Rocker

I give to you a story in eleventy-one words...

He settles into the antiquated rocker, leans his head against the multi-hued afghan. Flooding memories actualize in a single tear that slides down his pale cheek. The epic games of cribbage at the dining room table. The cries of anger from the den after an interception. The whistling of Lara’s Theme from the kitchen. He rubs his clammy palms along the smooth finished maple. The chair and he glide along the squeaking joints of the hardwood. For a moment, he pinpoints those elusive feelings. Of warmth and safety, joy and peace. They are fleeting, mere wisps of what was. All that now remains is the rhythmic undulation of the pendulous rocker.

Goodbye

I give to you a true story in eleventy-one words...

I sift through the last container determining if I want any of the detritus therein. The garage door opens with its familiar hemming and hawing. My mother enters, reminds me that the train is at six. I survey the unfinished basement with its myriad accumulated memories. Something nags me then, a sense of finality wrapped in haste. I ascend the stairs and find my grandparents reclining in the den. I shake my grandfather’s hand, kiss my grandmother’s cheek, and dart back down the stairs. As we depart, I glance at the dogwood, the row of unkempt hedges, this house I’ve known since birth. And I realize it’s time to say goodbye. 

Grounders

I give to you a story in eleventy-one words...

Calvin arrived late and sauntered to the dugout.

‘The Bullets hit hard.’ I saw the team nodding. ‘Be warned; I’m going to do the same.’

Calvin slowly stretched.

I soon called over, ‘Joining us today?’

‘I need to stretch,’ he answered indignantly.

When finally he took his place at second, I hit a couple soft grounders that he handled with ease. The next few hits came harder. He pulled his head and missed them completely.

‘Everything okay?’ I asked.

‘You’re hitting the balls really hard. I’m tired and just got off work.’

I ignored the rant. ‘Where are you afraid the ball will hit you, the face?’

‘The abs,’ he responded.