The Magic Banana, Part 1

A Children's Story - Part 1   by CJ Heck ... I know this is true , because someone who's been there told me to tell you.  Tucked in somewhere over our stars and under our moon there's a faraway land. This land is lovely and very different from our world. It's called The Land of The Purple Moons because up in the sky at night, it has two large purple moons. There are also two bright suns that shine in the daytime that are always hooked together by a beautiful rainbow. Also in The Land of The Purple Moons, there's a thick magic forest called The Forest of Enchantment. It's called that because sometimes things happen there that just can't be explained. This is a story about three best friends who lived near The Forest of Enchantment in The Land of The Purple Moons and an adventure that none of them will ever forget. The first of the friends was Bartholomew Bear. His friends couldn't say that name, so they called him B Bear -- this was just fine with Bartholomew, because he couldn't say it either. B Bear was very smart and, (if anyone should be, he was), the leader of the three best friends. They looked up to him to have wonderful ideas and make important decisions. The next was Monkey. He, (if anyone had to be, he was), the playful one of the three friends. He loved making them laugh by doing silly things and making funny noises and faces. Monkey was always hungry. Every morning, he filled his pockets with good things to eat before he left home. That was okay though, because he always shared what he brought with his friends. The last of the three friends was Lambie, a little pink lamb. She was kind and gentle and, (if anyone could be, she was), the very heart of the three best friends. Lambie was the one who always knew when it was time to go home so no one would worry about them. She was the one who always knew when an idea was not a good idea, because she was also the one who made sure the three best friends were always good. ... I know this is true , because someone who's been there told me to tell you.  One day, the three best friends decided to meet at the edge of The Forest of Enchantment the next day. It would be a nice day for a picnic and B Bear announced that he knew the perfect spot. He told them it was near a babbling brook that whispered poetry and there was a tall gumdrop tree nearby where Monkey could climb and play. Maybe he would even toss some gumdrops down to them! Now they wondered, what time should they meet? After much discussion, Monkey, being the silly one, said they should meet at three hairs past a freckle, eastern elbow time. The three friends laughed and, of course, Monkey laughed louder than anyone else. With Monkey holding back even MORE giggles and snorts, they finally agreed. They would meet at the o'clock of eleven fourteen. The next morning, Monkey arrived first. As usual, his pockets were full of food -- just in case he got hungry before lunch. He sat down on a tree stump and munched on cookies while he waited for his two best friends. B Bear was next to arrive, carrying the biggest picnic basket Monkey had ever seen! When B Bear saw Monkey's bulging pockets and saw that Monkey was already eating, he shouted in a very loud voice, "Monkey! What's wrong with you? You knew I was bringing a picnic basket. You knew it would have plenty to eat inside. Why did you have to fill your pockets with food today?" Monkey didn't mean to make B Bear angry. He tried to make B Bear laugh by making funny faces, but it only made B Bear even more angry! In his loudest voice, B Bear shouted, "Monkey! I asked what's wrong with you?" Just then, Lambie arrived. She was already talking about how she hadn't forgotten to bring lots of juice in case they all got thirsty. Lambie didn't notice the mad face B Bear was wearing or the sad face that Monkey now had on. She DID notice B Bear's loud voice, though, and said, "B Bear, don't use your grumpy voice with Monkey. That isn't nice!" B Bear told Lambie about Monkey's bulging pockets and his cheeks full of cookies. Then he told her how Monkey made things even worse by making silly faces -- it was like Monkey didn't care that B Bear was upset -- and that was why he was so angry! Since Lambie was the heart of the three friends, she said, "B Bear, say what you mean, mean what you say, but don't say it mean. Shouting never solves a problem. Let's all sit down and talk about this calmly." The two suns were very high in the sky by the time the three friends finally worked out the problem and were on their way to the picnic spot. Monkey agreed to put the food from his pockets into the picnic basket, except for one banana (just in case he got hungry along the way), and B Bear agreed to put away his angry voice. ... I know this is true , because someone who's been there told me to tell you.  After walking for nearly an hour, Monkey began to whine, "When will we be there? How much farther to the babbling brook? Will the gumdrop tree really have enough gumdrops for all of us? I'm tired! I'm hungry! Why do we have to go there at all? Why can't we just eat here?" Since she was also very understanding, Lambie suggested that they sit down and rest for awhile. She told Monkey that now would be a perfect time for him to eat the banana he had saved. B Bear was tired, too, and he had worked up a bear of an appetite, himself. His patience with Monkey and his whining was all used up. Before Lambie could stop him, he grabbed the banana from Monkey, pointed it right at him and shouted, "Monkey! Stop whining! Stop asking all of your questions! Sometimes, I wish you would just ... disappear!" All at once, there was a quiet little sound: ((( p o o f!))) B Bear was so surprised by what happened that he dropped the banana on the ground where he stood. Monkey was gone! B Bear rubbed his eyes and peeked through his fingers. It didn't change anything. Monkey was exactly nowhere at all! Lambie and B Bear stared at each other. How could this happen? How can this be? Where did Monkey go? Is this one of his silly games to make us laugh? Because he was so smart, B Bear said, "It must have been the magic of The Forest of Enchantment!" He had heard stories about strange things happening here that shouldn't happen anywhere. Maybe that's it. But the thought didn't make B Bear feel very good. He didn't feel good at all! The two best friends that were left were very upset. They walked around in circles thinking and wringing their hands. They looked for Monkey again and again, just in case it was all a terrible mistake. Monkey was still gone. Even when they called his name over and over, he didn't answer. B Bear and Lambie were very worried. "Oh my, B Bear. What have you done? What are we going to do?" cried Lambie. B Bear felt just awful. He was wishing he hadn't wished. He tried again and pleaded, "Monkey, please come back! You know I didn't mean it. You're my friend and I don't want you to disappear!" But Monkey stayed gone. He was totally and completely gone. Because B Bear was their leader, he knew he would have to make a decision. He sighed deeply and then said, "I think there is only one thing we can do, Lambie. We have to go and see the great Wallah of Poobah. He's the Keeper of Truth here in The Land of The Purple Moons. Every thought you could ever think is there. Every question you could ever ask is there. Every answer to every question ever asked is there. We have to go right now! We can't wait another minute!" Lambie knew B Bear was right. He was smart and if he said they needed to do that, then they needed to do that. The truth was, Lambie was afraid. Everyone in The Land of The Purple Moons knew the Wallah of Poobah lived on the other side of Everlie Woods -- a strange and frightening place ... and no one who had gone there had ever returned. Not once. The two friends knew they had no choice. They put aside their fears and began to walk. They were glad they had packed a picnic because they would need it on their long journey. B Bear and Lambie felt terrible about poor Monkey disappearing. They were determined they would make it through Everlie Woods. No matter what happened, they would go and talk to the great Wallah of Poobah. He will know what to do. He will help them bring Monkey back, and they would make it back from Everlie Woods! After all, B Bear said they would and B Bear was the smartest one she knew. ... I know this is true , because someone who's been there told me to tell you. ... to be continued ...  Part Two on Tuesday, June 14, 2011.

