Gets Tickled and the Fish Trap

salmon

This is one of my favorite stories. Sadly, due to world events, it’s always timely…

Gets Tickled and the Fish Trap
From the book Free Pecan Pie and Other Chick Stories
Amazon-Paperback and Kindle.
Janelle Meraz Hooper
Free Pecan Pie and Other Chick Stories, Amazon

 

Downtown Tacoma, the year 2100…
The injured veteran took a crumpled piece of paper out of his pocket and checked the address. This was it: 2121 Pacific. He stepped back and surveyed the shiny, black glass that fronted the structure. There was no sign above the door. Who ever heard of a bus station with no sign?

He shrugged and entered the building. Instantly, he found himself in a Northwest Country Bus Station—a company that had been gone for years—with empty wooden benches for waiting passengers on one side and a 1950s style luncheonette, complete with chrome stools and plastic counter, on the other. Even the waitress wore a starched pink uniform with white trim on the sleeves and a flower folded from a printed handkerchief pinned over the pocket. She smiled at him and motioned for him to sit in the chair nearest the cash register. He noticed that every seat at the counter was filled, but no one was eating. Instead, they all seemed to be waiting for something.

Somehow, the young vet felt that he was part of the reason for their wait, although he couldn’t imagine why. Another strange thing: all of the other diner patrons were Indians. They smiled as if they knew him. When he looked around some more, he saw that the view out the plate glass window had changed from the busy Pacific Avenue to a view of Commencement Bay that was actually behind them.

The waitress said softly as she passed the veteran, “You’re next, Honey. You take care now.”

He heard a rattle above his head, then a loud, girlish giggle. Looking up, he saw a huge Indian fish trap, woven out of twigs. The Indian next to him cried out in delight when a live salmon fell from the huge basket onto the counter in front of him. There hadn’t been any salmon in Puget Sound for years. The Indian picked up his thrashing fish, put it under his arm, and left. The next Indian moved up to sit in his place.

When the first fish fell, the veteran was sucked up into the trap. Just then, another vet came hesitantly through the door. The waitress smiled at him and motioned for him to sit in the first chair by the cash register. The waitress said softly as she went past him, “You’re next, honey, you take care now.”

The Indian next to him smiled and shook his hand. “I am Running Water. And you are Pete.”

“How did you know?”

“We’ve been waiting for you.”

“Why am I here? Where am I going?”

“Up there.” Running Water looked toward the fish trap.

Just then, there was a rattle up above, and a huge fish fell down in front of Running Water. At the same time, the vet felt himself being pulled up toward the ceiling. With a friendly wave, the Indian picked up his fish, put it under his arm, and left.

The next Indian moved up. Another soldier came through the door and was seated.

Meanwhile, Pete found it slow going as the trap narrowed. He was surprised that he wasn’t in pain. At the top, his head bumped against the inside of the lid of an old iron pot-bellied stove. The lid rattled as Gets Tickled opened it. With no effort, she pulled Pete through the small hole into her kitchen that had a huge pile of live salmon in the corner.

“Who’s down there now?” she asked Pete. “Oh, it’s Rock’s Hard,” she said as she peeked through the hole. “He and his wife are alone now.” She picked up a smaller fish and threw it down. Rock’s Hard waved and called, “Thank you, Gets Tickled.” A loud giggle answered him. He picked up his fish and went home.

The vet that was leaving the bus station just as Pete came in was still in Gets Tickled’s kitchen. Both men felt themselves pulled toward the beach outside Gets Tickled’s front door.

“Hi, I’m Pete.” Pete said to his fellow vet.

“Good to know you. I’m Charley. Have you noticed your pain is gone? Mine is.”

“Yeah. When I first felt myself being pulled toward that contraption downstairs, I was sweatin’ it. I’ve been in constant pain for months and I thought that being pulled up to the ceiling was going to kill me, but I didn’t even feel it.”

“The trip didn’t hurt me either.” Charley agreed.

Check this out,” Pete said to Charley as they approached two new lounge chairs, “lounge chairs with our names printed on them—just like Hollywood.”

The two stretched out in the comfortable chairs and felt the warm sun soak into their skin. Their clothing changed to swimsuits.

“There’s quite a few of us here. I have a feeling we’re all veterans.” Charley said as he looked around the beach. “Maybe we should go over and introduce ourselves.”

