Short Stories: Just For Fun

By Brian Law

This is a collection of my short stories written over the last few years. The themes are eclectic and the stories often have interesting twists.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Brian Law
• Release date: Mar 14, 2020
• ISBN: 9781393821939

Brian Law

Brian Law is a retired college professor living in Napa Valley with his wife, Martha. During his working years, Brian was also a professional mariner and an atttorney.

Book preview

Chapter 1:  Short Stories About 'You Men'

SMALL TOWN EXCITEMENT

THE TOWN WAS SMALL and the town budget was smaller. The result was that the town library and museum were housed in the same wood building on Main Street right next to the small police station. Anyone walking into the building would be immediately impressed by the fine wood paneling adorning the library walls. The books were neatly arrayed in shelving all around the single library room and seven large tables filled its center. The lighting was just right for reading and it was neat as a pin.

The museum was on the other side of the entrance. It was a semi-circular room which one entered on the left and exited on the right. The center housed a diorama from floor to ceiling so that when you entered you were actually in a time tunnel of sorts, surrounded by pictures, artifacts, and memorabilia from the town’s past. People were known to have spent hours in the museum and would have been locked in were it not for the librarian’s cautious eye.

Cynthia had left the big city seven years earlier after her second husband had died. She sold her publishing business and left it all behind to reconnect with her roots in the small town of her youth. The Town Council was thrilled to have someone of Cynthia’s talents and experience take over the library and the museum as manager. They especially liked that she only required one dollar per year as a stipend. Her foresight and organizational skills had transformed both the museum and the library into fully functioning town centers, and they were in the black for the first time.

There usually was a small line at the entrance each morning when Cynthia arrived to open. The library and museum had become social centers and literally teemed with locals all day long. Cynthia didn’t mind the noise. She knew just how important these two places had become in the life of the small town and in her life as well. Everyone was proud to have her running things. They always said that Cynthia knew how to manage things, she knew books, and she knew people, especially men.

And was she ever organized. Not only did everything have its place, but she also knew the budget down to the penny, who the best volunteers were, and where to get money if she needed it for any special projects. And she was punctual. Always opening and closing right on time. And if anybody left anything behind, it went immediately into the Lost and Found. And if it was expensive, it went right next door to the town police officer. Cynthia and Officer Larsen had a deal going. She would pop-in just after the library closed with an item, place it on the desk and say something like, Here’s some more Lost and Found stuff, George. You know what to do, and walk out.

The only problem Cynthia saw on the horizon was Will Clayton. Will and his wife were wealthy and lived out of town on a hill in a large estate. They frequently threw lavish parties for out-of-towners and there were rumors about Will’s behavior around women. The Claytons had a hard time keeping help, and everybody who went to work with them had to sign a Non-Disclosure Agreement. So the rumors remained just that. Will wasn’t really a problem for Cynthia yet, but she knew the type. She’d seen enough of them in the city. It was probably just a matter of time.

Usually around mid-afternoon on any weekday, Clayton would ramble into the library. There often was a whiff of alcohol on his breath. He would wave and smile as he made his way around the library tables. He had perfected several moves as far as Cynthia could determine. One was the one-arm hug. Clayton would amble up to a woman, grab her opposite shoulder with his hand and pull her close to him with a big hug. Another one was the stop and hover. He would stop where a woman was seated at a table, hover for a moment engaging in conversation, and eventually place one hand on her shoulder while he bent over to catch a peek. None of these actions standing alone were concerning to Cynthia, but it was the total behavior set that bothered her. No woman had yet complained, but Cynthia was watching. And he had never done anything to her, yet.

It was near closing time and Cynthia could see that the library was empty. She loved that she never had to hustle any of the locals out the door. It was small town behavior like that which had brought her back from the city. She moved quickly around the library, picking up books from the tables and placing them back on the shelves. She made a quick check for items that people may have left behind but found nothing.

Cynthia then crossed the entryway to the left side of the museum. It was her intent to walk through the exhibition and check for any late-stayers. But her eye caught something to her right on the table at the exit of the museum. It appeared to be an airline bag. As she approached it was clear that it contained clothing as the top was partially unzipped. And there was a name tag. She reached out to pick up the bag when she heard a noise to her left.

Turning slightly, she saw Clayton standing about five feet away in the tunnel wearing nothing but a pair of socks and an obviously excited attitude. He had a slight grin on his face and his hands were down to his side. Cynthia turned to face him squarely and smiled broadly. At the same time, she started to unbutton her blouse with her left hand. Clayton’s grin turned into a smile as he backed up slowly motioning Cynthia to follow him into the recesses of the tunnel. She made one step in his direction, quickly turned, grabbed the airline bag, and ran out the library door.

