Contributor: April Winters

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What a drag.

"Can I play?” Debbie wears a hopeful expression. She’s thinking maybe this time her brother and his pal will let her join them, seeing as how her only friend, Linda, just moved away and all.

“Go home, stupid! Even idiots know girls can’t play Cowboys and Indians,” her brother says. She knows Joey’s favorite television show is Wagon Train, but she doesn’t get it; some of those western television programs Joey likes so much have women shooting at Indians, too, so why can’t she play?

“Yeah!” Billy glares at Debbie, his face mirroring Joey’s contempt.

Chin quivering, Joey’s little sister turns toward home.

Debbie turns back and watches the boys disappear behind a cluster of trees where they’ll meet more friends to play guns and arrows with. She wonders why Joey is always so mean – like how he says she has a face only a mother could love and how, when Mama can’t hear, he calls her “horse’s ass mouth.” How does he even know? Did he see the Tucker’s horse lift its tail then say, “Whoa . . . Shadow, your butthole looks just like Debbie’s mouth!?”

Opening the front door, the aroma of chocolate temporarily makes her forget she has no one to play with. Debbie reaches for one of the warm cookies, but Mama stops her. “You’ll spoil your dinner, honey.”

Shoulders slumped Debbie hangs her head and walks to her room. During this morning’s thunderstorm, she finished reading her last Nancy Drew mystery. “This stinks,” Debbie says to no one. “The dumb Book Mobile won’t be here till next week . . . and it’s no fun to play Barbie all by myself.” A sigh escapes as she sprawls on her bed, a hot tear sliding out of one eye. “My only friend’s gone . . . I miss her so much!” Burying her face in the pillowcase, Debbie cries herself to sleep.

Later she is awakened by her mother, who holds out a fishing pole made from a stick, string and a safety pin. The girl hugs her mom then races the short distance to the creek. Shinnying out onto the tree trunk that overhangs the shallow water, Debbie clutches her gift. Securing the pole with her thigh, she pulls a bit of raw bacon out of the foil wrapping Mama gave her and sticks it on the open safety pin.

Not long afterward, Debbie tosses her fishing pole onto the still-damp ground in her front yard and thinks maybe fish don’t like bacon. She clicks her tongue. “Nah, Linda would’ve caught six fish, but stupid me can’t even catch one! Maybe Joey’s right… maybe I really am a dumb-dumb.”

A honey bee buzzes past as Debbie sits on the damp ground. She sees a caterpillar near her grass-stained tennis shoe and lays her finger on the sneaker. The fuzzy, multi-colored creature climbs aboard. Pulling her hand close to her face, Debbie says, “Looks like you don’t have anybody to play with, either, little guy.” With the sun’s warmth caressing her, Debbie gently picks the insect up with her other hand and places it on a patch of clover.

The drone of an airplane draws her attention. Shielding her eyes, she lies down and watches the speck inch its way across the summer sky. A lump fills her throat. “Linda rode a plane all the way to California. Wish I could have gone with her.”

She sniffs then pulls the elastic of her candy necklace to her mouth. Biting a pastel sweet, she crunches it and wonders momentarily if Linda will find new friends. “Heck, she’ll have lots of friends; and they’ll get to stay outside and play a long time because it’s so warm there.” Then Debbie remembers Mama said the winters in California only get down into the sixties, and Debbie has a horrible thought: does that mean Linda’s never going to see snow again? Eyes widening, Debbie bolts upright and sucks in her breath. “But she has to have snow to have a white Christmas!”

“Hey stupid, who ya talking to?” Billy smacks Joey’s arm and sniggers as the boys walk up behind Debbie.

“She better be talking to God,” Joey says, “praying Mama doesn’t beat the shit out of her for getting her clothes all wet!”

The screen door slams. From the porch, Mama yells, “Joseph Adam Robertson, I heard that. Come here this instant, young man!”

Joey hangs his head and slowly walks toward the house. Billy turns to Debbie. “Man, he’s in big trouble; did you see how mad she was? He’s not gonna get the belt is he?”

Debbie glances down at her tennis shoe. She wants to feel sorry for her brother, but he shouldn’t be so darned mean. She wonders if he’s going to get a whipping as a smile tugs at the corners of her mouth.