“Good idea. Just let me rest here for a little bit first. I want to savor this body that for the first time since the war isn’t hurting me anywhere.”

Pete fell asleep and Charley watched him softly breathe in and out. While Pete slept, another man appeared. So did a new lounge chair with the name “Frank.” Charley shook his hand and said hello.

“What the hell am I doing here?” the befuddled man asked. “First I’m getting off a plane in the middle of a desert, the next thing I know, I’m going through some crazy fish basket in a bus station diner.”

“Were you on duty there?” Charley asked.

“Hell, no, I was there to pick up the body of my brother. He was killed in the desert war.”

“You went over there to pick him up? That’s unusual.”

“I know, but my mother has some kind of crazy idea that a man’s spirit is still alive for days after he dies, and she didn’t want my brother to be alone. She begged me to go pick him up.”

“Talk about being in the wrong place at the wrong time. You must have been pegged as a vet who fit the criteria of the rest of us.”

“What criteria is that?”

“I don’t know.” Charley admitted. “We’re hoping to find out more later on tonight.”

“Are we dead?”

“We’re not alive. I know that because I’m no longer in pain. Are we dead? Don’t know. Must be.”

“This, whatever it is, is a mistake. I’ve got to get back. I’m not dead. I’m not even sick!”

Pete looked over to see that the whole crowd was moving toward tables laden with food. He was famished.

“Let’s go eat. Maybe we’ll find some answers while we’re over there.” Charley said.

Pete opened his eyes, saw the newcomer, and leaned over and shook Frank’s hand. Nothing after today would surprise him; he supposed that the newcomer got there the same way he did.

“Pete, this is Frank. We need to see if we can get him back down through that fish basket. He’s here by mistake.”

“Frank, you must have a hell of a story. I can’t wait to hear it, but let’s eat first.”

It was a happy group of soldiers that gathered around the food-laden table. The whole scene was like something out of a 50s beach movie.

“Hey, here he is, back from the frozen level,” a man named John waved to a friend. “I told you you’d be back.”

“Damn, it was so cold there I almost got frostbite on my nose. But it was beautiful.”

He turned to Frank, Charley and Pete, and explained as he shook their hands and said a quick hello, “Hi, I’m George. I got permission to go to a winter level because I’d never seen snow when I was on earth, and I wanted to experience it. John warned me that I wouldn’t like it.”

“There’s different levels?” Pete asked. “Where are we anyway?”

“That’s a common question around here. The best we can figure, we’re in some kind of a holding pattern for vets. Maybe some kind of a dimension/purgatory kind of thing. None of us really knows.” John loaded his plate while he talked.

“How long have you guys been here?” Charley asked.

George shrugged. “It’s hard to tell. Maybe minutes. Maybe days. We’re not sure if they have time here.”

“That’s fine for the rest of us, but Frank is here by mistake. How do we get him back on earth?” Charley asked.

“I don’t know of anyone who has ever gone back. Sometimes, one of us switches to another level just for fun, like George.” John laughed. “Frank, can you remember how you got here?”

“I was slightly injured while I was in the desert, but I wasn’t a soldier. My brother was killed over there.” Frank’s eyes searched the beach for his brother.

“Is his brother here?” Charley asked John.

“No, you guys are the only new men here. He could be on another level.”

“If he’s not here and not on another level, I wonder why not?” Pete asked. “Aren’t we all soldiers?”

“Yes, but if you look around, there’s not enough of us to account for all the battle deaths. We think that there’s a common thread that brings us all here, but we don’t know for sure what it is.”

“Is it possible that there’s a level we don’t know about? A … er … lower one?” Pete quietly asked, glancing at Frank.

“Could be. For right now, let’s try to figure out how to get Frank back home,” John suggested.

“Any ideas?” Charley asked.

“There is a girl here who seems to be the hostess. Maybe she’ll help us out with Frank. Here she comes now.” John lifted his arm and waved over a young woman wearing a swimsuit with a baggy khaki shirt pulled over the top for modesty. “Hey, Lauren, can we talk to you for a minute?”

“Hey, Guys, what’s up? Not enough food?”

“No problem there,” the man joked as he surveyed the laden table. “We’ve got a stowaway here. This is Frank. He’s not a soldier. He wasn’t even injured.”

“Where were you?” Lauren asked Frank.

