The Acorn Stories

By Duane Simolke

"A lush tangle of small-town life branches out in this engrossing collection of short stories." –Kirkus Reviews.

 

Visit Acorn, Texas, for the German festival, a high school football game, homemade apple pie from the Turner Street Café, and the cool shade of a hundred-year-old oak tree. Meet dedicated teachers, shrewd business owners, smitten lovers, and concerned neighbors. See how lives become intertwined in moments of humor or tragedy.

 

From romantic comedy to razor-sharp satire to moments of quiet reflection, these tales explore the humor, drama, secrets, and scandals of small towns.

 

Find these tales and more inside:

 

"Acorn": When we arrive at the fictional West Texas town of Acorn, the narrative keeps shifting between Regina and Dirk, who both seek control over their relationship.

 

"Flip, Turn": A different scene from the narrator's amusing but unproductive life comes to him every time he turns to swim in the opposite direction.

 

"Keeping A Secret": A little boy wants to shield his mother and his little brother from a dangerous situation.

 

 

• Language: English
• Publisher: Duane Simolke
• Release date: Apr 4, 2024
• ISBN: 9798224607532

Duane Simolke

Duane Simolke wrote the books The Acorn Stories, Degranon, Holding Me Together, and New Readings of Winesburg, Ohio. He co-wrote The Return of Innocence and The Acorn Gathering: Writers Uniting Against Cancer. DuaneSimolke.Com includes some of his writing, as well as a variety of links.

Book preview

What People Are Saying About The Acorn Stories

A lush tangle of small-town life branches out in this engrossing collection of short stories. –Kirkus Reviews

I swung from sad to happy, angry to laughing out loud. –Tweetables.Com

The ability to depict such a wide cross section of humanity, including details of each character’s breadth of knowledge and experience, takes a talented, insightful author, and Duane Simolke is such a writer.  –E. Conley, Betty’s Books

Simolke shares life’s beautiful and humorous moments side by side with the devastating and painful ones, and the contrast is palpable. –Jennie Griffin, The RedHead Notes

The writing is excellent and has a poetic quality to it. –Leonard Tillerman

If you liked WINESBURG, OHIO...rejoice.  –Watchword

By the time you have finished reading these tales of the people who inhabit the fictitious town of Acorn, Texas, population 21,001, you will have met some endearing as well as irritating characters, from the Mayor to the local would-be gigolo; from the busy-bodies to the business owners; from those who grew up in Acorn and have tried to escape the small town to those who have moved to Acorn to escape from the real world. –Ronald L. Donaghe, author of Common Sons

A well-crafted collection of short stories. –L. L. Lee, author of Taxing Tallula

When you finish, when you put the book aside, Acorn will still be with you." –E. Carter Jones, author of Absence of Faith

It was a real pleasure to read about the fictional town of Acorn, Texas. –Mark Kendrick, author of Desert Sons

There are people that you like, some that you can't wait to see if they get theirs. –Joe Wright, StoneWall Society

Each of Simolke's stories lets us look into the lives of some of the most interesting characters I have ever read about. –Amos Lassen, Literary Pride

Acknowledgements

Special thanks to my teachers (first grade through Ph.D.) for their knowledge, guidance, encouragement, and (especially) patience. Special thanks also to StoneWall Society (http://www.stonewallsociety.com/), for recognizing my books The Acorn Stories, Degranon, and Holding Me Together with Pride in the Arts literary awards.

This 25th Anniversary Edition eBook includes questions for reading groups or book clubs.

Duane Simolke, Lubbock, Texas

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In that high place in the darkness the two oddly sensitive atoms held each other tightly and waited. In the mind of each was the same thought. I have come to this lonely place and here is this other, was the substance of the thing felt.

—from the story Sophistication, in Sherwood Anderson’s book Winesburg, Ohio

She pulled in her horizon like a great fish-net. Pulled it from around the waist of the world and draped it over her shoulder.

—from Zora Neale Hurston’s novel Their Eyes Were Watching God

Welcome to Acorn, population 21,001, the Texas town with a little name and a big heart.

