Small Bites: Forty Short Stories

SMALL BITES

Forty Short Stories

by

Don Tassone

Copyright 2018 by Don Tassone

Cover Design by Russell Nelson

Cover Image by Maggie Toerner

All rights reserved. No portion of this publication may be duplicated in any way without the expressed written consent of the publisher, except in the form of brief excerpts or quotations for review purposes.

ISBN: 978-1-936135-60-8

Published by:

Golden Antelope Press

715 E. McPherson

Kirksville, Missouri 63501

Available at:

Golden Antelope Press

715 E. McPherson

Kirksville, Missouri, 63501

Phone: (660) 665-0273

http://www.goldenantelope.com

Email: [email protected]

Prepare for aha moments. Don Tassone rivals O’Henry in the art of surprise endings, often endings that are the beginnings of a reader’s journey into deeper thinking.

—Patti Normile, author of Prayers for Caregivers

For my mother and father

Acknowledgements

I want to thank my wife, Liz, Kathy Kennedy, Christine des Garennes, Andi Rogers, Greg Icenhower and Dan Mersch for their helpful feedback on many of the stories in this collection.

I want to thank Betsy and Neal Delmonico, who own and operate Golden Antelope Press, for being wonderful partners once again. This has included giving me the opportunity to work with two terrific college interns, Aura Martin and Mackenna Palazza, to help prepare and launch this book.

I also want to thank Maggie Toerner for creating the perfect cover illustration and Rusty Nelson for his superb graphic design work.

Finally, I want to extend grateful acknowledgement to the editors of the online literary magazines where the original version of many of these stories appeared: 101 Words, Flash Fiction Magazine, TWJ Magazine, Sick Lit Magazine, TreeHouse Arts, Friday Flash Fiction, formercactus, Edify Fiction, Sincerely Magazine, and Red Fez.

Don Tassone

CONTENTS

Preface

I Appetizers

Wild Dreams

Ah

Walk in the Grass

My Father

Bill Collector

Peace

On the Other Foot

The Wrong Track

The Run

Friends

Home

The Cabin

It Pays to Listen

Selfie

II Entrees

Who I Found in Angle Inlet

The Moon and the Birds

One Floor Up

The Discord in Our Soul

Beauty Mark

Delivered

Cut

The Beauty Inside

Well-Being

Presence

Everything Is Real

Spring

III Desserts

Magnetic Pull

Doing the Dishes

Talker

Good Morning

Where Are You?

Too Much Noise

One More Story

Scouts

Change of Heart

Small Differences

Shiny Objects

Hello

Sparkle

The Kiss

About the Author

Preface

These days, we’re all busy. But most people I know love to read. So I decided to create a collection of short stories for busy people. Many of the stories here can be read in about a minute. The longest might take half an hour.

At some point, I began to think of all these stories as a meal. Thus, the title, Small Bites. In keeping with that culinary theme, I’ve divided these stories into appetizers, entrees and desserts—to fit every taste and appetite.

An appetizer, of course, is a small dish, intended to stimulate your desire for more. It also usually hints at the main foods to come. I hope the 14 stories in this section will whet your appetite.

An entree is the main course. It’s substantive and hearty. I hope you’ll find the 12 longer stories in this section satisfying and memorable.

Desserts should be delicious, but not necessarily nutritious. They’re sweet. They contain fat and sugar and should leave you with a sense of fullness. I hope the 14 stories in this section leave you feeling wonderfully full.

One of the entrees, The Beauty Inside, is a sequel to a story in my first collection, Get Back. That story is called The Beauty in Things. It’s a love story. Many readers asked me to write a sequel. I am delighted to serve up this second course.

I hope you enjoy reading these stories as much as I enjoyed writing them.

Don Tassone

March 2018

Part I

Appetizers

Wild Dreams

His alarm went off precisely at six. So did his coffee maker and TV.

CNN was playing on the flatscreen in his kitchen. He scanned his email and Facebook as he sipped coffee and chewed on a breakfast bar. He had two more friend requests overnight. He accepted them both.

He grabbed his laptop and stepped down the hallway to his office, where he traded online all day. He took a break just before noon to run on his treadmill and down a protein shake for lunch.

At five, he decided to chat on Facebook with a handful of his now 464 friends. Then he ordered dinner from his favorite Chinese restaurant. A young man delivered it to his door. He took the bag from him and nodded. He had already paid and left a tip online.

He enjoyed chicken lo mein, egg rolls and hot oolong tea as he watched a movie on Netflix, relaxing in his recliner.

