Category: short story

Providence

David was not the type to take the reins. He was always more comfortable sitting back and letting someone else take the wheel. It was easy, and simple, and he found that he learned much through someone else’s guidance, rather than trying things out for himself. He had learned not to play with fire when his sister burnt her fingers while lighting a match, not to play ball in the house when his brother fell and hit his head on a step trying out a new trick, and not to run with scissors when his kindergarten classmate was taken to the emergency room for stitches.

David learned through others; he sat, observed, listened and let his life flow by, led by an invisible, tender hand. Talent came to him naturally and he was blissfully unaware of hardship. Never in his life had he needed to strive for anything, food was never wanting, nor dress, and education and learning was always easy. That’s not to say he took things for granted, he did not. In fact, he was very conscious of the struggles of others, but could not always understand the time and effort people took to overcome them. He always figured everything would turn out fine. He always believed that everything was for the best.

Raymond believed the opposite. Raymond had grown up poor, in a house dry of books and learning, its inhabitants working themselves to the bone. Raymond knew sunless days and freezing nights. He knew poverty and hunger and hard work. Raymond knew David, and hated him. He would watch David cross the quad, always smiling, the sun shining above. Raymond would look up at the same sky and see only dark clouds. He would then spit on the ground and curse his lot.

Raymond was the janitor at David’s college, he had never wanted a higher education for himself, but was always quick to blame the kids who did. Those snotty, little good-for-nothings that befouled his halls, smeared his windows and dirtied everything he cleaned. It did not occur to him that those kids and their tuitions paid his wages, that it was his job to clean the school, to maintain it. Raymond only saw in others the opportunities he never had; opportunities, which, truth be told, he’d never wanted.

One day, Raymond saw David and decided to teach him a lesson. The pea-brained little shit had come out of the bathroom Raymond had finished cleaning not five minutes before. David and those like him could never wait for at least ten minutes before soiling his pristine and sparkling lavatory. That day, his foul mood compounded his negative outlook on life, Raymond decided enough was enough. David would have to pay.

Raymond watched David as he walked happily down the hall. He put his foot on the mopping bucket and waited for the right moment. In one swift movement Raymond pushed the bucket with a mumbled warning, and watched as David, unable to get out of the way, slipped and fell over the bucket. He fell on his arm with a crack and a painful cry. Raymond smirked while David tried to stand, his nose bleeding and cradling his arm.

People dashed to David’s aid, they helped him up and took him to the infirmary. He was later rushed to the hospital with a broken arm.

Raymond was content, the little shit would be more careful next time, the little jerk would have to watch where he was going.

Raymond’s shift ended while David listened to the doctor explain that his fractured arm would be in a cast for at least six weeks. He would be unable to play sports, and would have to rest. He would have to learn to use his free hand for all tasks that required his dominant, yet broken arm.

David smiled and shrugged; cool, he said, he would be ambidextrous now.

Raymond was on the bus ride home as David walked out of the hospital, arm in a sling, his coat draped over it. The flurries that had begun to fall while David was taken to the school’s infirmary, had now become a full, steady, blizzard. The visibility was near zero, and the bus trudged slowly through the untreated streets. The wind had picked up and Raymond thought what a helluva whiteout, as he looked out the window.

Suddenly, an empty trash can tumbled across the street and into the bus’s path. The driver slammed on the brakes and the bus skidded on black ice. The driver tried his best to control it, but the bus overturned.

It was in all the newspapers the next morning: “Local school janitor only fatality in bus accident.”

 

Sail Away

It was almost like drowning. Jason felt himself sinking as he realized the severity of the situation.

He had worked so hard and now all hope was lost. Everything he had strived for was gone. Lost in an instant. He saw himself shipwrecked on an ocean of hopelessness, as vast and empty as his future now was.

He had been so sure it would all work out, he had been so certain. Nothing made sense anymore, what would he do? He had failed at the one thing he had been preparing for in life. Now all was over.

Jason dragged his feet on the sidewalk, his head hung low and his gait that of someone carrying a heavy burden. He walked slowly, not wanting to go home, but at the same time wishing he were already there, lying on his bed with the pillow over his head. He wanted this horrible day to end, but wished it never would. He hoped night would never come. There was no way to explain this, and nightfall meant explanations would be necessary.

