Small Stories: A Perfectly Absurd Novel

By Rob Roy O'Keefe

The Town Administrator is extorting residents!
Subversive senior citizens are on the march!
Crazed ponies rampage through the streets!
Exclamation marks keep popping! up! everywhere!

 

Duncan and Maya Small have just relocated to a new town. Again. And almost immediately, Duncan is ready to move on thanks to a power-obsessed local official who has it out for him. But Maya has ideas of her own.

The Smalls soon discover nothing in their new town is at it seems, but one thing is certain – there's something funny going on.

Small Stories: A Perfectly Absurd Novel, is a comic tale about life, power, and new beginnings in a quirky little town that's decidedly off-the-wall, yet remarkably familiar. It's about the last Welcome Wagon, secret societies, and bake sales. It's about Duncan Small's fixation on process and Maya Small's unforeseen celebrity. It's about unexpected friendships, which may turn out to be the best kind there are.

• Language: English
• Publisher: O'Caoimh O'riginals
• Release date: May 20, 2022
• ISBN: 9798201457419

Rob Roy O'Keefe

Rob Roy O’Keefe was raised in the Antarctic by a colony of emperor penguins, which explains both his love of fish and his intense anxiety when in the company of sea lions. At the age of 12 he left to go on walkabout, but upon learning that Australia was over 3,000 miles away, he took the more expedient route from Cape Melville, Antarctica to South America’s Cape Horn. He wandered north through the Andes, accumulated an abundance of practical knowledge, such as how to convince a hungry condor that you are not carrion. He eventually stumbled upon the hut of an Incan shaman who took him on as an apprentice. After a decade of immersion into the mysteries of the unseen world, Rob departed, fully prepared for his eventual success in the fields of pizza delivery, local politics, and brand consulting. Today, Rob resides in New England’s Merrimack Valley, where he lives in a tree house made of Good Humor popsicle sticks held together by the discarded dreams of retired sailors.

Book preview

Applause for Smalls Stories: A Perfectly Absurd Novel

There are so many different angles and comedy that it's difficult not to be smiling all the way through ... comic genius.

– Robert Wingfield, author of The Legend of Dan

A fantastic short novel. I loved it.... snappy, funny and intriguing. It also had a mysterious subplot that resulted in a surprising ending.

– LilLily, LibraryThing Early Reviewer

Quirky, weird town characters ... written well and is very enjoyable to read. The foundation and the backstory were so well put together.

– Review Tales

... off-the-wall interactive humour ... the creativity is superior. A very entertaining read. Not perfectly absurd, but very close to it.

– Gordon A. Long, author of Mercenary’s Dream

The author’s chatty prose, often sliding into side stories, brings memories of Terry Pratchett and Douglas Adams.

– The Arizona Bookstagrammer

"The dialogue was funny and well written. Small Stories: A Perfectly Absurd Novel made me chuckle."

– Long and Short Reviews

Small Stories

A Perfectly Absurd Novel

By Rob Roy O'Keefe

Draft2Digital Edition

Published by O’Caoimh O’riginals, 2022

This is a work of fiction. Similarities to real people, places, or events are entirely coincidental.

SMALL STORIES: A PERFECTLY ABSURD NOVEL

First edition. May 20, 2022.

Copyright © 2022 Rob Roy O'Keefe.

ISBN: 979-8201457419

Written by Rob Roy O'Keefe.

Also Available by this Author:

Four collections of occasionally tolerable poetry.

Living With the Monkey Mind: Poems and Other Shiny Objects (2015)

Return of the Monkey Mind: More Poems and Wandering Thoughts (2015)

Last Gasp of the Monkey Mind: Even More Poems and Chance Discoveries (2016)

All the Things I Don’t Understand: A Collection of Sorts (2020)

Draft 2 Digital Edition, License Notes

Thank you for purchasing this book. This book remains the copyrighted property of the author and may not be redistributed to others for commercial or non-commercial purposes. This eBook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only and may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to your favorite eBook retailer and purchase your own copy.

For Dianne

Table of contents

Before

I Welcome, not welcome

II Hi, spy

III Seeing red

IV Some plan

V Power lunch

VI Run for it

VII Knock, knock

VIII Mind games

IX Speechless

X Up for debate

XI In today’s news ...

XII Take a walk

XIII Surprise, surprise

XIV Believe it or not

XV Congratulations, sort of

XVI Concession Day

XVII Join the club

XVIII Earlier that eon

After

Appendix

Endnotes

Oh, by the way

Acknowledgements

About the author

Before

The birth of our universe was not exactly a momentous occasion. There were no grand proclamations, buy-one-get-one free sales, or celebrations of any kind. In fact, our arrival was a mishap that went largely unheralded by the rest of Existence. The Great Embarrassment, as it was derisively referred to by most of the multiverse, was not the proudest moment in cosmic history.

