A Child is Born

I exited the Quick Stop sipping an orange Slurpee and found her in the back seat of my ten-year-old Camry. I didn’t know who she was, or why she chose my car. I did know she was about to have a baby, based on the size of her belly and the sounds emanating from her gaped mouth.

I called Mom to let her know I’d be late for Christmas Eve dinner. She thought I was pranking her when I explained why.

I agreed to drive the intruder to the hospital. It wasn’t far.

Traffic came to a halt when we were three blocks away. The honking due to an accident at the intersection ahead told me the hospital might as well be three miles away. 

“At least my water broke before I got in the car.”

“Your what what?” I felt light-headed.

I considered driving down the sidewalk, but there were too many holiday shoppers. I might hit someone paying more attention to their phone than where they were walking.

A scream from inside the car obliterated all the other sounds. I peeked over my shoulder. She was lying on the seat, knees up, legs spread, skirt bunched against her waist. “It’s coming,” she said.

“N-O-O-O,” I responded. I wanted to run, but my legs wouldn’t let me.

I looked around. “Help. She’s having a baby!” Everyone stared straight ahead. “She’s your wife,” a cabbie missing a front tooth yelled. “Man up.”

“She isn’t. I don’t — “

A second scream interrupted me. 

“It’s coming now. Get in here.”

A young woman walked by with peacock strides. My fingers formed a church steeple. She gave me the finger.

I opened the car door. Noticed she was not a natural blond. Averted my eyes.

“Oh, come on. You’ve seen a — um — you know before.”

Actually, this was my first. 

“Okay,” I said,” just breathe. . .or relax. . .or whatever it is you’re supposed to do.”

“I am, you idiot. Now get your hands in there and get ready.”

I put my hands between her legs and closed my eyes. After two more grunts and three screams, I felt something wet in my hands. I looked down and saw a baby boy curled up in my fingers. 

“I thought it took longer to have a baby.” I said.

”This is my fourth trip to the hospital. Don’t ask.” 

“In the movies, they spank a newborn to get its motor started. Right?” 

She nodded. I slapped the boy lightly, afraid I might hurt him.

“Harder,” she yelled. 

I did as I was told, and the kid started crying. The sound reminded me of an opera my mother dragged me to once. Just as I thought I might throw up, a team of paramedics arrived having run from the hospital. I wondered if Peacock Lady was responsible for their timely arrival.

“What’s your name, Cowboy?” the new mother asked.

“Joseph. What’s yours?”

“Mary, 

Laughing, I asked. “What do you think we should name the baby?”

Mystery Solved

“It couldn’t have been Nancy,” Jason shouted. “She died six years ago.”

“I tell you it was her voice on the phone. No doubt.” Charles shifted to a lower gear in his racing green, 1979 MGB replica. He loved driving down back roads with the windows down and music playing in the wind. Today’s selections were from the movie “Mama Mia”. The mist hanging in the air provided extra intrigue for whatever it was the brothers were getting into.

“There is software that can learn how to have a conversation using a particular voice pattern,” Jason said. He wiggled in his seat trying to find a little more room. His body wasn’t meant for small places.

“I suppose you believe aliens landed in the New Mexico desert, too.”

They continued down the dirt road in silence, a tail of dust in their wake. Charles stared straight ahead. Jason, his right hand clutched to the window handle, counted the dead trees and wondered if he might join them soon. “Could you slow down a little, please?”

Charles ignored him. 

“So why do you think she told us to drive to the old Jamerson place,” Charles said. As he neared their destination, he realized his grip on the steering wheel had gotten tighter. He flexed his fingers to relax them. “I thought it was abandoned.”

“I heard some rich guy bought it and turned it into an event center.”

“Did Mom leave any other clues as to what’s going on?” 

Jason shifted in his seat. The bumpy ride provided by the ground hugging machine was doing a job on his spine. He’d need to see his chiropractor when he returned home. If he returned home.

“Just to bring you and the manilla envelope she’d left in the safe.” Jason said, as he continued to count trees. “This is getting creepy.”

“You got that right,” Charles said. He took a couple of deep breaths to calm his nerves. They didn’t help.

The brothers fell silent again, until Charles took a second corner too fast. The car felt like it was about to roll over, as the rear end slued to the right.

“Jesus, Charles, let’s at least get there before we crash and burn.

Charles eased up on the gas pedal.

Looking ahead, the brothers watched the Civil War mansion appear in the thinning mist. A large, white barn stood off to one side. The parking area next to the house was empty.

“You sure we have the right day?” Charles asked.

Jason removed a piece of paper from his shirt pocket and read from it. “Saturday, May 4, 6 PM, 13548 Overton Road. Don’t be late!” He put the paper back. “Maybe the caller dialed the wrong number.”

“I told you. It was Nancy.” 

Charles pulled into a parking spot and wondered if he should turn around and go home or see what awaited inside. The writing on the envelop said to not open until they were in the living room. He swatted an insect away and thought about opening the envelop. Being superstitious, he decided to follow the directions as given.

The brothers climbed the stairs to the front porch. “Open it,” Charles said, pointing at the door.

