Short Stories

Below are a list of Short Stories. Please choose from one of the following stories to read it.

An Elephant Named Olympus
Miss Blue
A Girl Called Tree

A Girl Called Tree

There were sharp edged and gray-white stones running all along the side of the road. They lay scattered between the black and hard pavement and the grass that was more weeds and thorns than anything, and with things thrown from a car. They were scattered there mostly by the wind that comes at sometimes other that at new-hot noon. Today there was no such wind.

She walked that road ever since her Daddy decided she was old enough to need to get from home to wherever she needed to go. Now, she needed to make the walk and make it on her own. Daddy wasn=t there anymore. She was in charge, but being in charge was only words for saying if it had to be done it was up to her to do it. Daddy taught her that.

There was not a need to pack a bag. There wasn=t a bag to pack or really anything to put in it if it was. Mama and them would keep what was worth saving anyway. Her dress was enough. All those other girls had those long pants or cut off shorts and those old tee-shirts with soft drink names on them; or some kind of sports thing, or her own world-given name, Tree, from back when she was in school. There was only one tee shirt that she cared about anyway -- the one with Atree@ written on in on the back with a black ink marker that she wore when the girls were together walking the other way and toward town on Saturday afternoon. But now it was time for her to walk on to Grover and to do what tall and black and just from school ladies need to do.

Besides, if she had to walk down the stones and the asphalt and the weeds, the walk her Daddy, before he passed, called the time of the final growing, something she was not sure she understood at all, she would do it.

Bushes, pines, and road weed ran beside her and as straight as the road itself. She walked past bushes without names, only things that scratch with leaves looking like a mixture between shades of rust and brown, and something of a dirty green. They grew as if not making up their mind as to if they are any count at all, or just there because they are bushes and maybe that is what they are supposed to do. From time to time she grabbed hold of her dress but she was careful not to pull it too hard in getting it away form the grabbing bushes. Her long dress is all that she had until she got to wherever she was going. And her Daddy, in his way, was never clear about that. Walk the road to Grover, he said. He and God only knew why.

The silence and the walk gave her time to think. Whatever all this is, she thought, it is better than what she left. Daddy gone, him too young to die like he did, even with leaving behind what some call a grown daughter. And her still unwed, despite her mama and them. This is the way it is to be, though. Her Daddy told her right up to the end. There is enough work around home, he said, even though he did say to make her walk to Grover. She can stay on at the Inn, pay her way, but that is about all. What did he know that he wasn’t telling her? Daddy was always saying there are better things, and things like that. Besides, that is what he said, just as clearly as he could speak at all, to leave if anything happened to him, and to walk toward Grover.

She looked up ever few minutes, but then, and just as quick, looked back at the edge and hem of her long dress and her sandal-shoes peaking out with every step. When she looked up, nothing was in front of her but more old road, skinny-like-her pine trees, and more of those plain old bushes. Occasionally a bird flue by and close enough for her to see it. Then, and just as fast, it was gone.

As she walked, she looked continuously down and at the bottom of her long dress. It was long like she saw on TV that time she stopped at the Pine Lake Inn and watched. That time when no one was around and no one else was looking. That time she saw the black dance troupe with the tall black girl out in front throwing her long dress back and forth like it was waving up some kind of happiness. As she walked, Tree’s dress continued to catch burrs and dried twigs standing up as if they were some guard against anyone walking down the road at all. She shook her dress as if shaking it made it fall straight again, as if it never even touched. As she flits, she sees her legs and slows to look.

“Trees” she utters out loud, but only loud enough for her own self to hear. “Skinny ole tree legs, walking along like they know where they’re going. Why doesn’t Mama and them just let me and these skinny legs be, let me do what all I know I can do? Daddy, for some reason he must have taken with him, he knew. Besides, ain’t so bad working up at the lodge. Not too much money but the people are nice. And guest. Most guest are like special people. Yeah, I guess I like them okay. White people and all.”

Tree looked toward the road as a pickup hollered by. She stared at the taillights as if something she had seen before. Maybe in Grover or somewhere else down the road. She recognized the truck; she has been in it enough times already. It had to be ole Robert Ray Johnson.

She looked up to see a Live Oak setting back some twenty or twenty-five feet from the road.

