Narrow Corners: A Collection of Short Stories

By Gooden

"Narrow Corners: A Collection of Short Stories" is a collection of seven works of fiction. The stories included are: "Abalone", a coming of age story about a young bi-racial woman named Judith who is navigating life in the 1960s south; "Reda", a re-telling of the well-known classic "Little Red Riding Hood", only this story holds a bit of a subur

• Language: English
• Publisher: Moiya Gooden
• Release date: Dec 2, 2023
• ISBN: 9798869376855

Book preview

Narrow Corners

A Collection of Short Stories

Moiya Gooden

Self-Published

Copyright © 2023 Moiya Gooden

All rights reserved

The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.

No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the publisher.

Contents

Title Page

Copyright

Abalone

Reda

Cindy

The Time Between Us

Time, Down and Wary

The Insect Kingdom

Chapter 1

About The Author

Abalone

Near the turn of the 1960's, my daddy died. He was one of a kind, a fine man, a gentleman affirmed in all his strength. Mama always used to tell me Be kind and kindness will follow you, though she knew it didn't, and it wouldn't.

On March 10, 1968, on a warm summer day, my sisters Emeline, Frances, Carter, and I were on our way to Mr. T's parlor for some ice cream.

We had stolen a glimpse of the large bowls of scooped cream indent with ridges as we were on our way to the salon with Mama. She had told us not to stare at White people and had nudged us along, but I still took my fair share of the sight. Blue and white stripes covered the walls, and everything in between them looked all nice and shiny. I hugged the temptation to run inside and then put it behind me; though I knew I'd come back for it later.

I opened the door and allowed my sisters to walk inside. They huddled in and formed a straight line across from the far right of the counter. They stayed in place and made as little movement as their poor little bodies could handle at the young ages of six, nine, and fifteen. I walked past them, more like through them, and headed for the counter.

The man behind it looked at us confused, as did every other eye sitting around. I could tell the first thing they all noticed.

My sisters and I had scarlet red hair, contributions of our daddy, freckles and wide noses, and hairless bright skin. The people around the city called us the Scarlet Sisters. No one had ever seen anything like us, at least not in this part of Mississippi, so whenever we were out, stares were all we received; mostly from people trying to figure out how to treat us.

Hey, what are you doing here? one man asked.

His beard hung unshaved for about a week – I knew because that was how daddy's beard used to look whenever he forgot his – and his shirt was an off-white; dingy but not dirty. A working man, but not like my daddy.

I'm here to buy ice cream. What does it look like? I said.

We don't serve your kind here.

I read his name tag.

George.

George was around my age; tall, barely any mustache, and a twinkly young fellow, much too pruned be to thinking of himself as any better than me.

I sat down on one of the red cushioned bar stools lined under the counter. The Civil Rights Act of 1964 says you have to serve me. Ice cream. I banged my hand on the counter.

My sisters stood back quiet and ambushed with fear.

George threw down the towel he had been using to wipe clean the same glass he had been holding ever since me and my sisters had first walked in. Now there was a smudge on the outside. His fingertips pressed so hard into it I could see the redness on the tips. I almost hated to see him put it down when he did.

Now you listen here…

I'm listenin'.

He stopped and he turned red.

Come on Judith. Let's just go home. Mama's probably lookin' for us, Frances said.

You best listen to your sister girl.

A man sitting at one of the tables behind us got up and started approaching me. I started to open my mouth and say something, but just as I did, Sheriff Jones walked in.

Alright now, what's going on in here? he asked.

His eyes scoured the room and landed on me and my sisters. An immediate scourge ran through his body. I could see it in his face and the way it tensed; the stiffness pulling tight at his jawline and upper and lower lips.

This wasn't the first time the Sheriff and I had caught sight of each other. I had seen him around town a couple of times while Mama and I were out. Sheriff Jones was my daddy's brother. The two of them used to be closer than seams on a sweater, but their sights didn't break even when it came to love, and my daddy's plight with his brother became never-ending the moment me and my sisters became a portrait in the family frame. Daddy had never really talked about it, and Sheriff Jones  never spoke to mama or my sisters and I, not even after my daddy died. He just looked, and scowled, and sometimes even stared.

I looked across the room at Sheriff Jones, and he looked back at me. I got up and stood square. He walked over just as stiff as a woman in a pageant.

What's going on here? he asked.

I knew what he was asking. Why are you here?

"My sisters and I came here