Story #4 by Carol Egan

Heartache

I can hardly get out of bed. What did I used to do that was so much fun? I can't remember. Everything seems boring and pointless. I get up because I have to. I go to work and put on a bright face. Inside I'm dying.

Fred told me about Luke. I literally crumpled to the floor. My husband has a son! What am I supposed to feel? I feel like I should be happy for him. Should I? I just can't. All I can think of is those awful years of trying and trying to get pregnant, having multiple miscarriages and hopes dashed. My heart was broken. It took me forever to come to terms with the truth -- we were never going to have a child. I picked myself up and carried on. I got used to the idea and was even happy. Now.. out of nowhere... Fred has a son.

How could he do this to me? I know, he didn't do it TO me. But it has happened to me, and I'm mad as hell, creeped out, and so envious I can hardly think straight.

Mad: after all these years! We tried and tried. Three times we got pregnant! I was thrilled! I ALWAYS wanted to be a mom. I know I'd be a great mom. I love kids! The miscarriages hurt so much. The longest I went was 10 weeks into the pregnancy. Oh, I had such hopes and dreams! So now, to see that my husband has a son, conceived in their teen years. It must have been easy. No thought given to making a child. It just happened. And me? I had to try and try, take medications, measure my temperature, do it when I didn't want to other than this is how to make a baby. So yeah, I'm mad.

Also, I'm mad on Fred's behalf. How could Annette have kept this from him for 26 years? It wasn't fair to Fred and certainly not to Luke.

Creeped out: OK, we weren't virgins when we got married. I knew that. I accepted it. We both had made that choice. But to learn that his girlfriend had his child? That makes it real. I can't help but picture them together, and it makes me ill. I know it's not fair, but how can I stop the feeling?

Envious: Annette had the baby I should have had. Did she even want it? I would DIE to have Fred's baby. I wonder if Luke looked like a cute little Fred. And I wasn't the one cuddling him, kissing him, making him giggle, reading to him, and chasing him around the house. It's eating me up inside.

Fred has been very careful with me. I know he's trying his best. He can see that I'm crushed. It's hard for me to talk to him right now. Next week he's going down to Saint Paul to meet Luke. He'll have to tell Diane about Luke, too. I wonder how she will take it? She'll probably be thrilled. She can finally be a grandma. She always says she's fine and happy without any grandchildren, but if she had some..... yeah, I know it would have been a joy for her. But now Luke is 26. That will be strange for Diane, too. Suddenly she'll be the grandmother of an adult.

I have been thinking this to death, working it over and over in my mind. I don't want to hurt Fred. I want him to be happy, and I hope the meeting with Luke goes well. But right now, I'm a wreck. Luke was born on July 20. Too ironic -- that was the due date for our first baby that miscarried. I always feel blue on July 20. Not sure how I'll feel this year -- even bluer?

Today I have to get up. Get out of bed and face the day. Put on a fake smile and slog through the hours. I love you Baby Fred and Baby Karen.. the babies that were never meant to be, that I almost got to have but never did. I will always love the people you might have been.

Story #3 by Carol Egan

Visiting Mom by Carol Egan

I need to visit my mom again soon. It has been too long. I have been so busy with that book draft that is giving me major headaches. Lately I have had severe writer's block, so it might be a good time to visit Mom.

Mom lives alone in a small apartment above a store in Saint Paul. She seems happy there, but how much longer can she live independently and use those stairs safely? From my home here in Duluth it's just a long enough drive to Saint Paul to make it a chore to go there, and it's easy to put off. Still, I think I do a pretty good job of keeping in touch with Mom, despite what that nosey Meals on Wheels volunteer thinks of me. She thinks she's hiding her thoughts, but I can read faces. She disapproves of me. "Fred just can't find the time" to visit, as Nosey Volunteer puts it. She doesn't know the whole story.

My Seal Chase on Melville Island is a major roadblock in my ability to carry on with normal life. I thought I had it done, but it needs more revisions before I even dare present it to the publisher. I spend more time staring at the keyboard than I care to admit.

