UNPUBLISHEDNOTDEAD!

I noticed that I haven’t written a short story in a long time, so I added this one.  It’s not a new story, but it’s a story that my friend Carmen LOVED, so I have included it in the stable of Eric shorts.

The Broken Clasp …. by Eric

Yesterday I found a locket on the floor of the bus under the fat woman in the red dress, who I had seen everyday for the past seven years but never spoke with.  As I bent down to pick it up she asked me what it was I was reaching for.  I told her that it was simply a shiny penny that just happened to fall from the front inseam pocket of my worn blue-jeans.  She contented that simply nothing could have fallen from the front inseam pocket of my worn blue-jeans, and concluded that the alleged penny in my possession must have been on the floor of the bus previously.  I assured her that although she very well may be correct in the assumption that the penny in my possession may have spent more time on the floor of the bus than I had originally speculated, the penny was indeed mine if only because its shine was distinctive.  She wholeheartedly accepted my explanation, and with a deep sigh asked me whether or not I would be kind enough to let her look at the shiny penny that I had found on the floor of the bus.

I quickly shoved the locket into the front inseam pocket of my worn blue-jeans, purporting sternly that I was not shoving it there to allude her, but merely because there weren’t a whole lot of shiny pennies left in the world, and I simply did not want to lose this one.  Her curiosity was piqued but she remained silent for the period of time it took the bus to reach the intersection of Third and Daisy Street, when she just happened to look in her bright yellow pocketbook with the oversized clasp and gasped suddenly.  I inquired why she had gasped when she looked into her bright yellow pocketbook with the oversized clasp, but she just kept staring into it.  Slowly, but assuredly, however, she looked at me and said that she had just noticed that she had lost a shiny penny and could I possibly take from the front inseam pocket of my worn blue-jeans the shiny penny I had found on the floor of the bus so that she could make sure it wasn’t hers.  I quickly said that there was no need to show her my penny, since there was not a possibility that it could have been hers, if only because her bright yellow pocketbook with the oversized clasp made a harsh sound when opened, and no such sound had invaded my ears since she sat down.  She again wholeheartedly accepted my explanation, and said that she must have had lost her shiny penny elsewhere, and would I forgive her tenacity.  I said that there was really nothing to forgive, and joked that although shiny pennies won’t likely grow on trees, they very well may be found under them upon close investigation while briskly walking your dog.

From the period of time it took the bus to reach the intersection of Third and Gloria Street, the fat woman wearing the red dress was virtually silent, until finally I asked her where she might have lost her shiny penny that had fallen out of her bright yellow pocketbook with the oversized clasp.  She sighed loudly, and thoughtfully opened her bright yellow pocketbook, making that harsh sound, and took from it a pink lace handkerchief with white frills, and wiped some shiny beads of moisture which were forming on her forehead.  The penny, she finally said, was one that she had lost long ago, and that she only had wanted to see mine for the sheer pleasure of maybe reminding her of it.  She then took from her bright yellow pocketbook an old black and white photo with rippled edges and handed it to me without any explanation.  I took the old black and white photo with the rippled edges and stared at the image upon it. The young girl in the picture who wore her hair tightly tied into two braids worn on either side of her face, had a distinctive sadness about her, if only because she was only trying to smile.

The fat woman in the red dress again took the pink handkerchief with the white frills and wiped the shiny beads of moisture forming on her forehead.  She then told me that the black and white photo with the rippled edges that I was staring at was a picture of her when she was younger.  She explained to me that this was the picture she gave to her father when he gave her that shiny penny to make her forget for the moment that he was going away.  Her father explained to her that he will keep the picture until his maker calls for him, and she agreed to do the same with the penny.  She said that the memory of the penny was strong because its shine too was distinctive, as was her father’s face when they took him away on that brown and green bus.  She then took the pink handkerchief with the white frill that she was using to wipe the shiny moisture from her forehead, and blotted a small perfect tear which was forming right under her right eye.  She then told me that the picture was sent back to her the following month.

I gave back to her the black and white photo with the rippled edges for the bus was coming to my stop.  She took a deep breath and put the photo and the handkerchief back into her shiny yellow pocketbook with the oversized clasp, making that harsh sound, and thanked me for listening to her plight.  She told me that she always suspected I was nice.  I rolled my eyes, and told her that it was really my pleasure to hear such a touching story.

When I stepped off the bus I stopped and waited for it to turn the corner.  I then took from the front inseam pocket of my worn blue-jeans that locket I had found on the floor of the bus under the fat woman in the red dress and opened it.  From it fell a shiny penny with the date 1946 on it, and I never saw the fat woman in the red dress again.