At first, Existence sought to shift attention from its astronomical faux pas with a series of what it hoped would be wondrous diversions.

Look, over there! A wormhole!

Did someone say neutron star?

Who wants dark matter?

When that didn’t work, our universe awkwardly withdrew to a remote corner, and whimpered quietly for a few eons.

Then, after billions of years, far from the more desirable locales of time and space, a fledgling galaxy produced a pearl from the grit and debris left scattered across creation.

Existence was relieved. You might even say elated.

See, I didn’t have spinach in my teeth after all. I’m doing my part in this great cosmic experiment!

Our relatively young universe was exuberant, putting all its energy and resources into a major rebranding effort, complete with multi-channel streaming initiatives, guest appearances, and product endorsements.

Soon after, the Great Embarrassment was promoted everywhere as the Big Bang, all thanks to the creation of this pearl of a planet, now proof of a great plan, and eventually referred to by future inhabitants as Gaia, Tonantzin, Unci Maka, or Earth. The planet gave rise to a remarkable species that was intelligent, industrious, and dedicated to the collective good. But this story isn’t about dolphins. Or farmer ants. Or even elephants. It’s about homo sapiens. The same species that gave the cosmos telemarketing, spray cheese, and platform shoes.

Oh, well. You work with what you got.

As humans evolved, so did their habitats. Contrary to popular belief, most did not live in caves, finding the monthly maintenance fees to be excessive. Early on, the nomadic life was more prevalent, allowing humans to roam wherever they wanted, a lifestyle that had a major resurgence in the 1970s thanks to the popularity of van conversions.

Eventually, people got tired of the nomadic lifestyle, growing disillusioned because of the dearth of decent restaurants, never mind finding one with a Michelin star. This led to the development of more permanent settlements such as hamlets, villages, shires, towns, and cities. Each had their advantages and disadvantages.

Hamlets were great if you wanted to avoid most other humans, but the dating prospects were limited. Villages had more to offer, including a decent number of robust farms, one or two annual fairs, and the legally required village gossip. Shires were very similar to villages but were vulnerable to gentrification by hobbits. Cities, of course, attracted people in extremely large numbers, giving them the opportunity to live in close proximity which couldn’t possibly lead to any problems at all.

Of all the possible human settlements, it was the town, particularly the small town, that offered the most attractive living conditions, proven by the number of musicals in which they were featured. In a small town, residents look out for each other, often employing binoculars to get a better peak inside each home. People in small towns develop highly evolved manners, ensuring that no one is ever discussed as long as the party in question is present. Most important, in a small town, everybody always gets along.

Let’s look at the humble beginnings of one small town.

THE TRADER STUMBLED upon a remote settlement while paddling his canoe down river in a part of the country that was still wild and isolated.

He saw a group of fishermen working on their nets, and since he had been on his own for several weeks, he thought he would avail himself of their company.

As he pulled his canoe out of the river, the fishermen told him he was welcome and invited him to share the meal they were roasting over a small fire. Not surprisingly, it was fish.

What do you call this place? the trader asked.

Hasn’t got a name yet, replied the oldest fisherman.

Do you catch a lot of fish here? asked the trader, who knew nothing about fishing, but was hungry for conversation and maybe some fish cooked over an open fire.

The fishermen exchanged a look which could have been interpreted as Do you think we’d be living here and spending all our time working on fishing nets if there weren’t any fish? Traders. Not the smartest example of the human species.

But instead, the oldest fisherman said. Yep.

Lots of trout, said one of the others. And a few of these strange fish that blow up when you catch them. We call ‘em pufferfish.

Don’t eat ‘em though, the oldest fisherman warned. They’re poisonous like rattlesnakes.

The youngest fisherman joined in. We catch so many fish, we’re wearing out the trail between here and the settlement. Some of the others are going to build a cobblestone road down to the river to make things easier.

A road made of stone, huh? commented the trader, impressed. Imagine.

They were invented by the ancient Romans, the youngest fisherman explained, showing off his two years of schoolhouse education.

The oldest fisherman stopped his repair work and looked at the trader. Welcome to civilization.

I

. Welcome, not welcome

The talk around town :

What would you say is humanity’s greatest achievement?

That’s easy. Roads.

That’s a pedestrian response. What about art, or medicine, or something noble?

Yeah, those are fine, but roads are the hallmark of progress. And they offer so many possibilities. There are dirt roads, gravel roads, cobblestone, asphalt, and concrete roads, alleys, dead ends, highways, freeways, toll roads, autobahns, and the greatest of all, the cul-de-sac, a singular invention.

I don’t see it.

Allow me to explain. Because a cul-de-sac has no end, it allows you to be in two opposing states at the same time – coming and going.

You mean like quantum mechanics.

Yes and no.

