The best way to spend a holiday weekend

This past weekend, I went with my husband down to Torrey, Utah, which is just outside of Capitol Reef National Park. My family has a small cabin in Torrey and it's the perfect place to relax, which is what we did for three days. This picture is the view from the back porch--it's amazing! My photography skills don't do justice the richness of the red rock and blue sky that make the winter landscape seem alive. Torrey is a very small town, and it gets even smaller in the winter when tourism dwindles. This weekend, there were hardly any cars, hardly any people, hardly any noise beyond the cries of a few lonely birds. The absence of even the wind made the stillness complete, and though we didn't get to see any stars while we were there, the silence of the landscape gave us room to breathe, think, be.

Flash Fiction Story #6: Dancing

Dancing

    The consequence of it all was that the jeans never made it to the dryer, the sink was still full of dishes covered in spaghetti sauce, the dog's food bowl was empty, and the TV was left on. Water dripped through the open doorway and the wind blew the mismatched curtains away from the rain-spattered windows as laughter echoed through the open garage.

Flash Fiction Story #5: Empty

*Note: I did not write the original story, I only added the two middle paragraphs posted here. If you're interested in reading the whole story, it's called "Baker's Helper" by Cynthia Anderson and can be found in Flash Fiction Forward, edited by James Thomas & Robert Shapard.

Empty: Baker's Helper

    The next afternoon, the girl does not appear, which doesn't surprise you. You hate yourself, waiting, but she never shows up.

    You find yourself watching customers, examining them, weighing their smiles and frowns. You don't know what it is you are searching for, but one time you think you find it. You are crouched at the back of the display case, transferring éclairs from tray to shelf when you glance up. A pair of hungry eyes gaze at you from the other side of the glass. You stare at them, wide and unblinking. It is a minute before you realize the eyes are your own, separated from you by the bright glass barrier.

    That night, you dream about the park steps again, empty of sparrows this time.

    On the third night you're leaving Jimmy's after work when from the street you spot her inside Carducci's. The girl stands apart from the espresso drinkers, holding a basket of pizzelle. She brings the wafers to her nose, and you inhale anisette with her. You are dizzy, there on the dirty sidewalk, not knowing whose longing you are feeling, yours or hers.

Flash Fiction #4: Touching

Touching

    Their breathing was almost a tangible presence in the dark room, something separate from the two bodies lying close and warm. Their hands were touching, fingers entwined even in sleep. Their breathing was just out of synch—rising rising, falling falling. As the woman started to roll to her side, the man's hand instinctively tightened, keeping her in place. There was a pause in the breathing, like the silence after a slap.

Flash Fiction #3: Life Reduction

Life Reduction

Take some clutter in your life that is taking up space. Cut it in half. Cut it in half again. What you're left with is the essentials of the life you have lived.

(295 Words)

The piles of Liz's stuff were everywhere: a lanyard with a Jefferson High School logo, blue and gold Mardi Gras beads, a pencil holder that used to be a soup can, a coin purse in the shape of Big Ben, two decks of cards with pictures of Yellowstone on the back, a bouquet of fake roses, a dozen half-burned candles, Trader Joe's receipts from four years ago, plane ticket stubs from all of her flights in the last ten years (New York City to São Paulo, London to Prague, Venice to Madrid), a teddy bear from her father, photo albums for each trip she had taken, a box of more recent wedding photos, books that were falling apart from age and use—Nancy Drew, Black Beauty, Alice in Wonderland, Treasure Island—and paper of every size and color and shape: bookmarks, quotes, magazine articles, maps, journals, shopping lists, museum pamphlets, calendars. All of it surrounding a cross-legged Liz sitting on the living room floor.

George watched Liz rediscover each long-lost and utterly useless treasure with his arms folded from the edge of the room. "So, you planning on opening an antique shop?" he said, tempering his sarcasm with a half-smile. "Or maybe a junk yard." He eyed a pile of homemade Christmas ornaments. "You could sell some of this, maybe online. We could use the money. Save it up for later. If you don't, we're going to need a room just for stuff we don't need."

He was always talking about later, planning their future, worrying, watching. "I can't get rid of my memories," Liz said. She looked up from a box of dried leaves, brittle and breaking with age. Their eyes met briefly before George walked away, avoiding the piles of stuff between them.

(145 Words)

Liz's stuff was everywhere: gold Mardi Gras beads, Big Ben coin purse, decks of cards from Yellowstone, half-burned candles, plane tickets from the last ten years (New York to São Paulo, London to Prague, Venice to Madrid), teddy bear from her father, photo albums for each trip, Black Beauty, Alice in Wonderland, Treasure Island, maps, journals, museum pamphlets, calendars. And Liz. All on the living room floor.

George stood with his arms folded. "You planning on opening an antique shop?" he asked. "Or maybe a junk yard." He eyed the Christmas ornaments. "We could sell some of this. Save up the money for later."

He was always talking about later, planning their future. "I can't get rid of my memories," Liz said. She looked up from the box of their wedding photos. Their eyes met briefly before George walked away, avoiding the stuff between them.

(74 Words)

Liz's stuff was everywhere: gold beads, Big Ben coin purse, Yellowstone playing cards, plane tickets (New York, São Paulo, London, Prague, Venice, Madrid), teddy bear, photo albums, Treasure Island, maps, journals.

"You opening an antique shop?" George asked. "You could sell some of this. Save the money for later."

Liz looked up from their wedding photos. "I can't get rid of my memories." Their eyes met. George walked away, avoiding what was between them.

Flash Fiction Story #2: Missed Messages

Missed Messages

He said: Where have you been?

She said: Do you like my new shirt?

He said: You should have called. I was starting to get worried.

She said: Forty percent off.

He said: I've been waiting for you to get home to start dinner.

She said: New pillows, too.

He said: I was going to make candied chicken.

She said: The colors reminded me of that little B&B we stayed in on our honeymoon—remember?

He said: Your favorite.

She said: And the most adorable throw rug.

He said: What rug? You wanted to eat at six.

She said: Or was it a blanket?

He said: You always do this.

She said: I never buy pillows.
I'll go back tomorrow. I think we need one more.

He said: Can you return them? They look like the pillows in your mother's guest room.

She said: I always go shopping on Thursday, you know that. Except today I went to JC Penny and Dillard's instead of just Sears.

He said: Can we at least talk about it?

She said: What do you think?

He said:

She said: I didn't say six.

He said: I'm tired.

She said: You're not going to make the chicken?

He said: You know, we're still paying off that vacation to Hawaii.

She said: So?

He said: It's too late for chicken.

She said: Maybe I'll get my hair cut while I'm out tomorrow.

He said: I'm not even hungry any more.

She said: What about me?

Flash Fiction Story #1: Hit and Run

Hit and Run

    None of it would have mattered if the dog hadn't died. Not the soured milk left out all night or the missing sweater. Not the broken sink faucet or the fight over breakfast. Not the fact that Rob had lost his car keys and took Cindy's without asking, or the fact that Cindy had left the gate open when she rushed to catch the bus. But after they found Max on the road in front of their house, it all seemed to matter very much.