Long Story Short

By William White-acre

Fifteen stories, short and semi-long, ranging from flash to literary-lite, complete this anthology. First person. Third person, A reading will cover all the bases: love story, human interest, coming of age, maudlin, and, of course, adventure.

• Language: English
• Publisher: William White-acre
• Release date: Apr 16, 2018
• ISBN: 9781370251773

William White-acre

Photographer first, scribbler second. Lived a long time. When your life resembles an epoch, well, it is scary. Just hope I can entertain.

Book preview

LONG STORY SHORT

William White-acre

Copyright 2018 by William White-acre

Smashwords Edition

white-acre.wixsite.com/photography

*other works by the author:

(Novels)

Surrounded By Mythology

I, The Hero

True For X

Forgotten Faces

Memory 2.0

Mysterious Logic

Follow The Contrails

Heaven On Earth

A Rush Of Silence

Federal Folkways

The Opening Is Closing

(Photo Books)

A2Z

Magic City

Sand People

Flesh

Dance

Little Fists

Human Condition

High School Rodeo

Table Of Contents:

Chapter 1: Lonestar Madness...Sadness

Chapter 2: Formosa

Chapter 3: Springfield 15

Chapter 4: Drownproof

Chapter 5: If You Knew Susie

Chapter 6: Bombing For Dollars

Chapter 7: Reunion

Chapter 8: The Date

Chapter 9: Saving The Sea Monster

Chapter 10: Loon On The Lake

Chapter 11: Crossing The Pond

Chapter 12: Over The Weekend

Chapter 13: Land Of Milk And Honey

Chapter 14: Dos Cervezas

Chapter 15: Demolition For Dummies

FAMILY BENSON

Chapter 1: Lonestar Madness...Sadness

August. Horn toads hid under the porch desperately trying to escape the harsh noonday sun. A half dozen dogs lay on their sides panting, with pink tongues hanging in the arid dirt. Tar bubbled on the road in front of the house.

You know it’s your nap time, Mrs. Benson called out again. I’m not going to tell you anymore. I’d better not hear any more noise out of your room. Do you want me to tell Daddy you’ve been bad when he gets home tonight?

There was silence from his room. Scott could just hear his two sisters mumbling, then suppressing giggles. That goes for you two girls too, his mother threatened.

There was sudden quiet in the house. Ice cubes clinked in her glass of ice tea as she took a long, slow sip. A fine patina of sweat formed on her upper lip as she concentrated on her sewing. If I only had a nickel for every button I’ve had to replace, she thought.

Scott lay there on his bed looking out the window at the china berry tree across the street. He wondered if Ooby-dooby was taking a nap too. Maybe not. His family was different. Just this side of white trash, was what his mother called them.

There always seemed to be loud noises coming from the Middy’s house, usually repetitious hillbilly music or, when Mrs. Middy was in the mood, the vibrating sounds of the new Rock and Roll. Ooby-dooby, Scott’s playmate, had gotten his nickname from a new Roy Orbison song Mrs. Middy liked to play. The song was named after one of the strange new dances the kids were doing.

The Middy’s only son somehow always had the same reaction when the 45 came on the radio. With little encouragement, the five year old would flinch, jerk, and sway to the beat, while his parents howled their approval. It wasn’t long before the entire neighborhood was calling him Ooby-dooby, or just Ooby for short.

Scott raised up on his elbow and stared out the window. Often times he could see Ooby-dooby’s sister, Shirley, sitting in the china berry tree. It was a huge tree that dwarfed their house. When it was windy the branches would sway dangerously close to the windows. Shirley liked to climb up as high as she could go and swing her weight on the supple limbs.

She was older, on the brink of her teens. Her blond hair hung way down her back. There he is, my little boyfriend, Shirley would always call out, reaching for him, grabbing, wanting to smooch his face, then hug him. Scott pretended not to like it, her attention, but secretly he relished being kissed by her, his blond beauty.

