Harry?

Here is another of my stories. I call it Harry? It is the story of an elderly couple and there drives between their little home and a Veterens Hospital.

Harry?


“You ready to go, Harry? Do we need to stop anywhere else ‘fore we head back home? You got all your medicines, and stuff. Listen to this old truck rattle. Hope we get back with out any problems. Old truck barely holding together. Needs boo-coddles of work done on it, but I know we can’t afford it. Well, what did that quack of a doctor say this time, Harry? Are you gonna live for another couple of days? Heeheehee. I thought so. Sure can’t understand why we have to make this ridiculous dive ever week so’s that quack can just say ‘come back next week’. That’s what he said, ain’t it, Harry? That’s what he always says. Come back next week. I get so tired of havin’ to make this drive week after week. I have to do all a the drivin’ now that you can’t, Harry. Oh, I know, if you could you would, but you can’t, so I have, too. Sometimes I wonder if you’re really as sick with that there cancer as you and that doctor say you are.
“Don’t know why we have to live all the way out there, in the middle of this damn desert. Why can’t we be like normal folk, and live in town. Why did we ever move out here to start with, Harry? Why aren’t we still livin’ back in Milwaukee, instead of here. We still got relatives and friends there. Or I figure we do. Don’t know for sure. Ain’t heard hide or hair from them in ever so long. Why did we come to New Mexico, Harry? Huh? We could a gone to Florida, with Alene and her husband. Alene would a took us in. She’s our daughter, for Pete’s sake. Even if her no good husband don’t like us. Or Hawaii, we could a gone to Hawaii, or California, instead of Dry Creek, New Mexico. And why Dry Creek? There’s lots of places we could live that would be a whole lot closer to that crazy V.A. Hospital in Albuquerque, rather than Dry Creek. Nothin’ there but a dozen or so trailer homes. Half a them got old, retired folk, like us, livin’ in ‘um. The rest got them lazy young kids that ain’t got no jobs, livin’ on welfare. Always drunk or stoned on those drugs.
“You listen’ to me, Harry? Would make a lot more sense if-in we was to move up closer to Albuquerque, so we don’t have to make this drive ever week. Probably just helpin’ that cancer ya got, eat ya up just that much faster, livin’ out in that heat, and sand. Hot sun always beatin’ down on ya. Dryin’ a body out. Wind blowin’ sand and dirt. Don’t never let up. And you always complainin’ your cold. Cold. ‘I’m cold, Polly’, your always sayin’. Harry, did I ever tell you how much I hate livin’ in this damn desert. You can’t be cold livin’ in the desert, Harry, it’s always hot. Must be at least 90 degrees today.
Middle a summer, and we’re havin’ to make this here trip ever week, cause some smart ass V.A. Doc says we got a, cause you got cancer. I’m getting’ tired of it, Harry. And this here old Ford truck’s getting’ tired of it, too. Hope it don’t over heat today, like it did last week.
“Ain’t nothin’ out here in this desert but sand and sun. Sun and sand, and this damn highway. Mile after mile after mile of highway. Some times I think there ain’t nothin’ left in the whole world but this here highway. And me drivin’ on it. Two lanes goin’ north, like we did this mornin’. And two lanes goin’ south, like we are now. Mile after mile of nothin’, cut in half by this here highway. Nothin’ but us in this old truck, and all them other folk in their cars, and trucks, just a goin’ down the highway.
And nothin’ out there to even look at but sagebrush and tumbleweeds, and blowin’ sand. Feel that wind today, tryin’ to blow us off the road. Don’t know how them little cars stay on the road. You see them cows out there in the brush, Harry. Damn things are so skinny they might just blow away. Wonder there they get water. Ain’t much water out there. Nothin’ but blowin’ sand and miles and miles of highway.
“Did you see that, Harry. Crazy idiot cut right in front of that big rig. Wonder he didn’t get his butt run over. He should of. Cuttin’ over like that. Crazy people out here on this highway. Mile after mile of road. It’s enough to make any one go crazy. You think we’re goin’ crazy, Harry, drivin’ up and down this road ever week. Hey, Harry, I wonder how many times we been up and down this highway. Might be interstin’ to figure it out. Then we could figure out how many miles we done drove on this road, too. How many weeks in a year, Harry? Fifty two or is it fifty three. And you done had this cancer for what, two years now? And it’s ‘bout three hundred miles round trip from that itty-bitty trailer we live in out there in Dry Creek to that V.A. hospital in Albuquerque. Well that’s a lot a miles. A whole lot a miles. You listening to me, Harry? Hell, no your sleepin’, Again.
“I do the drivin’ and you do the sleepin’. Nothin’ ever changes. I gotta stop, Harry. Rest area should be just a few miles ahead. Only be a minute. Then I’ll get you on home, Harry. Harry, you fellin’ all right? You Okay? You don’t look so good, Harry. I’ll be right back.
“Time to go again, Harry. Harry? What did that doctor tell you today? You never said. Ain’t gonna tell me, huh. Think it’s just your problem, do ya. Think I like makin’ this drive ever week, do ya. You and me, Harry. We done been through a lot these past fifty years. We didn’t have nothin’ when we got married. All that scrapin’ to get by. Then you went, and join’d the Army. Twenty five years of Army life. The kids, the movin’ all the time, the wars, finally the retirement, and our own little place here in the desert. Not a great place but at least it’s our. Bought and paid for. And now you got the cancer. I don’t know what we’re gonna do, Harry. Do you?
Harry? Hey? Harry, wake up. Talk to me, old man. I’m pullin’ over now, Harry. Why don’t you wake up? Harry? Why ain’t ya breathin’, Harry.
“Damn it, Harry. What did you go and do that for Harry? If ya was gonna die, you could a done it while ya was at the hospital. What do I do now, Harry? Should I turn around and go back to the hospital or should I go on home to Dry Creek. Well, I can’t just turn around, ‘cause there’s no way to get across that big stretch of desert in between this part of the highway and that other part. Okay, Harry, your right. We’ll just go on home for now. It ain’t that far, then we’ll decide what to do.
“Harry, what am I gonna do now that we don’t have to drive them three hundred miles to and from your doctor ever week?

