Official Blog of Kristy Gherlone | Heartfelt stories

- THE WILD
  
  Posted at 11:30 am by writergherlone, on August 14, 2018
  
  Photo Credit: Sasha Fleming
  
  THE WILD
  
  by Kristy Gherlone
  
  Into a wild forest ragged and sharp,
  
  A tormented mind with thoughts so unsweet.
  
  Making her way to ascend the escarp,
  
  To hasten a day a future won’t meet.
  
  The air sweetened by raspberries and pine,
  
  Past crystal waters raging swiftly rushed,
  
  A small child traveled, unseen, not a sign,
  
  On that mountain, followed quietly hushed.
  
  Aloft, head laid stones, greened softly of moss,
  
  Ending a life of unbearable loss.
  
  And sun, beginning to set on the wild,
  
  Only then did she happen to see her poor child.
  
  The waning view of fir waves and lake,
  
  Morning will find neither one to awake.
  
  *No part of this poem may be copied or reproduced without permission from the author
  
  **Photo is the property of Sasha Fleming and may not be used without permission
  
  Posted in Uncategorized | 0 Comments | Tagged childloss, grief, loss, mountains, nature, parenting, poetry, sonnet, suffering, wilderness
- The Carnival
  
  Posted at 2:23 pm by writergherlone, on June 9, 2018
  
  The Carnival
  
  by Kristy Gherlone
  
  Adeline searched for her mother’s face among the crowds as her tiny frame dangled sideways under the fortune teller’s arm. If she found it, she wondered if her expression would say, ‘I told you so.’
  
  ***
  
  The carnival had rolled into town on Thursday night, just as it did every year at the end of April, when it was still early springtime in Maine. Missionville was always first on the carnival circuit and for most people it was an exciting event. It marked the end of the long, desolate winter, and was a delightful teaser to the summer ahead; the first in a long string of thrills, but not everyone felt that way. Adeline’s mother hated the carnival. To her, it was so akin to hell that the fire and brimstone it carried with it melted what was left of the snow. It was a haven for prostitutes and drug dealers and tempted those already on the edge of sin. It was a place rife with danger; where gypsies stole away children, and limbs and severed heads littered the ground around the rides that had claimed them. Adeline was never allowed to go, but that didn’t stop her from asking. She’d started begging as soon as the posters began to pop up all over town.
  
  “But everyone else is going. Everyone is talking about it in school,” she whined. “There’s going to be a Tilt-O-Whirl and everything! Janine won a huge stuffed turtle last year, and Sophie said they had the best Dough Boys she’s ever eaten.”
  
  “I don’t want to hear about it,” Adeline’s mother said.
  
  “But everyone will think I’m a freak if I don’t go.”
  
  “I don’t care what everyone thinks. And I don’t care what everyone else does. Gambling is just fine for the likes of Janine,” she said, “but not for my child.”
  
  “She wasn’t gambling,” Adeline sighed. “She was playing a game. You know, like the games we play at the church picnics.”
  
  “Don’t you sit there and compare our blessed church to that rat-infested cesspool,” her mother snapped. “I won’t have this kind of talk in my house. You’re not going and that is that.”
  
  Adeline pouted. She swore her mother hated everything fun. They never went anywhere in the summer except church. While her friends prattled on about camping trips and parades, barbecues and boat rides, Adeline stayed quiet and churned with envy. “But it’s not fair,” Adeline said.
  
  “Fair? You want to talk about fair? How fair is it that I’m the one stuck raising you while your father is off committing I-don’t-know how many sins? How fair is it that I’m working two jobs just so I can put food on the table? Don’t you talk to me about fair! Even if I wanted to let you go, which I most certainly do not, I wouldn’t have the money. I can barely pay the rent, so you can just spend the rest of the afternoon cleaning that pit you call a bedroom and think about that!”
  
  Adeline stormed into her room and slammed the door. Her insides ached with injustice. She jumped onto her bed, snatched her diary out from underneath the mattress, and tore it open. She flipped to a blank page, and wrote, ‘mom is a bitch.’ The satisfaction she felt was momentary. “I’m sorry, God. I didn’t mean it,” she said, scribbling over what she had written. She yanked out the page, ripped it to shreds, and tossed the pieces into the trash can. She turned her gaze towards the ceiling, “God, if you’d just please let me go to the carnival, I’ll never say anything bad about my mother again,” she prayed, though she knew it was a lie. It was supposed to be a sin to hate your mother, but sometimes Adeline did. She didn’t understand why her mom was so mean, because the truth was, she didn’t know much about her mother at all. There weren’t any pictures of her from before Adeline was born, and her mother never shared any of the details about her childhood. Whenever Adeline asked, her mother would say, ‘We don’t air our dirty linen in public,’ whatever that meant. If Adeline persisted she’d get mad, “Leave it alone. My past is mine to forget,” she’d say. If she had ever done anything that brought a smile or provoked a laugh; if she had ever done anything silly or even remotely adventurous, there was no sign. The only smile she ever wore was the fake one at church.
  
  “I don’t hear any cleaning going on in there,” her mother hollered.
  
  Adeline stuck her tongue out at the door, jumped off the bed, and kicked a pile of dirty clothes underneath her dresser. She’d never met her father, but sometimes she wished he’d taken her with him when he left. She thought about that while she cleaned her room.
  
  ***
  
  “And the Lord said, “Go into all the world and proclaim the gospel!” Pastor Cranmore boomed during Wednesday evening service.
  
  Adeline, who’d fallen asleep, jumped to her feet. “Pepperoni pizza!” she cried out, still in the throes of a dream. Everyone turned to stare. Adeline’s mother grabbed the back of her pants, hauled her back down into the pew, and gave her a scathing look. Adeline shrugged.
  
  “Let us pray,” Pastor Cranmore said. Everyone bowed their heads. “Lord, please look over my flock as they venture forth to do your work. Protect my children as they descend upon that heathen carnival to deliver your words and let them be heard, in Christ’s name, Amen.”
  
  Adeline’s heart skipped. Carnival? She sat up straight and stole a sideways glance at her mother. She was frowning.
  
  Adeline smiled and clasped her hands. “Thank you, God,” she said.
  
  Her mother elbowed her in the rib. “Don’t get too excited, young lady. I have no intention of going,” she whispered.
  
  “But…” Adeline started.
  
  “We’ll discuss this later,” her mother hissed. “Now pay attention.”
  
  Adeline scowled.
  
  “I’m going to need some volunteers,” Pastor Cranmore said. He scanned the congregation until his eyes fell on Adeline’s mother. She stiffened. “Charity Loveridge, I’d like you to take the lead on this,” he said. “We’re going to need some brochures and…,” he continued, talking on and on, but Adeline didn’t hear the rest. She was going to the carnival!
  
  ***
  
  “Remember, we are here to do the Lord’s work, young lady, and nothing more,” Adeline’s mother said the next evening when the church van rolled into a parking space on the edge of the fairgrounds.
  
  Adeline’s face was pressed up against the window in the back seat. “I see Janine! And there’s Ramona!” she exclaimed.
  
  “Did you hear me?”
  
  “A Ferris Wheel! There’s a Ferris Wheel! Oh! Can I go on it just once? Please, please, pretty please?” Adeline begged.
  
  “Adeline Louise,” Adeline’s mother snapped, “I already told you ‘no.’ We’re going to hand out church fliers and that’s all.”
  
  “But that’s not fair!”
  
  “Don’t start with that again. You knew how it was going to be. Now come on. The sooner we hand these out, the sooner we can leave,” she said, slapping a stack of papers into Adeline’s hand.
  
  Adeline sulked. She took the brochures, hopped out of the van, and joined the others who had gathered out on the grass.
  
  “Okay, everyone,” Pastor Cranmore said. “Let’s break up into our groups. We’ll meet back here in an hour.”
  
  “Come on, Adeline,” her mother said, casting a wary glance toward the entrance. “Let’s get this over with.”
  
  Adeline skipped. She couldn’t contain her excitement. The music! The people! She’d never seen anything like it! It was all so thrilling! She ran on ahead.
  
  “Get back here this minute,” Adeline’s mother hollered, running to capture her. Her hand shook as it closed around Adeline’s. “That place is so full of sin, I can feel it from here.”
  
  “Tickets!” the man hollered at the gate. “Get your tickets! Ride all night, only twenty bucks!” he said, waving a string of colorful stubs. He gave Adeline and her mother a lop-sided grin, revealing a mouth full of blackened teeth. “How about it, pretty little ladies? Need some tickets?” he winked.
  
  Adeline reached out to take one, but her mother slapped her hand away. “No thank you,” she said to the man, “but if you care to spare a minute, I’d like to talk to you about Jesus,” she said, pulling out a brochure.
  
  The man’s smile turned into a scowl. “Lady, do I look like I want to talk about Jesus? Cripes,” he growled, “move it along before you scare off my customers!” he said.
  
  Adeline’s mother sighed. “Well, I didn’t say it was going to be easy. Let’s start in the back and work our way through,” she said.
  
  Adeline trailed behind, taking in the sights and smells. “Can I get some cotton candy or maybe a hot dog?” she asked, her stomach growling as she eyed all of the food trucks.
  
  “No,” her mother said. “I’ll make you a peanut butter sandwich when we get home.”
  
  Adeline frowned.
  
  “Everyone’s a winner, folks!” A man bellowed as they entered the game section. “A dollar a try!”
  
  Adeline saw some kids from school playing basketball toss. They looked like they were having a blast. She wished she could play too. “Can I go and say hello?” she asked, hopefully.
  
  “No,” her mother hissed, stopping to give a brochure to a young couple with kids. When they started moving again, Adeline saw a tent with a sign on the outside. It said, ‘Fortunes Read. Five Dollars.’ As she contemplated what it might be like to know the future, an old woman emerged. She wore a funny hat and had on a long skirt. She waved when she saw Adeline. Adeline waved back.
  
  “Adeline!” a voice screeched suddenly from somewhere behind them.
  
  Adeline whirled around. It was Ramona. She was carrying a giant stuffed lion. “Wow! Where’d you get that?” Adeline asked, reaching over to stroke it.
  
  “I won it,” Ramona said proudly.
  
  “Lucky!” Adeline said enviously.
  
  “I’m glad you’re here,” Ramona said. “No one will go on the Zipper with me. Can you?”
  
  “What’s a Zipper?” Adeline asked.
  
  “Only the coolest, scariest ride ever,” Ramona said. “It’s this big cage thing that takes you up in the air and turns you upside down and spins you all around. A whole bunch of kids already threw up on it. It’s real neat.”
  
  It sounded great. Adeline looked at her mother with pleading eyes.
  
  “Absolutely not. It’s not safe,” she said.
  
  Just then, Pastor Cranmore and some of the other members of the group walked up and began talking to Adeline’s mother about all the sin they’d seen.
  
  “Well, I better go,” Ramona said. “I’ll see you around.”
  