The Benson family was one of the few Air Force families living off Base. Caleb’s mom hated military bases. Full of snooty brass types that think their shit doesn’t stink, she liked to say. Mrs. Benson wasn’t too fond of the hick town they had to live in either, but then again she imagined all of Texas was populated by the same kind of places. She was sure Texas was the hottest, ugliest place on earth, and deathly flat as well. Both Mr. and Mrs. Benson were from the Smoky Mountains, a cool, scenic paradise in comparison.

Mr. Benson had found this three bedroom house near the Base right after he was assigned to his new duties. The Benson family was used to the frequent moves the military required. Everyone accepted it now after many transfers to various parts of the country.

The Air Force was their guardian. It brought them a certain nurturance, supplying them with everything necessary to live. In time, the family developed a hardened respect for the USAF; although they did complain about some of the conditions that came with living under the military’s care. Sometimes I wonder if I can even go to the bathroom without them knowing about it, Mrs. Benson like to say. Mr. Benson, on his part, was grateful. He was able to pursue what he loved most in the world.

How much longer MOM? Scott called out from his bedroom exile.

Another half an hour, hon. Now hush. Don’t be bothering me or I’ll make you stay in there longer, his mother replied, smiling, knowing her peace and quiet for the day was about to be over.

There was a loud whine overhead, then a stuttering and the unmistakable crackling of an airplane’s engine. Damn him, Mrs. Benson uttered, rising to look out the window. There was a stampede of little feet. In chorus: It’s Daddy! He’s doing it again! Scott sang out gleefully.

The Piper Cub banked off, turned, dipped its wings sluggishly, and made another pass. Daddy! Scott screamed out the window, waving frantically.

He can’t hear you, stupid, Karen, his oldest sister chided.

If you all don’t get back in those beds now, I’ll make your nap time longer, Mrs. Benson threatened.

Mother! Tina, the other sister, whined. Let us go outside and wave at him. Just once, please, she pleaded.

You’ll only encourage him. He’ll be buzzing the house all day then.

He’d run out of fuel, Scott said, grinning.

Alright. Hurry up then. Just wave and get your fannies back in here, she commanded, shaking her head wearily.

The tiny red plane disappeared in the distance for a moment before it climbed then did a lazy roll and headed back. The kids were jumping up and down on the front sidewalk, waving their arms and shouting. Mrs. Benson was sipping her ice tea and muttering about how she was going to have a word with her husband, the daredevil pilot.

She hadn’t forgotten five years before, in Florida, how she had agreed to go up with him. It was an old bi-plane. He had bought it for practically nothing, keeping it in a field in the Everglades. The wings still had some of the original fabric covering and there were no instruments. After many times trying, he had gotten down the start routine of a plane without an ignition. Prime the engine, rotate the prop, then run around and jump in the open cockpit and juice up the throttle.

On this fateful flight they had run out of gas over Homestead. He had brought the plane down in a farmer’s field. Mr. Benson had said to a surprised farmer: Fill ‘er up, please. After borrowing some fuel, they had taken off, narrowly clearing some telephone lines at the end of the field. Raise your feet up, honey, he had shouted out to her, as the landing gear wheels rolled over the wires. She had screamed, and screamed, sure they would be electrocuted.

Can’t happen, he had said later when they were safely on the ground. Telephone wires won’t electrocute you. Now the wires might have gotten caught up in the landing gear and we would have flipped over and probably broken our necks, he had explained, smirking. She was sure she wanted to strangle him, but he had that twinkle in his blue eyes that he got when he was being playful so she just laughed, relieved they had made it back.

At treetop level, Mr. Benson tipped his wings right overhead then banked off and was gone. Did you see? Daddy tipped the wings. That means he saw us! Scott exclaimed excitedly. No shock--Sherlock, Karen shot back and the two sisters laughed as they ran back inside. Sometimes Scott thought he hated his two sisters.

Back to your rooms, Mrs. Benson said, pointing down the hall.

Aw mom, the kids whined in chorus.

Nobody said anything about naptime being over, she stated. Just because your father thought it would be real cute to buzz the house again doesn’t mean the rules around here are suddenly changed.

It’s too hot to take a nap, Karen declared from the hallway. I think I’m going to suffocate. And it’ll be your fault, mother.

I’ll be sure to call an ambulance for you, hon.