Here’s some helpful advice. Before moving to a new town, ask these three questions:

Do any potential neighbors believe they work for the CIA?

What’s the likelihood of being trampled by deranged ponies?

How many local officials list ‘emperor’ as their dream job or show other signs of being otherwise unhinged?

Had the people we’re about to meet stopped to ask those questions, this would have turned out to be a very different story.

AS HOUSES GO, IT WAS a good size. Not so large you would call it an estate, requiring staff to keep the house and gardens in good order while the owners were out flushing quail from the brambles with their fellow amateur sportsmen. But not so small you would call it cute, which is the word realtors use in place of if this home were any smaller, it would be a shed, and therefore lacking both staff and quails. The house was the size a nice family would want to move into.

And so, one did. We’ll refer to them as Duncan and Maya Small, mainly because those happen to be their names. They were also accompanied by Maya's father, Grandy, who you won’t meet until the next chapter.

The professional movers, big muscular types with names like Moose and Tiny Bob, had left a while ago, having already hauled in the big items, leaving the small stuff for lesser mortals who needed a map to find their biceps. That meant it was now up to Duncan and Grandy to show off their physical prowess as they relieved a rental van from its burden of towels, sheets, tablecloths, and the occasional doily, all while under the watchful direction of Maya. It was a picture-perfect moment of a family working together. Other than the part about working together. Or working at all. Maya was inside the house wondering why there were no boxes to be unpacked and Grandy had wandered off to explore the new neighborhood.¹ (This is an endnote. Click on it. It might be fun.)

The domicile itself was situated at the end of what the realtor generously referred to as a cul-de-sac, which typically is a carefully designed road with only one way in while still allowing you the space necessary to turn around and exit without having to stop. This design, however, was more like a road that lost its way and its will. Yes, it came to a stop, but without the conviction required to be thought of as a certified dead-end. There was a road, and then there just wasn’t.

The Small’s new house was the only one on the not-really-a-cul-de-sac. It had the potential to be a very suburban location, if the town they moved into had been big enough to be a suburb. But it was barely large enough to be a town, never mind having the heft required to bear the weight of more detailed description.

For the sake of the story, however, you should know the house might or might not have been surrounded by stately oaks, or the majority of residents may or may not have had lawns that were mostly composed of low growing green plants, even if those plants had as much in common with grass as a giraffe had with little neck clams. Let's just say there was an appropriate amount of scenery which properly adhered to the principles outlined in the ultimate authority on narration, Francais' Standards of Description, which should not be confused with the more popular reference publication, Francais' Factualities.

A voice sounded from inside the house.

Duncan, can you bring in the box with the towels next? It was Maya, Duncan's wife.

Which box are they in? That was Duncan, Maya's husband. Theirs was a reciprocal relationship.

Duncan scanned the boxes still stacked up in the van, each one labeled with large Roman numerals. Duncan had a thing for Roman numerals. He admired their symmetry.

I have no idea, Maya replied. You’re the one with the spreadsheet.

Duncan found his clipboard with the spreadsheet he had created, insisting to Maya this would make packing and unpacking much more orderly and efficient.

The towels are in box XII. There are three boxes ahead of that one, Ah, the sweet sounds of marital discourse. IX, X, and –

Maya cut him off. I get it. Just bring in the towels, please. Discourse ended.

Not very efficient, Duncan said to no one in particular as he crossed ‘XII, towels’ off his list of ‘boxes and other items to unpack.’ He then added another line noting towels should have a higher priority the next time they moved. Who knew?

I heard that, yelled Maya. Just try and roll with it, okay?

Some people are drawn to their occupation because of the unique challenges it poses. Others choose the career appropriate for their personality. Duncan was in the latter category. He liked having a system and sticking with it, which is why he was attracted to his vocation of engineering. More specifically, project engineering, which is what engineers gravitate to when they think engineering needs more order.

In any case, Duncan wasn't really a roll-with-it kind of guy. It wasn’t like he was obsessive-compulsive, at least not clinically, but who doesn't enjoy a good program plan replete with dependencies, risk analyses, and checkpoints? Of course, that's just for organizing closets — program plans for work were much more detailed. Duncan could be flexible, however, as long as he had a few days’ notice and was told what the parameters of being flexible might include.

Duncan carried box XII into the house.

How do you know it’s not box IIX? Maya asked, smirking as she watched Duncan momentarily wonder if the box was indeed upside-down.

You are not funny, Duncan remarked.

Do you every get tired of moving? Maya asked, more seriously.

In the previous five years, the Smalls had moved five times. The first instance was so Maya’s father could live with them. After that, they moved once because of Duncan’s job and once to accommodate Maya’s career. The last two times seemed to have occurred simply because they’d grown accustomed to moving, kind of like nomads, absent the goats and sheep. Now, Maya hoped they could settle down for a while and maybe get to know some of the people, but moving didn’t seem to bother Duncan.