  “Okay, bye,” Adeline said, disappointedly. She glanced over at the tent again. The old woman was still there, and she was staring at Adeline. When she motioned for her to come over, Pastor Cranmore said, “It looks like that lady wants a brochure. “Can you give her one, Adeline.”
  
  Adeline didn’t know if she wanted to. She looked kind of scary.
  
  Adeline’s mother stopped talking just long enough to say, “Go on ahead, Adeline. It’s fine,” before going back to her conversation.
  
  Reluctantly, Adeline meandered over to the tent. She kept a cautious distance as she held out a brochure. “Here’s some stuff about Jesus and things,” she said.
  
  The fortune teller smiled, “Why, thank you, child,” she said, reaching out to accept it. “’Course, I can’t see a thing without my reading glasses. I’ll have to go in and get them. Why don’t you come along in case I have any questions?”
  
  Adeline looked back towards her mother, who was still busy talking. She knew she shouldn’t, but she followed the fortune teller inside anyway. Before she knew what was happening, the fortune teller snatched her up and carried her out the back.
  
  ***
  
  Adeline wiggled and thrashed, but the fortune teller tightened her grip and hurried toward the back field. Adeline tried to call out before she could be carried further out of sight, but the old woman clamped her free hand over Adeline’s mouth. “Shush,” she said.
  
  The intoxicating aroma of grilled onions, fried sausages, and cotton candy dissipated as they moved further away from the fairgrounds, and it began to smell more like Porta Potties and grease. It was quieter back there, but Adeline could still hear the muted sounds of music and laughter. Every so often a shriek of terror or perhaps delight would pierce the air, as whoever it came from churned around inside of the Zipper. “It isn’t safe,” her mother had said. Adeline smirked, despite her dilemma. “Yeah. This was so much safer,” she mumbled, rolling her eyes.
  
  “What’d ya say girl?” the fortune teller asked.
  
  “Nothing,” Adeline said.
  
  The old woman’s pace began to slow as they neared a row of campers. “Well, we’re here,” she said, coming to a full stop. “It ain’t much, but it’s home.”
  
  Adeline lifted her head. “Home” was a rusted, red trailer that looked so fragile, a stiff wind could probably blow it to pieces.
  
  “Dale!” the old woman screeched. “Where you at, boy? You come on out here and help me with this child,” she huffed, out of breath. She set Adeline down but kept a hand on her shoulder.
  
  Adeline startled when a large boy busted out through the door and ran down the steps. “Who’s this?” he asked, giving Adeline a once over.
  
  “Don’t matter who. You just help me get her inside. And quick,” she said, stealing a nervous glance around.
  
  The boy called Dale scooped Adeline up. She didn’t even try to fight or get away. She just let him carry her up the steps and inside.
  
  “Have a seat,” the fortune teller said, after she’d followed them in.
  
  Adeline hesitated, glancing back toward the door.
  
  “You can run if you want,” the fortune teller said following Adeline’s gaze. “but I wouldn’t advise it. The carnival can be a pretty dangerous place for a girl alone. Ain’t that right, Dale,” she said, shooting him a look.
  
  Dale pulled a small knife out of his pocket, held it up to the light, and ran his finger along the edge of the blade. Adeline’s heart skipped. This is it, she thought, I’m about to be murdered. Desperate, she searched for something she could say and decided on, “Did you know that Jesus says it’s a sin to murder, especially children? So, you should probably let me go. I wouldn’t want you to get into trouble.”
  
  “No one’s gonna hurt ya, honey,” the fortune teller said. “Dale can be a little rough, but don’t be scared. He’s harmless. He don’t know no better.”
  
  Adeline prayed that was true. She eyed Dale suspiciously and was relieved when he plucked a piece of wood off from the table and began to whittle with the knife.
  
  “Dale, you go on outside now. I’ll call you if I need you,” the fortune teller said.
  
  Dale shrugged, took the wood and knife, and went back outside.
  
  The fortune teller turned her attention back to Adeline. “I just want to talk with you a while,” she said. “That’s all.”
  
  Adeline couldn’t imagine what they’d have to talk about or why.
  
  “What’s your name?” she asked.
  
  “Adeline.” Adeline said.
  
  The old woman smiled. “That’s a right fine and proper name. People call me Ro. How old are you, child?” she asked.
  
  “Eight,” Adeline said.
  
  Ro sucked in her breath and put her hand over her heart. “My goodness. Eight whole years,” she shook her head. “Time does fly. Doesn’t seem like so long ago that my little girl was eight.”
  
  “You had a little girl?” Adeline asked. Somehow the very notion was a shock.
  
  “Yep, I sure did and she was a beauty. Course not quite as pretty as you,” she winked, “but she was a looker, that one. And the talent! People came from all around just to see her perform.”
  
  Adeline’s interest was piqued. “What did she do?” she asked.
  
  “Do?” Ro cried. “Why, she was one of the biggest deals around, that one! She was a Trapeze artist and a high wire acrobat!”
  
  “Wow! That’s neat!” Adeline cried, unable to help herself.
  
  “Mmm hmm,” Ro nodded proudly. “Oh, that girl worked so hard. Up each morning at four; practicing until it was too dark to see. Couldn’t keep her away from it. She was addicted. She started young and made quite a name for herself here on the carnival circuit before she even turned ten.”
  
  “She lived at the carnival?” Adeline asked incredulously.
  
  “Of course she did. I raised her right up in it. She loved it. Yep, she was a carny girl through and through,” Ro said.
  
  “I wish I lived at a carnival,” Adeline said. “I bet it’s fun. I bet you get to travel around and visit all kinds of places. I almost never get to do anything. Do you like living here?”
  
  “I do. Been with it a long time. I suppose it’s like everything else; good points and bad ones. Sometimes it can get real lonely. I sure do miss my daughter,” she said.
  
  “What happened to her?” Adeline asked. “Did the Gypsies steal her?’
  
  Ro laughed heartily. “’Course not. She grew up, like all kids do,” she said. “She fell in love and had her heart broken when her honey ran off with the snake charmer. She blamed it on the carnival life. She blamed me. When she found out she was gonna have a baby, and couldn’t perform anymore, she got terrible depressed. There was nothing anyone could do for her. When the Christians came, one of them told her that the carnival folk were all sinners. Said her misery was her own fault because she lived a life full of sin. He promised her a new life full of happiness if she left with him and joined their church. He told her that God could make her happy again.”
  
  Adeline thought about that. Her mother believed in God, but she wasn’t happy. “Did she go with him?” she asked.
  
  Ro gave Adeline a sad smile. “She did.”
  
  Adeline felt bad for her. “The Christians aren’t bad,” she said, trying to lighten her mood. “They’re mostly nice, I guess. They wouldn’t hurt her or anything.”
  
  “Oh, sweet pea,” Ro said, reaching over to touch Adeline’s cheek. “No group of people is all bad or all good. It’s a dangerous thing to think that way. You have to take each person, individually. What that man said about carnival folk all being bad was wrong. That did hurt her. It ain’t right to judge someone just cause of where they came from. No one is free from sin. Not the carnival folk, nor any Christian. It doesn’t matter where you come from, it matters what’s on the inside. The carnival does have some awful sinners, but you might be surprised to know we have some Christians here too.”
  
  “You do?” Adeline asked, surprised.
  
  “Sure we do. Religion can be a blessed thing to have in your life, just so long as that’s not all you have. You have to make time for other things. One thing my girl should have known, being a high wire acrobat and all, is that you gotta have balance. If you lean too far in one direction you’re bound to fall. It’s best to stay right in the middle. She forgot that she was always the happiest in the middle. ‘Course if you stay grounded,” she added, “you can’t fall at all, but some people are born with their head in the clouds and that’s a whole different story.”
  
  Adeline wanted to hear more about that, but didn’t dare ask. “Did she ever come back to visit?”
  
  “I’m afraid not. She swore she’d never set foot in a carnival again. She said she wanted to forget about the past.”
  
  “That’s what my mom always says,” Adeline said.
  
  “Well, sorry to be the one to tell you, but that ain’t right. If you forget the past, you forget everything. The good and the bad. The happy and the sad. It’s all part of who you are. It’s all part of who you become.”
  
  Adeline vowed to tell her mother that if she ever saw her again.
  
  As if reading her mind, Ro said, “Well, I hate to, but I suppose I’d better take you back. I’m just so glad I got to meet you.”
  
  Adeline smiled. “I’m glad I got to meet you too.” She knew her mother must be worried, but she wished she could stay a little longer. She was sure Ro had a lot of interesting stories to tell. “I hope you get to see your daughter again,” she said.
  
  “I’m sure I will,” Ro said knowingly. “Sometimes folks just need a little jolt to the memory bank to get them right again.”
  
  Adeline started for the door, but then stopped. “Can you really tell the future?” she asked.
  
  Ro chuckled. “I get a glimpse every once in a while,”
  
  “Can you tell me what mine is before we go?” Adeline asked hopefully.
  
  “Let me see your hand,” the fortune teller said.
  
  When Adeline gave it to her the old woman turned it over and traced her finger along the palm. “Looks like you’re going to have a busy summer. I see some adventures coming your way,” she said.
  
  “Seriously? Are you sure?” Adeline asked excitedly.
  
  “The outlook is good,” Ro winked.
  
  Adeline hoped that was true.
  
  “Just remember, a person’s future is up to them,” Ro said. “Keep an open mind and you’ll do alright.” She opened the door and together they started back towards the fairgrounds.
  
  “How are we going to find my mother?” Adeline asked, snaking her way through the crowd.
  
  “Don’t you worry. I think I know where she might be,” Ro said. “At least I hope so,” she added.
  
  They walked on and on until they came to a large tented arena. Ro ushered Adeline inside. “There she is,” she said, pointing towards a maze of ropes near the ceiling. “I knew she’d come to her senses, eventually.”
  
  Adeline couldn’t believe her eyes. Her mother was up there, and she was balancing on the high wire! She had a smile so bright, Adeline almost didn’t recognize her.
  
  “Hi Adeline! Hi Mama!” Adeline’s mother waved enthusiastically when she spotted them. “I’d forgotten all about this! I’d forgotten how much fun this could be!”
  
  Shocked, Adeline turned to Ro.
  
  “People call me Ro,” she said. “but I hope you’ll call me Mami.”
  
  Adeline laughed. “Really?”
  
  “Come on up here, Adeline, and give it a try,” Adeline’s mother said. “I think it’s time we had a little fun. I think you’re going to love this!”
  