“Daddy didn’t say anything about stopping for a break.” She looks behind her, as if to see if anyone was watching, then turns and walks over to the tree. She has to lift up her skirt to clear over the roadside scrub and bushes and hold it up until she could get back to the tree. An area is naturally cleared with clean looking sand going up to the oak almost as if it has been swept by some other tall girl and as if it was her job. She walks over to it, sits down, and carefully wraps her skirt around knees she drew up tight as if to protect her.

“Watch out things in the ground, watch out any bugs I can’t see.” Tree turned and looked to the left, then to the right and the woods behind the large Oak. “And watch out any vermins in those woods. I won’t be here long, then it will be all yours to have back again.”

She slapped her hand down on the large skirt pocket as if she has completely forgotten. In her pocket is sausage in a biscuit and wrapped in a piece of wax paper – something she took from home for “just in case”. “This is as good a time as any,” she says out loud as if having to explain it to someone. She remembers, looks, and there is still no one around. “Daddy always told me, nothing makes a soul hungrier than walking.” As she pulls the round and wax-papered snack from her pocket, her ten-dollar bill falls out and to the ground. Quickly, she looked around as if someone was near who would see her. She picks up the money and puts it back in her pocket. “Daddy never told me about eating and such. Can’t lose my money, though. Don’t know when I might get some more.”

She leaned back against the shading Oak. As she does, she wraps her skirt around her legs again in an automatic attempt at modesty, something her Mama and them always told her.

Tree squirmed against the Oak as if finding a place that is comfortable, and then looks up into the low hanging branches. As she does, she sees the old pickup truck, the one ole Robert Ray Johnson drives, slow this time as he drives by. She sees as he put his hand to his face like he is swatting a bug, or maybe just scratching his nose. Or was it a wave? He didn’t slow or make any other motion at all.

She watched as he drove on, and then looked up into the Oak again. Daddy always told me if anything happened to make sure I take out walking to Grover. He said that. There is something he wants me to see, I guess. But I’ve ridden up and down this road many many times. With him in his truck, even with ole Robert Ray Johnson, him going too fast and trying to scare me going around the curves like he does. And Mama and them, all so wrapped up with what is right and what is wrong; them going to work, then all going home to their fixings and doings and things. Family, Mama says. You would think the world gets up in the morning and goes to bed at night because of family. Anyway, it’s what she always says . . . That, and ‘because it’s the right thing to do’ . . . Family, those sisters of hers. Their men-folk leave and they’re all right there. Says to me she can replace a husband but can’t replace a young-un. Maybe that’s why Mama and them act like they do toward me. Family . . . All them thinking there is some kind of security in family or something . . Anyway, I’ll just sit here for a while.

A car interrupted her quiet and stopped right in front of her. It was a big convertible car with the top down and some boy she can tell is from the university. They both: the boy and the car are new looking, all shinning and polished. Not like ole Robert Ray Johnson or his pickup truck. But she has seen too many of them – the city boy and his kind, not to know them by sight. A young looking girl is with him, her with her hair all straight and long and shinning like it was satin or something.

Is this the way to the Lodge? . . . To the Inn? That turn back in Grover . . .is this the way?”

“Yeah,” she says. She looks, pointing with her face and nodding as she looks back to from where she just came.

“Thank you,” the girl calls as they start to pull away. “The Inn is a beautiful place but we have almost gotten lost trying to find it. You’re lucky to live so close.”

Without smiling, Tree nodded and mouthed a “Yes, ma’am, enjoy yourself,” just as she has been taught to always say. Tree watched as they pulled away. She stood up again and shook out her skirt. “Beautiful place. She needs to work there like I do . . . Oh, I guess they are okay there. And God knows it’s a pretty place. Bet they don’t even know I’m gone. They will understand if they ever look for me.

She walked on, now the sun baking down on her and joining the heat rising off the asphalt. It was quiet; except for an occasional bird that would tell her there was some one and some thing else in the world. Being so alone was not something she could say she liked, even if she had anyone to tell it to.

“Bears over in those woods. Snakes and running things. Birds bigger than roosters and meaner too. Saw that on the TV. Besides, Daddy told me that, too. I sure don’t need to get off of this road. God only knows what all is back in those woods.”

Tree looked ahead to a clearing and to people she can see who are milling around. There are people with bright reddish and orange colored vest walking to an open truck of some kind with, what looks like, a fence around the back of it. Tree walks on, her mind now fixed on what is before her, all the activity by those in the colorful vest. She sees that the people stirring around are going to the back of the truck to pick up what looks like a shovel, or a rake, or plastic bags of some kind. As she gets closer, she can tell that they are all women, and all wearing the same bright colored vest.

