Friday Fictioneers

We Need to Talk

She searched for the right word. Hostility? No, that wasn’t right. Indifferent? She’d once read that the opposite of love wasn’t hate at all, but indifference. Was that what she felt? It was hard to say. She listened to him in the shower singing his same old shower song. Skylark, have you anything to say to me? He would

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Nolo Quietus

“I need to stop a minute.” “You want me to lock the wheels?” He grimaced, I can lock my own goddamn wheels left unsaid as he reached down and flipped the levers that would keep the chair from rolling down the hill once she let go. It was steep enough to be dangerous, the pine needle

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Robbie Is Sorry

I couldn’t sleep, it bothered me so much. Almost none of it was my fault, but still. Guilt. I checked my watch. Flying international, you always have to be at least two hours early. I wondered if this hotel had a phonebook. I checked the nightstand and there it was, right there with a Gideon

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When

“Hello?” “It’s Jim.” “I almost didn’t pick up. What’s this number?” “Pay phone.” “I didn’t know they still had those.” “It’s at a rest stop on I-35. Lost my cell phone. Long story.” “I bet.” “So what’s happening? You at the hospital?” “No. Not anymore.” “Shit.” “Yeah, brother. You missed it. You’re too late.” “When?”

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Arguing with Moshe

“I appreciate Eretz Yisroel,” she said, “but not Medinat Yisroel.” He raised his eyebrows over the black glasses frames. Aside from the tan, he looked exactly as he had in Brooklyn. “A difference you see? Please,” he said, beckoning. “Enlighten me.” She saw she had offended him, but this was a cherished opinion, a debate

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She’s Still Here

Standing at the back of the hushed hallway I  could only hear every other word the docent was saying. My husband craned his head to listen. “I don’t know,” he shrugged. “Something about the woman who lived here and the widow’s walk. I guess the old ship captain died at sea or something.” Little Herbie

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Mrs. Jones

It was like some giant had lifted off the roof and dumped in the entire contents of a thrift store. The huge room seemed cramped and choked by teetering piles of boxes, furniture and other clutter. Tall wardrobes bursting with clothes, cardboard cartons vomiting sheafs of paper onto the dirty floor, stacks of chairs missing

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The Gate of Horn

We strolled through the Old City  past soldiers carrying machine guns at the ready. Pops didn’t seem to notice, intent on educating us. “This gate only looks old,” he said.  “Ottoman Turks built it in 1898 so the Kaiser didn’t have to walk. Wide enough for a carriage.” An armored car idled in the square,

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On Bainbridge Island

“Are you done crying?” he says. “For now,” she says. In the back, Suzy sleeps fitful in her car seat.  He watches the tiny face in the rearview, the red stain of the taffy covering her cheeks like a rash. “I don’t think giving her sugar is such a good idea,” he says. “I’m sure

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A Few Questions

“May I get you another?” I picked up my glass, shook the melting ice. “No, I’ll wait. She’ll be here any minute.” “Very good, sir.” He strode back across the patio, watching his tables. The place was filling up. I glanced at my watch. She was taking forever. I watched the moon for a while,

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