Letting Go

By Norma Harrs

this book is about discovery. whether it be emotional or intellectual, it is an opening up of the senses to the world around each of the characters in the individual stories. a young girl rudely made aware of the grown-up dangerous world of sex. an elderly dean of a university who is suddenly exposed to the charms of a glorious golden young man. a woman on the verge of menopause who is drawn to quick-sex, but finds she has bitten-off more than she can chew when she chooses a young truck driver. an irish spinster who has yearned after a man for fifty odd years and then finds better things await her as she begins her seventieth decade. a young irish girl who finds her life in london complicated by the advances of her stuffy boss and the emotional bombardment of an upper class twit.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Norma Harrs
• Release date: Oct 8, 2012
• ISBN: 9781301660001

Norma Harrs

I was born and brought up in Ireland and came to Canada as a young woman. I acted professionally for quite a number of years and then began working as a broadcaster for the Canadian Broadcasting Corporation. As a freelance writer I contributing to many Canadian newspapers. My first novel `A Certain State of Mind,' was published by Virgo Press. My first short story collection, `Love Minus One & Other Stories (Hounslow) came out in l994. My second collection, `Where Dreams Have Gone,' (Simon & Pierre) was published in l997. My stories have been broadcast on CBC and some are currently available on Audible (U.K)Three of my short stories which I have narrated are available on audio at http://bit.ly/IrishShortStories

Book preview

Praise for ‘Where Dreams Have Gone.’ (Simon & Pierre)

Norma Harrs has written a series of incandescent short stories. Each story centres on one or two principal characters and a situation – death, marriage, a party, a dance class – that causes unease. Harrs has the uncommon ability to see these situations as her characters feel them…these are worthy tales, written in the tradition of Elizabeth Tallent, William Trevor or Alice Munro.

Review by Allan Hepburn for The Financial Post

Praise for ‘Love Minus One & Other Stories’ (Hounslow Press)

Norma Harrs was raised in Ireland and stylistically speaking, you can tell by that special brilliant quality to her writing that she writes from a British mindset. She has the graceful English usage of Katherine Mansfield in this group of short stories, and exhibits the acerbic wit and sharp, elegant writing skills of Nancy Mitford….Anybody who is interested in learning how to write technically tight and readable short stories will be interested in purchasing this book.

Review by Judy Pollard Smith for The Spectator

Amid the cacophony of experimental fiction emanating from Canadian small presses these days, Norma Harrs’ Love Minus One & Other Stories strikes a distinctive note. Writing in the realist tradition of Margaret Laurence and Alice Munro, Harrs’ second book is a wry, witty and sometimes surprising collection of stories that is eminently readable.

Review by Mark Cohen for Books in Review

There’s a wonderfully satisfying sense of the delicate art of eavesdropping in Norma Harrs’ collection of 20 love-related stories, ranging from the comic and triumphant to the terrifying and rather poignant. Her great strength in short-story writing is perhaps in bringing the talents of journalist and actor to the development of her characters’ psyche.

Review by Rod Currie for The Canadian Press

Harrs is able to inhabit her characters convincingly, and the reader is able to identify with their human nature. There are characters that stay with you…Harrs knows about people and love, and it shows.

Review by Marie Berry for The Winnipeg Free Press

LETTING GO

A collection of short stories

By

Norma Harrs

Smashwords Edition

Copyright © Norma Harrs 2012

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by an means, (except for review purposes) electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from Norma Harrs.

Cover design by Tatiana Villa.