  End
  
  Posted in Uncategorized | 2 Comments | Tagged acceptance, carnival, childhood, church, churches, fun, God, happiness, jesus, judgement, kids, memories, parenting, prayer, shortstory, sinners, summer
- The Long Dirt Road
  
  Posted at 1:42 am by writergherlone, on June 2, 2018
  
  *Some of the stories shared on this page will probably never be seen in the literary magazines. However, I feel that they have some value and I’m glad to share them with you. “The Long Dirt Road” is the beginning of a series that appeared on my Facebook last year. These stories are about growing up in the Maine woods in a cabin at the lake without electricity or running water in the late 1970’s and early 80’s. Writing them brought me back to that time and I was able to re-capture some of the thrills and the challenges faced. I hope you find some thrills in reading them. (the photo presented is an actual photo of me during that time)
  
  The Long Dirt Road
  
  Part One: A Story of Summer
  
  By Kristy Gherlone
  
  There’s a road that inhabits a fair amount of space in my mind. I call it forward whenever I need a smile. I close my eyes and suddenly it’s there. Long and narrow, wash boarded and potholed. When I was a child, it was as familiar to me as it was a mystery. While the road itself didn’t change, the scenery often did. I never knew what we might see as my dad and I drove along.
  
  Sometimes there were moose. They’d come crashing out of the woods, shaking their heads and twitching their ears, crazy from the black flies and heat. They’d stomp all gangly legged in front of us before turning to trot back in again. I felt bad for them. They were tormented by bugs in the summer, and up to their bellies in snow during the winter. I used to try and convince my dad to build houses for them to escape to.
  
  If we were lucky, there might be a black bear nibbling raspberries in the dusty bushes that lined the sides, but they were either shy or snobby. They didn’t care for company, and would bound off as soon as they heard us coming. To see one was a real treat.
  
  I’d scan obsessively for bull frogs all along that road. They’d sit in the puddles, snapping up flies. I could spot their glassy eyes protruding on the murky surface a mile away, but they would always dive under as we neared, sending ripples in their wake. They couldn’t hide from me. I’d go back later to collect them. Knee deep in mud catching frogs was my life!
  
  I remember rolling down the window on the gold Custom Deluxe truck.
  
  I used to poke my head out and breathe in the powerful, tangy scent of pines. To this day, that smell makes me happy in a way that can’t be duplicated. The stream that ran along most parts of the road rushed restlessly in the spring and trickled lazily in the fall. Its smell was both boggy and clean as we drove over it on the old splintered bridge. I used to dream about the fish I’d catch in there the next time I had the chance and then I’d hang out as far as I could and try to spit far enough to hit the water.
  
  I’d reach out when we came to the clusters of sapling trees and let the leaves tickle my palm. Every now and then I’d find a big one and tear it off.
  
  Dad would say, “You know what that is, don’t ya? It’s woodsman’s toilet paper!”
  
  I’d watch for the brown wooden sign that said ‘You are now entering Indian Purchase land.’ I used to envision a whole tribe of Native Americans coming out of the woods. Their bows and arrows would be poised and ready to stop us from going further.
  
  And then I’d see the tree that stood at the entrance to our turn-off. It meant we were almost to our destination. It was a gorgeous tree, towering well above the rest. Its leaves blazed orange before turning fiery red late in the season. I could hardly stay in my seat with all of the butterflies jumping around in my belly.
  
  In June that road seemed a thousand miles long! We could never get to the end fast enough, but only because it led to Summer’s treasure box. Camp!
  
  Three whole months of fishing, swimming, bike riding and frog catching fun. There would be games of monopoly, and log hopping around the cove. I’d blaze trails through the forest! I’d sit on the big gray rock, high above the lake, and watch for shooting stars at night. The possibilities were as boundless as my energy.
  
  In late August that road seemed barely a mile. It went too quick! I was sure the very trip would ruin my life. Traveling south, it led back to town. School and dance lessons. Homework and bedtimes. Yuck!
  
  In reality, the road was no more than eight or ten miles, but I’ve traveled it so often it might now add up to a million.
  
  Of course, these days, I mostly travel it in my mind, but it’s definitely a road that’s worth the journey.
  
  Posted in Uncategorized | 0 Comments | Tagged cabins, childhood, maine, nature, shortstory
- The Forest Fire
  
  Posted at 1:17 pm by writergherlone, on April 7, 2018
  
  The Forest Fire
  
  by Kristy Gherlone
  
  Frankie was seven years old the time her mother pulled up in front of her aunt’s house in a borrowed convertible and hollered for her to come outside.
  
  “I have an arrangement at the lake. Get in,” Frankie’smom said as she opened the passenger door. “We can stay up there for the rest of the summer, but I’ll have to clean cabins.”
  
  Frankie was delighted. She had been missing her mother so fiercely, she’d started wearing one of her shirts to bed, just so she’d feel near. Her mother was wild that year, sneaking in sometimes in the middle of the night to whisk Frankie away for a few days; other times, not showing up for weeks. Frankie was used to spending a few nights a week with her aunt, but as the summer wore on, her mother began to leave her more frequently and for longer stretches of time. This time, her mother had been gone so long, Frankie worried she’d never come back.
  
  Frankie leapt into her arms and covered her with kisses. Then she sensed her mother’s mood. It was something she’d been able to do for a long time. She was glad, because it told her how she should feel and how to behave. Today, her mother was needles and sparkler spray. Sometimes she was birthday parties and balloons, but at others she was bees and burdocks. Frankie stiffened and slid down. It was becoming harder to tell. She’d have to be careful.
  
  “Where’d you get the car?” Frankie asked. The last time her mother had been by, she didn’t have a car. Frankie inspected it and tried to remain calm.
  
  Her mother’s eyes roamed constantly, as if she was trying to see everything at once. She flinched when a crow flew overhead.
  
  “I got it in case I need to escape in a hurry,” she said.
  
  Frankie wanted to ask if she would come to get her if that time came. “It’s dirty,” she remarked instead. A thick layer of grime covered the exterior. She ran a finger up the side, revealing the red paint underneath.
  
  “Well, we haven’t had rain in months! Everything’s dirty. Hurry up! We’ve got to go!” Frankie’s mother stomped her foot and rattled the door.
  
  “How long this time, Nancy?” Frankie’s aunt asked. She was standing at the doorway with Frankie’s suitcase.
  
  Her mother glared. “You just never mind how long,” she snapped. “It will be what it will be.”
  
  Frankie grimaced. Her mother and aunt didn’t get along. When the two of them were together it was like getting called to the principal’s office. She loved her aunt because she was always pancakes and coloring books, but she loved her mother more.
  
  “It’ll be okay,” her aunt said with a wink. “Don’t run off without your stuff, now.” She handed Frankie the bag and kissed her forehead. “I’ll see you soon.” She glanced at the car. “Does that thing have a top, Nancy? Supposed to storm later.”
  
  “Nope. It’s busted,” Frankie’s mother said as she scanned the sky. “I guess I can throw a tarp over it if I have to.” Then without warning she screamed, “Tornado!”
  
  Frankie knew there wasn’t a tornado, but she dropped into a crouch right there on the steps and covered her head.
  
  “Good,” her mother said. “Now what?”
  
  “Find a basement to hide in,” Frankie said.
  
  “Very good.”
  
  “You need to stop doing those ridiculous drills, Nancy!” her aunt cut in. “You’re going to scare that child to death!”
  
  “A lot of bad things can happen. I’m trying to prepare her!”
  
  Frankie felt her mother’s mood shift again. It was skating on a pond and hearing the ice crack. She grew still and quiet.
  
  “Prepare her for what, for heaven sakes?”
  
  “The unexpected.”
  
  “Well, a tornado in Maine would certainly be unexpected.” Her aunt shook her head.
  
  “Let’s go!” Frankie’s mother boomed. Frankie jumped. She threw her stuff into the back, kicking up a whirlwind of filth, and hopped in the car.
  
  Her mother’s hair, cut too short, fluttered around her face as they drove up the twisting road towards the mountain. Her hands shook as she fished a pack of cigarettes out of the console.
  
  “You smoke?” Frankie croaked. Her mother said people only smoked when they wanted to kill themselves. Frankie wanted to rip them out of her hand and chuck them out of the car.
  
  She struck a match and lit one. “Sometimes I do and sometimes I don’t,’ she said, flicking the match and letting the wind carry it away.
  
  The car swerved. “Accident!” she hollered. “Brace!”
  
  Frankie tucked her head in between her knees.
  
  “You’ll need to be faster than that, Frankie. Accidents can happen at any time. And don’t forget to cover your head.”
  
  Before Frankie could sit back up all the way, her mother was at it again. “Crash!” she shrieked, only this time it was for real. Frankie squeaked as her mother slammed on the brakes. A cow moose bounded on gangly legs across the road and missed the car by inches.
  
  “See?” her mother said, clutching her chest. “You weren’t expecting that, were you?”
  
  “No,” Frankie admitted, trying to catch her breath.
  
  “From now on, you’ll have to be the lookout. Don’t take your eyes off the side of the road for even a second. Tell me immediately if you see anything.”
  
  Frankie stayed alert. She scanned back and forth, looking for animals on the sides of the road while her mother stared straight ahead. She gripped the steering wheel so tightly, Frankie was sure it would disintegrate in her fingers.
  
  “We’re here,” her mother finally announced, letting out a sigh of relief. She pulled up in front of a tiny, brown cabin. “You stay here while I go square things with the owner.”
  
  Frankie nodded. Her mother was clean sheets and Saturday morning donuts. Her stomach relaxed. She got out of the car. The air was a mix of boggy freshness from the lake and tangy pine dander. Somewhere, way off, a loon called.
  
  “We’re all set,” her mother said. She dangled a set of keys in her hand. “I’m afraid I won’t have much time to spend with you, so after you put your stuff away you can just go play. But don’t go too far,” she added.
  
  Frankie dumped her stuff into the cabin and started towards the water.
  
  “Wait!” her mother bellowed. Frankie skidded to a stop. “Don’t talk to strangers, especially men. Don’t go into the water past your knees, and for God sakes, get back to the cabin if you see any lightning.”
  
  “Okay,” Frankie said. She took a couple of steps and waited.
  
  “Don’t touch any wild animals and look out for ticks. Put on some bug spray.”
  
  Frankie went back in, grabbed a can of Ben’s, and went back outside.
  
  “You know what?” her mother said, surveying the grounds, “I think you better stay right here. There’s too much that could go wrong.”
  
  Frankie sighed.
  
  “I’ll just feel better,” her mother said. “And don’t give me that look. I’ll be back later and then we can roast some hot dogs.”
  
  That night, Frankie put her sleeping bag onto a platform bed and wiggled inside. The frogs were croaking, ga-gunk, back and forth down by the lake, competing with the sound of distant thunder that had begun. It was warm and cozy in there, and she was almost lulled to sleep when her mother came in to kiss her goodnight. She was the first day at a new school. Frankie’s stomach tightened. “Is everything okay? Is there anything I need to worry about?”
  
  “I’m not sure just yet. I’ll be outside, watching this storm. It might turn out to be a bad one.”
  
  “Okay,” Frankie said. She was too tired to worry.
  
  A few hours later, she awoke with a start. The cabin was pitch black. Her mother’s face was a mask of terror as it came into view, suddenly illuminated by flash of white light.
  
