Wild Heart and Other Possibly True Stories

By Ronn Fryer

This is a collection of short stories interlaced with tender memories and unabashed hilarity. Wild Heart, Sad Eyes and False Memories tug deeply at recollections of lost love. The Perils of Deer Poaching, Little Red Snowsuit and Reluctant Rider are ridiculously funny. Run with Me Jesus and Real Teachers Don't Need No Degrees dabble with life lessons, while others like Leaning Lizzie and Take Your Pick simply strive to entertain. In defense, please let me defer from commenting on whether these stories are based on actual events, a time-softened memory or just my wild imagination. 141 Pages.       

• Language: English
• Publisher: Ronn Fryer
• Release date: May 7, 2018
• ISBN: 9781386937609

Ronn Fryer

Writing has always been a way of dealing with the major issues in my life. Growing up in the Detroit suburbs, I’d often spend my time under the protective branches of a massive cherry tree that engulfed our garage roof with pencil and spiral notebook in hand. Characters emerged on those humble pages that exemplified my deepest fears, strongest emotions and most tender memories.    I continued to chart the events in my life in a series of poems, songs, short stories and eventually novels. With a desire to share my love of storytelling, I became an English/Language Arts teacher, guiding budding writers on a search for their personal muse. There is a unique bond between author and reader. One of my greatest pleasures is creating something that resonates within someone’s heart and soul.       

Book preview

Wild Heart

Bordered by a few dozen half-submerged stumps and the marshy shoreline, the southwest corner of the Foote Pond is a shallow weed bed; a place that will always be embedded deep within my memory. It extends for roughly two acres, and the depth ranges anywhere from a few inches to no more than three feet. Most of the water though, is what we semi-affectionately referred to as jewel level. 

By July the weeds have grown thick and green, and in many places they easily reach the sparkling surface. To an aging kid freshly transplanted from the suburbs of the Murder-City (also a bit thick and green), it was nothing less than a giant aquarium, complete with everything the imagination could possibly hold. And it was here I that threw JG, clothes and all, into the water.

After much unfair persuasion (she even resorted to strategically-placed doses of her mother’s Emeraude), I’d finally relented, allowing her to accompany me in our old, fourteen foot boat. Not, however, before she suffered through an endless series of explanations and rules concerning the dire seriousness of pike fishing.

JG said she’d be on her best behavior, she even promised. Intuitively I knew that meant only that she’d try, but that was enough. Her undaunted sense of humor skirted infamy and I certainly didn’t expect miracles. Far too many years later I discovered just how beautiful (and rare), that sense of humor was. At the time though, it would have been asking a lot of me just to get beyond her uncanny resemblance to Isabella Rossellini – but I was young in so many ways.

On the first of July (during that first full Foote Site summer), I was still twenty-five days shy of turning sixteen. JG was already two full years into being an older woman – time wasn’t necessarily my best friend.

Isabella’s twin lived, reluctantly, in what we called the front house. Her father, a Colonel stationed at Wurtsmith Air Base, rented it from my parents. Consequently, JG’s wild heart found itself hopelessly stranded at the dismal corner of River and Alvin Road; six miles west of Oscoda and just about a million light years from anywhere even remotely close to decent.

At this point I must explain something of a slightly sensitive nature. It is, however, absolutely necessary if the real meaning of the story is to be understood – you see, JG hardly lacked experience. This is not a judgment, just pertinent information. I’ve never seen any reason to use derogatory terms that belittle certain girls, just because they tend to be more popular. For my part, it was really just a combination of envy and despair – a hesitant confession, maybe. I hated to admit that so many pretty girls chose to completely ignore my budding masculine charm.

Nevertheless, I did find a few ways to console myself. And, watching young airmen run, pants in hand, out the back door of the front house whenever the good Colonel happened home early, was one of my favorites. It certainly was better entertainment than that old 19 inch RCA. Our dog, Duke, especially enjoyed it and he always offered the young men whatever encouragement he could.