Content

An Educated Woman

Soap Opera in a Red Camaro

The Unkindness of Strangers

Resurrection

Guilt and the Olive Green Suit

Loss of a Loved One

Careful What You Wish For

Safe

Connections

That’s My Baby

A Meal For Marnie

Boxes

A Lost Heart

Letting Go

Going Nowhere

Valentine’s Day

Matter Over Mind

AN EDUCATED WOMAN

Emily was reading Germaine Greer. Everything the iconic feminist had ever done in her life resonated within her very soul. They were twins in a way, and by reading about her, Emily felt she could somehow track how her own life might turn out. She wasn’t sure that she was totally happy with how Germaine’s physical looks had changed. Perhaps they were going to depart on separate journeys in that regard. She had no intention of going ‘gently into the night,’ allowing nature to have its way with her. Not that she was vain, but she did feel all that bushy gray hair did nothing for Germaine. Her own hair depended a great deal on Graziano, her hairdresser. Nothing was going to destroy that relationship. She relied on the gentle blonde rinses he applied every six weeks to hide the gray.

Apart from that, her life and Germaine’s seemed to run on parallel courses. Not that Emily was a writer, but she did teach English at the University of Toronto. She believed herself to be completely liberated in every sense of the word. Even though she had few close friends, the concept of sisterhood was very important to her. In her love relationships she, like Germaine, was a great fancier of rugged, partially educated men.

Her latest acquisition, Karl Freyer, was a long distance truck driver. She’d met him at a roadside cafe just south of Thunder Bay. On the way back, after having delivered a guest lecture at Lakehead University, she stopped to collect a coffee to keep her awake and collected Karl at the same time. He came in and plunked himself down on a stool beside her. The very male, smoky, slightly stale odour that emanated from his body acted like an aphrodisiac. He struck up a conversation and seemed fascinated to learn that she was a professor.

I left school at sixteen…but I only began to learn things after I left, he informed her, scratching a couple of days’ growth on his chin. She assumed he was talking about life in general.

Even though it was late fall, he wore a short-sleeved sweat shirt that displayed a fine covering of blonde hair all the way down his arms. Usually she preferred smooth-skinned muscular types, but she wasn’t averse to new experiences, and this would definitely be different, not unlike coupling with a baby bear. He definitely would do. She tried to focus on the conversation although her thoughts already had them bedded.

He took her card when she offered it to him and knew she left him puzzled as to whether it was an invitation or just a polite ritual that meant nothing at all. It was ten days before she heard from him. He told her he was only in Toronto for a night and wondered about the possibility of them getting together for a drink.

They met at a bar on Queen Street, and in the dim light she walked right past him before she heard her name called. Turning, she was surprised to see him clean-shaven and looking almost college-boy neat. The transformation didn’t altogether please her.

Before we go any further, she informed him halfway through the first drink, I like to be upfront. I don’t know how old you are, but I’m forty-nine. At a guess I’d say fifteen or twenty years older than you. ‘Good girl, Emily, always lay it on the line!’Germaine’s voice was never far from her ear.

I like older women, he said grinning.

It was the usual response and inevitably true. She liked her men to know what the goals were, no tomfoolery about love and marriage. Unlike Germaine, Emily had no regrets about never having had a child. From an early age she recognized that her mothering instincts were nil. The best she could achieve was to transfer whatever trace of nurturing she had to the outwardly macho, but mostly vulnerable young men she preferred. It seemed to be what they were looking for and she didn’t mind the game.

When Emily talked, he kept his eyes focused on her lips as if he was lip-reading, no doubt wondering how she would taste. She knew by the end of the evening that he’d fallen not just for her looks, but also for her mind. It was a part of her that most men overlooked and somehow it made him special.

The bedding was perfect. With most men there was elaborate foreplay, which sometimes was too self-conscious, too pre-planned. With Karl, lust took over and buried the niceties. She found herself coming faster than she ever had in the past and no sooner than it was over, wanting it all over again. He was as ready as she and it was a long, wonderful, sleepless, passionate night.

The beauty of it all was that he empowered her in ways she had never imagined. He was greedy for information on all subjects, and she felt herself turning the Pygmalion story on its head. Her Stone Age man was a fast learner. He seemed to want to know about every part of her life. Most of it she delivered to him on demand but, as yet, she hadn’t mixed him with any of the university crowd. Not because she was in any way ashamed of him; on the contrary, she felt rather proud of herself and the entire relationship.