  “There’s a fire,” she said, her voice high and tight. She was the day her father hadn’t come home. “We need to leave.”
  
  Frankie sucked in her breath, startled, and got a lungful of smoke. It made her teeth chatter. She jumped up, still in her sleeping bag. “Where? What happened? What should we do?”
  
  “I don’t know! It was a lightning strike up in the mountains. All I know is that we need to get out of here before it spreads.”
  
  Frankie wrestled out of the bag and stumbled around in the dark trying to collect her clothes and toys.
  
  “Leave it all here! We have to go!” her mother said. She pulled Frankie towards the door. They got into the car and started down the road, but the only way out was blocked by fire trucks and rescue vehicles. Frankie glanced behind them. The side of the mountain danced with orange flames.
  
  “What’s the drill?” Frankie cried. “How do we prepare?”
  
  Her mother’s eyes darted wildly. “I … I don’t know,” she stammered. “I didn’t expect this.”
  
  A fireman approached the vehicle. “You’re gonna have to turn around. The whole road is blocked all the way to town with people coming to help.”
  
  “What are we supposed to do?” Frankie’s mother howled.
  
  “Hunker down the best you can. Cover yourselves with wet blankets or get into the lake if you have to,” he suggested before racing off again.
  
  Frankie’s mother whipped the car around and drove back to the campground. People were pointing and crying. “It’s coming this way!” someone screamed.
  
  Frankie’s mother shouted, “Everyone grab a blanket and head to the lake!”
  
  A panicked woman stood in the middle of the chaos. She seemed to be having a hard time breathing. Her eyes were wide with fear. Frankie’s mother took her hand and tried to pull her towards the shore, but the woman wouldn’t budge. “I can’t swim!” she bawled.
  
  “You’re going to be okay!” Frankie’s mother told her. “It’s going to be okay. Everyone stick together. Follow me!” she ordered over the noise. The woman began to move along with the rest of the others. Everyone followed Frankie’s mother down to the lake. Frankie stopped for just a second to check her mood, so she would know how to feel. For the first time in a long time, her mother’s eyes were still. She was learning to ride a bike or climbing to the top of the monkey bars. She was strong.
  
  They all splashed into the lake as hot embers rained down around them. “Wet your blankets and put them over your head,” Frankie’s mother advised.
  
  The water was heated by the sun of a hundred days of summer drought. They were safe under their blankets, but Frankie’s mother announced that she needed to go back to the cabin. Frankie panicked. She grabbed her mother’s legs and tried to stop her. “Don’t go! Please, don’t leave me! Stay here with me!” she begged, sure something awful was about to happen or that her mother would use the car to somehow escape.
  
  Frankie’s mother kissed her nose, “It’ll be okay,” she whispered. Her voice sounded like warm milk and caramels. “I promise. I’ll be right back.” She darted out from under the blanket. Frankie sobbed as she watched her mother dodge falling branches. Just when Frankie thought she’d left for good, she returned and passed around water and food to those in need. Frankie nearly collapsed with relief.
  
  They spent the rest of the night there in the lake, whispering words of comfort to one another and swapping stories. When the sun came up, they were tired, but unscathed. The fire had been contained, but it had cut out a large swath of the trees to the west of them. Frankie saw black scars marring the landscape and steamy whiffs of smoldering ash rising from the ground. The people emerged from the water tired but spared.
  
  The crowd began to dwindle as the roads cleared. They uttered words of thanks to Frankie’s mom as they drove away. She packed up the car and they, too, drove towards town. She didn’t call out any drills on the return, and her eyes stayed quiet. She was the first day of feeling good after a long sickness.
  
  She pulled up in front of a house that Frankie didn’t recognize.
  
  “What are we doing here?” Frankie asked.
  
  “Returning this car,” Frankie’s mother said.
  
  “Don’t you need it? What about your escape? What if something bad happens?” Frankie asked, holding her breath.
  
  “If it does,” her mother said, “I hope we’ll be able to work it out together. I’d like to try.”
  
  For once, Frankie knew how to feel all on her own. It was happy.
  
  End
  
  *This story was originally published by Edify Fiction on January 1, 2018
  
  **No part of this story may be copied or reproduced without consent from the author
  
  Posted in Uncategorized | 0 Comments | Tagged #newstory, challenges, childhood, family, familyfriendly, fiction, fire, forestfire, innerstrength, lake, mentalillness, mother, mountains, overcomingadversity, parenting, shortstory, strength
- Aloft
  
  Posted at 11:38 am by writergherlone, on April 3, 2018
  
  Aloft
  
  by Kristy Gherlone
  
  The eagle watches the doe step cautiously into the fringes of the Klondike.
  
  He has been stalking her for days, waiting for a moment like this. The vastness of the terrain will give him an edge.
  
  He studies her with hunger and curiosity. These willowy beings dance about on earthbound legs that are as delicate as spring shoots. He knows from experience, however, that they only appear that way. She will slice through him in seconds with those sharp hooves if she can. It is a risk he is willing to take. Starvation is all around him. It has been some time since he’s had fresh meat.
  
  The withering grassland comes to life with scattering creatures as the doe begins her passage.
  
  Chickadee’s chatter, seet seet,dee dee dee, before taking flight to hide among the brush.
  
  His attention is averted by a flash of white. A snowshoe hare darts in and out of a maze of burrows. He is tempted but bound by a greater purpose than himself.
  
  His focus sharpens as the doe stops to sniff around. The north winds would reveal much, but the air is as still as the frozen surface of the river.
  
  She is winter-weak and pregnant. Her coat is sparse and ragged. With the safety of the forest still in her midst, she proceeds, nibbling at bits of evergreen along the way.
  
  His talons retract, and he breaks away from the balsam to follow. His shadow spirits where the light touches the remaining snow.
  
  She senses his presence. Her nostrils flare, sending out wisps of smoke as she wheezes in the chilly, spring air. The white of her tail signals an alarm.
  
  He lands silently onto a Candlewood branch nearby. The bough dips under his weight before bouncing back in to place.
  
  She stomps a warning, her muscles twitching, as she decides whether to stay or to flee. The veins pulse in her neck.
  
  His stomach tightens as he breathes in the scent of adrenaline rich blood, but he must wait.
  
  Eventually, she relaxes again and wobbles over to a patch of grass. She paws at the earth and lies down. The bulging hulk of her middle heaves with contractions.
  
  The eagle regards the terrain. A lone coyote hides among the cedars. Careful, yet daring, he emerges. Without a pack, he will go into battle alone. He lowers his head and begins to advance. His lolling tongue drips with saliva as he zig-zags over the plain.
  
  The doe’s eyes widen as she realizes the danger. She bleats and tries to rise, but water gushes from her hindquarters. Her knees buckle, and she falls back to the ground.
  
  The coyote prances all around her, narrowing the gap with every rotation. He lashes out with snarled lips and bared teeth, taking nips wherever he finds purchase.
  
  She kicks, sending him backwards. Dust and debris fly into the air. Dazed but unbroken, he lies askew. He shakes his head, trying to regain composure before beginning again.
  
  The eagle descends. The tips of his wings brush the snow where he lands. He waits patiently in the shadows.
  
  She turns her attention to the birth. Gangly feet dangle precariously from her rump. She tugs at them with her teeth.
  
  The coyote rises.
  
  Light mist begins to fall. Beads of moisture collect on budded branches and spill over. Mixing with blood, they carve red rivers into the turf as they wash away. The air begins to move, sending wafts of flavor all around them.
  
  The coyote can wait no longer. The pads of his feet hit the ground, thumping in rhythm with beating hearts. He growls and lunges, striking her throat. His teeth clamp down and hold. The doe flips her body, trying shake him, but it does nothing more than hasten her demise. He tears through her neck. Her eyes fix on the horizon, looking toward something the eagle cannot see.
  
  The coyote raises his head and announces victory. He rips through her flesh, tossing out tufts of fur to get to the meat. Captured by the wind, they swirl through the air and alight into the sky.
  
  New life emerges into a motherless world. It squirms inside of a sack, trying to break free.
  
  Awkward upon landing, the eagle hops over to the bundle, casting a wary eye towards the coyote. He may rule the skies, but on earth he is merely a beggar.
  
  The coyote stops his feast. They stare at one another. A silent agreement passes between them.
  
  The eagle uses both beak and feet to open the pouch. Water oozes out, spilling the tiny fawn onto the grass. It blinks up at him and mewls, its gaze full of needful wanting. He cocks his head, reminded of his own young. Each newborn beast is so similar until they are polluted by age and circumstance.
  
  He leans in to take a whiff. It smells delicious.
  
  He snatches it and pushes off, using the currents to keep him aloft. The strength of his wings are tested under the weight of his wiggling bundle. He digs in, trying to maintain hold. The creature is silenced.
  
  His journey is long. On the distant horizon, where the mountain meets the sky and dark green hills erupt from the earth, waterfalls pause suspended, and the lakes are still mirrors of glass, he finds home. He has been gone a long time.
  
  He calls out, wheee hee. Wheee hee hee.
  
  His mate does not reply. He hears only the wind and the sound of his own voice echoing through the empty places in the valley.
  
  Wheee hee. He calls again.
  
  There is no movement as he nears. He lands to find the nest empty. Downy feathers whirl around in the breeze.
  
  He lays down the fawn and begins to feast. Tomorrow he must begin anew.
  
  **NO part of this story may be copied or reproduced with written consent from the author.
  
  .
  
  Posted in Uncategorized | 0 Comments | Tagged #newstory, amwriting, birds, coyotes, eagles, familyfriendly, fiction, hunting, nature, shortstory, wilderness, wildlifehabits, writing
- Nest Egg
  
  Posted at 1:52 pm by writergherlone, on March 25, 2018
  
  Nest Egg
  
  By Kristy Gherlone
  
  Every year when the earth decided it was time to flip over and get some color on the other side, the south wind got to missing the north so bad, she’d start crying and fill up the creeks and rivers with her sorrows.
  
  Then the north would get to missing the south, so they’d race towards one another and meet in the middle for a kiss so dizzying it would run the sea boats aground.
  
  The trees would get sappy about the whole ordeal and weep tears so sweet, the ground would open right up and swallow them whole. Eventually, it would turn green with sickness, and busting out of its bloomers, spew colors so bright they would melt what was left of the snow.
  
  The fish would get blue and start blubbering about being homesick. They’d swim up the fertile rivers to their old homesteads, running an uphill battle to raise a brood of kids to keep the loneliness at bay.
  
  Undoubtedly, all the commotion would ruffle a few feathers. The birds would decide it was time to get away from the whole soppy mess, high tail it out of there, and head to New England where things were a bit more conservative.
  
  Maribel was one of those, and one year she was just dusting with more anticipation than normal to leave.
  
