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What Friends Are For

Time is running out for harvest. It’s nearly the middle of November. There have been a lot of years when Iowa was totally covered with snow by this time. Not this year though, instead, the fall has been extra wet with so much rain farmers haven’t been able to get into their fields.

We have some good friends in southern Iowa who have run into a streak of bad luck this year. Lavern and Shirley, close to our age, in their seventies, have farmed all their lives. They’ve raised five children, and now have grandchildren who have children. Time has gone by so swiftly for all of us.

Early this year, Lavern was diagnosed with Alzheimer’s. It’s the fast moving type. He can no longer walk, nor does he recognize anyone. It’s such a shame to see a man who was once so vibrant and capable in this helpless condition. Shirley has become house bound as his full time caregiver. Their five children help out all they can. The boys put in the crops this year. They take turns going over to get their father up in the mornings and put him to bed at night. But their time is limited since they have families to take care of and full time jobs to go to.

With only a short time to bring in the beans and corn, my husband knew the family had to be fretting. Very soon winter weather would be setting in. He had farmed enough years to know about the small window of time to get the job accomplished. I overheard him call Lavern’s oldest son, Charlie, long distance from our home near Kansas City, Missouri.

“Charlie, this is Russell. I’m wondering if you could use some help getting the crops out up there.”

Over the speaker phone I heard, “Could we ever, we’re really shorthanded. I’d appreciate any help I can get.”

Without hesitation Russell said, “We’ll be up this weekend.”

We packed the camper with all we would need, I threw in my sewing projects for the Christmas presents I am making for my three great-granddaughters, and we headed north. Russell is not as young as he used to be either. He has lots of aches and pains to remind him of that fact every day. But when friends are in need, a body puts their own troubles aside and goes to help.

I spend my days in the camper while Russell is in the fields. He drives the tractor while Charlie does the combining. I keep busy with my sewing. I have to have something to do besides sit around.

Russell comes in after dark, physically worn out and hurting, but at the same time feeling real good for being useful and helping old friends. We spend the evenings in their house, visiting. Mostly reminiscing with Shirley about times past, the good old days when most of our lives were still ahead of us. We know our days are numbered now. We try to make the most of each and every one. Bedtime comes early, for we know we’ll be up with the sun to start a new day.

The beans are all out of the field now. In a couple more days the corn will be also. Russell is glad; he’s ready to go home. We’ll both be happy to be back in the comforts of our own house, especially knowing our friends can rest easy, the work being done.

Carol - as usual you always come through with a good story. It's a good write in first person and tells the story of the title, spot on.

I did see a few things.

1st paragraph:

There have been a lot of (many)years when Iowa was totally covered with snow by this time. Not this year though, Make a new sentence. instead, the fall has been extra wet with so much rain farmers haven’t been able to get into their fields.

3rd paragraph:

Their five children help out(omit out) all they can.

6th paragraph:

Over the speaker phone(speakerphone )I heard, “Could we ever, we’re really shorthanded. I’d appreciate any help I can get.”make two sentences

Last paragraph:

The beans are all out of the field now. In a couple more days the corn will be also. Russell is glad; he’s ready to go home. We’ll both be happy to be back in the comforts of our own house, especially knowing our friends can rest easy, the work being done. the work is done.

You gave the reader all the information necessary to easily understand the story. There was a hint of emotion in the story when explaining Lavern's illness, and again at the end you bring out the emotion a person feelswhen helping others.

An excellent write!

Sunny

Thank you, Sunny. I always like to see your comments and critiques.

I've read that flash fiction is getting more popular because people don't have a lot of time to read anymore. What a shame! Life it just too darn hectic if people can't sit back with a good novel and enjoy getting lost in it.

Hugs, Caredoe

This was a flash fiction I posted on WW several weeks ago. Some of you have already read and commented, but II am reposting it for critique.

The instructions I was to follow for the story are: Write a flash fiction story (1000 words or less) incorporating an American Historical figure. The story may be from the POV of a fictional character, but they must interact and relate to the main historical character of the story.

Butter My Butt and Call Me a Biscuit

Folding the newspaper, Buck laid it on his lap. He removed his spectacles from atop his nose, placing them on the table beside the chair. He looked out over his farm toward the river from the vantage point of his front porch.

“Can’t believe she’s dead,” he muttered. The screen door slammed shut and his grandson stepped to Buck’s side.

“Who died, grandpa?”

“Oh, an old friend.”

“Did I know ‘em?” Ten-year-old Horace asked.

“Well, you did and you didn’t,” Buck replied. Horace wrinkled his brow causing Buck to smile.

“I don’t get it. I knowed ‘em but I didn’t know ‘em.”

