Contest

I am pleased that my short story has been accepted as an entry in the Midlife Collage weekly contest. It will be on their website at www.midlifecollage.com in April. More to come on this later.

Serendipity - The Luck of the Irish

Serendipity

by

Mary S. Palmer

     The other night at a church fish fry when a well-dressed woman sat down at the table across from me, the first thing I noticed was her ring. I could hardly miss it; it was set with a diamond as big as a shooter marble.

     She saw me staring and smiled. "My husband gave this to me for our thirty-fifth anniversary."

     "It's beautiful." I didn't express my thoughts that it must have been quite a few years ago.

     Her eyes lowered when she said, "Then I lost it."

     What? How could she have lost it? It was still on her finger. To avoid embarrassing her, I didn't ask. The lady was elderly and she might not remember. Instead, I told her my own "ring" story.

     "I designed a ring once," I began. "Of course, it wouldn't compare to yours but I was proud of it. It started when I saw an ad in the classifieds in the newspaper." I smiled at the memory. "It said, Weedeater, lawn mower, chair and diamonds. The other items didn't interest me but diamonds caught my eye."

     "Did you know how to tell if they were real, dear?"

     "I know real diamonds can scratch glass. But I can't say that I had a plan to make that test. I was curious enough to go check them out, though."

     She nodded and I continued. "I knew by the address that she lived in a nice section of town, so I didn't hesitate. When I reached her two-story house and she invited me inside, I could tell that it was well-kept. The furniture fit the setting. Even though I thought everything was legitimate, I asked a few leading questions and found that she was a court reporter, moving to take a better job in Texas. It was funny, though, she asked me right away if I was there to see the Weedeater and she said, 'It's almost new and it's only $125.00'".

     I noticed my seat-mate moistening her lips and felt she wanted me to get to the point of my story, so I talked a little faster. "Anyway, I told her, 'No, I'm interested in the diamonds.' She showed me a diamond pendant on a gold chain; it was over half a karat and  was lovely. So was the ring. I wanted them but I doubted if I could afford either one. "How much is the pendant?" I asked.

     "'Seventy-five dollars,'" she replied. 'The ring is the same.'

     "I scrutinized them one by one. But I didn't ask for glass to scratch. They looked real but even if they were zircons, I thought they should be worth that much."

     I chuckled. "When I hesitated, she made an offer. 'You can take them to a jeweler. If you don't want to keep them, I'll take them back.' She gave me her phone number, then asked again, 'Are you sure you can't use my Weedeater?' I didn't know why she was so anxious to sell that. Nor could I figure out why she'd sell diamonds so cheap. The closest I came was that she wanted to prove to her ex-husband that they weren't worth anything. Without questioning, I paid her seventy-five dollars for the pendant and twenty-five for the chair and left."

     My friend smiled and I continued. "Well, I was very happy with the price of the mahogany side chair but I was more pleased when the jeweler appraised the ring at over two thousand dollars.

     "I called the lady immediately. 'Do you want to bring it back?' she asked.

     "'No'," I told her. "I want to buy the ring, too.' She said she'd hold it for me but I drove back to her house as fast as I could. I gave her another check and left with my treasure, elated at my good luck. I was even more thrilled that the jeweler said the ring was worth over a thousand dollars."

     Mrs. X widened her eyes. "You must be Irish; that's the luck of the Irish."

     "You're right. I am Irish on my mother's side. But there's more." I leaned forward and whispered. "When I decided the ring looked too much like an engagement ring and I bought a couple of diamonds cheap and designed a new ring, I decided to insure it. Was I in for a surprise! The insurance has to be calculated at replacement value, much higher than my investment. So, when I lost the ring a few years later, I got quite a large amount of money." I showed her my Baum-Mercier watch and three-quarter karat ring. Proudly, I added, "Better yet, these were on sale for half-price when I bought them to replace the ring. The best luck was that my insurance paid in full for both."

