Bottom of The Bag, and Other Short Stories

By Michael Baird

In the title story, a dutiful suburbanite is stunned to learn that his homeowner's association met without him and issued a complaint letter. His response, severe and necessary, re-asserts order.
A pyromaniac abandons treatment to attract a firefighter with whom she falls in love, a dying man writes his own cruel and honest eulogy, and a graveyard caretaker finds comfort in the voices of the deceased.
Determined, unstable, and quietly courageous characters face life altering situations to discover their flaws and strength. Kindness is punished and deceit rewarded in this wonderfully entertaining collection of short fiction. Michael Baird explores the gap between the human dream and the human experience.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Michael Baird
• Release date: Jan 29, 2014
• ISBN: 9781310551826

Michael Baird

A co-recipient of the 2003 SOCIETY OF AWARDS IN LIEU OF PAY 'BEST WRITER EVER IN THE UNIVERSE' award, Michael Baird is the socially acceptable looking author of dozens of words throughout the internet. Bottom Of The Bag, and Other Short Stories is his first published collection.

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Bottom of the Bag, and other stories

Michael Baird

Smashwords Edition

Copyright © 2014 Michael Baird

License Notes: This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this ebook with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then you should return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

'Firebug' first appeared on Fiction365 on June 28, 2011

'Grave Voices' first appeared on Fiction365 on January 11, 2012

Ebook formatting by www.ebooklaunch.com

Table of Contents

Bottom Of The Bag

Firebug

The Eulogy

The Confession

Gandy Dancers

Grave Voices

The Best Coffee Grows In The Valley

Captive

Acknowledgements

Bottom Of The Bag

Brad shaves on the weekends. He mows his lawn before it's needed. He's standing on my deck, holding an envelope.

Hey John. He still has all his hair.

Hey.

What year is the Sienna?

'07, why?

No reason, just noticed you're still missing a hubcap. He has white teeth like a Disney prince. Last week he mentioned he'd be willing to 'take care' of my yard for me.

Yeah, the thing popped off, dealership wants like $300.00 for new ones. I could buy replacement ones at the depot, but they just look different.

Yeah, he laughs through his nose. Well they might look better than a missing one.

I guess. What's up? I motion to the envelope.

Well, the association met last night, and we were wondering if you could maybe take care of that.

Oh, no one told me about a meeting.

Yeah, we met in the 'man cave' ya know. He sniffs and tries to laugh with me.

I don't open the envelope. Walking away, he pulls a weed out of my lawn. Holding it up, he smiles, carries it with him. His khaki shorts have a crease in them from the dry cleaner.

The letter is on Allen's letterhead.

Dear John Newell:

We hope this letter finds you well. Please accept this correspondence as official notice that it is the decision of the Misty Meadow Road Neighborhood Association that the missing rear passenger side hub cap of your midnight blue Toyota Sienna, (license plate ski mom) constitutes a sustained nuisance and sight pollutant to the neighborhood and its citizenry.

The consistent and continued display of the interior workings of your tire significantly interferes with the use and enjoyment of our property.

In the event that you do not take adequate measures to alter this situation, we as an association will. Upon which time, we will seek reimbursement from you. Please respond to this notice in 15 days. If we do not receive your response by then, we will assume that you have no intention to rectify this situation, and will undertake to do so.

Very Truly Yours,

Misty Meadow Road Neighborhood Association

The paper is crisp, and recyclable. It folds nicely into the envelope. I should run this by Beth, I don't think they can meet without her either.

Our dining room table is set. It's decorated with different color plates stacked together, real looking fruit and other precise flights of whimsy. On the walls are black and white pictures of plants we don't own and people we don't know. We eat at the counter.

Can you believe this letter? I show it to her.

They can't have a meeting without us, can they?

They definitely cannot.

I don't really like driving it like that. Why don't you just get a new cap? She asks.

That's not the point. The point is that these guys cannot meet without us.

Silently, we eat free-range chicken, and organic vegetables, it's all grilled. Prior to being killed, no living things were harmed in the preparation of this meal.

Well, they did meet without us.

She was right, indeed they did. The hubcaps aren't the point. In a way, we brought this up in the past, but it was Wes's Odyssey. It doesn't have roof racks and it's like 10 years old. At the time, everyone shot down the discussion. But, now Brad hands me this letter.

After dinner, I stand in my driveway, and look at the neighborhood. They're all scrambling from me. None of them can look me in the eye. The circle that contains all of our houses is big, but not so big. Some of these houses have three windows on top, some have five. We have five, thank god. They are various shades of beige, red doors. I remember when we all had the trees removed. The ones we planted are much nicer. Authentic Japanese Maples from Colorado. Precise circles surround the trunks, black mulch. The association demanded it. That was the point of the association, not this crap. Back then, we had vision and leadership.

Although they look the same, these houses have original features. Ours has a sunflower on the door, for instance. Brad's looks like some kind of weird Magnolia.

I do park the minivan to hide the missing hubcap. Seriously, a fucking Magnolia?

Night's coming. It's supposed to be a clear one. Trash pickup is tomorrow morning. For trash, the town allows one barrel per house. Anything beyond that has to go in this special, purple bag. You could put anything in that bag.

Both of our cars come with tool kits to replace tires. They have crow bars in them, the varnish on mine is uniform and shiny. It'd be a shame to scrape it.

My father-in-law has tools. He's home.

Hey Bill, can I borrow your crow bar? My knees and feet are sore from standing on the tile floor.

You don't have a crow bar in your car, John?

Can I swing by and grab yours?

Fine.

The sun is set when I get back from Bill's house. Beth's gardening gloves are un-opened, her little hand shovels are pristine (she has three). I only need the gloves. Canvas gloves, crow bar, and town regulated trash bags.