| An Excerpt from the Short Story Magnolias on Mother's Day |
The canine member of the family was the first to hear the doorbell ring and, true to his job as watchdog, he loudly informed everyone in the house of the
transgressor at the door. Mr. Murphy trotted up the stairs to answer the call-to-arms with Sooty at his heels.
Those seated at the table could hear a muffled but enthusiastic conversation taking place in the foyer. The front door closed and Mr. Murphy came
down the stairs, followed by a tall man with jet-black hair who appeared to be in his twenties. Conversations stopped and all eyes turned to Mr. Murphy
who stood with his hand on the stranger's shoulder and a spreading smile on his face.
"I believe most of you know Matthew," Mr. Murphy said, nodding at the man.
Recognition spread like melting wax from face to face around the family circle. Quiet gasps, snorts of disbelief and welcoming words erupted from the
group.
"He's the magnolia boy, Karen," Frank explained to his wife, "remember, I told you about him."
"Oh, yes, the boy who came every year to get magnolias for his mother!" Karen confirmed her memory of the often-told story.
"Yes, I'm afraid that's me." Matthew smiled.
"Conner, get Matthew a chair," Mrs. Murphy suggested to her husband, and then to Matthew, "It's so good to see you again Matthew, won't you have
dinner with us?"
"No, I'm sorry Mrs. Murphy, I can't stay but a few minutes, dinner is waiting for me at my Dad's and there'd be hell to pay if I couldn't empty my plate."
Matthew joked.
"Well, I can understand that Matthew, but can't you just visit with us for a minute or two, we've all wondered about you these last few years, and here
you are on Mother's Day!"
Matthew accepted the chair offered by Mr. Murphy and brushed the hair out of his eyes as he sat down. His hair was longer now and he had the face of
a man, not a boy, but he still spoke with polite words and appreciation.
"I have to say, Mrs. Murphy, I've wondered about you and your family many times since I came here last. I don't know if you realize how much those
magnolias meant to my family all those years. There were times that those flowers were the only present my mother got on Mother's Day, and she
loved them so." Matthew slowly shook his head and rubbed the back of his left hand with the palm of his right. He looked up and into Mrs. Murphy's
eyes. "She was very sick the last time I came, I didn't say anything to you at the time. I guess I was afraid that if I talked about her illness it would
somehow make it worse. Kids think the craziest things." Matthew took a deep breath and looked into the faces surrounding him. "My Mom died that
summer, it was cancer, and I left for college in the fall."
"We're so sorry, Matthew, we didn't know." Mrs. Murphy offered, "how awful to loose your mother when you were just starting out on your own. It must
have felt like being set adrift without an anchor."
"Yes, Mrs. Murphy it was just like that. I would learn something new at school and think, 'Why, I have to call Mom and tell her about this,' and then I
would remember that I couldn't call Mom ever again. It was a difficult time."
Everyone was lost in their own thoughts and the only sounds were the ticking of the kitchen clock and the clicking of the dog's toenails on the tile floor.
After several minutes, Mrs. Murphy said, "Matthew, some of my fondest memories of Mother's Day are of you coming here for your Mother's Day
magnolias. I remember the first time you came, so courageous, coming right up to the door and asking for those flowers. And then year after year, in
the rain or heat or even the snow that one year, there you would be standing on the porch. You loved your mother deeply, I'm certain she knew that.
I'm certain she knows that now."
Whispers of, "Amen," "Of course," "Yes, she had to," and "That's right," accompanied the nodding heads in the room.
"Well, that brings me to why I am here," Matthew said with a smile, "I've come to see if I might have my Mother's Day magnolias one last time," he
looked straight into Mrs. Murphy's eyes. "You see, I'm married now and my wife is expecting our first child any day. I'd like her to have a bouquet of
those beautiful flowers for this, her first Mother's Day. And if it wouldn't be asking too much, I'd like a second bunch to put on my mother's grave."
Mrs. Murphy was up and out of her chair before Matthew finished his last sentence. "Of course you can have all the flowers you want, why, you can
have all the flowers on that old bush."
Chairs scraped on the floor as the Murphy Clan rose to help. Willing hands found vases and shears and others carried them to the front yard along
with ribbon and bows in pastel shades. Two enormous vases were filled with dozens of buds and blossoms. Ribbons were expertly tied in place and
topped off with coordinated bows. Each arrangement was carefully wrapped in tissue paper and placed in the back seat of Matthew's Ford station
wagon. Junior found an old blanket in the hall closet and used it to secure the vases in an upright position.
