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Posts tagged “short story”

Ice Cream Stories: Dark and Stormy Shake

Sandra Peterson Ramirez

Posted on September 11, 2015

close up of a frozen drink on fire logs

 

The four of us stand together at the edge of the firelight. My little sister, Victoria, is the youngest. She’s twelve years younger than me; a happy accident for my parents and, once we’d grown up, my best friend. She’s also the creator of the smooth, intoxicating shakes we’ve just used to toast the night.

 

The other two are my friends Mallory and Callie. Standing here, the variations in height and shape and coloring—our skin and hair ranging from pale to dusky—that mark us in daylight fade away, and we are simply shadows.  These women are my clan. They are the ones I call when life has been very good or very bad or just because. Today has not been a good day.

 

Like I said, Victoria made the drinks. She brought the rum, ginger beer, and good vanilla ice cream and blended them together. She said she’d sprinkled something special in them as well. Best not to question her when she says things like that. Mal and Callie “borrowed” their neighbor’s copper fire pit and picked up some lighter fluid and kindling. Victoria told them what to bring.

 

It’s funny. Mal, Callie, and I are all about the same age. We met in college years ago. We’re all outspoken, take-charge women; but Victoria, the quiet one, tends to control our flux and flow. Mostly, this is subtle, and while I can’t tell you how she does it, we all feel it. Now she raises her glass and says, unexpectedly, “To Ray,” and drinks deeply. Over the edge of her glass her eyes admonish us to do the same, so we do. Weakly we repeat, “Ray,” and drink.

 

I also met Ray in college and married him. Three weeks ago we celebrated our twenty-fifth anniversary; not in Cabo San Luca as planned, though. He’d claimed to have a last minute emergency at work, so we postponed the trip and indulged in a weekend “staycation” at a resort here in town.

 

“So tell us?” Victoria says, in a softer tone this time.

 

“He cancelled the Mexico trip because she, Olivia, the man-eating bitch, didn’t want him to go. She said that it was okay to spend one last weekend with me, but—” and I have to stop because of the hiccuping tears. Mal and Callie step in closer, on either side of me. It’s enough.

 

“She said it would be leading me on to take me on a big trip. And I really hate that she was right. The bitch.”

 

“And then he left?” Victoria asks.

 

“And then he left.” I can see the scene so clearly. Ray leaving. Saying he’d be back for his things. Saying it was for the best. The best for whom?

 

Victoria nods almost like she can see my thoughts.

 

“You’ve got everything on the list?”

 

“I do.”

 

“Well let’s get this party started,” she says with a smile.

 

His sweaty gym clothes—including his Calvin’s—go in the fire first. The next item is one of his favorite ties, which I’d soaked in his cologne and then cut in half. I swear the smoke starts to smell like Ray. Then his Mont Blanc fountain pen. And, finally, his house key.

 

“That’s it,” I say, watching the fire.

 

“Almost.” Victoria tosses one last item into the flames; something that looks like a large gnarled rhizome and a wad of hair tied with a white ribbon.

 

“What was that?”

 

“A mandrake root, of course. With a little hair and blood.”

 

“Blood?” I ask, startled.

 

“My dear sister, these things always require blood.”

 

“But whose? How?”

 

“It’s not important. All you need to know is that no one was harmed. That makes a difference in the outcome, you know. Now, time for your wish. You’ve thought about what you want?”

 

I exhale.

 

“I have.”

 

She hands me a disturbingly large needle.

 

“Okay then. State it and then the blood goes into the fire. One drop for each wish.”

 

I could blame the rum shake, but really, my baby sister’s confidence in her own crazy suburban hoodoo is infectious, even stone-cold sober. I laugh as I poke my finger, like it’s some kind of joke and I might as well play along, right? But I’m not joking, and neither is Victoria. She grabs my hand and squeezes the pricked finger until my blood drips into the flames, while Mal and Callie lean in closer to count the drops. Then—to paraphrase Chekhov—an angel of silence flies over us. I sense nothing but the crackling of the fire and the heat on my face—the heat of the flames, the heat of the rum, the heat of my wild hope.

. . .

I had not wished for Ray to come back to me, so I have to say that his signing the bulk of our assets over to me, and our divorce going through without a hitch, made everything easier. Hearing that his business was not doing well didn’t make me feel as good as you might think. But opening the Sunday paper six months later and seeing that my cousin Olivia had married Ray’s now-former business partner and was honeymooning in Cabo? That was definitely an announcement worth toasting, with rum and fire and my three best friends.

