Abandoned - by Steve Carr (Flash Fiction 2021)

Steve Carr, from Richmond, Virginia, has had over 490 short stories published internationally in print and online magazines, literary journals, reviews and anthologies since June, 2016. He has had seven collections of his short stories, Sand, Rain, Heat, The Tales of Talker Knock and 50 Short Stories: The Very Best of Steve Carr, and LGBTQ: 33 Stories, and The Theory of Existence: 50 Short Stories, published. His paranormal/horror novel Redbird was released in November, 2019. He has been nominated for a Pushcart Prize twice. His Twitter is @carrsteven960. His website is https://www.stevecarr960.com/ He is on Facebook:https://www.facebook.com/steven.carr.35977

Abandoned

by Steve Carr

The upscale restaurant wasn’t very busy. I had slid the engagement ring on Jenny’s finger only minutes before. I did it with as little formality as possible, not getting down on one knee and barely waiting for her to say “yes,” which she did reluctantly, as if I had just asked her to join me in a suicide pact. I then launched into a true story I thought she would find funny. Asking her to marry me and relating the story the same evening, and back-to-back, seemed like a good idea at the time.

“It was a freak snowstorm,” I began. “I went into a club early in the evening when flurries were coming down and by the time I left the club at two in the morning, there was like four feet of snow on the ground. I was very drunk and had forgotten where I parked my 1968 fire engine red Mustang convertible.”

She was holding a glass of expensive red wine to her lips, staring at me wide-eyed over the edge of the glass, like an owl eyeing its unsuspecting prey. We had only known each other for three months and were still learning one another’s non-verbal cues, but I continued on.

“The car was a classic, and I loved it, but it was mostly a heap of junk that cost a lot in upkeep,” I continued. “I wandered around for a short while but never found it. It might have been towed off by the police or stolen. I caught a ride home with a friend and forgot all about it. I didn’t even bother trying to find it after that.” I chuckled lightly, an invitation for her to do so also.

She lowered the glass of wine. “You just abandoned your car that easily?” she said, her words coming out as if she had just taken a bite from a lemon.

“Well, I didn’t really abandon it,” I said, defensively. “I just sorta misplaced it.”

“Has that happened a lot?” she said.

“Has what happened a lot?”

“You just abandoning things that you love?”

I could feel my words being stuttered before speaking them. “It was just a car. You can see the humor in the story, can’t you?”

“No, I can’t,” she said loudly and shrilly. “What kind of sane person just abandons a beloved car?”

“Beloved is a bit of an exaggeration,” I said, answering just as loudly.

The restaurant suddenly became as quiet and chilly as the inside of a refrigerator.

A waiter came to the table. “I ask that you lower your voices,” he said.

Jenny looked at him, and then at me. She took the ring from her finger, stood up and then threw the wine still in her glass in my face and stormed out of the restaurant.

I wiped the wine from my face with a cloth napkin. “We’re still getting to know one another,” I said to the waiter.

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Setu, April 2021 :: Setu Special Edition: Flash Fiction 2021

Attachment- Steve Carr

Bio: Steve Carr has had over 370 short stories published internationally in print and online magazines, literary journals, reviews and anthologies since June, 2016. He has been nominated for Pushcart Prize twice. His Twitter is @carrsteven960. His website is https://www.stevecarr960.com/ He is on Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/steven.carr.35977

Doris stopped in front of the  plate glass window of The Old Refrain second hand store and gazed at the items on display. Among a collection of junk stood a statue on a wood base. Doris stared at it intently, trying to figure out what it was a statue of. It had normal appearing ceramic arms and hands that reached into the air as if grasping for something, a wire torso that was twisted like a corkscrew, three plaster legs, each shaped like different geometric shapes – a triangle, rectangle and oval – and a wooden head that resembled a walnut. She left the second hand store behind and walked on to the coffee shop, but hard as she tried, she couldn't erase the sculpture from her mind.

She entered the coffee shop, stepped up to the counter, and took her leather change purse out of her pocket.

Carol Depsky turned away from the espresso machine and leaned on the counter. “Russell was in here yesterday afternoon,” she said.

Doris opened the change purse and took out a five dollar bill. “I really don’t care,” she replied nonchalantly. “He couldn’t commit to a relationship and I need something long lasting.” She placed the bill on the counter. “Give me a double latte.”

A few minutes later she carried her drink to a table by the window and sat sipping on the latte while thinking about the object she had seen in the window of the second hand store. When she finished the latte she left the coffee shop,  and went to the second hand store and gazed at the sculpture.

#

Months later, for possibly the thousandth time, Doris walked around the statue that sat on her table. She knew it was only her imagination, but the statue’s head turned, following her movement, and its arms changed position, albeit imperceptibly. 

She walked away from the object and opened the clothes closet door. The aroma of Russell’s cologne that had gotten on his shirts that once hung in the closet remained. She grabbed a blouse and then shut the door harder than she had intended, sending a vibration through the room that shook the statue. Its left hand fell onto the table. She rushed to the table and gingerly picked up the hand and held it between her fingers and stared, dumbfounded, at the small drop of blood on the object’s wrist.

