Gift

 

Sometimes, stress or trauma can bring out a person’s “gifts”; unexplainable things they can do, or know, that most people can’t.

She was thinking of that, lately.

Certainly, there was stress and trauma in her past, but…why this?

Starting in her early teens, she knew the make, model and year of any car she saw. She was not a car buff. Her dad and brother were not car buffs. And yet, she knew.

As her life improved, her “gift” faded, and was eventually completely gone.

What an oddly specific and not very useful survival tactic, she thought.

So. Thanks, Universe?

Self-Care

 

“You look so tired. You need to work on your self-care routine” a co-worker told her.

She had no clue what that woman was talking about, so she googled it after work, while she was eating what was left on her kids’ plates and they were watching TV.

She scrolled for a few minutes through videos of women in clawfoot tubs sipping wine, at spas, reading a book on a beach somewhere.

But, then it was time for baths and bedtime before her husband got home from his job and she left for her second job as an overnight cashier.

2am

 

“Good lord” he whispered to himself. Every night it was the same thing at almost the same time.

The first few times, he’d opened the door and hollered at the dogs to shut up, which worked for a few minutes.

Covering his head with a pillow, he wondered with exasperation what the hell was wrong with those damn dogs.

His dogs: “2am and everything’s quiet on CR 3606!”

Dogs on the next road: “2am and all’s well on CR 3501!”

Dogs on the highway: “2am and super peaceful on FM 314!”

And so on, all across the county and beyond.

Learning to Fly

 

The cat briar came, green and stubborn, lifting barbed tendrils through the forest as if the woods owed it a path.

The honeysuckle crept down from the tree, twining in long spirals that smelled like dusk.

They met in mid-air, one reaching up and the other down. Cat briar hooked and held; honeysuckle twirled, laying blossoms over thorns like apologies.

The wind knitted them together, and rain stitched them tight.

Before long, they made one rope—prickly, fragrant, alive—painful and lovely, impossible to get free of once you were entangled in it.

Especially if you were a baby bird.

Door

 

It didn’t happen all at once. These things never do.

One day, the doorknob was a little squidgy, but barely noticeable.

In the next months, it progressed to the point where in order to open the door, a prayer to the knob god was whispered, followed by turning to the left, then the right, cuss and repeat till the door opened.

Closing it required slamming (sometimes twice) even on a good day.

But she’d gotten used to it and didn’t even notice it anymore.

The day she had the knob changed, she wept the first time she opened the door.

 

Ghost

 

“I’m so sorry I can’t help you” the medium said, standing with one foot already out the door.

He put a hand on her arm, gently but urgently.

“Can’t you do anything? I’ll pay you extra. Whatever you want.”

She paused and turned to face him, catching the eye of the spirit lingering over his shoulder, and she pulled away till she was fully outside, then stepped just beyond his reach.

“No, I can’t. I’m used to dealing with anger and rage. Those are easy to banish. This (gesturing past him) is a sadness so deep banishment would be cruel.”

Stomp

 

It started out as one set of footprints running across the roof.

She shrugged. Squirrel.

Then there were two sets.

Then many more.

Inside, the dogs stared at the ceiling, first in curiosity, then alarm. They started to bark. “Shush” she told them, “It’s just squirrels.”

But she didn’t sound convincing, even to herself.

Going outside and standing where she could see the roof, she said sternly, “I don’t care if you have friends over, but what did I say about stomping all over the roof?”

The dragon whispered, “You’re not my real mom” and refused to make eye contact.

Midnight Constitutional

 

He was standing outside late at night, waiting for the dog to decide to take a piss.

It was pleasant out there, so he scrolled on his phone while his dog meandered around the yard, sniffing every spot he’d sniffed 285 times already that day.

The crickets were chirping, and spring peepers were chiming in. An owl or two hooted off in the distance.

Then, silence.

He looked up, slightly alarmed.

The dog stopped mid-sniff and cocked his head, a low growl in his throat.

Around them, hundreds of tiny eyes glowed in the darkness.

They blinked slowly and simultaneously.

Trees

 

She was worried. The decision had been made, and she was not only at peace with it, but more than a little excited about it, too.

But she worried about them.

Her trees. Her forest.

Who would protect them when she was gone? What if the next people cut them all down?

Finally, she shared how she felt with them.

The trees. The forest.

It started as a soft rumble of shifting leaves, then grew louder as the wind joined in.

“You were the first ones we allowed here. Because your family needed protection.”

The trees were laughing at her.

Quiet

 

She liked the quiet.

Her house was quiet, and not a sound could be heard.

I mean, other than the not-a-sounds of things in a modern house- the refrigerator whispering, the quiet rhythm of the dishwasher, the ceiling fans softly humming.

The old grandmother clock tick-tocked, and every 15 minutes it chimed randomly depending on its whim.

From the sofa, her dog sighed heavily and started to snore.

There was a rustling in the other room, followed by a shrill “Eeek” and then nothing.

Which was mildly disturbing.

