The Library by NT Franklin, single malt scotch, neat

 

Joe sat in the library, or what used to be the library. He glanced around at the bombed-out shell of the building and cried.

‘Why?’ He asked to no one. ‘A library. What type of savage bombs a library with a missile? Clearly a civilian target.’

Joe navigated around the overturned desks and stared at the empty shelves. No books. No staff. His happy place, his safe place, was gone. Blown up.

Joe looked at his clenched fists and tried to relax his tense shoulders. He closed his eyes and looked toward the heavens. His promise to his mother rang in his ears: ‘No, I promise I won’t take up guns and fight.’

Each room was the same. Furniture strewn about and no books. Joe plodded toward the exit and a spray-painted image caught his eye. It was the image of a book, and from appearances, hastily done. Next to it was 910.202.4.

 

Joe knew the Dewey Decimal System inside out; 910 was geography and travel. He arrived at 202 4^th avenue and was greeted by Abby, his favorite of the library staff.

‘Abby, the library’s blown up and the books are gone.’

‘I know, we moved them.’

‘Moved them?’

‘Yes, to here. We’re underground in this abandoned parking garage.’

Joe looked around at the lines painted on the floor and the scratched-up concrete columns. ‘You could have asked for help; I’d have gladly pitched in.’

Abby shook her head. ‘We decided amongst ourselves that it would be staff only. We couldn’t take any risks.’

‘Risks? On me? When did I become a risk?’

‘It was just easier to keep it in-house,’ Abby said.

‘I see.’

‘I was really hoping I’d see you again.’

‘I promised my mom I wouldn’t join the military.’

‘I suppose scoliosis has something to do with her wishes.’

‘I promised I would not pick up a gun. She’s gone and I must keep my promise.’ Joe hung his head.

Abby smiled. ‘I’m glad you’re here now. We’d love some help putting the volumes in order.’

‘Where do I start? I don’t see any books.’

‘Come with me, down two levels. I’d like you to start in the room with the 000 books.’

‘Ah, computer science.’

‘The room has dozens of computers all online. There are other people in the room now.’

‘Cool. I’m pretty good with computers and I’m rather familiar with much of the library’s holdings of this topic.’

Joe hummed to himself while walking behind Abby down the dark stairs. ‘Wow, the stairs look like they’re not used recently with all the litter on the steps.’

‘Yes, Joe; that’s kinda the idea.’

Down two floors, Abby opened a nondescript door and said, ‘Here’s the room.’

Joe took a step in and stopped. ‘They’re no books in here, Abby.’

‘I know, Joe, I know. These are the best and brightest computer people in the area. None of them are in the military but they all want to contribute. Guns aren’t the only weapons, you know; wars are fought on many fronts.’

Joe stared at the tables set up with computers and tangles of wires snaking along the near wall and hanging from the ceiling at each computer station.

Abby walked to the end of the table and put her hand on a monitor. This station’s for you, Joe. What do you say?’

He surveyed the room and computers, then turned toward Abby. ‘In.’

Abby nodded. ‘Introduce yourself around.’ She pointed toward a young man wearing a knit hat. ‘That’s Chad. He’ll help get you started.’

Joe hugged Abby. ‘Thanks.’

Abby backed out of the room and closed the door.

‘Guns aren’t the only weapons,’ Joe whispered to himself.

About the author 

NT Franklin writes cozy mystery short stories, nostalgia short stories, and Flash Fiction and has over 140 publications on numerous sites. He writes because he can’t fish or do crossword puzzles all the time. 

Did you enjoy the story? Would you like to shout us a coffee? Half of what you pay goes to the writers and half towards supporting the project (web site maintenance, preparing the next Best of book etc.)

The Circus by NT Franklin, cola with ice

 Matt had always loved the circus. His fondest childhood memories were of accompanying his father to the big top and watching his favorite, the high-wire artists. Here he was, once again, at the circus. Matt watched the trick dogs run onto the stage, and almost forgot he was there as an undercover cop.

A police analyst in his department crunched numbers and demonstrated an increase in drug activity correlated with circus travels over summer. The Captain privately shared with Matt that it might be the State Troopers providing security for the circus. He sent Matt undercover to the circus, figuring he was going to be there anyway.