Preschool Short Story: The Little Umbrella

A Town Like Your Town

by CJ Heck

I know a little town like your town. It has a little main street just like a lot of main streets, and a little store not too different from a lot of little stores.

The owner of the store was a kind and gentle man named Pop Starr. Pop was a good man, and all the people in the little town knew and loved him.

Pop's little store had a lot of things on a lot of shelves for people to buy. This is a story about one very special thing in Pop's store.

In the back of his little store, Pop had built a special little room just for toys. Boys and girls loved going into the little toy room. They gazed in awe and wonder at all the colorful toys on the shelves that reached all the way up to forever -- well, almost, but not exactly.

The children spent many hours wishing for the things they saw in Pop's little toy room. Even Santa Claus had heard about the little toy room, in the little store, on the little street, in the little town.

Now, I told you that, so I could tell you this ...

Way up high on the top shelf in the toy room was a little umbrella. The umbrella had been there for such a long time, maybe forever ... but it had been there so long that it was covered by a thick layer of dust. It was a sad umbrella and it was also very lonely.

Every day, the little umbrella looked down from its shelf at the toys in the toy room. It had never seen such wonderful colors!

How it wished it could be so bright and so beautiful. What a joy it would be to wear one of the colors it saw on the spinning tops, the rubber balls, and the bright red fire engines!

The little umbrella wanted to be like the airplanes the children played with in Pop's little toy room, zooming up-down-up and high into the sky. It would be so exciting to feel the wind blowing above and below its wings.

What a wonderful thing to be -- what an important job to have!

The little umbrella felt so alone on its shelf. It longed to be held and loved, just like one of the pretty dolls the little girls hugged and talked to in Pop's toy room.

What a wonderful thing to be! What an important job to have!

Hour after hour, day after day, year after year, it watched all of the children come into the little toy room to play with the toys. The little umbrella dreamed that someday it, too, would be needed just like the people needed old Pop Starr who owned the little store, on the little street, in the little town.

