Short Story Samples

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Revelation 

by Trish Joudrey

Age: 56. 

Name: Beulah

Always liked that name. Better than Alice, the name Ma insisted on giving me.

Click. Save.

“Lord God. What am I doing?” she muttered, reaching for the near-empty wine glass beside the computer. She was first drawn to red wine because of the taste. She couldn’t quite pinpoint why, but one sip had led to another and then another. Now, she had a much better reason to sip. Wine had become her confidant. Her loneliness lessened with each mouthful like the heat of the summer vanishing into autumn. Since she only bought cheap wine, she easily excused squandering the grocery money.

Profile: Friendly. Good listener. Looking for a friend to share things with. 

Darn! What else can I say?

Likes dancing.

There! That should do it.  

Click. Sent.

A slight smile appeared on her face the instant the send button launched her profile into dating universe. Too late to take it back now. Whatever the risk, she knew she had to move ahead with her life. She slumped back in the wooden chair, systematically drying each sweaty palm with her flannel nightie. 

Swirling around the last red drops in her glass, she wondered if she might find someone she could talk to, to dress up for. Maybe even laugh with? It had been a long time since she had a real good laugh. One of those belly laughs that made your insides hurt. Just as she was about to get up, a sudden flash on the screen caught her attention.

Your chances of meeting someone will be enhanced with a photo. 

God in Heaven! A photo? I’m sure as hell not gonna put one of them up! I want to go incognito. She was proud of saying a big word like incognito. A word she picked up from The Departed movie she had seen in the theatre with her neighbour Lily. I’ll get a photo when I’m good and ready. And that’ll be just when I’ve got myself a new friend. 

A squeaking sound from upstairs whisked her thoughts away to George. Things had changed slowly after the kids left home, like the yellowing of her teeth which she tried to whiten but couldn’t. Their thirty-seven years together had unexpectedly disappeared into a hole that was too deep for her. 

Talking together ‘bout this and that’ in the evenings had all since faded. His shouts of “Just shut-up for once - can’t you see I’m busy?” shoved her in front of the T.V. or to the outside stoop. There she’d sit in silence, wringing her hands as if they were a dishcloth, wondering if George would ever hold her face in his big hands again and look at her like she was his. That, she imagined, would top any bed romping George regularly demanded. Afterwards, she’d go and fix a steaming blueberry pie and arrange a vase of daisies and put lupins on the coffee table hoping George might notice. 

Today, she was done with it all. I’m not gonna sit around here day after day always waiting upon George. What the hell? I’ve got to look out for myself, right? Get myself some happiness. Ma always told me, “Look after your own self, girl!” 

Holding up the pleated border of her Singer stitched nightie, she tiptoed to the stairs placing her feet on parts of the treads she knew wouldn’t make a noise. She had all sorts of tricks to not wake up the children or George. Little things, like lifting up the kids’ wooden bedroom door so it wouldn’t squeak when it was shut. Tonight, she closed her bedroom door like that. She quietly rolled onto the soft mattress, carefully pulling up the quilt so she wouldn’t wake George and drifted into visions of rose gardens.

Next morning while George worked at the lumber mill, she unpacked the computer. It had been a gift from George’s boss. Everyone got one after thirty years’ work. Guess that was something. At least it was coming in handy now. Poised over the black polished cover, an unfamiliar flutter in the pit of her stomach interrupted her focus. She considered drinking some hot water to settle it but didn’t. Instead, she surrendered to her urge and opened the dating site. She noticed a little red dot next to an envelope at the top of the page. Her eyes opened as wide as church doors on Sunday. 

Click. 

Message:  Hi Beulah. I like your profile. I am looking for a friend too. 

A pulse surged through her body. She shot right up out of the chair, much like she would have if she smelled beans burning.

Jeez. A real letter for me. Questions upon questions about where he lived, married or not, and what he did, came crashing down on her faster than a bull in heat. Alice felt certain that someone liking her profile amounted to liking her. 

My good Lord! He sounds nice enough. And - he wants a friend too. Just what I’ve been looking for. With fingers skittering over the keyboard, she typed back:

Message: Hi. We can be friends. Tell me ‘bout yourself … like family, what you like doing. Beulah. 

Click. Sent.

The feeling she once had when Joey stopped to pick up her scattered books from the floor in grade school flooded back. She remembered how giggly she felt, swallowing a million times just to keep from laughing in front of him. She could feel the same kind of giggles bubbling up inside her. Today, she just let them out. Laughed right out loud. Good thing the kids have all gone away or they surely would have thought I’d gone and lost my marbles. 

That morning, Alice’s usual attention to chores waivered, leaving the kettle unpolished and the couch pillows scattered. When she returned to the computer, another red dot faced her.

Message: Hi Beulah. I am a hard-working man all my life. I have two kids but they don’t live home any longer. I like cards. Do you?

They had played Crazy Eights every night after supper when she and George were first married. George would crack open a Molson while she sipped a glass of wine, and they would play for hours. How she had wished those days would return. 

Message: Hi. Yes. I like cards. Used to play them once upon a time. Maybe we could play together sometime? Beulah.