Matt half watched as the acts entered and left the arena, but he focused on the State Troopers on security detail. A chubby one was over friendly with a middle-aged woman working the concession stand. She served no less than six hot dogs to the tubby Trooper. Matt wasn’t sure the crime was eating six hot dogs or not paying for six hot dogs.

The young Trooper at the door of the vender money-counting room was stoic. An excellent choice for the duty. All doors had Troopers positioned at them, and they were acting professionally. Observation of the Troopers had to wait when the tightrope walkers came out. Two performed with balancing poles, and one woman performed freehand. The performers on trapeze were equally mesmerizing.

Matt laughed at the antics of the clowns, and the pauses between the acts gave him time to resume his scanning of Trooper activity. All the Troopers were inside the building, and all were on task.

While he still longed for the elephants, the additional lion act almost made up for it. The circus ended with a grand show by the ringmaster, but no suspicious activity by the State Troopers. A dead end. He’d suggest to the Captain that perhaps it was simply summer, and people were traveling more.

As he was leaving, a carnie was handing out unsold popcorn, and shoved a box into Matt’s hand. He nodded, put the box under his arm, and walked to his car. Once inside, Matt filled out his daily activity log. He glanced down at the passenger feet area and three boxes were missing. He opened the popcorn box, dumped the contents out on his seat, and smiled. Fifty thousand dollars doesn’t take up a lot of space. A nice wad of cash and the wire acts were terrific. All in all, a good time.

About the author

 NT Franklin writes cozy mystery short stories, nostalgia short stories, and Flash Fiction and has over 140 publications on numerous sites. He writes because he can’t fish or do crossword puzzles all the time. 

 

Did you enjoy the story? Would you like to shout us a coffee? Half of what you pay goes to the writers and half to the project.

Stories

 by NT Franklin

ginger beer

“Oh Lord, he doing it again,” Katy said.

“That where the kids are?” Karen asked.

“Yup, downstairs in rapt attention to ‘Grampy stories’ as Randy calls them.” Is that where little Tommy is, too?”

Karen rolled her eyes. “Yes. Every holiday it takes weeks to ‘unlearn’ the lessons from Grampy.”

“Yeah, but Tommy isn’t speaking yet.”

“Doesn’t mean he isn’t listening.”

“Karen, should we go rescue the kids before it’s too late? I had to explain why hood surfing is stupid and dangerous to Caleb–he’s a 6 year old–last Christmas.”

The girls looked toward the sound of a herd of elephants coming up the stairs. “Mommy, mommy, mommy,” three voices cried out in unison. “Grampy told us more stories. He promised even more after supper.”

“Wouldn’t you guys rather watch television tonight?”

“NO,” three voices replied. Little Tommy just giggled.

“Oh Lord,” was all Katy said.

Karen was cleaning up after supper in an empty kitchen while the wee ones were in the basement listening to Grampy. “Could be worse. At least we only visit for holidays.”

“Yeah, I know,” Katy agreed.

“Do you want to talk to him about it this time?”

Katy shook her head, “Nope, I did last time. See how well that worked? Your turn.”

Karen went downstairs to confront Grampy. Again.

“But there is nothing wrong with those stories. Good clean fun. Might be good to let the boys live a little. It’s not like they’re harmed walking in the woods. Just as dangerous on a city street, I figure.”

“Dad, Katy and I have been over this with you before. They’re young, impressionable children. They don’t live like that.”

“Might do them some good.”

“Are we done now? Don’t make me tell Mom we can’t visit her anymore. Don’t make me do it.”

Grampy nodded, but that was all.

All Easter plans were cancelled with the coronavirus mayhem. Everyone sheltered at home. But the epidemic moved extraordinarily quickly in some areas, even before alerts were issued. For some, the alerts were too late. Grampy caught the virus from a healthcare provider and didn’t make it two weeks.

Two Christmases later, Katy and Karen travelled to Grampy’s house. Their boys wanted to hear Grampy’s stories. Everyone settled for a picture album of the multiple generations.