Now, I told you that, so I could tell you this ...

The Storm Cloud

One day, a huge and terrible storm cloud came. It kept the sun from shining on the little town and outside, it became very dark.  

A horrible wind began to blow and the rain came down hard and everything it touched was soaked.

The storm brought thunder with its powerful booms and lightning that lit up the sky forever -- well, almost, but not exactly.

Pop stood and watched it all happen from the little window in his little store on the little street in the little town.

Suddenly, the door opened and the little bell hanging above it jingled. A woman rushed into the store holding the hand of a small child. Both of them were out of breath and both were soaked from the falling rain.

Now, old Pop knew just about everyone who lived in the little town, but he didn't know the woman and her small child. He welcomed them in out of the storm with his kind and gentle smile, a warm hello, and two warm and dry towels.

Holding hands

The woman told Pop that her car had run out of gas just down the street from his store. They walked to the gas station, filled their gas can, and they were on their way back to the car when the storm began.

She told him they were glad to find Pop's store, but they were in a hurry to get home to their own little street in another little town far, far away from here.

Now, I told you that, so I could tell you this ...

Kind old Pop scratched his head and thought for a minute. Then, with a big smile, he walked to the back and into the little toy room of the little store on the little street in the little town.

From the top step on his ladder, Pop reached high up to the very top shelf and searched around with his fingers. He finally found exactly what he was looking for.  Pop brought down the little umbrella.

He brushed off the years of dust and, with a twinkle in his eye, took his gift to the woman and her small child.
The joy in giving and the joy in receiving went around and around. Everyone was happy.

The woman and her small child thanked Pop for his kindness. Then they said goodbye to the kind and gentle man in the little store on the little street in the little town. Then they stepped back outside into the wind and the rain and opened the little umbrella.

Now, I told you that, so I could tell you this ...

The little umbrella was so surprised! It had left its lonely home high on the top shelf in the little toy room! It felt so needed.

"OH MY!" Cried the small child. "What a beautiful umbrella! Mommy, it has every color in the world!"

Happy Little Umbrella

"Could it be true?" Wondered the little umbrella.

Then, finally able to see himself without the thick layer of dust, he exclaimed, "Green, blue, red, purple, orange, yellow! Oh my!  Just look at my colors! I am as beautiful as all of the toys in the little toy room!"

As the little umbrella was opened, it went up, Up, UP! The wind rushed across and over and  under!  It was such a wonderful feeling! The little umbrella thought, "Oh my! I'm feeling just like the airplanes in the little toy room!"

Then, just when the little umbrella thought it couldn't possibly be any happier, the very BEST thing happened. It felt love and a need to protect the mother and the small child who were holding onto its handle.

The little umbrella knew it was keeping the rain off of them and it felt proud. It was a wonderful feeling.

This was an important thing to be! This was a very special job to have!

So, the little umbrella from high on the top shelf in the little toy room, in the little store, on the little street, in the little town was very happy -- not almost, but exactly.

Now, I told you that, so I could tell you this ...

The little umbrella had learned something very important. It didn't have to wish to be anyone else. It was already perfect ... just the way it was.


"A writer soon learns that easy to read is hard to write." ~CJ Heck

Frankie's Lucky Day

A Short Story
by CJ Heck

The morning sun peeked through the white lace curtains at Frankie's window. As the sunbeams teased her eyelids open, she yawned and stretched, then sat up and swiveled to the edge of the bed to slide her feet into the fuzzy pink slippers that were waiting on the floor below -- all things she had done a thousand times before. For Frankie, today only began like any other normal day ... 

Frankie yawned again and then made a nasty face at her reflection in the mirror over the dresser. What a mess, she thought, as she brushed the tangled auburn hair, finally deciding on a ponytail to tame the wayward curls. While she was attaching the little gold pin to her Brownie uniform, her mother called to her, "Frances? Frances Sharon! Now don't forget to wear your Brownie uniform. Remember, you have Scouts after school today." 

She hated it when her mother called her that! Frances was such a horrible name. She didn’t care that she was named after her great-great-grandmother Frances. Maybe it had been a fine name way back then. But to Frances Sharon Curtis, a modern girl who lived in the here and now, it sounded like something a farmer named a horse that wore a straw hat with holes cut out for its ears! There was no sense arguing with her mother about it. Frankie frowned. What was done, was done. Then she finished tying her sneakers as she shouted her answer, "Okay, Mom. I'm wearing my uniform!" 