"I want to thank you all very much for your kindness today and throughout the years," Matthew said as he stood on the curb preparing to leave. "Dad is
moving to Portland to live with my wife, Shirley and I so I won't be back this way again," his voice broke. "I will remember your family every Mother's Day
for the rest of my life. I hope you will always know the joy and love you have given me."
Matthew turned, got in his car and drove away.
A thank you card, addressed to the Murphy Family, arrives every year a day or two before Mother's Day. It comes from Matthew and his family in
Oregon. Some years it contains a picture of the latest addition to the Richards family. It always contains polite words and appreciation.
Every Mother's Day a bouquet of magnolias with huge, white flowers with delicate pink centers appears on the grave of Harriet Richards at Maple Grove
Cemetery in Dearborn Michigan.
Some traditions are worth the effort.
transgressor at the door. Mr. Murphy trotted up the stairs to answer the call-to-arms with Sooty at his heels.
Those seated at the table could hear a muffled but enthusiastic conversation taking place in the foyer. The front door closed and Mr. Murphy came
down the stairs, followed by a tall man with jet-black hair who appeared to be in his twenties. Conversations stopped and all eyes turned to Mr. Murphy
who stood with his hand on the stranger's shoulder and a spreading smile on his face.
"I believe most of you know Matthew," Mr. Murphy said, nodding at the man.
Recognition spread like melting wax from face to face around the family circle. Quiet gasps, snorts of disbelief and welcoming words erupted from the
group.
"He's the magnolia boy, Karen," Frank explained to his wife, "remember, I told you about him."
"Oh, yes, the boy who came every year to get magnolias for his mother!" Karen confirmed her memory of the often-told story.
"Yes, I'm afraid that's me." Matthew smiled.
"Conner, get Matthew a chair," Mrs. Murphy suggested to her husband, and then to Matthew, "It's so good to see you again Matthew, won't you have
dinner with us?"
"No, I'm sorry Mrs. Murphy, I can't stay but a few minutes, dinner is waiting for me at my Dad's and there'd be hell to pay if I couldn't empty my plate."
Matthew joked.
"Well, I can understand that Matthew, but can't you just visit with us for a minute or two, we've all wondered about you these last few years, and here
you are on Mother's Day!"
Matthew accepted the chair offered by Mr. Murphy and brushed the hair out of his eyes as he sat down. His hair was longer now and he had the face of
a man, not a boy, but he still spoke with polite words and appreciation.
"I have to say, Mrs. Murphy, I've wondered about you and your family many times since I came here last. I don't know if you realize how much those
magnolias meant to my family all those years. There were times that those flowers were the only present my mother got on Mother's Day, and she
loved them so." Matthew slowly shook his head and rubbed the back of his left hand with the palm of his right. He looked up and into Mrs. Murphy's
eyes. "She was very sick the last time I came, I didn't say anything to you at the time. I guess I was afraid that if I talked about her illness it would
somehow make it worse. Kids think the craziest things." Matthew took a deep breath and looked into the faces surrounding him. "My Mom died that
summer, it was cancer, and I left for college in the fall."
"We're so sorry, Matthew, we didn't know." Mrs. Murphy offered, "how awful to loose your mother when you were just starting out on your own. It must
have felt like being set adrift without an anchor."
"Yes, Mrs. Murphy it was just like that. I would learn something new at school and think, 'Why, I have to call Mom and tell her about this,' and then I
would remember that I couldn't call Mom ever again. It was a difficult time."
Everyone was lost in their own thoughts and the only sounds were the ticking of the kitchen clock and the clicking of the dog's toenails on the tile floor.
After several minutes, Mrs. Murphy said, "Matthew, some of my fondest memories of Mother's Day are of you coming here for your Mother's Day
magnolias. I remember the first time you came, so courageous, coming right up to the door and asking for those flowers. And then year after year, in
the rain or heat or even the snow that one year, there you would be standing on the porch. You loved your mother deeply, I'm certain she knew that.
I'm certain she knows that now."
Whispers of, "Amen," "Of course," "Yes, she had to," and "That's right," accompanied the nodding heads in the room.
"Well, that brings me to why I am here," Matthew said with a smile, "I've come to see if I might have my Mother's Day magnolias one last time," he
looked straight into Mrs. Murphy's eyes. "You see, I'm married now and my wife is expecting our first child any day. I'd like her to have a bouquet of
those beautiful flowers for this, her first Mother's Day. And if it wouldn't be asking too much, I'd like a second bunch to put on my mother's grave."
Mrs. Murphy was up and out of her chair before Matthew finished his last sentence. "Of course you can have all the flowers you want, why, you can
have all the flowers on that old bush."