Officer Larsen was at the desk as Cynthia rushed in, put the bag down, and said, Here’s some more Lost and Found stuff, George. You know what to do, and then walked out, the smile still on her face.

End

Honey Do List

IT WAS STILL DARK OUTSIDE as he lay in bed. His wife was already up and out of the house, on her way to work. He sighed knowing that she had left him a list of things to do on the side of the refrigerator. She was determined to give his life some structure, some aim, some meaning so that his long hours alone would not be wasted in idle activity. At least that was the plan. He preferred idleness, but got out of bed anyway and prepared for a day of carefully planned activity. It was the least he could do to maintain marital stability.

By the time he finished showering and dressing, the sun was nearly up and he could safely navigate downstairs without turning on too many lights. She had strategically placed the list of things to do so that he would have to pass it on his way to get his morning coffee. No missing it, each task clearly spelled-out in magic marker in the recommended order of performance:

1. PUT OUT GARBAGE. Sort!

2. Vacuum your car. Don’t forget the trunk.

3. Feed the alien. Use last night's food.

4. Sweep the patio.

5. Call Ginny about the party Saturday.

WHEN SHE CAME HOME for lunch, she would update the list and would expect the morning activities to be completed. He figured he could finish today’s list in about an hour and still have plenty of free time. As he sat down over his morning coffee, he amused himself with the idea of training the alien to do some of the simpler tasks. He had been thinking about doing something with the damned thing for months, but it was only recently that the idea of using it for something purposeful had become realistic. For one, they could talk to it now. They understood it and it understood them. But, God, if his wife ever found out he used the alien to do household chores, there would be hell to pay. But, still, if she never knew?

He used the hand vac to clean the car because the regular vacuum bothered the alien a lot . . . . something about the pitch of the motor. So he used the smaller vacuum which didn’t seem to bother their ‘guest’ much. It just curled up in its cage and went back to sleep. He often wondered if it dreamed. His wife seemed disinterested in having anything to do with it and left the day-to-day maintenance of the alien up to him. So for most days, it was just him and it. As he finished up with the car, he called over to it and indicated that breakfast was on its way. The alien, still curled up in its bed, raised one hand as if to indicate it understood and would be ready when the food arrived.

Figuring out what to feed it had been a hit and miss affair. Pet food didn’t interest it at all, nor did table scraps. But yogurt worked. So did anything made of tofu. Cold soy noodles drenched in sesame oil were its special treat, but they made him gassy, so they served this only occasionally. It was when it passed gas that they first started to communicate with it. One day after a large plate of noodles, it farted as they watched. Then it said a word and what looked like a smile came across its face. They looked at each other, laughed, and said, fart. It looked back at them and repeated the word. From then on, it was one word at a time. They figured it had a vocabulary of maybe a hundred or so English words by now. Probably enough to train him how to sweep the patio.

He picked up the breakfast dishes from the cage and left the cage door open, as well as the door into the house. From the kitchen, he could hear it enter the house and move into the living room. It liked to sit and look out the window onto the patio as the sun warmed the day. He poked his head around the corner and shouted, Warm enough? The reply he got was Warm enough. First time it had ever used the word ‘enough’ . Interesting, he thought. Maybe if he played his cards right sweeping the patio would be a thing of the past for him. He grabbed the broom and the dustpan and headed for the living room. As he entered, it was still sitting, staring out onto the patio.

It turned to look at him. He held the broom out in front of him and said, Broom. It repeated the word and then pointed to the dustpan. He said, Dustpan, and it repeated the word. Then he went about sweeping the living room floor slowly and using the dustpan, all the time watching the alien. It turned away from the window, came over to him and held out its arms. He handed the broom to it and watched it tentatively sweep the floor. It didn’t come naturally to it, but within a minute it was sweeping up a storm. And using the dustpan!

He opened the patio door, went out and determined that none of the neighbors were watching. He signalled for the alien to come out and asked it to sweep the deck, which it did, expertly. He lay in the chaise lounge observing and realized that things around the house were about to change for the better.

After coaxing it back into its cage, he called Ginny. As he finished his phone conversation, he heard the garage door open and realized his wife was home for lunch. Right on time! He had learned to say nothing until she had a chance to look around and update the list on the refrigerator. Seemingly satisfied with his progress on the morning list, she added five new tasks for the afternoon before leaving:

1. CLEAN UPSTAIRS BATHROOM.

2. Hand-wipe wood stairs.

3. Feed alien. No noodles today!

4. Clean your workbench.

5. Organize storage in laundry room.

AS THE GARAGE DOOR closed and she drove off, he pondered the