Wednesday is upon us again. I have a feeling since it is the Wednesday after the Fourth of July holiday the week has been moving faster for some reason. I think it is because my granddaughter is visiting me from Indiana. You know how time flies when you are having a good time. So it is with this visit. She is sixteen and a real joy. She will be an exchange student in the fall and it is exciting to see how well her life is developing. I have to give full credit to her mom and dad. They are hands on parents and it really shows. My youngest daughter is visiting at the same time so the house is full of chatter and laughter. Daughter’s life is developing well also. She is a fraud analyst working for a start-up company. Okay, I’ll take part of the credit.

The Fourth of July weekend was the inspiration for the story today. There were so many people and so much trash. You would think none of these folks had the kind of parents who would teach them to behave as if they are human rather than a sty dweller. The story is titled Trash. I hope you like it. Yes, Frank is in it so we know there is a problem right away.

Trash by John W. Howell

“Look at that ass throwing the beer cans in the water.”

“I see him. Do you know him?”

“Nope. I can tell he is from San Antonio though.”

“How can you tell that?”

“Can’t you see the GO SPURs on his wife beater shirt?”

“Yeah, I can.”

“Also he has more beer in a HEB store plastic bag in his hand. Dead tip-off.”

“Should we say anything? I hate that littering.”

“Yeah, you stay here. I’ll go see what he thinks he’s doing. Hey fella.”

“You talkn’ to me.”

“Yeah, I’m talking to you. I was wondering why you were throwing the beer cans into the water.”

“They’re trash man. I’m throwing them away.”

“How about that trash barrel that is oh maybe ten steps away.”

“You got a problem?”

“I don’t like litter on the beach.”

“Well then that’s your problem.”

“Pick it up.”

“Make me.”

“What’s your name?”

“Gerry. What’s yours?”

“Frank.”

“Why do you want to know my name?”

“I always like to know who I’m killing with this here 9MM. Bye Gerry.”

Wednesday means story day. Last week I posted a story titled Empty Room. There were several of my blogging pals and my daughter who wanted a little more of the story since it seems I left the protagonist Frank telling us something leading to more questions than answers. The story ended with Frank not wanting to buy the house he was looking at because the room, which he wanted to always have available, would not be suitable. So here is the Empty Room Part Two. Maybe there will be more light shed on the situation. To review; Frank said last week: “You don’t know the person. It would have to be perfect. I have to make sure everything is perfect before they come back. They left in the first place because I couldn’t keep everything perfect. This room won’t work.”

Empty Room Part Two by John W. Howell ©2014

“What do you mean they? Who are they?”

“Yeah well, I really don’t want to go into it. The house won’t work and that’s it.”

“Come on Frank. I have been looking all over for a house for you and this one is perfect. Give me something to work with here.”

“Okay I’ll try. Let me tell you a story and then maybe you will understand.”

“Let’s go and sit on the back porch. There are some chairs out there.”

“Off the kitchen right?”

“Yeah follow me. Here, let me open the door. Man, look at this yard. This is killer.”

“It’s really nice. I like that swing set over there.”

“You have kids?”

“No. I told you no before.”

“I-I’m sorry I forgot. Sit here and tell me everything.”

“I used to have a wife. She made my life a living nightmare. She was always leaving me alone for days at a time. She would go away and I wouldn’t hear anything from her until she came back.”

“Did she tell you where she was?”

“No. She always seems unhappy at being back home though.”

“So what happened?”

“Well she finally ran off for good.”

“How do you know for good?”

“I just knew.”

“What did you do?”

“I looked for her and tried to find out where she went.”

“Any luck?”

“Well sort of. I ran into someone who said they knew her. This was in Reno. I went there because she had once worked there. I met her when I was travelling. Anyway, I was showing her pictures around and some guy said he thought she was working in one of the casinos.”

“Was she?”

“I never found her. So I ran an ad in the paper and said that I would always have an empty room waiting for you.”

“But you said they before. Is there another person involved?”

“Uh. . . besides her you mean. You mean associated with her?”

“Yes I guess so.”

“No. She didn’t have anyone but me.”

“Why would you say they then?”

“Well I wrote the story down and I guess I was referring to whoever reads it.”

“You mean this is the story and you wrote down what happened?”

“Well, no it never really happened like it was real. I am a fiction writer and it’s a story I wrote. It is a piece of flash fiction. Here take a look it’s all here.”

“You mean I have been looking for a house for you with this so-called empty room and it is just a story?”

