SHORT STORY CONTEST 2023
BELOW IS THE FIRST PLACE STORY OF THE 2023 SHORT STORY CONTEST, “sIX MEMORIES OF BILLY THATCHER” BY rOUX bEDROSIAN.
Six Memories of Billy Thatcher
By Roux Bedrosian
ONE
Billy Thatcher was little else but a mop of chocolate hair and a pair of shy blue eyes. He didn’t say a word to me the first time we met; didn’t speak for hours, in fact, until mama put on the TV to occupy us boys. She and Mrs. Thatcher disappeared to drink their coffee and smoke their Marlboros in the kitchen while the two of us shared the couch, transfixed by a cable rerun of Jailhouse Rock. I’d never seen a human being move like that - all hips, juts, and gyrations. He was either possessed or made of pure, unadulterated magic there in black and white.
I scrambled off that sofa in a tangle of limbs, each too long for a little boy seeing Elvis Presley for the first time. I managed not to fall on my ass in front of the TV or pop a socket trying to copy each and every dance move. That’s when I heard Billy laugh. It was a light little chuckle with a certain musicality to it. There wasn’t an ounce of malice to it, either. No pleasure in the failure of my two left feet. No embarrassment on my behalf. I’d simply amused him. Made him smile.
I decided right then I’d do it as often as possible.
TWO
Billy’s last few baby teeth came loose in November. He’d made a fortune that year losing ‘em and laying ‘em under his pillow. The tooth fairy must’ve adored him because she left him whole dollar bills. I only collected a quarter or two, or sometimes nothing at all. I’d wake up and find my tooth right where I’d left it, all alone and forgotten. When I asked daddy why the tooth fairy played favorites like this, he’d grunt and warn me I was lucky to have the bed I slept on. Anything else was either a gift from God or the Devil’s work.
Billy came for a sleepover just before Thanksgiving. We rolled sheets across the den’s floor and popped three bags of kettle corn to munch ‘til sunrise. In between movies and mouthfuls, Billy’s front bottom incisor started wiggling something fierce. I told him to yank it free and make us some money. We’d split the earnings, of course - it was his tooth, but my house. Only fair, right? But he refused, too panicked over inflicting pain or coaxing blood. I rolled my eyes, got to my feet, and padded into the kitchen for supplies.
I don’t remember where I’d seen it, or how I knew how tight to wind the twine around the closet door’s knob. I just remember Billy’s sobbing once I slammed it, yanking the tooth free of his lower jaw. There was barely any blood at all - just a small, crimson trickle over the corner of Billy’s pink lip. Mama came running when she heard the fuss and gave me a look that promised a whooping later. Billy, that baby, only quieted down when she hugged him, stroking his back with a pianist’s delicate fingers. Before putting us both to bed, she helped Billy lay that excised tooth - that tiny little piece of himself- beneath his pillow. When she told him to make a wish, he sobbed again. I wish I was brave enough t’pull it out myself. Mama looked at me, sighed hard, and kissed my forehead. Goodnight brave boy, she murmured almost low enough for me to miss.
We awoke the next morning to two dollars. Each. She didn’t leave a note, but I knew what the Tooth Fairy was trying to say: Sorry for the delay, sugar. Thanks for all the help.
THREE
My mama made the best rhubarb pie in the state of Tennessee, and had the accolades to prove it. She’d won ‘best in show’ six times over at the Williamson County Fair and kept the ribbons on modest display in the hallway upstairs. She didn’t bake often but, when she did, heaven lingered all day in the warm, buttery air and sweet tang of sugared fruit.
Billy and his sister stopped by for dinner. Violet and Hope, my own sister, were thick as thieves back then; long before overbearing husbands and surprise pregnancies got in the way. I remember how they’d barely touch their pie as they chatted, shrill and girlish voices buzzing through me like hornets.
Billy didn’t bother to talk past ‘thank you’ when mama brought him a plate. That pie was gone in four bites, leaving behind a red-purple mess all over Billy’s mouth. That was the first time I noticed his mouth. My fork clinked my plate as I stared, suddenly captivated by those lips and the tongue that appeared to clean them. Billy’s mouth glistened as he smiled, skin tinted berry pink under bright white teeth, and I felt my heart leap into my throat. He asked for seconds and got them - unheard of in this house, in this family - and I watched him devour every crumb with a new kind of fire in my belly.