—sign marking city limits of Acorn

Acorn

Part One. Regina Thibodeaux

tapped her fingernails on the kitchen table, watching Kyle, her new brother-in-law, pour the tea. She still couldn’t believe her baby sister had met the guy, dated him three times, then eloped and moved to West Texas with him. Rebecca had never even been outside Louisiana before. For that matter, she hadn’t been on many dates. Cute guy, thought Regina, except for the big nose and shoulder-length hair. But everything in his house was broken. Why marry someone who couldn’t fix anything?

I’m sorry Becky had to start work today, said Kyle. He sipped his tea as he sat down, making the annoying sucking noise one of Regina’s ex-boyfriends made when eating soup.

Well, it’s given us a chance to— A car pulled up in the driveway; she could hear it through the rent house’s thin walls. Is that Rebecca?

Kyle stood up, looked through the curtains. No, it’s my friend Dirk.

Dirk from your photo album? Regina had spent much of the morning looking through photo albums—nothing unusual for her.

Kyle laughed. Yeah, that Dirk. Smiling, he opened the door just as Dirk lifted his hand to knock. Kyle seemed to grin out of habit. Come in. Meet my sister-in-law. She just got in from Louisiana.

Regina’s eyes took in Dirk’s broad shoulders, his tight blue jeans and T-shirt, his short brown hair, his big brown eyes, everything, and most of it looked great. Well, he was a little too roundish just above the waist, but she could put him on a diet.

After introductions, Dirk looked at her like he knew her but hadn’t seen her in a long time. Where’s Becky? he asked.

At work, said Kyle.

Today’s her first day at the shoe store.

I’ll have to stop by some time. I need some new shoes.

Shouldn’t you get a new car first? The smile again. Why did he always smile? That bothered Regina—too dorky.

Thanks, Kyle. Dirk rolled his eyes slightly.

What’s wrong with your car? asked Regina.

It got totaled a few weeks ago, when I went to see my sister in Muleshoe. This old granny slammed into me.

Was everyone okay?

It just hurt my car. She was driving a boat. Dirk reached his fingers inside his empty T-shirt pocket, as if looking for a cigarette.

Well, I’ve got a new car. Regina’s eyes directed Dirk toward the living room window.

I noticed. I love Cadillacs.

Good. I’m bored stiff sitting around here. It would be nice if some long-time resident would show me around. I’ll let you drive.

Kyle’s lived here a long time. Dirk stuttered a little while saying that, and he exaggerated the word long. She couldn’t believe such a good-looking guy acted so nervous around women.

He has to wait for Rebecca. Besides, Kyle’s not an Acorn native, but you were born here.

Talking about me again? asked Dirk, nudging Kyle’s arm.

Regina laughed at Dirk’s attempt to distract her from his nervousness. Your face popped up in Kyle’s photo album. I couldn’t help but ask who you were and all that. Soo— She reached inside her purse, immersing her fingers in the keys of her giant key ring, like grabbing an octopus. Pulling the key chain out, she could see the keys to past jobs, keys to the apartments of past friends and boyfriends, keys to the homes of relatives who welcomed her back with no sincerity in their voices, keys to apartments she lived in before starting over another time. She never returned keys, or even removed them from her chain.

Sometimes, a landlord or an ex would call or write to ask for a key back; rather than attempting to explain to herself or anyone else why she wanted to keep the key, she would just say she lost it.

Regina jingled the keys—the relics—then asked, When do we leave?

* * *

The tour only lasted a few minutes, because of Acorn’s size. Dirk knew every business, every street, and who lived in every house. A middle-aged man waved from his lawn chair as they drove through a residential area.

A friend of yours? asked Regina.

No, just one of the guys from work. I don’t have many friends. I mostly hang around Kyle.

What about before Kyle moved here?

Dirk hesitated before answering, Kept to myself, I guess. That’s my house over there.

I want to see the inside. I hope it looks better than the outside, she thought, noticing the dingy, half-peeled paint and the unusual lack of trees and grass in the yard. Regina had observed immediately that, unlike other West Texans, Acorn residents seemed especially fond of trees.

Though Regina planned to drive back to Louisiana the following day, Dirk kept asking her out, and she knew Rebecca wouldn’t mind her staying with them a few extra days. Dirk took Regina to a movie the first night, and to a play at Acorn College the next night. The third night, she wanted to stay in at his place and cook him a big dinner. She never cooked at her parents’ house; her mother always insisted on taking care of everything, complaining all the while about having to do everything. Even before meeting Dirk, Regina had started regretting her recent decision to move back home with her parents; checking up on little sister gave her a good excuse to get away from Skydown for a while.

