Short Stories - With Unexpected Endings

Tears rolled down her face as she read the letter. Her body felt numb. Folding it back into its previous shape she tucked it away in her pocket. She didn’t move. Thoughts about the years rushed into her mind and thoughts about the letter. How did she end up here? She was married to an angry bitter man who offered her nothing but bruises and belittling. Her only child was out of the nest and beginning his new life. The last twenty years seemed so empty now. She was thirty-eight, had no career and her family had long ago stopped coming to visit.

Lying back on the bed she curled up and pulled her knees up to her chest. Her mind began to drift. It started off so simple. She was sixteen years old with a pony tail and a baseball mitt; spending her afternoons playing ball and climbing trees. One day while high in the tallest tree branches throwing pieces of bark as far as they would allow and watching them fall, he made his first appearance. Branches below began to crack and out popped his head.

He asked, “What are you doing up here?”

“Nothin’,” She snapped back.

He said, “I’m Joe. My dad and I just moved in town today. What’s a girl doing in a tree? This is no place for a girl. You might be half descent if you cleaned yourself up.” His tone was strong and assertive. This tone would ring throughout their future.

He was cute and the first boy to see her as more than a good right arm. She didn’t realize it then but that was the day she was grounded. Joe came into her life, knocked her out of that tree and on to the ground. Today she remains in the same place under his shadow so many years later. Who could blame her for letting it happen? She wanted to feel pretty and saw this as her escape from the tom-boy image. Up until then she could only daydreamed of dances and jealous girls. Jumping at the chance she did her best to do as he said. She acted like a girl, dressed like a girl and followed his every command. Years went by and she was still under his dictatorship. Grounded.

Opening her eyes and rolling over, her hand reached for the note. Glancing at it one more time, she looked back in time and forward simultaneously. Something was going to give. The moment felt a little like the seconds before a title wave when the shore pulls back exposing what was hidden below, the birds stop singing and all becomes still while a monster brews just out of sight. It had to change. She wanted to feel free. Attempts to leave him before were never successful but today she felt different.

The afternoon flew by. She did her chores and prepared dinner; the entire time thinking back to when she and Joe met and that tall tree. The day seemed longer than normal. It was so lonely.

As the sun began to get lower in the sky all of the household tasks were complete. She sat at the set dining table with the cloth napkins and candle sticks. He was late again. The air hung in a tranquil silence and her mind was somewhere else. It changed when his car pulled into the driveway. Something that was resting in her chest for all these years began to tap at her throat wanting out. Trying to avoid this intruder she snapped into her role and scurried to warm his dinner which was waiting in the microwave. Hurrying back to the table she placed the plate down in his spot and was lighting the last candles as he opened the door. Her muscles became tense as the storm was brewing inside of her. She straightened his napkin, which was already perfectly straight, and kept her eyes down as he took his place in the king’s chair. He let out a sigh.

Her soft voice rose to greet him, “I hope you had a good day, dear.”

He responded harshly, “You have no idea how easy you have it. I work all day and you just sit around this house. What I wouldn’t give for a taste of your freedom.”

He sighs again. Looking down at the table he says, “Dam it! Can’t you see I need a drink? Shit, you are an idiot!”

Her body remained still for a moment while the wave rushed from the depths and flooded her mind.

“What the hell is wrong with you? Get off your fat ass and make me a drink!”

Her soft blue eyes turned toward him. If he had ever seen her before in all these years he would have noticed something was different. Replying with a grin she said, “Yes dear.”

She stood up and walked to the kitchen in no particular hurry, slow and steady, like the surge from a monster wave once it hit. Removing the tonic and vodka from the cabinet she places in on the counter.

He yells from the dining room, “Hurry the hell up! Can’t you bring yourself to do anything right?”

The words began to blur with the storm in her mind, twisting in a catastrophic mess. She poured the vodka and tonic, dropped two ice cubes into the glass and then she opened the medicine drawer. Fumbling around for the right remedy she found a nearly full bottle of sedatives from her husband’s doctor. She added two to his drink almost without thinking. Mixing it with her finger she watched it all dissolve away. It felt mechanical.

Avoiding eye contact, her hand delivers the drink. The clanging of his fork against the plate and his constant complaining didn’t seem so bad now. Sitting in her seat at the table she knew something had started and she was finally ready to finish it.

Pushing his dinner plate away he snapped, “Fix me another!”

A smile formed on her face as the words escaped with an eager tone, “Gladly.”

He looked at her a moment and said, “Wipe that stupid look off your face.”

The evening went on with drink after drink and pill after pill. The late summer sun was beginning to hide behind the mountain but its tip still peeked over the horizon like a child afraid to sleep because it may miss something exciting. Walking out of the kitchen with drink number six and the sound of ice clanking in the glass; she sees her husband passed out in the recliner with the remote control in his hand. The evening news was shouting at her as she turned it off. Gingerly walking up to him her finger gave him a poke. Nothing. A little harder this time she poked him again. He didn’t stir. She sat down on the sofa next to his chair and put her hand over her pocket remembering the note. Taking a pillow off the couch she stood-up and positioned her body directly in front of her husband. The wave rushed forward and it carried the pillow to his lifeless face. Her hands held it there until the surge was gone and her chest felt free. He never moved. He just stopped breathing. She placed the pillow back where it belonged and straightened it into its perfect spot.

Walking back to the kitchen she emptied his glass and grabbed the barren bottle of pills. She wiped her finger prints off, carried the bottle and his glass back to his limp hand. There she imprinted his finger prints and left the items on the table beside his chair. She stood-up and fixed her hair. Looking at him a moment she turns on her heals and heads for the door. It was nice outside and the sun offered just enough light for her to feel warm but it was well hidden behind the mountains. She looked around, found the tallest tree within fifty yards and began to run as a child with a kite. Kicking off her shoes she climbed to the top, branch by branch and limb by limb so fast one would have thought it was some sort of race.