As Frankie ate her breakfast, she thought about her two best friends, Sarah and Allie. They both called her Frankie. They were the ones that gave her the name -- she couldn't even remember anymore how long ago it was. Allie had just let it slip out one day, and the nickname stuck, and that was just fine with Frankie. She sighed. She wished her parents would call her 'Frankie' instead of (eww, gross), 'Frances'. 

When Frankie finished her breakfast, she put her dishes in the sink. Then, gathering together her books, homework, and lunch bag, she kissed her mom goodbye in the doorway and left to meet the school bus on the corner. 

“Frances, don't take the bus today, honey. I’ll be picking you up right after school for Brownies. Oh, and don't forget, Sarah and Allie will be riding with us.” Her mother reminded, her as Frankie was closing the door. 

Frankie nodded to her mother and ran down the front steps of her house just like she did every day. Today when she got to the bottom, though, she could see a small, pink 3-inch square piece of paper lying on the sidewalk. Frankie bent down and picked it up, admiring the curly design across the top of it. Thinking she would like to try to draw it, she tucked the little pink paper into the pocket of her Brownie uniform. 

The morning was way too long. Frankie felt as though she was going through each of her classes in a fog. She could remember turning in her homework, and writing down the new homework information each teacher wrote on the blackboard, but that was about it. Frances Sharon Curtis, also known as Frankie, felt very different today. It was a good feeling, too, like something big was about to happen, although what it could be, she had no clue. 

When the lunch bell finally rang, Frankie hurried to meet her friends in the cafeteria. There was Sarah at their regular table, just across from where the lunch line formed. Sarah had big blue eyes and the prettiest wild and curly red hair that Frankie had ever seen on anyone, boy or girl -- and she had a wild and crazy sense of humor to go with the hair, Frankie laughed. She was also covered with freckles that were nearly the same color as her hair. Sarah could always make Frankie laugh! They had known each other since meeting on the playground in kindergarten and had been best friends ever since. 

Right beside Sarah, sat Allie, and both of them were giggling. Allie had been a new girl in town. Frankie and Sarah had met her on the very first day of school last year, while they were all waiting for the bell to ring and the doors to open. Most kids thought Allie was stuck-up, but Sarah and Frankie both knew she was only shy. Allie was a pretty girl, very short with big brown eyes and hair the same color. She always looked so healthy, thought Frankie. Her skin was the color of a peach and her cheeks were always rosy. 

"Hey, Frankie!" Sarah yelled, waving both hands in the air. "I have PB and J today. Wanna trade?" 

"Shhh, you’re gonna get us in trouble!” Frankie teased. “Sorry, Sarah. Mom packed me a turkey sandwich, my favorite." 

"I have chocolate pudding to trade, too," Sarah teased back. 

Frankie suddenly thought about the small pink square of paper she had found on her way to school with the curly design she was going to try and draw. She hated to part with it, but she decided she could probably remember how the design looked. Besides, she really loved chocolate pudding. "Sarah, I found this cute little paper on the sidewalk this morning. You want to trade my paper for your pudding?" 

Sarah studied the little pink square that Frankie handed to her. Like Frankie, she thought it might be fun to draw the funny little design that ran clear across the top. "Sure, Frankie. I'm too full for pudding anyway." She said, as she tucked the small pink square into the front of her book to keep for later. 

When Sarah went back to class, Wanda, the nerdy girl who sat in front of her, walked in with a fist full of new pencils. Sarah's pencil had shrunk to nearly half its size from sharpening it, and the eraser was completely worn away. Sarah thought about the small pink square of paper she had just traded her pudding for with Frankie. As much as she hated to part with it, she really needed a better pencil, so Sarah offered to trade the small pink square for one of Wanda's new pencils. 

Nerdy Wanda studied the paper the same way she often studied a small scab on her arm in class before picking at it. She noticed right under the curly design there was a line of numbers. Among the numbers, of all things, was her exact birth date -- a ten for the month of October, and a thirteen. "Sure," Wanda agreed, "I'll trade." She was thinking, how unusual that some random thing like this tiny piece of pink paper has her exact birthday numbers on it -- who knows, maybe it's even lucky! 

Later in the day, right in the middle of her math class, Wanda found she was out of paper. To someone like Wanda, a very snobby nerd who was ALWAYS prepared, that was nothing short of a tragedy! She turned to Mandy who sat in the seat just behind her. "Would you trade me some paper for one of my new pencils?” 

Mandy was one of the nicest girls in the class. She offered to give Wanda some paper, but Wanda said, “No. I would always feel like I owed you something. Suddenly, Wanda had an idea. "Mandy," she said, "I have this really neat piece of pink paper. It has my exact birthday numbers on it, so it has to be lucky, too. I would be willing to trade it with you for some paper. Okay?” 