Karen complains about my "Hermit Time," too. As if I'm sitting there of my own volition, neglecting her, my job, and all the chores I need to tackle around the house. This book needs my attention if I'm ever going to get it done! As soon as it's done, I can breathe again. Not to mention, if it gets published, I'll get a big raise at work.

Next week I'm on Spring Break, so I plan to go visit my mom. She told me that Nosey Volunteer is on a trip to London, so I'll grab the chance to visit and avoid those disapproving looks. I'm hoping the break from writing will be the rejuvenation I need to come back and work full bore.

How should I tell Mom about Luke? Will she have a heart attack? I almost did, and I'm 30 years younger than Mom! That day I got a phone call from Annette, my old high school girlfriend, just about did me in. At first I thought she was calling about our upcoming high school class reunion. Why would she call me about that, though? I have never attended a reunion and don't intend to start.

Annette and I were both percussionists in the high school marching band. That's how we met. Her first words to me were, "you have shit on your pants." It's a big no-no to get the band uniform dirty. Even sitting down in them is taboo. But she was right. Somehow I had acquired a blob of bird shit on my pants. She helped me clean it off, and the rest, as they say, is history. We started hanging out more and more and became an item for my last two years of high school. I was head over heels in love and thought we would eventually get married. The year I went off to college, and she was still a senior in high school, she broke my heart. We seemed to remain tight at first, but after a while I could tell something was wrong. She broke it off with me in December, just before finals. Uffda! I was reeling. Made it through, but I'm not even sure how. My heart healed over time.... a long time.

I couldn't find it in myself to date again until I finally met Karen during spring semester of our senior year. I majored in anthropology, and she was taking a course where I worked as an assistant to the professor. I was instantly struck with her bright eyes, and her intelligence. She is bubbly and fun to be around, too. She is a great balance to my quiet. She brings the happy out in me. We were married a year after graduate school, and eventually we moved to Duluth where I was offered a professorship at the University of Minnesota, Duluth.

So it was a surprise when Annette called me; I was expecting to hear something about a class reunion. Even that, I wondered, never warranted a phone call before. Why now? Instead I got a bombshell. Luke, she said, was with her and wanted to talk. I had no idea who Luke was. He got on the phone.

"Hi, I'm Luke," he said hesitantly.
"Hi, Luke," I responded, wondering what he needed from me.
"Um, uh, [pause]".
"Can I help you with something?" I asked encouragingly.
"Well, see, Mom, or Annette, tells me that, um, you.... are my dad."
Silence. "What??"
"You're my dad. I was born in July 1993. She never told you about me."
"Wait.. can I talk to Annette?" I pleaded.
Talk about blind sided! I never dreamed I was a dad! How could she have kept this from me?!

Long story short, I learned that when Annette broke up with me in December of my first year in college, she had just learned that she was pregnant. I guess she didn't want to ruin my future or something. So she kept it a BIG FAT SECRET. I was so out of touch with old classmates that no one ever told me Annette had had a kid!

His name is Luke Thomas Benson. Born July 20, 1993. What was I doing on July 20, 1993? Probably going on a seal hunt up in Kili Impini, Melville Island, Northwest Territories. I lived there for three whole summers in a row, in a small Inuit village that is rarely visited by non-natives, learning as much as I could about Inuit language and culture. Somehow they saw something in me and gave me permission to live with them. I went with them on many seal hunts, learned to eat the raw meat that they eat right after a hunt (especially the liver), immersed myself as much as I could into their culture. That's what my book is about, if I can ever get it done.

I'm still a bit in shock. Now I need to break the news to Mom. She's a grandma! She's going to hate the fact that she didn't get to be in Luke's life. He's already 26, and she never knew about him! I hate it, too. I always wanted to be a dad. I wish I could have... well, all of it. It's overwhelming. I can hardly even think about it. My head spins.

Karen … telling her was horrible. She and I tried and tried to have kids but could never manage. She had three miscarriages, but never a successful, full-term pregnancy. We finally just accepted the fact that we wouldn't be parents. She didn't want to consider adoption or any "heroic" measures. We've been pretty happy, but … there has always been that sadness in Karen's heart. A sadness so deep that I can't help heal it. She volunteers at a pre-school and just loves those little kids. It seems to fulfill a need, somewhat, but not totally. My poor, dear Karen.

