Posted in Story Showcase

Falling into You Once More

By Jeannie Yee Davis

She flipped through the day’s mail, stopping when she came across a white envelope with her return address label. Her heart beat its way out of her chest as she read the large words, Return to sender, not at this address. The phrase was neatly written in blue ink on the envelope of the birthday card she sent Wayne a few weeks ago. She shouldn’t be surprised. She knew this moment would come one day, but one day came sooner than she expected. Now it indeed was over whether she wanted it to be or not.

She stood in the hallway, motionless except for the tears trickling down her cheeks. With trembling hands, she clutched the card against her chest. The last few years flashed across her mind as she recalled what happened.

It had been almost two years since she listened as the machine played his phone message, “Hello Pam. It’s Wayne. We need to get together. Call me.” 

“Oh, what should I do?” she thought. “I’ll call him in a few days. Maybe then I would’ve cooled off.” She didn’t believe she would, but she was hopeful. Two weeks later, “Oh, crumb. I should call Wayne back.” She picked up the phone but dropped it back down on the cradle. Picked up. Dropped it again. Looked at her watch, “10:30. It’s late. Maybe he won’t pick up.” She took a deep breath, picked up, and dialed. Her call went straight to voicemail. “Hi, Wayne. It’s me. Sorry I didn’t call sooner. Been busy. I’ll call you when things calm down, ‘k? Bye.”  

The 4 x 6 glossy of Wayne with his dimpled smile stared at her when Pam opened her wooden keepsake box to put Wayne’s card in it. She gingerly picked up the photo. Beneath it was the velvet mauve baby rose he bought for her from the airport newsstand. She picked it up, smiling, blinking back the tears remembering the day they met. 

She was working for the flight Wayne took on his business trip to Singapore. “Hello.” She said when he came on board. He glanced at her and forced a smile. She watched him find his seat. “There goes one sad puppy,” she thought and vowed to cheer him up before the flight was over. 

She checked on him often. With each pass, she noticed his demeanor softened. She was pleased, but then she noticed him staring and smiling at her more than he should. “Oh, great! He thinks I like him!” She stayed away from him. “He’s not giving up,” she thought when she peered his way, locking eyes with him. She felt a flutter in her heart. She blushed and smiled back at him. A small turbulence jerked the plane, breaking her gaze away from him.   

He came towards her. She busied herself in the service station. He peeked in and asked, “How long is your layover in Singapore?”

“Overnight, why?”

“How about dinner with me then?”

“Why not?”

“Great. It’s a date.”

They saw each other over the next three years. He had gone through a bad marriage of fourteen years. After the first four years, his wife stopped being a wife. He was starved for affection. 

Although Pam wasn’t divorced like Wayne was, she shared his plight. Pam’s marriage to Michael began just as she had always dreamed it would be, full of love, passion, and best friends. Even when he bought the construction company he worked for; they planned their crazy schedules to make time for each other.

After their first anniversary, they decided to start a family. She became pregnant within weeks but miscarried a month later. They were both devastated. They agreed to try again in a year. When they did, she had no problem conceiving. Keeping the baby was another story. They lost the second baby soon after. He didn’t say a word during the drive home from the hospital. She thought he just needed to be alone. When he tucked her into bed, she turned to smile at him, catching the scowl on his face. He quickly turned away. She wasn’t supposed to see that, but she did. She reached for him, “I’m sorry about our baby.” He moved just out of her reach.

“Remember what you said when we were dating?” he asked. “You said you didn’t want children, remember that?”

“Yes, but I…”

“You got your wish,” he interrupted. 

“I wish I never said that because I…” he turned and walked out before she could tell him she changed her mind once the baby was inside her. She wanted those babies just as much, if not more than he did, but he didn’t give her a chance to tell him that.

This was the turning point in their marriage. They both wallowed in depression, withdrawing from each other, and their marriage. They became like housemates who saw each other in passing, rarely saying a word to the other.

Their marriage floundered. Michael sought solace in his work, and so did she until Wayne came into her life. He became her solace. They each supplied the other’s emotional needs. 

One evening she came home as Michael walked down the stairs without taking his eyes off her. She glanced at him noticing warmth in his eyes and a smile like the ones he used to give her. She took off her coat and prepared for silence like usual. Only he surprised her with, “Are you glowing? I’ve forgotten how beautiful you are.” She dropped her coat when he pulled her towards him and kissed her. 

The following months were bliss. “Okay, hon, I got you down,” she jotted Michael down with her red pen into her organizer. William Tell rang out from her cell. “Hello, Wayne. Ah-ha got it. I’ll see you there.” She took out a blue pen and noted her date with him. Mozart chimed from her cell. “Did you forget something, Michael? Okay, I will.” She was living a dream juggling between two gorgeous men.

She took one last look in the mirror. Pam checked for lipstick on her teeth. She fluffed through her hair before heading out on the gangway into the airport. She straightened her dark blue uniform as her eyes swept the lobby for Wayne. 

“There you are! I’ve missed you so much,” he said.

“I’ve missed you too.” She flew into his embracing arms and was kissing him when she felt someone watching them. She turned to find Michael standing a couple of feet away with a bouquet of white roses in one hand and a look of disgust on his face. “Michael,” she called out, pushing Wayne away. Michael tossed the roses on the ground and ran off. She grabbed the flowers and raced after him. She didn’t catch up with him until she got home. 

He was pacing the living room floor when she walked in. He sat down on the couch but didn’t say anything and didn’t look up. She felt a chill go through her. She waited for him to speak. He didn’t.

“I’m sorry, Michael.” He didn’t answer. “Please talk to me!”

“I don’t know what to say to you right now. I can’t believe what I saw out there.” 

“I’m sorry, Michael!”

“Is this why you’ve been glowing?” He asked. “How long has this been going on?”

“About three years,” she replied. “I swear I’ve never done anything like this before, and I never will again.” 

He ran upstairs. Pam raced after him. 

“Michael, what are you doing?”

“What does it look like I’m doing?” 

“Please stop packing! Forgive me. I won’t ever see him again. I promise. Will you stop a minute? Please…stop!”