So when do I get to meet some of your friends, he asked her on another night when he was in town, and after a more than satisfactory session of lovemaking.

Whenever you want. She ran her hands through the soft thatch of his blonde curls and grabbed a handful. I just hate to share you.

Are you sure that’s what it is? He stared down at her and put a finger on her lower lip, tracing the slight pout.

What else would it be?

You tell me.

She took him to a faculty Christmas party. He surprised her by turning up looking like a Bay Street banker on a day off. She had been smiling quietly to herself all day at the opportunity of presenting Karl, her truck driver lover. She hated the transformation

It was never long before people got around to asking the question, What do you do? and noting the slight hesitation in Karl’s response, she answered for him, Karl is a truck driver. Most people were polite enough to register no surprise whatsoever and some were fast on their feet and asked him animated questions about life on the road. It was Karl who seemed the most distressed by her up-front response.

Much later, when they were home, and she was discarding a trail of clothes across the room, she was surprised that he hung back with a slightly sulky look on his face.

What’s the matter?

Nothing! he turned away from her.

Something’s the matter. I’m not stupid. Come on! Tell!

It’s nobody’s business what I do for a living…

She smiled, So that’s it. There’s absolutely nothing to be ashamed of.

I didn’t say I was ashamed. But you can see them all thinking…What’s she doing with a roadie?

That’s all in your head. Besides, Germaine Greer always had unconventional lovers.

Who the fuck is Germaine Greer?

She’s a pretty famous feminist.

So this is about you. Not about me at all?

She sighed and sat down on the side of the bed. So, if I’d avoided the question you would have been mad with me, too?

No, but it would have been more understandable.

Come on! Don’t be stupid. I’m proud of you. You’re just as intelligent as all that stupid lot. I was glad to show them up.

He grinned. Really? That’s what you think?

That’s what I know.

Like many truckers Karl was very attached to his shortwave radio. He considered it a form of education, giving feedback on how people from different cultures lived. It bemused her, but secretly she rated it not much higher than a bush telegraph. As the year progressed he talked about it less and some of their conversations were changing directions altogether.

Why am I not hearing about your shortwave buddies anymore? she asked one night after their lovemaking.

I get taped books and listen to those now. I got a bit tired of all that chit chat.

What kind of taped books?

Oh, this and that. He grinned at her…Christopher Hitchens.

She rolled away from him. What?

You haven’t heard of him?

Of course I have. Wow! Good for you, she leant over him and delivered a kiss.

He got up abruptly from the bed.

Is something wrong?

"Nope! I just don’t like being patronized. ‘Wow! Good for you,’" he mimicked.

You, of course, went the right route. I’m just hacking along.

I don’t know what you’re talking about.

And for your information, I’ve read up all about your fucking Germaine Greer woman. She sounds like a real user bitch. Why she doesn’t just go and get herself an over-sized dildo? At least it would never talk back. He pounded out of the bedroom and she got up hastily and followed him. She admired his buttocks, as he stood silhouetted by the light from the innards of the refrigerator which he now stood gazing into.

I honestly wasn’t patronizing you. I think it’s great that you want to learn.

Really? He turned to her. And what would you say if I told you that I’m thinking of trying to get a degree?

Good! She wasn’t sure how filled with conviction her voice sounded. She was confused about her own feelings. It suited her purposes perfectly that Karl was a long-distance lover, one whom she could seduce not only with her body, but also with her mind. He sighed and turned back again to the refrigerator. He bent down and pulled out a package of smoked meat. Slamming past her, he practically threw the package onto the counter.

Maybe I don’t see myself driving trucks for the rest of my life.

What do you see yourself doing?

I don’t know yet. He stood uncertainly staring down at the counter.

You might be disappointed with university, she warned. It never did quite measure up to what I expected, she informed him

I was thinking a year on, a year off kind of thing, he said ignoring her comment. He threw a wad of meat onto a slab of bread that he’d just cut. Do you want a piece?