I had to tell her that I was a father. Her face just about did me in. She crumpled. Part of her is happy, I think, to have a new person in our lives. But mostly she is devastated at being pulled back into those dark days of mourning and grief at what we could never have.

We haven't met Luke yet. I will meet him for the first time when I make my next trip to Saint Paul. This is another reason I have been putting it off, yet at the same time I am eager to go. I am super nervous. I'm quiet and shy. I hope he doesn't find me weird. Some people do (Nosey Volunteer). I want Luke to like me.

Oddly, neither Annette nor Luke have ever sent me a recent photo of Luke. And he's not on Facebook, so I can't look him up. He only sent me this picture of him with his classmates at Saint Paul Science Academy, a charter school he went to from K-12. They were all dressed up alike to compete in a Science Fair at the state level. I guess he was proud of that day, so that's the picture I got, or maybe a part of him wants to rub it in that I wasn't there through all of his childhood. I don't know. He's the second one from the left, back row.

He ended up majoring in chemistry at the University of Minnesota and is now a chemist at 3M. My kid did well for himself! Annette must have done a bang-up job raising him. Well, she was a good person and very smart, too, so I shouldn't be surprised. Her fabulous parents (I had really loved them, too) probably helped her raise Luke. I need to find out all of these details. It's deep. It's scary. It's exhilarating.

Next week I go.. trying to prepare myself. I'll meet Luke. Whew! Then...how am I going to tell Mom?

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Remember a while back I found a picture on the ice, and wrote a story about it? Then I wrote a story about a person finding the picture. I named the person in the picture Fred. Later my husband was out on a walk and found a picture, too. He handed it to me and said, "I found a picture of Fred's kid." So this story was born. All of it is fiction, including names, dates, and places. Kili Impini is a fictional village on Melville Island, Northwest Territories. Melville Island is a real island but is uninhabited. Kili Impini is real but is something like a weather data collection spot or an oil exploration area.. something that does not constitute a village.

Story #2 -- The Photograph on the Ice

The Photograph on the Ice by Carol Egan

You meet Diane, a retired woman who lives in a small apartment above a quilting studio. You question whether she gets lonely, living such a quiet life and spending her time reading novels and knitting hats for children. She assures you that she is content and, in fact, is the happiest she has ever been. You wonder if that is the truth, but you hate to argue with her opinion. What right do you have to do so?

You volunteer with Meals on Wheels once a week, and every Wednesday you bring lunch to Diane. She's your last stop, so occasionally you take extra time to sit and chat with Diane. You think you're doing her a favor.

Over time Diane tells you about her life. You learn that she grew up in Ottumwa, Iowa but never really liked it there. When she met and married Virgil she was happy to follow him to Minnesota where he owned a "Five and Dime" store in the Frogtown area of St. Paul. You actually remember shopping for candy cigarettes in that store when you were a kid, and you wonder if it was Diane who waited on you. Whoever-it-was always looked a little askance at you for buying pretend cigarettes. You don't know why she sold them if she thought they were so terrible, and really, you ended up being a non-smoking adult, so what harm did it do? You moved out of that neighborhood when you were 12, so you're really not sure it was Diane waiting on you, but she says she and Virgil owned the store during those years when you lived there.

Even as a kid, you liked old people. Your sister was afraid of them, but you thought they were fascinating and funny. The best was when they would get starry-eyed and tell you stories of their own young lives. They had such funny lives, like riding horses and not even having dial phones. That's why you enjoy chatting with Diane, even when you are busy and should get going to your other chores. You like to see her get starry-eyed.