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April Winters hopes to help people forget their troubles through her stories, even if it’s only for a little while. Her other works can be read at The Dead Mule School of Southern Literature, Short-Story.Me, The Short Humour Site, and here at Linguistic Erosion.

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Author: April Winters

Contributor: April Winters

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I saw what took place the day four-year-old Katy Lynn Jamison disappeared. The sky a cloudless blue, spring had officially sprung on that still-crisp day. The little girl played alone in her front yard while the new babysitter and her boyfriend did who knew what inside the yellow house with the closed white door.
On the fateful day, I watched as the green car slowed and turned onto Katy Lynn’s street, just as it did every day around the same time. But on that day it crept past the child’s yard before turning into the garage two doors down. The man got out, left his garage door open, and walked to the end of the driveway. He looked long and hard up both sides of the street, but it being a weekday, everyone was either at work or school. No one was about – except Katy Lynn.
The man threw his cigarette onto the pavement, then turned and went back to his automobile. He pulled a box out of the back seat and put it up on the trunk. Reaching inside, he lifted out a black and white, wiggling puppy that joyfully licked the man’s face. The eager, full-of-life pup lured innocent, trusting Katy Lynn out of her front yard and into the man’s garage. She was never seen again.

In the years I’ve been rooted to this spot, I’ve observed much pain and suffering. It’s difficult to endure my existence as quiet observer when I see the horror humanity inflicts on its own kind. But when a child is harmed, I, too, feel grief. The day Katy Lynn’s father tacked the flyer about his missing daughter to my trunk then leaned against me and quietly wept, my leaves sagged around him and I mourned for his loss.


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April Winters hopes to help people forget their troubles through her stories, even if only for a little while. Her other works can be read at The Dead Mule School of Southern Literature, Short-Story.Me, The Short Humour Site, and here at Linguistic Erosion.

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Author: April Winters

Contributor: April Winters

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The day she walked into the high school cafeteria, Michael fell in love for the first time. Tall, naturally blonde, and blue-eyed, the girl was a knock-out in Michael’s eyes. I wonder what grade she’s in, he thought.

He found out soon enough when she strode into his tenth grade Geography class well after the bell rang. She handed Mr. Jacobs a piece of paper. He glanced at it then placed it on his desk. “Boys and girls,” he said, “this is our new student, Tammy Remington. Her family’s been stationed here for a while; her father’s a military man.” Then he told Tammy to take the seat behind Joe Raver. Michael cursed the fact that his last name was Connors, wishing it was something with an ‘R’ that would have let her sit in front of him.

Michael, quiet and shy, developed into the class clown. He’d do silly stuff to get Tammy’s attention, like pretending to trip then bumping into a nearby student. Or throwing his hand in the air and asking ridiculous questions when Mr. Jacobs called on him. Most of the girls clicked their tongues, but Tammy giggled. Michael loved her even more.

Tammy was in town almost a month when the kids buzzed about the dance, coming up the following Friday. Heart pounding, Michael mustered the nerve to ask her to go with him. She said yes. It took days before the silly grin disappeared from his face.

At the dance, they laughed and talked a lot. After the dance, he asked her to go steady with him and, again, she said yes. The grin reappeared.

The more time they spent together, the more Michael realized Tammy was not only beautiful, but she was what his mother would call ‘cultured’. Tammy had spent part of her life in Japan, Italy, and Germany, thanks to her father’s career choice. Michael was fascinated and wanted to know what each of those countries were like. Born and raised in Columbus, Ohio, he’d never left the state. Tammy didn’t see the glamour in foreign life like Michael did. She explained how difficult it was to live in countries where she didn’t speak or understand the language and where she was so different from the other kids. She said she didn’t care for being an outcast.

When Michael and Tammy weren’t together at school, they were on the phone for hours each night. Everything was roses and rainbows for over a year, during which time Michael told Tammy he loved her and planned to marry her. “Gee, I don’t know, Michael,” she said. “I mean, I don’t want to hurt your feelings or anything, but we’ve never dated anybody except each other. I’m not sure we should tie ourselves down; I mean, we’re both still so young and all. Besides, my father would have a hissy fit if I told him we were engaged. I’m not even seventeen yet!”