Click. Sent.

By late afternoon, her curiosity had become a magnet, pulling her uncontrollably toward the computer and on to the site. I’ve surely waited long enough. Can’t seem to be too bossy, you know. That’s what the Chatelaine article said. Give ‘em space. Let them do whatever it is they gotta do.

Click.

Nothing. No red dot. No message. Disappointment and surprise crumpled her brow into a prize frown. Had she been too eager to be a friend? Had he minded her talking about playing cards together? 

Elbowing herself away from the table, the eight steps to the stove stole her remaining strength. She lifted the lid on the revere ware to watch the simmering stew and was seized with a revelation that her life amounted to no more than this pot of turnips and potatoes. 

Just before George was due home, she logged back on to the computer as if her life depended on it. Two red dots. The longer she stared at the dots, they seemed to blossom into little red roses. Just for her, she imagined. 

Click.

Message: Worked hard today. Thought about you. I would like to play cards sometime too. Don’t play them much these days. 

Message: Tell me ‘bout your day. I like to know.

The words thought about you flickered in her mind like the four-way flashers on George’s truck. Alice crushed the urge to shout. Instead, she smiled her biggest smile in years. She glanced at the clock. Enough time to send a quick reply.

Message: My day was okay. I did some housework and grocery shopping. Organized the top shelf in my closet. It was a mess. Watched a bit of T.V. You work hard all day I see. You are easy to talk to. I like that.

She wondered whether to send a picture like a hug or happy face. Maybe another time.

Click. Sent. 

George entered through the back door, taking off his sawdust coated boots on the hooked mat. He belted out his usual “I’m home”. Tonight, she didn’t answer. George’s hugs had long since vanished. These days it was just boots off, hands scrubbed, and dinner. It was always together of course, but she could have easily eaten alone and talked to herself. 

George looked up from his stew, “What’ve you been up to today woman to wear that much of a smile?”

“Ah. Nothing George. Got my housework done, that’s all,” she replied with every ounce of calmness left inside her.

That was about fourteen more words than they had spoken in all the suppers this week. She thought how easy it had been talking to … what was his name? She had to find out. Tomorrow. Yes, she would ask. 

Next morning, Alice put on something nice, and a bit of lipstick. Smacking her lips to smooth out the peachy color, she rushed downstairs to give George his lunch for work.

“Goodbye!” she said, wondering if he might notice anything different about her.

“Bye!”

Mid-morning, another red dot. Alice laid a hand on her belly to settle the now familiar flutter that had resurfaced. If love was this peculiar feeling she had inside now, she was in love. 

Message: Good morning Beulah! I had a nice dream ‘bout you last night. We were sitting at the table eating and talking about the day and laughing. I like to do that together. Please send a picture. x

I have to find out his name. Can’t send a picture until I do. Got to ask him now! 

Message: Thought about you all night too. I like you. I want to know your name. Beulah x

She decided since he sent a ‘x’, she could too. She really did mean it.

Click. Sent. 

Alice’s day flitted about, twenty minutes doing this and twenty minutes doing that. By four o’clock, the itch to check messages surpassed her oatmeal cookie craving, which was always her ritual at this hour. 

Message: Work went better today. Got to be because of you. I work at the lumber mill in town. My name is George. 

Her breath hung in her chest like a weapon, ready to snuff out her life. Every tightened muscle in her body was on the verge of exploding. She held her head firmly in both hands for fear it would be the first to go. She slammed shut the lid of the computer with an audible thud.

When George sat down to dinner that night, he noticed Alice had laid out her finest dishes and sat a Molson in front of him. He looked at her with wonder. The smile on his face was the biggest in years.

“Let’s have a game of Crazy Eights after dinner, George. Been way too long, hasn’t it?” 

Little Brother

by Trish Joudrey

Not much was left of the beach from the incoming tide that only hours before had been dotted with toddlers crafting storybook castles. Stretching ahead of him was a misty expanse of eerie quietness, except for the clacking of beach pebbles under the receding whoosh of the waves.

The silence was broken by the throaty cry of a lone gull passing by, blissfully frolicking in the lofty gusts of the cool sea breeze. Gulls had fascinated Ralph, as far back as when he was a kid in overalls, always trying to figure out what each cry meant or who it was for. He’d come especially to the shore to find them. He’d sit for hours on a rock, doing nothing but listening, and watching. Sometimes, one would come right up to his feet and just stare at him. Every once in a while, the gull’s mouth would open so wide that Ralph swore he smelled fish. 

But today, Ralph was on a mission. “Got no time to stop and ponder on this here gull,” he thought, “Gotta make it to the cove while daylight’s on my side”

Despite picking up his pace, he took time to pull down his hoodie over his ears to keep the nip of the damp air off them. He was glad he had brought extra clothing with him. “Gotta expect all kinds of weather when you go out in these parts”, he could hear his pa reminding him. But even with his hoodie, Ralph felt the warmth in his fingertips slowly leaving. 

The little sand left soon receded to a covering of ocean polished rocky terrain. It was hard going but he’d grown up jumping rocks so he wasn’t too worried. He picked out the flattest ones to place his worn flip flops on. “Best be careful, could easily twist one of my ankles on these here black ones.” he reckoned. 