I’m surprised there’s so much to do in Acorn, she said, while tearing up a head of lettuce in Dirk’s salad bowl. Dirk wore yet another colored T-shirt, a red one this time. The T-shirts showed his muscles, but they also showed his flab; besides, she wanted to see him in a dress shirt.

Is there? I haven’t noticed. He sat at the kitchen table, his feet against two of its rusted legs, his hands on the stained and rusted surface—a pattern of green windmills and purple kittens.

We don’t have plays or anything like that in Skydown. We had a drive-in movie theater, but that closed down a few years ago.

She cut a tomato down the middle, then in quarters, then across the sides, producing uniform chunks of red flesh. It reminded her of when she worked in a café. Never again, she thought. The customers all smarted off at her, and her co-workers all back-stabbed. One time, someone put a note in the suggestion box saying they shouldn’t have to clock out for cigarette breaks. The manager, as a supposed favor, made the suggestions anonymous, but then griped about the suggestion during a meeting, staring straight at Regina, who didn’t even smoke. Anonymous meant blame Regina for everything, burden Regina with everything.

After mixing the tomatoes with the lettuce, she turned off the oven then took out the lasagna and set it on the stove. It needs to cool down a little, she said, sitting down on the couch and patting the pillow beside her. Let’s sit here. Those metal chairs hurt my back. Just bring your plate to the coffee table after you get everything.

He stood up. So I should go ahead and serve myself?

No, Dirk. It’s too hot. Come sit down.

He sat down beside her, put his hand on hers. His hands were dark and callused, with deep lines that she traced with her fingernails.

Be— Regina, I  . . . He stopped, looked at their intermingled hands.

Yes? He almost called her Becky. Oh well, her parents did that all the time.

I’ve had a great time the past few days. I wish you could stay longer.

I’d like that. She kissed him, pulled his body against hers.

Part Two. Dirk Palmer

pulled the bright orange boxer shorts from the Santa Claus wrapping paper, laughing harder than he’d laughed since before Regina had returned to Louisiana, a month earlier. After coming back that week, she’d found a job at the Quicknight Lodge and moved into the apartment complex next to it. It looked like a condo, the way Regina decorated it—glass tables, velvet couches, Chinese lamps. And pictures everywhere, in frames of all sizes and shapes.

Well, do you like the boxers? she asked, cradling a wrapped present in her lap like a newborn child.

He noticed the picture on the wall behind her, one of her and Becky; despite Regina’s seven extra years, they looked almost like twins. They’re . . . unlike anything else in my underwear drawer. He kissed her neck, finding the familiar smell of her perfume, a smell that mixed roses and cinnamon. He rarely liked short hair on women, but her short blonde hair seemed as perfect as her slender body and bright blue eyes.

That’s not an answer.

Should I model them for you?

That’s why I bought them. She jabbed his left knee, the knee he’d displaced when he went out for football, ruining his final attempt at high school popularity, leading to his dropping out. Jerking the knee away, he crossed his legs. Sorry, she said, did I hurt you?

No. He uncrossed his legs. I missed you so much. I can’t believe you’re back. She touched his hand, tracing his calluses with her fingernail. I moved here for you. I guess you know I’m crazy about you.

The feeling’s mutual. Now open your present. He tapped the square box.

All right. Regina pulled the ribbon off and stuck it on Dirk’s forehead, turned the gift over, carefully lifted the tape from the green wrapping paper with her fingernails, and unfolded the paper to find a box of bath beads and bubble bath mix. Hmmm, she said. Actually, I could use a hot bath, after all the unpacking I did today. And after the headache I got from looking through the Quicknight’s files. Talk about unorganized and unprofessional! I’m just glad Aragon Carsons bought out the old owners; she seems more with it.

Dirk rolled his eyes. She bought that too? She’s having fun with her inheritance.

What’s wrong? She winked. Can’t handle strong women?

Only if they let me. Actually, I don’t know Aragon that well. I’m sure she’s a very nice person, but I’ve already found my strong woman.

And don’t you forget it. Well, I’d better get to my bath. The bubbles await me.