  Over the winter she’d become quite vain, having overheard some tweets about how nicely she decorated her nests. She always did care a little too much about what others thought, but it got her to wondering about what treasures she’d find in the north. If the south had such beautiful things, the north was sure to have even better.
  
  She’d already acquired quite a few items and, reluctant to leave them behind, bartered with the trade winds to carry them up for her.
  
  And so it was that, after settling in for the long summer ahead, while the other members of her flock were gathering seeds and soft nesting materials, Maribel was out shopping. She had a keen eye and managed to amass quite a clutch of goods.
  
  She found strings of shiny silver, tufts of powder blue rope, beads, smooth rocks, and colorful wrappers. Tucking them gently into her beak, she carried them home and laid them out to admire before arranging them attractively around her home. Her nest wasn’t comfortable, nor was it warm, but it was pretty. Surely everyone would be jealous. She sat waiting for them to notice, but they were too busy raising their young to care.
  
  Unfortunately, the only ones that did pay her any mind were the black hooded thieves who’d come stealing in all hours of the day. They had eyes for shiny things too, and were either too lazy or cheap to get their own stuff, and so preferred to peck and choose from Maribel’s collection. She kept guard, working herself into a frazzle, as she’d heard they could be quite murderous.
  
  Unwilling to go out on a limb and leave her wealth for even a second, Maribel grew thin and tired. She started to doubt she’d have enough energy to make the trip back south.
  
  When Mother Nature began to blush, right before she undressed for the season, Maribel, as small minded as she was, realized that she had a problem. Glittery things were great to look at, but they couldn’t feed you. And while she took a lot of pleasure in counting and re-counting her hoard, it didn’t do a lot towards keeping her warm.
  
  She gave her precious valuables one last wistful look before taking flight in search for food. It was scarce by that time, but she managed to scrape enough together. She nibbled until she was able to find the strength to catch the last warm breeze streaming to the south. She vowed never to let vanity get in the way again.
  
  She caught up to some others, who were already in deep conversation and didn’t notice her arrival. “Have you seen Maribel lately? She’s lost so much weight! I wish I could have a figure like that. I’m so jealous.”
  
  Posted in #prose, nature, shortstory, Uncategorized | 0 Comments | Tagged #newstory, #prose, nature
- No Parking
  
  Posted at 1:56 pm by writergherlone, on February 28, 2018
  
  No Parking
  
  By Kristy Gherlone
  
  It was early September in 1973 when Stevie stood in bare feet on the edge of her grandmother’s yard and watched the bus pull up and park.
  
  The ground was chilly that time of year in Maine, but her feet had grown so tough and calloused over the summer, she hardly even noticed.
  
  She went out to the street and circled the length of the bus. It might have been bright red at one time, but a layer of rust clung to the exterior. It made the whole thing look as if it had been painted with blood and set out in the sun to dry. She shook her head and sighed. The entrance doors screeched as they flapped open. Her mother poked her head out and grinned. “Hey, kiddo. Whaddya think?”
  
  “Are we really going to live in that thing?” Stevie asked.
  
  Before her mother could answer, the rear exit opened with a clanking boom and slammed against the side of the bus. It caught Stevie off guard, making her jump. The heel of her foot landed on a sharp stone. She cried out and hopped around, rubbing at it, as her father began to hurl vinyl and steel into the road.
  
  “It’s going to be an adventure. You’ll see,” her mother hollered over the noise as she bounded down the steps.
  
  “Why can’t we just stay with Grandma?”
  
  “What?” her mother mouthed, pointing to her ear.
  
  Stevie waited for a pause in the noise before asking again. “Why can’t we stay with Grandma?”
  
  “She doesn’t have room. You know that. It’s bad enough that we’ve taken up her yard all summer with our tent. Besides, your father can make a lot more money on the road.” Finally noticing Stevie’s discomfort, she asked, “Where are your shoes?”
  
  “I still don’t have any. Remember?”
  
  “Oh. Well, we’ll get you some. Listen, I’ve gotta give your father a hand. We should be finished gutting it today. Going to be just like a regular house when we’re done.” She slapped the side for emphasis. Gold flecks shimmied the ground.
  
  Stevie bent over and scooped up a handful. She took a plastic bag out of her pocket and sprinkled some inside. She tucked the bag back into her pocket.
  
  “Will there be a bathroom?” she asked, as more parts of the bus clattered into the road.
  
  Her mother raised her eyebrows in question. “What, Stevie? I can’t hear you.”
  
  Stevie shook her head. “Never mind.” She wandered over to her grandmother’s lawn and sat.
  
  She ripped out a handful of grass and flung it over her head. As she watched the stray pieces flutter and fall, she noticed something white. She snatched it from the air and examined it. A feather! She put it in her pocket.
  
  She scowled at the bus. She couldn’t help wishing she was back home. But home, as she’d grown to think of it, never belonged to them. They’d only been renting the pretty little farm house on Merry Meeting Bay. Not even the furniture was theirs, but it was the longest they’d stayed anywhere.
  
  Green rows of farmland swept wide on both sides, and the bay was right out front. There was even a treehouse in the back yard. It looked impossibly high when she’d first seen it. It was way out of reach for someone her age. She’d stood at the base and peered up at the tiny house in the branches. It seemed as though she’d never be big enough to climb up and see inside, but eventually, she was.
  
  She and her mother used to take long, lazy walks down to the shore in the afternoons. A crooked cedar tree jutted out over the water, and Stevie used to climb up on it like a horse and sit there watching the ducks and geese take off and land. The air smelled of flowers, and of hay and boggy water. Sitting there with her mother in the scented air warmed her tummy. She was beginning to wonder if she would ever feel that way again.
  
  Her father had been a carpenter. He made good money, but he hated the work. He wanted to be a singer in a band. Every weekend he’d hold practice at the house. Friday night, cars would pile into the driveway and spill out scruffy men carrying guitars and beer. They’d listen to loud music and try to copy the sounds they heard with their own instruments. Stevie’s nose stung from the acrid smoke wafting out of their skinny cigarettes. The smell made her dizzy and giddy. On Saturday mornings, she’d have to pick her way around half a dozen sleeping men to get to the kitchen. When her father was a carpenter they could afford to pay rent, but not anymore.
  
  Stevie had come home from school in the spring to find the kitchen full of boxes.
  
  “What’s going on?” she’d asked her mother.
  
  “Your father’s quit his job. He’s going to play music full time. We can’t stay here anymore. We’ve been evicted. We have to be out by the end of today.”
  
  “What?” Stevie cried.
  
  “Take what you can carry. We’ll have to leave the rest behind.”
  
  “Where are we going to go?” She couldn’t breathe.
  
  “We’ll think of something. You know your father hates staying in one place too long, anyway. This is a good thing.” Her mother stopped packing and smiled with reassurance. “A really good thing. I promise.” She planted a kiss on Stevie’s forehead. “Go on, now. Git!” She swatted her with a spatula.
  
  Stevie picked up a few empty boxes and climbed the narrow stairway to her room. She looked around, trying to decide what to take with her.
  
  Her father peeked in. “Just the essentials. I need room for my equipment.”
  
  “Well, what should I bring?”
  
  “None of that junk, that’s for sure.” He pointed towards Barbie’s town house and a collection of stuffed animals. “Just pack some clothes and whatever else you absolutely need.”
  
  “Dad! I can’t leave all my stuff behind!” She snatched a Teddy bear from the floor and hugged it to her chest.
  
  “You’re just going to have to. Besides, you can’t go anywhere in life if you’ve got too much junk weighing you down. Keep things light, then you can hit the road whenever you want. Don’t ever ground yourself with material stuff.”
  
  “But, Dad …”
  
  “Nothing is permanent. Remember that.”
  
  Stevie’s eyes filled with tears.
  
  He turned away. “Leave it all here.” His shoulders were tight as he paused at the doorway. For a second, Stevie thought he might change his mind. “I mean it,” he said, and started down the stairs.
  
  Stevie loved her father, but in that moment, she hated him, too. She hated him for quitting his job. She hated him for making them move. It wasn’t fair. He didn’t even sing all that well, and everyone knew it. People lied to him to make him feel better, and now it was going to ruin everything! She may have only been eight, but she knew that much.
  
  She closed her eyes and prayed that roots would grow out of her feet. She envisioned them busting out of her skin, breaking through the floor, and snaking through the thick earth beneath the house.
  
  Her mother hollered up the stairs. “Get a move on!”
  
  She checked her feet and scowled when she didn’t see anything. She stuffed a few of her favorite things in the boxes and hid them under her clothes.
  
  Later that afternoon, it felt as if she was leaving pieces of herself behind as they pulled away from the house for the last time. It made her feel sick and weak and hopeless as she watched the house get smaller and smaller in the rear window. Her stomach flipped when she thought about some strange kid playing with her toys.
  
  They had to stay in a tent in her grandparents’ yard ever since. Stevie’s mom said it was just until they figured things out, but it had already been months.
  
  ***
  
  Stevie’s mom got off the bus. She shook padding and dust out of her hair as she climbed down the steps.
  
  Stevie stood and put her hands on her hips. “How am I supposed to go to school?” she asked.
  
  “You’re not. I’m going to teach you. Isn’t that neat?”
  
  “But you’re not a teacher.”
  
  “So? That doesn’t mean anything. I wouldn’t worry about it. The stuff you’re going to learn can’t be taught in school.”
  
  “You know, I could always …”
  
  “You’re not staying here.” Her mother’s voice was firm.
  
  “Fine.” Stevie ran to the tent and dove in.
  
  Stevie’s father finished fixing the bus the day before the sky spit the first snowflake. She was allowed in for the first time. All of the original seats were gone, except for the driver’s. Towards the front, there was a small table and chairs, a battered love seat, and a pot-bellied stove. Out back, there was a walled-in room for her parents and a bunk for Stevie in the middle. In place of a bathroom was a plastic toilet that had to be emptied. A shower curtain enclosed the area, giving it a small measure of privacy.
  
  “This is it?” she asked in surprise.
  
  Her father whirled around. His eyes were full of disappointment. “What more do you need?”
  
  Stevie got off the bus and ran over to her grandmother. “Don’t make me go. I don’t want to leave,” she whispered. She jumped up and wrapped her arms and legs around the woman.
  
  Stevie’s grandmother unwound her and set her down. “You take care now,” she said, dismissing her with a kiss on the head. “Be wary of strangers,” she added, swatting her on the butt. Her eyes twinkled as she reached up to capture her son’s face. “I’m just so proud of you,” she beamed, squeezing his cheeks. “I’m proud of all of my kids, but you …” she pulled his face down to meet hers. “You are my star.” She kissed him on the nose. “Follow your dreams, Frankie. You’re going to be a big hit.”
  
  Stevie’s father grinned.
  
  “Corrine? You take care of my boy. Hear?”
  
  Stevie’s mother cleared her throat. “Of course, Mother.”
  
  She waved from the driveway as they pulled away from the curb.
  