“Convicts,” she says. “Convicts working on the road. A road gang. And they’re all in that old cemetery. What are they . . . cleaning? . . . Yeah, that’s what they’re doing. Must be some kind of a work crew out just to clean up cemeteries. What can I? What should I? I guess just walk on by. Convicts . . . Don’t know when I’ve seen lady convicts before.

Tree walked on, staring all the time. She walked to within fifty feet or so then almost to a stop. One white lady is with them, a lady in a brown uniform with too tight pants and a clipboard. It looks like there is no gun or anything tied around her . . . Is she the guard?

“Hello, Missy,” the guard lady called out. “You picked a hot afternoon to be out walking.”

“Walking to Grover,” Tree said.

One of the ones in a vest, a large black girl who was laughing with some of the others, stops what she is doing and turns toward Tree.

“Grover?” she laughs as she asks. “Is that what you said, girl? Grover? You’ll be wasted away and not worth nothing by the time you get there. That must be twenty more miles from here. And I’m saying twenty hard miles.”

Two more stood close by, one with a rake the other with a broom in her hand. “You walk on, girl,” another said. “You get there though and you ain’t finding a thing there you ain’t seen a thousand times before and seen one hell of a lot better.”

The guard smiled and said, “Pay no attention to her, Missy. She was in Grover and decided she didn’t want to pay her bills any more . . . Live off of anybody and everybody else, she did. She knows all about Grover. Says she wants to sleep in her uncle’s jail and work out here in the hot sun for a spell. Now, ain’t that right, Claudie?”

“You’re right about that, Cap’n Lady. Ain’t nothing in Grover ‘cept what you gotta pay for and people wanting’ an arm and a leg for that. Got it one week, ain’t got a pot the next. First thing you know you getting’ an invite for cemetery cleanin’. Chance for you and sisters like me, if you know what I mean.”

Tree only looked back at them. She doesn’t speak, just walks on. But as she walks, she notices that they are all smiling, all laughing, all joking and having a good time. She watches as the guard only clears her throat once and the ladies in the colored vest return to their brooms and rakes. As they do, they keep on with a buzz, a talk back and forth, but a talk of laughing and a way of saying everything is okay.

As she walks on, with her eyes looking back and her stare smiling at those behind her, she feels a sweat forming across her forehead. She reaches in her pocket and pulls out her handkerchief, a present given to her by one of her Mama’s sisters when she and Robert Ray Johnson graduated from high school.

Suddenly, the first of the girls she spoke to, the heavy one with the permanent smile across her face, calls her. “Watch out there, girlie. You done dropped something.” The over-weight vested one looked first at the guard, got a nod, and then ran toward Tree.

“You done dropped something on the ground.” She bends over and picks up Tree’s ten-dollar bill that has fallen from her pocket. She walks toward Tree with the money held out in front as if it was a present.

“Why, thank you,” Tree says as she takes it from her, ashamed but happy to have it back. She puts it deep in the pocket of her skirt and pats it to make sure it is there. She smiles at the girl as they both stand and stare back and forth at each other.

Tree smiles, thanks her again, and then walks on. But she walks even slower this time, and she thinks silently with each step; about the big girl in the colored vest and her picking up of the money and giving it back to her. She thinks of the women in the crew with the bright colored vest and them always smiling and almost enjoying what they are doing. She thinks about the handkerchief in her pocket and her Mama’s sister giving it to her because that was probably all she had to give her. And she thinks about her Daddy. Why did he want her to walk to Grover?

She stopped and looked back down the road toward where she has left. She looked back and ahead toward Grover.

Tree turned and walked back across the road. She turned even more and started back toward where she has come, and back toward home. This time she doesn’t feel the stones. And her dress – it was blowing and almost fluttering now with the wind. When she stepped, she could kick it with her knees and it would swing out like it was something she would wear to some party or something special at the Inn. She looks and sees not the woods, but the fields, a cow, and a horse standing out and grazing in the warm mid-day sun. She looks and sees what she had not seen before: the wild flowers starting up around the old wooden fence post, the Phlox, the crimson colored clover, and, up next to the post, the Black-eyed Susans.

Tree walked on with a smile on her face. “Who knows? Maybe this is what Daddy meant. Maybe this is what he sent me to find.

A pickup truck goes by, slowing as it does. It goes past her only a few feet then stops. It slows itself back toward her and stops only a few feet away. It is Robert Ray Johnson.

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