Tango Sunday

By Janet K. Brennan

"Tango Sunday" is a collection of fictional short stories about life on the edge. In Janet Brennan's seventh book, she never fails to seduce the reader into realizing that life is not always as it seems to be. True to Janet Brennan's style and philosophy, she titillates the ready with good doses of revenge, ghosties, life in the spiritual world and death. Author Brennan aptly demonstrates in these dark and twilight zone tales that "Life simply is"

• Language: English
• Publisher: Casa de Snapdragon
• Release date: Feb 26, 2013
• ISBN: 9781937240844

Janet K. Brennan

Janet K. Brennan, AKA JB Stillwater, lives in the foothills of the Sandia Mountains in Albuquerque, New Mexico with her husband, Arthur, a great gray cat named Amos, and a border collie named JoJo.Janet has released a book of inspirational poetry entitled A Stronger Grace (Casa de Snapdragon, 2007), a book of southwestern poetry entitled Recollections of an Old Mind, West (Cyberwit Publishing, 2006), and a critically acclaimed novel entitled A Dance in the Woods (Casa de Snapdragon, 2007)Her poetry and short stories can be seen in various books and magazines, including: SP Quill Magazine, Common Swords Magazine, The Power of Prayerful Living (Rodale Books), Taj Mahal Review (Cyberwit, 2004 thru 2008), Different Worlds - A Virtual Journey (Cyberwit, 2006), Chicken Soup for the Christmas Soul (Chicken Soup for the Soul Publishing, 2008), and Earthships, a New Mecca - An Anthology of New Mexican Writers (Horse & Tiger Press, 2007.) She has been listed in the International Who's Who in Poetry.Her colored pencil art-work and photography have been published in Taj Mahal Review, 2005-2006 and she is currently writing book reviews which have been published in the Greenwich Village Gazette and can be viewed at her website jbstillwater.com.Janet’s on-line publications include Strangeroad.com as well as IdentityTheory.com where you can read her short stories, poetry and philosophical essays, including Existentialism; a Myopic View. She was the featured poet in Poetry Magazine in the autumn of 2007.Janet attended the University of New Hampshire, Hesser Business College and has a legal certification from the University of New Mexico.

Book preview

Tango Sunday

Tales on the Edge

FICTION

Janet K. Brennan

Casa de Snapdragon LLC

Albuquerque, NM

Copyright © 2012 Janet K. Brennan. All rights reserved.

Final Vision copyright (c) 2012, Keith Pyeatt. All rights reserved.

Cover Image copyright © Can Stock Photo Inc. / adrenalina

Smashwords Edition

No portion of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise without the prior written permission of Janet K. Brennan, unless such copying is expressly permitted by federal copyright law. Address inquiries to Permissions, Casa de Snapdragon Publishing LLC, 12901 Bryce Avenue NE, Albuquerque, NM 87112.

This book is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to any person, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

Brennan, Janet K., 1947-

[Short stories. Selections]

Tango Sunday / Janet K. Brennan.

pages cm

ISBN 978-1-937240-16-5 (pbk.)

I. Title.

PS3602.R4498T36 2013

813'.6--dc23

2012049262

casalogo.jpg

Published by

Casa de Snapdragon LLC

12901 Bryce Avenue, NE

Albuquerque, NM 87112

www.casadesnapdragon.com

20130225

Other Books by Janet K. Brennan

A Stronger Grace

Recollections of an Old Mind West

Gentle Tugs: A celebration of life, love and other addictions

A Dance in the Woods

Harriet Murphy: A Little Bit of Something

Holiday Word Gifts

Soon to be released

Judas Chant

Table of Contents

Dedication

Nocturnal Thieves

Word Gifts - Introduction

New Colors

The Last Quilt

Margaret’s Painted Horse

Moving to Georgia

Precious Gifts

Roommates

John Watson and the Washington Post

Twelve Days of Christmas

Harry

Lunch Detail

Tango Sunday

Right Where I’m Supposed to Be

Only on a Moonless Night

Scattering Shells on Hard Ground

Nocturnal Thieves and Other Shameless Goblins

On Any Given Christmas

Momma’ s Souvenir

The Way of The World

Demons and Misdemeanors

Final Vision – Keith Pyeatt

Spirits

Whispering Down the Night

Basic Black

Letting Go

Everything in its Own Good Time

About Janet K. Brennan

About Keith Pyeatt

Recent Releases From Casa de Snapdragon

Dedication

For my wonderful husband and partner, Arthur (Art) Brennan

Special Thanks To:

