JT EVERGREEN SHORT STORIES

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...

“In the six years I devoted to tracking David Cromwell, it never occurred to me that he didn’t exist.” Martha was disconsolate.  “Why not for heaven’s sake?” Cindy looked sympathetically at her old friend. “Because I was purposely being misled.” “By whom?” “That’s just it, I don’t know. But, I’m going to find out.” “I think it goes without saying, when you discover who’s been misleading you, you’ll know who stole all of your money. Do you have any suspects? “Oh, yes, I certainly do. And, just in case you’re wondering, you’re on the list.” “I am?  How delightful. I would consider it a pointed insult if I weren’t. Is your ex-husband on the list?” “No.” “Why not? What was his name, I forget?” “He’s dead.” “That’s not what I asked you.” “His name is, was Rick Shaw.” “That’s right. Now I remember. How very funny — married to a Rickshaw.” “He didn’t think so.” “I’ll just bet he didn’t. So he’s dead?” “As a doornail.” “That’s just like him....

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...

Annabella gazed from her kitchen window. It was spring and the two cherry trees in her back yard, a Stella and a Windsor, were in full bloom. Mark had planted them the day they moved into their home at 440 South Evergreen, in the small town of Arlington Heights, Illinois. He subsequently planted a Honeycrisp and a Macintosh apple tree behind the cherry trees, but the cherry trees stoked melancholy on this anniversary of his passing. They had been happily married for almost seven blessed years when fate took him from her. She often wondered why the gods thought so little of her that they allowed him to go, casting this fate upon her. She sipped her coffee and thought about what she would do on this day. It was Sunday. She was in the choir of Saint Peter’s Lutheran congregation so she would attend the early and regular morning services. It would give her a chance to be with others she knew and loved, and who understood her loss. She had been in the choir before she was married b...