Tiger For the Lady

Here is my second round story for the NYC Midnight Short Story Challenge. We were divided into heats and given a genre, a character and an object. From that point, you have 72 hours to write 2,000 words or less. My prompts were comedy, a science teacher, and a masked ball.

Have you ever had one of those experiences that are a combination of exhilarating, mortifying, surreal and yet so totally real you will never forget a single feeling from it?

I’m not going to lie, I don’t get many “OMG” moments, unless it is a reaction to some impossibly low test score or asinine answer from one of my students.

I’m not even kidding.

Recently on a test about transparency, the kids were asked, “What is hard water?”

Want to know what half of them said? Ice. Ice! For the record, in case you thought the answer was ice also, it’s water that has a high mineral content.

As much as I love teaching, there are days I think I should have just stayed in bed with my cat, Chinese takeout and Netflix. Don’t get me wrong, I adore my students, but we all have our breaking point.

At 33-years-old, I am a self-pronounced science dork. I’m more comfortable with a beaker in my hand than a champagne flute. I can list the periodic table, and yet am a little backwards on the top 40 hits. Since most of my friends have gotten married, my social life has slowed dramatically. I don’t hold it against them that I’m not always included anymore since it is just as uncomfortable for me to be the third wheel as it is for them to have me tagging along.

I’ve dated plenty of men, just none of them for very long. Trying to meet Mr. Right has left me feeling like Dorothy walking the yellow brick road through the woods, weary of lions and tigers and bears. And yet, it was a tiger that eventually caught my eye.

I am very fortunate to teach in a great district. We recently won a large monetary award, prompting a celebration. Some genius in higher administration thought a masquerade ball would be a fun way to celebrate. While I could think of a million better ways to celebrate (once again, my cat, Chinese takeout and Netflix) this wasn’t really an optional event for me since I was on the committee that worked to get the district recognized.

So, on the appointed day, at the appointed time, I showed up at the appointed place. Not to be too full of myself, but it was almost a Cinderella moment for me. I had shed my practical slacks and sweater vest, took out the bun and shown up to the ball looking like a princess.

I adjusted my mask, took a big breath in, and opened the heavy double doors that led into the ballroom. The room was extremely crowded given that the scheduled start time was just 20 minutes earlier. I could see some faces I knew and a lot that I did not. The one curse of a large district is you don’t always know all of your coworkers at the other schools, or I suppose it could be a blessing, depending on the person. I made my way through the tables, looking for one with my school’s name displayed on the center plaquared. When I found it, it was already littered with several empty beer bottles and drink glasses, sweaters and purses left lying around haphazardly, not a person in sight.

“Seriously, they are worse than the students,” I mumbled.

Suddenly a tall, dark haired man was standing in front of me. His tiger mask hid part of his face, but his dimple, freckles and deliciously dark brown eyes gave me a clear enough picture.

“I’m sorry?” he asked.

“Oh, I was just talking to myself,” I stammered, my face flushing.

A large Cheshire grin spread across his face.

“As long as you don’t answer yourself,” he replied, offering his hand. “I was just headed to the bar. Care to join me?”

Sometimes I think God made me attractive to make up for my lack of couth in these situations. I took his hand without saying a word and let him lead me to one of a few bars set up throughout the ballroom. He ordered himself a Captain and Coke before turning to me.

“Red wine, please.”

As he handed me my glass, a bevy of screeching swans ran up to me, grabbing my arm and sending the contents of my glass all over my mystery man’s white tuxedo jacket. Again I found myself unable to form words, an elephant stuck in a butterfly net.

“Well that’s unfortunate,” he said, raising an eyebrow. “I’m going to head to the restroom and see what I can do about this.”

I tried to follow him, but I found myself cornered by five of my coworkers in matching white feathered masks, obviously oblivious of the mess, literally and figuratively, that they had just made.

“Sharrrrron,” they squawked, before each going off on their own tangent.

Honestly, I had no idea what any of them were saying. One on one they each had the tenacity and chattiness of a 15-year-old girl after downing a Venti Frappuccino with an extra shot. Combined it was like standing next to a space shuttle at takeoff.

“Who was the hottie?” one of them asked.

“I don’t know, ladies. Somebody made me spill my drink all over him before I even got a name,” I responded more angrily than I intended.

I walked up to the bartender and got a new glass of wine, opting for a white; in hindsight a precaution I wish I had taken the first time around. I was just suggesting we go on safari to find the beautiful beast when the loudspeaker boomed asking us all to take our seats.

Of course, this was not an immediate process. In a room full of overworked and underpaid educators, another trip to the open bar seemed reasonable before we were all stuck in our seats listening to the superintendent. There was a fast rush towards where I stood, so I made my way back to the table.