“I could forgive you anything but this. This is one thing that I could never forgive you for.” 

Pam realized what she had done and told him to stop packing because it was his house, and she’s the one who messed up so she’ll leave. She packed up and left.

She became a recluse at a motel near the airport. Weeks went by. Nothing changed. One morning it was clear she needed to do something. That day she gave her two weeks’ notice and moved from her San Francisco airport motel to a motel in Grants Pass. She had visited a friend in Grants Pass years ago and remembered the feel of coming home and knew that’s where she belonged. 

Two years had gone by before she received the card back in the mail. She buried her past when she began her new life, but today she reflected on her old life. She pondered her mistakes and decided if she had it all to do over again, she wouldn’t have messed up her life with Michael. He was the love of her life. If she had another chance, she’d do it right. She left Wayne at the airport that day and never looked back. She realized now she wasn’t sad about losing Wayne. She had blamed him for her broken marriage. Recognizing this, she needed to talk to him to ask for his forgiveness. She dialed his cell number, hoping it was still good.

He picked up on the fourth ring. “Hello?”

“Happy belated birthday,” she said.

“You remembered.” 

“I sent you a birthday card, but it came back.” 

“Sorry I moved. Let me give you my new address,” Wayne said. “What have you been up to?”

“I’m a travel columnist at The Voice Magazine now.”

“That’s a big change. How did that happen?”

“When I moved here to Grants Pass, I was at a coffee shop looking over the want ads when I overheard a couple talking about a columnist position opened at The Voice Magazine. The Voice Magazine building was just down the street, so I called for an interview. I lucked out when Roberta, the hiring manager, had a cancellation and agreed to see me.”

“Well, what do you know?” he said. “I didn’t know you were into writing.” 

“That’s because it was a long time ago. I majored in journalism. Roberta thought my ten-years as a flight attendant would help with writing a travel column. Even though I had no journalism experience, she hired me on the spot.”

“That’s great.”

“Thanks. Wayne, the reason for my call is to ask your forgiveness.”

“Why?”

“I’ve been blaming you for ruining my marriage. It wasn’t your fault.” 

“It was both our faults,” he said. 

“I’m not calling to get back together…”

“I know. It hurt when you left, but you forced me to put my life into perspective. Now I have Joyce. We’re very happy together.”

“I’m happy for you.” 

“Thanks. I’ve got to go. Call me sometime?”

“Definitely, bye.” 

While she had the courage, she called Michael. Her heart beat faster with each ring of her old number. 

As soon as he heard her voice, Michael blurted out, “Pam, I’m glad you called. I’ve been working up the courage to call you. Could you ever forgive me?”

“Forgive you?” she asked.

“I’ve been seeing a shrink a client recommended. My depression began to interfere with work,” he said. “The shrink helped me see that I tend to shut down during any personal crisis. Even though you were wrong to cheat on me, I now understand my part in pushing you in to what’s his name’s arms. I still love you, and I’m ready to work things out with you if you are willing.”

“Do you mean to get back together?” she asked.

“Yes. We could start by spending this weekend together. I’ll drive up to you.” 

“Michael, you don’t know how much this means to me. I’m looking forward to it,” she said. “I never stopped loving you either.”

Right before they hung up, Michael said, “Pam, one more thing, technically we’re still married. I couldn’t bring myself to submit the divorce papers.”

Previously published in e-clips.

Posted in Story Showcase

The Ride

by Jeannie Yee Davis

“Oh, Dad, can’t you please drop me off at school today? I’m so tired. I really don’t wanna walk to school.” Harry pleaded, slinging his backpack over his shoulder.

His father continued to read the newspaper without paying him any attention.

“Dad, please! I promise I wouldn’t ask you unless I really needed to. Just this once – could you please drive me to school? Please!”

“Your school is only six blocks away. Besides, it’s such a beautiful day for a walk.”

“I know, but it’s so hard hiking uphill with my backpack.”

“Up what hill? The streets are level all the way.”

“No, it isn’t! It gets steeper and steeper the farther you go, then there’s a real steep hill just before you get to my school.”

“What hill?” his father grimaced. “Wait a minute. The street before your school is going downhill.”

“Yeah, but I’ve got to hike uphill until I get there,” Harry argued.

“Forget it. I have a meeting this morning and can’t make the detour. Just be a good boy and walk.”

“But, Dad, my ankle is really bothering me today.”

“What’s wrong with your ankle?”

“I injured it playing soccer yesterday.”

“When did this happen? How did you do that? Why didn’t you say something before?”

“I twisted it running on the soccer field when my foot fell into a ditch.”

“Let me see your ankle.” Harry stuck his ankle out for his father to see. “It doesn’t look swollen. It looks fine.”

“But it hurts real bad,” Harry said, exaggerating the pain.

“Here, let me see,” his father reached over and began pressing around Harry’s ankle. He searched Harry’s face for signs of pain as he pressed around the ankle. Harry didn’t show any sensitivity to his father’s touch. His father felt along different parts of the ankle, expecting Harry to shriek in pain, but he didn’t. “Well, there doesn’t seem to be anything wrong with your ankle.”

“But it hurts real bad, Dad! I’m not kidding. It really does.” Harry said.

“Well, Harry, if it hurts so bad, why didn’t it hurt when I pressed on it?”

Harry’s mouth fell open. His eyes widened, bouncing from side to side. He searched his brain for a reason. Finally, he said, “That’s because, Dad, the pain is deeper down inside where my muscles are. I pulled a muscle. I’m sure of it.”

“Harry, the muscles are on the outer side of the bone. If you pulled a muscle, it would’ve hurt when I touched your ankle.” His father studied Harry’s face. “There’s nothing wrong with your ankle, is there?”

“Nah, I guess not,” Harry said with his eyes cast down to the floor.

“You want to tell me why you’re trying to get a ride to school so badly?”

“It’s just that the kids pick on me for being the only kid that doesn’t get a ride to school.”

“But that’s not true, and you know it. Your buddies walk to school too, don’t they? Or did that change?”

“Well yeah…they do. But the cool kids all get dropped off by their parents.” Harry said.

“Since when did you care about the cool kids?”

