My father was a Navy veteran who served as an enlisted yeoman on aircraft carriers during the Korean War. His Navy service had a huge impact on me as a kid, eventually guiding me toward an officer's commission and into the cockpit of single-seat Navy jets. Dad passed away a few days before Memorial Day, 2018.
When he passed, I was in the middle of the four-year process of writing my debut novel, an erotic thriller entitled Entangled Passions. He always asked about my progress on the book. It published this past February on Amazon, but he never saw it completed.
I took time away from the project at his death and coped the best I knew how by writing a short story for Memorial Day. Until this posting, there have only been five other people who have read earlier versions. Below is the final version that has only been read by me...until now. It is a family genre safe for SMF, and was started well before the Covid pandemic.
Enjoy Memorial Day with your family, and remember those who have served in the armed forces who are no longer with us. Many have sacrificed everything, but all have sacrificed something for our freedoms, tolerance, and love of country.
“One day at a time.” Eleanor used both hands to lightly touch her hairspray-stiff white hair. She inhaled, picked up her purse, and opened the front door.
The century-old courthouse clock, three blocks away, chimed an 8 AM greeting. Its melodic tones echoed across the dew-soaked Ohio Saturday.
Residents of the small town stretched themselves awake or enjoyed breakfast on the first morning of a three-day holiday; one filled with errands, picnics, and the high-pitched laughter of children splashing at the public pool. It was Memorial Day weekend.
The wooden porch of Eleanor’s vintage bungalow home creaked with her first step, feeling its age as much as she did. Fresh spring air enveloped her like a blanket, the warm sensation a welcome change from her tearfully lonely seclusion. Today was her first venture outside the house in weeks. The home had been a comfort, so many memories, but their weight became a burden.
At the top of the porch’s granite steps, she closed her eyes and tilted her face toward the rising sun. Its warmth helped dissipate her loneliness into the gentle morning breeze as she inhaled the sweet fragrance of the blossoms on her neighbor’s magnolia tree. The refreshing sensations signaled the start of her new solo adventure into the world.
Eleanor ran her hands down the fabric of her favorite spring dress, an aqua print with large white roses. Memories of happier times in the dress helped lift her darkness, but smiles still struggled to bloom on her face. Half her soul had been ripped away when her husband died six weeks earlier.
She missed how his spirit seasoned each sunrise with loving cuddles, teasing jokes, and quiet moments when no words were necessary. The permanence of his absence was unbearable, the void a cruel counterbalance to five decades of his loving presence.
A movement disrupted her quiet thoughts. An elderly gentleman, bent by age, struggled to walk on the cement sidewalk cracked and buckled by the roots of the fragrant tree. Arms spread wide for balance, he made agonizing progress and teetered on the edge of impending disaster.
“Sir! Hold on! Let me give you a hand.” She carefully descended her stone steps and scooted across the yard.
The age-shrunken man’s well-worn denim coveralls were clean, his white shirt crisply pressed. The spit-shine on his shoes revealed a past habit that continued to the present day. Eleanor knew everyone close to her age in the small town but didn’t recognize this man.
He reached out and took the steady hand she offered. “Thank you, ma’am.”
An instant later he stumbled in her direction as the uneven sidewalk cast him off stride. Eleanor caught him, preventing his fall. The skin of the old man’s arm and back felt loose to her fingers, barely a hint of muscles covered his old bones.
Breathless, he regained his equilibrium. “I am so sorry.”
“No, no, it’s fine. Here, let me help you sit down so you can rest.” Eleanor guided him to one of the stone benches by the fountain her husband built in their front yard. Shafts of sunlight darted under the broad magnolia leaves and sparkled on the fountain’s pool of still water. The comfortable morning was a perfect expression of her husband’s intended design.
The old fellow ran his hands over the textured stone and smiled at her. “How magnificent.”
Eleanor sensed a spirit filled with an uncluttered joy behind his bright, friendly eyes. “I’m Eleanor.” She offered her hand.
“How nice to meet you, Eleanor. I’m Pops.”
His grip was so light she could barely feel it. She leaned closer and rested a hand on his shoulder. “Pops, where are you coming from?”
He lifted a frail hand and pointed. “Oh, just down the street.”
“And where are you going?”
“Oh, no place in particular.” His broad smile turned ornery. “I tell my friends I have to sneak away for short walks so rigor mortis doesn’t set in.” He chuckled at his own joke. “What about you?”