He was in bed by 10. He drifted off to sleep and dreamed, as usual, about living in the wild.

Ah

The old woman shuffled across the hard-packed earth until she found a large, smooth stone to sit on. She had arrived early to watch the sun rise over the sandstone spires of Angkor Wat.

Hundreds had gathered there in the morning mist. Their faces and dress told her that many had traveled from distant places.

All was silent. Then as the sun peeked from behind the ancient temple, she heard a sound. It arose from the crowd, even as it emerged from her own lips.

Ah.

This, she thought, must be the sound of God being breathed into the new day.

Walk in the Grass

George and Jane met in a park, walking across the grass on a sunny day.

Now, five years later, it was time to start a family. For most young couples, this would be such a happy moment. But most young couples aren’t on a spaceship, just beginning a 30-year odyssey to Pluto and back.

They had signed up for this adventure knowing their children and grandchildren would be born in space. They would all be pioneers. The idea had seemed so bold and exciting.

But now, watching Earth shrink in the distance, they wanted only to feel the soft grass beneath their feet.

My Father

Keeping an eye on his little boy, who was playing with some other children in the sand, the father watched at a distance.

He knew what was coming: two of the other boys, much bigger than his son, started yelling and shoving each other. Ready to intervene, the father stood up. But he stopped.

His son stepped into the fray. He extended his arms as if he were calming the seas and spoke in a low, measured voice. Gradually, the warring boys relaxed and began to play again.

Later, walking alongside his son, the father asked, How’d you do that?

The boy looked up and smiled.

I learned from my father.

Bill Collector

It was a starter-home subdivision filled with 30-somethings.

All the houses were new except one. Herman lived there alone. He had been widowed before his young neighbors were even born. He took walks every day, but no one ever stopped to talk with him.

With budgets tight, most neighbors gathered to play cards on Friday nights.

We didn’t get an electric bill last month, Matt said. They said it’d been paid in cash.

Funny, said Lindsey. Same thing with our water bill.

The young homeowners were busy. They never paid much attention to Herman, shuffling along the sidewalks, following the mailman.

Peace

Adnan looked up at the cross. Growing up in Syria, he had heard things about crosses which made him uneasy. He’d never set foot in a church.

Long before the present crisis, Germany had opened its borders to Turkish peoples. Growing up, Julia had had a few so-called Turks in her classes in school. But they knew little German and maintained their own customs, and she never got to know them personally.

Now, as Syrian refugees streamed into Germany, Julia wasn’t sure she was up to the task she’d been assigned by her parish elders. The very idea of so many strangers flooding into her home-land made her anxious.

Adnan stared at the iron cross on the door before him. He remembered the stories from his homeland, and his heart was filled with fear.

But he knew what he must now do. With his wife and two young children huddled behind him, he reached out and pulled open the heavy, wooden door.

Julia stood waiting, just inside.

Salam, she said, extending her hand.

Frieden, he said, taking it.

On the Other Foot

Before the economy tanked, we got an hour for lunch. But then, there were three of us working there. It took three of us to shine all those shoes. We had customers non-stop from eight to five, Monday through Friday, and we did a pretty good business on Saturdays too.

Then the bottom fell out. Now customers trickle in, and it’s just me shining. I feel lucky to still have a job. No more hour-long lunches, though. I can’t be away that long anymore. I might miss a customer or two. So I either bring my lunch or run next door to grab something.

Today I forgot to pack a lunch and decided to run over to the burger joint across the street.

May I help you, sir? the man behind the counter asked.

A cheeseburger, small fries and a small Coke, I said.

For here or to go?

To go.

Yes, sir, the man said, ringing up my order. That’ll be three dollars and thirty-nine cents.

His voice sounded familiar. I looked at the face beneath the blue cap into warm, brown eyes I hadn’t seen in a while.

Mr. Milligan? I said.

He looked up at me and smiled.

Hello, Sammy, he said, standing straighter and extending his hand.

I shook his hand and handed him a five, just as he had done to me so many times before, except he used to tuck the bill between his fingers.

The Wrong Track

The tall, well-groomed man in the navy blue suit slid his MetroCard through the card reader. The screen in the turnstile flashed green. He pushed against the aluminum bar with his thigh and stepped through the gate, toward the open door of the waiting subway car.

Only two more weeks of this, he thought. In two weeks, he would officially be a partner in the firm, he’d be living in his fabulous new place uptown, and a driver would be dropping him right in front of his office every morning and picking him up every night. He hoped to never ride the subway again.

He had grown to hate riding the subway. He hated the pungent odor of it. He hated the crowds. He hated the beggars with their