She shook her head. The only hunger she felt at the moment was the pang of lust for his glorious body. Still, she had learned not to push. She sat down opposite him at the table and looked at him lovingly.

You never talk about your work, you know, he accused. At some point she would have to educate him on not talking with a full mouth. He was a quick study, but it was wise to mention it sometime later when he wasn’t actually eating. She had already shown him how to hold the knife like a utensil rather than a weapon about to wreak revenge. He accepted her advice gratefully.

It might all seem glamorous to you, but it’s not. Most of the students would rather be anywhere else and hardly any of them ever complete their assignments on time. It’s very disillusioning. I imagine you would be a delight in any classroom.

He grinned, Maybe I’ll enroll in your classes.

The next thing would be a suggestion he might move in with her. While she was a glutton for his body, she couldn’t possibly envisage living with him day in, day out. I never even asked – do you have Grade 12? She avoided his eyes, and picked up a piece of the smoked meat and nibbled on it.

No, but I’ve made all the inquiries. I can go to Glendon College… Mayonnaise decorated his lower lip. She longed to lean over and lick it off. He was obviously taking this more seriously than she had thought. She was filled with many mixed emotions. He perhaps sensed her ambivalence.

You don’t want me around?

She gave a small laugh. How do you mean around? I would love to pick up the phone and have you come over for a bit of play, but I wasn’t thinking about myself.

She couldn’t make it much plainer that he wouldn’t be able to count on her for living accommodation. Do you have some idea what you actually want to do with a degree?

He gave a little snort. Be better educated.

This was indeed revolutionary and also exceedingly stupid to her mind. You can do all that without university.

Probably, but it would get me started in the right direction.

It had quite shocked her to learn how much money he made driving a truck. In a year he did far better than the average university professor. He was more or less his own boss, didn’t have to put up with the moronic in-fighting that was part of faculty life and best of all, wasn’t forced to read essay upon essay written by barely literate students who should never have made it as far as university. She was loathe to tell him all this. In some way it would downgrade her importance. Besides, he might never make it past first year.

When would all this start?

In September. He ran his little finger along his lower lip, collecting the stray mayonnaise and then licking it off. I presume you don’t want me here. I have a pal I can bunk in with…

He left it hanging in the air and she knew he was waiting for her to protest

If I wanted a live-in companion, Karl, I could easily have had one by now, she supplied quietly. She didn’t wait to see his expression but went through to the bathroom and turned on the shower.

When she came out and was standing in front of the mirror, towelling her hair dry, he came through the door without knocking. A slight irritation must have registered on her features, for he came up behind her and put his arms around her. Why wash now? I hadn’t quite finished. His eyes took in her form with pleasure. How many forty-nine year old women could stand like this in front of the mirror? No lumps no bumps, only the pleasing ones. He covered her breasts with his large hands.

She smiled at him and allowed him to nuzzle her neck, all former feelings of displeasure disappearing with his compliments and teasing.

September came and with it a certain transformation in Karl’s appearance. Not that he tried to fit in with the average student, but he was seldom unshaven or sloppy in appearance. Their times together were fast and hot moments of pure lust and then long periods spent with her examining his essays and explaining some of the finer points of sentence structure. She referred him to The Fundamentals of Clear Writing, and Fowler’s Modern English Usage, but he appeared to accept her explanations more readily. The amazing thing was that his grasp of poetry and fiction was quite extraordinary. The arguments he put forward showed a keen mind, but he became discouraged by the amount of red ink she used to correct his work.

At times she felt she had taken on a private tutoring job, with sex as the payoff.

By the following March he was getting ‘A’s’ on his essays, and his self-confidence had grown by leaps and bounds. He wanted to discuss Christopher Hitchens’ agnostic position. These debates usually happened after sexual congress.

"He wrote for Vanity Fair, Karl. He was a pop-philosopher." She knew this was a totally unfair assessment of Hitchens, but she felt the need to deflate Karl. She waved her hand to dispel some of the smoke