Assorted short fiction
Sarah never slept very well. She’d lie in bed listening to the regular, soft breathing of her little sister Macey and feel jealous. As tired as she could become during the day, usually late morning and early afternoon, now she was awake and sharp as a tack. She would try to will herself to sleep, but that never worked. It would make her worry even more about how tired she’d be the next day if she couldn’t make herself sleep.
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The house was small and cheap, and, like an idiot, he didn’t pay attention to much else about it. He found it, bought it, and moved in early that summer. There were thick willows lining his back fence, so he didn’t notice what was hidden behind them. The rest of the neighborhood seemed quiet, being a dead-end street without much traffic. He didn’t own all that much furniture, or anything else for that matter, so he was settled in quickly. He didn’t discover the problem until the Monday after Labor Day.
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They were both in the science club and the band, neither of them was popular nor had access to any of the popular cliques. But they were the kind that didn’t care too much about that as long as they kept clear of the school bullies.
Ron still had problems with them at times because being of just less than average height, thin and unathletic, wearing glasses that were a little too thick, and perhaps a few steps too far from their aggressive male stereotype. He made a good target. Alicia didn’t seem to mind the teasing she faced, however. She had a pleasant face, dark blond hair that curled naturally but just a little too much to manage and was what a polite adult would call “heavy set.”
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“441B North to X-ray,” Mr. McKee called out, hanging up the phone and turning to us who were sitting around, a bit cramped in the office/mailroom that was our base. It was a slow morning so most of us were there. Mr. McKee was great, a career Army noncom, retired after decades serving. Among ourselves, we called him Sarge. He was infallibly fair, almost unflappable, and when he did get frustrated, he was careful not to direct it at anyone (in the room, anyway) and came up with some creative, colorful, expressions to express his displeasure that were always acceptable in mixed company.
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Edith stood up abruptly and smoothed her skirt, though it was the kind of pleated wool, tartan plaid that had no need of smoothing. It was just an unconscious motion she performed, like a nonverbal paragraph break. It let her remove herself from the preceding few minutes and begin a new subject. She was doing what she was brought up to do. She turned and looked down at him, still sitting on the park bench and told him matter-of-factly, “As I said, we’re just friends.” She only looked at him long enough to complete that brief statement before she turned to walk away down the quiet path that led out of the park.
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She seemed to like him in a lot of ways. Sure, they went places and did things that you would normally call “dates,” movies, the Joyrides amusement park by the river, dinners out, and all that. But he simply enjoyed talking with her and being in her company. She was interested in so many things and always wanted to learn more. When he talked about football, she apologized for knowing nothing about it and then bombarded him with questions to understand it better. He took her to one of the games at his high school alma matter and gave her a running commentary about what was happening on the field and impressed him with what she had learned already. And she told him all about the jewelry design she did. It was something that never quite engaged him, but the enthusiastic way she explained it, he found himself getting a real interest in it.
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