There were thank yous and speeches and awards. Eventually my name was called to come up to the stage area to get a small token of appreciation for my committee work. I thought for sure I’d be able to track down my lion from the front of the room, but I was mistaken.

I was headed back to my seat, almost resigned to the notion that he was nothing more than a figment of my imagination, when I saw him slip out the backdoor to the patio area. Refusing to let him get away again, I followed him out back, a tigress on the prowl.

“Guess I know how to make a memorable first impression. At least let me pay for the dry cleaning,” I said, sitting down in the empty adirondack chair next to him.

Unfortunately, I misjudged the amount of give in my party dress as I tried to sit. I ended up in an uncontrolled flop the last couple of feet, which sent the chair on its side. My tiger caught my elbow just in time to prevent my rear from being as bruised as my ego.

“Memorable may be an understatement,” he managed between laughs. He straightened my chair and help me sit down.

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you at a district event before. Although it’s hard to say for certain with these ridiculous masks on,” I said, trying to regain my composure.

“I feel like we are in some strange Eyes Wide Shut thing,” the tiger joked.

“You’re really funny,” I said, removing my mask.

“Funny how? Funny like a clown?” he asked, his Cheshire grin again lighting up his face as he removed his own mask. “Sorry, that was dumb. It was a line I heard once that I always wanted to try.”

I didn’t care at all about how dumb his last line was. He was even more gorgeous with the mask off than I had originally thought. My Cinderella moment was complete with this real life Prince Charming in front of me.

“I’m Sharon,” I finally managed. “I teach science at Ginsberg Middle School.”

He again extended his hand to shake mine, a formality which seemed a little silly given the series of blunders that had transpired between us over the last hour. I certainly wasn’t going to miss an opportunity to touch this god of a human, though.

“Jason,” he replied. “I’m the new math teacher at the high school.”

“A handsome hire. They finally got something right at central admin,” I joked, again feeling my face flush.

We spent the next half an hour playing “getting to know you.” Where did you grow up? (He grew up in Virginia.) How many siblings do you have? (He has two sisters.) If you could be a werewolf or a vampire, which would you be? (Definitely a werewolf.) You know, the important stuff. Without warning, he looked at his empty cup and then looked at me.

“I was going to get another drink,” he said, “but I think I may want to kiss you first.”

He sat there looking at me for what felt like forever, but in reality was probably just a few seconds. Next thing I knew, I felt like somebody else had taken control of my mouth. I was a dummy at the mercy of the ventriloquist.

“Why don’t you kiss me, get another drink, and then kiss me again,” I heard myself say.

He leaned into me and our lips locked. My nerves and elation were a silently crashing crescendo. He gingerly placed his hand along the side of my face, his forefinger and thumb perfectly cradling my jawline. As we pulled apart, he tucked my hair behind my ear so gently and naturally, it felt as though he’d been doing it for years.

Wouldn’t it be fantastic if that was how the story ended? However, this is a story about my life, and my life doesn’t end with a life altering kiss.

After the kiss, I sat back in my chair and closed my eyes for a moment, trying to let the magic sink in. The sound of clicking heels pulled me out of it, though. Walking towards us was a beautiful woman in a long black gown.

“Jason! Where the hell have you been? We have to get going. I promised the babysitter she would be home by 11,” she demanded. She turned her attention to me. “Who is this?”

Perhaps I could have taken half a beat before reacting, but after an entire night of roller coaster emotions, I was spent. I lept to my feet, perhaps the most fluid movement of my evening, and slapped Jason across his perfect face.

“Seriously? Are you kidding me, Jason,” I screamed. “The babysitter?”

I turned and quickly headed for the door, feeling like a complete moron. Just as the sound of laughter hit my ears, a hand grabbed mine and turned me around.

Jason.

“Sharon,” he began, shaking his head, “meet my sister, Allison. She also teaches at the high school. I’m staying with her and her three kids till I finds a place of my own.”

He reached into my open clutch and pulled out my cell phone. After hitting a few buttons he handed it back to me, kissed me on my cheek and began to walk away. As he reached the door he turned back, that beautiful Cheshire grin lighting up his face one last time that night.

“Call me. At the very least the cleaning bill is on you,” he said.

As Jason and his sister disappeared, I looked down at my phone in disbelief. Even if I had ended my Cinderella night as more of a jester than a princess, I had still won over my prince. Score one for the science nerds!

Nolan’s St. Baldrick’s Essay

This is an essay Nolan, age 10, wrote about his involvement with St. Baldrick’s Foundation. I am so proud of his commitment!

