A staple of New York youth. A way for the kids of the neighborhood to have fun and forge long lasting friendships.
When us kids needed to hash out things, we didn’t take to our fists. We took to the sticks. Whoever ended up scoring the most, or when our moms called us in after the sun went down, they would carry the day.
Once we moved to the west coast, there was no more stickball. You moved up to the sandlots. The skills learned translated well for the batting, but the running killed us.
(Writer’s notes: Most of you have seen that my output has been low lately. I’ll make it easy and simple: My work is mentally exhausting. I generally like to write, but when I get home from tough days of figuring out problems, I sometimes don’t have the capability to write. I am working on it for 2020, however, and hope to have more. I definitely have ideas. Here’s today’s fictioneers…)
Eschel looked down at the foyer table. Yarmulke on one side, phone on other.
He wanted to go to synagogue tonight, but the attacks on his brethren nearby in Westchester were still playing through his mind.
His wife, Lillia, pleaded with him to call an Uber, or a taxi, to take him there. She didn’t want to see him jumped like the ones in Brooklyn last week.
He bowed for a second, before putting on the yarmulke.
“I am not afraid. I’m Jewish. There’s no crime in that.”
He wrapped his long coat around him, and went out the door.
(In memory of those who lost their lives while enjoying Hanukkah celebrations with their rabbi in New York.)
(Author’s note: I have been gone the last couple weeks, due to many different issues coming up and rearing their head, such as a digestive issue. I intend on doing more. It’s just taking a little longer to get things moving. Here’s today’s Fictioneers!)
(Author’s note: There’s a lot of things going on, and my production of fiction hasn’t been very productive because of other factors. I shall have more stuff up soon, but at this time, all I am able to do is Fictioneers stuff. To which, here’s today’s offering.)
“So, I noticed that you came in with only one shoe. What happened?”
Bridget Moroney bit her lip as the question hit her with full force. It was the one question she didn’t want to answer.
“Well, I was rushing to get here, and a man pushed me out of the way. My foot stepped onto a drain grate and the heel got stuck. I couldn’t pull it out.”
“Did you think of breaking off the heel?” the interviewer asked, her voice in disbelief.
“It wouldn’t have done much good. So I just took off my other shoe and walked the rest of the way here.”
A small green light popped on. A buzzing sound rattled urgently across the dresser.
An arm reached up from the bed, thrashing around while trying to grab the buzzing phone that was going insane. After a few seconds, and a vase knocked onto the floor, the hand and arm grabbed the phone and pulled back under the covers.
“mmmmfrla…Hello?”
“Hi, honey!”
Paul sat up in his bed, hearing the voice of his insanely beautiful fiancee, her voice waking him up like a shot of espresso to the veins.
“Anna! I…I miss you!”
“I know, honey! I do, too.”
“Where are you today?”
“I’m sitting on a beach, looking out over the tides in the Bay of Fundy.
Paul just shook his head, and chuckled.
“I thought you were in New York?”
“Not today. I was two weeks ago, remember? I had to deal with a mugger that day.”
“That’s right. I remember now…did he recover from his injuries?”
“Hey! I didn’t kick him in the nuts that hard.”
Paul winced a bit, in sympathy.
“So where were you last week?”
“I had to go to Tokyo. They needed my services taking care of a negotiation between Culture Japan and the Aomori city government for promotions.”
“I find it fascinating where you go, but I feel very…lost without you.”
“Why do you say that?”
Paul sighed, as he pulled on his pair of long sweatpants.
A giggle resonated through Paul’s ear, as Paul’s face twisted in frustration.
“What’s so funny about that?”
“I think it’s very cute that you want to join me on my adventures, even though your job doesn’t allow you to go anywhere.”
“I wish I could get a job where that would be the case.”
“You never know, you may actually get one soon.”
His eyebrows furrowed, as his twisted into one of confusion. This was unusual, not Anna’s normal words that he was hearing in his head.
“What do you mean?”
“Why don’t you look out the window?”
He ambled over to the window. Looking out, he saw the snow-covered ground of his rural Pierce County home, the lights of his neighbor’s Christmas lights, a Tacoma power truck. He was about to tell Anna that he didn’t see anything important, when he noticed someone waving. He blinked again, and saw a person standing on his front lawn.
It was his lovely Anna, holding up her phone in her hand.
“Anna!”
He ran out of his bedroom and bounded down the stairs like a boy at Christmas time. He opened the door, nearly ripping it off it’s hinges as he ran out into the cool air and the snow. He bounded over to Anna, and just as she opened her arms, he pounced on her. They fell, in a mass of tumbling brown and auburn hair and pasty, while legs.
“Anna! I missed you so much!”
“And for a second there you actually thought I would be sent to Nova Scotia.”
“It’s because you’ve been gone so…”
A look of shock rang across his face.
“Are you wearing my favorite outfit of yours?”
“You mean the dark green turtleneck and short black miniskirt that you bought for me on our trip to Vancouver last year?”
“That’s the one!”
“Then the answer is yes!”
Paul smiled as his beautiful fiancee beamed her relief at being home.
“How about we go upstairs and crash for the day. I’ll call into work and take a sick day.”
“I think we can do that, so that you can be where I am.”
Anna smiled at him, as he lifted her up and carried her from the frozen lawn into their house.
Music and Fiction 