Found Objects

Found Objects

A Short Story Compilation

By Michael Boehm

This book is a work of fiction.  The characters, incidents, and dialogue are drawn from the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real.  Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

Found Objects.
Copyright
©
2013
by Michael Boehm. 
All rights reserved
. Initially presented as Ki
ndle Direct Publishing eBook.  No
part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission of the author except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews. 

This book consists of a number of stories I developed with the guidance and assistance of the San Francisco Writers’ Workshop, and is dedicated to them.  In particular, Tamim Ansary has been a wonderful resource for San Francisco’s budding writers.  I also would like to thank my wife and daughter for their patience and support. 

IN GOOD TIME

The town looked deserted, bu
t Charlie knew better.
 
W
i
per blades thumped their rhythm as
he rolled through town at a steady pace, doing his best to avoid debris strewn across the road.
 
A stopli
ght suspended between two
poles danced wildly in the wind, and Charlie accelerated through the intersecti
on at the thought
of
broken power lines whipping and crackling
across
his SUV
.
 

He
stop
ped
outside of the small clapboard
house
and sat for a minute, playing his eyes over the familiar sights.
 
There was the tree he had fallen from as a boy.
 
Around back he could see the rusty swing set, the chains oscillating in crazy patterns.
 
Pulling the hood of his rain jacket around his head, he opened his door and stepped out into the maelstrom.
 
The storm assaulted him immed
iately,
horizontal
rain
stinging his cheeks as he hurried for the porch.
 
The screen door was blowing back and forth wildly in the wind; seizing it with one hand, he thumped heavily on the front door with the other.
 
After several minutes of pounding, his efforts were rewarded by a clattering that he felt through the wood as multiple latches were disengaged and bolts were drawn back.
 
Fin
ally, the door came open
, and behind it stood a small, solid woman, her steel-wool hair fluttering in the breeze.
 
She mouthed something that was completely lost in the howling of the storm, but seemed to begin with "Well I'll be dipped in..."
Realizing
the futili
ty of speaking over the wind she gestured
sharply for Charlie to come inside,
stepping
back to admit him before shutting the door with difficulty.
 

Charlie pulled his hood back and wiped water from his face with his hands.
 
"Hi, mom," he said.
 

She stood there a moment, surveying him with a level gaze, a hand on her mouth, the other on her hip.
 
Sighing, she dropped her hands to her side.
 
"Let me take your coat," she said.
 

"We can't stay long," Charlie said.
 
"I'm getting you out of here.
 
Get your things."
 

She stared at him coolly "Nine years, Charlie.
 
Nine years since your momma seen you last, and that's all you got to say?
 
I don't know what passes for hospitality up north, but here when someone pays you a visit, you show them a little kindness.
 
Now take off your coat and I'll make us some tea."
 

Charlie sighed and unzipped his jacket.
 

Th
ey sat in the parlor sipping Earl Grey
as the wind howled out
side.
 
The ancient oak tree scraped
branches against the window as Charlie fought to control his anxiety.
 
Every instinct told him to get out now, to bundle his mother up under his arm like a football and make a break for the door before the full force of the storm smashed the little house to pieces. "Momma, it's a h
urricane," he said.

"Been through p
lenty of ‘canes, I have," she said, glancing at the window.
 
"She's coming
on strong
, that's for sure. And she's angry. But I think I'll be fine."
 

"Have you seen the satellite pictures
?" Charlie asked.
 
"I
t's headed right for here.
 
It'll
make landfall in a couple of ho
urs, a
nd the storm surge
will
be well over the levee
s.
 
This whole town will
be gone tomorrow."
 

The moments ticked by as Charlie watch his mother calmly sip her tea
, carefully lifting the cup to her thin lips and slurping
.
At the best of times that annoyed him; now it pushed him close to a berserk frenzy. 
He listened to
branches
scratching on clapboard siding
while his impatience grew. Without looking at him, she said "So how come you never called after the funeral?"
 

Charlie lowered his head and steepled his fingers before his face.
 
"Things were crazy, momma. I was doing my
internship
at Stony Brook, pulling ninety-hour weeks.
 
Janet and I
had just bought a house, and...
”

"How is Janet," she asked.
 
