Inside My Shorts: 30 Quickies

  “INSIDE MY SHORTS”

  30 Quickies

  By Adam Sifre

  Copyright 2011 by Adam Sifre

  Dedicated to Patti Gaffney. As far as muses go, one could do a lot worse.

  TABLE OF CONTENTS

  INTRODUCTION

  CHAPTER 1: BEACONS

  CHAPTER 2: BREAKING UP

  CHAPTER 3: STUFF

  CHAPTER 4: EMPTY

  CHAPTER 5: FISHING

  CHAPTER 6: FREE FALLING

  CHAPTER 7: THOSE WHO WAIT

  CHAPTER 8: HOTEL PEOPLE

  CHAPTER 9: I’LL BE HOME FOR CHRISTMAS

  CHAPTER 10: TOP TEN LIST

  CHAPTER 11: SOFTLY SHE STEPS

  CHAPTER 12: HOUSE CALLS

  CHAPTER 13: JAMES & JAMES

  CHAPTER 14: LITTLE DRUMMER BOY

  CHAPTER 15: NEWS

  CHAPTER 16: PROM

  CHAPTER 17: ONE POTATO

  CHAPTER 18: ROMANCE

  CHAPTER 19: THE REVOLUTIONARY

  CHAPTER 19: YES DEAR

  CHAPTER 20: ZOMBIES

  CHAPTER 22: SPIDER

  CHAPTER 23: TOUGH LOVE

  CHAPTER 24: PLAYTIME

  CHAPTER 25: COFFEE

  CHAPTER 26: FLIES

  CHAPTER 27: FOLLOWERS

  CHAPTER 28: SAY WHAT YOU MEAN TO SAY

  CHAPTER 29: MISOGYNIST

  CHAPTER 30: YOU SAY RETAINER, I SAY RESTRAINER

  CHAPTER 31: LEAK

  INTRODUCTION

  Is there anything more paranoid than an introduction? It’s as if the author doesn’t trust you enough to understand the story. Or worse, they think that their words are so important that everyone wants to read just a few more; one more pearl of wisdom for you to enjoy before you jump into the story. You paid good money (but, let’s be honest, not a whole lot) for a story, not to hear me pontificate in a self-serving introduction.

  Despite all that, I thought you would be better off, perhaps even a better person, after reading my few explanatory words. You’re welcome.

  Many of these stories have already been absorbed in my two novels, “I’ve Been Deader,” and “Take A Breather: Second Comings.” Both novels started off as pieces of flash fiction (stories of one thousand words or less). Things got more or less out of control in my shorts and, before I knew it, I was an author. It happens.

  Okay, that’s about it. As you’ll see, there are a lot of dark tales here, a fair amount of humor and a lot of cursing. My intention is not to offend, but I’m not overly concerned about your frail sensibilities. My only concern, my only fear, is that you’ll read my shorts, and then forget them; that nothing will stick to you. I want you to take a bit of my stories with you after you turn off your Kindle, Nook, or whatever.

  That’s it. Thanks for buying this. All comments, good and bad, are welcome. You can rant on your blog, Twitter, Facebook etc., or feel free to email me at [email protected]

  Okay, that’s really it. Enjoy!

  Chapter 1

  BEACONS

  By nine-thirty that morning, Clare felt completely done in. Rain -- unyielding, unforgiving and unending -- fell in cold sheets, washing away what little color was left in her world. Even her morning coffee and scone were tasteless and dry.

  She sat at her desk, her three-walled prison, patting her still damp hair with a paper towel, Clare worried over the thousand small stresses that seemed to have taken over her life. A mental game of jeopardy, with categories like "RELATIONSHIPS," "FINANCES," "FAMILY" kept surfacing and fading in her mind.

  "This bill needs to be paid by Friday if you want to stay warm. Answer: What is gas? Correct!!

  Days like today muted happiness and magnified the rest. The rain’s soft and constant splatter whispered in her ear, encouraging her to give up.