#

A spring breeze that blew in through the open window. Doris flipped through a stack of photographs in a shoe box. She pulled out one of Russell lying in her bed and placed it on the top of other photographs of him; one of him in her kitchen, one of him sitting on the sofa, and more.

“I don’t know why I kept them this long,” she said to the statue that stared at her with a blank expression on its walnut-like face.

She carried the shoe box to the dresser and placed it in the bottom drawer along with figurines wrapped in pink tissue paper given to her by her grandmother. She thought she would one day give them to her own daughter, if she ever had one; a daughter she once hoped to have with Russell. She returned to the statue and gently ran her fingers down its wire torso, smiling as it twisted into a new position.

She picked up the photographs of Russell and tore each one in two and tossed the halves out the window and watched the pieces as they were caught by the breeze and carried out of sight. 

#

Doris stood in front of the window of The Old Refrain second hand store and gazed thoughtfully at the costume jewelry on display. Holding the statue, with her arms wrapped around it, she whispered into the side of its walnut head as if whispering into an ear. She giggled and then went into the store. Ten minutes later she came out and walked to the coffee shop. She placed the statue on a table by the window and then went to the counter.

Carol Depsky turned around from the espresso machine and let out a gasp of surprise. “Doris, I haven’t seen you for such a long time. I thought after what happened with Russell you might have left town.”

“I’ve been very busy,” Doris said. “I’m in a new relationship.” She held up her left hand and wriggled her fourth finger that was adorned with a faux diamond ring.

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Setu, May 2020 :: Flash Fiction 2020

Flash Fiction: Somewhere My Love

By: Steve Carr

“That's the last of them from the attic,” Mike said as he placed the cardboard box on the floor. “Are you sure you don't want me to go through them for you, Mom?”

“No, this will be fine,” she said. “There's no rush. I'm not going into the retirement home until next month. I'll do a little at a time.”

“Give me a call if you need anything,” he said. He crossed the room and bent down and kissed her on the cheek, and then left her house.

Jenny gazed around the living room and gave a heavy sigh. She placed her hands on the grips on the top of the walker and pulled herself up from the chair to a standing position. Grasping the walker she shuffled across the floor, wrinkling her nose at the dust that covered the stacked boxes. She went into the kitchen and put a kettle of water on the stove and turned on the burner. As the water heated she got a teacup, saucer and teabag and placed them on the table. She returned to the living room and stared appraisingly at the stack of smaller boxes standing in the corner. She recalled that several of them contained Christmas cards, postcards and family photographs, but the smallest one sitting on the top didn't look familiar. She brushed the dust from its top with the sleeve of her sweater and then removed the dry, yellowed tape that held it shut, waded it and tossed it onto the top of a nearby stand. She pulled the flaps back and gasped with surprise.

Inside was a rectangular shaped box-like object wrapped in faded pink tissue paper with red ribbon wound around it. She lifted it out and turned it around in her hands several times, feeling the slight weight of it and examining the wrapping. She put it to her mouth, bit into the ribbon, and turned the walker and carried the object held between her teeth back to the kitchen. She placed it on the table just as the kettle began to whistle.

She turned off the burner and with one hand carried the kettle to the table while with the other hand she used the walker to steady herself. She sat down and then poured the steaming water into the cup and then sat the kettle on an ornately designed trivet. While the teabag steeped, she removed the ribbon from the object. Her hands trembled as she slowly peeled away the tissue paper.

For several moments she stared at the music box.

The card taped to the top was from her husband Cliff. In his bold, swirling handwriting, written on the card was, “I found this in Saigon and thought of you. Love, Cliff.”

She turned the pink lacquered box upside down and turned the key, and then turned it over and opened the lid. She held her breath as “Somewhere My Love,” the song from Dr. Zhivago, began to play and the ballerina in a pink tutu pirouetted around and around on a small metal disc.

“Vietnam was so far away,” she whispered. “I've never stopped missing you.”

She took a sip of the tea, and then as the music played and the ballerina danced, she

grasped the hand grips on the walker and stood up. She raised one leg, bent it, and placed her
foot against her knee on the other leg. She raised her hands from the walker, and with her arms
stretched out and her head held high, she did a single pirouette. She then sat down, drank the tea,
and longingly watched the ballerina.

Bio- Steve Carr, who lives in Richmond, Va., began his writing career as a military journalist and has had over 270 short stories published internationally in print and online magazines, literary journals and anthologies since June, 2016. He has two collections of short stories, Sand and Rain, that have been published by Clarendon House Publications. His third collection of short stories, Heat , was published by Czykmate Productions. His YA collection of stories, The Tales of Talker Knock was published by Clarendon House Publications. His plays have been produced in several states in the U.S. He has been nominated for a Pushcart Prize twice. His website is https://www.stevecarr960.com/. He is on Twitter @carrsteven960.

Setu, April 2019