“Well, I don’t…I mean, I didn’t…well, I mean, I don’t.”

“Then what are we talking about here?”

“It…it’s just that…it’s so un-cool not to be like the cool kids!”

“But you just said you don’t care about the cool kids, so what difference does it make if you’re like them or not.”

“It doesn’t, but…”

“But what, Harry? I don’t have all day.”

“I don’t care about the cool kids!” Harry bellowed out.

“Then, fine. Discussion over.” 

“I don’t care about the cool kids! I only care about Joanna!” Harry gasped, covering his mouth quickly when he realized what he had just said. “I-I-I didn’t mean that. Forget you heard that, ‘k?”

His father began laughing and almost fell out of his chair at the breakfast table. “So, that’s what all this is about? A girl? You’re trying to impress a girl?”

“No, I’m not!”

“Sure sounds like it to me.”

“No! She’s not a girl. I mean…she is a girl but not just a girl. She’s really something special, but she just hangs out with the cool kids, that’s all.” Harry pouted.

“Look, Harry, if you want Joanna…is that her name?” Harry nodded. “If you want Joanna to notice you, being dropped off in a car isn’t the way to do it. You need to keep on being yourself. Be who you are, regardless if she is around or not. She’ll notice you because you are different from the cool guys. If she is as special as you say she is, she’ll respect you for being different…for being set apart from the boys she hangs out with.”

“Do you really think so?”

“I do. Besides, how else are you going to know if she likes you or likes your car?”

“Hmm, good point,” Harry pondered.

“So, you think you’re ready to head out for school?”

“Yeah, I guess so.”

“Still want that ride?”

“Nah. Like you said, it’s a beautiful day. I think I’ll walk.”

“That’s my boy. Have a good day at school, Harry.”

“Thanks, Dad, I will.” Harry stopped before going out the door. “Dad?”

“Yeah, son?”

“Thanks…for everything.”

“You’re welcome,” said his father, smiling from behind his paper.

Harry hiked up the slight incline then down the short hill to his junior high school. As he neared the school, he saw the cool kids loitering against the railing, and Joanna was giggling with them. 

Don’t look her way. Don’t look her way. He told himself. Too late. Don’t! I said, don’t look! He couldn’t resist sneaking a peek at her. He turned just in time to catch her dark penetrating eyes following him. His body became jelly. His heart thumped like a bongo drum. The next thing he knew, he stumbled onto all fours with books flying out of his backpack over his head. The cool guys began laughing. His face heated up. He picked up his books, pretending not to notice them. He almost missed a soft voice asking him, “Are you all right?” He looked up, and Joanna was standing over him.

He fell back down on his behind, spilling the books out of his arms. He sat there with mouth ajar, staring at her in disbelief.

She asked again, “Are you okay?”

“Ye-yeah, ah-ha,” he nodded fervently. “I mean, yep, I mean, yes, I’m fine. Thanks.”

“Oh, good. I’m glad you’re okay.”

“Thanks. Me, too.”

“Um, well, I guess I’d better go,” she said. “Um…My name is Joanna.”

“I know. I’m a…I’m a…” He stammered as he pulled himself together and stood up.

“Harry, I know,” she said. “You’re in my fourth-period class.”

“You noticed me? I mean, right, fourth-period.”

She smiled, then said, “See you in class later.”

“Right. See you later,” he said, watching her walk away but catching her, turning her head to flash him one last smile.

He picked up the rest of his books and began snapping his fingers to The Temptations playing in his head. He didn’t care if the cool guys saw his body swaying or heard him singing about having sunshine on a cloudy day and My Girl.

Previously published in e-clips.

Posted in Story Showcase

The Year My Summers Ended

By Jeannie Yee Davis

Summer is my favorite time of year. Summers meant the leisure life, no homework, sleeping in, watching all the TV I wanted, and wondering what my school friends were doing. The summer I turned fourteen ended my summers of leisure. One night, a week after my fourteenth birthday, my mother called me away from the TV set and told me to get dressed. I was baffled, where would we be going at 8 o’clock in the evening? I obediently got dressed and followed her. On the way down the twilight street, I asked her where we were going, and she replied that we were going to my job interview. I panicked at the prospect of what was forthcoming. I wasn’t ready to go to work. I didn’t want to go to work. I just wanted to enjoy my summer like I always did. My stomach knotted up inside me. I didn’t want to go to this job interview, but I knew I had no choice. I tried asking her more questions about this job, but she declined to answer and told me I’d know soon enough.

We headed down to Grant Avenue in Chinatown and walked into a large gift shop that smelled of incense, and in the background, I heard wind chimes softly chiming. I saw a couple of young girls about my age, in different color happy coats, one dusting and the other replacing merchandise on the shelves and a middle-aged woman ringing up a customer at the cash register. When we entered, the tall frizzy-haired woman looked up at us, smiled, and then gestured she’d be with us in a minute. Once the customer left, she came over to us and introduced herself as Mrs. Ja and indicated that the man walking out from the stock room was her husband, Mr. Ja. My mother and Mrs. Ja did all the talking while Mr. Ja and I looked on. Mrs. Ja told my mother I’d be working forty hours a week during the summer, and during the school year, I would work twenty hours a week, and I start work tomorrow. I tried not to be obvious, but I felt my eyes pop out of their sockets, and I silently gasped when I heard this. Right then, I lost my summer.

The next day my mother escorted me down to the gift shop where I would be spending the rest of my summer. My mother and I walked in silence. Once we arrived at the shop, Mrs. Ja smiled warmly and told my mother to come back for me at 6 o’clock. I followed Mrs. Ja into the closet, where she instructed me to hang my belongings on a wall hook and handed me a bright yellow happy coat. I looked around to see if there were other color choices, but the alternatives were bright orange, navy blue, or forest green. Yuck! The yellow didn’t seem so bad after all. I reluctantly put on the happy coat over the blouse and slacks I was wearing and followed her back into the store.

