JT EVERGREEN SHORT STORIES

Based on the lyrics from ‘Mr. Sandman’ By The Chordettes, 1954 “Who are you?” “I’m the Sandman.” “Oh, really. And what’s your first name pray tell?” “Pray tell? My first name is Clyde, and be very careful.” “Clyde Sandman? You’re kidding?” “Do I look like I’m kidding? Smart-ass.” “Cute. Are you ‘the’ Sandman?” “What do you mean by that?” “Are you the Sandman who can bring me the man of my dreams?” “Depends.” “On What?” “Can you sing: bung, bung, bung, bung…?” “Do I have to?” “No, just thought I’d ask.” “Who’s the smart-ass now?” “Hum, point taken. Now, let’s get down to business.” “Yes, let’s.” “I’ve got a couple of gents lined up which may be of interest to you.” “Wonderful.” “Do they have to be the cutest that you’ve ever seen?” “That would be nice, but not necessary. But I don’t want one that looks like a mud fence.” “In the dark, does it matter?” “I have a photographic memory so, ye...

What the hell do you mean she’s dying?  I water it, feed it fertilizer, and give it plenty of sunshine, and fresh air. But do you love her? What? You heard me. I heard you, but I don’t believe what I heard. Please answer the question, do you love her? I don’t know; I suppose I do. How the hell do you love a plant? Do you talk to her? No, I don’t talk to it. Are you nuts? There’s the answer to why she’s dying. Because I don’t talk to it? I haven’t talked to it – ever. Does she have a name? A what? A name, n – a – m – e. I don’t know. It’s a jade plant so I guess its name is Jade. That’s like calling you Man, and not a very bright one at that. Well, let’s give her a name. That is really a dumb idea. Perhaps, but give her a name anyway. Why is this so hard for you? Because I feel stupid talking about this damned plant. Okay, I’ll give her a name. No, you won’t. It’s my plant.  I’ll give it a na...

It finally dawned on me that my life was deteriorating into a Harold and Maude film noir. Conforming to what everyone wanted me to be was driving me nuts. Half the time I didn’t know if I was Harold or Maude.  And being both at the same time was like sticking my finger into a light socket and flicking the switch to on. I tried camouflaging my life by playing the part of Vivian Pickles, Harold’s mother, but that didn’t work very well.  I lack her stoic joie de vivre. Conforming to those around you is a slippery slope with an uncertain ending and usually not a pleasant one. Yes, I know – I have mommy issues. But, so what. Most people do … especially if you’re Jewish. I wanted an outlet for expressing my true self without being redressed by my relatives, especially my mother. That’s when I got the idea of becoming an actor. The stage was the perfect place to be outrageous, to be sad, to be happy, angry, and to be able to express both the masculine and feminine aspects ...

I’m on the verge of my thirtieth birthday and still haven’t found the love of my life, my soul mate, my squeeze if you will. I’m reasonably good looking, well educated, well read, even-tempered, can converse intelligently on almost any subject, and I’m just a nice guy to be around. In spite of all that, not to mention the extraordinary efforts my mother has put into ‘the project’ as she calls it, I’m still alone and not liking it. Singles bars, online dating, and church socials – nothing seems to be working. I’ve met a number of beautiful and very charming women and also a few who were not so charming, but none of them clicked. Mom threatened to engage the help of a matchmaker … even though we aren’t Jewish. I put my foot down on that one. I was waiting for her to ask me to make a donation to the local sperm bank which would have brought about a conversation she would not have appreciated. I found out later, she was seriously thinking of hiring a surrogate to accomplish her pen...