Diane tells you about her son, Fred. She had him late in life, when she was 30. Virgil died in a car accident when Fred was only two. Those were tough years for Diane, raising Fred alone and trying to make ends meet on the income from her little dime store. But she made it through, sold the store and retired, and now she is content living in her little place, keeping herself busy. She is happy helping others by knitting them hats. She also loves watching Hallmark movies on TV. You wonder if her son, Fred, visits her often enough. He lives in Duluth and is a professor of anthropology at the University of Minnesota Duluth. He is married to Karen, but they don't have any children. Diane tells you that she is fine not having any grandchildren, but you wonder if that is the truth. Don't most older women thrive on having grandchildren?

You met Fred once, but you weren't too impressed. He was pretty quiet, even awkward and a little weird, you thought. But Diane sure dotes on him! She told you that he has almost mastered the language spoken by a small group of Inuit Indians up in a corner of northern Canada. Not too many non-natives have ever even been there, much less learned their language. But Fred did, and he is helping record some of their stories. He loves seal meat. Sometimes they eat parts of it raw when the hunt is fresh! You think that sounds awful, but Diane is impressed. Once Diane had some seal-jerky that she gave you, but you only ate a tiny bite to be polite and then threw it away when you were outside. Maybe a squirrel liked it.

You decide to take a vacation to London. You want to meet your cousin who is well-known by everyone in the family except you. You inherited a little money from your grandpa, so you decide now is the time to go to England. You deliver the last Meal-on-Wheels to Diane, at least the last for this month while you're gone. You hope it isn't the last of your life, because you look forward to telling Diane about your trip when you come back.

You go to Diane's on the last Wednesday before your flight to London, and you deliver her a warm meal of meatloaf, mashed potatoes, and green beans. Diane doesn't like chocolate pudding, which is the dessert, so she gives that to you. Diane is excited, because she recently got a new photograph of Fred. It's a picture of Fred last summer when he and Karen were on a fishing trip at Lake Nord near Aitkin. Karen thinks the picture of Fred is only so-so, but Diane loves it. She loves it so much that she printed up 50 of them to hand out to relatives and friends. She is so proud of Fred!

Diane gives you one of her precious photos of Fred. You notice that on the back is printed 38/50. She has already given away 37 copies of the photo, and you got #38. (You like even numbers, so this is cool.) You thank her and wonder what you're going to do with it. You're really fond of Diane, so you decide maybe Fred isn't so bad and that you will post that #38 on your refrigerator, to honor Diane.

You're getting a little flustered about how much you have left to do before you leave for London tomorrow morning. You say a quick farewell to Diane and she wishes you Bon Voyage. You grab your purse and your folder of papers you got from the travel agent and rush out. You are kind of nervous but excited about going to London tomorrow. You think "oh, I need to stop my mail. I need to clean out my fridge and give perishables to my neighbor, Ann. I need to check in and get my on-line boarding pass." You have so much on your mind. It has been snowy and icy lately. You're hurrying to your car and you slip on the ice, nearly dropping all your papers, just regaining your balance before you fall . "Oooh," you think, "that's the last thing I need is a broken ankle the day before my trip!" So you slow down, doing the penguin walk to your car, and fall into the seat, thankful that you made it safely. There won't be any ice in London. You're so happy about that.

You buckle up, check your hair in the mirror (it still looks fine - Diane even noticed how pretty it was today), and you take off. You have to go around the block to get headed in the right direction. You notice that there is a woman in front of the quilting studio above which Diane lives. She is holding a pile of quilts. She is standing at the spot where you almost fell on the ice. She is looking down at the ice. She is looking a little puzzled. You wonder if you dropped something or if you even got a scratch and bled on the ice. Then Quilt Woman bends down and picks something up. It's a small piece of what.. paper? A flyer? A photograph? Just then the car behind you honks, and you can't sit and stare any longer. You have to go, and by the time you make your left turn, you have already forgotten about the Quilt Woman who picked up something.

You go home and start the many tasks you need to finish before boarding the plane at 7:00 AM tomorrow. It's going to be a short night. Something is in the back of your mind. You suddenly remember the picture of Fred. Where is it? Did you stick it in your purse? You look for it briefly, but you are so frazzled by your tasks to complete that you distract yourself and forget all about posting Fred on your refrigerator.