“I was in the desert, picking up my brother’s body. He was the soldier.”

“Do you remember anything?”

“I just remember that I picked up a little boy who was crying and helped him find his mother. All of a sudden, I was flying up into some sort of basket. I ended up here.”

“I’ll see what I can find out.” Lauren made a note on her clipboard.

“Have you seen my brother?” Frank asked Lauren.

“No, Frank, I haven’t. I’m sorry. Only a few vets come here.”

“What few is that?” Charley broke in to ask.

“Only soldiers who were trying to save someone else’s life. We have other levels with soldiers from the other sides of the battle lines. We keep you guys separate so you can get some rest.”

“We’re dead and we still can’t get along?” Charley asked.

“Dead? What makes you think you’re dead? You’re just moved to a different level, away from your real body, while you either go through difficult surgery or recover from a coma. Didn’t you see your medical charts behind your lounge chairs?” Lauren pointed to a pocket in the back of each chair. “I’m sorry I wasn’t here to greet all of you, but we ran into a problem down on earth, and I had to go back.”

Turning to Frank she said, “Let me check this out. I’ll get back to you.”

Sometime during the night Lauren gently shook Frank’s shoulder. “Wake up, Frank. You were right. This was a mistake. You’re going home.”

“That’s great. How?”

“I’m going to have to guide you back down the fish trap. After you end up in the bus station, you’ll be on your own. While I’m down there, I have a pickup to make. There’s an Arab boy who would be too frightened to make the trip by himself. I’ll hand deliver him to the Mid-Eastern level. He could be the boy you helped.”

“What did he do?”

“He stepped in front of his mother to protect her from gunfire.”

“Sounds like him. When will he be able to go home?”

“He won’t. At eight-thirty tomorrow morning the whole Mid-East will be gone. Some maniac will use nuclear weapons and misjudge their power. Palestine, Israel, Iran, Iraq—all of them—will be contaminated for thousands of years.”

“Isn’t God going to stop it?”

“I don’t think so. From what I hear, He’s had it with all of them.”

“That’s a story to take back home.”

“Sorry. You won’t remember this conversation or this place when you get back to earth.”

Lauren’s voice began to fade and Frank began to hear his wife’s voice plead as she shook his arm, “Frank, Frank! Are you okay?”

Frank opened his eyes to find he was stretched out on a sidewalk on Pacific Avenue surrounded by 911 medics. Had it all been a dream?

“Honey, what are you doing in this part of town? We were supposed to pick you up at the airport—and where did you get this big fish—isn’t it a salmon?” his curious wife asked.

Frank looked over and saw a huge salmon flapping around next to him on the sidewalk. “Honey, I swear, I’ve never seen that fish before in my life,” he said.

No one but Frank heard the girlish giggle that floated down between the office buildings. A big smile moved across his face, but he didn’t know why.

The end

Read the book- This story was originally published in my short story book, Free Pecan Pie and Other Chick Stories. Paperback and Kindle (etc.). Published by iUniverse. Suitable for YA and up.

My website: Janelle Meraz Hooper

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We’re recovering from September 11th

flag pin for 9-11

We’re recovering from September 11th
by Janelle Meraz Hooper
A  comment…

See the book on Amazon

See my books and stories: Janelle Meraz Hooper

“We done good.” My Hispanic grandmother used to say that after our family had survived its latest crisis. We were a houseful of women. Leaky roofs, plumbing problems, and skunks in the backyard often tested our resolve. I thought of her this morning when I realized that it’s almost September 11th again.

It’s occurred to me that I’ve never been so proud to be an American. That’s really saying something because, coming from a military family, I’ve always been fiercely patriotic. Now that I look back on September 11th, we done good.

The large-scale recovery that I’ve read about and observed on national television has been impressive. Patriotic books have been written. Songs have been composed. They done good.

But I’m just as proud of the recovery that I’ve noticed on a small, local scale as I am of what I’ve observed on national television and heard on the radio.The American Spirit is everywhere. We’ve all noticed the flags flying from porches, mailboxes, and cars. Last week, when I left a parking garage in Tacoma, the attendant took my ticket and handed me an American flag. I didn’t ask her (I wish I had), but I think the money for the flags came out of her own pocket. She done good.