  The first night on the bus was cold and strange. They’d driven several hours before her father pulled down onto a dirt road and parked. The heat from the stove didn’t reach all the way to Stevie’s bed. Unfamiliar noises like wolves howling and a woman’s screams sneaked in through the windows. Stevie wrapped herself in a blanket, plodded down to the front, and fell asleep in front of the stove.
  
  The next morning when she woke up, her neck was stiff and sore. She untangled herself from the blanket and peeked out the window. There was a police car parked next to their bus. She tip-toed to the back of the bus and woke her father.
  
  “Break down?” the officer asked.
  
  “Nope. No sir. We’re just fine.” He scratched his chest and yawned.
  
  “This here is a private road. I’m going to have to ask you folks to leave. You can’t park out here like this.”
  
  “Sorry. We’ll be on our way real soon.” He began to close the door.
  
  “That kid in school?” the officer asked, nodding towards Stevie.
  
  “That’s none of your damn business.”
  
  “Well, actually it is.” He smiled at Stevie. “How old are you, honey?” he asked.
  
  Stevie’s father pulled the door shut. He jumped into the driver’s seat and started the engine.
  
  The officer pounded on the side of the bus. “It’s against the law! She needs to be in school.”
  
  He put the gears in reverse and pressed the gas pedal to the floor. Stevie’s heart pounded as the tires kicked up rocks and dust. They flew out of the road backwards and sped away as soon as they reached the pavement.
  
  As time went on, Stevie’s father got a better feel for where they could and couldn’t park in each of the towns they visited, but it wasn’t always foolproof.
  
  They’d been on the road for a couple of months when they pulled into the driveway of an abandoned farm house. They’d stayed there a couple of times and no one had ever bothered them before.
  
  Stevie liked to explore the half-fallen down barn on the property. She was doing just that when she noticed a man come out of the woods across the field and start walking towards her. She wasn’t scared until she saw that he had a shotgun slung over his shoulder. She froze.
  
  “You got any parents around?” he asked. He lowered his arm, letting the strap fall. He caught the gun in his hands.
  
  Stevie nodded, wide-eyed, and motioned towards the bus.
  
  “Get ‘em,” he ordered.
  
  Stevie’s feet flew. She bounded up the stairs out of breath. “Dad! There’s a man out there with a gun!” she cried. “He wants to talk to you.” She ran and hid behind her mother.
  
  Stevie’s father shoved his feet into his shoes. “Stay here,” he said.
  
  Stevie watched from the window as her dad got off the bus. “Can I help you?” she heard him ask. His voice was high-pitched and nervous.
  
  “Yeah, you can help me. You can get the hell off my property. Goddamn squatters think you can just park anywhere you want. You have exactly five minutes, too, before I start shooting.”
  
  “Sorry. We didn’t know anyone lived here,” Stevie’s father explained, holding up his hands in apology.
  
  “Don’t matter if anyone does or doesn’t. It ain’t yours, is it? You’re probably the same damn folks that have been tearing up my road. It’ll take me all spring to right it again.” He held up the gun. “Now git and don’t ever come back. You hear me?”
  
  “I’m sorry we invaded your space, man, but you got no call to point a gun at me,” Stevie’s father said.
  
  “Don’t you tell me what I got the call to do on my own damn property. I could shoot you right now just for trespassing. I suggest you get back on that rattletrap of yours and get the hell out of my sight.”
  
  Stevie’s father didn’t argue any further. He jumped back in and started the bus. “Hold on,” he said grumpily.
  
  He gunned the engine and wrenched the gears into drive. Clots of mud flew up and splattered the windshield. Stevie dared a glance back as they pulled away. The man chased after them screaming words that were swallowed by the sound of the spinning tires.
  
  When they got out to the pavement, he whipped the bus around and didn’t stop driving until they came to a shopping plaza. He drove to the end and parked.
  
  “I’ve gotta look for work,” he said, shoving his feet into his scuffed cowboy boots. “Stay here. I’ll be back as soon as I can.”
  
  “Bring back some food, okay?” Stevie’s mom called after him.
  
  “Won’t be much,” he said. “Gotta get gas today, remember?”
  
  Stevie looked out the window. Something captured by the wind skittered across the empty lot. She waited for her father to leave before getting out. She chased it around until it crashed into a guardrail and flapped against the cold metal. It almost took flight again, but she caught it just in time and held it up. It was a baseball card. She didn’t know much about baseball, but she shoved it into her back pocket anyway and got back onto the bus.
  
  “What did you find out there, Stevie?” her mother asked as she poked at the fire.
  
  “Nothing, really,” she said. She pulled it out of her pocket and gave it to her.
  
  “Huh. The Giants … Willie Mays …” She turned it over in her hand. “I’m afraid I don’t know much about sports.” She passed it back to Stevie.
  
  “Me either,” Stevie said. She went over to her bunk and rummaged around underneath. She pulled out the shoe box and opened the top.
  
  “Stevie?” Her mother called.
  
  “Yeah?”
  
  “Are you happy?” Her voice was high and strange.
  
  “I guess,” Stevie answered. She put the card inside and closed the lid. “Are you?” She held her breath.
  
  “I guess,” her mother answered, not looking up.
  
  “I miss school,” Stevie admitted.
  
  “Yeah,” her mother said sadly. “I miss …” She didn’t finish the sentence. “I’ll try to get you some books soon, okay?”
  
  “Okay.”
  
  “I’m going for a walk,” she said suddenly. Her eyes were moist.
  
  “It’s cold out,” Stevie cautioned.
  
  “Yeah.” She grabbed a sweater off from the chair and draped it over her shoulders. “I’ll be back,” she said.
  
  Stevie went to the windows. Her mother’s shoulders shook as she hurried away. Stevie was sure it didn’t have anything to do with the temperature.
  
  ***
  
  Stevie’s father didn’t have a lot of work lined up that winter. Sometimes he’d spend all day trying to find a bar that would let him sing for the night. He didn’t make a lot of money that way, but it would get them by for another day.
  
  Sometimes when he did secure a gig, Stevie’s mom would go in and watch and leave her out in the bus alone. She’d stare up at the apartments that were lined against the street. Lamplight glowed through the windows, casting shadows that ghosted on the brick sidewalks as the people inside moved around.
  
  She imagined herself inside. She could feel the soft carpet under her feet and the smell of dinner wafting from the kitchen. She could feel the heat from the furnace wrapping around her shoulders, enveloping her in a warm embrace.
  
  One night in late February, Stevie’s father parked in front of a bar in Brunswick.
  
  “We won’t be long. Short set tonight,” Stevie’s mom said. “Don’t open the door for strangers!”
  
  “I won’t.”
  
  “Oh, and put another log on in about an hour, will you?”
  
  “Okay.”
  
  She started down the steps, but hesitated. “Stevie?”
  
  “Yeah?”
  
  “I love you, you know.”
  
  “I know,” Stevie said. She poked at the fire.
  
  “It won’t be like this forever.”
  
  “Okay,” Stevie said, shrugging her shoulders.
  
  “It won’t.”
  
  “Okay,” Stevie said again, looking up.
  
  Her mother smiled. “Okay,” she said with confidence and walked off the bus.
  
  They hadn’t been gone long when someone came pounding on the door.
  
  Stevie looked out. It was a police officer.
  
  “This bus needs to be moved,” he shouted, spotting Stevie.
  
  Stevie went and opened the door. “I’ll have to get my mom,” she said.
  
  “You do that. Tell her there’s no parking here.”
  
  Stevie got dressed and went in to find her mother. She batted the cigarette smoke away from her nose as she tried to make her way to the stage. Colorful lights zig-zagged from the ceiling, illuminating the darkened room for a few seconds at a time. It made her feel dizzy and like she was walking funny. She tripped and almost fell.
  
  A woman sitting at one of the tables caught her arm and righted her. “Hey there, toots! Aren’t you just the cutest little thing?” she said. “Come sit next to me.” She patted the chair next to her and smiled through hot pink lips. Her fingernails looked like talons as she tapped on the seat, and her hair looked like the sun on fire. “Come on. I won’t hurt ya. I’m Patti.” She held out her hand. “But you can call me Mimi. Everyone does.” Her hearty laugh turned into a violent cough. “What’s a nice kid like you doing in a place like this?” she rasped after catching her breath.
  
  Before Stevie could answer, a man stumbled and bumped into the table, spilling Mimi’s drink.
  
  “You clod!” she yelled, jumping up. Watch where you’re going!” She grabbed a napkin and began sopping up the mess. “You owe me a drink!” She glared, but the man was already staggering away. She sat back down. “Well, never mind. Let me get you a drink, sugar.” She patted the seat again. “Hey, Earl?” she yelled. “Get this little lady a Shirley Temple, would ya? And get me a drink, too. Put it on my tab.”
  
  Hesitantly, Stevie sat. She craned her neck around, trying to spot her mother, but didn’t see her anywhere. Sitting on the table in front of her was the smallest glass she’d ever seen. It had a picture of a lobster on it. She waited until Mimi wasn’t looking before stuffing it into the waistband of her pants. She pulled her shirt down to cover it.
  
  “She can’t stay here, Mimi. Even you ought to know that,” the bartender said as he sauntered over.
  
  Stevie stood back up. “I’m just looking for my mom. Have you seen her?”
  
  “Who’s your mom, honey?” the woman asked.
  
  Stevie didn’t know how to describe her. “Well, my father is the one on the guitar.”
  
  Mimi’s mouth fell open. “Oh, sweetie! That’s your dad? He’s a looker! A real heart breaker.” She put her hand over her heart and swooned.
  
  “Out,” the bartender said to Stevie.
  
  “For God’s sake, let her stay. You want to see your daddy sing, don’t you baby?” she crooned, batting her eyes at the bartender.
  
  “She can’t be in here, Mimi. Christ.” He grabbed Stevie’s arm. “Out,” he said, shoving her towards the door.
  
  “Don’t worry, honey. I’ll find your momma and send her out.” Mimi winked. She slurped the last drop in her drink, stood up, and headed towards the stage.
  
  The bartender pushed Stevie outside and shut the door. Stevie started for the bus, but there was a man standing near the back. He wasn’t facing her, but Stevie could see a golden arch of liquid coming from the front of his pants. It cascaded over the tire and splattered onto the road.
  
  Stevie’s parents stumbled out together right then. “Don’t come back!” the bartender yelled. “More trouble than you’re worth with that hunk of junk parked out front and your damn kid. Goddamn gypsies,” he grumbled.
  
  The next day Stevie’s father said, “I think we’ll head down to Florida. I’ve had it with this state. Besides, there’s a lot more clubs down there.”
  
  “How will we afford the gas?” Stevie’s mom asked.
  
  “I’ve been thinking about that. I say we head up north first and visit my sis. She’ll lend us some money and then we can be on our way. We should say goodbye to her anyway. Once we get down to Florida, I might not want to come back.”
  
