Literary Fiction

220

Going Fishing is a collection of short stories I have written over far too many years. They deal with eccentric characters, life and relationships.

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There were little pieces of hard white candy stuck to the front of his…shirt…the kind mama used to make. She used pure, fresh ingredients, not like…
“Stop that, Daddy, I'm trying to button your shirt!”
Mama had one blue eye and one that was gray. He could not remember which was which now, or why she did not call him anymore or at least write. She never answered his letters not a one. “Mama?”
“Grandma died a long time ago, Daddy, don't you remember?”
He rubbed the callused palm of his right hand over his face. Whiskers! Had he not just shaved? How could hair grow so fast? “Come on, your breakfast is ready.”
The “girl” grabbed him by the arm and led him down the hallway much too fast! He had a hell of a time keeping up with her, his feet shuffling across the parquet flooring as he walked. Who the hell was she anyway? What the hell did she have to do with him? Some goddamned hotel! Whatever happened to the room service? When was the maid going to make up the bed? Hard to entertain this way, surrounded by...
“Do you need to use the bathroom first?”
What kind of indelicate question was that to ask a man of his position? This girl talked like a goddamned whore. What was he doing with her or, better yet, what had he done?
“Okay, Daddy, sit down.”
His stomach growled. It had been a hard…he liked eggs; fresh from the hen house; with little bits of straw still stuck to the shell. He liked them fried crispy in butter. Boy, could mama make butter. Even if it did take her all day, it was worth…