“Me?” Eleanor looked in both directions of the street, raising her eyebrows. “Huh. Like you, I don’t know. I just needed to get out of the house.”
“So early on a Saturday? Why’s that, dear?”
Eleanor inhaled deeply, unsure if she could share her reason with a stranger and maintain her composure. Her mantra one day at a time echoed in her thoughts until it released her voice.
“My husband died on April 10th. We’d been married fifty years.” As her voice cracked, another deep breath settled her emotions. “I’ve been cooped up in the house, missing him so much. Today I decided it was time to begin again…one day at a time.”
“Oh, dear.” Pops looked at her, his smile turned sad but his eyes remained strong and supportive. “I’m so sorry to hear of your loss. Fifty years, that’s pretty rare these days. He must have been a good man.”
“Thank you, he was. Retired military, a Navy Captain. He loved his country more than anyone I’ve ever known. He was honorable, fair, and firm, yet could be soft and tender, even unguarded.” She leaned closer to Pops and whispered. “I’ll tell you a secret. He always cried whenever a singer captured the beauty and passion of the National Anthem.”
Pops nodded. “That says a lot about a person.”
“We always visited the National Cemetery each Memorial Day, and again in November for Veterans Day. He’d walk quietly and remember the souls of his brothers and sisters lost in service and to time. He never missed a visit. It meant so much to him.” Her voice hitched, but another deep breath helped maintain her composure. “He’s buried there now. I’ll visit him Monday, his first Memorial Day as a resident.”
A gentle breeze rippled the water of the fountain’s pool, causing the morning sunshine to dance with the tiny waves. “Well, it’s a beautiful day to start your new adventure like you said— one day at a time.” Pops patted her hand. “And you, dear, how are you doing?”
Eleanor’s voice quavered with her thoughts. “It’s hard. I miss him so much.” She pulled a tissue from her purse. “I learned to endure lots of challenges alone while he was away serving our country, but life without him, I’m not sure that’s a challenge I want to get used to.”
“I understand.” He patted her hand again. “There’s a lot of painful truth in your words, but strong character, too, dear” He nodded, closing his eyes.
The silence chiseled his words into her memories.
“Eleanor, do you mind if I ask what you do?”
“Oh, me?” Eleanor’s smile shifted her focus as she dabbed her eyes. “I was a registered nurse for more than forty years. I’m retired now, but volunteer at the local VA hospital.” She shared her life as a mother and grandmother, plus her involvement with the church and community.
Pops smiled as she spoke, often closing his eyes as he listened.
“What about you, Pops?” She tucked her chin and animated the tone of her voice as she leaned into his shoulder.” I’ll bet you’ve had an interesting life.”
“No, no.” He chuckled. “Nothing special. I like listening to people’s stories. Yours were beautiful.”
They reflected together on the moments, watching sparrows drink from the fountain and wash in the shallow water—their tiny animal spirits unafraid of the two quiet adults.
“Pops, let me call my son to help you. He’s the town’s sheriff. He or one of his deputies could give you a ride.”
“Oh…no, please, that isn’t necessary. I do have one request, though.”
Eleanor perked up at the opportunity to help the kind man. “Sure. Anything.”
“I’m embarrassed to ask, but do you have a penny you could spare?”
“Really, a penny?”
“Yes, ma’am. Just a penny. It would mean a lot to me.”
Eleanor reached into her change purse and handed Pops a penny. She tried to give him a five-dollar bill, but he held up a hand.
“Please, no. Just a penny. I love pennies and what they mean.” He pointed to the bill. “Buy yourself something with that five dollars to help you smile today on your new journey. I’ll remember your stories with this penny.” His eyes twinkled in the sunlight as he held up her coin.
“Are you going to be okay if I go on my walk?” Eleanor was hesitant to leave him alone.
“Don’t worry about me. I’ll be fine. Thank you for your stories. I really enjoyed them.” The old man closed his eyes and held the penny between his fingers as if hearing her stories again.
“Okay, Pops, please sit here as long as you need to. It was nice meeting you. I hope to see you again.”
“It was nice meeting you too, Eleanor. I’m sure our paths will cross.” He leaned closer, whispering, “It’s a small town, after all.”
“It is,” Eleanor beamed a big smile. She stood and decided to walk around the block. After a couple of steps, she heard a clinking sound behind her. When she turned around, she saw Pops looking at her penny in a small jelly jar. He closed his eyes and put the jar back in his coveralls.
Eleanor’s walk grew lighter with each step from having spent less than a half-hour with a genuinely unique character. Pops was gone when she returned twenty minutes later, but he left a lasting impression she carried in a grin throughout the day.