  “Am I a gypsy?” Stevie asked suddenly, thinking about what the bartender had said.
  
  “Heavens, no.” Stevie’s mom laughed. “Well, maybe … by default, anyway,” she teased, ruffling Stevie’s hair. “Your father’s just full of wanderlust. He can’t help it.”
  
  A week later they were on their way. Stevie had never been that far north before. It was late afternoon when they neared their destination. Stevie saw the town where her aunt lived up ahead in the distance. It looked as if it had erupted from the earth and spilled out all over a sea of wilderness.
  
  “What’s that smell?” she cried as they got closer.
  
  “This is a mill town,” her mother said, pointing out the window and towards the sky. “See those stacks over there? That’s part of it. Looks like they’re making clouds, doesn’t it?”
  
  Stevie nodded. She watched as towering columns shot out fluffy white puffs and tossed them into the air. She laughed and held her nose. “It’s neat, but it smells like boiled eggs.”
  
  “It does stink,” her mother agreed, holding her own nose, “but I suppose people get used to it after a while. Oh! Look over there!” she squealed, as they came to the top of a hill.
  
  Stevie stood. Over the rise, she saw a mountain. It was jagged and tall, swallowing half the sky. It was a magical place.
  
  They descended and paused at a traffic light.
  
  “Almost there,” Stevie’s father said. “Sit down.”
  
  Stevie sat back down, but kept looking out. There was a lot to see. She liked the way all of the houses seemed to be lined up in neat rows and how all of the people she saw were smiling. She liked that place. It looked like a good place to grow roots in.
  
  “We’re here,” her father said. He pulled over and stopped the bus in front of a tall, green, shingled house.
  
  He opened the doors and Stevie ran out. There was a dime sticking out of a snow bank on the sidewalk. She snatched it up and put it in her pocket. Right beside it, there was a Pepsi cap. She put that in her pocket, too.
  “Hey, Sis.” Stevie’s father caught his sister in a welcoming embrace.
  
  Just before the sun rose a few days later, Stevie’s father shook her shoulders, waking her up. “We need to get going,” he whispered.
  
  “What?” Stevie asked, rubbing the sleep sand from her eyes.
  
  “We have to go. I have a gig in Jacksonville on Friday.”
  
  Her stomach filled with dread. She didn’t want to leave. She wanted to stay. She wanted to go to school and make friends. She wanted to sleep in a warm room and go to the bathroom in a place that would flush. She wanted to climb that mountain and look out over a town she could call her own.
  
  “Hurry up,” her father said. He turned and tip-toed down the stairs.
  
  She jumped up. Her heart pounded as she got down onto the floor and snatched the shoe box from underneath the bed. With a fluttery stomach, she went to find her father.
  
  He was in the kitchen, rummaging through his sister’s purse. He looked around nervously before shoving a wad of bills into his pocket.
  
  Stevie’s mom stood at the back door, looking out. She had a cup of coffee in her hand.
  
  “We need to go!” he hissed, heading towards the door. He pushed Stevie’s mother out, but she didn’t move past the steps.
  
  “I can’t leave!” Stevie blurted.
  
  “What?” her father asked, surprised. He stopped moving and gaped.
  
  “I can’t leave,” she repeated. Her voice was shaky but defiant. She sat down in one of her aunt’s kitchen chairs and opened the box.
  
  “I don’t have time for this. We have to go now!” His eyes were daggers as he held the door.
  
  “You’ll have to go without me.”
  
  “What in the world is your problem?” he asked. He stormed back in and grabbed Stevie’s arm, trying to pull her along.
  
  “I can’t leave because I have too much stuff!” she said. She emptied the shoe box onto the table. All of the things she had been collecting fell out. “You’re the one who said you couldn’t go anywhere if you had too much stuff. I think I have too much stuff.”
  
  “Corrine?” he said, appealing to his wife.
  
  Stevie’s mother came back into the house. Her face was strange. She took her pocket book off from her shoulder and spilled the contents onto the counter. “I think I do, too,” she said.
  
  End
  
  *This popular story, written by Kristy Gherlone, was originally published by Bedlam Magazine’s Loud Zoo on April 30, 2017. From there, it went on to appear in Fiction on the Web in December 2017
  
  **No part of this story may be copied or reproduced without written consent from the author.
  
  Posted in Uncategorized | 0 Comments | Tagged 1970, childhood, family, familyrelations, fiction, gypsy, learning, maine, mountains, moving, nomad, published, school, shortstory, travel, traveling, writing
- Sassafras: The Olympic Hopeful
  
  Posted at 11:42 am by writergherlone, on February 19, 2018
  
  Sassafras: The Olympic Hopeful
  
  by Kristy Gherlone
  
  “Mom? Can ducks be in the Olympics?”
  
  “I don’t see why not. I think anyone can be in the Olympics as long as they are willing to work hard and practice their sport every day.”
  
  “I can work hard,” Sassafras said. “I’d like to be in the Olympics and win a gold medal!”
  
  “Well, then you can. I think that is a wonderful goal,” Sassafras’s mother said. “Find a sport that interests you and see how you do.”
  
  Sassafras tried snowboarding.
  
  She practiced for a few hours and after a while, she learned some tricks.
  
  “Hey! Look at me! I can go sideways!” She cried in delight. Snowboarding was fun!
  
  “Look how fast I can go!” Sassafras laughed. She really liked snowboarding, but wanted to try some other sports, too.
  
  “How about snowshoeing?” Her mother suggested.
  
  “How do I keep these things on my feet?”
  
  Sassafras decided that snowshoeing was not the sport for her. She didn’t like it as much as snowboarding because she couldn’t go as fast.
  
  “Well, I’m glad you gave it a chance, anyway,” her mother said. “Is there something else you would like to try?”
  
  “How about iceskating? It would be fun to be a champion figure skater!”
  
  “Okay, but I’ll have to make you an ice skating rink first so you can practice,” her mother said.
  
  Sassafras’s mother shoveled the snow from the ice and bought her some skates.
  
  “These skates hurt my feet,” Sassafras said.
  
  Even after practicing, and trying as hard as she could, she kept falling down. “Can I try something else, like bobsledding?”
  
  “Hmm,” Sassafras’s mother contemplated. Bobsleds were very expensive. She didn’t want to buy one if Sassafras wasn’t sure she’d like it. “How about you try a regular sled first and see how it goes.”
  
  Sassafras’s tried the sled.
  
  “It’s fun, but I think I’ve decided that I’d like to concentrate on snowboarding. I like it the best.”
  
  “I’m glad you finally chose a sport that suits you,” Sassafras’s mother said. “I’m proud of you for trying so many different things. That takes a lot of bravery.”
  
  “Thank you. I am very brave,” Sassafras said. “How long do you think it will take to earn a gold medal?”
  
  “I think you’ve earned one today,” her mother laughed.
  
  “Hooray! I’m a gold medalist!”
  
  Posted in Uncategorized | 3 Comments
- The Whupping Tree
  
  Posted at 6:01 pm by writergherlone, on February 5, 2018
  
  **This story was originally published by The Mystic Blue Review in September 2017
  
  **NO part of this story may be copied or reproduced without written consent from the author.
  
  The Whupping Tree
  
  by Kristy Gherlone
  
  Henry Hunton wasn’t quite right. His father told him as much all the time. He was so wrong, in fact, his mother took one look at him, fresh out of the womb, and ran away.
  
  “Your mother whizzed out of that hospital so fast, my hair got swept away with her. Left you all covered in innards before anyone had a chance to clean you up,” his father told him. “When they did, you looked just like a squirrel with a bad case of the mange. Ugliest damn thing I ever did see! Whoo-wee, you was ugly!”
  
  Henry thought about that. He couldn’t wrap his mind around a lot of things, but his mother was gone, and his father was bald. The old mirror hanging above his father’s shaving kit told him everything else he needed to know.
  
  “How come you wanted me if I was so ugly?” he asked.
  
  “Well,” his father said, scratching at his stubble, “I guessed you were kin, so I figured I’d probably better take you on. Plus, I s’posed you’d be all right enough to work the fields someday.”
  
  Henry didn’t know if he should be glad or not. They lived on a rundown farm, and his father had him hauling potatoes as soon as he’d learned to walk. It was a tough job and Henry struggled. He tried as hard as he could, but sometimes, even with all that trying, he got it wrong. His brain would tell him to do one thing, but his body would do something else. Or his mind would want to say something, but his tongue would get all mixed and he’d stutter.
  
  “You water the south crop?” his father would ask.
  
  “Y-y-y-yes sir,” Henry would answer.
  
  “You ain’t right, boy,” he’d say, smacking him in the head. “I swear you’re nummer’n a pounded thumb. Git on out there to the whupping tree and cut me a switch. I swear I’m gonna beat you until you learn to talk right.”
  
  Henry would hang his head and go out into the yard where the old willow tree stood. It had been there since before his great-great grandfather had been born. It was called the whupping tree because everyone in the family had been spanked with the branches at one time or another.
  
  It was a beautiful tree and Henry hated to cut it almost as much as he hated getting a whupping. “I’m sorry,” he’d whisper, snapping off a shoot. “I wouldn’t hurt you for anything, but Daddy says I’ve gotta get a whupping. He would go back inside. His father would put him over his knee and lash on him until he cried.
  
  After the punishment, his father would go over to the pot-bellied stove and rub his hands as if to say, ‘that’s that,’ and throw in the switch as Henry lay sobbing with his backside full of welts.
  
  “Don’t sit there blubbering, either,” he’d say. “My father used to lick me. Smartened me up and straightened me right out. Yep. Smart as a whip now, and tough as nails too. You don’t hear me stuttering, do you? You won’t do it either, when I’m done with ya.” He’d nod his head and smile.
  
  Henry knew he wasn’t smart. He’d never been to school. His father said he wasn’t smart enough for school.
  
  “Boy, you’re too stupid for school. They’d laugh you right out of there. Nope, you stick to the fields,” he’d said, but Henry knew enough to know that a spanking wouldn’t help his stutter or make him any smarter.
  
  Sometimes Henry would go out into the yard in the early mornings before he went to work in the fields. He’d sit under the willow tree and talk to it as if it were a real person.
  
  “I don’t know why Daddy’s so mean,” he’d whisper, rubbing his bruises. “You suppose I’ll be like him, someday?” The tree never answered, but it was a kind and patient listener.
  
  “If Daddy is the way he is, and my granddaddy, and his daddy before him were that way, how come I don’t feel the same? You’d think there’d have to be some goodness in someone, somewhere along the way. I don’t want to hurt nobody. Not nobody ever. When I have kids, I’m never going to hit them. And I’m going to make sure they go to school.” He didn’t know if the tree understood, but he’d keep talking on and on about all the things he wanted to do and about all the things he’d been thinking about while the tree cradled a nest of young birds and rocked them to sleep.
  