FOUR
Franklin only ever had one cinema: The Footlight Theater on Jensen and Maine. Six screens, four or five employees, and no name brand concessions. Tickets were dirt cheap, but that didn’t stop us from sneaking in. Not as we got older, and I became what Mrs. Thatcher liked to call “a bad influence.”
Somewhere between church and puberty, I caught the horror movie bug. The more evil poured into the story, the more I wanted to watch and get lost in the forbidden shock of haunted houses, lurking demons and man-eating monsters, each stretched out in murky, low lit technicolor. These films excited me because they made real life and its own horrors less exhausting. So long as I never split up, never wandered off in the dark, never called out “who’s there?”, never took the Necronomicon home with me, I was safe. Untouchable.
Billy hated horror. Capital H-A-T-E-D. If he was yellow-bellied as a kid, he was a full blown coward now in his dungarees and sneakers and grease stained t-shirts. He wore his chocolate mop back these days in a short quiff and kept a smattering of stubble across his chin. A sad excuse for facial hair, but he was desperate to cover his baby face. I would’ve teased him if he wasn’t so adorable. No, not adorable. Just my best friend.
Playing hooky in the middle of March meant nobody in the theater. With our pick of the lot, I dragged Billy by the wrist to center seats, right where the movie plays at you. Where the soundtrack spins around you like a rush of thunderous wind, and you can feel the thump of onscreen steps in your own feet. I finished my box of candy before the previews ended, and Billy had hands clutched around my arm ten minutes in. A spurned ventriloquist and her army of possessed dummies had him in silent, frightened tears by the one-hour mark. I knew he wanted to run by the breath he was holding, and the nails he dug into me. But, Billy didn’t budge. With stubborn determination, he buried his face into my shoulder instead. He was going to see this through, even if it meant hiding from the screen and its blood, the theater and its darkness.
A jumpscare made him jolt, and he tugged my arm tight around him. It was the first time I’d ever held him, and a colony of butterflies all hatched at once in the spaces between my ribs.
FIVE
We only survived our Tennessee summers because of the swimming hole. Shutes Branch was a glorified puddle just off of Hickory Road, but its Maple trees, towering and lush with summer leaves, gave us shelter from the sun. This came in handy after hours spent mowing lawns and burning to a crisp for a measly allowance. Billy picked me up most afternoons in his brother’s truck, and we’d sing loud and proud with the radio all the way up to Wilson County.
The hole wasn’t what you’d call a private place. June through September, you’d find more cigarette buds and bottlecaps than grass on the ground. Initial carvings littered trees and picnic tables, some encased in hearts while others decayed under furies of key slashes. Love was fickle that way, you know? Together forever one summer, dead to each other the next.
We dragged out folding chairs from the truck bed and cracked open a cooler. Billy barely drank, but would nurse a beer for the look of it. I kept flasks of daddy’s whiskey tucked away for these little adventures, and had half the thing emptied when Billy took off his shirt. Something sharp touched my spine, electrifying it as I looked. He had square hips below the slope of his bare back, sweat dotting the skin above his ass. He wasn’t fit, but I could still make out lines in his torso - could see the muscles twitch and work beneath tanned flesh. It’d taken Billy almost nineteen years to grow into his shoulders, and now they suited him like wings would an eagle. They held onto long, toned arms and capable hands, fingers already calloused from a summer working in his father’s garage.
When Billy caught my gaze, I laughed it off and stripped off my own tee. With his eyes on me, still so beautifully blue, my whole body sang with want. I might’ve imagined it, but I think he stared. I hoped he did. I wanted him to.
The water was never cold, but it didn’t matter. It still turned the air into something tolerable on the skin, no longer scorching or suffocating. Mosquitos flocked to feast on us from the second we jumped in, legs tucked and smiles stetched all the way to the bottom of the pond. That didn’t matter, either. We let them eat us alive; the itch was a welcome distraction from all the sweating and tossing I’d do later in bed.
We swam and we talked. Drank and smoked. Used logs as makeshift diving boards and swung on low branches. Our hands brushed as we floated on our backs and watched the tangerine sky. I almost fell asleep in that water. I would have happily drowned if Billy hadn’t jerked away, cursing and hollering like a startled sailor.