“Well, yeah, but you’ll be seventeen soon; same as me. I don’t see what’s wrong with planning our future. Besides, I don’t mean we’ll get married tomorrow.”

“You’re right, Michael; I suppose there’s nothing wrong with it. It’s just that my mother has told me as long as I can remember not to get married until I’m well into my twenties. She says marrying too young can cause lots of problems, and she doesn’t want me to ruin my life like she ruined hers.”

Within a week, Tammy broke the news that her father had been transferred to Arizona. She’d be gone very soon. Michael didn’t know how on earth he’d be able to say goodbye.

He wrote Tammy letters every day, but she stopped answering after the first six weeks or so. Heartbroken, Michael moped for months. Then his luck changed. His father’s health demanded a drier climate which made Michael happy because they were moving to a town in Arizona that was just twenty miles from where Tammy lived.

His mom and dad drove Michael to Tammy’s house a few days after the Connor’s settled into their new home. Michael thought Tammy would be thrilled to see him. He couldn’t have been more wrong.


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April Winters hopes to help people forget their troubles through her stories, even if only for a little while. Her other works can be read at The Dead Mule School of Southern Literature, Short-Story.Me, The Short Humour Site, and here at Linguistic Erosion.

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Author: April Winters

Contributor: April Winters

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Remember how it used to aggravate you that I read the newspaper cover to cover? Today would have been a good day to go straight to the comic section and forget the rest.

I take a sip of hot coffee as I turn the page and there you are, looking more handsome than I remember. The expression you wear as you look down at your bride is the same one you used to give to me. My vision turns watery; I feel as if I ate one of those huge rocks we saw on the way to Reno.

Remember that trip; how you yelped and did some fancy footwork when you put money into that slot machine and the dollar turned into a hundred? You went from man to little boy in seconds, and I was charmed when I watched your happy dance.

Memories of the Reno trip trigger others: movies we watched, nightclubs we frequented, the Bon Jovi concert I surprised you with not long before you left. How you showered me with kisses when I showed you the tickets. How you were so disappointed in the live band. “Amy,” you asked, “why don’t they sing the songs the way they used to sound on the radio?” It was my job to make you smile again, so I figured I’d hazard a guess. I said they were probably sick of singing the same songs for twenty plus years; they probably try to change them up a bit to keep from being bored out of their skulls. I thought you’d laugh. You just looked sad and more disappointed.

I don’t know how long I’ve sat here staring at your picture, thoughts of our time together somersaulting in my head. My coffee is cold now as I continue to gape. The longer I look, though, the more I can’t deny what I see: the expression on your wife’s face matches yours. As much as I’ve always loved you, I don’t think I ever felt as committed as your bride looks.

Maybe that’s why you left.

You used to talk of marriage and family, but I showed no interest. How could I? The only point of reference I have is of my parents yelling and screaming at each other. Dad slapping Mom so hard her ears must have rung. I was five the first time that happened. Picture a frightened child drawn to the noise who stands in the doorway and witnesses the abuse. Then picture that child’s cries and the angry man who yells at the little girl to go to her room. I was too scared to move, much to my regret. Dad, face contorted, rushed over and grabbed me, smacking my backside with each step to my room. After that, I stayed in my bedroom and sang stupid songs as loud as I could whenever they fought again.

I’ve read that abused children repeat the pattern. I didn’t want to do that to you. Or to our kids.

There’s another thing I have to admit to myself the more I stare at your wedding photo: you’ll never be mine again.

I close the newspaper, aware for the first time in two years that it’s time for me to let you go.


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April Winters’ work can be read at The Dead Mule School of Southern Literature, The Short Humour Site, Short-Story.Me, and here at Linguistic Erosion.

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Author: April Winters

Contributor: April Winters

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Judy has pink hair, tattoos, and multiple piercings. She’s always been the family embarrassment, and they’ve never appreciated her uniqueness. There was a time when she tried to conform to their way of thinking, but it gave her migraines.

Her sister, Lisa, said Judy had better learn to be a famous rock star because no one would hire her looking the way she did. Thanks to Judy’s gift for baking mouth-watering desserts, Lisa was wrong. The owner of Bob’s Bakery hired Judy the second he tasted her double-fudge torte.

