The Gift: And Other Stories

By Sheldon Cohen

Short stories by definition are really mini-slices of life. The characters
and the plot lines are necessarily brief and should be able to convey to
the reader the important ingredients of any story regardless of length.
Shelly Cohen, in his distinctive style, has achieved those goals in this collection
of stories.
At the same time, he will surprise the reader with some very unusual endings
The Gift is a prime example of his story telling skills. So jump right in
and open your mind to this outstanding collection of short stories. Indeed,
theres something here for everyone, no matter what your age or literary tastes.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Oct 9, 2013
• ISBN: 9781493106400

Book preview

Copyright © 2013 by Sheldon Cohen.

Library of Congress Control Number: Pending

ISBN: Hardcover 978-1-4931-0639-4

Softcover 978-1-4931-0638-7

Ebook 978-1-4931-0640-0

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted

in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system,

without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

Rev. date: 09/27/2013

To order additional copies of this book, contact:

Xlibris LLC

1-888-795-4274

www.Xlibris.com

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Contents

#1 The Gift

Vietnam April 1972

The Grand Tetons September 1973

Stratford, New Hampshire September 1985

Roosevelt High School Stadium November 1985

Strafford Medical Center November 1985

Jeff Evans’s Home December 1985

New Hampshire University January 1986

Associated Press Organization January 1986

The Evanses’ Home January 1986

Outside The Evanses’ Home January 1986

Roosevelt High School Auditorium February 1986

The Evanses’ Home The Next Day

Moffett, Oklahoma March 1986

The Evanses’ Home March 1986

A Hiking Trail Outside Stratford One Week Later

Boston, Massachusetts April 1986

The Office Of Professor Burt Rosen Two Days Later

The Evanses’ Backyard End Of May 1986

End Of June 1986

The High School Stadium July 1986

The Stadium That Same Night

#2 Beshert (Meant To Be)

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

#3

Lost Then Found

Chapter I

Chapter Ii

Chapter Iii

Chapter Iv

Chapter V

Chapter Vi

Chapter Vii

Chapter Viii

Chapter Ix

Chapter X

Chapter Xi

#4

Brownie Points

#5

The Box

Chapter I

Chapter Ii

Chapter Iii

Chapter Iv

Chapter V

Chapter Vi

Chapter Vii

Chapter Viii

Chapter Ix

Chapter X

Chapter Xi

Chapter Xii

Chapter Xiii

#6

A Life Worth Living

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Epilogue

#1

The Gift

edited-image.bmp

Shelly Cohen

To my wife

Leona

With much love

Vietnam

April 1972

Jeff Evans is a short-timer, a real short-timer. Today he leaves ‘Nam for home, but he leaves with feelings of great loss. He keeps asking questions: Was it worth all those lives lost and bodies smashed? and Where has God been in all this? Why does he allow things like this to happen?

Yes, Jeff has been asking questions for some time now but with no satisfactory answers. He used to be a believer in God, but since his terrible war experiences, that belief has all but disappeared. It’s not hard to understand why when a person sees his buddies being torn to pieces and the body bags being loaded into the choppers, a person can easily lose his faith. Jeff certainly has lost his.

But now after two years in Nam, he’s going home to his childhood sweetheart, Sarah, to try to pick up his life where he left off.

Perhaps if there is a grand plan, it will eventually be revealed to him. But for now, all Jeff has in his mind is doubt and intense anger.

The Grand Tetons

September 1973

Sarah and Jeff were married in June of 1972 and have been on the road ever since. Sarah, a photojournalist, received an assignment from a travel magazine to do a pictorial story on the national parks. So she said to Jeff, Why not combine my job with our honeymoon? Jeff readily agreed, and off they went into the wilds of America. Jeff did most of the driving while Sarah organized the shoots. When you think about it, it was really quite a unique way to start a marriage—and it worked. They had grown much closer to each other and were truly on a good solid path in their relationship. They arrived in the Tetons in September just as the leaves were turning colors. The timing couldn’t have been more perfect. Sarah immediately began to organize her equipment and located prospective photo-shoot locations while Jeff unloaded the camping gear and, in general, prepared for their stay in the park.

It was on their third day that Jeff met the fisherman. Jeff found himself walking along one of the many trout streams in the park and was admiring the scenic beauty when, upon rounding a small bend in the stream, he saw an older man in waders fishing along the far shoreline. The man was using his fly rod like a baton, placing his fly exactly where he wanted it to go. Jeff, who was an amateur fly fisherman himself, really appreciated the man’s ability and stood there in awe as he watched the man’s superb fishing skills.

I’m afraid I’m not doing too well today, the fisherman shouted. I can’t seem to find the right fly to do the job.