We never figured out what bit him, but it did a number on his ankle. I had to tend to him in the dirt, water dripping from my hair into my eyes, pruned hands dampening the bandage I wound around his foot. There was enough blood to make Billy queasy, so he asked me to carry him back to the truck. I was thrilled for the excuse to touch him. Touching Billy was like touching velvet; soft and warm luxury, something you’d want wrapped around you.
He limped for a few days after that, which meant I got to carry him a few more times. It feels silly to admit it, but I thought then he’d make one hell of a bride across some threshold, somewhere out there in a life we couldn’t really have.
SIX
I first kissed Billy in the graveyard five yards from the church. A bench sat beneath the old willow tree on the cemetery’s west side, and I found crying there. A cigarette clung to his lips - his grimace - as he scrubbed at his eyes. Came out for air, he’d told me. Came out to breathe. It was hard to breathe on Sundays, especially for Billy. Especially around here.
I sat beside him and stole the stick from his mouth, putting it to my own. Smoke drifted over us in a silvery ladder climbing its way to heaven; the place we’d never reach, according to Pastor Donovan and that morning’s sermon. I didn’t believe in heaven, or God, or any of the bible bullshit by then. But, Billy was a seasoned coward with a gentle heart. Sitting there, I swore I could hear it cracking into tiny pieces, shards dropping one by one into the acid of his gut.
I’d never kissed anyone before, let alone a boy, but it came natural. I just tilted my head and pressed his lips with all the tenderness I’d seen in movies. I remembered Elvis and his permanent pout, and pushed my bottom lip out to be fuller. Softer. Billy gasped, going rigid up until his tongue slipped forward, cautiously and curiously exploring. I welcomed it with a groan and fisted fingers into his hair, all mussed and moppy again. Lapping at him felt good. In seconds, he became the sweetest thing I’d ever tasted.
We kissed until we couldn’t stand it, lips bruised and faces flushed. My pants were a vice and my heart was a hummingbird. Billy looked at me with the stormy, blue sadness of an entire Winter and whispered that he was scared. Scared to want this. Scared to be this. Scared he was going to burn in hell.
I couldn’t help my smile as I slung an arm around him. Nothing frightened me anymore. Nothing could after kissing like that.
Don’t worry I told him, meaning it. If we ever get dragged t’hell, I promise, I’ll become the Devil.
BELOW IS THE SECOND PLACE STORY OF THE 2023 SHORT STORY CONTEST, “1960s Retro Red Portable JCPenney AM/FM Radio! Works when plugged in!” BY j. w. sURFACE.
“1960s Retro Red Portable JCPenney AM/FM Radio! Works when plugged in!”
by J.W. Surface
As soon as Harper saw the Etsy posting, she knew she was going to buy it. Its red leather cover, cream plastic face and flat knobs were so… well, like the posting said, “Retro.” It would contrast perfectly with the colors of the living room she had just redone.
The remodel had left their accounts pretty tight, and although the radio was only $50, she still screenshotted the post and sent it to her husband. She was going to buy it anyway, but kind of wanted his “okay.” He messaged back immediately with a smiley face. She pressed “send to cart” and checked out. A flutter of excitement twirled in her belly at the fun find.
***
The gas pump just kept going. Harper got worried about over drafting, and stopped the pump just short of filling up her tank. She sighed and got into her car. She checked her phone before turning the key. No new notifications. But she did have one email from UPS; her radio had been delivered.
She pulled into the driveway and saw the box on the front porch. She waved at the camera on her doorbell as she picked it up. Excitement tickled her stomach.
She placed the box on the dining room table, took a pair of scissors, and sliced the packing tape. She removed the paper, only to find a rectangular object wrapped in more paper. She ripped through it like her daughter used to on Christmas mornings.
The red leather frame was perfect, and in such good shape. The two dials turned so smoothly. Everything looked almost new, except for some wear on the station numbers. She turned the radio over, running her fingers along the red leather, and found two small button clasps on the back. She undid each one and the leather backing popped up. Tucked inside was the cord. Clever, she thought. She pulled it out, careful not to disturb the workings of the rest of the radio, and buttoned it back up.
She went to the living room, and searched for the perfect spot.
***
“Get yourself a new Carly Oliver dress today! Any color to fit your unique style and occasion. Because honey, you deserve it! Carly Oliver design dresses, now sold at your local Lazarus.”
Harper smiled at the old radio advertisement. She barely remembered the store, Lazarus. She was pretty sure the building was an Old Navy now. She finished dusting the fireplace mantle and smiled again at the song that began playing, an old classic from the Beatles.