"I not
ice you ain't got no ring
."
 

"We divorced, momm
a. A couple of years ago.
 
It
didn't work out."

She close
d her
eyes and lowered her face. 
"
She was a fine lady.  What happened
?"
 

"We
didn't have
enough time together.
 
She had
her
residency, I had mine.  Between that and my research assistantship, and her volunteering,
we
hardly ever saw each other. We would sneak off for a weekend once in a while but it was like we were strangers
on a first d
ate every time.  It was awkward and exhausting.”
               

"Time's a funny thing, you know?"
 
Charlie's mother said.
 
"It's the one thing you can never make
any more of.
 
You can borrow it, save it, or waste it,
but you can't make it fresh.
 
That's why it's the most valuable thing i
n the world.
 
W
e all ge
t the same
number of hours
each day.
 
People
say ‘I don't got time for this,’
what they're saying is they got other things they'd rather spend their time on.
 
We all got the same amount, Charlie.
 
We just gotta choose what we do with it."
 

Charlie picked up his teas
poon and stirred his cup
.
 
"I'm sorry about dad," he said.
 
“I wish I could have done more.”

His mother cocked her head
and
narrowed her eyes.
 
"Is that what you think this is all about?
 
Charlie, did yo
u think I blamed you for that?
"
 

"I should have seen it," Charlie said
.
 
"I'm a doctor
, after all.
 
After he died, I just-"

"You what?" his mother shot back.
 
"You what?
 
You felt g
uilty
, so you hid in your condo in the city?
 
You blamed yourself for it and because of that, you decide to punish everyone around you?
 
 
You don't talk to me, you leave your wife, you forget your family?
 
What kind of man are you?"

"I have
a life!" Charlie shouted.  His spoon rattled on the formica
.
 
"People
respect me.
 
I save lives.
 
I write articles that people read all over the world.
 
People ask me to speak at conferences.
 
I'm making a
difference. Dammit, momma.
"

His mother gazed at him coolly.
 
"We all have a life, son," she
said.
 
"You think you're a big
shot, but you can't even take care of your family.
 
Now you roll up here in your ess-you-vee and think you're gonna make everything all right just like that.
 
In all your trying to be someone, you forgot who you are.
 
Let me ask you something.
 
When you go to these fancy conferences of yours, and someone asks you where you from, what do you tell them?"

They stared at each other across the table, the entire house
shuddering.
 
A
window exploded inwards as a
branch
shattered it.
 
G
ossamer curtains whipped about as sheets of rain, splintered wood, and broken glas
s sprayed in
.
 
Charlie jumped up and seized the branch hanging halfway into the living room, trying to shove it back outside.
 
"Momma, it's time to go!"

She stood up, clutching at her shawl.
 
"I'm not the one looking to be saved, here, son!" she said.
 
"I've made my peace."
 

Charlie heaved the branch back out the window and turned to look at his mother, holding one hand up to bloc
k the storm
.
 
"Please, momma," he said.
 
"Please.
 
Let me take you somewhere safe."
 

They stood there, staring at each other as the rain dripped off their faces and the winds whipped about them, tearing the room to pieces, swirling the jetsam of her home about them.
 

Charlie drove
out of the town, headed north on the levee road. The
storm rocked the heavy vehicle,
and when the rain was heaviest, he could see no more than a dozen feet ahead.
 
Slowly, carefully, he drove down the centerline of the road, the water three inches deep as the storm surge began sloppi
ng over the levee.
 
Twice he
had to get out and drag debris out of the r
oad, and both times the wind
nearly knocked him down.
 
Now up ahead, out of the grey he could just make out the shape of the trestle as he approached the bridge.
 
He breathed a sigh of relief when he saw that it was not yet inundated.
 
Stopping the car for a moment, he glanced back in his mirror at the town he had grown up in.
 
The town looked deserted.
 

"Don't be stopping now, son," his mother said to him from the passenger seat.
 
"This levee is coming apart."

Charlie looked over at his mother, sitting proudly in her seat.
 
A slight smile played across her lips.
 
"Sure thing, momma," he said as he eased the vehicle onto the bridge and headed north.