Well. . . .

Well. . . . She shoved a photo album, thick as a family Bible, into his lap. Here, you can look at this. I won’t be long.

Yeah. That’s what my sister says.

Rebecca too. But Mother would always have a major breakdown if one of us stayed in the bathroom more than twenty minutes, so we tried to hurry.

Becky’s nice. Dirk pulled the ribbon from his forehead; the adhesive tape ripped some of his hair out, but he tried not to make a face.

That’s true. But remember which of us you’re involved with. She made this sound funny—an artificial threat—but he heard fear in her voice and wondered if she ever noticed how he looked at Becky. Of course, he never meant to stare.

You’re the one I love. His eyes followed her up.

It’s nice to hear that. I— Regina looked like she suddenly remembered something disturbing: her smile faded into a frown as she turned away.

You what? Dirk touched her hand.

I made cheesecake. In fact, I made two, so you can take one home with you. Well, I’ll be right out.

Dirk flipped through the photo album, finding pictures of Becky and Regina as children, copies of the ones on the wall. But he found only a few pictures of both girls together, and even fewer of the whole family together. He mostly found pictures of good-looking men in dress clothes, or of large groups of people eating, drinking, attending weddings—children playing, willow trees providing even more shade than the mesquite tree Dirk would sit under when his father worked late or went out with one of the women he called just a friend. These friends came too soon after the divorce that separated Dirk from his mother and his sister.

Sometimes, when his father worked overtime, the lonely ten-year-old watched approaching headlights and asked, Are you my father? If the car didn’t turn in, he would say, You’re not my father. He usually grew tired of this game long before his father came home, made a sandwich, went to bed. Shortly after Dirk’s eighteenth birthday, a foreman at the farm-tool factory called to say that his father had suffered a stroke and would never come home again. The same foreman hired Dirk to fill the vacant position.

Dirk, what’s wrong? Regina stood over him, wearing a long bathrobe, towel-drying her hair. He thought she looked best without make-up, but never said anything about it, since she liked make-up so much. Becky wore very little make-up and always looked great.

Nothing. Why? He closed the photo album, touched the hand that grabbed his shoulder.

You were so deep in thought. You’re not gonna dump me, are you?

He grunted. Never. I was just wondering who all those people are.

Mostly relatives. I just take pictures for something to do during get-togethers. I don’t even know half those people, and I don’t know if I’d care to.

He’d never heard her sound so cold. Even her gripes about Kyle and Becky never surpassed the type of nitpicking he expected of a sibling and an in-law. He’d only met his sister’s husband once before they promptly divorced, and that one meeting made him want to scream with boredom. The guy was obsessed with government conspiracies and would explain the same JFK assassination theories over and over.

Regina responded to his stare with an explanation. Some of my relatives have drinking problems, and some are just flipped out. You can’t tell it from the pictures of the different weddings, but I always have at least two uncles hanging all over the bridesmaids. It’s really vulgar, and you’d expect people with mostly French blood to be sophisticated. My mother’s always warned us not to talk to some of the family more than we need to. I guess she thought they’d be a bad influence, but as much as they argue, and whine, and make racist remarks, I can’t imagine any child wanting to be like them. How about some cheesecake?

He set the photo album on the glass coffee table. All right.

While hidden in the refrigerator, she asked, Hey, we both have a few more days off. What would you think of a trip to Dallas?

Aren’t you tired of driving?

Not too tired for Dallas, if it’s with you.

How can I refuse your company?

Part Three. Regina

looked at the phone, wondering if she should call Dirk and ask if she could come get him. At first, he always said yes, but lately, he’d started saying he had things to do around the house, or that he needed to go to bed early, or make some phone calls.

It started out perfect, as always. Dirk loved everything she loved, and everything about her. She never minded cooking for him or taking him places; as long as she could be with him, she didn’t care what she had to do. But it wasn’t enough. Why couldn’t it ever be enough? She couldn’t imagine Dirk cheating on her, like her past boyfriends, but she could imagine him letting go like them.

She picked up the phone then set it down, afraid to call, afraid not to call. But maybe he would run around after all. She thought about driving by his house to check for cars.

No, she told herself. That’s so degrading and desperate. Besides, he isn’t like the rest. He’s never done anything to hurt me.