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...

“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.” “...

It was late July as Hans stepped into the temperate waters of the Aegean Sea. He thought of the thousands of years of history in this part of the world as he waded into deeper waters. He was on holiday, visiting friends in Izmir, Turkey. He had never been to this part of Europe and was pleased to be here. His foot embraced an object buried just beneath the surface of the sand. He thought it a rock at first, but the sharpness caused him to stop. He scraped the sand away with his foot, then bent over and reached down to the sea bottom. The sharp object was the corner of some kind of a handle, or so he thought.  He was able to place his hand through and around the object and pulled. Nothing happened. He smiled to himself, thinking he had stumbled on an ancient treasure. He continued pushing the sand away with his foot.  It was indeed a handle, attached to something. He wasn’t sure what it might be. He knew he would never find it again if he went to shore to get assista...

As told by J.T. Townsend I laughed when Tommy and Bert made the suggestion. We had been friends ever since I moved to San Francisco ten years earlier. “I don’t need a blind date, guys.” “Well, you need something. You’re not getting any younger, you know.” Tommy was being kind for a change. "We'll go with you, like a double date." Bert cozied up to me and put his arm over my shoulder. "Please." “Get away from me. I hate when you do that.” I turned away so he could not see me smiling. “But is it working?” Bert persisted. “Who is this guy and why is it so bloody important that I go out with him?” I probably should not have said that because they both moved in with more information about the man than I needed to know. “Okay, his name is Charlie McDonald and he’s a really nice guy. So what? How old is he?” “A few years older.” Tom was being evasive. Then who?” “Then you.” “Tom, how many few years older? And don’t yo...

As told by Christopher McIntyre I walked right by it, stopped dead in my tracks and thought,  that’s impossible.   It wasn’t there when I came into town this morning.  I know it wasn’t. I turned around and stared. There was no question in my mind – it wasn’t there earlier. But, there it was, big as life. I walked slowly to the display window. There were books aplenty everywhere. It appeared The Olde Book Shoppe was open for business. So, I walked over to and stood in the open doorway. “Good afternoon, young man. Won’t you come in?” I heard the voice but did not see the person from whom it came. It was a friendly sound, so I took a few steps into the interior of this obviously very old bookshop. As the smell of old wood and dust enveloped me, memories of hiding in my grandparents’ attic came back. It was the same smell. I had spent many happy hours in thei...