Category: flash

Connie Was a Cheerleader

On By Jerry BrothertonIn flash, Short StoriesLeave a comment

Connie is a cheerleader. With her bright, white teeth, smile and bouncing tits. Her short skirt legs running long and lean through indecent thoughts. Those bright Friday night lights are her stage. She uses the crisp November air as her makeup. Robert envies the night breeze for the chance to caress her skin and send that blushing red color onto her cheeks.

Connie is mysterious and foreign to Robert. She is the manicured lawn and a garden filled with flowers that only exist in his dreams. She is a white fenced house with a stone pathway, a refrigerator filled with food. She is Norman Rockwell family dinners. She knows Van Gough, Elizabeth Barrett Browning, lavender bath soap, satin sheets, silk pajamas and pink bed spreads. She knows Gucci, Tommy Hilfiger, Abercrombie and Fitch. Although he has only talked to her a few times, Robert is sure she knows him too.

As they talked, he watched her piercing green eyes stare through his soul like holding a paper to a light bulb. He saw her cringe at the sight of his shriveled up insides, Salvation Army furniture, Batman comics, and cold bologna sandwich dinners. He knew she smelled his stagnant life in a broken down trailer on a filthy back lot where she could hear a life filled with “god damn you”, “fucking little punk” and “get the hell out”. She saw the empty beer cans stacked on the garage sale coffee table covered with cigarette ash. Yes, Connie knows him and she wants nothing to do with him. Connie is a cheerleader and he is not the quarterback.

*****

Robert is a loner. With his sky blue eyes, crooked smile and fuck the world and let them kiss my ass attitude. With his broad shoulders and sad puppy eyes, he’s learned to survive and take the things he needs. She envies him for his freedom and strength.  He is a no curfew James Dean adventure.  He is “something much better than this” hope and “I will never leave you alone” safety. Things that she longed for in her dreams. He is strong and silent yet she has seen the gentleness in his stare. Though they have talked only a few times, Connie knew he read her thoughts with the ease of a first grader’s book.

He had looked into her eyes and cringed at the lies she keeps hidden in the shadows. He has seen her pretend life behind her parent’s money.  He feels the fear of fatherly lust. He saw beneath the heavy makeup hiding her bruises. He hears the “better not tell your mother or else”, “you worthless little bitch” and “you’ll do what I say.” He flinches at the sharpness of the razor blade in her bathroom drawer. Yes Robert knows her and wants nothing to do with her. Robert is a loner and she is damaged beyond repair.

 

 

 

 

 

I’m not a bad person

On By Jerry BrothertonIn flash, Short Stories6 Comments

I’m stuck at the red light on 4th street across from the shelter. I try not to stare at the men shivering in the afternoon rain. Instead, I think about my wife at home with the fragrance of happiness in her hair, my comfortable chair and how good my bed will feel even though its mattress refuses to grow accustomed to my body’s shape. I don’t want to think about these old men and their soup kitchen dinner, or the newspaper blankets that they’ll use to shelter them from the cold. I only think…I wish this damn light would change.

Memorial Day

On By Jerry BrothertonIn flash, Short Stories2 Comments

Memorial Day –

The picnic tables that held all the food were covered with red and white. We lazed about on blankets scattered around the cool grass covered yard. We drank ice cold beer, sweet tea and lemonade and devoured the watermelon, ice cream, Momma’s apple pie and fried chicken. Some of younger ones even napped in the cool shade of the trees. We caught up on lost time with family and watched the children play on the same playground equipment I knew as a kid. Across the street, an impromptu ball game started. They were soon joined by strangers from other families celebrating the day. Although in our quiet little part of the world, even strangers are family.

Earlier that day I had watched the parade pass down Main Street. I paid little attention to the elderly soldiers feebly moving along in their ancient uniforms and carrying flags from wars long gone. I was more interested in the kids chasing down the candy being tossed from vehicles whose signs I failed to read.

As the sun fell low on the horizon, and we strolled back to the car, I glance around at the serenity of the day. I realize that at least, I understood the question; even if I didn’t yet know the answer.

Could I be like those old men; willing to lay down my life to preserve this?

As I walked hand in hand with you down the tree lined street, laughter and singing drifting into the clear sky, I looked into your eyes and my heart beat out the answer.

Pool Party

On By Jerry BrothertonIn flash, Short Stories2 Comments

“Man, I swear it’s the hottest summer I’ve ever seen.” I tell Jimmie “This sidewalk feels like it’s burning right through the soles of my sandals.”

It hadn’t rained a drop in seven days and there still isn’t a single cloud in the sky. The heat waves shimmer up from the street in front of us. I give a little chuckled as I think about that scene I saw in a movie; the one where some old cowboys were walking across the desert with no water. Maybe it was one of those spaghetti westerns with Clint Eastwood or some John Wayne flick.

Jimmie responded by wiping the sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand, “Right on Man, I sure as hell could use a cold one.” He took of his t-shirt and rubbed down his hair and armpits with it, “and when the hell did they get a swimming pool at John’s place?  Last time I was at his apartment, the place looked like it was ready to collapse.”

“I don’t know man, he just said to come around back when we get there. Maybe he’s having a heat stroke or something but you how he is, always scheming up something.”

We hear Tin soldiers and Nixon’s coming from about a block away. The music gets a little louder every time one of the little trickles of hot breeze hits us in the face. I hear them laughing each time the music hit a low spot. I wonder how they could possibly be so happy in this miserable heat. As soon as he sees us John gives a big wave and yells, “Water’s cool and beer’s on ice.”

I look at the group and jab Jimmy on the arm. “See what I mean man,” and nod toward a couple of empty chairs. Everybody has their shoes off and their feet dangling in the water.  So Jimmie and I make a quick round of hugs, cheek kisses, hand daps and what’s up man, then I grab a Coors from the ice chest and snag one of the aluminum lawn chairs. The nylon straps on the seat are a little ragged but they hold as I plop down and let out a sigh.

The afternoon sun is still burning my neck but I can see the sun is pushing the shade of the maple trees across the yard. I kick off my sandals and stick my feet into the cool water of the blue plastic baby pool. John puts on a new album and we all let the music from ‘The Dark Side of the Moon’ flow through us.

The shade finally reaches us and it feels like the temperature drops fifteen degrees as it slides across the pool. I look around at the circle of friends, Kim, Alice, Debbie, John, Jimmie, Danny and Kate. I’m thinking that this feels like I might be in Heaven. Kim hands me a joint…I take a hit… now I know I am.

Castaway

On By Jerry BrothertonIn flash, Poetry, Short Stories2 Comments

She only talked about her family in glimpses. Like she was always balancing on a tightrope between the expected and just chucking it all for the next bus to somewhere else. She tried to paint a picture for me of her small town. All those houses on tree lined streets with children’s faces peering out through window panes. Those strict rural Midwestern values standing in the doorways with belts in their hands. But I ran out of brown, umber, and black. I made her laugh…her cheeks turned red from embarrassment. She’d been told unwed mothers had nothing to laugh about.