THE MISSING SHOE

 

Grate with a shoe on it

Photo Copyright: C.E. Ayr

Here we are another week. This time we’re gathered at a virtual sidewalk cafe where there’s a virtual sewer grate nearby. Our hostess for this gathering is the gracious and talented artist and author, Rochelle Wisoff-Fields. We’re the Friday Fictioneers, and the challenge this week, and every week, is for each of us to write an original story with no more than 100 words. It’s supposed to have a beginning, middle, end, and follow the picture prompt provided for the week. This week’s prompt was provided by C.E. Ayr. Thanks, C.E.

To read the other stories from group members, just click on the link given below, then on the little blue frog in the blue box. The link for the other stories this week is as follows:

https://rochellewisofffields.wordpress.com/2015/11/18/20-november-2015/

JUST A NOTE: If anyone is trying to find my Facebook page and types in “Suzanne Joshi”, when you click on the Google link, you’ll get a FB page, but for another Suzanne Joshi. Just find my tiny picture on the heading at top and click on it. You’ll then get my page. It seems the other Suzanne Joshi is deceased as her page is remembering her. As you all know, I’m still alive, at least as far as I know.

Genre: Realistic Fiction

Word Count: 100 Words

THE MISSING SHOE By P.S. Joshi

When we were young, Mom used to take us in the car with her shopping when Dad was at work. I especially remember one time when it was a problem.

“Listen, you girls,” Mom said, “I don’t want to be bothered until we get to the store. Both of you see if you can keep the baby entertained and quiet. He’s in his car seat so can’t get into trouble. See if you can find my good shoes back there.”

At the store, Mom parked and asked for the shoes.

Marion said, “I’m sorry, Mom, the baby threw one out.”

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HEY GOOD LOOKIN’ (Title of a song by Hank Williams)

I’m writing this short story for Chuck Wendig’s blog, “terribleminds.com”  for The Flash Fiction Challenge Random Song Title Palooza. Enjoy.

HEY GOOD LOOKIN’ (Title of a song by Hank Williams)

 Story by P.S. Joshi

It was 1956 and we were fifteen, in 11th Grade. We were grown up, according to us, but not according to my dad.

Charley was tall and looked part greyhound, with black hair puffed up in front. It then swept back into a gloious DA, what we kids called a duck’s ass. My hair was dark brown and drawn back in a pony tail. We both liked Hank Williams’ songs. Charley’s favorite line was, “Hey good lookin’, whatcha got cookin'”.  I was just 5 foot 3 inches and always tying to diet. Or as great aunt Lucy called me, “a big, healthy girl.” I cringed every time I heard her say it.

Our dads had moved up to Akron, Ohio, to look for work in the rubber shops. We had all that in common, but it wasn’t enough for my dad. He couldn’t stand Charley.

“Mary,” he’d say to Mom, “Sue Lynn is just too young to date just one boy, especially Charley.”

Mom looked at it as the lesser of two evils. Either I dated one boy she could trust with my virtue, or others she wasn’t sure of. Charley was less than perfect, but she did trust him. Actually, he was scared of my dad who had a gun collection mounted on the wall of the den. Charley’d been partly raised by his grandparents in the mountains of West Virginia, and had a healthy respect for a good squirrel rifle.

I thought it was cute when he used words like “youins” and “holler”. Dad winced.

Now I doubt dad would have ever killed a boy. He might have beaten the hell out of any, literally, if he found they went to far with his baby. He’d been a boxer in the U.S. Navy and had the cauliflower ear to prove it.

I adored Charley, which caused Dad to age about ten years over the months we dated. He used to hide behind his newspaper while we sat on the couch and cuddled.

When Mom told great aunt Lucy, the old lady said, “Is he going to act that way with every boy Sue Lynn dates?”

Mom told me Dad said, “Look at the way she looks at him.” She mimicked the disgusted tone he’d used. I don’t know why she told me. She sometimes had a weird sense of humor.

Dating a boy who works part-time in a gas station meant going on cheap dates. The roller rink was a favorite. Driving around in the family car, visiting friends, was another. Drag racing on a lonely stretch of road the sheriff and his deputies didn’t bother with was a third.

This third alternative ended with the horrendous accident where a buddy of Charley’s overturned and became a paraplegic. Seat belts were unknown at the time. The girl with him, a friend of mine, walked away without a scratch. It’s funny how that happens. After that, the sheriff had to regularly check that stretch of road. Parents had become militant.

We substituted Bill Hoskins’ dad’s den after that. Bill wasn’t all that popular before, but that changed when his dad built their den and put in an old jukebox full of rock n’ roll  records. The man had inherited money and used it to keep his son home, at least part of the time. We spent a lot of happy hours partying in that place. There was always pop in the small fridge under the bar. Bill’s dad wasn’t a drinker, but if you had a den, you had to have a bar. It was a law or something I guess.

For boys who had their own cars, there was a fourth choice, kissing and hugging parked on the local lovers’ lane. They had to watch for the sheriff though.

Once a month, there was an additional activity, a dance in the school gym. It was called a sock hop, and for a good reason. The school had expensive wood on that floor because basketball was popular. The principle didn’t want a floor that had cost a lot to be damaged by kids’ shoes, so we had to take off our shoes and dance in our socks. It was really more like slipping and sliding than hopping. No wonder the “mashed potato” was a popular dance. That slippery floor caused one of my accidents.

We used to run gym relay races. There were rubber mats around the floor edges so people who came to watch basketball games wouldn’t walk on the floor. The problem was, the mats were just layed there, not fastened. No one was supposed to run on them.

