JT EVERGREEN SHORT STORIES

“Hello.” “Chip?” “No.” Whispers, “Shit.” “Excuse me?” “Sorry. Is this Clearbrook 3 6148?” “Yes, it is.” Whispers, “God dammit.” “Sir?” “Sorry.” “God’s last name is not Dammit.” “What? Oh.” Laughter. “I’m sorry. Someone gave me your number.” “Chet?” “Yes.” “He’s not here.” “Right. Hey, is that Gilda Radner singing in the background?” “Yes, it is.” “Sounds like ‘Let’s talk dirty to the animals’.” “Yes, it is.” “I’ve been looking all over for that thing. Where did you find it?” “On the Internet.” “Do you remember where?” “Yes, as a matter of fact I do. Would you like the URL?” “Yes, I would.” “I’ll need your email address.” “Great. It’s nick an nora charles, all one word, at gmail dot com.  That’s ‘an nora’, not ‘and nora’.” “Got it. Are you a fan?” “Of Gilda?” “No, Nick and Nora Charles.” “Oh, yeah. I’ve got all their films.” “I’ll send that URL right away.” “Who are you.? What’s your name?” “Nick Charles.” I laugh...

 “Mom, look!” Mindy pointed across the street. “Yes. I see it,” June stared at The Olde Book Shoppe. “That’s funny, I don’t remember seeing it when we came into town this morning.” “Can we go look … please?” “Sure, why not. We have time.” June looked at her watch, “The train doesn’t leave for another hour … let’s go.” She took Mindy’s hand, crossed Jackson Boulevard and walked up to the display window of The Olde Book Shoppe. “What beautiful old books. And look at those old toys.” “Mother, may we go in and look around?” Mindy surveyed the old toys in the display window. “Well, I suppose we can … but just for a few minutes, and we can’t buy anything. Please remember that.” “I will.” As they approached the shop door, it opened. The little bell above the door tinkled. “Oh, hello there,” came a surprised greeting from an elderly man.  “Welcome, please come in and make yourself at home.” “Thank you. We were on our way to the train station and saw your beauti...

I’m December, and I was about to meet May … against my better judgment, of course. A romance, let alone falling in love, were definitely not on my agenda of things to do, especially after I overheard someone refer to me as a woman of a certain age. You can make a fool of yourself over romance when you’re young, and get away with it, but not … when you are ‘of a certain age’. Jesus, I hate that expression. I can’t remember who said it about me, but if and when I remember – and I will remember – I shall make one of those little voodoo dolls and stick pins where it will really hurt. In the meantime . . . There had been too many frogs, too many nightmares, and the accumulation of far too many years in my life to even consider the possibility of loving someone again. I mean, how many times do you have to be hit over the head before you finally wake up to the fact that it isn’t going to happen ever again – at least not to me it isn’t. Rivka, one of my oldest friends, had the ann...