Little Timmy pointed to a photo of Grampy and asked, “Who’s dat?”

Karen cried.

About the author

NT Franklin has been published in Page and Spine, Fiction on the Web, 101 Words, Friday Flash Fiction, CafeLit, Madswirl, Postcard Shorts, 404 Words, Scarlet Leaf Review, Freedom Fiction, Burrst, Entropy, Alsina Publishing, Fifty-word stories, Dime Show Review, among others.

https://www.amazon.com/N.-T.-Franklin/e/B013YXUBW6
https://www.facebook.com/profile.php?id=100018933397624

 

The Book

by NT Franklin

strong coffee 

 Mark perused the book titles at the Second Chance Bookstore in Phoenix. The one book on scrimshaw was already in his collection. Checking out used bookstores was one of his joys and the reason he arrived a day early for these dreaded actuarial accounting conferences.

He strolled empty-handed along the sidewalk, glancing in shop windows. He was nearly past the Salvation Army storefront when a box of books on the counter caught his eye. Usually books at Salvation Army stores were bodice-ripper romances, not his style, but he had lots of time.

The clerk was a silver-haired woman in a green cardigan who looked like everyone’s grandmother, volunteering to occupy her day.

She nodded.

Mark smiled. “Good afternoon…books?”

“Far back left-hand corner. Kinda sorted by interest. And this box, it came in today. Mainly astrology and that sort of thing. I haven’t priced them yet.”

“Slide it over. I’ll have a look. Maybe save you some shelving.”

 Mark looked at the spines and grabbed ‘Astrology for Nonbelievers.’ He knew the book. His hands shook when he opened the cover.

There it was: ‘For Ellie, use this to teach me the way. Love always, Mark.’

He gave a little gasp and tried to slow his racing mind.

“Where did you get these books?”

“Oh, a lovely young lady has brought a box in at lunchtime every day this week.”

“How much for this book?”

“Is one dollar too much?”

“Here’s a ten. Keep it, I’ll go check out the shelves in the back.”

Mark clutched the book to his chest. His life began when she moved into his apartment with just a few clothes and a box of books. His life ended two years ago when she left. Could she be in Phoenix? It was him, not her, who loved the heat. He closed his eyes and remembered the day he gave her the book. I almost gave you a book on the healing power of crystals but chose this instead. You can use this to guide me. Her serious expression to what he thought was a joke was still vivid in his mind.

He could hear her voice in his head, ‘Good choice, everyone knows crystals don’t work.’ That was four years ago.

Life was everything it was supposed to be when they lived together until he came home one day and saw the bare space in the bookshelf where her astrology books had proudly resided. A check of the closet showed her few clothes were gone as well. She left with what she brought and none of the things they acquired together on trips. Hell, he had a ring on order at the jewelry store.

No note. No goodbye. No reason. Just gone.

He’d spent two years asking why. Two years trying to get over her. Two years pining.

Mark looked at the book titles without seeing them. Ellie. Here in Phoenix. Why? Mechanically pulling a book off the shelf and returning it, he mulled over options. He had so many questions for her. Ten minutes later, he knew what he was going to do. With ‘Astrology for Nonbelievers’ under his arm, he nodded to the clerk on his way out.

Damn the morning session and lunch presentation, tomorrow he’d be in the store before lunchtime, hoping she’d stop in.

Mark was up before the sun, pacing in his hotel room. He looked at the conference agenda. Nothing came close to the importance of a chance of seeing Ellie. Another hour before the restaurant opened. He paced. And thought of what he would say to her, what he would ask her. Finally, a chance to ask some questions, get some closure.

He was the first one seated in the still-dim restaurant. The waitress filled his coffee cup before he settled into the booth. She promptly brought him two eggs over easy, hash browns, bacon, and rye toast.

He looked at his plate. Empty. Must have eaten it but I don’t remember.

“Are you okay?” the waitress asked.

He shook his head and blinked a couple times.

“I’m fine, thanks. Just trying to sort some things out.”

“I’m glad. I spoke to you three times before you came out of your trance.” She smiled at him. “And I don’t know CPR.”