She checked her phone; nearly 5:00 PM. Adrian ought to be coming through the door any minute now.
Two minutes later, and there he was, tapping at his phone, listening to one of his podcasts.
“Evening,” she said. She plopped down in the chair and listened to the rest of the Beatles song.
“Hello,” said Adrian. Without pausing his podcast, he bent over to kiss the top of her head. “How was your day?”
“Great, yours?”
“Fine.” Adrian moved back into the kitchen as he always did, placed his lunch box by the sink and then went to the bedroom to change out of his work clothes.
The Beatles faded out, and without interruption, “Great Balls of Fire” by Jerry Lee Lewis played.
“Oh I love this song,” said Adrian, hollering from the bedroom. “I haven't heard this since I was a kid. My dad and I would always dance to this song after dinner.” Adrian came back into the living room, now in basketball shorts and an old college T-shirt. He shook his hips and snapped his fingers as best he could with his cell phone still in his hand.
“The radio came,” said Harper.
“That's so cool.” Adrian glanced at it on the mantle, before plopping down on the couch to commence his nightly scrolling of X. “Lena home yet?”
“Yup, in her room on her tablet. I’ve barely seen her at all this afternoon,” said Harper. She pulled up Pinterest, and began her nightly scroll as well.
***
Harper felt like she was running around like a chicken with her head cut off. All three of them had woken up late. She rushed to fill Adrian’s thermos with coffee, then Lena’s. She fumbled with the lid, dumping the steaming brew all down her white blouse.
“Damnit.”
She met Adrian at the door, who was already scowling. No doubt an office email had already been sent.
“Have a good day,” she said, barely having time to plant a kiss on his cheek.
“Mhmm,” he mumbled back, too busy typing with one hand, briefcase and coffee in the other to even look up.
Lena came next, struggling to put on her shoe as she neared the door.
“I got your coffee,” said Harper.
“I don’t need it. We're going to Starbucks.” When Harper quit her job to be a homemaker, and mentally recover from the stress of her old job, the whole family had to make sacrifices, one of which was not getting Lena a car when she turned sixteen. Until recently, Harper had been taking Lena to school. She adored their morning conversations. But now Lena was riding with her friends to school. Since the change, Harper felt like they barely spoke anymore, and it was more than once that she had gotten a notification from the school that Lena had been tardy to first period.
“Don’t be late again, Lena.”
“Yes, Mom,” said Lena, barely taking time to give her mother a peck on the cheek before slamming the front door.
Harper looked down at her blouse and the dripping thermos in her hand. She let out a deep breath. She set the thermos on the coffee table and began unbuttoning her shirt.
“Alexa, play ‘Fireworks' by Katy Perry.” She made her way to the bedroom and heard her robot radio arguing with her about not being able to play specific songs unless she bought another subscription that would be more expensive than the one she already had. The machine was still talking by the time she reached the bedroom and retrieved another shirt. She tried again, ”Alexa, play music by Katy Perry.” The machine began again about how she couldn't play what was requested. She felt her anxiety grow. “Damnit, just play some music!” The machine lit up blue before going dark.
She launched her ruined shirt into the bathroom hamper, and pulled on a t-shirt as she walked into the living room. The vintage red of the radio caught her eye, it was still new to the room. She went over to it and flipped the dial. It scratched to life, and she immediately recognized the song. “In My Room” by the Beach Boys. She smiled. She used to listen to this song with her grandpa, as they drove through town on those warm summer nights. Always with the windows down, and the wind whistling through their hair. She felt her anxiety melt away.
***
“Come on ladies, don’t stop yet, just a few more,” called Jack LaLanne from the television. Harper kept at it, until finally the muscle man called it quits. She paused the TV and took a moment to catch her breath. The past thirty minutes had been a better workout than anything she had done at the gym these past two months. And best of all, she wasn't comparing herself to the other women. It was just her and Jack.
She heard the door to the garage open and slam shut. She could tell by the heavy footsteps that Adrian had a bad day. She met him at the entrance to the living room.
“Hi,” she said, wiping a small bead of sweat from her brow.
Adrian was downcast, his lips drawn in a tight frown.
“That bad, huh?” she asked.
He nodded, and began ranting at the absurdity of his co-workers, their comments, and the new policies that his boss, James, was implementing.