“You open it,” Jason replied. “We’re here because of you.”

Charles hesitated before slowly turning the door knob. They stepped inside and saw a large room to the right. He nodded to Jason. Jason nodded back. They entered the room together.

The blinds were closed leaving the room mostly in the dark. They could see a brown corner sofa and armchair to their right. A game table and four chairs waited on the opposite wall. There were two floor-to-ceiling bookshelves straight ahead.

“Maybe it’s time you open the envelope,” Jason whispered.

“You think?” Charles asked.

Jason nodded his head several times.

Charles opened the envelope as if he was expecting it to contain a bomb. Jason offered a few more encouraging nods.

Charles finally reached into the envelope and pulled out a single piece of paper with one word on it. He turned it so Jason could see. 

SURPRISE!

He was about to say something when the lights went on and the room filled with people yelling.

“Surprise!”

“Happy 50th birthday, Charles!”

“Fifty is nifty!”

“You made another one, you old goat.”

In front of him were thirty family and friends. Some had travelled a good distance to be here. He turned to Jason and cocked his arm as if he was going to slug his brother. Instead, he put a hand on his shoulder.

“You know how I hate parties.”

“And I know if I had told you in advance, you’d have found someplace else to drive that faux car of yours as an excuse for not showing up.”

“So, it wasn’t Nancy’s voice,” Charles said.

“No, that was the work of your nephew, Jacob. He’s the computer whiz in the family.”

Charles grabbed a glass of champagne off a tray, took a sip, and felt his body relax. He looked around at all the attendees laughing and seemingly enjoying themselves. He only wished his sister, Nancy, could be there.

***

Feel free to share this story with family and friends. Anyone wishing to be added to the mailing list should send an email to jpharrin@gmail.com.

Three Strikes, You’re Out

“You sure had a good time staring down Pam’s dress,” Margaret said with a saber’s edge on the words. “Not that you had to. Her breasts were mostly hanging out.” She pointed the silver blade my way. “And this wasn’t the first time.” Her eyes shot daggers my way. I bowed my head in penance, keeping one eye on the butcher knife in her left hand.

“So were yours,” I said. “I looked at them a lot more than I did Pam’s.”

Margaret paced back and forth across the kitchen, mumbling. Leftover dishes from my surprise birthday party crowded the sink and counters.

I sat on a stool wearing only a pair of briefs. Margaret’s demand. It was that or live without a favorite body part. I reminded her it was a favorite of hers, too. She replied she could get a dozen at any nearby establishment that sold adult beverages.

“Did you try the peach pie?” I asked. “It was very good. Made it myself.” 

“Buffalo pucks, you did. You couldn’t cook your way out of a McDonald’s.” 

“Well. . .I added my special ingredient.” She stared at the pie, her head cocked to one side, an incredulous look on her face. “Did you notice how everyone who ate the pie loosened up. That was the uppers I put in each piece.” I smiled the smile that usually melted her when she got grumpy.

“You put what in the pie?”

Out of desperation, I smiled big enough to make my face hurt. No change.

Man part, pie, smile. All no. I’m screwed!

The Borrowed Grave (a 100 word story)

Dressed in overalls and flannel shirt, a cap's brim lowered over his eyes, Reginald lumbered past the houses where impatient witches, ghosts, and vampires held out bags and pillowcases waiting for sugary treats. Contrary to the others, the sack he hugged to his chest contained possessions no one would see but him.

Tonight was the one year anniversary of his mother's disappearance. The police had ceased their investigation after finding no clues. 

Reginald glanced left and right before walking through the cemetery’s gates, the fresh grave, someone else's resting place, awaiting him. What better place to hide his mother's bones. 

The Clown, The Mark, The Mandolin

Tammi stepped into the ballroom wearing a clown outfit of purple, yellow, and green swirls. The matching mask covered her face. She looked around and saw her mark in a far corner dressed as a minstrel and carrying a mandolin. She wove her way through the crowded ballroom, this year’s Halloween fundraiser a huge success. When the minstrel turned her way, she raised her candle into a Statue of Liberty position and, with a few more steps, joined him.

“You know the drill,” the minstrel said.

“Yes. We swap candle for mandolin. You work your way around the room and exit. Then I follow and give the mandolin to a man outside eating a hot dog.”

“Excellent. And remember, your sister will be just fine as long as you do what you’re told.”

“What about the diamonds?” she asked.

“They’re wrapped in a cloth inside the instrument.” He pointed to an opening on the top. “Any other questions?”

After they made the swap, Tammi looked the minstrel in the eye and said, “You’re not very good at this.”

“What do you mean?

“I don’t have a sister.” 

The minstrel turned and found himself facing a man dressed in a police uniform from the 1800s. 

”Minstrel, I’m Sergeant Phillips of the Metropolitan Police, and you’re under arrest.” He lifted his hand. Two similarly dressed men joined him. “Thanks for the tip, and for helping with the arrest,” the sergeant said to Tammi.”

Tammi smiled as she exited the room, excited that the $150,000 reward would finally allow her to take the round-the-world cruise she’d always dreamed of.