The others laughed and trooped back to their rooms; while Karen glared at her mother and muttered, Real funny. Mrs. Benson sighed heavily, returning to her ice tea and sewing.

It hadn’t been that long ago. Scott had turned six. He had been promised. Mrs. Benson was dead set against it. The sisters were envious, and angry at being left out.

Are you scared? Tina had asked when they were playing in the front yard one day.

I bet he loses his cookies as soon as they get off the ground, Karen stated, laughing.

Will not, Scott shot back, knowing quite well there was a good chance of him vomiting. Just last summer he had thrown up on the roller coaster ride at the amusement park.

He had asked his father to take him up in the Piper Cub. His father’s reply had surprised him. He never supposed the answer would be yes. When you turn six I’ll take you up for a spin in the wild blue yonder, Mr. Benson had said, mussing his son’s hair, smiling; and there was that twinkle in his blue eyes when he was being playful.

Mrs. Benson had looked up from the table, where she was serving up helpings for dinner and said, Your daddy’s just fooling with you, pumpkin. Aren’t you, honey?

Everyone at the table turned to look at Mr. Benson. Who’s fooling? Like father like son, right? he chortled, smiling.

That’s not fair, Karen exclaimed. I want to go up too.

You’re a girl, Scott said flatly.

And you’re a little turd, she retorted angrily.

Karen! Mrs. Benson said. That’s enough of that.

Oh sure, take his side. Just because he’s a boy. Make me sick, she shouted, dashing out the door.

Young lady, you had better get back in here right now or I’m going to tan your hide good. You hear me?’ Mrs. Benson shouted out. Don’t make me say it again."

It had been a Saturday morning. Mr. Benson called out from the garage: Looks like a good day to go flying. Mrs. Benson shot him a murderous look. Scott had almost forgotten about it. A steady throbbing of nerves began to pound in his stomach.

They drove to the Base in silence. The guard at the gate waved them through with a salute. A few fighter planes took off in formation, then separated and began to do graceful turns. Mr. Benson eyed them out the window as he drove, muttering.

The car, a black 51 Ford with a dented right front fender, sputtered to a stop. Carb needs work, Mr. Benson mumbled, then he turned to his son and smiled. Ready? I guess so, Scott said nervously.

They walked across the hot tarmac. Scott could see the Piper sitting off to the side of the hanger. It was the brightest, most beautiful color of red he had ever seen. A few of the ground crew joked with his father for a minute. I’m taking my son up for a spin, he explained. They said something in return that Scott didn’t understand and Mr. Benson laughed. If he’s a Benson he’s got ‘em alright...big as an elephant’s. More laughing.

The cockpit was a two-seater, one behind the other. His father helped him in his seat, adjusting the seatbelts to accommodate his small body. Then he climbed in and a moment later there was a painful whine, before the engine burst to life. The plane inched forward. A few of the ground crew waved, giving Mr. Benson the thumbs up sign.

Scott gripped the sides of the airplane and braced himself back against the seat. Hangers drifted by the cockpit windows. The Piper rocked gently to and fro as they made their way down the runway. Why did I ask my dad to do this? echoed in Scott’s mind.

Ready, son? Mr. Benson shouted over the engine. Well, I guess you have better be because here we go!

The engine roared as the prop became invisible, just a dizzying blur ahead of them. Scott planted his head against the seat and closed his eyes. Wind rustled by the cockpit. The Piper bounced along, each and every bump rattled through the aircraft. He was sure they couldn’t possibly go this fast and not crash. Off we go...into the wild blue yonder! Mr. Benson sang out as he pulled back on the joy stick.

There was a heavy thud and the piper lifted off. Mr. Benson banked off and started to climb. Scott couldn’t open his eyes. Maybe if I don’t see outside it’ll be better, he told himself. His dad was humming, then began to point out different landmarks below.

Are you ready for a few maneuvers?’ Mr. Benson asked. Scott forced his eyes open. He could barely see over the fuselage. When his dad tipped the wings he could just see the treetops. This ain’t so bad, he mumbled. Ready or not, here we go," Mr. Benson shouted.