As the restaurant filled up, Mark jotted in his pocket notebook. He rewrote his notes, trying not to be confrontational. He needed some answers, but didn’t want to upset her. Did he still love her? He managed to duck out before any of the conference attendees showed up.

Back in his room, he tidied up and thought about his actions before the store opened. He reread his notes and paced. I can do this.

The Second Chance Bookstore was about a twenty-minute walk. To bide time this morning, he would thoroughly go over the volumes in the crafts as well as the art books, in case some there were scrimshaw books in both areas.

The third time he had studied the title of each volume, it was time to leave the bookstore and go to the Salvation Army store.

The same clerk looked up when the bell chimed. She nodded to Mark as he entered.

Mark pointed, “Books, left side in the back, right?”

“Yes, same place as yesterday.” She cracked a smile.

He positioned himself so he could lift his head without turning around if Ellie or the person with her books came in.

The shelves had the astrology books from yesterday and many sported 50-cent price stickers. The yellow price stickers were ten percent off on Tuesday. Who would wait to buy a 50-cent book on Tuesday to save a nickel?

The bell on the door chimed and brought him back to focus. A scruffy-looking man entered with a cheery, “Morning, Mabel, what’s new?”

“Some summer shirts came in and they’re on the rack. They look like your style, Robert.”

Mark turned his attention back to the books on the shelf and became lost in his thoughts of Ellie, rehearsing what he would say to her. Was it me? What did I do wrong?

“Another box of books?” the clerk asked.

“Yes, this is the last one.”

Mark froze and dropped the book he was holding. He knew that voice. It was Ellie. He picked up the book and put it back on the shelf and started toward the front of the store.

Even with her back to him, he knew it was her. Black hat with shoulder-length brown hair, white peasant top over a long, pleated skirt. Boho style. Ellie turned and looked at him. Or more correctly, right through him.

He started to say something, but she turned away and left the store. Mark stopped in the aisle with his arms at his side and his mouth gaping open.

Gathering himself, he left the store in time to see her turning the corner. He picked up his pace and followed her. When he reached the corner, he saw her entering a stationery store.

He reached the stationery store and watched her through the window. There she was, as beautiful and graceful as ever. Two years disappeared into two seconds. When she finished dealing with a customer, he put his hand on the door handle but stopped.

Mark retraced his steps to the Salvation Army store and smiled at Mabel when the door announced his entrance.

“Mind if I look at the box of books that lady just dropped off?”

Mabel slid the box across the counter. “Sure, take your time.”

The first book he opened was inscribed, ‘For Ellie, the love of my life. Yours forever, Arthur.’

Mark returned the book to the box and stepped back. “Uh, thanks.”

He turned and left before Mabel responded.

Outside, he leaned against the building and gasped for air. A full five minutes passed before he could catch his breath and his legs stopped shaking. He knew where he had to go.

Back at the stationery store, he caught Ellie’s eye as his hand was on the door handle. She looked at him and gave him a sales-clerk smile. No recognition, just a mechanical response.

Mark let go of the door and headed back to the hotel. Time to start healing.

About the author:

https://www.amazon.com/N.-T.-Franklin/e/B013YXUBW6
https://www.facebook.com/profile.php?id=100018933397624

NT Franklin has been published in Page and Spine, Fiction on the Web, 101 Words, Friday Flash Fiction, CafeLit, Madswirl, Postcard Shorts, 404 Words, Scarlet Leaf Review, Freedom Fiction, Burrst, Entropy, Alsina Publishing, Fifty-word stories, Dime Show Review, among others.

The Stone

by NT Franklin

cool beer

Mike woke up from his regularly scheduled 10 a.m. nap and sauntered out to the deck. He stretched, looked to the left, and did a double take.

Without taking his eyes off the offending stone, he yelled, “Lily, there’s a big rock on the edge of the water feature. Who put it there?”

“I’m cooking,” came the reply from the kitchen.

“I’m gonna move it.”

On her way out to the deck, Lily muttered “Oh, Lord.”

“Right there,” said Mike, pointing.

Lily arrived next to Mike on the deck. “Where?”

“Right there! Next to the other rock,” said Mike, pointing emphatically.