One gym period, I ran onto one and pitched forward, slamming my head into the doors under the stage. If I’d hit the edge of the stage, I might not be here today. I actually saw stars. Before that, I thought it was just a saying. I accomplished two things: I scared the daylights out of the physical education teacher; I gave myself a thumping headache. No ice was applied. We were expected to rough it in those days.

Charley and I dated part of the 12th Grade, then broke up. It was probably for the best. We were too young to plan our futures together. He had gone to visit his grandparents in West Virginia, and became interested in the daughter of one or their neighbors. The man liked Charley, and his wife was a good cook. I heard much later that Charley married the daughter, and moved  to West Virginia where her father  found him a job.

While Charley was in West Virginia, a handsome boy, now my husband, a football player, moved into the neighborhood. I’d lost weight, he noticed me, Dad liked him, and Mom trusted him. It all worked out well, but I’ll always remember Charley. I hope he had a happy life.

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Lights… camera…

This is about an amazing young man, Nick, written by his mother, Sue Vincent.

Sue Vincent's Daily Echo

hawk hill nick 026

By day I am a personal assistant. Not a glamorous PA with pad, pen and a nice line in stilettos. No. I’m both carer and mum and in this capacity I have been asked to step outside the normal roles on frequent occasions over the past few years. I might suggest that my son delights in my continual promotion and demotion throughout the day. From one minute to the next I can be anything from cook and bottle-washer to pond maintenance, plumber, odd job person and secretary.

The latest venture may represent a promotion… it is certainly a departure from the norm. Today I became his cameraman.

Not that this is an onerous duty. I could have fun with this, I thought, but no. In fact, I had no say in it at all… I just get to press the button I’m told to press when I’m told to press…

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IN SINCERE SYMPATHY

Instead of a piece of flash fiction or a reblog, today I want to express my sincere and heartfelt sympathy for all who have suffered, and the families of all who have been killed, in the vicious violence in Paris, France.

None of us knows who will be next to suffer in the world of today where those whose ideals seem to be killing and maiming as many men, women, and children as possible, are showing up and going about their horrible business. Thank goodness I’ll never totally understand that kind of mind.

I do understand that poverty and the lack of education are at the root of it. It seems even though some do have education, teachings of violence and radicalism have twisted and warped it into something unrecognizable by most of us.

This violence leaves us all wondering if we and our families will be safe from this craziness in future. May the God I believe in watch over us and bring us through this terrible time to a  brighter and more loving future. As the Irish say, “May God hold you in the hollow of his hand.”

Suzanne Joshi

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Update: RECOGNISE THE HUMAN RACE AS ONE – the humanitarian campaign for the #refugeecrisis

This is vital information.

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‘RECOGNISE THE WHOLE HUMAN RACE AS ONE ‘ 12204688_10153103483856035_976416454_n

Following my blog article about Rando and his hands-on volunteering in Serbia, and my article about his gofundme page  here is another update:

6595883_1446909886.1123_updatesSince his Serbia trip he has raised almost £3000!

British Airways donated First Class socks and many people donated much needed winter clothes that he and some friends will take to Berlin and Lesbos.

THANK YOU 

https://www.gofundme.com/humansasone

This is so inspiring in light of the ebbing media attention to the problem.

GRAPHIC CONTENT A Turkish police officer stands next to a migrant child's dead body off the shores in Bodrum, southern Turkey, on September 2, 2015 after a boat carrying refugees sank while reaching the Greek island of Kos. Thousands of refugees and migrants arrived in Athens on September 2, as Greek ministers held talks on the crisis, with Europe struggling to cope with the huge influx fleeing war and repression in the Middle East and Africa. AFP PHOTO / Nilufer Demir / DOGAN NEWS AGENCY = TURKEY OUT = A Turkish police officer stands next to a migrant child’s dead body off the shores in Bodrum, southern Turkey, on September 2, 2015 after a boat carrying refugees sank while reaching the Greek island of Kos.AFP PHOTO / Nilufer Demir / DOGAN NEWS AGENCY
= TURKEY OUT =

Remember this picture? It drove the public conscious for a while and got our politicians to make half-hearted promises. 10000s marched in…

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THE TOLL

Cemetery

Copyright: J. Hardy Carroll

Here we are gathered for another week. This week we’re here in a virtual cemetery. Our hostess for this gathering is the gracious and talented artist and author, Rochelle Wisoff-Fields. We’re the Friday Fictioneers, and the challenge this week, and every week, is for each of us to write an original story with no more than 100 words. It’s supposed to have a beginning, middle, end, and follow the picture prompt provided for the week. This week’s prompt was provided by J. Hardy Carroll. Thanks J. Hardy.

To read the other stories from group members, just click on the link given below, then on the little blue frog in the blue box. The link for the other stories this week is as follows:

https://rochellewisofffields.wordpress.com/2015/11/11/13-november-2015/

Since today, Wednesday, November 11, is Veteran’s Day in the U.S.A., I want to join in with others in wishing Rochelle’s husband, Jan, a thank you for his twenty-eight years in the U.S. Navy. I’m also sending a thank you to all the men and women who have srved in the military in the past, and who are serving at present.

Genre: Realistic Fiction

Word Count: 100 Words

THE TOLL  by P.S. Joshi

Margaret took a trip  to the the southwestern part of the state to find graves of her paternal great grandparents deceased since the early 20th Century.

She first found the village cemetery of her dad’s maternal grandparents. With their graves she found the headstone of a grandchild born with hydrocephalous.

Later, she found the tiny roadside cemetery of her dad’s paternal grandparents. Along with their graves, were three other markers. Two were for girls who died as infants. The third was for a son who died in his twenties. Disease took a heartbreaking toll back then.

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