“I’m sure if you were a writer you would understand that I can’t live in a house where the empty room is not perfect. My character deserves to have the empty room perfect, as do the readers. The room in this house is not even close to the room in the story. I actually wrote a part in the story where the house was mid-century with two bathrooms and two bedrooms. One of those bedrooms was to be kept empty in case she came back. In fact this house is exactly like I wrote it except for that room. You Gerry are exactly like I wrote in the story as well.”

“Frank?”

“Yes Gerry.”

“I think you need some help.”

“And I think I’m going to write you out of the story and start over. You don’t seem to get the point. Gerry.”

Wednesday is story day as those who follow (and read) know. Today’s story explores the concept of time travel. I’m sure at one time or another we have all wished we could either go forward or back in order to see how things turn out or to revisit a favorite time. Wednesday is the day when we usually wish we could jump forward a couple of days to reach the blessed weekend. Our story today involves a time warp in which the subject has no idea what is going on. It is titled Brooks Brothers and I hope you enjoy it.

Brooks Brothers by John W. Howell © 2104

“Sir. Can you hear me? Sir.”

“Yes son I can hear you. In fact I’m not deaf and you’re speaking too loud.”

“Oh. I’m sorry sir. It’s just you were sitting here staring off and I wasn’t sure if you were still with us.”

“Yes I’m still here. I’m only seventy-three. I’m not yet in a box.”

“Were you just lost in thought then, cause you sure looked like it.”

“I guess so son. I was trying to get my bearings. You see I got on my bike and decided to go to Wendell’s bakery for some chocolate covered donuts. My wife loves them.”

“Wendell’s bakery? Where is Wendell’s bakery?”

“Well that’s what has me thinking. Wendell’s bakery is right on this corner. Elm and First Street. At least it was yesterday.”

“Yes sir, but as you can see there is only this bench and a park on this corner.”

“Thank you son. I figured that out by myself.”

“So why did you think Wendell’s was here?”

“I didn’t think it son. I knew it.”

“Wait a minute. Your bicycle has the name Schwinn on it. When did you get that bike?”

“It’s brand new. I bought it last week. Cost me thirty bucks. The white wall tires were what drove the price up.”

“It’s a beaut. I don’t think I have ever seen such a bike. I know they never had it when I was a kid.”

“As I said I got it last week.”

“I see it has a metal plate on the back. Hummm, it says the City of Royal Oak and has the number 1949.”

“Yeah that’s correct. As I said I just got it last week. Boy you sure have a hard time with simple facts.”

“That may be sir, but I’m not the one who lost Wendell’s.”

“Good point. Sorry.”

“Your shirt and pants look quite substantial and store-bought. Where d’you get them?”

“Why do you care?”

“I have a theory and am testing it.”

“Okay I got these from the Brooks Brothers catalog if you must know.”

“Nineteen Forty-Nine edition I’m guessing.”

“Are you saying this is not nineteen forty-nine?”

“Yes sir I am.”

“What year is it?

“Eighteen forty-nine and I think you are lost.”

Wednesday is the day for a small story. I was asked last week why I write these stories. My answer came quick. I write them for the pure pleasure of doing so. I like to take a break from my novel (#3) and just start a story to see where it goes. These are all written by the seat of my pants and are designed to start in one direction and hopefully finish in another. Also one small feature, they are 100% dialog. I find dialog to be a challenge and therefore fun in and of itself. So here is this week’s offering, I hope you enjoy it

The Dollar by John W. Howell

“What you got there?”

“It’s a dollar.”

“Where did you get a dollar?”

“I found it on the street.”

“Oh you did, did you?”

“Yes and I was just thinking on what I want to buy.”

“Whereabouts on the street?”

“Right over there. By the fire hydrant.”

“By the fire hydrant? Don’t you know that is city property.”

“Yeah so?”

“Well that dollar really belongs to the city.”

“It does?”

“Yes it does. You could get in a lot of trouble by not turning it in.”

“What kind of trouble?”

“I’m talking jail time or a fine for stealing.”

“A dollar?”

“Okay suit yourself. Just don’t get caught.”

“Wait. What should I do?”

“Give me the dollar and I’ll turn it in for you.”

“You’d do that for me Frank.”

“Sure we’re pals aren’t we?”

“Okay here. I’m going home now.”

“Okay see ya around. Heh heh.”

“Excuse me kid, but what cha got there?”

“Where officer?”

“In your hand. Looks like a dollar. You didn’t pick it up by the fire hydrant did you? You know that could be considered stealing.”