“It was a lady I knowed a long time ago when I was just a boy. Course she was just a girl then, but she sure turned out to be some special lady,” Buck spoke softly, unlike his usual gruff tone.

“Who was she grandpa?”

“Her name was Phoebe Ann Mozee.. When my family moved to Ohio, our farm was just a piece down from where Phoebe lived. One day, right after we moved there, me and my brother Bill went walking down to the creek for a swim. Since it was just him and me, we dropped our overalls and our drawers on the bank and was just fixing to jump in the water when we heard a gun shot. Standing there in the raw, we was kinda took aback. Well, I can tell you we got our drawers and overalls on real quick just knowing somebody was nearby.”

“That’s funny! Grandpa Buck standing there buck naked,” the boy giggled. “How old was you?”

“Well, I was about fifteen, and it warn’t funny at the time. Anyway, Bill wanted to head back home, but I wanted to see who was shooting, so I headed out in the direction the shot come from. I hadn’t gone no distance when I seen this lil ole gal standing up ahead holding a shotgun. Then she pulled the trigger and boom that gun went off. I watched her walk a long ways up the creek and then I saw her bend down and pick up a dead rabbit. Now she hadn’t seen me and when I seen she had killed a rabbit from that distance, I was purely in shock.” Buck paused for a minute; a laugh in the form of a snort escaped his lips before continuing. “I remember shouting out, ‘Well, butter my butt and call me a biscuit!’ Well, that gal swirled around real fast like, looked straight at me and hollered back, ‘What did you say?’ I felt dumber than a stump, but me and her laughed about it many a time over the next couple of years.”

“What in the world was you talking about, hollering to butter your butt and call it a biscuit? That don’t make no sense, grandpa.”

“Boy, that’s what we used to say when we was truly surprised about something. Anyway, quit interrupting.” Buck cleared his throat and began again. “Well, me and Phoebe became the best of friends. Now I was a pretty good shot, but boy I hadn’t never seen the likes of no man what could shoot a gun like she could, let alone a skinny lil ole gal. But, we hung around together and shot our guns ever chance we had. Her mama was a widow woman then and Phoebe shot critters for their food.”

“How long did you live near her, grandpa?”

“Just a couple of years. When my mama died, me, daddy and Bill moved about a hundred miles away to live with my granny. I remember the last time I saw Phoebe. The day before we pulled out, she come by the house. I missed mama bad, but I didn’t want to move. Phoebe told me she knew how I felt. She talked about how she felt when her daddy died, and then later about being sent to the county poor farm for a while before she could come back home to live. I remember she said I was lucky that me, daddy and Bill could stay together and had a granny to go live with.”

Buck inhaled “Anyway, I never saw her again. But years later she became famous and I read all about her in the newspapers.”

“What was she famous for, grandpa?”

“Gosh, that lady could shoot anything that was made to shoot, pistol, shotgun, rifle. Didn’t make no difference. Why she could shoot a dime tossed up in the air from ninety feet away. Mr. Frank Butler would put a lit cigarette in his mouth and she’d shoot the ashes off it from ninety feet away.”

“Who was Frank Butler?”

“That was the man she married. Once Prince Wilhelm of Germany wanted her to shoot the ashes off his cigarette too. She agreed to, but she made him hold it in his hand.”

“Reckon she liked this prince better’n she liked her husband,” Horace joked.

“Lil ole Phoebe went on to be the main star in Buffalo Bill’s Wild West Show. Folks from everywhere went to see Annie.”

“I thought you said her name was Phoebe.

“It was, but she went by a different name. They called ‘em stage names. That’s why I said you knew her, but you didn’t know her. I knowed you wouldn’t know Phoebe Ann Mozee, but you sure would recognize the name Annie Oakley. That was Phoebe’s stage name.”

“Wow, grandpa. Annie Oakley! You knowed Annie Oakley!”

“I sure did, boy. Even though I never saw her again, I been following her in the newspapers write ups for years. I sure didn’t want to see this one. Annie died this past November 3rd, and they buried her in Brock Cemetery in Greenville, Ohio. Then it said her husband passed away just eighteen days later.”

Buck grew silent. Horace watched as a small tear trickled down his grandfather’s face. Then he heard his grandfather whisper, “So long, Annie Oakley. So long my good lil friend, Phoebe.”

It was turning to dusk outside, one particular November 1st. In the basement of the old hospital, it was silent, save for the occasional creakings of the steam pipes and groanings of other utility systems.
The basement of this aging place was like any other in that it was a catch-all for stuff no longer needed but considered too good to toss. As day’s end drew nigh, another surplus item was to join that motley collection. It was a skeleton that had served for years as a reference/training aid for fresh interns. Thru its years of service, it had gained a name out of endearment, of course. He (it) was known as Skelly – or as he was sometimes presented to unsuspecting visitors – anorexicus maximus. The nutrition counselor had come up with that one.

