Stories – Page 5 – Irene North

A new green sweater

On 2019-10-23

Even though I was there for an article for the Star-Herald newspaper, Barb Schlothauer and her fellow Soroptimists convinced me to help them make May baskets in 2018. It was still chilly enough at the end of April for me to be wearing my green sweater.

Anyone who has seen me during winter for the last three decades has likely seen me wearing my green sweater. Shortly after moving out of the dorms at the University of Nebraska-Lincoln and into my first apartment, I had a conversation with my grandmother about being cold. I was on a budget and heat wasn’t high on my list of priorities. Gram wondered if I couldn’t afford to turn the heat up, why didn’t I wear a sweater. I didn’t have one. I didn’t have the money to buy one.

By the time I left her house in Middletown, New York, I had a pocket full of cash to buy a sweater of my choosing. It took months to find a sweater I liked.

I sighed deeply

By Irene

On 2019-10-16

In Stories

There was still a little bit of light outside. I suspect in a week or two, it will be dark outside at 6 p.m. Fall is in full swing and winter is nipping at the edges of the day, anxious to arrive and take over. The temperature was in the mid-forties. I parked my car in the empty K-Mart parking lot, got out and dialed her number.

I sat on the cold, concrete parking bumper. The chill instantly went through my blue jeans. I was shaking, but I wasn’t sure if it was because of the cold or everything else.

She answered on the fourth ring.

Into the land of the hills of sand

By Irene

On 2019-08-02

In Stories

We walked across the valley together, but as we began traversing the field of tall grass, Paul and I started to separate from the pack of humans. Without saying a word, we both felt instinctively that being bunched up and near each other was a dangerous thing.

We all continued toward an outcropping of trees in the distance, maybe two hundred yards away. Our journey had taken us from our village through two valleys as we avoided other villages on the way. It was said, once we passed the field of tall grass, we would reach the river and then the hills of sand before we would be safe.

According to the stories, once we crossed the river, we would be safe, but no one ever returned from the hills of sand to be sure. Still, we had all decided to make the journey together.

Dragging the Queen

By Irene

On 2019-06-09

In Stories

There isn’t much to do in a hotel room other than watch what’s on the television. For the most part, British television has just as much crap as American television. On Saturday, however, there was quite the farce televised live because it was Queen Elizabeth’s official birthday.

Black Walnuts

By Irene

On 2019-06-02

In Gram, Stories

A squirrel steals a black walnut off Gram’s back porch.

I placed the half-full bucket of black walnuts on the ground and took a deep breath. For Gram, it’s not so hard to carry, but I’m still little and half-full is more than enough for me. I turned around and looked back toward her back yard, full of trees, scanning the surface to see if I had missed any black walnuts.

It started with a song

By Irene

On 2019-05-25

In Stories

My day began with a flashback. It caught me unaware, arriving moments after opening my eyes. I had been fighting flashbacks on and off for about a week. Using my coping skills, I felt I had won this battle and headed off to work – tired, sleep-deprived, hopeful.

Sorry Gram, but I don’t think I will ever learn

By Irene

On 2019-05-10

In Stories

I got to thinking the other day and I concluded I have done a lot of stupid things in my life so far. I’m willing to try anything once. I do things without thinking of the consequences because it seems like a good idea at the time. I’m also dumb.

Attempted murder

By Irene

On 2019-02-21

In Nebraska, Stories

It was day nine or ten living on the basement couch. Hours had been spent staring at the wall, the ceiling, the floor. I knew every flaw in everything in the room. I saw the cracks in the ceiling. I saw the holes in the wall. I traced the outline of missing parts of floor tile with my eyes. I didn’t care about any of it at all.

For the love of all that is holy, don’t pick Billy Ocean

By Irene

On 2019-02-09

In Stories

Every six months or so, Paul and I sat down at my computer to pick a new set of music to play in my car. My 2000 Hyundai Accent had a tape player and I purchased an adapter so my CD player could be used. It was easier to burn a CD full of music than a cassette tape. On July 21, 2008, we only owned one car and Paul decided he wanted to pick the music.

The Secret Annex

By Irene

On 2019-01-14

In Stories

Otto Frank, businessman and father of Anne Frank. Amsterdam, 1960. Arnold Newman/Courtesy of Howard Greenberg Gallery.

As our group made their way toward the bookcase, there was quiet chatter. I was among a small group of people visiting the Anne Frank House just before noon.

Writings

Category: Stories Page 5 of 8

A new green sweater

I sighed deeply

Into the land of the hills of sand

Dragging the Queen

Black Walnuts

It started with a song

Sorry Gram, but I don’t think I will ever learn

Attempted murder

For the love of all that is holy, don’t pick Billy Ocean

The Secret Annex