“I swear Harper, if it wasn't for Lena’s upcoming tuition, I’d quit tomorrow. They won’t listen to anything I have to say.” Adrian was more worked up than usual. He paced back and forth, his face in a permanent grimace. He started in again, telling her all the things that had been going wrong over the past two months. Things he hadn't mentioned until now. His fists were clenched; his voice grew louder with every sentence.
“Calm down, Adrian.” He didn't listen. Harper tried again. “Adrian!”
With the workout and now the sudden stress, she was getting hot and flustered. She needed to distract him, and fast, before he was tempted to break something or put his fist through the drywall again. She acted quickly, pulling off her shirt and tossing it to him as he paced. She turned to the mantle and flipped on the radio. He stopped his rant and held the sweaty shirt in his hands.
He looked at her - actually looked at her - and said nothing. His eyes shifted to her bra, then back up.
“Why did you take off your shirt?” he asked.
A Simon and Garfunkel song began to play. Harper held out her hand.
“I’m hot, and you weren't making things better. Now take my hand.” Her voice was so firm, he tossed the shirt to the ground and immediately obliged.
They began to dance, like timid middle schoolers. She felt Adrian relax after a minute, and they fell into a natural rhythm.
“Maybe you just need to say ‘fuck it’ and quit, like I did.” Harper was only half joking.
“You know I can’t do that, where else could I get a job with that kind of pay?”
Harper kept the dance going, but nodded behind Adrian over to the wall. Three drywall patches were quite evident, and only one of them had been painted over.
“I’m tired of patching my wall,” said Harper, running her hand along his spine, it was quite prevalent in his dress shirt.
A guilty look came across his face before he rested his head on her shoulder. Eventually he broke his silence, “Who’s that?” he pointed at the TV.
“That’s Jack LaLanne. He’s an old workout guy from the 50’s,” said Harper. The dance naturally stopped and she went to turn off the TV.
“You're doing a work out tape?” Adrian plopped down in the chair, and loosened his tie.
“Yeah, I am. I found it at the local thrift shop today, along with this,” she held up a long bright green summer dress, with yellow flower print.
“Wow,” said Adrian. “Thrift shop?” The rhetorical question was his polite way of inquiring about how much money she spent.
“Relax, it was a quarter of the price had I bought it at the mall.”
“And the workout DVD’s?”
“Ahh, those were a little pricier.” She flipped the dress over her head and wiggled through it. “But, we can afford it.”
“Harper…”
“No, listen. I quit the gym. You know how expensive that place is. It's going to save us nearly a hundred bucks a month.”
“Harper, you know the therapist said how important it was to maintain a daily workout. Are you sure-”
Harper put her finger to his lips. “You don't need to remind me what the therapist said.” She smiled and twirled in her dress. “I got Jack now.”
Adrian cracked a smile. “You look lovely. Worth every penny.” She hiked her dress up, sat on Adrian’s lap, and kissed him. “What’s for dinner?”
Before Harper could answer, the front door opened and in walked Lena.
“Ew, Mom, gross.” Lena blushed and rushed straight to the kitchen for her after school snack.
Harper crawled off of Adrian. Both of them giggled.
***
“Stand with confidence! Be a scene stealer! Buy your Stetson hat today!”
The advertisement on the radio made Adrian chuckle. It reminded him of the old fedora at the top of his closet. He hadn't worn it since he was in his late twenties. The ad was followed by a Buddy Holly classic.
“What station is this?” Adrian asked. Harper was in the kitchen, making cookies; something she hadn't done in years. The whole house smelled like comfort and childhood.
“Not sure. I can’t read the dial,” she said, preparing another sheet of chocolate chip. “And the station has been so good. I'm scared to change it.”
Adrian shrugged and went to the bedroom to look for his fedora. Lena sat in the chair on her phone. She clicked her screen off and went to the radio.
“Lena, no!” cried Harper. It was too late. The radio scratched as the station was changed. Another oldie. She switched it again- classic 80’s. Again- a catchy little jingle about Folgers coffee.
“Does this only pick up granny stations?” asked Lena. She kept turning, and didn't find anything she was familiar with. She flipped one more time and stopped just long enough to hear silence fade to a man's voice.
“And it is well for us to remember that this America of ours is the product of no single creed or race or class. We who have faith cannot afford to fall out among ourselves. The very state of the world is a summons for us to stand together.”
“Who is this?” asked Lena, not taking her ears away from the radio.
Harper paused for a moment and listened.