The truth was, Mandy loved anything small enough to use for a bookmark. She loved reading. She was often reading three or four books at the same time. Mandy looked at the small pink square that Wanda showed her and decided it would make a perfect bookmark for the book she was reading for her book report! She agreed, and after giving Wanda a few pieces of paper, Mandy tucked the little pink square into her book, allowing it to stick out between the pages where she had stopped reading last night. 

Frankie’s afternoon was almost as strange as her morning had been. She couldn’t get rid of the feeling that something big was going to happen. She pushed the thought from her mind several times during the day, but it kept sneaking back in, uninvited. She had no idea what it was about and she just wanted the school day to be over. Frankie breathed a huge sigh of relief when the dismissal bell finally rang. 

Once outside, she spotted Allie and Sara waiting for her at the bottom of the steps. As they walked to her Mom's car for a ride to Brownies, Mandy came running up to them. She told Frankie her mother called the school this afternoon to say she won't be able to pick her up. Mandy said she didn't want to take the bus and then walk to the meeting. "Could I please ride along with you guys? Tell you what -- I'll even give you my lucky bookmark if you'll let me ride with you." 

As Mandy held out her bookmark to Frankie, Frankie's jaw dropped. She could hardly believe what she saw! Mandy’s bookmark was the same small 3-inch square of pink paper she had found on the sidewalk this morning! It was wrinkled now, and one of the corners was bent down, but she could still see the curly design she had wanted to draw! Frankie smiled and told her, "Sure -- hop in!" Then Frankie tucked the little pink square back into the same pocket in her uniform where it had been that morning. 

That evening at home, Frankie still had that goofy feeling about something big happening, while she was getting into her favorite pajamas. Suddenly, she heard a loud shout from her father downstairs. Her father never shouted! Something was wrong! Frankie ran down the stairs, two steps at a time, and into the living room, where her parents were sitting on the couch in front of the TV. 

"Dad, what's wrong?" she asked. 

Her mother took a deep breath. Then she said, "Honey, everything's okay. Daddy’s just disappointed. He bought a lottery ticket last night and somehow, he lost it. He's been playing the same numbers every week for years and tonight, his number -- every one of his numbers -- finally were drawn in the lottery. He's just disappointed, honey -- we're both disappointed." 

Her dad then said to no one in particular, "I don't understand how I could have lost it. As soon as I bought the ticket, I put it in my shirt pocket, same as always. Then I got in the car and drove home. The only other thing I did was walk to the mailbox to mail some letters, but then I came right back into the house to have supper. I didn't even know it was gone until just now, when I looked for it in my pocket." 

Frankie had the strangest feeling in the pit of her stomach. "Daddy, what exactly did the ticket look like?" she asked, thinking about her small 3-inch square of pink paper with the curly design across the top. 

Her mother smiled. "Frances, it looked like, well, like a lottery ticket. It would be small with a lot of numbers on it. Frances, don't worry about it. It isn't like we lost something we already had. We're no worse off now than we were before." 

Frankie turned around and ran back up the stairs, back into her room, and pulled the small wrinkled square of pink paper from the pocket of her Brownie uniform. Then she took it downstairs to the two people she loved most in the world. "Dad, did it look like THIS?" she asked. 

Her mother and father stared at the little square paper, and then at each other, then back at the small and wrinkled pink square once more. Suddenly, like one single excited voice, they both screamed together, "Frankie! That's it!" 

Frances Sharon Curtis, a girl with blue eyes, with unruly auburn hair, with two best friends named Sarah and Allie, smiled a huge smile. Her parents had called her 'Frankie'. 

Then she smiled again, thinking about a small square of pink paper, everything it must have been through, and finally finding out what her funny feelings all day really meant: Today was a very lucky day. 

The Cottage by Salty Brook

A Short Story
by CJ Heck

The dusty lane was very narrow. Little snippets of grass peeked through here and there between the deep ruts where I walked. I didn't really care where the lane was going. I had already decided to follow wherever it took me. So, the lane and I continued along together, snaking through the lofty fragrant pines until it eventually narrowed and hugged a little brook that gurgled and sang such lovely songs. 

Lost in my thoughts, the dewy morning was only a memory by the time I noticed how the sun now warmed my shoulders from high above the trees. As I rounded a small turn, the lane suddenly widened into a clearing. There I saw a small wooden hand-lettered sign tacked to a post just above a black metal mailbox which read: The Cottage by Salty Brook. A little further down, the lane stopped altogether, dead-ending in front of a small cottage nestled in among even more stately pines. 