The End

Moose Obsession

This is what happens when you are sent a moose as a get well gift by your family.

You become a Crazy Person

A Moose is Loose by a Crazy Person

Thank you for your thoughtfulness,

Thank you Edmonds, one and all,
Thank you for the moose.

Thank you for the moose,
I do so much hate to confess,

I took him all the way to the mall,
I’d like to turn him loose.

Now really can I turn him loose.

Thank you for the cool tee-shirt,

Thank you, but I think you have erred.
Thank you for the moose.

Thank you for that darned moose.
I hate to be so – should I say - curt,

How could you really have dared,

To send a moose that is loose
But can I really turn him loose.

Thank you for your kind thoughts,

Thank you, but I would have preferred
Thank you for the moose.

Thank you for – I guess – far the moose.

I’d have better liked a kitten that purred,

Now I really, really think I oughts,
To turn the dang thing loose.

Thank you for the earrings,

Than you again, again and again,
Thank you for the moose.

Thank you again for the moose.
My house now has many dings,

He told me he’d like to join his kin.
When can I turn him loose.

He’s begging me to turn him loose.

Thank you, thank you sister, Dear,

Thank you for this wretched creature,
Thank you for that moose,
But all the commotion, you should hear,

Thank you, for my moose,
The neighbors want me to turn him loose.

He and I had a great adventure here

But to his real home, he would like to go loose.

Thank you, also, niece Cindy J,
Thank you for this moose

Thank you for this huge beast,

Thank you for this moose.

Is it, please, please Okay,
If that darn moose goes loose.

Thank you, Jim Senior, you were so kind,

Thank you for the moose.

But he would rather have gone - Loose.

I hate to say I’ve half a mind,
If you don’t care, to turn him loose.

Thank you, he said, as he away did RAN,

Thank you, nephew Eric Joe,

Thank you, he did say, said the Moose.
Thank you for the moose,
But I really do think he’d like to go,

I’ll tell you now,
The moose, he must very soon be loose.

Thank you, James, Junior that is,
I thank your family for the moose.
I have to admit he’s not like you, a college whiz,
He surely would like me to turn him loose.

He went to Oregon, did you know,

That now he is

LOOSE.