“Sounds like Roosevelt.” She plopped another dollop of dough on the cookie sheet. “The second one.”
“How do you know that?”
“I had a passionate seventh grade history teacher.”
“He sounds so…so…” Lena struggled for the right words.
“Presidential?”
“Yeah,” said Lena. She turned up the volume and went over to the dusty bookshelf that lined one wall of the living room. She found a book about presidents; she remembered flipping through it as a kid. She plopped down on the couch, and found Roosevelt - the second one.
***
“Get yours in a stunning apple red finish! Royal Safari Typewriters, because good grades don’t grow on trees.”
Harper flipped off the radio, and swung her keys around one finger. She looked at the old antique and felt comfort. She had never found such joy from such a little purchase. And ever since it arrived, things had seemed better. Like the radio was… she stopped her train of thought. It was too ‘Twilight Zone-y.’ She imagined her therapist wouldn’t approve.
She reflected on the morning to distract herself. The house was swept, dinner was in the crock pot, she was fresh out of the shower (after her workout with Jack), and best of all, it was only 10:30! She checked herself in the mirror one last time; her new dress fit perfectly. She felt great.
As she drove down the road, she turned the radio on and surfed. After three depressing stations with nothing but negative news, and three more with badly written and somehow trendy songs, she made a ‘bluck’ sound, and turned the radio off. She pulled her hair up at a stoplight and rolled the windows down. The cool morning breeze brushed her face, and she began whistling a Johnny Cash song she had heard last night.
Her original destination had been for the local bookstore, but on the way she passed the public library and found herself pulling into the parking lot without thinking.
An hour later, she walked back out to her car, hands full of books; two for her, one for Adrian, and one for Lena. As she placed the books in the backseat of her car, she saw a glimmer of light out of the corner of her eye. She shut the car door and looked towards the distraction. Next to the library, was a small antique store, and there, front and center in the store window, was a red typewriter. She headed straight for the door, hoping the price wouldn't be too high. The bell above the door announced her arrival, and a sweet, old, blue haired lady said “hello.” Harper browsed for a moment, working up the courage to check the typewriter's price. Finally she worked her way back to the display window, and looked at the tag; $85 “like new.”
Harper was taken aback at how perfect it looked.
“The ink is fresh if you'd like some paper to try it out,” offered the old store keeper.
Harper couldn't help but think of all the papers Lena had due in the coming weeks, and her tendency to procrastinate. Harper was convinced her daughters C’s and D’s were due to distractions from her tablet and phone.
“Bring it over here, honey,” said the store keeper. Harper blushed, and picked up the typewriter. As she carried it over to the counter, she noticed the name, front and center on the carriage, “Royal,” and on the top right of the machine was another name, “Safari.”
“No shit,” said Harper, under her breath. That’s one hell of a coincidence.
“Beg yer’ pardon?” The storekeeper had fresh paper in her hands.
Harper set the machine gently on the glass counter. “Oh, nothing.”
“Have you ever used one of these before?”
Harper shook her head ‘no.’
“Let me show you.” With a rustling of the crisp, white paper, and a few clicks of the machine, it was ready.
The scent of oil and nostalgia drifted up to her nose. She typed out “l-e-n-a” followed by “a-d-r-i-a-n,” then, “Lena will stop procrastinating.” The typewriter's bell asked her to return the carriage, and she obliged. Harper looked up at the storekeeper with a smile.
“What do ya’ think?”
“It’s charming,” said Harper. Her face fell; $85 was twenty dollars more than what remained of her weekly budget.
“How bout’ $60?”
Harper looked up at the woman, “What?”
“It suits you. $85 was just for the yuppies. But for someone who will love it, $60.”
Harper thanked her profusely, and pulled out her wallet.
***
Lena walked through the door just as Harper flipped the radio on and was greeted by Little Richard. Lena smiled at the oldie and then noticed Harper’s dress.
“Mom, you look fantastic.”
Harper swirled, allowing her dress to flair out.
“Where did you get it?”
“At that old thrift store last week.” Harper moved over, to the side table by the lamp and chair, obscuring the typewriter with her body. “Come here, I have something for you.”
Lena sat her bag down, and did as her mother said, one eyebrow raised. As she got closer, she looked into her mother’s eyes and said, “You seem different.” She took a deep breath. “And the house smells good.”
Harper smiled, “Quitting that job was the scariest and best thing I have ever done.”