She introduced me to the two girls on my shift. Suki, who wore glasses, was tanned and a head shorter than me. She had long black hair flowing down her back over her orange happy coat. She reminded me of Halloween. Donna was pale and about my height with a short pageboy haircut and wearing a green happy coat. She made me think of a forest that never got sunlight. Mrs. Ja said to ask these girls for help if she wasn’t around then she took me through the store and showed me where everything was. I felt my heart beat faster as she gave me more and more information. How was I ever going to remember all this?

First, there were all the different T-shirts, kimonos, Mandarin coats, and slippers. How they were displayed and where the stock was stored. Part of my job was to iron the kimonos before I hung them on display. Next came the backroom tour where I would do the ironing. What if I burned something? I thought but was too afraid to ask. This backroom was scary, being lit by a single uncovered light bulb that stuck out of the wall right over the ironing board. There were no windows; instead, there were boxes stacked on top of each other on one side, and on the opposite side where the ironing board stood was the bathroom, a water cooler, the garbage cans, and a small square table parked against the wall next to the bathroom with a couple of chairs.

After the tour of the clothing items, she showed me the dolls, brassware, tea sets, plastic figurines, silk figurines, incense, onyx chess boards, hand-painted eggshells, and the display cases of Taiwan jade, ivory and costume jewelry. Next came the lesson on how I was to showcase these items to the customers. My happy coat, a loose-fitting cotton jacket with mandarin collar, ornately embroidered buttons down the front, and big baggy three-quarter sleeves looked lovely but was not practical. Especially when the display counter was almost too high for my height, those loose sleeves repeatedly knocked over the stands of costume jewelry that sat on the counter surface. Whenever I brought out a tray from inside the display case for the customer to view, my sleeve would run into one of the stands on the surface. Mrs. Ja wasn’t pleased with this as she kept grabbing the stand as soon as it began to tip over.

Once Mrs. Ja showed me all she could with the jewelry, she began to teach me how to use the cash register, followed by how I should count the change back to the customer. I was self-conscious, knowing she was watching my every move, and I had trouble counting the money, which didn’t please her. Eventually, I did well enough for us to move on to the next thing on her list.

The next thing on Mrs. Ja’s agenda was to take me downstairs, where the stock was stored. I thought the back room was scary, but that was nothing compared to this basement storage. The basement was humungous. It was dark, stuffy, spooky, and secluded with no outside sources of light or air. A single wall switch turned on a light bulb dangling from the ceiling at the bottom of the stairs. We made our way through the basement maze, where Mrs. Ja drummed into me the importance of remembering where the lights were. A pull on a string activated each light. Mrs. Ja instructed me to make sure I turned off the lights when I leave. This basement housed rows of wooden shelves with brown cardboard boxes everywhere. She started telling me where what was stored and if I needed to check on the stock to come down here and go to the respective locations and look for them. I nodded in acknowledgment, but as soon as she told me where something was, I had already forgotten what she said.

Mrs. Ja explained so many things to me; my mind began to wilt. I fooled myself into believing this was just an introduction and relaxed, thinking all I had to do was listen. But little did I expect her to have me perform the tasks she had spent the morning teaching me. I was racking my brain, trying to recall everything she taught me, but I soon realized I would have to just do the best I could. She observed my every move and corrected me immediately when I didn’t do something exactly as she had instructed. I was afraid to make a move without first searching her face for approval. Things improved for me as I did more and got more practice, and I started to feel pretty good about what I was doing.

Suddenly, a large group of tourists came into the store, and every worker was busy helping the customers, so I was forced to assist the customers by myself. I felt good when I was able to answer the first customer’s question correctly. Things fell into place as long as I kept calm. I realized this was something I could do after all.  

When a customer asked for a pair of slippers in size 8, I looked under the counter, but the size 8 box was empty. I told the customer I would go downstairs, find a pair for her, and ran off to the basement.  

When I reached for the light switch, I noticed the light was on. At the bottom of the stairs, I looked around, but I didn’t see anybody. I paused and listened but didn’t hear anything, so I headed for the aisle where the clothing was stored. I got a little turned around because everything looked the same. I was trying to hurry and get out of there before someone accidentally turned off the lights while I was still there.  

Eventually, I found the box with the slippers, and after going through many boxes, I found a pair of size 8. I was elated. I quickly put everything away and ran back towards the stairs. Once I was sure of the path to the stairs, I started turning off the lights, and then I ran towards the next light. I kept doing this until I made my way back upstairs. I was pleased I had successfully taken care of the customer’s need and made it through the basement storage maze.  

I was smiling big until I saw Mr. Ja walk through the basement door red in the face glaring at me. The smile fell off my face when I realized what I had done—I turned the basement lights off, leaving him to feel his way out of the darkness. He didn’t say a word to me, and I didn’t know what to say to him, so I didn’t. I kept busy and eagerly awaited 6 o’clock to come when I could go home.

Previously published in e-clips.

Posted in Story Showcase

A Tale of the Eyes

   by Jeannie Yee Davis

He eyed me for so long

But my eyes to someone else they belonged.

Still his fondness for me over the years, in his eyes I see

But my eyes to someone else they still belonged.

After seeing his lovely smile so sincere it makes me go wild.

His eyes filled with devotion that is genuine

I realize my heart he can easily win.

Finally, my heart he has won for his smile was the key

And now my eyes see only he

But it’s my turn for misery.

He no longer wants me

I guess I took too long and he now knows that

My eyes to someone else they belonged.

Previously published in Expressions of the Heart.

Posted in Story Showcase

Falling into You

by Jeannie Yee Davis

Pam’s heart faltered when she saw ‘Return to sender – not at this address’ and she knew it was over. She stood in her hallway motionless except for the tears trickling down her cheeks. Memories, so carefully suppressed, now flashed through her mind. 

It had been two years since his phone message, “Hello Pam. It’s Wayne. Listen, we need to get together. Call me.”

Since then, she had picked up the phone a thousand times, but each time dropped it back into the cradle. One night, she glanced at her clock. ‘It’s 10:30Maybe he won’t pick up.’ Her heart quivered as she sucked another deep breath and dialed. His voicemail came on. “Hi, Wayne. It’s me. Sorry I didn’t call sooner. Been busy. I’ll call you when things calm down.” She was hyperventilating and hung up with her heart pulsating in her temples.