Nolan Oliphant

4th Grade

As a kid there are a lot of rules and a lot of adults making the rules. Sometimes it feels like grown-ups think kids can’t make good decisions by themselves. I think that as a child I have made good decisions and have been a good leader to help other kids make good choices. With our good decisions we are helping to make changes in the world.

Every minute a kid is diagnosed with cancer. The St. Baldrick‘s Foundation is an organization that raises money so in the future there will be a cure for pediatric cancer. They do this by men, women and children shaving their heads to raise awareness and show support for kids (and adults) who have cancer.

It is a very easy way to make a difference. You start by just making an account online. You can sign up to shave your head or to volunteer. Then you share it and people can join you or donate to you. How is it hard to help kids? It is actually pretty easy to help a kid in need.

I first shaved my head with St. Baldrick‘s in 2015 when I was seven. My mom did it in 2010 and was doing it again in 2015, so I decided to join her with my younger brother. We were part of Team Brave and Mighty. My mom’s friend Carl was the team captain. He was shaving for the fifteenth time in memory of his little brother, Andy. I was really nervous about shaving my head. I knew I had to be courageous, though, like the kids actually battling cancer. I’m glad I didn t listen to my fear because it was an awesome experience, even if my head was freezing in the cold Pittsburgh weather.

In 2017 I decided to do it again. This time I joined Team Ty, with team captain Drew Shields. Ty went to high school with my aunt and died of cancer in 1996 and Drew, his older brother, played baseball with my dad.This time I let classmates vote on what color I should dye my hair before the shave. If they donated even $1 they got to vote. It made it more fun for me and made the rest of the school more inspired and aware of what I was doing. I was determined to raise as much money as I could for this cause. In the end I raised $1,125 for 2017. It was a lot more than 2015 when I only raised $340.

When it got time to sign up for St. Baldrick’s this time, I decided to be a leader, and created my own team and try to get friends to shave with me. At first only a couple of other kids signed up to be part of the team, Naked Noggins. Now there are 14 kids shaving, plus Carl and his wife (she is a volunteer). Right now there are four days until the shave and my team has raised almost $6,000. I am so proud of my teammates. Also, to celebrate my commitment to St.Baldrick’s since this is my third year, I am being honored as a Squire of Hope.

I have been on a lot of teams with these kids. We have played soccer, baseball and basketball together. Naked Noggins is different than the fun we have playing sports because this time we are changing the future of pediatric cancer. Some people may think kids can t do a lot to make a difference, but my friends and I are proving them wrong.

Kids can make good decisions, and I am proud of the way my leadership, commitment, teamwork, determination, courage and citizenship have played a part my choice to be a successful part of St. Baldrick‘s.

https://www.stbaldricks.org/participants/mypage/1007493/2019

Make America Great Again

Here is my first round story for the NYC Midnight Short Story Challenge. We were divided into heats and given a genre, a character and an object. From that point, you have a week to write 2,500 words or less. My prompts were action/adventure, a restaurateur and spearfishing.

Make America Great Again

By Leann’s estimate, they had about an hour before the sun rose, casting an unwanted spotlight. They needed to finish up and head back to the caves quickly, before they found themselves exposed.

She knew that the small game, berries, and mushrooms they had gathered were not enough to feed everyone. She had hoped for a deer, but it was rare they saw any before day break.

“Let’s hit the stream,” she commanded. “We need to fill these water jugs and hopefully spear some fish.”

When this group of outcasts had formed, Leann had no ambition of being a leader. However, once she stepped up to help with food, she realized she had that title, whether she wanted it or not.

The burden had grown as their party did. What started with three people had grown to nearly thirty. They had seen other “racial traitors”, but there was no room in their cave community for more. The greater the number, the greater the risk. As much as it pained Leann to not help everyone, the policy was to share a meal, offer a night's rest, and send them south where another camp had been established.

Just last week a government ICE Pursuance Party had been spotted less than a half a mile away. Leann’s group was careful to leave no traces, but it was becoming increasingly difficult to remain hidden from these raids, even with the well concealed caves - indiscernible among the rock structures. It was a stroke of great fortune that had delivered this sanctuary to this party of pariahs.

One of the regulars at her restaurant was a geologist before they were forced into hiding. Asim Mostafa had moved to South Carolina two years ago. Being Egyptian in New York City was becoming increasingly dangerous, even if he was an American citizen, so he decided to head south. After the freeze on all immigration and the promised border wall became a reality, racial tension had grown at a dizzying pace.