“It’s a water feature. It’s ringed with big rocks. Bobby built it for you last year. Don’t you remember?”

“The one that is twice as big as the others.”

Lily wiped her hands on the dish towel before she spoke. “Been there the whole time. Don’t you have a golf tee time or something?”


Mike paced back and forth as Lily headed back to the kitchen. “I’m gonna move it.”

“Bobby and the grandkids will be over for supper tonight,” she called over her shoulder. “Why not ask him to help?”

“I’m gonna move it.”

She shook her head. With forty-five years of marriage comes experience. “Don’t do it alone. Call a professional.”

Mike smiled. “Okay, I’ll call Chad, he’s up for anything.”

“He’s a retired dentist. You know what I mean by a professional,” came the voice from the kitchen.

“Yeah, yeah.”

“I heard that!”


The call to Chad was brief. “I’m on my way," was all Chad said.

The two stood in the yard and studied the water feature.

Chad rubbed his bald head. “Ya know, you said the rock was big, but this is really big. Think we can move it?”

“I dunno. I wouldn’t be able to alone. Let’s give it a try.”

They both pushed on one side. “Oof. Going nowhere,” Mike said.

Chad straightened up. “Ya know, Jimmy was a landscaper. Let’s get him.”

He was trimming the hedge when the two arrived. After listening to them, he put the shears down. “Let’s do this. I’ll bring a crowbar.”

“Good,” Mike said. “Shouldn’t you tell Jean you’re leaving?”

Jimmy glanced back at the house. “Probably not.”

“Yeah, just as well,” Mike said.

Chad nodded in agreement.

Jimmy surveyed the water feature. “Looks okay to me.”

Mike put his foot on the largest rock. “This one’s gotta be moved.”

Jimmy adjusted his hat. “Well then, moved it will be.”

Jimmy manned the crowbar while the other two pushed. Slowly the stone was moved out of the way. Jimmy sat on it. “There. Done.”

Mike shook his head. “Nope, not far enough.” He pointed four feet away.

“You got beer, right?” Jimmy asked.

“Yup. Once the stone is moved farther.”

The three of them pushed and pried grunted until the stone reached the appointed location.

“Now?” Asked Jimmy.

Mike nodded. “Yup. Done.”

“Good job all,” Chad chimed in.

“To the Fisherman’s Diner, lunch is on me,” Mike proclaimed.


At the outdoor seating area, Mike leaned back in his chair and took in the ocean breeze. “Lily said I needed to call a professional. I called two.”

The men nodded in agreement. The banter quieted down when the fish and chips plates arrived along with Jimmy’s beer.

After a coffee and solving the world’s problems, Mike looked at the other two.

“Been an eventful day, professionals, I’m gonna shove off and catch some golf on television and then rest. Bobby and the grandkids are coming over tonight. Keeping up with the young ones is tiring.”


Lily jostled Mike. “Go take a nap. Golf is over. You’ve been ‘watching’ an infomercial for the past ten minutes.”

“Probably right. Let me know when the kids are here.”

The grandkids mobbed Lily when they arrived. They were always content helping Granma in the kitchen.

“Where’s Dad?” Bobby asked.

“Napping. He had a busy day and was all tired out. Don’t wake him just yet.”

As usual, Bobby strolled out to the deck to take in the view, then returned to the kitchen.

“Mom, can you mind them for just a bit?”

“Yes, though I’m not sure who is minding who here.”

Bobby returned about ten minutes later, just in time to wash up for supper. “I see sleeping beauty has arisen.” He took a deep breath, seeing the spread on the table. “Ham, sweet potatoes, cabbage, my favorites.”

“Sit down everyone,” Lily said.

Dishes were passed around.  “Might as well leave the sweet potato dish right in front of me,” Bobby said.

He spooned a giant portion onto his plate. “Oh, Dad, I noticed one of the water feature stones was moved. I moved it back where it belongs. No need to thank me, I’ll take my payment in sweet potatoes.”

Heaven's Waiting Room

by NT Franklin

double espresso

 

Becky walked into her Dad’s room at the Cedar Creek Nursing Home and said, “How are they treating you here?”