Lena nodded. “Is that the ‘something’? Wise advice for my future?”
“No,” said Harper. She ran her hand down her daughter's arm, and stepped aside, revealing the typewriter.
Little Richard ended, and The Del-Vikings came on with their song, “Come Go With Me.”
Lena examined the machine, read what her mother had typed hours earlier and looked up at her, “A typewriter?”
“Don’t knock it till’ you've tried it.” Harper kissed her daughter on the head, left her staring at the typewriter and headed for her bedroom. She placed the library book on her pillow, like she used to when Lena was in middle school.
***
Harper was taking the cornbread out of the oven when Adrian came in through the door. She set the pan down, and went to give him a kiss.
“Where did you get that old hat?” she asked, laughing at her husband's fedora.
“My closet. I wore this in college.”
“I know, you were wearing it when we first met. What did your office buddies say?”
“Nothing,” said Adrian, smiling. It was the first time in a long time that he had come home from work smiling. “They just gave me weird looks and didn't really talk to me the rest of the day. It was great. I got so much work done!” He gave her a kiss and then moved over to the crockpot. “What is this?” He took a deep whiff.
“Roast with bell peppers.”
“Oh, damn.” Adrian looked into the living room when he heard a ‘tap tap’ and ‘ding’ of a typewriter. “What the hell?”
“Don’t bother her, she’s been working for over an hour now. I got it for her today.”
Adrian’s face fell. “Harper, do we have money for that?”
“Her grades are shit, Adrian. If this motivates her then it's worth it. Plus I stayed on budget this week. The store keeper gave me a great deal.”
Adrian watched as his daughter pounded away at the typewriter, returning the carriage like she was a pro. Adrian shrugged and turned back toward Harper, she was bent over, checking the cornbread. “Your dress looks fantastic!”
She turned around, smiled, and said, “Thank you.”
“You look like you had a great day,” he said, leaning up against the counter.
Harper nodded, “For the first time in a long time, I feel like I can actually slow down, and just enjoy the day. It’s been fantastic.” Adrian smiled at his wife's contentment, but had a slight look of jealousy in his eyes. She went to him, took his hands in hers, and said, “I have you to thank for that. Had you not begged me to quit that job, I don't know what would have happened.”
“Come here.” Adrian pulled her close and they hugged until the sweet cornbread’s scent filled the kitchen.
***
“Mom!” yelled Lena as she barged through the front door. Harper snapped her book shut and jumped up, alarmed by her daughter's entrance.
Lena slapped a paper in Harper's hand and grinned bigger than she had ever seen her grin before. Harper turned the paper around and read the title, “This America of Ours”. Next to the title, in red ink, was an ‘A-’ along with a note, “Fantastic! Where has this effort been all year?!”
“Honey, that’s wonderful!” said Harper, giving her daughter a hug.
Lena “Wooped” and went to her room.
Harper read the first few lines of the essay. It had been written on the typewriter. “Holy shit it worked.” She went to the kitchen, and hung the essay up with a magnet.
Later that night, all three of them relaxed in the living room. Lina lit a fire, and cozied up next to it with the book that Harper had gotten at the library. Adrian reclined in the chair, eyes closed, his foot keeping beat with the doo-wop song from the radio. Harper watched her family, at peace, not a cell phone in sight, no emails checked, no notifications read. She pulled the blanket from the back of the couch to cover up with and slowly dozed off to sleep.
***
”I did it! I finally did it!” shouted Adrian as he came through the garage door.
Harper poked her head out of the bathroom. “Huh?”
“I did it! James asked me to work late today, and come in tomorrow. But I said no!”
Harper flushed the toilet, washed her hands, and checked her watch- 4:50 pm. Adrian was home early. When was the last time he had come home early? Especially on a Friday night.
“Whoa,” said Harper. “How did James take it?”
“Ha! He was speechless!” Adrian moved into the living room, and turned the dial on the radio till he found a song with the right beat. Adrian moved his hips in a mock impression of Elvis. “He asked me as I was packing up my briefcase for the weekend. I stood, put on my hat, looked him straight in the face, and said, ‘No, James.’ Then I walked out!” He tossed his hat to her like a Frisbee. Harper caught it and raised her eyebrows. Adrian had told her for years that no one said ‘no’ to James. It was an unspoken office rule.
“Where’s Lena? Let's go out for dinner.”