     "My dear," she smiled, "you were lucky three times. Losing that valuable ring was certainly serendipity."

     I smiled back as I twisted the ring to set the diamond upright, still wondering why that lady sold those diamonds so cheap, knowing I'd never really know.

     Then my curiosity got the best of me. I took a chance that I wouldn't offend Mrs. X. "By the way," I asked, "you said you lost your ring, too." I pointed to her finger. "Did your husband buy you another one?"

     She lifted her hand and stared at the ring she held close to her trifocals. "Oh, he didn't have to do that." Looking at me, she added, "You see, my little one karat diamond was well-insured, too."

    

     

March Marches In

Today, it's cold in the deep South;
I had to cover plants
With blankets I seized.

Tomorrow, though, it may change
And warm up,
Maybe by twenty degrees.

No matter, though, these fluctuations,
Drastic, perhaps.
I'd rather not freeze.

March marches in; spring's on the way;
April will bring
A cool, soothing breeze.

God blesses us with variety.
It seems that
He likes to tease.

Triumph

The Triumph floated into Mobile and we gave the weary passengers a taste of Southern Hospitality. Despite the fact that Carnival pulled out of our fair city, and that the passengers on this ship were hustled to buses to New Orleans, their disgruntled guests were welcomed by our city officials and many other well-wishers.

Every time a cruise left Mobile, the ship was full. Hopefully, Carnival will soon bring another ship to the Port of Mobile.

Laissez les Bon Temps Rouler

In the city where it started,
Mobile hosts Mardi Gras.
Make no mistake about
That claim is not a flaw.

It's time for revelry,
Parades and balls and such.
Fun for young and old,
Though some say it's too much.

Crowds fill the streets;
Parades come every day.
Children catch the throws
And run, and jump, and play.

The mystics wear their costumes,
On floats they bounce and dance.
A   merry time is had by all
Caught up in this romance.

Tails and floor length gowns
Are musts for every ball.
Bands vary dancing music
That fill the ballroom's hall.

For weeks frolic goes on
And all are full of glee,
But  it comes to a halt
On the day of Ash Wednesday.

ONE-SIDED PUPPY LOVE - For Valentine's Day

      Even in second grade, I knew Alfred wasn't my type. I didn't like his name and I didn't like him. His Puppy Love was one-sided. Still, I tried to be nice to him when he followed me around at school during lunch period or recess.

     When I got tired of his attention, I'd tell him, "Alfred, my friends are calling me. Why don't you go play with the boys?" He'd leave, but when the bell rang, he'd come to class and sit in the desk beside me.

     Alfred was smart. When he'd raise his hand and answer a question correctly in his squeaky voice, I'd look at his skinny body, yellow hair, and ears that stuck out and think, He looks like a sunflower, except his face isn't black. In fact, Alfred was always very pale.   

     I mostly ignored him, but one day he really disappointed me. I'd ridden my bike to Brantly School and the class bully, Bobby Thorne, decided to block my path when I got on it to ride home. He laid down on the sidewalk beside a camphor tree. "Get out of my way," I told him. He didn't. Just then, Alfred walked up behind me.

     "Make him get out of my way," I told Alfred.

     Staring down on Bobby, Alfred whispered, "C'mon, Bobby, leave Sue Ellen alone."

     Bobby didn't budge.

     "If you don't," Alfred said a little louder, "I'm gonna call my mama." He pointed to the school office where his mother worked as a secretary.

     Bobby sat up, laughing as he looked at the small crowd that had gathered. "Go get your mama, Al-fred. I'll be gone by then." He began to chant, "Mama's boy, Al-fred's a Mama's boy," and a few students chimed in.

     Alfred left in tears. I was really mad by then. When Bobby laid back down with his hands clasped behind his head, I drove my bike right over his stomach. He was so shocked that I don't think it hurt him at all. At any rate, he didn't try to chase me.

