?”

“Your mom! This could be her way of haunting me.”

His wife laughed. “She has other ways to do that.”

“Oh? Such as?”

“Take down her chimes, and you’ll see.”

I wrote this story for the 100 Word Challenge #407 at Velvet Verbosity.

Home in No Time

By Jim Anderson

Late morning, driving home from an oil change, Griff was startled when a town appeared where he never knew there was a town. He braked sharply, then felt sheepish that he had and drove ahead to a McDonald’s parking lot. The asphalt was deep black and glittery, and the yellow lines glowed like neon. Griff let the car roll into a spot. He shifted into park. I’m not lost, he thought. I missed a turn. I found this town. You don’t find a town every day. He’d turn around, go back the way he came, be home in no time.

ORIGINAL VERSION:

Late morning with the sun blazing, on his way home from an oil change, Griff was startled when a town appeared where he never knew there was a town. He braked sharply, and then felt sheepish that he had.

He pulled into the roomy parking lot of a McDonald’s. The asphalt was smooth and dark, the yellow lines bright. Place must be new, Griff thought. He shifted the Buick into park, and sat there a moment. I’m not lost. I just missed a turn. Happen to anybody.

He’d go back the way he came.

He’d be home in no time.

I wrote this story for the 100 Word Challenge #381 at Velvet Verbosity.

Ranson’s Beard

By Jim Anderson

Ranson’s beard was older than his daughter, the corporate attorney who’d moved to Oregon to get as far from him as North America allowed.

He wasn’t shaving without due consideration. He’d grown it the summer of Lillian’s pregnancy. He was teaching philosophy in Ohio, and working on his book. One day he stopped at a produce stand, and the be-whiskered farmer who sold him sweet corn provided the inspiration. Lillian never liked facial hair. Their divorce was as much about that as anything.

Ranson kept the beard all through his marriage to Samantha.

Now it was time for the razor.

I wrote this story for the 100 Word Challenge #378 at Velvet Verbosity.

Nor the Battle to the Strong

By Jim Anderson

Mom wants to take Jason to the faith healer who’s appearing nightly in a limited engagement at the Westgate Auditorium.

“There’s no such thing as faith healing,” I say.

“He’s dying,” she says.

Like I don’t know that. Like anybody wouldn’t know that who sees Jason in the hospital bed in her living room, a lump of bony flesh, each breath a whimper. My brother, who fought in Iraq, who ran marathons, who had a bright future until the Big C tapped him on the shoulder. You’re it!

I want to ask Mom when she got religion.

But I know.

I wrote this story for the 100 Word Challenge #347 at Velvet Verbosity.

How Nan Got Her Maple Trimmed

By Jim Anderson

Nan wanted a bough or two cut off the big silver maple in our backyard. So I hired a crew. Then she was hot to put in her garden and didn’t like having to wait.

“It’s too early to plant, anyway,” I said.
When the crew got here, she was hot for the climber. “You should see the hunk trimming my tree,” she told her sister on the phone.

“Why don’t you go lick the sweat off his pecs?” I said. “You know you want to.”

“Hey, it wouldn’t kill you to work out, Bobby.”

Well. She had me there.

I wrote this story for the 100 Word Challenge #344 at Velvet Verbosity.