Keith Pyeatt for his thought provoking story, Final Vision

I would also like to thank:

Peggie L. Devan – poem – Their Trinket

Patricia Barrett – poem – Tahoe Secrets

Janet Yaeger – poem – Old Quilts, Tattered and Torn

And somewhere deep within the depths of our very souls comes the message ... so perfect, so complex in its utter simplicity, that life simply is.

J.B. Stillwater

Nocturnal Thieves

Trying-failing,

they chant.

Nocturnal visits,

the moment we fall to dreams.

Slipping a shawl, spider woven,

silk- bathing in self-keeping,

warm weave, solvent,

natural hues

braided with fear, those thieves!

Invade our deepest thoughts,

eavesdropping

through well planned patterns

for time when laughter fails.

Eyes heavy, afraid to close,

nor feathered pillow so soft

that we lose guard.

Falling away, vulnerable,

bending corners of a life

filled with excuses, goblins

that chew pages

stained with good intentions.

counting nights of ill- sleep.

A sword unsheathed

lest we succumb to moments unguarded,

and lose soul to their song.

Nocturnal visits,

cutting through patterns

of another time

when laughter fails.

Word Gifts - Introduction

Shortly after the death of my twenty-one year old daughter, Kristen, my military husband received orders that would move us from our home in the desert to Verona, Italy. We were a family in grieving. My children, Kate and Nicholas, soon began having problems in school, and I began to experience strange physical symptoms that the doctors here in the United States could not diagnose. Once or twice a week my blood pressure spiked and I was admitted to the hospital for tests. I developed debilitating chest pain and muscle spasms that swept through my entire body. Traveling across the Atlantic Ocean to our new home was almost an impossible feat.

Three weeks after arriving in Italy and settling into our hotel in Verona my health problems came to a peak. Life should have been exceptionally wonderful for us at that time. We were living in an exquisite part of the world with so many new things to explore. However, I slipped further into my illness. In the early morning hours, I was rushed off to an Italian hospital, Borgo Trento. I was in severe pain and my body could barely move. Every test that they performed on me came back negative. Finally, after three weeks of excruciating tests, my diagnosis was post-traumatic stress disorder.

Loud noises and the rumbling sounds of the buses and cars on the cobblestone streets outside our hotel bothered me, so we made a family decision to move away from Verona to a small medieval village by the name of Montecchia di’ Crosara. The village was everything I had ever read about and watched in movies. It was serene and set amongst the rolling hills of the Soave Bola vineyards. I was certain that I would heal here! I needed to return to the happy mother and loving wife that I had once been. As is so often the case in this type of life scenario, there was a glitch. My psychiatrist and doctor, an army doctor, was transferred back to the United States six months after I had begun therapy. I was on my own!

Because my family left each day for long hours to attend school and work, I enrolled in a mind/body correspondence class with the very brilliant, Jon-kabat Zinn. I learned to practice Hatha Yoga and to meditate. Although these things were very helpful, something was still missing and my progress toward health was slow.

Then one day, while shopping at the local groceria, I met a neighbor who could speak a bit of English. He was a gentle Signore who always smiled and waved as I passed him each day while I walked through the village.

"Buon Giorno, Signora, he said. I hope you are feeling well today! I answered with a curt nod. He grinned and looked deep into my eyes Be well, he said. Be well" If only it could be that easy, I thought.

The following day, while deep into my meditative state, I felt myself slipping into something that I had not experienced before. A small child approached me in a wonderful and glorious mist and handed me a piece of paper. It was folded in two. When I opened it, I saw that it had just one word scribbled on it. It said Dance. I placed the piece of paper into my pocket.

As I began to come back into reality, I felt alive and refreshed. I wanted to dance, and I did. I danced while doing the dishes and I danced while I prepared dinner. In fact, I danced whenever I could and the feeling was one of elation. What was happening?