 

 

 

*****

Photo by Sandra Peterson Ramirez.

Ice Cream Stories: Root Beer Float

Sandra Peterson Ramirez

Posted on September 3, 2015

ice cream cone with sprinkles in front of a carousel

 

They sat facing each other, the aqua formica table between them. She had her hands clasped together, index fingers pointing at him. Did she pick that up from me? he wondered. The obviousness of the power play and her serious gaze unnerved him. He would never admit to anyone that he was just a little afraid of her. Even when she leaned forward to sip she didn’t look away. Her eyes, the same deep brown and creamy white as her drink, were huge. They reminded him of that fairy tale; the one where the dog had eyes as big as saucers.

 

She cleared her throat and said “You wanted to talk?”

 

“Oh. Right. Yes, there are some things I need to tell you.”

 

Her mouth twisted up a little. “This sounds bad.”

 

“Well, not bad.” He was trying not to panic, to keep control of the situation. “No, it’s not a bad thing. We just need to clarify some things. I think there has been some disinformation spread.”

 

“Disinformation?” She repeated it slowly, stressing each syllable, trying on the new word.

 

“Sorry, I think maybe you’ve been told some things that aren’t exactly true.”

 

Her expression cleared. “Someone lied? Who?”

 

“I don’t want to say lied. We’ll just say they were…” He searched for a word. “Mistaken! They were probably mistaken.”

 

One eyebrow drifted up just a little. Again he thought did she get that from me?

 

“I know your grandmother has—”

 

“Gramma?” She asked, cutting him off.

 

“Uh. No, your other grandmother”

 

“Oh. Mimi.”

 

They sat for a moment not speaking, his words settling between them.

 

“Go on,” she said finally.

 

“It’s about school. I know she’s told you some things, made you some promises, about how school is going to be this year, what to expect. And I’m sure sure she had the best intentions. It’s just that…I mean the thing is…”

 

As he spoke she continued to stare at him with those enormous fathomless eyes. She had leaned all the way back in her chair and pulled knees up in front of her, resting her heels on the seat of the chair. He could see her black patent mary janes and white socks edged in lace.

 

“The thing is you have to go to kindergarten like everyone else. I know she told you that you could go straight to high school, but you just can’t. I’m really sorry, but I thought you should know before you got there tomorrow.” He said it all out in a rush before he lost his nerve. “And there’s more.”

 

“More?” She said it calmly, but she was stabbing at her melting ice cream with the long silver spoon and staring at him, eyes narrowed ever so slightly.

 

“Yes, she also promised you that you would have a desk, right? But they don’t have desks in kindergarten. They sit in a circle. In chairs.”

 

Again they sat in silence.

 

“Chairs like these?” She finally asked.

 

“Well maybe smaller.”

 

“Hmm.”

 

She dropped the spoon into the glass, stood up, went around the table, and kissed him on the cheek.

 

“Time to go. Mimi is waiting in the car.  I’ll see you next week Daddy.”

 

“Oh. Okay, Baby. So you’re okay with what I said? About school I mean?”

 

She paused for a moment, gracing him with her sweetest smile. She was only five years old, but already a mystery to him.

 

“Oh, we’ll see about that.”

 

She disappeared with the tinkle of the shop door.

 

 

 

 

 

*****

Photo by Sandra Peterson Ramirez.

13 Ways: What the Elephant Tree Knew

td Whittle

Posted on April 10, 2014

When Lila and Bat were eight and four years old, respectively, they believed that the elephant tree could hear them. More importantly, they believed that she understood them. Every day and in all kinds of weather, the two girls would run to the bushland near their home, laughing in relief to see that their tree was still there. They were young, but they understood about trees: how one could grow tall and strong for a hundred years or more, only to be killed off in a second by a lightning strike, or killed off more slowly from fatal ring-barking. Lila and Bat relied on the elephant tree, as they relied on each other. She was the best listener they knew. She was their friend.…

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13 Ways: Thursday afternoon, near the turtle pond