     The next day, my mother found a bouquet of wildflowers on  our front porch. "For you," she said, handing me a card. All it said was, "Sorry," but I didn't need a signature. I recognized Alfred's handwriting.

     Alfred was out sick for about a week. When he returned to school looking more pallid than ever, he sat in the back row. He must have started going home for lunch, because he wasn't around then and he stayed inside at recess. I didn't see much of him. But the last day of school, he passed a note up to me.

     "Please wait for me after class," it said. "I've got something for you."

     I didn't want to start anything but I was curious, so I waited. When everyone left and the teacher stepped out of the room, Alfred hurried over to me. He pulled his hand from behind his back. "Here," he said, "I, I, know you don't really like me, but I want you to have this."

     When I looked at the wooden clothespin he placed in my hand, I wrinkled my nose. "What do you want me to do with this?"

     Alfred hung his head. "I don't know. I have to go to another school next year and I just wanted to give you something. That's all I have."

     "But your mom works here."

     "Yeah, but I have to go somewhere else." Tears formed in his eyes and he blinked them back. With a, "See ya," he bolted out of the room, leaving me standing there with my mouth gaping.

     Alfred didn't show up for third grade and his mother wasn't a secretary anymore. My mother said she heard they moved away. That's all I ever found out. I felt sorry for Alfred, but I was relieved that a nerdy boy who reminded me of a sunflower wasn't following me around anymore.

     As years passed, I forgot about my admirer until I was in my third year of college and got an e-mail asking me to chair the research committee for a reunion of students who attended Brantly. I agreed, but it turned out to be a much harder job than I thought. The group included anyone who had ever gone to Brantly, a huge number of people to try to locate.

     Luckily, I still lived in the area and I was able to contact many former students who had not left either. After working with my committee of five for three months trying to find over a hundred people without no current addresses, we decided to divide the remaining missing persons and narrow our search to about twenty-five each.

     In a couple of weeks, I'd gotten my list down to six. One was a familiar name--Alfred Strong. I smiled. A while back, I'd come across that clothespin he'd given me years ago. For the first time, I thought about the contradiction in his name. Somehow "Alfred" suited him, but "Strong," he wasn't. I'd been about to admit defeat on locating these last few, but I had to know what happened to Alfred.

     I kept digging and sent e-mails and called every Strong in the phone book. That netted zero results. Finally, it struck me to do the obvious. I went to the office at Brantly School. New faces greeted me and I thought, "Not much hope here."

     When I recognized my old principal coming out of her office, I was elated. "I'm sure you remember Mrs. Strong," I said. "Do you know how I can get in touch with her? I'm trying to find Alfred for our school reunion."

     She looked at me over the top of horn-rimmed glasses. "Sorry, my dear. I guess you didn't know. Alfred left school because he had leukemia. They were going to take him to Atlanta to get treatment, but he passed away before that happened, a couple of weeks after he finished second grade."

     I swallowed hard. 

POINTS OF REMEMBRANCE

POINTS OF REMEMBRANCE

Candles flicker in the mirrored room, reflecting,

     multiplying, memorializing

Jewish children who died in the Holocaust.

Their names are called out, one by one.

Three years it takes to reach the millionth innocent victim.

 

Now, relatives and friends come to this memorial in Jerusalem

To pay tribute to their unwilling sacrifice.

I see their undry eyes and try to feel their pain,

But can I, really?

 

It's their flesh of flesh who suffered the loveless life,

The barren soul brought on by desolation, degradation,

Even worse, by hopelessness.

 

My mind shudders at those thoughts as I try to comprehend

The depths of the results of man's inhumanity to man, of         children slaughtered,

Of a race of people remembering.

 

My Christian eyes see different views; yet, we're humans all,

One part of a whole linked by an invisible Force,

And the agony which is felt by one permeates all others.

 

At seeing such sadness,

A part of us becomes a part of the children,

And we die a little.