The following week, I went into the same meditative state that I had enjoyed when the young girl gave me the folded piece of paper. Here she was again. She handed me another piece of paper with the word kiss on it. As you might expect, the entire week after that I kissed my family whenever I could. It was not automatic at first. I had to push myself in that direction, but it was something I had not done in a very long time. After just a few days, I was actually compelled to kiss them. I was rewarded by warm smiles and fun stories about their days at school and work. Upon meditating the third time, I received the word laugh. I had not been able to laugh and felt that this might be the hardest of all the words to accomplish. Nevertheless, it was not. Again, laughter slipped through me and I found myself enjoying the antics of my family, as well as the people who lived around me in the village. Hope was the next word. There would be no way! This was something that I knew that I would need to practice, but practice it I did! Within only a few days, I began to look forward to a life that could be interesting and fun. I began to attend all of my children’s functions on the base in Verona, as well as entertaining some friends in our villa in Montecchia.

The last time that I met my little child with the words, she gave me a piece of paper with the word joy inscribed on it. Although I was still in depression and mourning the loss of my daughter, I found that I was able to allow joy into my life again.

By this time, I was dancing, kissing, laughing, and now had joy in my life. My elderly Italian neighbor was on to something that day he leaned into my face and told me to be well. He knew that positive words could change a person’s life. They were beautiful and powerful gifts.

Now, fifteen years later, I am a happy and productive author who has learned the power of positive words. I call them word gifts.

We are a family that has managed to rise above the tragedies that life sometimes throws our way. My children are married with wonderful lives and children of their own. My first granddaughter, although diagnosed with leukemia at the age of five, is now in remission. Throughout the entire ordeal, our word gifts were called to task many times. They always worked their magic. Why? Because we know how truly precious they are in making a difference not only in our own lives but also in the lives of others.

So I present the following book that I hope you will all enjoy. It is a collection of fictional short stories that deal with the sometimes real and often unexplained events in our lives.

Janet K. Brennan

New Colors

Only the green haze that engulfed the city permeated my consciousness on that dreary day in September. The leaves should have been standing out against a turquoise sky as gold and red-rust. Instead they were hidden amongst the thick haze that threatened to choke all of humanity. Most sane people were huddled together in the basements of their homes after diligently, albeit a bit late, boarding the windows and cracks of their houses and apartments. Now it was too late. Quick streaks of electricity sparked and crackled across the sky, snapping branches of dead trees. A greedy and ugly thunderstorm threatened to purge the decaying city. It would either rain or set it on fire again. My Grandmother, Mamu, had begged me not to go out.

You’ll fry girl. Even if you are different from others, you’ll fry

That was Granny Mamu, always thinking the worst. This was not going to be the end, I could feel it in my bones. Survival of the fittest, and I liked to think that I was one of them.

The stench of rotten apples was growing fainter each day, but then, so was the sound of traffic on highway 66. I guessed that most people had just decided to call it a day and curl up on their beds and wait.

Reverend Smith had been secure that he would be raptured before this day came, and I was ever so curious as to whether or not that had happened. The walk down the weeded path to his church solved the mystery for me. He was still there, all right. The Reverend was down at his crumbling church giving the last rites to anyone who could make it to seven o’clock service. People just did not seem to be making it through the gas this time around. This was life in the slow lane these days. Anyone willing to beat the odds could probably do just that, however the problem was that so few were willing to try. Years of being beaten dogs at the hands of callous world leaders had taken its toll.

As I was kicking up the dust in front of me, a strange odor permeated my nostrils and settled upon my lips until I thought I might vomit. Garlic, damn! Looks like another heap of bombs that did not quite go off. Gas buzzed my head and ears and, as I slowly jogged away from it, I felt myself grow free of the odious poison. Several of the neighborhood pets had not been so lucky. I guess that was the difference between life as a human being and life a bit lower on the totem pole, or was it?

Yup, this could be the end. Wasn’t going to be, but sure looked like it could be. Scurrying off in front of me a prairie dog rushed into its hole. Chances are there were hundreds of the critters all piled on top of each other just trying to make it. They probably would, as they tended to take care of each other. Unlike every man for himself these days, these little dogs would make certain each and every one of their kind survived this near death experience.