Pam lifted the hand-painted lid of the wooden keepsake box to put Wayne’s card inside. Then she saw the 4×6 glossy of him staring at her with his dimpled smile. She gingerly picked it up. Beneath it was the pressed mauve baby rose he gave her. She took it out smiling as tears welled up; spilling down her cheeks remembering the fateful day they met.

Pam greeted the passengers as they entered the threshold of the 757 headed for Singapore. “Hello” she said as he boarded. He glanced at her with a thin smile. Her eyes involuntarily followed him to his seat. ‘There goes one sad puppy,’ she thought. He was handsome in a demure way. His short wavy brown hair accentuated his strong cheekbones, his dimples and his dreamy eyes.  

“More coffee?” she asked pampering him a bit. She noticed his manner softening, but her heart sank when she saw him staring and trying to catch her eyes a little too often. “Oh great! He thinks I’m after him!” Like a scared rabbit, she began to avoid him, busying herself with her flight attendant tasks. ‘He’s not giving up,’ she thought, but when their eyes met her heartbeat doubled. A slight smile crept across her mouth, and she felt her face grow hot. 

She was stocking the beverage cart in the service station when she felt someone approach. He peeked around the corner and asked, “How long is your layover in Singapore?”

“Overnight, why?”

“How about dinner with me then?”

She bit her lip and paused. “Why not? I’m staying at the Pan Pacific. Pick me up at eight.” 

“Great. My name is Wayne.”

“I know. I looked at the roster. I’m Pam,” she said, giggling.  

* * *

Pam’s long blond hair hung in waves down her back, and the simple black sheath she wore couldn’t hide her curvy figure. She was staring in the mirror putting on her earrings when the phone rang. ‘What am I doing?’ She wondered with a pang of guilt. ‘I’m a married woman.’ 

“Hi, I’m downstairs.” ‘Hmmm, nice voice.’

When Pam stepped off the elevator, she saw Wayne anew. He was gallant in his black leather jacket, his skin tan against the black dress shirt. Blue jeans hugged his muscular legs and his black western boots added an all-American flair.

“You look great,” he said, taking her elbow and guiding her toward the hotel bar. After a few drinks and the usual small talk, the truth came out. His marriage of fourteen years had ended badly. He was starved for affection. Pam reached across the table and put her hand over his. “I understand.”

She thought about her husband, Michael. Theirs had been a loving marriage until after the second miscarriage. He was uncharacteristically silent during the drive home from the hospital that night. 

“I’m sorry about our baby,” she said, reaching for his hand, but he jerked it away.

She looked at him in stunned dismay. “What’s wrong?” Her empty womb ached as much as her heart.

“Don’t you remember what you said when we were dating?” he asked, a sneer creasing his face. “You said you didn’t want children, remember that?”

“Yes, but I…”

“You got your wish,” he interrupted.

“I’m sorry I ever said that because I…” he held up his hand to silence her. After that they were mere housemates. Three years was an unbearable eternity in an empty relationship. 

* * *

One evening she came home as Michael walked down the stairs with the old warmth in his eyes and a smile she remembered well. He helped her with her coat, and he said, “You’re radiant! I’d forgotten how beautiful you are.” 

Then he slipped his arms around her and kissed her. It felt like rain after a brittle drought.

The following months were bliss. “Okay Hon, I got you down,” she jotted Michael down in her organizer. 

“Hello, Wayne. Ah ha, got it. I’ll see you there.” She noted her date with him. 

She was living a dream that was destined to become a nightmare. 

“There you are! I’ve missed you,” he said, extending his open arms.

* * *

Returning from an overseas flight, she took a last look in the mirror checking her teeth for lipstick and fluffing her hair before heading through the gangway. She straightened her dark blue uniform as her eyes swept the concourse for Wayne. 

“I’ve missed you, too.” She smiled as she stepped into his kiss and felt the odd sensation of eyes upon them. Michael stood with a bouquet of white roses, and a look of anguish on his pale face. 

“Michael!” she cried turning toward him, but he tossed the roses on the floor and walked away. She grabbed the flowers and pursued him, but with her suitcase she didn’t catch up with him until she got home. He was pouring a stiff Scotch when she walked in. She stood, head bowed, waiting for him to speak. His silence forced her to speak first.

“I’m sorry, Michael.” Her voice trembled. More silence. “Please, talk to me!”

“What should I say? I can’t believe what I saw out there,” he said, pacing the floor. Dark circles hugged his eyes. 

“I’m sorry, Michael. I . . .”

“Is this why you’ve been oh-so-happy lately?” He asked. “How long have you been screwing him?”

She winced at the remark. It was so much more. It had kept her alive. “About a year,” she replied, slumping to the couch. “I couldn’t stand the loneliness anymore…the way you looked at me…the silence. I couldn’t stand feeling ugly…feeling unloved.” Tears flowed down her cheeks. “I’m so sorry. I never meant for it to happen – it just did.”

He swigged the rest of his drink and turned toward the stairs. She raced after him and saw him jerk a suitcase from the closet and start packing.

“Michael, what are you doing? Stop. Let’s talk.”

“Talk? Too late for that, I’m gone. You can have your little boyfriend.”

“Please stop! Forgive me. I won’t ever see him again. I promise. Will you stop a minute? Please…stop!”

“I could forgive you for almost anything but this,” he said, stuffing t-shirts into his bag.

She begged and pleaded and finally, solemnly packed her own bags and left alone. It was his house. She languished for weeks at a travel inn, staying in bed till noon, crying herself to sleep each night. Finally, one morning as she looked at her swollen face in the bathroom mirror, she knew she needed to do something. That day she gave two weeks notice and moved to a small apartment in Grants Pass, a cozy resort she had visited a few years earlier and remembered the way it welcomed her. It felt like home.

* * *

Two years had passed when the card came back in the mail bringing the painful string of memories with it. She knew if she had it to do all over again, she wouldn’t. Michael was the love of her life. When she left Wayne at the airport that day, she never looked back. He was just a diversion – a nice diversion, nothing more. But she regretted that she had hurt him and now, she needed to ask his forgiveness, set things right. She dialed his cell. 