Chairs scraped on the floor as the Murphy Clan rose to help. Willing hands found vases and shears and others carried them to the front yard along
with ribbon and bows in pastel shades. Two enormous vases were filled with dozens of buds and blossoms. Ribbons were expertly tied in place and
topped off with coordinated bows. Each arrangement was carefully wrapped in tissue paper and placed in the back seat of Matthew's Ford station
wagon. Junior found an old blanket in the hall closet and used it to secure the vases in an upright position.
"I want to thank you all very much for your kindness today and throughout the years," Matthew said as he stood on the curb preparing to leave. "Dad is
moving to Portland to live with my wife, Shirley and I so I won't be back this way again," his voice broke. "I will remember your family every Mother's Day
for the rest of my life. I hope you will always know the joy and love you have given me."
Matthew turned, got in his car and drove away.
A thank you card, addressed to the Murphy Family, arrives every year a day or two before Mother's Day. It comes from Matthew and his family in
Oregon. Some years it contains a picture of the latest addition to the Richards family. It always contains polite words and appreciation.
Every Mother's Day a bouquet of magnolias with huge, white flowers with delicate pink centers appears on the grave of Harriet Richards at Maple Grove
Cemetery in Dearborn Michigan.
Some traditions are worth the effort.
| An Excerpt from the Short Story Living Between Black and White |
TUESDAY
Justin was sitting in the school library during fourth period when everything made sense. It was the poster on the wall reading, "Hitting
is NOT okay," that pushed the first domino and all the other dominoes fell, piece by piece. Someone is hitting Alex!
At first Justin thought Alex Robinson was a bit of an oddball. He wore geeky clothes. He kept to himself, spoke infrequently and
sighed often. Alex also fell asleep in class almost everyday.
Justin had exchanged nods with Alex but the only real conversation they had was when they shared web addresses and critiqued
each other's web sites as a Web Design Class assignment. During those conversations Justin realized Alex was smart and creative.
How could someone so backward be so smart? Justin wondered. How could Alex Robinson create such an awesome web site? It
didn't add up.
Then, sitting in the library after Web Design Justin read the poster and the evidence clicked into place. Alex always wore long sleeves
and buttoned his shirts all the way up. Alex had red marks on his neck that weren't birthmarks because they changed color. Alex had
two cuts on his face that he blamed on tripping and hitting his head on first a coffee table and then a park bench. Alex, just a half-hour
before, winced and muffled a gasp when he sat in his chair. Justin wondered aloud if Alex had sore muscles from working out and
Alex snorted and said, "Yeah, something like that."
Justin turned the evidence over in his mind. Could it be anything else? Not that he could imagine. Could I be wrong? Yes, I could
be wrong what do I know about child abuse? Justin stared at the poster and noticed a web address. He went to the computer station
in the back of the library, entered the address and scrolled through pages of information until he found an article titled Recognizing
Signs of Child Abuse. The hair on Justin's neck rose as he read the list. Twelve of the eighteen signs fit what Justin knew about
Alex. Holy shit, someone is hitting Alex!
Justin was sitting in the school library during fourth period when everything made sense. It was the poster on the wall reading, "Hitting
is NOT okay," that pushed the first domino and all the other dominoes fell, piece by piece. Someone is hitting Alex!
At first Justin thought Alex Robinson was a bit of an oddball. He wore geeky clothes. He kept to himself, spoke infrequently and
sighed often. Alex also fell asleep in class almost everyday.
Justin had exchanged nods with Alex but the only real conversation they had was when they shared web addresses and critiqued
each other's web sites as a Web Design Class assignment. During those conversations Justin realized Alex was smart and creative.
How could someone so backward be so smart? Justin wondered. How could Alex Robinson create such an awesome web site? It
didn't add up.
Then, sitting in the library after Web Design Justin read the poster and the evidence clicked into place. Alex always wore long sleeves
and buttoned his shirts all the way up. Alex had red marks on his neck that weren't birthmarks because they changed color. Alex had
two cuts on his face that he blamed on tripping and hitting his head on first a coffee table and then a park bench. Alex, just a half-hour
before, winced and muffled a gasp when he sat in his chair. Justin wondered aloud if Alex had sore muscles from working out and
Alex snorted and said, "Yeah, something like that."
Justin turned the evidence over in his mind. Could it be anything else? Not that he could imagine. Could I be wrong? Yes, I could
be wrong what do I know about child abuse? Justin stared at the poster and noticed a web address. He went to the computer station
in the back of the library, entered the address and scrolled through pages of information until he found an article titled Recognizing
Signs of Child Abuse. The hair on Justin's neck rose as he read the list. Twelve of the eighteen signs fit what Justin knew about
Alex. Holy shit, someone is hitting Alex!
SHORT FICTION
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Featuring the work of Patricia A. Henisse