The cabin looked tired, like a trusted old friend basking in the sun of his golden years. It had certainly seen better days, however, it also had an unmistakable "cared for" look. The weathered boards were now a faded grey and the curtains at the windows were yellowed and worn. On the wide front porch, two small boys sat playing and I slowed my walk to return their friendly waves. 

The yard was square and wide, spreading all the way to the woods on either side and then around and behind the little house. The grass was sparse, but what was there was well taken care of.  There were toys casually strewn about the yard, and two red bicycles were parked as if patiently waiting for their young riders to return. 

I almost missed the little girl as my eyes first swept the yard. She was sitting under a gnarled and ancient apple tree, with a homemade rag doll in her lap, humming softly to herself. A fragile child, she had the biggest blue eyes and her delicate face was framed in beautiful golden ringlets. She looked to be about five. 

When she spotted me standing there, she put down her doll and ran over to me. At first she seemed shy, peeking up at me with those big blue eyes, and toeing the ground with a sandaled shoe. Then suddenly, she spoke in a rapid succession of questions and statements, which were all strung together, almost as one long one. She asked, how did I get there, where I was going, and where have I been. Then she told me all about her family and finally, she asked me what my name was. I couldn't help but laugh. This adorable little waif had immediately stolen my heart with her gentle innocence. 

I don’t know how long we sat there talking in the shade of that gnarly apple tree sitting cross-legged, indian-style, on the grass. After a while, I simply noticed that our large and small shadows had gradually lengthened at our sides. One by one, I answered all of her questions. I told her my name and, in turn, she shared hers and the names of six siblings. She told me they didn’t go to the school in town. Their mama taught them at home. Then she told me all about their trips into town, again stringing all of her words together just like the pearls on a necklace. 

“The other kids in town all laugh and point at us. They say we’re shabby and poor, but mama says it’s okay. She says we should treat others the same as we would like them to treat us, and she says those kids just don’t know any better, so we shouldn't blame them. When I asked Papa if we were poor, he said no, we weren’t poor. He told me we're very rich in the things that really matter. We just don’t have a whole lot of money.” 

Her mom and dad then came to the patched screen door on the wide front porch. “It’s time for supper,” her mother called. With a wave to me, my little friend got up and headed toward the front steps. One by one the others all came, and as they stepped through the doorway, each child gave their mama a kiss as they passed by her. 

The mother called out and asked if I would like to come in and join them for supper, “There’s always room for more,” and when I entered the clean and tidy cabin, I saw that she had already set a place for me at the long wooden table. 

The moon was peeking through the clouds and all of the shadows by the gurgling brook were gone when I finally left the Cottage by Salty Brook. There was a new coolness to the pine-scented air, but I wrapped their love around me like a cloak and wore it home. 

The Fall of Life

Life is what we make it ... 

A Short Story
by CJ Heck 

Anna was signing a birthday card for her oldest daughter at the kitchen table and enjoying a late morning cup of coffee. 

The card was lovely with a beautiful verse. She had spent a lot of time in the card store yesterday, crying over the sad ones, laughing at the silly ones, until she finally found the right one, the card that captured her sentiments exactly. 

This was truly the perfect card, all about motherly love, and the pride she felt in the woman and mother Chelsea had become. Then something suddenly occurred to her -- Chelsea was turning thirty-eight.

Then a thought caught Anna by surprise, like a sucker-punch -- not that Chelsea would be thirty-eight. No. It was more than that. Anna was exactly twenty years older than her daughter, which meant that Anna would be fifty-eight this year. 

I'm now in the fall of my life, Anna thought … how the hell did I get here so quickly? Wasn’t it just yesterday that I was young and crouched at life's starting gate, waiting for the race to begin, with all of my plans and my hopes and dreams stretched out before me? 

Wasn't it just yesterday that we were awaiting the arrival of our first-born, Chelsea? Anna's thoughts turned melancholy and they reached back, just for a while.

As a child, she remembered looking up at her grandparents and feeling such awe. These were her daddy's parents. Back then, she had thought they must be as old as the trees. Their hair was snow white and they always came with bottles of pills, which they lined up in a long row on the kitchen counter top.  

Being so old, she had thought, they were probably very wise, too, so she always listened closely to what Grampa shared. He told her stories about what it was like when he was a little boy and there were more horses on the streets than there were cars. He said they didn't have TV's back then. 