“She’s with her friends; they are getting ready for a football game tonight. Plus I already got dinner in the oven. It will be ready in about an hour.”
Adrian checked his watch. “Hm, well okay then.” He loosened his tie and walked past her toward the bedroom, with his back straight and his shoulders back. When he returned, he was in yard clothes.
“What are you doing?”
“Well, you said I got about an hour, I think I'll mow the front lawn.”
“Adrian, we pay someone to do that. Come relax.”
“No, I can mow my own lawn. Plus, that's $45 more dollars a week if we quit paying that blond haired jail bird.”
“Adrian, don’t call him that,” said Harper, not able to contain her giggles. Harper watched as her husband left the house, whistling the tune that was on the radio. Seeing him so confident reminded her of when they were younger, not yet graduated from college, their whole life ahead of them. She leaned against the door frame of the living room, walking down memory lane until the timer in the kitchen begged for attention.
***
Harper turned the radio dial all the way around, checking every channel. She found nothing modern. Everything was old school: Johnny Cash, The Beach Boys, Bobby Day, or some old radio drama. She tied her hair back and looked around for her phone. She found it between two couch cushions, the battery nearly dead. She found the Etsy posting; it said nothing about the stations it got. The listing did provide a phone number though, and urged customers to call if there were any issues. Those crazy thoughts started again. She felt silly for thinking it, but ever since she had bought the radio, things were changing. Noticeably for the better. Plus, her life no longer felt like it was zooming by. Adrian seemed to notice her again, and wasn't always angry. Lena was wearing more than just black, and spending time with them instead of burying her head in her phone. Harper looked up at the radio again. Surely it was just a coincidence. Surely…
She had to know. She dialed the number and listened as it rang when the front door opened. In walked Lena, but she wasn't alone. Her friend was with her, in tears. Lena kept her arm around her, ushering her into her bedroom. Lena gave Harper a look that said, this is serious, but let me handle it.
Harper stayed on the phone, but kept an ear toward the hallway. She was so intent on trying to listen in on the girls, that she didn't notice the phone had stopped ringing. A man's voice kept repeating “Hello?”
“Oh,” said Harper. “Sorry, I got distracted.”
“Okay…”
Harper felt her face get hot. “Um, hi. I, uh, ordered a radio from you about a month ago.”
“Oh yeah? Which one?”
“The 1960 JCPenny one. With red leather.”
“Oh yes, that was one of my favorites. Almost didn't part with it.” The man's voice was older, gentle; it reminded her of her grandfather. “How is it working for you?”
“Great, I love it! My family loves it too.”
“Well that's good. I’m glad to hear it. It took a minute to get it working again.”
“Except, it won’t pick up any local stations. In fact I can’t find any stations that I recognize. It’s like it only plays things from…” Harper stopped.
“Yes?”
“Well…uh. Is there something special about this radio?” She ran her finger around the dial.
The man went silent.
“Hello?” asked Harper.
“Yes. Ahem, Ma’am, are you unhappy with your purchase?”
Lena and her friend came out of her room, “Trust me, it will make you feel better,” said Lena moving past Harper and reached for the dial on the radio. Harper moved into the kitchen, and watched the girls. “Do You Wanna Dance” by Bobby Freeman began playing, and Lena moved her hips just as Adrian had days before. Her friend giggled and wiped her tears.
“Ma’am, are you unhappy with your purchase?”
“Well, no. No, not at all, it’s just that…” another distraction came from behind, Adrian came through the door to the garage, a smile stained on his face. He clapped his hands loudly until he saw that Harper was on the phone, and Lena had a friend. He turned to the little white board that hung on the fridge. He took it in his hands to write something, and turned it to show Harper. His smile grew, it read, “I quit!”
A lump formed in Harper's stomach, Adrian read her panic and quickly wrote something else.
“Ma’am, would you like a refund? It’s easy to do,” said the man.
Adrian turned the board back around, “I took a job in I.T. Less stress! Less bullshit! No James!”
She could see the excitement in his eyes, and the lump in her stomach disappeared. A ‘tap, tap’ and ‘ding’ rang out. Lena and her friend were playing with the typewriter. Tears turned to giggles as they typed.
“No.” Harper turned back to the phone. “Actually, I love it. Forget I called.”
The man laughed and said, “Yes, ma’am.”
Harper hung up and gave Adrian a hug. She walked into the living room and turned up the radio.
