Short Stories

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Behold,
I tell you
a mystery.
[1 Corinthians 15:51]
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"When did you
last.....
SEE her?"

(Beth is nervously
walking back and forth,
in her cousin's small
livingroom; her high-heels
are making a strange
echoing, clicking sound
in the tiny, empty house.
Beth takes another long
inhalation of her thin
cigarette. She hasn't slept,
in several days;
the shadows under
her beautifully made-up
eyes are dark, and
tender looking. Her
left arm is set in a
small, heavy white cast;
it's the one horrible
reminder, besides the
large, ugly bruises on both
her legs, of the horrific car
accident, just five days before.
She should have been home,
resting, but her nerves were
shot, and she was restless;
Beth wanted to be doing something,
particularly to help her mother's
favorite sister's kids.)
"I......"
(Let out a long puff of
thin smoke.)
(Shiver.)
(Small whisper.)
"I don't want to
talk about it."

"You HAVE TO,
Beth! My SISTER'S
DISAPPEARED!
Who KNOWS,
what happened to HER?"

(Smirk!)
"Have you tried getting
in touch, with that
SCHMUTZ.......
of an ex-HUSBAND?"

(Frustrated voice.)
"You KNOW,
what it's been LIKE,
Beth! It's been HARD,
getting in touch
with ANYONE!"

(Beth shivers, again.)
(She goes into her
cousin's empty bedroom
to look for a sweater.
She opens the closet
door, nervously, and
begins pushing the
plain white plastic hangers,
back and forth; her
eyes are barely focusing
on the clothes.)
"PLEASE, ALAN!
DON'T REMIND ME!"

(Alan follows his older
cousin, into the small
bedroom, and collapses
into a rocking chair in
the corner. He puts
his head in his hands.)
"I'm sorry, Beth.
I'm sorry......
I know that you just
had a terrible time..
I'm sorry."
(Deep sigh.)
(Out of habit, and
another feverishly cold
feeling of panic,
he pulls out his
cell phone, just to
check it, again.)

"You KNOW,
it's still not WORKING!
HONESTLY, Alan!
WHY aren't you
OUT THERE?
With.. EVERYBODY ELSE?
HELPING SOMEBODY!"

(Exhausted sigh.)
"I don't know....
I'm so damned,
SICK of it.....!
I WISH THINGS
were just BACK
to NORMAL!"

(Pulling a limp gray
sweater off of a plastic hanger,
Beth stands in front of
a small mirror, and
tries to wrap it around
herself, awkwardly. Her
left arm aches, miserably.)
"Well....it's NOT,
Alan! You BETTER get
USED to it."
(Beth slumps down
on the side her cousin's
empty bed; the gray sweater
is hanging forelornly about
her slim body. She looks
down at the blue bedspread,
as if suddenly seeing it
for the first time.)
"What's this?"

(Alan looks up, tiredly.)
(His fingers are running
through the top of his
thinning brown strands
of hair.)
"What?"

"This."
(Beth lets the limp sweater
fall to the tiled floor,
as she drags herself across
the empty bed. The small
white cast on her left arm,
is already becoming very
old.)
"That's weird."
(She tries to reach down,
underneath the little
bedside table, but groans
from the weight of her
sore arm, and the heavy
cast. She looks up,
and yells, irritably.)
"ALAN!
COME HERE,
and....HELP ME,
DAMNIT!"

(Mutter!)
"Man.....what,
NOW?"

"Come, OVER HERE!"

"WHAT?"

"Come....HERRE!"

"Oh, DAMNIT!
WHAT?"

"LOOK!"

(Squint.)
"Shhhhh....."
(Alan curses.)
"What the hell.....
IS this?"

(Small whisper.)
"I don't know....."

"What did you guys....
TALK about....?
The last time, you
came OVER, here?"

(Beth sits up.
She immediately starts
looking for another
cigarette; she had put
out her last one, in
the kitchen sink,
before click-clicking
into her cousin's
bedroom. Now, she
remembers she had
left her small, leather
purse back in the empty
front room. She groans, and
lies, wearily, across the
rumpled bedspread. Just
the thought of getting up,
carrying her aching arm
and the heavy cast, is just
too much, at the moment. )
(Long sigh.)
"I don't know, Alan.
Some stupid thing.
You know how your
sister was......."
(Closing her eyes,
Beth covers lays
her good arm over
them.)
"She was telling me....
something, about her
HOMEWORK."

"HOMEWORK?"
(Alan is now on
his bony knees,
groping about,
underneath the tiny,
wooden end table.
He picks up a little
booklet, that has
fallen off the small
table. He begins to
leaf through it,
disinterestedly.)
"I didn't know....
she had gone back,
to SCHOOL....?"

(Beth impatiently
shakes her head,
and uncovers her eyes.)
"No! NO! She HADN'T,
Alan! She HADN'T!"

"Have you looked at her
COMPUTER....?"
(As if suddenly remembering
something important,
Alan stops talking.)
"Oh.
Yeah.
I forgot."
(Curse!)

(Beth stares up at the
white plastered ceiling.
She gazes at an invisible
spot. She whispers,
almost to herself.)
"It was about an egg."

(Alan frowns, and
tosses the little
booklet on the floor.)
(His knees are hurting
from kneeling on the
cold tile.)
"What was, about an egg?"

"What we were talking
about, that day......
you know,
before I had that..
accident."

"BETH!
YOU TALK about it,
like.....like,
it was a little...
FENDER BENDER!
CHRIST!
PEOPLE WERE KILLED!"

(Beth shivers again.)
(She grabs edges of
the blue bedspread,
and tries to pull it
about her, with her
one good arm.)
"PLEASE....
Don't REMIND me!"

(Deep sigh.)
(Sits down, on
the cold floor.)
(Rubs his forehead,
wearily. He remembers
the big pad of paper,
he had found, two days
ago, in his sister's
living room, with the
small pile of her clothes.
Even her shoes had been
on the floor. It had
been kind of erie, and
a little frightening.
That was when he had
tried to call Beth...and
discovered his cell phone
was totally...not working.)
"Was she taking some
kind of a COOKING class?"

"No.....I don't THINK SO..."
(Beth closes her eyes, again.)
"It was like.....she was
NERVOUS....about telling me...
like, she had FOUND a million
dollars, somewhere....and
just had to tell somebody
about it. It was weird."

"Do ya think, it was some
sort of JEWELRY? Like...
one of those fancy, jeweled
EGGS? That....cost a lot
MONEY?"

"No......no."
(Beth shakes her blondish-
red curls, slightly. Even the
small movement seems to
make her injured arm hurt.)
"Hm....hm. It wasn't about
money."
(Beth suddenly opens
her long-lashed eyelids.)
(Curious whisper.)
"It was about..
God."

(A cold finger touches
Alan, suddenly, in his
stomach. For a moment,
he feels a little nauseous.
Breathing raggedly, as
if anticipating another
panic-attack coming on,
he looks, searchingly,
for the thin booklet
that he had just tossed
on the floor.)
***********************
Behold,
I tell you a mystery.
We shall not
all sleep,
but we shall
all be changed -
in a moment,
in the
twinkling
of an
eye,
at
the
last
trumpet.
[1 Corinthians 15:51]

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