They read books and played games at the kitchen table when it rained, and when it was sunny, they played fun outside games, or climbed trees, or went swimming in the pond. She remembered the wonderful way grampa explained things so she could almost see everything he was describing, just through his words.

Yes, Anna thought, they were old, but I adored them and I saw them through eyes full of love. I loved hearing all the stories about when they were young. I remember going for ice cream cones at the dairy store with them, and hearing grandma hum while she baked pies -- and grampa puffing on his curved pipe that smelled so pungent and good. 

Then another sobering thought hit Anna. I am now older than these wonderful grandparents were when they passed away.  Oh, how I miss them, and suddenly she realized something. She wanted to be just like them.

Time moves so quickly. No, not in our youth. Then, time only gently pushes us forward towards the finish line and we hardly notice time at all. Then, slowly at first, then faster, life grows full and gets busy and things change. Where time used to stop us in our tracks, we suddenly learn just how fast it really goes -- like the thirty-eighth birthday of a child.  

Here in the fall of my life, time has simply caught me off guard. I have a few regrets, Anna thought. There are things I wish I hadn’t done, things I should have done, and things I wish I had done differently. But there are the many wonderful things that I’m happy to have done and glad that I had the chance to do.

Anna took another sip of her coffee, which had turned ice cold in her cup. I don’t know how long my fall will last, and I certainly have no promises that I will ever see winter, but I do know I've enjoyed a full life ... and damn it, it’s not over yet! 

I’m going to treat every day from now on with renewed appreciation. There are things I still want to accomplish, dreams that can still come true and children and grandchildren to hug and tell my stories to, and I'm fortunate to have a wonderful husband in my life to share it all with.

Anna remembered something her mother used to say, "Life is a gift, baby girl. How we live it is our gift to ourselves." Now that saying makes perfect sense, she thought, with a silent thank you to her mother. 

She decided to pour another cup of coffee, call her daughter, and then start opening more of her gift ... 





(from the book, "Bits and Pieces")

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The Return

A Short Story
by CJ Heck

It had been years since Gillian had been down to the Keys. She had made a fateful decision twenty years ago, right here in the Keys. It was a decision that would change her life forever. But, until now, she had been unable to gather the courage to face the Keys again, or the mystical time she had spent here. With a sigh of regret, she thought, and I also didn't have the courage to face him again. 

Not so, the memories. Those she always carried with her, treasured and fiercely guarded, and she would hold onto them forever. The decision she had made those many years ago turned out to be the wrong one -- it had only taken her a few hours to see that, but by then, it was already too late. Coming here, she knew this day would be even more difficult to face, but now it was time. 

It really was beautiful here. There was so much about the Keys she had missed. Gillian was surprised and yet glad that the weathered building still stood; however, the once brightly painted facade was now only a faded patchwork of condemned signs and crumbling plaster. Its boarded windows were long past feeling the warmth of the sun. She felt such a clash of emotions, finally standing here after all of these years and remembering. Only by steeling her heart with a deep breath, was she able to climb the steps to the wide veranda, open the door and step inside. 

The once magnificent foyer brought another flood of memories and her breath caught in her throat, surprising Gillian. She could almost hear the soft music coming from the ballroom to the right, where they had danced until three in the morning. The now rickety stairs that flowed up from either side of the foyer were higher than she remembered. Now the trip up was almost as difficult as the trip back, in time. 

In ruins thick with dust, and thicker still with memories, she felt her past and present collide. Gillian sat down hard on the top step and allowed her tears their freedom. The pain and sorrow flowed for what might have been, and she watched as each cleansing tear dropped on the aged and dirty floorboards. It had been right to return. Here, in this place, she could allow herself to remember and grieve and the healing could finally begin. 

Gillian's memories enveloped her, one right after another. Barefoot and holding hands, their dreams had been exciting and brand new. They had walked down these same steps and then across the street to the water’s edge. She remembered looking down at their clasped hands. She couldn’t tell where her fingers stopped and Michael's began and how wonderful that felt. With their pants rolled up mid-calf, they had flirted with the waves and gathered baby sand dollars and stored them in their shoes. Gillian smiled, thinking about how he wrote her name in the sand with his big toe and they had laughed until they cried -- and how the vivid colors of the sunset had blended the blue-green water right into the sky as they watched, cuddled up together on the wooden glider on the beach. When the sun had finally set, they packed up their things, gathered their sand dollar shoes and left the beach. 

We were so happy, Gillian thought. We talked about him, and me, and we whispered of us. And after making love, we would lay basking in the afterglow with my head resting in the cradle of his shoulder. Her heart ached as she thought about that last night together. She realized that she had never felt such joy and sweet abandon before, or since. 