As I plowed through the ankle-deep dust, my feet and toes began to burn. Now might be a good time to morph into the other me, the one with the super-powers ... ha, the one that I had kept secret for so long. Mamu said I was the missing link, the one that would change it all. Sure wish I could fly. It wouldn’t save me, though. Testament was that all of the birds were gone. They were not able to make it through the gas. The sky was still and empty, except for the insidious green haze that spread wider and thicker each day on what was once a fertile, beautiful planet. God’s Green Earth had a whole new meaning these days.

I had to admit that I was more than a bit surprised when I saw a man walking up the road toward me. He held his head low and he shuffled his feet as if in a quandary. What problem could he have? Everything had been pretty much solved for us these days. We didn’t listen, we lost our planet. Planes came in with lovely gas bombs attached to them which began falling to the ground in random chaos. No one was certain where they came from, could have been our own government I suppose. We did things like that whenever we did not want to admit that we had lost a war.

The stranger approached me and nodded

Brave woman to be out on a nasty day like this. Tomorrow should be better. Looks like we might have some rain, and that will help things out a bit.

Nah, not brave, just resolute. I have been walking like this every day since the bombs came. Actually, I guess I am looking for an answer to how I can overcome, on a personal level, this thing that has befallen all of humanity. You know, cutting off ones nose to spite their face, so to speak.

Well, girl, I do think that there is an answer. We are not all going to perish.

Did you see anyone get raptured? I asked.

The man looked at me incredulously, not understanding.

What the hell is raptured?

You know, taken up to God so as not to have to endure this holocaust. They say you have to be saved in order to be raptured. At least, that is what they are saying down at the church and in the bible.

A laugh as I had never encountered by another human being fell from the stranger’s guts.

My dear, did it ever occur to you that this is the rapture?

Suddenly, the stranger fell to his knees and began to vomit. Sorry about that, girl. I guess this atmosphere does not agree with me these days. The bombs, the bombs.

I helped him back to his feet and thought I noticed a sudden lightness to his body. He went on, I mean, it looks to me as if you have been saved. You were here before me, trying to figure a way to transcend the bad luck on this planet. So am I, for that matter. So I would say that we both have been saved. Reverend is down at his church trying to save his congregation when, geez, I dunno, it sure looks to me like, if they are alive and in his church, they have already been saved. In fact, I would venture a guess and say that they probably all got saved many years ago. I guess it’s all in how you look at things, but each time they went through something horrific in their lives and lived through it, or laughed in the face of trouble, they were saved, doncha think? I feel that I may have been saved at least a hundred times in my long life. How about you?

Right about now, the odor of garlic was so strong that I felt like I might faint. I moved along up the path to a better spot. Shrugging, he followed me.

No matter where you go, you will have this stuff. The sky will eventually clear, but then there is the task of cleansing and learning everything all over again so that the same mistakes are not made. I really do not believe that mankind has it in him right now to change things. Not that we are a more vicious civilization at all, just more complicated. It actually may be time for another evolution of sorts.

I frowned. Well then, if I may put my two cents in, I say let’s have one that heals my aching and burning feet, cleanses my watery eyes, soothes the pain in my stomach, and just allows this earth to rejuvenate, no matter how many millennium it takes. Shaking his head, he looked quite thoughtful. Was it my imagination or was he fading in and out? The gas had obviously gotten to my brain on this day.

Well, I have a secret, girl. And since it is only you out here on this bleak day, it is you I will tell. Before I knew what was happening, the stranger began to fade in front of me. It began with his feet and moved up his body until he disappeared completely. Only his voice was still there, and it came to me as an ill-tuned trumpet in my mind.

I have been able to do this for years, he said. That is why I am out here today when everyone else is at home. None of this can hurt me, for I live in two worlds. I am physical and I am spiritual, yet one and the same.

This was beyond my immediate comprehension as I watched him suddenly appear into his physical body once more.

Ah, he laughed, came back just in time to once again see this pea-green sky and inhale the rotten eggs. No thank you! Once again he disappeared.

The world is actually beautiful when you view it from here, he said.