The Piper lurched slightly, then they were diving. Scott felt the seat belt against his body. An acid ping coursed through his stomach. He tried to catch his breath. Just as quickly they were climbing. His head fell back against the seat. Going down? Mr. Benson shouted jokingly, as he plunged them into a dive again.

Above him the clouds were rushing away and Scott again closed his eyes, hoping to shield out the inevitable. Waiting, when would he feel the impact? The Piper slowly leveled off and they were flying low over a rancher’s pasture. Cattle were scurrying in every direction. Round up time! Mr. Benson cried out, laughing. There’s going to be one pee-owed rancher.

The Piper swung to the right and they were climbing again. Scott opened his eyes long enough to see dust flying up from the stampeding cattle. It seemed like they had been flying for hours, days. There was a soft, wonderful feeling to Scott’s stomach now. Maybe it’s over, he thought hopefully.

The serene sensation was abruptly replaced by a sudden jolt and they were back on the ground. When they finally taxied into the hanger area, and the plane’s engine groaned to a stop, Scott was thankful he hadn’t thrown up. He was fearful of what reaction his father would have. Was it acceptable for a six year old, and a pilot’s son, to get sick while flying?

How did it go, tiger? one of the ground crew asked, patting Scott on the head as he helped him out of the plane. Looks a little green, sir. Might be a candidate for the Army.

Mr. Benson stopped, turned, and looked at his son. Better not be, he declared.

Scott had been dozing. He woke up suddenly and felt groggy from the heat. There was noise outside. He heard his sisters saying something to his mother. Was naptime over? He looked out his bedroom window and could see a cluster of cars parked at odd angles in front of his house. A police car’s light blinked dimly in the bright Texas sun.

Mom, what’s going on outside? he called out, as he walked into the living room. Mom, where are you?

His mother rushed to the front door, holding the screen door shut. He could see his sisters standing behind her, staring out at the street. Stay in there now, pumpkin, okay. Mommy wants you to stay right there, she ordered gently.

Scott was confused. What was it? He could now see that his sisters were crying. He pushed against the screen door but his mother was holding it closed. Mom, he said, looking closely at her through the screen, what’s going on out there?

Go back to your room, Scott. Please. Just do as I tell you.

But Karen and Tina are out there...why can’t I come outside too?

Go back to your room now, his mother said in an angry tone, pointing in the house.

Sulking, he retreated back into the house, stopping at the doorway to his bedroom. From there he could see an ambulance arriving. Then he saw Shirley come running from beside the house. She was screaming. A moment later, he was sneaking out the back door.

He slipped around the side of the house and stood, watching. A policeman was holding Shirley back. She was fighting to get away. A group of neighbors had gathered beside a car that was parked in the middle of the road. He could hear a few of them exchanging angry words with the driver.

Scott cut across their next door neighbor’s lawn and walked up the street on the opposite side. He saw Shirley’s mother sitting on the ground with her head in her hands. Another policeman was standing over her, mumbling something. A neighbor said something to him as he walked by but Scott ignored him and kept going. We’re gonna have to git this car moved, he heard the ambulance driver say.

Then he saw it. Wedged up underneath the car parked in the middle of the road was a lump of tattered clothing. He heard Shirley scream out again. He walked closer. You’ll have to git back, son, the ambulance driver said. Peering underneath the car, he came face to face with the battered and bloodied face of his playmate. Ooby, he managed to utter. It felt like someone had kicked him in the stomach.

Maybe we should jack up the car so we can git him out of there, he heard one of the policeman whisper.

Git that boy out of here! the ambulance driver said angrily.

Scott was led away, where his mother latched onto his arm and dragged him back into the house. Ooby’s dead, mom, he said, dazed. Run over like a dog.

She hugged him and said, Ooby’s gone to heaven, pumpkin. They’ll take good care of him. He was trying to fight back the tears. Why don’t you go back to your room and lie down.

He sat on his bed looking at the ambulance lights flashing. Their parents were always telling them to look both ways before you cross the street. He was beginning to sob. Ooby, he whispered.