Just as he was thinking of twisting his ankle, Ralph slipped on some rock weed. The curled up rubbery edges of the slick chocolate brown seaweed caught the side of his flip flop and down he went. Luckily, his hand caught a granite bolder that had been spared the sea spray, and he managed to steady himself. “Whew, gotta keep my head up, can’t see shit in this fog.”

He took a moment to scan his route ahead. Even though the fog was rolling in faster now, he could still make out the outline of the eroded farm pasture banks at the end of the beach. He figured he needed another 12 minutes to reach it, if all went well. Then there’d be no doubt in his mind that he’d recognize the grassy path he’d have to take to get to the cove. “I know this beach like the back of my hand, fog or no fog…I’ve got you little brother.”

He tied the strings of his hoodie tighter and pulled it over his cheeks which were beginning to sting from the bits of sand whirling randomly around in the windy gusts. He looked back. The two kilometers of beach behind left only windswept traces of him. 

The cliffs by the farmhouse was the perfect place to stop for a drink of hot tea his mother had pack in the thermos for him. “Take this,” she had said. “There’s a bit of rhum in it to keep the chill off you. It’ll keep you goin’, son.” 

“God bless her,” thought Ralph. ”always thinking of me.” Ralph sat there a while thinking of his mom back in the house. What she’d be doin and where she’d be. It had been a year now since he’d lived there in that Blue Rocks house right on the cliff by the water. The one he spent all summer painting a bright yellow and sea glass green with highlights of ochre on the trim. “I bet them boats offshore could see that colourful house now, even in this here fog.” 

He missed the house and all, ‘specially his mom, but after his pa passed, he moved into Lunenburg the day he turned twenty to work at the fish plant, and to get some independence for himself. That’s one thing he had heard all his life, “Gotta stand on your own two feet. It’s good fur ya!” That’s why he moved.

The rhum warmed his throat all the way down to his stomach, which he was glad of ‘cause, with the chilly air, he needed a bit of warming. Rhum had been his little brother’s first drink and that special day was frozen in a tale that had traveled around the shores of Blue Rocks, on to the fish shacks in Lunenburg, and even as far away as Bridgewater. 

“It was at Gus’ house, just up the dirt road facing Fox island,” went the story, “where Little Brother and crew sat around one afternoon, glasses full with rhum ‘n coke, telling yarns ‘bout this and that, when they got the crazy idea to go swimming. They all just stripped down ‘n jumped right into the freezin’ water, hootin’ and splashin’. Little brother spied a lobster under a rock and got the idea to pull it right out but got more than he bargained for. It was a sight, alright. Little brother screaming— yankin’ his hand straight out of the water, waving the lobster in the air which stuck right on to his finger. Lobster went flying one way, and he went running stark naked the other. Sobered him straight up, it did.”

 Little Brother had kept everyone in stitches wondering what he was up to next. The day Little Brother got a new winter parka from Pa, he just up and left the house in his bare feet the middle of the snow squall, running around in the snow like a jack rabbit.

Thinking of Little Brother made swallowing hard cause the lump in his throat just stopped it all halfway. It also caused Ralph to forget how far he’d gotten along on the path, so it was a shocker when he realized he was at the bank of Secret Cove. It was his and Little Brother’s favorite place. They’d go there after a swim on the beach, pretending they were explorers. and the first people to find it. It was truly hidden below a cliff, and if it weren’t for a rope that someone had tied to a gnarly old windswept spruce, they would have never found it. 

Today the thick twisted rope was slick with moisture making it slippery under Ralph’s hands and the thirty-meter drop a lot more challenging. Ralf was the careful type though, and that fact wasn’t a secret at all in Blue Rocks. He was known as the “Trusty Navigator” and could steer a boat through any wild nor’easter. 

When Ralf’s feet hit the sand at Secret Cove, he felt an unusual quiver go through him. He’d heard stories about ghosts and haunted places before but trashed all that nonsense for the more practical explanations. But at that moment, it was like someone was right there with him, touching him. Ralph sat himself down and poured another tea to settle himself. “That’s more like it.” 

He opened his backpack and gently removed the wooden box wrapped snuggly with Little Brother’s favorite red flannel shirt. A shiver shot up his spine and lodged in his head making his eyes pop half out of their sockets. Ralf couldn’t decide whether it was the cold or what he was holding that caused it. There was, however, no question in Ralf’s mind that this was from something supernatural—something sent from God, or this magical place, or from Little Brother himself. When Ralf finally found the courage to look up, he noticed a gull passing over head. Its beauty merged with his thoughts and its lightness found his heart.

He laid the box in front of him and gazed out over the sea. He felt warm for the first time since he set out. The sea always clamed Ralf. Its never-ending rhythmic pulse flowed faithfully and powerfully, day in and day out. It was comforting, and Ralf could always count on it to be there. It was like Little Brother. He opened the box and walked to the shoreline with a prayer to the sea and a prayer to Little Brother. He sprayed the contents of Little Brother into the mist and out over the beautiful blue waves.