Periodic Stories

By Jim Bates

The first thirty-one elements of the periodic table are each used in the thirty-one stories in this unique collection. Will Warren always be lonely? Why does Lonny's grandfather like balloons so much? How come Derek's new fishing rod is so important to him? Why is Paul excited to learn how to test for chlorine in swimming pools. How did Eric's spoon melt when he stirred the coffee? These are lovingly written stories that deal with human beings and their relationship with themselves and others. Oh, yes, sometimes science plays a role. 

• Language: English
• Publisher: Impspired
• Release date: Nov 17, 2022
• ISBN: 9798215183793

Book preview

Acknowledgements

These stories have appeared in the following publications:

––––––––

CafeLit Spillwords

The Literary Yard

Writers and Readers Magazine Down in the Dirt Magazine Setu Magazine

Hydrogen

I remember hearing the song by Three Dog Night, One Is the Loneliest Number, and thinking, Yeah, that’s me. All by myself. No one cares.

Now I see that thought for what it really was, a cry in the night from a frightened six-year-old kid whose parents abandoned him to the child welfare system, leaving me all by myself, scared and alone, wondering if this foster home thing was going to work out.

Fortunately, it did. Early on, I bonded with my older foster brother Tony. His parents were crack addicts and he’d been removed from them when he was three years old and put into the system. He was four years older than me and pretty smart. He read books to me, took me on bicycle rides and taught me to fish.

One of my best memories with Tony was when I was in eighth grade. I had tip- toed from the bathroom and into the bedroom we shared. I quietly closed the door and asked What do you think about this? Earlier, I’d snuck into the bathroom and bleached my hair with hydrogen peroxide

like some of my classmates were doing.

He put down the book he was reading and gave me a long once over. I watched as his expression changed from horrified to bemused. To be honest, he said, shaking his head, it looks pretty bad. I fought back a sudden unexpected flow of tears. All I had wanted was to fit in with my classmates. Here, he said, standing up and taking me by the arm. Come on. Let’s see what we can do to remedy this situation.

He took me into the bathroom and stood me in front of the mirror. Look.

I looked closely at my bleached hair. Normally a rich dark brown, it was now a bright, wheat colored yellow. Some of it was orange. The closer I looked, the more embarrassed I felt.

I met his eyes in the reflection, I guess you’re right, I told him. It looks pretty bad. I felt the tears welling up again. I’m so stupid.

Tony said, Hey, relax, It’s not the end of the world. Your hair will go back to its normal color. Eventually.

I used as Kleenex to wipe my nose. I can’t believe I did such a dumb thing.

Don’t worry about it. He mused my hair. We all make mistakes. Just talking to

him made me feel a little better. No much, but a little. Tony was a senior in high school, good looking and popular. He didn’t need to waste time with a stupid kid like me, but he did. Here, let me show you something.

Even though I didn’t need it, he opened the cupboard, took out a can of Gillette shaving cream and spent the next fifteen minutes teaching me how to shave with a trac-two razor. I thought it was the coolest thing that ever happened to me. He even let me use some of his aftershave. Agua Velva. It smelled great.

We became very close after that. I’m not the brightest bulb in the pack, but Tony watched out for me and showed me stuff and helped me navigate the next four years of my life. I eventually graduated from high school. Whenever I was feeling down about my grades, he’d remind me, There’s more to life than book learning, Warren. At least you try. And I did. I tired as hard as I could.

In fact, I still do. I’m a stock boy at a local grocery store, and I ride the bus to and from our apartment to work. That’s right, our apartment. After I graduated, Tony asked me if I wanted to move in with him. Because we’re buddies, he said at the time.

Well, yeah. Sure! I told him.

Thanks.

So, he and I have our own place. He tells me he’s proud of me. I pull my own weight and ‘pay my own way’ as the saying goes. It makes me feel proud to help out. I might have been lost in the system if not for Tony. I was lucky to have met him. I still consider myself lucky.

We’re roommates for life, he often tells me. I’ll always have your back.