“Hello?”

“Happy belated birthday,” she said.

“You remembered.” ‘He sounded great.’

“I sent you a birthday card, but it was returned.”

“Sorry, I moved,” he said. “So, what have you been up to?”

“Actually, I’m a travel columnist at The Voice Magazine now.”

“That’s a big change. How did that happen?”

“When I moved here to Grants Pass, I heard about a columnist position opened at The Voice Magazine, so I called for an interview. I lucked out.” 

“Well, that’s a surprise,” he said. “I didn’t know you were into writing.”

“I majored in journalism.”

“That’s great.”

“Thanks. Listen Wayne, the reason for my call is to ask your forgiveness.”

“For what?”

“I’ve been blaming you for ruining my marriage. It wasn’t your fault…”

“It was ‘both’ our faults,” he said.

“I’m not calling to get back together…”

“I know. It hurt when you left but you forced me to put my life into perspective. Now I have Joyce. We’re very happy together.”

“I’m happy for you.”

“Thanks. I’ve got to go. Call me sometime?”

“Definitely, bye.”

* * *

The snow gleamed white under an azure sky and stray snowflakes drifted from the wide branches of towering lodge pole pines. Pam stamped her heel and her ski boot snapped into place. She was already exhausted, and she hadn’t even gotten to the bunny slopes for her first lesson. She kept losing her balance and stepping on her skis. She lost her footing and could feel them going out from under her. “Whooooooooa” she hollered as she slid on the snow. She turned sideways to slow herself down but over-corrected and lost her balance, tumbling backward and landing right on top of another skier. 

“Oh, I’m so sorry,” she said, straightening her cap which had slipped over one eye. “I lost control. Are you okay?” she asked turning her head to see her victim who was bent over still trying to get up. “I didn’t mean to fall on you.” She said straining to get in a position to push herself up with her poles.

“I’m fine.” The voice was familiar. “You okay?” he asked slipping his arms around her waist from behind and pulling her upright.

“Yes, I’m fine,” Pam, sighed. “I’m really sorry.” He was brushing snow off her back. “Thanks for coming to my rescue.” 

“No problem, it happens to all of us.”

She turned her head to look into her rescuer’s face. “Michael, I can’t believe it! What are you doing here?”

“Pam? It is you! I thought I recognized that voice.” His brown eyes were wide with wonder. “Skiing with friends. What about you? Since when do you ski?”

“Does it look like I ski?” she asked chuckling. Her cheeks were rosy, and her hazel eyes sparkled. “Today’s going to be my first lesson – if I live through it. I’m on assignment.”

“For what?”

“I’m a travel reporter now.”

“Really? That’s perfect for you – you’ve seen the world. You look good…even if you are a little wet,” he laughed as he brushed snow off her shoulder. 

“You, too.” She laughed as she brushed a snowflake that clung to his eyebrow. 

The touch of their bodies produced an electric spark. Pam broke the silence, “Listen, Michael, when we separated…” 

Michael placed his finger over her mouth, “Shhh. What say we just move on?” Michael’s smile still had that contagious effect on her. She smiled back at him noticing the glow in his eyes. Then she felt a blush creep over her face, her heart began to flutter, and she could feel her skis sliding out from under her again. He grabbed her arm to steady her. 

“You okay?”

“Yeah. Just lightheaded.”

He grinned, lifting her chin with his thumb, and said, “Maybe I should keep an eye on you, so you don’t fall into someone else.”

“Don’t worry. Falling into you is enough.”

Previously published in Long Story Short, e-clips & Applecart.

Posted in Story Showcase

Peggy’s First Adventure

By Jeannie Yee Davis

“Please, daddy, let me take the school bus by myself,” the young girl begged. “I can do it. I know I can.”

“I don’t know, Peggy,” her father said.

“You let Becky go to school by herself every day. She doesn’t need you to take her.” It was the first day of kindergarten. Peggy wanted to prove she could do what her ten-year-old sister could do. The slender child with blond pigtails and bangs wanted to be accepted by her older sister. She wanted her sister to see that she wasn’t a baby anymore and was able to do things on her own just like she does.

“Now sweet pea, are you sure you are ready to do this?” he asked.

“Yes, daddy, I know I can” came her response. Goosebumps formed on her forearms as she said this. She crinkled her nose deep in thought for a moment remembering how much she wanted to be accepted by Becky. “Yes, I’m sure,” she said, as she stood taller.

“Okay then, Peggy, you can take the bus to kindergarten. I’ll wait for you at the school, okay?” said her daddy who was squatting down to meet her. She nodded in agreement while she played with his well-kept beard just as the bus came around the corner.

The orange school bus was partially full with chattering kids. As soon as the bus driver opened the door, the kids filed on board. The driver hollered out while he adjusted his side mirror, “Come on board kids don’t dawdle now. We don’t have all day.” Then he turned and saw Peggy standing there looking at him.

“Well, hello there little lady,” said the bus driver with the thick salt and pepper mustache that hid his upper lip. He wore a green baseball cap pulled down just above his eyebrows bushy like his mustache. His cheeks jiggled with every chomp of his gum. 

“Hi, Mr. Bus Driver,” said Peggy.

“Just call me Bob.”

“Hi, Bob.”

 “What’s your name, little lady?”

“My name is Peggy.”

“Peggy is a pretty name. I haven’t seen you on this bus before. Are you joining us today?”

“I’m going to kindergarten. Today is my first day.”

“Well, what do you know? Come on board and find yourself a seat.”

Peggy turned to her daddy and waved. Bob hollered out to him, “Don’t you worry about a thing. I’ll take good care of her.” Her father saluted him.  

She got on the bus and found a seat at the third row by the window on the sidewalk side. She sat down then jumped up to wave at her daddy outside the window watching him waving back at her as the bus pulled away.

The youngster felt all grown up sitting in her bus seat. She wondered what Becky would say tonight when she hears how courageous her sister was today taking the school bus all by herself. She imagined Becky accepting her as a buddy. A smile formed on Peggy’s face the more she thought about this then the bus stopped and her smile fell off her face. Her heart began beating faster. “Are we there already? No! We can’t be there already?” She jumped up to look out the window for her daddy but he wasn’t there. There was no school either. There were only houses. To Peggy’s relief, the bus driver was just picking up more kids.

