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DEBORAH M. PRUMEssays, Stories, Thoughts on Writing, Book and Movie Reviews Author: DEBORAH PRUM
Welcome to First Kiss and Other Cautionary Tales, a podcast where you can listen to observations on the quirkiness of life, hear short fiction read by a short person, and listen to book and movie reviews. Language: en-us Genres: Comedy Fiction, Fiction, TV & Film, TV Reviews Contact email: Get it Feed URL: Get it iTunes ID: Get it |
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HAZEL MOON-A SHORT STORY
Friday, 10 May, 2024
HAZEL MOON-A SHORT STORY Photo Courtesy of Altinay Dinc 0:00 / 0:00 Hazel Moon One blistering hot day in June, eleven-year-old Hazel found herself waiting on the sagging front porch of her Grammy Moon’s ramshackle rambler. She’d never met the old woman. Furthermore, she hadn’t even known she had a grandmother until the week before when Hazel’s dying mother whispered, “Your father has a momma. Living up north, Ashburn way. Be sure to remember that now.”The night after cancer stole her mother, Hazel’s drunk father skipped town. The next morning, the mailman discovered Hazel crying by the rose bushes in the yard. He drove her to Child Welfare who wasted no time tracking down Grammy Moon.Two days later, there stood Hazel, feeling equal parts numb and glum, watching as her caseworker lifted the nicked brass knocker on Grammy’s splintery red door. The woman hadn’t made it to a second knock before a tall, skinny lady with flyaway hair burst out. “My grandbaby! I’ve been waiting for this day!”Hazel jumped a half step back, clutching a paper sack filled with all her worldly goods: three dingy white shirts, two pairs of patched denim shorts, ragged pajamas, a long plaid dress, and a hairbrush missing most of its bristles.Grammy Moon drew Hazel toward her. She kissed the top of her head then gave her a bone crushing hug. “Come in. Come on in. Let me show you your room.”Her grandmother led Hazel to the back of the house. “Your daddy stayed here.” A cotton quilt covered a twin bed. Each square pictured an old timey cowboy riding a horse, or herding cattle, or sitting by a fire. Nothing much on the walls except a couple of black and white photos of a small boy. The child in the picture resembled her father, his prominent ears being a giveaway. Out the window, beyond scrubby bushes, she saw train tracks.That next morning, while standing in the kitchen, Hazel discovered that when the 7:00 freight train roared by, the dishes trembled in the cupboard. When Hazel looked at the shelves with alarm, Grammy launched into a history of the plates.“My brothers and sisters gave me and your grandfather those dishes as a wedding present.” Grammy Moon paused. “They saved up green stamps from the A & P. Then when they had enough, redeemed them for a whole set.” Her grandmother showed Hazel the plates: beige with green line drawings of American patriots, images of Thomas Jefferson, George Washington, Alexander Hamilton, and other guys with pigtails.Those first few days, Hazel held her breath, waiting for what seemed inevitable: Grammy losing her temper or taking a swat at her or drinking herself into oblivion. Even though the inevitable never happened, Hazel kept her head low. She didn’t side-eye her grandma or back talk in any way. She also never relaxed enough to read a book in the living room or jump in any puddles just for the joy of jumping.One August evening, after dinner, Hazel sat wide-eyed in front of a three-layered red velvet birthday cake decorated with hot pink roses, lime-green leaves and thirteen blazing candles, the thirteenth added for good luck. Grammy Moon slid the cake onto the table. “Surprise! Happy birthday! Make a wish, baby.” Hazel could not muster up a wish, not even a low expectation wish, because she felt unable to imagine anything good could happen to her. Hazel’s face must have reflected that emotion because her grandmother said, “Don’t live life looking at a half-empty spoon. Live big, sweetheart. Think of it as half-full.”With great effort, Hazel did not roll her eyes. “Not a spoon, Grammy. A glass. A person sees a glass as half-full or half empty.”“You talking about glasses? My glass is overflowing. So is yours. You just don’t know it yet.”Every morning, Hazel started her day with hot cocoa and either eggs and crisp toast or oatmeal and blueberries served on the patriot plates. That September, when Hazel climbed onto the yellow bus,