When he passed, I was in the middle of the four-year process of writing my debut novel, an erotic thriller entitled Entangled Passions. He always asked about my progress on the book. It published this past February on Amazon, but he never saw it completed.
I took time away from the project at his death and coped the best I knew how by writing a short story for Memorial Day. Until this posting, there have only been five other people who have read earlier versions. Below is the final version that has only been read by me...until now. It is a family genre safe for SMF, and was started well before the Covid pandemic.
Enjoy Memorial Day with your family, and remember those who have served in the armed forces who are no longer with us. Many have sacrificed everything, but all have sacrificed something for our freedoms, tolerance, and love of country.
Just a Penny
by
Ray H Gray
© May 25, 2020
by
Ray H Gray
© May 25, 2020
“One day at a time.” Eleanor used both hands to lightly touch her hairspray-stiff white hair. She inhaled, picked up her purse, and opened the front door.
The century-old courthouse clock, three blocks away, chimed an 8 AM greeting. Its melodic tones echoed across the dew-soaked Ohio Saturday.
Residents of the small town stretched themselves awake or enjoyed breakfast on the first morning of a three-day holiday; one filled with errands, picnics, and the high-pitched laughter of children splashing at the public pool. It was Memorial Day weekend.
The wooden porch of Eleanor’s vintage bungalow home creaked with her first step, feeling its age as much as she did. Fresh spring air enveloped her like a blanket, the warm sensation a welcome change from her tearfully lonely seclusion. Today was her first venture outside the house in weeks. The home had been a comfort, so many memories, but their weight became a burden.
At the top of the porch’s granite steps, she closed her eyes and tilted her face toward the rising sun. Its warmth helped dissipate her loneliness into the gentle morning breeze as she inhaled the sweet fragrance of the blossoms on her neighbor’s magnolia tree. The refreshing sensations signaled the start of her new solo adventure into the world.
Eleanor ran her hands down the fabric of her favorite spring dress, an aqua print with large white roses. Memories of happier times in the dress helped lift her darkness, but smiles still struggled to bloom on her face. Half her soul had been ripped away when her husband died six weeks earlier.
She missed how his spirit seasoned each sunrise with loving cuddles, teasing jokes, and quiet moments when no words were necessary. The permanence of his absence was unbearable, the void a cruel counterbalance to five decades of his loving presence.
A movement disrupted her quiet thoughts. An elderly gentleman, bent by age, struggled to walk on the cement sidewalk cracked and buckled by the roots of the fragrant tree. Arms spread wide for balance, he made agonizing progress and teetered on the edge of impending disaster.
“Sir! Hold on! Let me give you a hand.” She carefully descended her stone steps and scooted across the yard.
The age-shrunken man’s well-worn denim coveralls were clean, his white shirt crisply pressed. The spit-shine on his shoes revealed a past habit that continued to the present day. Eleanor knew everyone close to her age in the small town but didn’t recognize this man.
He reached out and took the steady hand she offered. “Thank you, ma’am.”
An instant later he stumbled in her direction as the uneven sidewalk cast him off stride. Eleanor caught him, preventing his fall. The skin of the old man’s arm and back felt loose to her fingers, barely a hint of muscles covered his old bones.
Breathless, he regained his equilibrium. “I am so sorry.”
“No, no, it’s fine. Here, let me help you sit down so you can rest.” Eleanor guided him to one of the stone benches by the fountain her husband built in their front yard. Shafts of sunlight darted under the broad magnolia leaves and sparkled on the fountain’s pool of still water. The comfortable morning was a perfect expression of her husband’s intended design.
The old fellow ran his hands over the textured stone and smiled at her. “How magnificent.”
Eleanor sensed a spirit filled with an uncluttered joy behind his bright, friendly eyes. “I’m Eleanor.” She offered her hand.
“How nice to meet you, Eleanor. I’m Pops.”
His grip was so light she could barely feel it. She leaned closer and rested a hand on his shoulder. “Pops, where are you coming from?”
He lifted a frail hand and pointed. “Oh, just down the street.”
“And where are you going?”
“Oh, no place in particular.” His broad smile turned ornery. “I tell my friends I have to sneak away for short walks so rigor mortis doesn’t set in.” He chuckled at his own joke. “What about you?”
“Me?” Eleanor looked in both directions of the street, raising her eyebrows. “Huh. Like you, I don’t know. I just needed to get out of the house.”