  Her coffee, long gone cold, sat on her desk, ignored. Even the weak fluorescents jumped on the bandwagon, pulling at the frayed threads of her spirit. Not ready to deal with the numbers on her screen, she glanced out the office window and gave a soft gasp. For the past forever it had overlooked a white desert of snow, snow dunes, and snow banks.

  Now, today of all days, she was presented with a new vista. Most of the snow had washed away. Muddy grass, resurrected from a summer a million years ago greeted her eyes.

  And daffodils!

  She leaned forward in her chair and drank in the sight. A clutch of four, sunny yellow daffodils, framed in a sea of muddy, dead grass.

  She felt the warmth of them. A ghost memory of warm grass and sunlight tickled her nose. She sat for some time as unacknowledged tension melted away, sloughing off her shoulders and back, an invisible avalanche reacting to her thaw.

  And then she smiled....

  Joe from accounting stared at his monitor, another office zombie waiting for motivation.

  Nothing.

  Friday – cold and rainy. The last place he wanted to be was exactly where he was. Days like this always left him tired and feeling thin from the moment he woke up. Everything appeared muted, unreal. A slate gray sky hanging inches above the world, pressing down on everything.

  He looked up from his work, his gaze wandering aimlessly across a dull room of secretary desks and bleached green carpet. His eyes touched upon Clare for a second, another colorless prop.

  And then she smiled.

  Heat flared inside him as he drank her in.

  Breathtaking.

  He’d heard the phrase used on many occasions and now he understood. She smiled and he couldn't breathe, stunned.

  The most beautiful thing he'd ever seen; a blazing promise of joy and summer. Life.

  He stared, hands shaking slightly on his keyboard. Not thinking, just being. Everything changed right then.

  Impossible to tell whether the world or the man was transformed.

  In the end, it didn't matter.

  CHAPTER 2

  BREAKING UP

  “We need to talk.”

  Those words are never easy to hear. But I'd just finished my third cup of coffee and a scone that must have been made out of Metamucil, and the line for the restroom at Starbucks had finally disappeared. All kinds of strange, but urgent things were going on down below and demanding my attention.

  Jenny didn't care though. I think she mistook the pain in my eyes for emotional turmoil. The thing is, I really did -- do -- love her. She is kind, has a great smile and better legs. We were so good together. At least I thought we were. Every kiss we shared over the last three years excited me as much as that first one. Until two minutes ago, I'd swear she was the most important thing in my life.

  Right then, however, the most important thing in my life was twenty feet away with a beautiful little green sign next to the doorknob that said 'vacant.'

  "Last weekend when you were in Texas, I did a lot of thinking."

  I grimaced and somehow managed to keep my eyes from rolling completely to the back of my head. Under the table, I grabbed my dick, pinching off impending disaster. My head -- the other head -- bobbed up and down, keeping time with my silent mantra:

  Not now, not now, not now...

  Jenny seemed to take this as an indication of understanding. She reached over and laid a hand against my cheek. How I loved when she'd touch me like that; the small caresses that always brightened my day. Except today. Today it just made me want to scream. 'NOT NOW!"

  "It isn't that I don't love you, Adam. I do. I really do."

  Oh God. Do do. I tried to squeeze the old sphincter shut, but that just made the bladder bolder.

  I squeezed my eyes shut taking a few deep breaths.

  "Oh Adam. “ She leaned in and cupped my face in her beautiful hands. This isn't easy for me either. I just feel like we aren't
good for each other right now."

  Now. Not now. “Now. Not now.”

  I don't think I even know I had whispered it and Jenny didn't seem to hear.

  "You have your writing and your new job. I'm always busy with school. We hardly see each other anymore. I'm not blaming you. You need to do what you need to do."

  Do Do! Sweat broke out across my forehead and I stood, leaning on the table. I half-turned, getting ready to dash to the door, and leave the love of my life to finish our swan song alone. Then that little fucker -- the kid who kept bitching to his mom to buy him one of those chocolate biscuits -- ran past and straight into the bathroom.