  His father caught him one day. He overheard Henry’s ambition to become a forest ranger. “You’re a fool,” he yelled. “That tree can’t understand you. That tree doesn’t care if you live or die. No one does, except me. I swear, you’re softer’n a jack rabbit’s scruff. Forest ranger,” he scoffed, shaking his head. “You’re never going nowhere. You’re gonna stay right here and farm potatoes just like I do and just like your granddaddy did and his daddy before him did. I guess I need to smarten that hide of yours up some more. Go on now, cut me a switch. I’m going to make you the meanest and smartest son of a gun there ever was, then maybe I’ll get some real work out of you.
  
  Henry didn’t know a lot, but he knew that a spanking wouldn’t make him mean. He also knew that it wouldn’t make him want to farm potatoes. He didn’t want to be like his father, or his father’s father, or anyone before him.
  
  As he grew older, the tree started to die. The limbs began to dwindle until there were only big ones left. Each whupping became more painful than the last. One day when Henry went outside to get a switch, there was a woman standing behind the tree. He rubbed his eyes to make sure he wasn’t seeing things.
  
  “Hi.” She smiled shyly and poked out her head. “You sure have grown up tall and handsome. You’ve changed a lot in fourteen years.”
  
  Henry turned around to see to whom she was talking. There was nobody there but him. “Who, me?” he asked.
  
  “Yes, you. What’d your daddy name you?” she whispered.
  
  “Henry,” he said. He didn’t know what to make of the whole situation. “Who are you?”
  
  “I’m your momma, Henry.” She smiled again as she tried out his name.
  
  “Oh. W-want me to go and get Daddy?” he asked.
  
  “No! Don’t tell him I’m here,” she said, her eyes wide and fearful.
  
  Henry felt kind of sorry for her but didn’t know if he should. “Why’d you run off and leave me when I was just a little baby?” he asked.
  
  “I didn’t run off. Your daddy threw me out when he took up with another woman. He used to beat me something fierce. He told me he’d kill you and me if I ever came back to claim you.”
  
  Henry didn’t remember any other woman being around. “You sure you didn’t leave because I was so ugly?”
  
  “Heavens, no,” she said. “Is that what your daddy told you?”
  
  “Yep, but I didn’t need him to tell me. I’ve seen myself in the mirror.”
  
  “I bet you’ve been looking in your daddy’s shaving mirror,” she said. “That thing is so old and warped, everyone looks awful in it. When I lived here, it got so I felt pretty ugly, too. It got so I forgot what I really looked like. I was afraid to leave the house because I thought people would laugh at me.”
  
  Henry wrinkled his nose. He didn’t know whether to believe her or not.
  
  “See for yourself,” she said. She fished a tiny mirror out of her purse and handed it to Henry. He glanced at his reflection and grinned. He needed a haircut, but other than that, he liked what he saw. He didn’t look anything like he did in his daddy’s mirror.
  
  “You were just about the sweetest baby I’d ever laid eyes on,” his mother said.
  
  “But I’m not too bright. Never was. C-can’t even talk right.”
  
  “Nonsense! All you need is a little schooling. Don’t let anyone ever call you stupid!”
  
  Just then, Henry’s father came out of the house. Henry’s mother ducked behind the tree.
  
  “Where you at, boy? Hurry up with that switch!”
  
  “I’m coming!” Henry said.
  
  When his father went back into the house, his mother came out from behind the tree.
  
  “He sure has changed! He’s just a little old man now. He’s shrunk five inches! I can’t believe I used to be so scared of him,” she cried, surprised.
  
  “Well, I’ve gotta get in,” Henry said. “I’m getting a whupping for breaking the harvester.”
  
  “He hits you too, does he?” She glared towards the house. “That man is as mean as a snake.”
  
  “Yep,” Henry said, cutting off a large, dead branch. He reached over and rubbed the tree’s trunk, “I’m sorry,” he murmured, “I hope I didn’t hurt you too much.”
  
  “You talk to this old tree, too?” she asked, giving it a slap. “I used to do the same thing. It was about the only thing I had to talk to.”
  
  “Yeah, I talk to it, but it’s pretty near dead now. I don’t know what daddy’s going to use to whup me with when it’s gone.”
  
  “Henry, I bet you’re two feet taller than he is, and I bet you outweigh him by a hundred pounds! He can’t beat you if you don’t let him.”
  
  Henry hadn’t thought about that. He was much bigger than his father. He couldn’t even put Henry over his knee anymore. Still, though, he feared him. “I can’t go against him,” he said.
  
  “You can if you want to. Why, I bet you could give him a whupping”, she said, testing him.
  
  Henry looked at the branch. It was a big one. It was big enough to break bones; but he didn’t want to hurt anyone. Not even his father.
  
  “Nah,” he said. “I can’t hurt nobody.”
  
  “You’re nothing like your daddy, are you Henry?” his mother asked quietly.
  
  “Nope. I don’t suspect I am.”
  
  “That’s good,” she said, relieved. “Would you like to come home with me? We could sign you up for school.”
  
  Henry thought about that. “Would you hit me?”
  
  “Never!” she gasped at the question. “I could never hurt anyone.”
  
  Henry grinned. He didn’t know a lot, but he knew right then and there where he got his goodness from. He also knew that he’d have to go to school if he ever wanted to be a forest ranger. “That sounds okay,” he said.
  
  “Good,” his mother smiled. “You go and pack your things. I’ll wait out here.”
  
  Henry went inside to tell his father.
  
  “Like hell you’re leaving!” his father spit with rage. “You give me that stick. I’m gonna whup you double now.”
  
  Henry looked at the stick and then back at his father. “I’m bigger than you and probably a whole lot stronger,” he said, surprised when he didn’t stutter.
  
  “What’s your point?”
  
  “Well, I figure I could probably whup you if I wanted.”
  
  “Is that what you aim to do?” his father asked, fixing his jaw, but stepping back a few feet.
  
  “Nope. I’m just going to leave,” he said, and that’s just what he did. He went to live with his mother and his aunt a few towns away. He went to school and worked hard. When he grew up, be became a forest ranger, just like he’d always wanted to.
  
  One day, Henry received a call while he was at work, telling him that his father had a stroke. Henry wanted to see him, because no matter what, his father would always be his father. He made the drive over, his stomach flopping around the whole way. All the wounds inflicted upon him, growing up, felt raw again when he pulled into the driveway. He rubbed at old bruises as he got out, opened the back of his truck, and took out a can of poison. There was something he needed to do.
  
  He walked into the yard. Henry got tears in his eyes when he saw his old friend. The once beautiful whupping tree was now a crumbling stump. “You were a good friend for listening to me all those years,” he murmured. “I know it wasn’t your fault that I got spanked so often, so I hope you understand what I have to do.” New budding shoots sprung up from the ground underneath it, promising new life and another generation of whuppings. Henry didn’t want to take any chances there that might be some bad in him somewhere. He placed his hand on the withering trunk. “It’s time for you to go,” he whispered. He uncapped the poison, poured some into what remained of the tree, and went in to the house.
  
  His father was lying in bed. He couldn’t talk very well or move anymore; the stroke having stolen his functions. Henry fed him some soup.
  
  “Th-th-thanks, H-henry,” he said, drooling and looking embarrassed. “I s’pose you oughta get a switch and whup me. C-c-can’t even talk right n’more.”
  
  Henry wiped the soup off his father’s chin, “Nope. I figure this family has taken enough beatings. I’m just going to love you.”
  
  Posted in Uncategorized | 0 Comments | Tagged abuse, contemporaryfiction, dreams, family, familyhardship, familyissues, fiction, published, shortstory
- Sassafras and Valentine’s Day
  
  Posted at 11:43 am by writergherlone, on January 24, 2018
  
  Sassafras and Valentine’s Day
  
  By Kristy Gherlone
  
  It was Valentine’s Day and Sassafras was sad. She wanted to get something special for her Daddy, but she didn’t have any money.
  
  “What’s wrong, Sassafras?” her mother asked, noticing how unhappy she seemed.
  
  “It’s Valentine’s Day, but I don’t have anything for Daddy. How will he know that I love him if I don’t buy him a present?”
  
  “Daddy knows that you love him. You don’t have to buy gifts to show someone how much you care. There are lots of other ways to do that.”
  
  “Like how?” Sassafras asked.
  
  “Well, you could make him a card, if you like. I’m sure he would love that.”
  
  “That’s a great idea!” Sassafras brightened.
  
  She gathered some art supplies and got to work.
  
  Carefully, she cut out colorful hearts and pasted them to the paper she had folded.
  
  Next, she used crayons to write what she wanted to say.
  
  “How’s it going in there?” Sassafras’s mother asked.
  
  “Good, but I don’t want you to see until I’m all done.” Sassafras said, jumping onto the card to hide it. She wanted it to be a surprise.
  
  “That’s fine,” her mother laughed. “You know, when I was a little girl, my favorite Valentine’s were the ones that had treats inside.”
  
  “I have just the thing!” Sassafras said.
  
  When she finished with the card, she called for her mother to see it.
  
  “That is a lovely card, Sassafras. It came out very nice. What did you write?”
  
  “I wrote, ‘For Daddy, love Sassy.’
  
  “It’s very nice, but I thought you were going to add some treats?”
  
  “Well, I was going to share my worms, but I accidentally ate them.”
  
  Sassafras’s mother smiled. She knew that worms were her very favorite thing. “That’s okay. I think Daddy might like chocolates better anyway. I have some that you can give to him.”
  
  “Oh, thank you! I think he will like those better.” She chose a few and stuck them to the card.
  
  “Can I give it to him now? She asked excitedely.
  
  “Of course. I think you’ll find him on the porch.”
  
  “Wait! I have one for you, too!” Sassafras cried. She gave her mother the paper heart she’d made.
  
  “Why, thank you, Sassy! You’re so thoughtful.”
  
  “I know,” Sassafras giggled and went off to find her Dad.
  
  “Daddy! I made something for you!”
  
  Sassafras’s Dad was very happy with the card. He could tell how hard she’d worked on it.
  
  “Thank you, Sassy! That was very sweet of you.”
  
  “I made it because I love you.”
  
  “And I love you!” he said, giving Sassafras a hug. “Now we have something for you! Your mother has it in the kitchen. Go and see.”
  
  “Is it a present?” Sassafras asked.
  
  “It might be,” her Daddy smiled.
  
  “But Mama said you don’t need to buy presents to show someone how much you care.”
  
  “That is true,” he said, ruffling her feathers. “But we got you one anyway.”
  
  “Worms!” she cried happily. “I love worms and presents and Valentine’s Day. But you know what I love most of all? You!”
  
  **A new short comedy story of mine has just been published! You can find “Piano Hoarding Christians” in Defenestration Mag!
  
  **NO part of this story may be copied or reproduced without written consent from the author.
  
  Posted in Uncategorized | 0 Comments | Tagged childrensstory, ducks, family, familyfriendly, fiction, hearts, love, pekinduck, picturestory, shortstory, valentinesday
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