Wild Imaginings - Flash Fiction and Essays

By Nancy Schoellkopf

Day-old loaves of bread morph into feral cats, a water goddess dresses her children in corduroy, two magical boxer dogs comfort an angry divorcee: the flash fiction of Nancy Schoellkopf is at turns comic, poignant and surreal. Her essays aim to hit the heart of the matter, exploring the messiness of anger, grief, aging and oranges. This brief collection is chock-full of gems, a fun read.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lulu.com
• Release date: May 17, 2019
• ISBN: 9780359639243

Book preview

Wild Imaginings - Flash Fiction and Essays

Wild Imaginings

Wild Imaginings

Flash Fiction and Essays

By Nancy Schoellkopf

Photo credits

Dreaming Trees by Wim Van’ t Einde on Unsplash

Hydrangeas by Gaetano Cessati on Unsplash

My Tabby Cat by Nancy Schoellkopf

Blue Green Nail Polish by Nancy Schoellkopf

Author’s Portrait by Leslie Rose

Copyright © 2019 by Nancy Schoellkopf

All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the author except for the use of brief quotations in a book review or scholarly journal.

ISBN 978-0-359-63924-3

Butterfly Tree Publishing

Sacramento, California

www.nancyschoellkopf.com

Introduction

Here for the Weekend

Last week on NPR’s Morning Edition, in a segment on Story Corps, they played an interview with the first single man who was allowed to adopt a baby in the state of California.  It was 1969.  The man had always wanted to be a father.  He knew it would be hard to raise a child alone but he forged on.  His social worker brought him to see a toddler who had been born to a drug-addicted mother.  The baby was born addicted to heroin and had gone through the pain of withdrawal in infancy.  At 18 months old the boy was already a child with severe behavioral challenges.  The man knew he should say no, but he said yes.  He entered the adventure.

I knew as the man related his story that it wasn’t going to end well because he only spoke of his son in the past tense.  The man’s voice broke when he said his son had been diagnosed with schizophrenia and had died of a heroin overdose at the age of thirty.  His body was found in an alley between two buildings. 

My first thought was:  how do any of us stand it? How do any of us stand living here in these bodies on this planet?  We don’t all have stories as tragic as this man’s, but each of us has something, our own private sadness.  Life can be joyful, but even the happiest lives are spotted with episodes of such exquisite pain.

My friend Craig was a perfect master.  He told me once that between lives we’re all hanging together on the astral planes, waiting to come down here. Finally it’s your turn.  You’re born on Planet Earth.  You live 70 or 80 years, give or take a decade or two, then BAM!  You drop your body and you’re back on the astral plane.  All your friends there say, Hey!  How was your weekend?

What if coming here is like going to Disneyland?  Some of us love roller coasters; some of us prefer to float with the Pirates of the Caribbean.  When I was five years old I made my mother take me on the Peter Pan ride over and over again because I was thrilled to see his shadow racing across the wall.  When I was eight my cousin Jimmy held up my long, braided hair over my head as we rolled out of the haunted house ride on Santa Cruz’s Boardwalk.  Look how scared she is! he taunted, laughing as I slapped his hands away from my head.  Sure, sometimes it’s scary, but maybe our sojourn here on Earth is no more real than a trip to an amusement park.

I’ve got no wisdom, just stories.  Stories about riding the waves, about enjoying the ride.

Most of the offerings in this collection were written while I was with friends, and we were playing at our writing.  I’ve belonged to several writing groups, but my Thursday night South Sacramento companions have been my mainstay for nearly a decade.  John Crandall always has the best writing prompts, and I am indebted to him and my writer friends for the inspiration and support.

All stories and essays have previously appeared on my blog of the same name:  Wild Imaginings:  A Spiritual Journey.  Some entries are seasonal; others topical, but all are pertinent to what’s happening here and now.  I hope they touch your heart.

Stories

Bread Cats

After midnight the day-old loaves of bread in the bakery turn into slumbering cats. Some are brown and toasty, some white and fragrant, some calico dotted with black, brown and golden patches that used to be raisins, apricots, and berries.

They stretch, blinking their golden eyes, then pad down off the discount shelves to chase mice, nibble on cold meat-filled pierogis, and lap up milk left on the cold window sill.  By three AM, feeling satisfied, they push open the unlocked windows. By some instinctual knowledge, they wander the path other bread cats have trod, arriving at a feral cat colony by the river.  There they will live short lives of whimsey and adventure, until they become hard and dry and stale.  They will close their eyes and abandon their crumbly bodies to