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Short Stories

October 17, 2006

My home from my youngest days has been Melbourne, Florida. One of the earliest memories I have is the downtown library, its tall stacks of books, the groaning of the shelves under the weight of its contents, the small children’s section, the wooden card catalog with its smooth cornered drawers and cards typed with the occasional smudged printing from the librarian’s Selectric. Story day was the best, and the two man-made lakes outside were the wonder of every child. We brought our last crumbled piece of bread with the plastic wrapper that held the original loaf - throwing it to the ducks and the geese as they surrounded us. We’d walk with mommy around the lake, crossing over the little wooden bridge that was between the two lakes. The sun shone every day we were at the library and a trip home with armfuls of books was our just reward for being quiet.

Posted in: Community & Short Stories
September 07, 2006

The baking sun scorched my eyebrows as I rambled by the dusty, brown Plymouth with the tan, torn leather top. With its grease-smeared windows, hot leathered smell, and spots of rust - especially near the tailpipe - I had hardly noticed it. Surrounded by newer sedans and large sport-utility vehicles, it had its own vibe. But the bumper sticker on its rear bumper - carelessly crooked - made me pause for a moment.

Posted in: Short Stories