Three Shorts
Creative Writing - Prose - Independence
by Adam Jeffries Schwartz
The Big Family Hoe-Down
Apple
Party
Square
Lullaby
Synchronous, definition at the end. Not used in the story but crucial nonetheless.
"Your sister is getting married," your mother barks into your answering machine. With the flick of an ash she adds, "Again. You're coming to this one."
No, you think, I'm not.
"You're in the wedding party. Pick up the phone. You can'’t hide from me."
"I just walked in," you tell her.
A laugh turns into a wheezy, hacking cough. "There's more. Are you sitting?"
"Yes."
"No, you're not. Sit." She commands
. "I am," you say--still standing.
"Fine. Have it your way. Defy me. Stand."
You sit down.
"That's better. It's a hoe-down."
"A what?"
"There will be square dancing. There will be apple bobbing."
"Why?"
"Apparently, weddings have themes now."
"She's insane."
"No honey, it's just her thing, it's her lullaby. She gets married for the same reason you hide."
And you say, "Oh god, you're right."
Over the phone your mother looks at you strangely, "Of course I'm right, was it ever in doubt?"
Synchronous: a type of two-way communication that occurs with virtually no time delay
Perpetual Motion
Prison
Jet set
Bronco
Album
Cantaloupe
August
Thermostat
Perpetual
Questionable
It's August and my thermostat is blasting heat. The next thing I was here—in this prison-like place.
I'm a little sketchy in between. I do remember a cantaloupe—a whole stack of them—or whatever you call a group of fruit loitering about.
Well, they fell.
The police came.
One of them had a big horse—almost a bronco. For some reason I did not find that odd. I just wanted to go for a ride.
So I did.
Looking back that was probably a mistake. So, OK, I’ve made some questionable choices. But they were all such fun-
–at the time.
The Old lady Who Wouldn't Eat
I
I delivered meals to elderly people. One old lady ate almost nothing.
"Aren't you hungry?" I asked.
"Starving," she said at the front door.
(She was thin but not frail or stooped-–still.)
"If you don't like the food I could bring something else."
"No, kiddo, I'm starving on purpose."
"How's that going?"
"Not so good. I get so hungry I eat a pound of chocolate every night; so far I've put on a few pounds."
She cackled as she closed the door, "See you tomorrow, kiddo."
II
I gave her trays to Bill, the homeless guy who guards her house, and brought her ice cream, which we ate in her kitchen.
"I had a husband once. He bought ice cream."
"That's nice of him."
She swatted away an imaginary fly. "He was a pest. I miss being married though."
III
Before I went back to college she said, "I think being a refugee is a good thing. You don't get too attached—you see things for what they are."
"Oh," I asked, "Where were you from?"
"Right here." She laughed, "I was talking about you.
The Author
Adam Jeffries Schwartz is a writer and a traveler. He has stories in Descant and Grimm magazines(both in Canada), Petit Journal (Mexico) and in the anthology, Walking Higher (USA)
Online he pops up at many sites, including Ghoti (Fish) Magazine, Melange, LitBits, Magazine Shiver, Mosaic Minds, Kaleidowhirl & Anacoenesis Literary Journal.