For a short time after Asim moved, Charleston wasn’t wrapped up in the president’s efforts to “remove those who threaten the moral and puristic fibers that run through American blood”. However, the president’s aspiration to make America white again had quickly blanketed the country, suffocating the protests of dissentients.

It was a Wednesday morning when the president declared that all Muslims were to be gathered and sent to internment camps. By Wednesday afternoon, the news stations were broadcasting image after image of Muslim men, women, and children being beat, shot and dragged; not just by the government search parties, but by their own neighbors. On Friday, the president addressed the country, thanking those who helped terminate and round up the vermin that were polluting the streets.

This is how Leann’s group first formed. She hid Asim and two of his friends in the basement of the restaurant. He talked about an intricate cave system east of the city that he had stumbled upon while looking for a salt cave for work. It was tucked away in a forest and he thought he could hide there. She wanted Asim and the others to stay, but he didn’t want to put Leann at risk for harboring Muslims.

Only a week after the initial declaration, a new order came down that “the risk of terrorist hiding among us will remain critical as long as we allow those of inferior races to remain in our streets, businesses, and schools.” Suddenly, the glowing brown, Bolivian skin she had always admired was now her death warrant. After the first brick was thrown through the window of her restaurant, she knew it was time to leave.

“Guys, let’s hit down here by these rocks. They extend out for better fishing,” Leann ordered.

The group of five walked down to the water’s edge. Three members of the hunting party began filling the water jugs while Leann took D’Andre, a newer hand of the team, out to the rocks to show him the best way to spear a fish.

“Ok, D’Andre,” Leann began. “You have to stay very patient when spearfishing. It takes a lot of concentration and a sense of humor because you’re going to miss more often than hit.”

Almost contradicting herself, Leann speared the first fish she went for, plunging the sharpened wooden tool into the slow-moving waters. She showed D’Andre how to let the tip reach the bottom of the shallow stream and wait a moment until the fish weakened its struggle. She threw the fish in the leather bag that hung across her body before walking to another rock, giving D’Andre space to try for himself.

Twenty minutes later, all the jugs were full and a total of seven fish had been pulled out of the water. In all of the excitement of spearing his first and only fish, D’Andre had slipped off the rock and into the stream. Luckily it was still early September and he wouldn’t be too cold on the walk back to the caves.

They were only five minutes from the cave entrance when D’Andre suddenly stopped.

“Oh, no! Oh, shit,” he exclaimed. “When I fell in, I set my spear on the rocks. I left it there. My spear is at the stream. What if a search party comes through?”

Leann could feel her heart begin to race, partial anger, partial panic. This was a risk they could not afford to take. It was a small mistake that could have major consequences for them all. She was mad at D’Andre for leaving it, but even more upset with herself for not taking inventory before they left the site. She slipped the bag off of her shoulder.

“You guys go back to the cave. I’m sure nobody will see it, but it is a chance I’d rather not take,” she assured them.

“No, I can’t let you go back,” D’Andre protested. “It was my fault, I should go.”

Leann looked at D’Andre, only nineteen-years-old, still wet behind the ears - both literally and figuratively - and knew this was something she needed to do herself.

“I’ll be fine. There and back. It’s a trip I’ve made plenty of times. Go start cleaning the fish and I will make a nice fish and mushroom soup when I get back.”

As she crept back to the stream, Leann made a mental list of the ingredients she wished she had from her restaurant: heavy whipping cream, garlic cloves, and oh, how she missed her spice rack. Granted, nobody complained about the meals she was able to scrape together for them, but she missed the finer things to which her palate was accustom.

She neared the stream, spotting the spear on the rocks. She remained hidden behind a tree for a few minutes, listening for voices or any movement. Once Leann was satisfied she was alone, she made her way out, retrieving the handmade fishing tool.

Leann didn’t have a chance to register the flash in her periphery before feeling a sharp sting in her thigh. She kicked her leg out, reacting instinctively. The attacker, a large dog, circled in front of her, crouched down and leapt. Leann had no time to think. She stuck the spear out and pierced the dog through his chest as he began to bound - sharp, white teeth bared.

The large German Shepherd lay in the water, whimpering softly as its crimson blood ran pink in the stream. She saw its collar and registered the real threat this dog posed. ICE Federal Agent it read, alongside the Federal Seal. Not only had she just critically injured a canine agent, she was sure there were more agents, human agents, close behind.

The puncture wound to her leg was bleeding, but the adrenaline coursing through her kept any pain temporarily at bay. She had to quickly decide her next move. If she stayed in the water and ran, she could mask any scent in case there were more dogs. Staying in the stream left her without any cover, though. She pulled the spear out of the dog’s chest, producing a heartbreaking cry from the animal. With the tiny bit of protection in hand and her hunting knife in her belt, she made a quick break for the tree line.