Scott woke up to the sound of percolating coffee, with its seductive aroma wafting in from the kitchen. A fine crust of tears had dried on his cheeks after he cried himself to sleep. He had struggled in his sleep not to recall the horror of seeing his friend’s death mask, a gnarled and scraped expression of bloody agony. He could hear his dad talking. Outside, his dogs were barking and Karen was shouting about something.

He’ll be alright, his father said in a hushed tone, trying to reassure Mrs. Benson.

But he’s only six years old, Mrs. Benson muttered.

Kids get over this stuff, Mr. Benson stated.

Good-morning, pumpkin, Mrs. Benson exclaimed cheerily, noticing Scott standing in the kitchen doorway. Ready for some breakfast, sleepyhead?

I guess so.

Karen then burst into the kitchen, shouting: There at it again, mom. I can’t shoo them away. They’re his stupid dogs anyway, she said, disgusted.

You leave my dogs alone, Scott threatened.

I’m going to take a broom and whack ‘em good, Karen declared, dashing out the door.

Scott ran after her. Kids! Mrs. Benson shouted. Do something, honey, she begged. Mr. Benson shrugged his shoulders.

Scott’s half dozen dogs, several years worth of collecting strays, were circling in the middle of the street. Karen charged them with the broom, momentarily causing the dogs to scatter. Leave them alone, Scott screamed. They won’t stop sniffing at it, she said, brandishing the broom again. What? he asked, looking down at the large discolored spot on the road. I think I’m going to barf, his sister said, running back in the house.

A few dogs drifted back, hesitantly sniffing the road. A crimson stain had made a mosaic on the hot asphalt. Scott looked down and saw where a button had gotten embedded in the tar. All of the dogs were now sniffing around his feet.

Scott, his dad called from the front porch, come on back in here. Your mother’s got breakfast on the table. And turning to his wife, he said: I’ll get some bleach and pour it on the spot. That should keep the dogs away.

My little boy’s going to school, Mrs. Benson sang out, smooching him on the cheek, where he quickly wiped it away with the back of his hand.

Big deal, Karen stated, pinching his arm.

Ow! Mom! Scott screamed out.

Big baby, she teased, running out the door, laughing.

Now you have to go to school...have to go to school...have to go to school, Tina chanted. You’re going to hate it, it’s awful.

They lived across the street from the elementary school. Scott had seen the adolescent rite of passage twice before when his sisters were led off to school. He had tried not to think about it.

You’ll do just fine, his mother reassured him.

Wanna bet, Tina challenged, smiling.

Shush now, his mother ordered, frowning. Don’t listen to your sisters. They were all jittery too when they went off to school.

Were not, Karen declared through the kitchen screen door. He’s such a dumbhead. Can’t we change his last name so nobody will know he’s my brother?

Karen, where on earth do you get these ideas? Sometimes I think there’s something wrong with you. I really do, their mother mumbled, shaking her head.

Mother! the dogs are acting up again, Karen shouted over the din of echoing barks.

Pumpkin, go out there and straighten out those dogs of yours, will you. I don’t know why your father ever let you take in all those mutts anyway, Mrs. Benson muttered. Nothing but a bunch of flea bags.

The dogs were in a knot, growling, snarling, and biting in an attempt to wrest a bone away from one of the other dogs. Scott waded right in the middle of them, smacking heads as he went along. They respectfully retreated, standing off to the side, glaring at the half German shepherd half husky who triumphantly chomped on the bone with his nose buried in the dirt.

Scott walked right up to him and grabbed the bone. The mongrel snarled through clenched teeth, not relinquishing the bone. Let it go, Wolf, he commanded, giving the bone a quick yank. Wolf growled and pulled away. The other dogs began to bark, a whole chorus of different types of barks, some guttural and some high pitched and plaintive.

I’m going to count to three and if you don’t give me that bone...I’m going to...Scott said, pausing for a moment to think of some suitable punishment, to hit you over the head with a board or something. Wolf turned his back to him and started to chew on the bone again.

Scott walked over to the dog and, straddling the mongrel, grabbed Wolf by the ears and yanked as hard as he could. The dog howled. Another dog dashed in to