Let it not be thought that JG’s dad was ignorant. He knew his daughter, and he knew Duke wasn’t just crying wolf. Groundable proof, however, always seemed illusive. Evidently Air Force recruiters spend a bit too much time at Track and Field events. Of course I never said a word about our ‘53 yellow and white Chevy, conveniently parked beside the Norways that separated the houses, or its unlocked backdoors. For that matter, my recollection seemed strangely devoid of any knowledge whatsoever of a tattered old quilt (perfect to hide under while squirming back into those air force issues), or the mysterious origins of an occasional six-pack left by a grateful new friend. Duke however, never could keep a secret.

Looking back, I guess the Colonel wasn’t really a bad sort. Even if gentleness wasn’t his forte, I liked him; probably because he trusted me with JG. For all I knew, his wife did walk into doors – she sure drank enough. The Colonel trusted me with his daughter, even insisted that I accompany her to the movie theater uptown (his treat), and that was good enough for me. After all, it wasn’t really a backhanded compliment, it was simply the truth. Beyond my fantasies, I was harmless.

Northern Pike however, are anything but harmless. They’re basically an attitude with teeth.  Anything mouth-size is considered dinner, and to them perch are the perfect striped treat; about the equivalent of finned candy-canes. I explained this is great deal to JG.

So let’s catch some perch, she insisted.

We need worms first.

‘So," she taunted (quickly calling my bluff), go get some worms.

Okay, I finally relented, realizing she’d simply continue to cut through all my crap, But no horsing around out there.

Without hesitation, she smiled (her eyes full of glee), and gave me the biggest, lingering hug imaginable. I instantly lost most of my motor skills and all ability to speak. To this day I still possess perfect recall of her dangerously dark hair, hanging just as loosely as the breasts beneath her thin cotton blouse.

After I’d spent a good part of the morning foraging through wet leaf-piles (much like a gland-imbalanced robin), gathering lots of nice, juicy worms, JG and I were ready for some serious pike fishing. Or so I thought.

Once at the Pond, she promptly ignored my expert example, as well as all my intricate instructions concerning the proper way in which to board a fishing vessel. Instead, she proceeded to shove the boat (perfectly), off from shore, and literally cartwheeled across the slippery wooden deck. I grudgingly decided to forego my discourse on waiting to get one’s sea-legs.

Trying hard to maintain control, I grabbed the one good oar and sunk the blade into the soft bottom, skillfully poling us out to the perfect location for finger-sized perch (which was actually anywhere in the entire weed bed).

"Rule number one, I stated emphatically, Everyone baits their own hook – no exceptions!"

JG didn't like rule number one. Rather than challenge me directly though, she shrewdly gave me line. Beauty, charm, and subtlety – I was hopelessly outnumbered. Just how often had this girl been underestimated? I wondered. 

Looking directly into my eyes (through her own fluttering lashes), her soft, breathy voice coaxed sweetly. It was totally unfair. And at the time, I still believed a woman had a responsibility to play fair.

"Couldn’t you do it for me, prrreeetty please?" she purred, shaming any cat I’d ever seen.

How are you ever going to learn? I asked, obviously not knowing how to admit defeat.

Guess I’ll always have to take you with me, she teased, setting the hook even deeper.

All right, I faltered, "but just this once."

So, for the first time, I broke one of the cardinal rules of fishing and began threading a worm through the shank of JG’s hook. I wasn’t extremely proud of myself, but I would have gotten over it before long if she wouldn’t have gotten silly and added insult to injury.

My beautiful fishing companion was standing (yes standing – rule number two), on the middle seat, rod in hand, as I carefully tried to finish baiting her line. Whether she intended to pester me right from the start, or if the idea just hit her at the moment, I’ll never know. Either way, I doubt she could control herself. Evidently baiting me was a lot more fun, and JG inherently knew how to catch fun.  With a simple twitch of her wrist, the partially hooked worm darted out of my grasp and bounced in the air like a spider hanging from its web.

"Hey, knock it off!" I scolded.

After I’d admonished her further with a mock-glare, I retrieved the monofilament line and attempted once again to break my own rule. Without hesitation, she performed the perfect Deja Vu.

Quit it! I demanded, trying to sound intimidating, or I’ll throw your ass in the lake.