The small child sat back in her seat trying to act all grown up. Moments later, the bus slowed down and pulled over. Peggy jumped up to see where they were. They arrived at a school this time but only some of the kids got off the bus. “What do I do? Do I get off here too?” Her eyes opened wide as she watched the kids get off the bus. Her lips quivered. She looked out the window for her daddy’s familiar face. He wasn’t there. Before she could decide what to do, the bus began to move. She fell back down in her seat hoping that wasn’t her stop.

The bus slowed down once again and pulled over. More kids got off the bus. Peggy jumped up to see another school. She didn’t expect the bus to stop anywhere else except at her destination. “Is this my school?” She asked herself as her big round eyes looked left and right for her daddy in the small crowd outside the bus stop. “No daddy! Daddy said he’d be here waiting for me. He’s not here. Is he late? Is this not my school?”  

The tiny girl shrank back into her seat fighting back the intense desire to cry. She didn’t want the kids to make fun of her. The bus started up again. She took one last look out the window but still no daddy. Peggy sat down in her seat crossed her little fingers and bit down on her lip hoping she wasn’t supposed to get off the bus at that last stop.

She considered what Becky would do in this situation. “Becky is all grown up,” she thought, “and she wouldn’t cry so I’m not going to cry either. She would sit calmly on the bus until she saw daddy then she would get off the bus so that’s what I’m going to do too.” Peggy smiled and began enjoying her grown-up solo ride again.

Peggy glanced around at the other kids on the bus and noticed boys and girls of different sizes. At first, she thought all these kids were going to kindergarten too but now she realized some of them must have already gone to school. That’s why they knew when to get off. She couldn’t wait until she would be like them and know when to get off the bus. She smiled with anticipation.

Just then the bus slowed down again and pulled over. Peggy looked out the window and this time there was her father standing outside the bus waiting for her. She jumped up from her seat and quickly got off the bus. 

“Bye, Bob,” she said.

“Bye, Peggy, see you later. You have a good day at kindergarten.”

“Okay, I will.”

She ran to her father and jumped into his opened arms tingling from the excitement of her first grown-up adventure. “Daddy, I did it!  I did it!”

Previously published in e-clips.

Posted in Story Showcase

Angels without Wings and Halos

by Jeannie Yee Davis 

Are there angels among us? Do they really exist? I’ve looked for them everywhere but have never seen them. Until one day when my car collided with a boulder in the ravine of I-5 near Bakersfield. They presented themselves in droves. They sprinted from all directions like they were in a marathon. They didn’t have wings and halos but appeared in the form of normal people, resembling men in various walks of life each bearing a bottle of water in one hand and a cell phone in the other. All with one goal in mind – to help the stranded couple whose names they might never know and whose paths might never cross theirs again. They might not even receive recognition or thanks.

Yet they didn’t think twice to offer whatever assistance they might be able to provide, disregarding their own safety. They instinctively ran to our MR2 and assisted with my husband’s attempt to manipulate the car off the scorching grass. It was useless. When the vehicle became too intimate with the dried grass it ignited into flames. They emptied their bottles of water in a futile attempt to extinguish the fire before retreating to their vehicles to continue their journeys.  

It all happened so fast. I only remember flashes of these unsung heroes who formed a team with strangers striving towards a common goal choreographed by the master Himself. Some calling for help, some putting out the fire before the firemen arrived, and some pushing the car.

When it was all over, my husband and I were transfixed on the remains of the bonfire that once was our means of getting home. A deep masculine voice broke my anxious thoughts of being stranded, “Don’t worry I’ll stay with you until the tow truck arrives.” He extended his arm bent in an L shape to me. He held my arm against his side using it to guide me safely across the two lanes of high-speed traffic to his parked pickup. “Take my arm…walk with me…slowly…wait…now, walk…slowly…wait…walk.”

Cris and his wife, Silvia, were on their way home from a wedding when he came to our aid. Cris crossed I-5 traffic to reach us then walked us safely across that same traffic to his vehicle. They offered their home to us but when we declined, they remained with us for almost an hour until the tow truck arrived.

On that day, I discovered angels do live on this earth, but they don’t wear wings and halos. In our moment of need, they revealed themselves to us with their acts of kindness without expecting rewards. I don’t know each of them by name, but they own a piece of my heart forever. 

Previously published in e-clips

Posted in Story Showcase

Remembering Daddy

By Jeannie Yee Davis

“Mommy, who took the small 3×3 black and white photo of you holding me when I was about two?”  I asked.

“It was your father who took the picture.  He was a shutterbug back in those days.”  

Her words surprised me.  I don’t remember seeing Daddy touch a camera let alone take a picture. “How much about Daddy do I remember?  How much do I actually know about him?”  I pondered.   

January 14, 2004 marked the second anniversary of his death.  Daddy was 73 when he passed away.  The doctor told us the cause of death was due to complications with his heart and lungs.  Daddy was blessed with excellent health although he smoked until he retired, and he enjoyed a glass of Johnny Walker, Canadian Mist, or Crown Royal with his dinner each night until his first stroke.  

The one time he missed work due to an illness caused chaos in our house with my Mother pacing the floor while she waited for the doctor to come on the phone.  “Nothing to be alarmed about.  Joe has the flu.  He’ll live.” Dr. Long chuckled.  Daddy’s health began to deteriorate after he suffered his first stroke five years ago followed by a series of other strokes and mild heart attacks.     

It’s hard for any child to see a parent age, ill or dying.  We tend to latch onto life as we remembered it from a child’s perspective where mommy and Daddy are young, vibrant, and seemed to always be there.  I’m no different.  I remember those days like they were yesterday.  I know life doesn’t go on forever and my parents won’t be around forever.  If only I knew then what I know now, I wouldn’t have said to Daddy so carelessly, “Oh whatever you want to make is fine with me,” when he asked me to help him decide what to make for dinner.  I understand the difficulty as I find myself pleading for suggestions in my own household.   I wish I could’ve made his life easier while I was growing up instead of being self-absorbed.  As it is, I don’t have the opportunity to do it all over again but I do have my memories.

