JT EVERGREEN SHORT STORIES

 “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...

by J.T. Evergreen It was one of those rainy afternoons when I stepped away from my typewriter and settled into the window seat in my studio. I plumped the big cushy pillows, placed my cup of tea on the window sill and leaned back with a sigh. A beautiful thunderstorm was making its way across the horizon; black roiling clouds with flashes of lightning and cracks of distant thunder completed this perfect scene. As a child, I had learned to count the seconds after each flash of lightning to determine how far away the storm was. One-Mississippi equaled one mile. I also used that measure after I’d sass my mother – gaging when her reaction would descend upon me.  I don’t believe I ever got beyond three-Mississippi. If you happen to be a comedian, counting that way provides an accurate measure of how funny you are or are not. The trailing edge of the storm brought gentle showers to the garden below my window, freeing me of the task I enjoyed but was happy to release to th...

“Someone’s at the door. Hold on.” “Okay . . . I’m holding … on and on and on. I’ve been holding on for nine bloody years. Is this a gay date or what? If you’re not interested in love everlasting with me along with hot erotic encounters, go away. Leave me alone. Pick up your copy of Engineering, or Golf, or International Tiddlywinks. Stick your nose into that and enjoy yourself, if you can. Or better yet, go find yourself a straight date … that is if you can find one. That would be comical. What have I been doing wrong all these years that leaves me withering like a dried up tree trunk on the side of the road – soon to topple over and be trampled underfoot. I’d give my eye teeth for a good solid, meaningful relationship with you – other than my left hand. Why is making a commitment so difficult for you?” “What the hell are you rambling about?” “Sorry, Pete. Didn’t realize you were back. Who was at the door?” “UPS, with the birthday present you sent. Thank you.  How did ...

“Lynn, why are you hitting me?” “For not telling me sooner, you jackass.” “I don’t know how.” “Kelly, for Christ’s sake. There are three very simple words that cover it.” “And those words are? … Let go, you’re hurting me.” “You know what words they are. Now say them.” “Let go. OW!” “No. Not until you say them.  Come on.” “Okay, okay, just let go.” “What’s the first word?” “I.” “Very good.  Now, what’s the second word?” “OW!” “Ow is not the second word. I’m gonna count to three and then I’m really gonna hurt you.” “Love.” “And the last word, you stupid … stop crying for God’s sake.” “You.” “Why didn’t you say those words months ago? Please, stop crying.” “I was afraid.” “Of what?” “Afraid you might laugh at me.” “Kelly, you’re my best friend. I’d never laugh at you.” “Yeah, but beating the crap out of me doesn’t seem to bother you.” “That’s different.” “No, it’s not. I don’t understand why you’re so angry.” “Because.” “...

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...