You don't know that the woman with the quilts has picked up a photograph - it's Fred! Quilt Woman doesn't know it's Fred. She wonders who it is. She looks on the back, but all it says is 38/50. The picture is in rough shape. It was on the ice, and it looks like it got stepped on. She takes the picture home and stares at it for a while. She doesn't know why it captivates her, but it does. She decides to write a fictional story about Mr. 38 and post it at her blog. She wonders how many readers she can fool with her made up story.

You forget all about the picture of Fred. You fly to London, you meet your cousin. You and your cousin get along famously, and your cousin shows you all around London. You love getting an insider's view of the city. Your favorite (or favourite, as Londoners would say) part is getting a tour of Buckingham Palace. You can hardly believe you are in the queen's very own home. It's so beautiful! You buy a postcard and send it to Diane. You will tell her all about it when you get home. Diane said to have fun and that she will be fine with a substitute Meals on Wheels driver, but you wonder if that's the truth. You think she'll really miss you a lot. Because, look at how nice you've been to her.

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This story is entirely fictional and was inspired by Julie P. of Iowa. I decided to challenge myself and write it in 2nd person. That made it just quirky enough, I thought, to fit the mood I was going for. Fun challenge.
Oops..it was Cathy of Iowa who suggested I write this, not Julie. Sorry, Cathy. Thanks for the idea.

Mr. 38 (Story #1)

Mr. 38 grew up in a small town in Minnesota. As a kid he loved being outdoors, and he also loved to read. In high school Mr. 38 played football and was pretty good at it, and also was a percussionist in the summer marching band. He had a few, close friends and has kept in touch with them over the years.

38 went to college at University of Wisconsin, Stevens Point, where he majored in Natural Resources and also met the love of his life, Mrs. 38. He did not play football in college, but he took a badminton class and, to his surprise, loved it! He and Mrs. 38 love to play badminton in their yard with their friends and children. They have two children.

Mr. 38 works for the Minnesota Department of Natural Resources. He loves his job and loves his life back in Minnesota. Mrs. 38 is a librarian and is also a member of the local school board. His kids are 19 (Daughter), and 15 (Son) -- Daughter is in college at UWSP and Son is in high school. When the kids were young the family loved hanging out at their cabin, also camping in Minnesota state parks and national parks.

Mr. 38 loves the outdoors, he coaches the middle school football team, and he is a member of a Rotary club where he likes to help organize the annual chicken and corn feed (a fundraiser). He's pretty busy, so it's hard to find enough time to read, which he still enjoys.

One thing that Mr. and Mrs. 38 do not share together is his love of fishing. They have a cabin up north, and he loves to fish and bring home dinner. The rest of his family hates fishing, but they love eating his catch. He usually goes fishing alone, or sometimes with his old high school buddies. Sometimes Mrs. 38 sits on the beach reading or doing some hand sewing while he goes fishing.

This is Mr. 38 in late summer on one of his last fishing outings before the return to school and all that busy-ness. He convinced Son to go along. Son likes dabbling in photography and captured a few good shots of some ducks and a couple loons, in addition to this one of his dad.

Mr. 38 looks serious here, because he had been asking Son about the camera settings and was still in the conversation-about-cameras mode. Also, he has been grieving the loss of his father who recently died rather suddenly. He and his dad were close, and he is having a hard time with the loss. But, life goes on, and he has kids to raise. Plus, fishing and the chance to sit quietly surrounded by nature helps calm him and help him feel grounded.

I met the 38 family when Mrs. 38 and I attended a quilt retreat together, and later I ran into her again at a United Methodist Women gathering. I happened to go out to dinner with her and her whole family the last evening of the UMW event. What a nice family! They're all a tad on the shy side, but guess what... I love shy people. They are good listeners, and the whole family is super nice.


Why do I call him Mr. 38? Because I had to call him something. This story is complete fiction. I made it up. I found this photograph on the sidewalk today, smooshed and dirty, and I felt sorry for it, sitting there in the ice and snow. I brought it home and scanned it for you and made up this story. I call him Mr. 38 because on the back of the photo is stamped 38/50. Did I have you fooled??