My most vivid memories of my father are those during my teen years.  The man I remember most was worn down by a life of struggling to make ends meet.  He was a quiet man who rarely spoke but he was always there for us.  He was up and gone at dawn to the bakery in Chinatown where he spent six days a week making yummy cakes, pies, and cookies for a vast clientele.  Daddy got off work in the late afternoons just around the time we got home from school and it was always a thrill wondering what goodies he would bring home that day.  Most days it was custard pie but occasionally he brought home a special treat of chocolate or white sheet cake, donuts, chocolate chip cookies, or jellyroll, which was my favorite.  It didn’t matter if the jellyroll was filled with sweet raspberry filling or tart lemon filling.  I loved them all.  

Daddy was a chef at a Chinese restaurant for many years before he became a baker and dinners for us were a multi-dish family-style meal with rice and fresh soup.  I often wonder if all Chinese families ate the same way.  When Daddy got home from his grocery stops, one of us would make him a cup of instant Taster’s Choice coffee while he started preparing our dinner.  By the time my mother came home from her sewing job late in the evening, we had our dinner.

After dinner, my sisters and I took turns clearing the table and doing the dishes while Daddy sat down in front of the TV to read his newspaper.  By then, he was always too tired to read, nodding off into a slumber lasting until my sisters and I went to bed.  Eventually, he woke up and read his paper before retiring for the night.  

I couldn’t imagine Daddy having a life other than being our provider who went to work every day, ensured we had a nutritious meal each night and our basic needs were met.  From his collection of stamps, record albums, reel-to-reel tapes, and all the photographs of him playing the violin and the accordion, I know Daddy had a life other than the one I’m familiar with.  This helped me to believe Daddy could’ve been a shutterbug but why did he stop?

When I was a little girl, I used to sneak into my parents’ room to sit at Daddy’s small wooden writing desk with the three different sized drawers on the right, and a pencil drawer under the desktop that was released by pushing the lever underneath the drawer.  His desk, from the little lamp on the desktop to the fountain pens and bottles of ink meticulously placed in his drawer fascinated me.  I tried not to touch anything but curiosity always drew me to his drawers.  Every opportunity I had I’d gingerly open his drawers to peek in.  I was content merely looking at all of his things but there were a few items I couldn’t resist touching.  The crimson inkpad that smelled of yucky red lipstick was one of them.  I saw Daddy using it for his rubber stamp with a Chinese character I didn’t recognize.  Once, I accidentally got the red ink on my hands and had to hide my hands until the ink washed off.  I’m sure Daddy knew but he acted like he didn’t.  When my father gave me his little red and black abacus and his small English-Chinese dictionary, I couldn’t help wondering if it had anything to do with his catching me playing with them.  Perhaps he thought I’d leave his desk alone if he gave them to me?

He was a man of simple needs and he taught me the importance of sentimentality.  From him, I learned to appreciate people by remembering their special days.  Somehow you’d think my mother would be the one who would remember our birthdays but it was always Daddy who kept track and prepared a special dinner for each of us on our birthdays.  Going by both the Julian and the lunar calendars, we each get two birthday celebrations a year.  Since I could never make sense of the lunar calendar, it was a pleasant surprise when Daddy announced at dinner, “Happy birthday!” 

It’s funny how growing up, there was always some tradition we disliked.  I remember the Christmases as a young child when Daddy took out a variety of dried goodies from green and red cherry halves, crushed walnuts to an assortment of other goodies I’ve forgotten but from them he made fruitcake.  My sisters and I hated fruitcake and we made faces as we exclaimed, “Eeeeeel,” to Daddy’s dismay yet he consistently made them each Christmas and gave them away as gifts.  After his death, I found Daddy’s old worn out recipe.  Now my sisters and I could revive Daddy’s tradition.

There were cherished traditions as well. One in particular that I missed after I left home was our New Year’s Eve celebrations, where both my parents would prepare many dishes of junk food we normally weren’t allowed to eat.  There were BBQ and regular potato chips, an assortment of nuts, and soda pop.  Mom made fried chicken wings and Daddy made my favorite, which was shrimp chips.  It always enchanted me how the hard translucent disks puffed into delicate multi-colored Styrofoam-like chips once Daddy immersed them into the hot oil.  I remember the joy our family had rushing around getting everything together in time to catch Dick Clark’s ball drop.

With two sisters, and me being the middle child, it was hard to feel my existence mattered to anyone.  Daddy must have known this when he chose me for his assistant in the kitchen during one of his baking sessions.  He sat me on a tall stool while he busied himself moving here and there, mixing and stirring ingredients for some dessert.  At age five it didn’t matter what he was making, I felt all grown up just being his assistant.  What did matter was Daddy’s smiling at me then as though he suddenly thought of something, he placed his dessert aside, took out a small bowl along with some ingredients, and he began making something else.  He whipped meticulously at this creamy mixture in the small bowl until it became fluffy, then he dipped a finger in to sample it and upon his satisfaction, he handed me the bowl.  I spooned the creamy mixture into my mouth savoring the delicate sweet custard that tasted of sugar and vanilla coating my tongue and throat with utter sweetness as the sugary aroma filled my nostrils.  I licked the bowl clean while watching Daddy continue working on his dessert and for a moment, I felt like the most important person in Daddy’s life.  It’s been almost forty years but this memory still warms my heart.

In my nostalgic mood, I went to visit Daddy’s grave with a bouquet of two-tone magenta and white carnations symbolizing a combination of our favorite colors, burgundy for my older sister, pink for my younger sister and purple for me.  I gazed at daddy’s photograph and I realize I can’t ask him why he stopped playing music, or why he stopped collecting stamps or why he stopped taking photographs.  I could only imagine why he might’ve done that and my guess would be, he placed a higher importance on caring for his family than he did on his own interests.  My heart is overjoyed knowing we were the most important things to him and I smiled at his photo before turning to leave, “Goodbye Daddy, I love you.”

Previously published in Long Story Short & Applecart.