“So early on a Saturday? Why’s that, dear?”
Eleanor inhaled deeply, unsure if she could share her reason with a stranger and maintain her composure. Her mantra one day at a time echoed in her thoughts until it released her voice.
“My husband died on April 10th. We’d been married fifty years.” As her voice cracked, another deep breath settled her emotions. “I’ve been cooped up in the house, missing him so much. Today I decided it was time to begin again…one day at a time.”
“Oh, dear.” Pops looked at her, his smile turned sad but his eyes remained strong and supportive. “I’m so sorry to hear of your loss. Fifty years, that’s pretty rare these days. He must have been a good man.”
“Thank you, he was. Retired military, a Navy Captain. He loved his country more than anyone I’ve ever known. He was honorable, fair, and firm, yet could be soft and tender, even unguarded.” She leaned closer to Pops and whispered. “I’ll tell you a secret. He always cried whenever a singer captured the beauty and passion of the National Anthem.”
Pops nodded. “That says a lot about a person.”
“We always visited the National Cemetery each Memorial Day, and again in November for Veterans Day. He’d walk quietly and remember the souls of his brothers and sisters lost in service and to time. He never missed a visit. It meant so much to him.” Her voice hitched, but another deep breath helped maintain her composure. “He’s buried there now. I’ll visit him Monday, his first Memorial Day as a resident.”
A gentle breeze rippled the water of the fountain’s pool, causing the morning sunshine to dance with the tiny waves. “Well, it’s a beautiful day to start your new adventure like you said— one day at a time.” Pops patted her hand. “And you, dear, how are you doing?”
Eleanor’s voice quavered with her thoughts. “It’s hard. I miss him so much.” She pulled a tissue from her purse. “I learned to endure lots of challenges alone while he was away serving our country, but life without him, I’m not sure that’s a challenge I want to get used to.”
“I understand.” He patted her hand again. “There’s a lot of painful truth in your words, but strong character, too, dear” He nodded, closing his eyes.
The silence chiseled his words into her memories.
“Eleanor, do you mind if I ask what you do?”
“Oh, me?” Eleanor’s smile shifted her focus as she dabbed her eyes. “I was a registered nurse for more than forty years. I’m retired now, but volunteer at the local VA hospital.” She shared her life as a mother and grandmother, plus her involvement with the church and community.
Pops smiled as she spoke, often closing his eyes as he listened.
“What about you, Pops?” She tucked her chin and animated the tone of her voice as she leaned into his shoulder.” I’ll bet you’ve had an interesting life.”
“No, no.” He chuckled. “Nothing special. I like listening to people’s stories. Yours were beautiful.”
They reflected together on the moments, watching sparrows drink from the fountain and wash in the shallow water—their tiny animal spirits unafraid of the two quiet adults.
“Pops, let me call my son to help you. He’s the town’s sheriff. He or one of his deputies could give you a ride.”
“Oh…no, please, that isn’t necessary. I do have one request, though.”
Eleanor perked up at the opportunity to help the kind man. “Sure. Anything.”
“I’m embarrassed to ask, but do you have a penny you could spare?”
“Really, a penny?”
“Yes, ma’am. Just a penny. It would mean a lot to me.”
Eleanor reached into her change purse and handed Pops a penny. She tried to give him a five-dollar bill, but he held up a hand.
“Please, no. Just a penny. I love pennies and what they mean.” He pointed to the bill. “Buy yourself something with that five dollars to help you smile today on your new journey. I’ll remember your stories with this penny.” His eyes twinkled in the sunlight as he held up her coin.
“Are you going to be okay if I go on my walk?” Eleanor was hesitant to leave him alone.
“Don’t worry about me. I’ll be fine. Thank you for your stories. I really enjoyed them.” The old man closed his eyes and held the penny between his fingers as if hearing her stories again.
“Okay, Pops, please sit here as long as you need to. It was nice meeting you. I hope to see you again.”
“It was nice meeting you too, Eleanor. I’m sure our paths will cross.” He leaned closer, whispering, “It’s a small town, after all.”
“It is,” Eleanor beamed a big smile. She stood and decided to walk around the block. After a couple of steps, she heard a clinking sound behind her. When she turned around, she saw Pops looking at her penny in a small jelly jar. He closed his eyes and put the jar back in his coveralls.
Eleanor’s walk grew lighter with each step from having spent less than a half-hour with a genuinely unique character. Pops was gone when she returned twenty minutes later, but he left a lasting impression she carried in a grin throughout the day.