A Postscript to the Moose Obsession



And now the moose is loose at last,
To where I do not know.
I think we lost him in the blast,
The blast of blinding snow.

OOPS!!!!!!!!!

But do not fret about the moose,
I had to turn him free.
But if I hadn’t turned him loose,
I wouldn’t be up this blasted tree.

HELP!!!!!!!!!!!

Wonderin' Words

This is to be a writers blog. I will post short stories that I have writen, and, hopefully someone out there in cyberspace will take the time to read my stories, thoughts, opinions, and any other wonderin' words I might decide to write.

I Want-------

This first story is a very short sci-fi story called flash fiction.
Hope you like it.

“I Want….”

“Mikey, don’t touch that.” The little pre-school age boy pulled his hand slowly back from the bag of chips he had been reaching for.

“Michael, Mommy says don’t touch ANYTHING.” Again the little boy pulled his hand back, this time from the box of cookies, watching his mom as she moved on down the isle of the grocery store. She added some snack crackers to the shopping cart, while talking baby talk to the fussy, whining baby sitting in the seat of the cart. “Come on, Mikey.” After a moment Michael followed.

They turned down another isle, moving by and around other shoppers. Several things were added to the cart. The baby cried. “I want cookies,” demanded Michael. “No,” said his mom, picking up a can of green beans, and then a bag of noodles. They moved on.

“I want cookies – cook-ies – cook – kook-eyes, cook-ies,” sang Michael. “Want cook-ies – kook-eyes.”

“Mikey, please be quiet. If you’re quiet I’ll get you some cookies. Okay, Mikey.” His mom was getting more flustered as she tried to finish her shopping. Michael knew he had her going now. “Goodie, goodie, goodie,” he sang. “I’m going to get cookies - cook-ies, kook-eyes.”

“Mikey, be quiet,” wailed his mom while the baby echoed her. She checked her list. “Need to get milk, juice, and baby cereal. And some hamburger.” She added a jar of pickles to the cart, and crammed a pacifier into the mouth of the crying baby. She wished she could give one to Mikey, too.

“Cookies, kook-eyes. I want cookies – kook-eyes, more kook-eyes. Kook - .” Michael stopped singing. “Mommy, Mommy. What’s that? Mommy, are those eyeballs.” Michael pointed at a jar. “Those look like eyeballs, Mommy.” He took a step backward. “Mommy, that jar there. The eyeballs are moving. Their rolling around in the jar, Mommy, how do they do that.”

“Of course not,” said his mom, hardly glancing at where he was pointing. “Those are olives, Mikey. Come on.”

“No, there not ‘lives. Their eyeballs. Kook-eye balls. There looking at me. Make them stop looking at me. I don’t like kook-eye balls.” Michael grabbed his mom around the leg and hid his face, then peaked back at the jar.

“Stop that, Mikey, those are only olives.” She pried him loose from her leg.

Michael looked back at the jar. “Don’t look at me, kook-eyes,” he yelled, and flung a small fist at the jar, barely grazing it. It was just enough to cause the jar to fall to the floor, where the glass shattered and the contents rolled here and there, helter-skelter. “Mommy! The kook-eyes jumped off onto the floor.”

“Now look what you’ve done, Michael!”

“They jumped, Mommy! Honest they did!”

You’re going to get it now, Michael. Do you hear me? Your in ….in….trouble….now,……” her voice slid to a halt, as she took in the sight of the broken glass and the still rolling ---- jumping, ----- and rolling ----- eyeballs.

There were hazel eyes, blue eyes, brown eyes, and green eyes; some with the eyelids still attached. And all those many eyes were staring at her. As she watched back, her mouth still open, she gave a little screech. When she did one of the eyeballs winked at her.

Horrified at the sight she and several other customers screamed some more as they began to move away from the wilding rolling eyeballs, and toward the exit doors. An excited stock boy yelled for a manager, wanting to know what he was supposed to do with the run-a-way eyeballs.

“Mikey, we’re leaving NOW!” shouted Mikey’s mom as she grabbed the boy by the arm, and drug him with her, while pushing the cart with the screaming baby, toward the nearest door.

Eyeballs continued to roll after her while Mikey sang about Kook-eyes.

The End