If it had crossed her mind of how it appeared she may have felt silly, a grown woman up in a tree like an adventurous child, but she didn’t give a care in the world what people thought. Feeling the gentle breeze slipping through the trees her skin seemed to dance in the embrace. Her lungs took it all in filling the newly vacant spot which moments ago was filled with a knot of tangled silence. With one arm she embraced the trunk like an arm around the shoulder of a friend and with the other she waved her hand in the air like a Pentecostal on Sunday morning. Feeling the dance go on around her as the breeze blew through her blouse and hair it initiated every bit of her like fire flies in the warm summer evenings. The letter in her pocket seemed to rip to shreds and float away. She leaned her head back, felt the glory of where she was and knew that she was never going to let her feet touch the ground again.

I have crawled my way into this cocoon bound on every side. I was born into this world and this family. I had no choice. I am closed off and sealed shut. I could die here like others have or just sleep. I want to pretend that I am happy wrapped away from all harm in the arms of this suffocating thread. Somewhere deep inside I hear a voice say, “Fight!” I could ignore it’s beckoning but the calls ignite a spark of life deep inside my cold body. It is primal. If I listen I have a chance. I can be all I have been designed to be and no longer held back by these walls. My arms and legs are bound up tight extenuating my inability to resist my captive hold. I wiggle. I scoot. The movement creates the friction necessary to warm this cold place and causes me to feel what my liberation may bring. I feel alive again. I scrape and fight. As I dedicate myself to my freedom I have moments when my body and mind grow weary. I stop to rest but keep my ears attentive to the call to continue my battle. It beckons me again, “Fight!” I wiggle and feel an extremity reach out into the liberty beyond this tomb. The hairs on my arm seem to rise to meet the vast expanse which now surrounds my limb. For the first time a portion of the new me is revealed. It is invigorating. It is motivating. Endless moments within the hands of time slip by as I attempt to fully escape this hold. I Fight. I rest and I fight again. I never give up until I find myself totally free. I watch the lump of tangled relationships fall to the ground as I spread my wings far beyond and touch the outer limits of myself. These new found vehicles of independence did not existed before I rested in my captivity. They grew as I became aware of my own ability. A breeze gently blows under my velvet wings lifting my six legs off of the oak branch on which they rested. I feel myself soaring in the sun and look to see other’s like me beginning their journey into the air of independence.

The delivery truck beeped as it backed into the mom and pop shoe store. One box was dropped on the ground waiting for the owner’s attention. He ripped open the box, checked the invoice and then grabbed a pair of shoes. They were a lovely pair of children’s black patent leathers with a rhinestone crown at the buckle. He let out a puff and buffed them on his worn flannel work shirt. Holding the shoes away from of him as he walked, he made his way to the front of the store. The shoes appeared regal emphasized by the way the owner carried them and how they luster in the stores lights. One could almost hear last season’s shoes shout, “Make way, make way for Princess Patty”. The shop owner walked straight to the window and brushed away some webs. He removed the sun faded Oxfords which were front and center. He then carefully placed Patty smack dab in the middle of the window on top of a red velvet box. The work shoes and garden clogs all leaned in a bit to get a glimpse of the new bejewel flats. Patty did not bother to acknowledge any of the peons which seemed to grovel below her. She thought she was suppose to go to Neiman Marcus or Nordstrom and was a little disgusted to be displayed in this insignificant store. “I am designed for lace and galas not for the likes of those that shop here,” She mumbled to herself. She looked down at Ked and then smugly lifted her left heal to prop it on the back of the right thus giving Ked a cold sole.

It had not been five minutes when a limousine pulled up to the window and out stepped a little girl with bouncy curls in her hair. Patty seemed to shine a more radiant shine knowing this was just the type of girl for which she was created. She spoke down to Penny, a brown loafer resting below her, and said, “Here comes my ride. We knew I would never be here long.” Sure enough the girl walked right up to the window and pointed at Patty. Patty was center stage and made sure all those around her knew it. A man in a black suit came in and said, "I would like to buy the black shoes in the window in a size three for Madame Missy." The shop owner walked up to the window snatching up Patty while explaining he had just received these less than five minutes ago. He held the shoes out for the gentleman who looked at Madame Missy. She was already removing her pristine white satin sandals when she said, "Pay the man. I want them now!" The little girl grabbed the shoes out of the owners hand and crammed her foot into them without unfastening the buckle. Money was exchanged and Madame Missy abandoned her white shoes there on the floor. The man with the black suit opened the door for the young girl and she ran outside. She stood still for a moment admiring Patty which was now securely placed on each foot. Patty could only imagine the lush carpets at the mansion, the marble floors at the museums and the daily buffing the maid would surely provide. The little girl lifted her eyes scanned the sidewalk to the right and then turning her head left. Her eyes opened a bit more and she let out a squeal. She had noticed a puddle positioned just under the shoe store window. Ked, Penny and even the Oxfords nearly had their toes against the glass as they watch the girl with Patty on her feet. With bouncing curls and loud squealing Madame Missy ran up to the widow. She lifted both feet simultaneously off the ground and was throwing herself with Patty attached feet first into the two-by-two sidewalk lake. She landed square into the center of the puddle making muddy water splash on the window, on her dress and all over Patty’s lovely shine. All the shoes seemed to hold their breath and lean back to avoid the mess flung in their direction. The loops in the laces were big and round. Their tongue gaped open in ah. No one moved. Then Penny looked over at Ked giving a nudge she said, “Long live the Queen.”