You know what? I not only have a brother, but a friend. And I’m not lonely anymore. Not like I was before I met Tony. I was sad then, but now I’m not. In fact, I’ve never been happier. We’re even thinking of getting a pet. Maybe a cat. I’d love to have something to take care of like Tony does for me. That’d be so cool. And if we do, I’m thinking of naming him Hydro because of that thing years ago with the hydrogen peroxide. I think it’s a great name.

Helium

I’ll never forget my first helium balloon. I got two of them for my second birthday. Two red ones, my favorite color. My grandpa gave them to me. Here you go, Lonny, he said, smiling. Enjoy. I did.

My grandpa loved helium filled balloons. Not those mylar ones with sayings on them like Too Bad You’re 40. Now Your Life Is Over. No, he liked those red, yellow, blue and green ones. Even black and white. Colors were his joy.

They’re solid and simple, he told me once when I was about five. My grandma had given him a bundle of fifty for his fiftieth birthday. Plus, you know, he added sheepishly, they’re kind of pretty.

Grandpa was a salt-of-the-earth heavy equipment operator for the Minnesota Department of Transportation. A macho job if there ever was one, but he had a gentle nature, at least around me. I became a lover of balloons because of him.

I just like to watch them float, I said, the day of his fiftieth birthday.

He smiled. I hear you. It’s like a watching little bit of magic. He was silent for

a moment before adding, Goodness knows we could all do with some of that in our lives.

I had no idea what he was talking about, but the statement stuck with me.

Me and my younger sister stayed with Grandpa and Grandma a lot growing up due to problems my mom and dad had with fighting and what not. Even after I got older and moved on with my life, I made it a point of always giving grandpa a bundle of balloons for his birthday, one for each year.

The older he got, of course, the bigger the bundle. He loved them.

Grandpa’s one hundredth birthday was a special day in more ways than one, and I’ll always remember it. Grandma was long gone, and Grandpa had been living in Orchard Lake Senior Living west of Minneapolis for a number of years. I lived nearby so I could visit him easily, something I did most every day.

On that day, I met the delivery guy in the parking lot and helped with the balloons. We took them into grandpa’s room. Surprise! I said coming in, dragging a clump of twenty-five. I was followed by the delivery guy and two of the staff, each of whom had a special fondness for my

grandpa. Each of them had a clump of twenty-five, making it one hundred balloons all total, a colorful mix of red, yellow, blue, green, purple, orange, black and white. It was quite the sight. Happy Birthday! we all called out.

We’d scheduled the party for noon. The staff brought in a cake and for the next hour or so people came in and wished Grandpa happy birthday. His huge grin never left his face.

Later, he and I sat with each other, chatting. Grandpa looked at me and said, You know Lonny, this is the best birthday I’ve ever had.

I’m glad, Grandpa, I said, reaching for another piece of cake. It was fun.

You know what would make it even better?

I paused, half way to the cake. I thought having the balloons was enough. Did I miss something? I asked.

He could see the perplexed look on my face and laughed, Don’t worry my boy, you did good with the party. He patted me on the arm. And with the balloons. You did really good with all the balloons. He waved his hand at all of them floating around his room.

What then? I asked, dishing up a piece of cake.

It might be fun to let them go. Go?

"Yeah, take them outside and set them

free."

"Grandpa, they’re just balloons, not

living things, I chided him. Not like doves or something."

He grinned at me and said, Well, you never know. They make us feel so good, don’t they? Who’s to say if they’ve got a heart and soul or not?

Balloons having a heart and soul? I was afraid my grandfather was completely losing his mind, but when I looked at him, he was deadly serious. Besides, it was a harmless thing to do. I set my plate down, You sure?

I’m positive. It’ll be fun. Well, all right, then.

I put him in his wheelchair and took him outside. It was a beautiful spring afternoon. Buds were bursting open on the trees and there was a fragrance of lilies-of- the-valley in the air. We went out to the back of the building where there was a small lawn and some open space. I had to have some of the staff help managing all those balloons,

but they didn’t mind at all.

As we were getting organized more and more of the residents came out to join us. When we were ready, Grandpa spontaneously began handing out balloons to everyone. The smile on his face was priceless as he listened to the ‘Oh’s’ and ‘Ah’s’ from the crowd when