Jeff was surprised the fisherman had seen him. He responded, They are a temperamental fish, aren’t they? Have you ever tried fishing with live bait? Worms usually work real well for me.

The man turned slightly to face Jeff and, with a wry smile, began to reel in his line. Son, if I can’t catch a cutthroat with artificial flies, I’ll just open up a can of tuna for dinner.

Jeff knew he had made a faux pas because, as most anglers surely know, a true fly fisherman is a purist. No live bait of any kind will do. It’s an unwritten law.

Sorry, sir. I didn’t mean to offend you, Jeff sheepishly responded. I was thinking more of practicality than of pleasure.

No matter, son, the fisherman said. It’s a small thing. How’s about some coffee? I’ve got a thermos over there near that tree stump. The fisherman waded over to the bank, put his rod and creel down, and gestured to Jeff. Come on over and sit down. We’ll chat for a while.

Jeff felt a little better now. There didn’t seem to be any anger on the part of the fisherman, just friendliness. He walked over to the stump, accepted the cup of coffee, and found a spot where he could sit comfortably. The fisherman poured himself a cup then sat on the ground facing Jeff.

It doesn’t get more beautiful than this, does it?

Yes, said Jeff. This place sure can make you feel insignificant.

Oh, I’m not one to use that word ‘insignificant,’ the fisherman responded. I believe everything has some purpose, large or small. Oh, by the way, my name is Manny Crawford.

As they shook hands, Jeff identified himself. I’m Jeff Evans, glad to meet you, Manny. I’m visiting the park with my wife, and believe it or not, we’re on our honeymoon.

Well, you couldn’t have picked a more glorious spot, and your timing is perfect. I think fall in the park is the most beautiful. Even though nature’s things are dying, in that death, there’s real beauty. He paused then looked directly into Jeff’s eyes and continued, Does death bother you, Jeff?

The question came from out of the blue and kind of shocked him. Jeff quickly began to organize his thoughts before responding. I guess it does. It’s the end of all things. There’s nothing after death, right?

I’d like to think there is something after death. In nature, you see it all the time. In the fall, animals begin their hibernation—a kind of death—trees shed their leaves, and the land gets mighty cold. Then comes the spring, and the cycle of life begins all over again, and I think it’s like that with us human beings as well. Perhaps you have to view it from a distance. Let’s say a lifetime. He continued, We’re born, we learn how to survive, and we live our lives. Every moment of our existence is meaningful. All of us are constantly sharing who we are with the people around us. What we believe, what knowledge we have garnered, all contribute to who we are. Also, we’re given certain gifts. Some people use them, some don’t, but they are there. All we have to do is recognize them and put them to good use.

Jeff was a little taken aback at Manny’s words, yet he seemed compelled to listen. He offered no opinion of his own.

Sorry, Jeff, said Manny, I didn’t mean to get on a soapbox here in the middle of this beautiful setting, but sometimes I feel compelled to speak out.

No, Manny, I don’t mind. As a matter of fact, I’ve been searching for some answers to questions for some time now. Jeff paused then spoke sotto voce, And not finding them.

They both grew silent and sipped some more of their black coffee—Jeff, a little nervous, picked up a pebble and threw it into the slow-moving stream. He watched as the circles spread out from where the rock had entered the water. It was almost hypnotic. He threw another rock into the water and watched the circles form again.

That’s an interesting phenomenon, isn’t it? Manny said. Perhaps we’re all like that stone. We affect those around us just as the stone does. The ones closest to the center gets the most of who we are, and as we get farther away, our effect on people diminishes. But we do have an effect—perhaps on some more than others. What do you think, Jeff?

Now here was something to ponder, Jeff thought. Perhaps there is something to what he was saying. Jeff abruptly changed the subject. How do you know what road to travel? It looks like you’ve been around awhile, Manny. Which life path do you choose? I’m finding those decisions a little difficult.

Manny was looking toward the snow-covered Tetons and spoke again, Jeff, I was a soldier once—the 101st Airborne in Europe during World War II. We jumped at Normandy, fought through the hedgerows of western France, and were surrounded by the Germans in Belgium during the Battle of the Bulge. Most of the time, I was scared to death. Every time a shell came over our position, I thought it had my name on it. Manny now lowered his voice and continued, "I saw my buddies die, I saw lots of death, but somehow, deep down, I began to realize I was going to be okay. I questioned my faith, and I shouted at God. I was feeling about as low as anyone could get.

"Then it happened. It was during the closing days of the war. I was getting some chow in a bombed-out orchard when I spotted this solitary child walking beneath the trees. She was about ten years old and was picking spring flowers from a nearby pile of debris. I walked over to her and offered her some food. She smiled and, in return, handed me the flowers she had just picked—’Danke,’ she said and, with a little curtsey, turned and walked away.

"I stood there for a while and began to