If my using a swear word was effective, if it phased her in any way, I couldn’t tell. All I could detect through her giggling was that she wasn’t taking me, or pike fishing, seriously. Her sense of humor was in control, and without thinking, I had made a stand. Although I really had no intention of actually throwing her out of the boat, I’d opened my big mouth. It was just supposed to scare her.

Throughout my life I’ve consistently made the same mistake, allowing my words to betray my heart. So many times I’ve declared totally inaccurate intentions, trying to make some silly point, in order to save my pride. Although looking back, I could have saved myself so much grief. I could have simply recalled the essence of these few precious moments out on the Pond. Of course no one’s ever accused me of learning anything too quickly.

JG pretended to pout. 

Thinking I’d actually made my point, I reached for the line with what must have appeared to be a smug expression. This must have come off as a direct challenge. The very moment I captured the worm, she retaliated with another twitch. And yes, I was actually surprised.

The actual deed was done in one swift motion. 

Without ever once consulting my better judgment, I lunged forward as if possessed, and pushed her overboard. Quite honestly, I don’t even remember how she landed. In fact, I can’t recall the sound of the splash, or anything of her expression beforehand. Most likely, she was smiling – surely she was being tested. I wouldn’t be crazy enough to actually throw her in!

What I do remember though, is her expression afterwards. I’ll never forget it, since it was the exact same as mine – complete astonishment! Neither one of us could believe what I’d just done.

For the next few moments we just experienced our own versions of shock. She rose to her feet almost immediately, standing up to her navel in the clear, spring-fed water of the Au Sable, trying to comprehend what had just happened.

Strangely enough, she never looked more beautiful.

Completely drenched, her shoulder length hair glistened, and that same cotton blouse clung close to her wet skin. God knows I didn’t even dare look at her tight, wet jeans; I left that for the startled perch – and my deepest fantasies yet to come.  After all, that’s all I’d have now. Thanks to my sheer stupidity, whatever chance I might have had was just thrown in the lake, along with JG.

As soon as she started back for the boat, I regained my senses and reached out to help her. I grasped her arms, just above the elbow, and pulled her over the gunnels, careful not to rub against that, which my eyes were now nearly glazed upon. It was right about then that I began my incessant apologizing.

I’m sorry, I don't know what got into me. I can’t believe I did that, I’m really sorry, I babbled.  It’s just that you wouldn’t stop and I......

My apology, however, suddenly stopped; not because I was rambling on about something that was a bit too late to change – I stopped because JG started laughing. I could hardly believe it. And, it wasn’t just a little giggling; she began laughing so hard I thought she’d hurt herself. She was laughing about as hard as I’d ever seen anybody laugh in my whole life, and it didn’t look as though she was going to stop anytime soon.

What’s so funny?

"You," she barely managed.

"What’s so funny about me?" I asked defensively.

From her expression, I gathered that the answer was pretty obvious, although she would explain it just as soon as she caught her breath. That didn’t happen right away. Whatever had a hold of her wasn’t about to let go any too soon. So, for a while, I simply watched her try to fight off her hysterics as she slowly drip-dried in the warm July sun.

Then, between gasps, she said, "You ....were...wonderful!"

Even though I’d heard her perfectly, I asked, What?

"No one’s ever stood up to me before, she admitted, looking as though she might burst into laughter again at any moment. That’s so cool!"

I’m sorry, I said again, taking away all doubt that I truly was brain dead.

"You were great, you actually threw me in the lake! I can’t believe it," she admitted, as much to herself as me.

She finally took a complete breath and wiped her eyes.

Then, with what I remember as a slight look of awe, JG simply stopped time and stared into my eyes. Feeling like I was being x-rayed, I stared back, past those long lashes that lead me right into her mahogany eyes that intimately read, and defined my soul. All the while, my lungs seemed to totally forget the basic principal of breathing.

She pursed her lips, and as if some strange question had been answered, she said, All right, take me home so I can get out of these wet clothes, then come by later tonight.

Instantly fearing the worse, I regained my cardiopulmonary abilities and blurted out, Why?

I didn’t know if she was going to tell the Colonel, but I had sure better think of some reasonable defense for my unreasonable