  Fuck.

  My eyes ignored me and rolled back in my head. I squeezed them shut so tight that tears ran down my cheek.

  Jenny -- my sweet Jenny who deserved so much more than I could give her -- got up and came around to hug me.

  "Oh Adam, I'm so sorry."

  She hugged me. Hugged me like she knew it would be our last hug. The embrace of lovers who hold each other so fiercely because they know there will soon be a time when they will never hold each other again.

  In other words, she REALLY squeezed.

  "NOT NOW! NOT NOW!"

  That's how I lost the love of my life and visiting privileges at Starbucks all in the same day.

  CHAPTER 3

  STUFF

  She parked on the street in front of the house, rather than in the driveway, and took a few moments to fix her hair and reapply her lipstick. He was most likely looking at her from somewhere inside the house and she found that her clients felt more comfortable with an extra half minute to observe her before they opened the door -- if they could open the door.

  The house was more or less what she expected. After 8 years as a "clean up therapist," Lisa recognized the familiar signs -- two storage sheds, unkempt lawn, car in the driveway instead of garage, all the window shades drawn down. There were several creepy garden gnomes flanking the small stone walkway leading away from the front porch, over-cheery,bearded little troublemakers, used by some of the “shanty Irish,” and first generation Italians, to scare off fairies and brownies. There must have been more than twenty of the things.

  That’s something new.

  Leaving the car, Lisa made her way up the driveway, telling herself she was not avoiding the quick walk between the gnomes, and to the front door. Other than the lawn, everything else looked pretty typical. Not surprising. Most hoarders were ashamed of how they lived inside and so tried to present themselves as normal as possible to the outside world.

  Before she could knock, a reedy, almost shrill voice cut through the rust red wooden door.

  “Can I help you?”

  Lisa smiled at the small peephole.

  “Mr. Hayden? I’m Lisa Smalls. Your son said you’d be expecting me?”

  “Yes, yes. I know.” Lisa waited out a silent pause while Mr. Hayden went about choosing his words.

  “I promised him, I know. He’s a good boy, my Jacky, but I don’t think I’m ready quite yet.”

  Lisa kept smiling at the door, assuming the invisible Mr. Hayden was still watching. “Mr. Hayden. I’m just here to talk today. I promise I won’t be moving anything or throwing anything out. I’d just like to come inside and talk. Maybe get you to show me around. And then if you don’t want to see me again, I’m off.”

  The door stayed silent. Then, “I don’t know. I don’t think it’s a good idea. He means well, my Jacky. Still comes to visit me every month, despite all this. But I don’t know.

  Smiling Lisa kept on smiling.

  “Did you meet my son, Ms. Smalls?”

  “It’s Doctor Smalls, actually. And no, we just spoke on the phone. He was very concerned about you.”

  “He’s a good boy.”

  “I won’t be long, My Hayden. Just a few minutes, I promise. You don’t want to tell your son you didn’t even let me in, do you?” Lisa kept the smile firmly in place and fought down the urge to adjust her skirt. She had a tendency to fidget when she was nervous. If the producers decided to use Mr. Hayden for their show, it wouldn’t do to fidget.

  Silence for a few moments, and then she heard him preparing to open the door. The sounds of moving boxes, punctuated by soft, whistling and grunting, went on for some time and finally the door swung inward and Mr. Hayden’s head swam out of dim light. He was clean shaven, with short, black hair. A pair of wire framed spectacles sat slightly askew, the lenses making his eyes appear larger than they probably were.

  He looks a bit owlish.

  “I still don’t think this is a good idea,” he squeaked.

  The rest of Mr. Hayden stepped into the light. He was whipcord thin, dressed in black chinos and a dress shirt that looked clean enough but smelled like it could use a wash. After giving her a final once-over, he stepped aside and waved her in.

  The first thing she noticed was the newspapers. Stacks and stacks and stacks of newspapers filled the front room, together with magazines and books, all paperbacks. A quick glance showed they were stacked alphabetically, by title.