“Stop right there,” a voice bellowed.

Leann had just made it into the woods. She ignored the voice and headed for denser cover. Her injured leg couldn’t take her full weight, and she felt herself being slowed by the hobble in her run.

A shot rang out. She braced herself for a hit that didn’t come.

Leann could hear more voices behind her, but luckily no barking. She wanted to head north a bit and then cross over the stream, away from her camp and the neighboring camp south of them. She was several hundred yards into the woods when she spotted a large boulder. Leann hid behind it, trying to buy some time to catch her breath and plan out which way to get back to the stream.

Leann’s sprint into the woods had increased the bleeding to her leg, but she had nothing with which to wrap or even wipe the wound. The wind gusted, swaying the treetops. Sticks fell. Branches groaned. Leann held her breath, unable to tell if all the sounds were nature or if the cracks and creaks could be those of the men hunting her.

As she was about to peek out from her hiding spot, she heard the unmistakable sound of a walkie talkie call, followed by words she couldn’t make out. She couldn’t gauge how far away the agent was until she heard him answer.

“I’m headed southeast currently. No sign of the scum yet,” the gruff voice said into the walkie talkie. He was no more than ten yards from where Leann sat, frozen.

“Wait. It looks like there may be some fresh blood here,” said the agent.

Leann could hear him getting closer. She had no idea what she should do. Should she stay where she was and hope he didn’t find her? Should she make a run for it? Her biggest fear wasn’t being killed at this moment. She had heard stories of “racial traitors” being tortured for information on where others could be found. Asim, D’Andre, and the rest of her crew had become an extended family to her and she could not betray them. She also knew her spear and knife were useless against the agent’s gun.

The walkie talkie buzzed. “I’ve spotted something west of the stream. Please provide back-up.”

“Copy,” said the agent.

Leann didn’t realize how rigid she was until her body began to relax as the footsteps faded. She waited a few minutes after he was gone before peering over the rock. She was alone. Tears of relief spilled down her face. She knew sitting there crying was not a luxury she could afford.

Although she didn’t want to lead anyone to the caves, Leann decided to continue east since it was clear they were looking the opposite direction. Using the spear as support, she began walking. Her leg was screaming, but luckily the bleeding had nearly stopped. Now that she was calmer, she had a better grasp on her location. She had been hunting and gathering in these woods for months. She felt ashamed that in her panic she had lost sense of her surroundings, wanting to believe herself more level headed.

Leann headed up a hill and walked along the top of a steep, rocky drop off. Just ahead was a path that would lead her to a heavily wooded valley where she could stay hidden until the sun went down. Leann just hoped nobody from the group came looking for her. A stick snapped behind her, pulling her out of her thoughts.

“You stupid, bitch!”

Leann turned quickly, instantly terrified, not just by the weapon pointed at her, but by the look in the eyes of the agent holding it.

“That was my dog you killed! He was my partner for five years and you took him away from me!”

The agent’s rage was palpable, as though he had harnessed the immeasurable energy of the ocean and unleashed the crashing waves of disgust on her unexpecting stillness. The hatred he radiated became a physical force, pushing her closer to the unforgiving drop off.

“I’m sorry,” Leann begged. “I am. It was just a reaction.”

“Shut up,” the agent ordered. “You disgust me. You and everyone like you. This is the exact reason we are wiping you all out. We should have done this a long time ago.”

The agent pulled out a walkie talkie with his free hand, the gun never moving from Leann.

“I have her. As much as I’d like to waste her right now, I’ll bring the bitch back for questioning,” he said. A sick smile spread across his face as he turned his attention back to Leann. “We have some fun ways of making you animals talk. Now throw down your weapons.”

Leann took the spear and knife and dropped them over the edge and onto the rocks far below. Maybe somebody from the group would find them and know that she was taken. Then again, if she were taken she’d be tortured. As much as she would never want to give up their location, she couldn’t risk their lives. Looking at the agent, she began to laugh.

“I feel sorry for you,” Leann told him. “There have always been people like you, scared of those who are different; scared of what you don’t understand. Understand this. You can torture me. You can kill me. But there will always be more people like me.”

“Shut up,” he yelled. “Quit talking and put out your hands.”

“The hats weren’t lying. America will be great again, but not in the way you want. America will be great again because this tyranny is not going to last. I have hope for the change that tomorrow will bring. Love is going to win, not you,” Leann finished, taking a giant step over the edge.

As she fell backwards, she smiled, knowing that everything she said was true, she had kept her people safe. She shall not have died in vain. It was for love. Love wins.