Sandra Peterson Ramirez

Posted on April 2, 2014

“You know when it happened, don’t you?” he asked.   I just stared at him, my mind a blank. At that moment there was nothing in it except sunshine and wind and, in one tiny corner, the thought that I really did know where I had misplaced that green scarf.   “You took your eyes off it and let it slip from your mind and, just like that, it drifted away. You’ll never get it back. It’s gone for good. You can’t do that. You are responsible for some things forever and it’s up to you to hold on as tightly as you can; as if your life depended on it. After all, someone’s just might.”   If I had known him, I might…

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13 Ways: Pillow Talk

Sandra Peterson Ramirez

Posted on December 30, 2013

Morning comes in with a click, a sigh, an indistinct whisper. Nudges at me. I push night-sweat curled hair out of my face and pull the quilt over my head. Morning sighs again and whispers some indecipherable secret in my ear. Morning, tasting of sleep and coffee, kisses me. Twice quick and light and once hard and lingering. Kisses the bruise on my left thigh.    I deny the urging and turn my back on morning. Pull the quilt tighter, squinch my eyes a little harder. I start to fall and then catch myself, nestled in a thousand quilts. A mechanical golden bird clicks its beak against the bedroom window, lets itself in, and traipses across the ceiling, its ticking feet leaving gold hieroglyphic markings…

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13 Ways: Traveling Heart

Sandra Peterson Ramirez

Posted on April 11, 2013

“It’s not going to last,” she said, carefully squeezing the lime into her drink and giving it a thorough stir.   “You sound very sure.” He tried to keep the hope out of his voice. They’d done this dance before. Many times.   “She doesn’t like to travel.” She dipped one finger in the drink, ran it along the rim and then licked the salt, tasting it.   “But you just went to Vegas?” He hated the question in his voice. Hated the tingle of excitement elicited by watching her lick her fingers. Hated that he wanted details to think about later.   She shot him a look of disgusted amusement. “Vegas isn’t traveling. It’s…” She searched for a word.   He waited, knowing…

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13 Ways: Last Kiss

Sandra Peterson Ramirez

Posted on January 10, 2013

He reached out, set the glasses on the dash. In their reflection he could see trees and light poles flashing by at seventy-five miles an hour. He couldn’t see the gas station he was leaving behind. He couldn’t see her standing inside, behind the dirty plate glass window. She’d told him that she couldn’t go any farther with him. That the bus stopped there and she was going to take it to some other godforsaken little town. Responsibilities, she’d said. He’d gotten in the truck and peeled out like a teenager and it’d started to rain just like in a goddamned movie.   He stewed about what could have been while he drove for the next three hours. He finally had to stop at another…

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13 Ways: Side Effects

td Whittle

Posted on March 27, 2012

The problem was the insects.   They were all around the house. While it was not as if there were a plague of them, there were at least hundreds of the smaller ones, and dozens of the bigger ones – too many to be normal, Glenda was sure of that. Well, she thought she was sure of that. It seemed that more were arriving all the time. They were multiplying at an alarming rate. She could only identify some of the basic types, as insects had never captured her attention much in the past.

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13 Ways: Home

td Whittle

Posted on March 11, 2012

He was sitting in his yard draining his last can of beer and stubbing out a cigarette when the change came. He felt no pain, only the sensation of being tugged, like a fluffy pillow being urged from its fitted case. Finally, he came loose – this conscious part of him – and hovered over the dilapidated mass from which he had just wrested himself.    “Well, damn,” he thought, “guess that’s it then.”   But the truth was, he’d been thinking for some time that this might happen. While he was not what you’d call old, he’d pretty well made all the use of his body – for better or worse – that a man could make. He knew he’d worn it out. He…

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13 Ways: Someone Like You

td Whittle

Posted on January 7, 2012

   “In three words I can sum up everything I’ve learned about life: it goes on.”- Robert Frost     Bonjour, Helen!   It’s Grandmother Grace here. This is my first time to use this recording software. Your grandfather set it up for me, and he tells me that it is superb, so I will trust his judgement on that.   Your mum tells me you are having the time of your life in Paris. Well, that does not surprise me at all. I loved Paris, too, as a young woman. I visit it still in my dreams sometimes. I like to imagine you listening to my voice from a cafe near the Seine, sipping warm milky coffee while the sun shines on your hair.…

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13 Ways: Illustrated Stories

13 Ways: Illustrated Stories

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The Infinite Loop

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Stranger Places: A Pie Town Novel

Stranger Places: A Pie Town Novel

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