Did you happen to meet my friend Linda after the crisis? Linda, an exemplary artist, found her own way to recover. She handled her grief by sitting and artfully painting a purse-full of wooden hearts in an American flag motif. Then, she glued pins to their backs and hit the road. Everywhere she went, whenever she saw someone who looked like they needed a hug, she’d stop them, put her arms around them, and give them a pin. Yep. I said give. Linda wasn’t out to make a buck. She was out to help heal some grief. She has given out literally hundreds of stars and stripes pins. I’m so proud to know her. She done good.  (a photo of one of her pins is above.)

Our children emptied their piggy banks and sent the cash to 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue to help the children in Afghanistan. And this wasn’t just a “keep busy” project for our younger generation. Firsthand, I observed the trauma in my six-year-old grandson’s eyes when he saw a man in a white truck with red and blue markings on its side reach into his mailbox and “steal” the money he was sending to our president for the children of Afghanistan. So often, our children amaze me. They done good.

Some of us are just realizing how much we hurt from the bombing in New York. We pushed the grief so far down inside that it has taken years for it to surface. We weren’t ready for more grief. There’s been so much in our lifetimes—Korea, Viet Nam, Desert Storm, and the rest—but we handled it, each in our own way. We done good.

If we get more trouble, we’ll handle that too. Out of the rubble—of New York and our hearts—has come a fierce survival instinct and a love of country that runs deeper than the Grand Canyon and wider than the Columbia. “Don’t tread on me!” we warn those who would take our freedom away. And if they decide to try, “Bring it on!” we say. Someday, the history books will have the last word on September 11th. When the next world generation grows up, let them read the record and say, “They done good.”

Janelle Meraz Hooper, an indie writer, is the author of Free Pecan Pie and Other Chick Stories and other books, short stories, and plays. This short story book was published by iUniverse and the stories are suitable for ages YA and up..

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Two Windows on Ground Zero, a comment

september 11th graphicTwo Windows on Ground Zero
A comment
Janelle Meraz Hooper

    September 11th found me stuck at home alone with only a 38-inch screen TV, and a large living room window.

   I could have done without the big screen TV. This was one time a one-inch screen would have been too big—too painful to watch. Over and over and over I watched the planes hit the WTC towers in New York City.

   A feeling of being trapped overcame me as I looked out the living room window. No sign of the tragedy was visible in the surrounding homes. Not a person was in sight. Maybe it was a nightmare—but no—there it was on CNN. On ABC. On CBS. On Fox. On CBUT, the Canadian channel. I turned to Univision, the Spanish-speaking channel, and saw a blazing banner: Bajo (Low) Attack!

   I must have paced between the TV and the window thirty or forty times. Looking at the TV, looking out the window. Still no sign of life in my neighborhood. Where could everybody be? At the time, after a surgery, I couldn’t leave my home, but they were all fully mobile. I can’t explain the intense need I felt to see a human—especially an American human.

   Suddenly, A little dark blue import, driven by an elderly gentleman, raced up my neighbor’s long driveway. Attached to the back window of the car was an American flag. A message was painted against the dark glass in white paint: GOD BLESS AMERICA!

   While I was waiting for him to come by again, I heard cars honking down the hill. Soon, a car full of hollering teenagers flew by my house. The car was painted all over with patriotic messages, and a young man was fully reclined on the hood holding up an American flag. He was wearing a shirt with an all-over pattern in red, white, and blue stars and stripes. Suddenly, I felt connected.

   Dragging my bandaged body along with me, I carefully went downstairs to get our flag out of the closet. When I got to our front porch, I was disappointed to discover that my husband had removed the flag holder from the front side of the house the last time he painted. Or had it just rusted off? Anxious to communicate with passersby, I stuck the flag in a huge flowerpot by my front door and limped back to my television and my window. The window was a lot easier to watch.

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King George VI’s Sleepover Party, WWII. An opinion

King George VIKing George VI’s Sleepover Party, World War II
An opinion
My book website: Janelle Meraz Hooper

          The King’s Speech is one of my favorite movies and it’s on TV sometimes now. Even though I saw it in the theater, I usually stop and watch it for a while whenever it’s on.

          I like the film for lots of reasons, but the biggest is the character of the speech therapist played by Lionel Logue. A normal person. Not royal-born. Not a doctor. Nonetheless, this unassuming person is able to provide a great service to King George and to England during WWII. I like that. The king’s advisors didn’t like the speech therapist but the king and his wife stood by him when they tried to get rid of him. I like that too.