He glared at her. “Nursing home? Bullshit. Look at the people in this place, waiting to die.”

Becky leaned in close like she did with her kids and whispered, “Dad, we’ve been over this. This is where you need to be. You’ll be safe and properly cared for here.”

“Bullshit.”

“Dad, this is the third nursing home you’ve been in over the last six months. Coarse language upsets the staff and the patients. In case you’ve forgotten, your behavior and language caused you to be removed from the past two places.”

“Yeah, yeah.”

Becky rolled her eyes.

“Don’t you roll your eyes at me, young lady. I’ve been telling you that your entire life.”

Becky closed her eyes for a moment to gather her thoughts. Dad had always been in charge, always took care of everything, but now he couldn’t. “This is the only nice nursing home left. I don’t want to put you in the one run by the county, it’s really depressing.”

“Then don’t, Becky. Take me home.”

“Don’t make this harder than it has to be, Dad. This is your home now. Your house was sold to cover medical expenses for you and Mom. The proceeds came up way short. You know all this.” Becky’s eyes moistened.

“Yeah, fat lot of good that did. What’s-his-face doesn’t want me. That’s why I can’t come home with you, isn’t it?”

Becky sighed. “His name is Randy; he’s my husband, the father of my children, your grandchildren. You know I can’t provide round-the-clock nursing care like Cedar Creek.”

This wasn’t Becky’s regular visiting day She’d only placed him in this nursing home five days ago and they’d already called about him verbally abusing the staff and generally being rude and uncooperative.

She stressed in the entry interview that the last six months had been difficult for everyone. He wasn’t dealing well with the loss of his wife and being wheelchair bound. Despite that, he was healthy for his age but was losing his will to live without his wife of 50 years. None of this she could have said if he was present.

Becky pushed the wheelchair toward the games room but was intercepted by a huge but jovial orderly. A towering man stopped in front of the wheelchair, bent down and said, “I’m Jerimiah, who do we have here?”

Becky cleared her throat and said, “I’m Becky, and this is my dad, Eugene.”

Jerimiah stood up and smiled a wide, toothy smile. The white teeth were a sharp contrast to his dark skin and warm brown eyes. “My dad was named Eugene, so we’re already friends. He’ll love it here. Come along, bingo starts soon. Becky, let me take the stern and guide this gentleman to the game room.”

Before Eugene could protest, Becky stepped aside, saluted, and said, “Aye, aye, Capt’n.”

Jerimiah let out a belly laugh that shook his whole frame. “We’ll soon be friends, too. Follow me. The game won’t start without me calling the numbers.” Jerimiah winked at Becky and pushed Eugene to the game room.

Becky relaxed her shoulders, releasing tension.

Jerimiah’s deep musical voice filled the room as he announced, “Hey everyone, please welcome Eugene. He’s going to be playing bingo with us.”

Becky smiled a half smile when a chorus of “Hi, Eugene!” filled the room.

Jerimiah turned the wheelchair back to Becky with a nod and went to the front of the room.

“See, Dad, this is going to be a great place.”

“Take me out of here, Becky,” he growled.

“Why?”

“There are nine other players. With one card per player, the odds of winning are ten percent. I need better odds to play.”

“For Christ’s sake, Dad, play the game and don’t worry about winning. Can’t you enjoy yourself without having to be in control?”

“No. I can’t.”

“Learn to. We’re staying.”

“B 7,” came the deep, rich voice. Followed by “G 55”, then “N 41.”

“Where’s your card, Dad? This could be fun.”

“Becky, with ten players, odds are there’ll be a winner by 26 balls. Unless these old bats aren’t paying attention. Do we really have to wait until then before we can go?”

Becky fought back tears.

When Bingo was called, the winner received a crisp, new one-dollar bill as a prize. Becky wheeled her dad back to his room.

                

Becky was trying to think of something to break the uncomfortable silence, but didn’t have to.

“You know, Bob and Martha two doors down have it made.”

“Glad to hear you’ve made friends here,” Becky said.

“They’re not friends, just names on the door.”

“But you’re socializing with them?”