Outside, a Barred Owl hooted, then cackled, then growled.

Nice. And. Quiet.

Blurs

 

He’d seen them out of the corner of his eye all his life.

Dark blurs, mostly small, but some the size of a doorway, darting out of view as he turned to look.

When he was a tiny child, they didn’t bother him. Having no past experiences to draw from, he thought they were normal.

As an adult, he chalked it up to stress, or time of day, or just an over-active imagination.

Now, he was old, and he was ready.

He sat in his comfortable chair and quietly said, “It’s OK. You can come out now.”

And they did.

Jeph

 

Let’s call him Jeph, after Internet Jeph.

I don’t know where he came from, or how old he was, only that he appeared in my yard one morning very clearly long-deceased.

But, there was something regal about Jeph, even in death. If any desiccated corpse deserved a few dignified words and to be made into an awkward shrine…it was Jeph.

Please bow your heads in silence.

“We have gathered here today, to send our friend Jeph triumphantly into whatever Valhalla opossums go to after a life well lived and a death unavoidable.

All Hail Jeph.

May he rest in pieces.”

Cough

 

He heard the coughing of children the very first time he walked into the empty house.

It was a beautiful old home, and he bought it without a second thought.

But his friends and family refused to even visit him.

The ghosts of the children were too creepy.

He looked up the historical records, and there was his house, an orphanage during the flu epidemic of 1918.

With his head in his hands, he said aloud, “I didn’t know I was buying a haunted house.”

A tiny whisper in his ear, “Dude. We coughed at you the very first day.”

Boring

 

“What a treat to be a boring old lady” she thinks to herself, eating a container of yogurt for breakfast before taking her morning pills and getting her shower.

She turns the water on and then scans the shower stall.

“Where is he today?” she asks out loud and then spots the treefrog clinging to the shower head. “That’s not gonna work, buddy” she says, picking him up. He hops from her hand to her arm and then onto her face. “Come on, Theodore.  Act normal” she chides, setting him on the ledge so she can take her boring shower.

Rivalry

 

The ancient terrier sleeps, the treasure tucked under her chin. After a while, she turns onto her side, and the treasure rolls quietly away.

In the living room, the young dog’s ears perk up, and he stealthily creeps into the bedroom.

He grabs the treasure and returns to the sofa.

When the terrier wakes up, she frantically searches till she spies the treasure in between her rival’s stork legs. He winks at her, smugly.

She bides her time around the corner till he gets up to get a drink.

When he returns, both the terrier and the treasure are gone.

 

Bookworm

 

She had set up her camp a little back from the edge of the drop-off, because the view was incredible.

Her dinner had been simple, and she kept the fire going for company.

With her back up against a towering pine tree, she opened her book in the afternoon sunshine.

She was almost finished, and it was building to an exciting ending.

But the birds were singing and the breeze caressed her to sleep.

She woke with a start, and her book tumbled over the cliff, catching on an exposed root just beyond her reach.

“Dammit. I hate a cliffhanger.”

Fair

 

He remembered the Fair as being magical when he was a kid, but it was dirty and hot and there was a pervasive smell of animal poop and greasy food.

He decided to have a good time, since his kids really did think it was magical.

He gazed lovingly at his boys, all sticky with deep-fried rubber cement faces, and each holding a baggie with a stuffed toy in it. He’d spent almost $50 throwing darts at goldfish to get them.

On their way out, he took a photo of them saddled up on chickens, grinning from eye to eye.

Auction

 

They ran them through in groups of five or six, nervous little creatures that skittered into the holding pen, and then bolted out as soon as the auctioneer hollered, “Sold!” and the gate was opened.

She watched, not interested, until…

A group skittered in, but one stayed hunched over instead of pacing back and forth. Looking closely, she saw them, the tiny feet underneath the furry body. This one had babies, and they were expecting her to keep up with the rest. The mother’s eyes rolled with fear and before she knew it, her hand was in the air.

“Sold!”

Judgement

 

One of the many things he loved about living in the woods was the absence of other humans.

Thinking back on his working life, it amazed him that he’d survived without going completely crazy.

Humans are noisy, dramatic, petty, nosy creatures. It was exhausting figuring out what his actions or reactions should be from day to day, because it depended on nothing except the whimsy and emotions of the humans around him.

At least here in the forest, animals and plants were straightforward and predictable. They had no agenda and assessed no judgements.

Then, he looked down and saw it.

Apology

 

Staring into the lit candle, she whispered, “I’m so sorry, Gomez.”

She heard him, right next to her, softly into her ear. “It’s OK, my angel.”

“No, it’s not” she was almost in tears. “I timed this trip so I could be on a beautiful beach in Costa Rica on your birthday. So *we* could be on a beautiful beach in Costa Rica on your birthday. I booked it over a year ago, and then that stupid winter storm shut down the airport and I couldn’t go.”

“It’s really OK, Caramia. I’m there now. You’re right. It’s beautiful.”

“You asshole.”