          This week, so soon after our Veteran’s Day, something in the movie triggered a memory of a story my father used to tell. I think it’s true, even though I have to admit my father was a great storyteller. He used to say that, in World War II, when the American soldiers landed in England, they had them set up camp on the grounds around Windsor Castle because there were so many of them and there was no place else to put them.  

          One evening, my father remembered, King George and his daughter, the future Queen Elizabeth, walked around the encampment, shook hands with the soldiers, and thanked them for coming. Imagine! Cowboys from Texas, loggers from the Northwest, stevedores from New Jersey, and maybe even Indians from The Great Plains—all shook hands with the king!

          Oh, I hope the story was true. If so, King George—and his daughter—had a lot of class. And that’s not something that comes automatically with a crown. 

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Valentine’s Day books!

three romance books

My book, short stories, and plays website: Janelle Meraz Hooper

Books last longer than flowers!

Bears in the Hibiscus

 The humorous dialogue in my character-driven stories has to be read to be appreciated. Mark, the Montana Park Ranger, will warm your heart AND keep you laughing. His friend, Jackson, who owns an outdoor catalog company that sells Northwest outdoor gear (and flies his own plane) should be cloned. He is a doll! Of course, as in any good story, Mary has her challenges. Her ex sister-in-law who abandons her two girls to get rich raising emus is just one. Set in the Northwest and other locations. Paperback, eBook. Internet bookstores. Free preview on the book’s Amazon page. Suitable for New Adults (19-29) & up.

Boogie, Boots, & Cherry Pie

For New Adults (NA) and up, I’m offering Boogie, Boots & Cherry Pie. A Seattle romance with a Jamaican flair, Boogie is a lighthearted romance for animal and jewelry lovers.
When the great guy that Lily meets at her company’s St. Patrick’s Day party takes her home he discovers she lives at The Zoo, an apartment building that caters to tenants who have exotic pets. Unfortunately, one of the animals is missing and when Mike drops her off the first thing he sees is a sign on the front door:

Please Don’t Let Out The Snake!

While Lily is trying to figure out how Boogie, a big boa constrictor, is getting into her apartment, Mike, her new boyfriend, has his own problems. He’s a jewelry designer who is in danger of defaulting on a contract because all of his workers live on a flood plain and the river is rising. When it finally floods, everyone, including their pets, disappears without a trace. Suddenly, Mike isn’t worried about his business anymore. He’s worried about his workers and their families. Are they okay? Where could they be?

Filled with lively characters including: a Jamaican landlady, Reggae, whose traditional headdress holds her phone, iPod, and assorted office supplies; her boyfriend Mingo who thinks he doesn’t fit in; and Velma, a tenant who collects snakes—big ones. Tension rises when Reggae and Lily begin to fear that Boogie is stalking Boots, Reggae’s pet iguana. Set in Seattle. Paperback, Kindle. Internet bookstores. Published by CreateSpace. Free preview on the book’s Amazon page. Suitable for New Adult (19-29) and up.

Custer & His Naked Ladies

Don’t panic! Custer is just an old yeller dog, and Naked Ladies are flowers that grow in Oklahoma.

At Sea-Tac airport, Glory takes the framed photo of her husband out of her gym bag and dumps it, frame and all, into the nearest trash receptacle before she boards a flight to Oklahoma.

She has wasted too much time on a man who no longer wants her and she can almost hear her biological clock starting to rust.

When she arrives in her hometown, her mother, and sisters are there to greet her. She’d like to move permanently to Oklahoma, but there are problems. Can she rejoin a tribe whose members may have killed her beloved stepfather, Pete? Also, her mother and sisters are in the middle of a struggle with the tribe because they want to use her land to put up a casino. Another tribe, a mafia tribe from back east, not only wants a casino, they want to control it.

A childhood friend, Soap, is now a lawyer, and is about the only thing standing between her mother and the mobsters. Unfortunately, Glory and Soap get off on the wrong foot, and an unwanted visit from her greedy, hateful stepmother doesn’t help matters. True Southwest flavor, set in Oklahoma. Paperback and eBook. Internet bookstores. Published by iUniverse. Free preview on the book’s Amazon page. Suitable for New Adults (19-29) and up.

 

Custer & His Naked Ladies is set in
Oklahoma