“Hardly. They cleaned out their room yesterday. Seems that Martha died one day, and Bob died the next day. Nice that they went together.”

Becky sat on the edge of the bed and searched for words. “Maybe you should try to talk to some people here, Dad. I’m sure you’ll find someone interesting.”

He stuck out his lip like a pouting child. “Harrumph.”

Becky looked into his sad eyes and knew she had to leave or she would break down. “I’ll be back later in the week, Dad. Be nice so I don’t get an unpleasant phone call from the nursing home. Try to enjoy yourself. Please try.”

“Nursing home. Bullshit. It’s a place to die, it’s Heaven’s Waiting Room.”

Becky cried the whole way home thinking, maybe Dad’s right.

 About the author 

NT Franklin has been published in Page and Spine, Fiction on the Web, 101 Words, Madswirl, Postcard Shorts, 404 Words, Scarlet Leaf Review, Freedom Fiction, Burrst, Entropy, Alsina Publishing, Fifty-word stories, Dime Show Review, among others.

N.T. Franklin

https://www.amazon.com/N.-T.-Franklin/e/B013YXUBW6
https://www.facebook.com/profile.php?id=100018933397624

She's Not Crying Anymore

by NT Franklin

spa water

She looked at the tiny child in bed, barely a third the size he should have been. Sick his whole life, and now bad sick. A tear dropped onto the mattress. She hadn’t realized she was crying again. Little Billy stirred and she looked away, wiping another tear off her cheek. A deep breath to regain composure, then she was back to being strong. For Billy.

Billy rolled over and brushed limp blond hair out of his eyes. “Mommy, you’re here.”

“Yes, Billy, Mommy’s always here for you.”

“And you’re not crying. I like it when you don’t cry. Everything is going to be okay.”

“You keep telling me that, honey. How are you feeling today?” She asked but didn’t need to. The look in his eyes told her everything. It wasn’t going to be a good day, not that there had been many recently.

“Okay. About like yesterday.” Billy grimaced and looked at the wall after he spoke. His hoarse voice was weaker than yesterday. She knew he was lying.

This routine was repeated day after day. She didn’t want her little man to have to lie anymore. He wasn’t feeling ‘about like yesterday.’ He wasn’t okay. She wasn’t okay.

Every time she administered medication, she tried not to, but still cried. More and more medication was needed to dull the pain in his eyes.

Billy tried to smile. “Don’t cry, Mommy. I love you. I want you to be happy.”

She had to turn her head away when he was struggling and rasping the words out. Her jaw hurt from clenching her teeth. She wasn’t going to cry anymore, even if it broke her teeth. She was going to be as strong as Billy.

Here was her little man, barely enough hair left to get into his eyes, comforting her. “I’m okay, honey. Mommy loves you, too,” she said.

The doctors gave him less than five days. Billy had been fighting for almost two years; she could hold it together for a few days. She would be selfish and not share him. She alone, would spend his final days with him, her only son.

For the next three days, she pulled herself together for Billy. She spent the days holding and tending to Billy, never once crying.

For the next three nights, she awoke in a cold sweat. The longer she was awake, the angrier she became. Why my son? Why him? It’s not fair. Pounding her pillow didn’t help. She fought off the urge to cry herself to sleep each night; she had to be strong for Billy.

Come the fourth morning, she no longer had to pull herself together for Billy.

On the following Saturday, the funeral was a blur. The casket was surrounded by blue flowers, Billy’s favorite color. Friends stopped to give her hugs. Most of the other young mothers were crying, but not her. Billy wouldn’t have wanted her to cry. She managed to be strong when she was led away so the tiny casket could be closed. Everyone heard her best friend say, “she’s not crying anymore.”

The mourners winced at the snap of the casket closing.

About the auhtor 

https://www.amazon.com/N.-T.-Franklin/e/B013YXUBW6
https://www.facebook.com/profile.php?id=100018933397624

NT Franklin has been published in Page and Spine, Fiction on the Web, 101 Words, Madswirl, Postcard Shorts, 404 Words, Scarlet Leaf Review, Freedom Fiction, Burrst, Entropy, Alsina Publishing, Fifty-word stories, Dime Show Review, among others.