Skelly was for real. He wasn’t some plastic, wanna-be. No one knew where he’d come from or who he’d been when he’d been more of a man than he was now. Wires and springs now did the job that ligaments and flesh had done before. Without such, Skelly would have been all but unrecognizable for what he was. Most of the time, he hung from a metal support frame. This frame looked like a big, chromed shepard’s staff, but with swiveling casters for mobility. Lately tho, the boney fella had been more a curiosity than anything else. A fancy, computer-driven holographic image generator had taken over Skelly’s duites. With no purpose at hand any more, Skelly literally, just hung around.

Many Halloweens of years past, he’d been wheeled in and out of rooms in the children’s ward. He’d done this scary duty numerous times – visiting kids with a pumpkin bucket full of candy to pass out. This particular October 31st turned out to be the last day he’d have any official duties. The hospital administrator had directed that Skelly be sent to the basement the next day. It was late on the day shift that one of the orderlies had been assigned as Skelly’s escort. With the young fella’s help, the two of them eased down the hall and waited for the elevator to come down from another floor. While they stood and watched the floor numbers flash thru their countdown, one of the nurses came around the corner with a clipboard in hand. She made a big deal about what she saw: “Hey! Barry! You finally found someone to date, eh? Or, or, are the two of you just getting’ back from trick-er-treatin’ together? Ha – ha – ha – ha – ah!”
The fresh kid just blushed and struggled for a reply: “Awww - nurse Barnes – c’mon now.”

Clearly enjoying being a tease, nurse Barnes sidled up to Skelly and whispered none too softly to the side of his skull: “Watch where Barry puts his hands. He’s liable to jump yer bones!” With that she let out another hearty laugh and strode off down the hallway.

“Very funny” Barry droned for no one in particular to hear - no one except Skelly that is.

BONG! The elevator announced its arrival and the doors slid open so Barry and Skelly could enter. They entered and made the trip down to the basement. As Barry was bringing Skelly to the storage closet, head janitor Ralph came into view. Ralph saluted the wriggling collection of bones and told Barry that he’d heard of Skelly’s impending retirement.
“It’s amazin’ what they kid do wit dem dare com-peyuters now-a-days, ain’t it? I done heerd thays got some new perjecter er some such thing whats better’n ol’ Skelly here.”

Barry acknowledged Ralphs notions: “Yeah Ralph, it’s called a holographic projector. They can literally make a skeleton appear right outta thin air. Turn it this way and that and even look inside the bones if they want to. It’s pretty impressive.”

The old janitor just shook his head: “Mmmm – mmm. Dat’s jus amazin’ I tells ya!” And with that, Skelly was wheeled into a corner of the closet without further fanfare. Then Ralph and Barry walked back to the elevator to ascend to the floor above. As the elevator doors yawned to allow entry, the duo stepped in and then Barry jumped right back out.
“Whassa matter?” Ralph asked with a quizzical look on his face. “You’s fergit to say G’nite ta ol’ Skelly? Heh-heh-heh-heh”

“No, dangit. I forgot to turn out the lights in that room. I’ll catch hell if they find out I left them on. You go on up, Ralph. I’ll catch ya next trip.”

“OK kid. Ah see’s ya tamorry!” Ralph said as the doors slid shut.

Barry trudged with resignation - back to the storage room - pulled one of the double doors open and stepped inside. Reaching over, he flipped the two light switches off and turned to exit. As the door eased shut behind him, he distinctly heard an airy voice say: “You’ll come visit me now and then, won’t you?”
Barry never sprinted so fast in his life! Not willing to wait for the elevator, he flung open the door to the stairwell and ascended like a blazing skyrocket. On entering the first floor, his sneakers squealed like a hot rodder’s tires as he bolted for the front doors. He nearly knocked down nurse Barnes as he bee-lined for the exit. She hollered after his streaking figure: “Hey idiot! Whatsamatter? Skelly make a pass at ya?”

Arcade, this is a fabulous read! I like the humor and I'm especially impressed with the characters' lingo. Very well done. :)
Hugs, Caredoe

Yes, this was good. The skeleton jokes were funny, and I'll make no bones about it! (sorry 'bout that)

Sunny, this piece was good too. When we study Annie Oakley in school I always point out her shooting prowess, especially to the boys.

Skullduggery and rib-ticklers - always a good combo. Actually, I think it's a bit choppy. But I appreciate the comments, all the same.