They never spoke of anything that might get in the way or, if something did, how they would push it aside -- actually, to be fair, they never gave a thought to an end at all. They had even assumed her abusive marriage was finally over. After all, she had left Theo for Michael. She had called and told him so. Dear, dear Michael, so kind and good, an honest man who knew how to treat a lady, always with love and respect -- abuse wasn't even a word that Michael knew. A gentle caring lover, Michael had known how to both give, and receive love. What they had was tender and beautiful and how she had loved him! 

Then it happened. Theo played his trump card. Weeks after she had left him, he arrived unannounced on Michael's front porch when they returned from the Keys. He reminded her they were married and he wanted her back. Of course, he had appealed directly to her highly-developed sense of right and wrong -- he had been a master at pouring on guilt for even the smallest infraction. In his words, Gillian had been adulterous and Theo would be magnanimous. He would forgive her. He promised things would be different and he told her she owed him another chance. And, against everything her heart was screaming, she had made her decision. 

With a sigh, Gillian realized it had been right to return to the Keys. It was time now to face the past. How she wished she had called and told Michael she had made a mistake, but there are some things that once done, can never be undone, and now it was truly too late. Michael had begged her to stay, and he told her Theo would never change. She had hurt Michael beyond words -- she had hurt them both -- and there wasn't a day that went by that she didn't regret her decision. 

Getting through the funeral today would be the most difficult and painful experience of her life -- but she had to be here. After all, it was her Michael. Sadly, she thought, some days are diamonds, some days are dust, and some days, well, some days can never be anything but both ... and Michael, I never go barefoot without thinking of you. 

Valentine for an Old Love

Flash Fiction

by CJ Heck

Katie blew the dust off the old size six shoebox that was tied with an ivory ribbon. She had carefully tucked the shoebox in a camel-back steamer trunk in the attic and there it had been resting for years -- until today, the same as every Valentine's Day, for the last fifty years. Inside the box was one of her most cherished possessions, a valentine that was never sent.

The love it represented flourished a long time ago, nearly a lifetime now, Katie thought, but it was still as fresh in her mind today as the scent of the roses he brought her every Wednesday, just because Wednesday was the day that they first met.

A deep sigh escaped her as she allowed herself this special time to remember. They had been so very much in love -- so many miles and years now were between them. The youthful he and she had long since moved on, each taking a different path through life, but so many times Katie felt regret for what might have been, had she only been free. It was like the words of a song she had once heard, it was sad to belong to someone else when the right one came along.

The pain of loss was still fresh in her heart and she knew it always would be. I’ll always love you, she thought. I’ll always care. A love like that is almost never found at all. You're forever here in my heart and one more time I wonder ... what might have been, had I put a stamp on this Valentine and dropped it into the box.

Katie brushed away a tear. Then she kissed the valentine and sent out the familiar wish from her heart to his: “For what we had, I wish you love.” Then, replacing the valentine in its size six cardboard home, she retied the ivory ribbon and tucked it carefully back into the steamer trunk to rest for another year.

A Short-Short Story: Mr. Beggar Man

Mr. Beggar Man

by CJ Heck

Mr. Beggar Man, you were such a gentle soul.  

Each day, you were dressed exactly the same -- a stained red plaid shirt, brown felt hat speckled with bird poop, and saggy-baggy pants that stopped just above two heelless shoes with holes that were see-through to feet with no socks.

So many mornings I walked by your corner, sometimes
putting money in your cup, if only to borrow one of your smiles when I had none left of my own. 

Somehow, I always knew that the smile you gave me would be the one that found those I had only misplaced for a while.

Countless times we shared a lunch together, as you did with so many others.  Sometimes, I brought you hot soup and coffee from the deli across the street.  Other times, you shared half of my tuna sandwich from home.  

You, in return, shared your wooden pallet to sit on, but never once a conversation. And all the while, you never missed a beat as you continued to pass out your glorious smile to everyone who glanced your way as they hurried by.

I've often wondered, what happened in your life to make you take up residence on that corner -- only to die cold and alone?  

I'm saddened to know the smiles you apportioned to countless others were your only living legacy.

I wish I could somehow tell you, you are missed by many, even the shopkeepers who so often shooed you away.  I hope you knew what your smile meant to me ... and I regret I never even knew your name.

[from the book, "Bits and Pieces of a Writer's Soul"]

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"A writer soon learns that easy to read is hard to write." ~CJ Heck