Not really. I like living in different parts of the world, and I don’t know about you, but so far, we haven’t found a place that made me feel compelled to stay.

Maya was about to remark we probably would have to live in one place long enough to see, when a voice sounded from outside of the kitchen door.

Welcome Wagon.

Those two words seemed like a harmless greeting, full of optimism, acceptance, and the possible pie, preferably blueberry. However, little did Maya and Duncan realize that this announcement would herald the first of a series of unexpected visits, leading to a chain of events that would leave their lives completely and utterly changed. Okay, not their entire lives – let’s not get carried away. It’s not like the Smalls were going to become pirates, raise the mizzen mast, raid merchant ships, or in Duncan’s case, finally stop wearing plaid. But mark these words, major upheaval was on the way, although when it’s all over, you’ll likely be saying Good for you, Maya. Unless you’re from Australia, in which case, Good on ya, will work just as well.

Sorry, who? asked Duncan.

Um, the Welcome Wagon. You know, ‘hi neighbor,’ small gifts, abundance of receptive friendliness, that sort of thing?

I had no idea the Welcome Wagon was around anymore, said Duncan to Maya. But as he looked out his kitchen window, there, parked as it were on the street, was a wagon, complete with horse.

Why, yes, we do, or I still do anyway. We’re a vital part of a vibrant, socially connected community, predecessor to various lodges and clubs, and inspiration for today’s technology-based social networks. We are the thread which holds the fabric of society together, you might say. Then the man from the Welcome Wagon paused to look around. I don’t suppose you’ve received a visit from the Auto Club already, have you?

No, we haven’t, replied Maya. Should we have?

No, no, of course not, said the Welcome Wagon representative in a way that made it seem like there were many, many reasons for asking. Just your basic harmless question which in no way should give you or me any cause for concern.

From Francais’ Factualities:

The original Welcome Wagons would bring water and other supplies to pioneers heading out across the American West. And they really were wagons, the big classic Conestoga types. They would also dispense friendly advice like ‘don’t try and cross the Rockies in the middle of winter.’ Or ‘if you make soup from cactus, don’t forget to take the pointy things off first.’

Eventually the Welcome Wagon evolved and became a marketing service founded by a Mr. Thomas Briggs of Tennessee. It combined getting-to-know-you small-community congeniality with a one-on-one business-building venture for local merchants. The Welcome Wagon service faded away in the late twentieth century, mostly due to a dearth of wheelwrights, who grew tired of chasing their products down hills. While never documented, it is thought wheelwrights went on to invent Hula Hoops, Frisbees, and the Slinky. – F

Which brings us back to Walter. Oh, but you don’t know his name yet. Forget it was even mentioned.

In that case, said the man, whose name we don’t know yet, looking relieved, on behalf of the Welcome Wagon, um, oh yes, welcome. My name is Walt. Has a bit of assonance, doesn’t it? You can say, ‘hey, it’s Welcome Wagon Walt,’ or, ‘it’s Walt from the Welcome Wagon.’ Either way, w-w-w. And then he handed Maya a fruit basket.

Absent from the fruit basket was fruit of any sort. Not a quince or even a cherimoya.

Hey, Walt, it’s not like I'm expecting anything, said Duncan. But isn’t it customary for a fruit basket to have something like fruit in it?

I can see why you might ask a question like that. After all, fruit has so many uses. You can eat it as it is, dry it and eat it later, let it go to seed and grow more fruit, use it as an ingredient for baked goods – do you folks do a lot of baking? asked Walt, looking around the kitchen.

Not unless every bakery in a 50-mile radius is closed and the Red Cross has declared a cupcake emergency, asserted Maya.

Duncan interjected, "Maya is more comfortable with Scientific American than Bon Appetit. She's a freelance science writer. In fact, she's working on an article about quarks. Or is it quacks?"

Per usual, no one laughed at Duncan's joke.

"Oh, you're that Maya Small, exclaimed Walt enthusiastically. Loved your humorous retrospective on Bosonic String Theory. It got quite a few chuckles down at the diner."

Okay, definitely not the comment Duncan expected to hear, leaving him both surprised and bewildered. Surprised someone found his wife's work to be funny. Bewildered no one thought he was.

Why thank you, Walt, said Maya graciously.

Back to the welcoming business at hand. For reasons having to do with product availability and wanting to earn enough to occasionally indulge in food, I recently moved on from fruit baskets to a lovely assortment of over-the-counter pharmaceuticals. Anyway, I was in such a hurry to get here before the Auto Club – you sure they haven’t been here – Walt queried again without waiting for a response, that I, um, well, I forgot to fill the basket.

Walt then reached into his jacket pocket and began filling the basket with small colorfully wrapped packets. Here you go, he said cheerfully as he re-presented the now-full