  “This is quite a collection you have. How long did have you…?

  A deep blush bloomed in Mr. Hayden’s cheeks and he refused to meet her eyes.

  “Not too long. “

  Dozens of clocks hung on the walls, no two showing the same time, as far as she could tell. A ‘Felix the Cat’ clock, its black tail swishing back and forth like a pendulum, hung above the open entryway to the kitchen.

  Lisa could see the kitchen counter, buried under mountains of clutter. Cereal boxes, tins of dog biscuits (she’d have bet her last dollar there was no dog), cases of bottled water, piles of opened and opened tuna fish cans, more newspapers, even a box of Legos and an unopened game of Twister. It was obvious that the kitchen was unusable. Any attempt to cook anything would result in the whole house of cards burning down.

  “It must be difficult getting around with all this stuff here. I can see why your son was concerned.”

  “A good boy.“ Mr. Haden absently trailed his fingers along a stack of books. Catch-22, Catcher in the Rye, Cat’s Cradle… “He worries too much. Thinks I’ll take a fall or something and EMS won’t be able to get to me in time, I guess. But it’s not so hard getting around in here. It’s the other rooms… never mind.” He looked up at Lisa, eyes bright with suspicion. “You said we weren’t moving anything.“

  “That’s right. Just a look around and a quick chat so we can decide together if I should come back.”

  “Right. But I don’t think you’ll come back and I’m not going to ask you to come back, Ms. Smalls. No offense, I hope.”

  “Of course not.” Lisa turned up the wattage on her smile the smallest bit, making her face ache a little. “You’re either ready to start thinking about removing some things or you’re not. I understand.”

  Reassured, Mr. Hayden relaxed a little and went back to avoiding eye contact. “You can call me Jack.” He raised his hands, embracing his collection. “This stuff? This stuff I could probably get rid of, in time. But my collection downstairs, that’s worth something, I think. That has to stay.”

  Lisa hid her surprise. It was unusual, to say the least, for a client to offer to get rid of so much so soon. Of course saying you would do something and doing it were often two very different things. Still.

  “That’s wonderful, Mr. Hayden. Maybe we can talk about removing just the stuff here and the kitchen, then?”

  “That might be ok,” he allowed. He frowned at the floor, covered with trash bags filled with God knew what. “Sometimes I can’t remember when I got half this stuff or why I’m keeping it.” Lisa reached over and placed her hand on his arm.

  “If it’s ok with you, Jack, I’d still like to see the basement?”

  “I don’t know…” Jack seemed unsure, but she could tell his heart wasn’t in the fight.

  “Just to look, “ she assured him. “Your son was very concerned about the basement. Probably because of the stairs.�
�

  Speaking mostly to himself, Jack Hayden picked up a white plastic, bedside alarm clock from the floor and began winding it. All the clocks in the room seemed to be hand wound.

  No digital thingamajigs for Jack Hayden. He put the clock on top of a pile of ‘Good Housekeeping’ magazines, causing the entire structure to teeter dangerously before settling down. “He worries too much. Twenty-six years and I haven’t fallen yet.” For only the second time he looked her in the eye. “Maybe. But you have to promise not to even ask about moving anything from there. I’m not ready to even talk about that.”

  “I promise,” smiling Lisa smiled.

  It took them a few minutes to navigate their way across the kitchen. Lisa felt like an explorer in a jungle. They eventually reached the basement door and Jack opened it without ceremony. He waved for her to go ahead. She peered into the gloom, feeling against the wall for the light switch.

  “Switch doesn’t work. You have to pull the string on the light at the bottom of the stairs there.”

  Lisa hesitated.

  “Don’t worry. The stairs are free of clutter. You don’t go twenty-six years without falling with cluttered staircases under foot.

  It was dim, but not dark, and Lisa could see the bottom of the stairs and part of the basement floor. Jack propped the door open with a small stack of magazines and the upstairs light helped. “I can go first if…”