Maybe I could just leave, he thought, and imagined himself sticking his thumb out, hitching a ride. Maybe someone would stop, and he would climb in, destination: anywhere. He would eat at truck stops, and wash in rest area bathrooms. Then, somehow, he would make it to the coast, and there, he would board a ship. Jason pictured himself a stowaway, but decided against it.

If only he’d been born at a different time, he might’ve sailed with Magellan, or plundered with Blackbeard. Always free to go where he pleased. Nothing to hold him down, no ties to pull him back to land.

Jason had always loved ships. He’d always been fascinated by stories of seafarers, pirates, sailors. Always wished he’d been one of them. By the age of ten he could identify almost every ship type ever built, schooner, man-o-war, caravel, brigantine, frigate, he knew them all. When asked what he wanted to be when he grew up, he always said sailor, a response which had prompted many a ‘huh’.

Jason’s parents were against it, he was to study hard, graduate with honors, attend an Ivy League school and be a lawyer, or a doctor, or a CEO of a Fortune 500 company. That was his future, they said, it’s what’s best for him. On land. Work hard, they said, and when you’re successful, maybe you can buy a yacht, hire a crew, and drop anchor in Monaco, or Capri, or Ibiza, they said, but study first.

Jason sighed as he walked home, his last chance at the future his parents wanted gone forever.  He had not been accepted to any of his colleges of choice. He was a failure.

As he rounded the corner he saw his older brother on their stoop. Alex was perfect, everything that Jason wasn’t. He had gotten a scholarship to Yale and had just been accepted at Harvard Law School. He was his parents’ pride; Alexander the Great.

“Why the long face, Argonaut?” Alex asked when Jason sat down beside him.

“I failed,” he sighed, “I failed at everything.”

“Yeah I know, they told me. I thought you were in the running for a scholarship, though.”

“Didn’t get it, and Mom and Dad don’t have enough money for tuition. My chances are shot. Community College is my only choice now, and I’d still have to work my way through it, I’m such a loser.”

“You know why you think you failed?” Alex spoke after a moment of silence, “It’s because you wanted to. You didn’t really want the future they planned for you, and I’m glad you failed. I’d rather see you poor and happy than rich and miserable, so I brought you this.”

He handed Jason two brochures, one about the Navy and the other about the Merchant Marines. Jason looked at his brother in wonder and Alex smiled.

“Pick one, or both, or neither, doesn’t matter. Look them over, see what you like best, see what fits you best.”

“Mom and Dad won’t be happy.”

“No, but that’s their problem. Go on, little bro, choose your life. I’ll handle Mom and Dad.”

Alex gave Jason an envelope. It was full of cash.

“What’s this?”

“It’s for you, to spend on your future. It should get you out of this place and then some.”

“Where did you get this?”

“I’ve been saving up for this since the first time you said you wanted to sail ships and they shut you down. Just promise me that whatever you do, wherever you go, you’ll always do right. ”

“I promise.”

They sat on the stoop and watched the sunset in silence. Jason smiled at the bright future ahead. Alex’s arm around him sealed their brotherly bond.

 

Sunset

My life changed that day on the hill. The sunset was so intense it seemed the sun had set the world on fire. We were kids, all of us, playing at being grown-ups, singing, dancing, talking about boys and having the time of our lives. I didn’t know it was to be my last day of childhood, that I would grow ten years older that day.

The sun dipped in the sky, shadowing our faces as we smiled at the oncoming dusk. It was a glorious summer evening, the cicadas chirped at full blast, while the birds trilled hidden among the trees that lined the craggy rock at the top of the hill, Venus the Evening Star shone her way into the royal blue sky. We honored her that day, we honored our girlhood, our womanhood and all the feminine beauty around us.

I was happy, we were happy, and as we trudged down the hill by the light of our flashlights I felt and inkling, a feeling, that the fiery sunset had been telling me something, but I didn’t understand the message.

I waved goodbye to them—Linda, Janice and Grace—as they got in the car. I would be walking home, even though they always offered me a ride. It was part of the ritual: the climb up the hill, the sunset at its summit, the hike down in the dark and the offer and decline of a ride.  Perhaps if I’d gotten in the car with them they would be here now. 

The police found their abandoned vehicle three days later, ten miles outside of town, no sign of the girls. In the ten years since there have been no phone calls, no letters, no bodies, not one clue to their fates. 

I sit alone in the sunset, and as the sun dips below the horizon I ask him if he sees them and if they are all right, but he doesn’t answer; and when Venus comes out I ask her if she saw what happened, but as the darkness surrounds me, the silence comes, and the questions remain.