In your face, Sis!

*

Two weeks ago Judy got fired.

Her boss didn’t find the humor in the cupcakes she’d decorated as masturbating monkeys. “Oh my God,” he screamed. “Don’t you know these are for a kid’s birthday party? Now what am I going to do?”

Judy looked perplexed. “It’s nothing they wouldn’t see at the zoo, anyway.”

“Look,” Bob said, “I let you skate the last time you pulled a stunt like this. I almost crapped my pants when I saw that unicorn-shaped cake with the condom stretched over its horn. But this … this is…” He looked like a crazy person, eyes wild, face contorted. Then he said, “Enough is enough. Get out! And take your phallic cake pans with you.”

Judy heard through the grapevine that when Lisa found out, she said, “Surprise, surprise.”

*

Last week Judy received an invitation to Lisa’s bridal shower, due solely to their mother’s insistence.

Yesterday Judy baked a cake in the shape of a nude male torso. Her phallic cake pans came in handy. With their help, she endowed the dessert with a giant penis – just to piss her sister off. When Lisa saw it displayed on the food table, the color drained from her face. She spoke in tongues. The guests heard the commotion and broke into fits of giggles when they saw what the fuss was about. Even Judy knew the only reason she didn’t have Lisa’s hands squeezed around her neck was because the women thought the cake was “awesome” and “devilishly decadent.” They followed the compliments up with orders for their own cakes, all requiring even larger genitalia.

Thrilled and grinning like a fool, Judy glanced at her sister. That’s when she saw Lisa’s clenched fists, the glare on her face and the throbbing vein in her forehead.

Judy wasn’t sure what thrilled her the most.


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April Winters hopes to help people forget their troubles through humor, even if it’s only for a little while. Her other works can be read at The Dead Mule School of Southern Literature, Short-Story. Me, The Short Humour Site, and here at Linguistic Erosion.

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Author: April Winters

Contributor: April Winters

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The first man I adored was a wonderful lover. Tim caressed my face, stared deep into my eyes and told me I was the only one for him. What female doesn’t want to hear that? We had a glorious life together. At least that’s what I thought. I found out how wrong I was the day we took a long trip, and we pulled into a mall. Tim opened my door, as was his custom. I thought he’d stopped to show me a bush covered with beautiful butterflies, but when I went to take a closer look, he slammed the door and sped away.
There I stood, abandoned far from our home with no idea where to find food and shelter. I was devastated.
It felt like ages before Ben ran into me. Literally ran into me. I was crossing the street and wham! Next thing I knew, I was kissing his fender. I ended up sprawled on the pavement sporting a broken leg. Ben freaked out. He started crying and kept saying, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” I’d never seen a man cry before.
Since I wasn’t on death’s door, he drove me to the hospital, once he’d calmed down. On the way there, he commented on how skinny I was, saying he could see my ribs. He wondered aloud how long it had been since I’d had a good meal. Honestly, I couldn’t remember the last time I’d had what could be called a meal, good or otherwise.
The doctor fixed me up, but I still don’t know why he put that microchip in my head. He said I was good to go, so Ben and I left.
I suppose it was obvious to Ben that I didn’t have a home. He insisted I stay at his place until I was back on my feet. As soon as we got there, he fixed me a fancy feast, which was absolutely scrumptious, and promised to give me the same every day. Sweet talker! But I’d been burned before.
Eventually my leg healed, and the doctor removed my cast. By that time, Ben had won me over with his attentive, sweet ways. I adored it when he’d pull me into his lap and tell me how much he loved me, massaging my neck and shoulders as he’d croon. My pleasure was evident by my soft sighs.
Wouldn’t you know it? Now that I’ve let my guard down and have given my heart and soul to Ben, I’ve discovered he’s cheating. A few months ago he changed jobs. He’s been chipper since then, saying working at the animal shelter is where he belongs. He keeps talking about a female he calls Daisy. Ben better not introduce me to her, or I may have to scratch her eyes out. He says she’s a calico – not my color, so that’s got to be her fur on his pant leg. The unfaithful bastard!


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April Winters has stories in both the Romance and Flash Fiction sections of Short-Story.Me and two stories at The Short Humour Site.

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Author: April Winters