Tolerance: A Collection of Short Stories

DEDICATION

In memory of 2020, the most challenging year of modern history, this treasure tomb from the imagination of ten authors is dedicated to humanity around the globe.

NOTE

EARLY FALL 2020 TEN authors met at an online meeting site for the first time over a glass of wine. The idea of an anthology was born.

Together we compiled this anthology to resemble an old 45 RPM vinyl record, with an A and B side. The A side stories are all based on the theme Tolerance. Whereas side B are tales straight from the hearts of the authors.

Both sides, like those records of old, are a banquet of entertainment for the reader. So sit back with a glass of wine or a cup of coffee, put your feet up, get comfy, and prepare to enjoy the feast.

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

Tolerance, an anthology with food for heart and mind, came together through the talents of ten writers who wanted to make a difference in people’s lives. Together we are honoring those who did more: Carole Fielding for donating her time and talents as an editor; Karen Crawford for the cover of this feast of stories; Soleah Sadge, the administrative talent; and Kathleen Osborne, the one who had an idea.

Our sincere Thank You to those authors from thewritepractice.com and the Short Story Forum, who helped edit and critique our stories.

We send our continued thanks and acknowledgment to all our readers. Through you our stories are enjoyed, over and over again.

-  SIDE A -

Ten short stories based on Tolerance.

A FLY ON THE WALL

Literary Fiction & Women’s Literature

ALETTA BEE

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

I’d like to thank the following people for their support of my writing:

Laura Arnold, Bonnie Collins, Karen Cross, Frankie Delson, Leslie Diller-Zollo,

Carole Fielding, Caroline Hatton, Kathryn Heyman, Judy Hochman, Phyllis Kaelin, Bernard Meylan, Olesia Wojcieszyn, the Raintree Writer’s Group, and thewritepractice.com with Joe Bunting and Abigail K. Perry.

BEA WAVED HER ARMS in front of her in a crisscross movement, signaling STOP.

Using her playful, pretending-to-be-an-old-English-Queen Voice, she said, No, Silly Willy, men are definitely not invited!

Benjamin leaned back against the kitchen counter and cracked a smile.

Bea was on her way to a meeting with her neighborhood women friends at Abbie’s house. These friends were in their seventies and early eighties and had been meeting twice a month for five years. Benjamin had named them The Yak-Yaks.

Bea picked up the platter with its flower-like burst of five black raspberry tarts. Even maa-vel-ous men who provide us with pastries for our meetings are not invited. She stood on her tiptoes and puckered up for a goodbye kiss.

Benjamin said, I’d sure like to be a fly on the wall while you women meet. I’ll bet you do lots of gossiping and complaining about us men.

No, no gossip. Not ever. Not even once. Not clear on the concept of just who we women are, dude, she retorted as she sailed out of the kitchen.

Neither of them heard the gentle buzzing of a group of flies gathering between the closed window and the screen above the sink.

IN THE KITCHEN WINDOW, Leader Fly buzzed, These humans have no idea how hard it is to carry out the duties of a fly on the wall. They just make ignorant statements like that willy-nilly.

Yeah! No understanding, no respect. I’m sick of it, buzzed No. 2, a disgruntled fly.

Never appreciated, always denigrated. Our cross to bear, said No. 3. The others called him Cross.

I’m hungry, fly No. 5 said, his buzzer losing power. They called him Baby.

Let’s all go over there together. There’s enough pastry for each of us to have all we want, said No. 4, Buzz-E.

Leader Fly took over. Ahem, Buzz-E, remember who’s the Leader here... Yes! We can be out of this screen and over there before she is, and ready to dash in when the front door opens.

THE FIVE FLIES DARTED out the kitchen window just when a crosswind blew against the direction they were flying. They might not make it across the lake to Abbie’s before Bea gets there.

Leader Fly buzzed, Fly low, at their ankle level, to avoid high gusts. I don’t need to remind you to stay away from the fountain spurts in the middle of the lake. We can still make it!

As they flew across the lake, another wind gust pushed them perilously close to the center fountain. They beat their wings double time to maintain their flight.  Fortunately, the flies avoided getting bashed by the fountain, and flew on, lickety-split. Delirious with winning, they laughed fly laughs, and flew zig-zag paths right to Abbie’s door.

Sure enough, in the women’s excitement of gathering at Abbie’s, nobody noticed the five flies zip through the front door and into the four corners of the ceiling. Baby stayed with Leader Fly in his corner.

THE FLIES’ WATCHING-from-the-walls mode of buzzing was at such a low vibration they could hear and understand each other, but humans couldn’t hear them.

Leader Fly began, To clarify our mission for tonight—Baby, pay attention—our mission for tonight is to record in our memories what we learn about the mysterious workings of woman talk. And then give that information in a dream to whatever human man asks for the knowledge. We have to impart that knowledge, of course, before our thirty-day life span is over. Everybody onboard?

Buzz-E buzzed, It’s completely unnecessary to remind us of our short life span. We live with that knowledge every day!

Fly No. 2 buzzed, Watch it, Buzz-E, remember that we are to support our leaders!

Leader Fly gave No. 2 a quick thank you buzz and ignored Buzz-E’s complaint. Everybody on board?

Three, including Buzz-E, buzzed yes.

Leader Fly upped his volume. Baby, you onboard?

Baby buzzed, Sorry, I was looking at the pastries. Yes.

All five were now ensconced in their viewing and listening posts on the wall. They all knew it was time for their Professional Assessment. They checked the gooey hairs on their legs to ensure they could stay stuck to the walls or ceilings as needed.

EVERYWHERE IN ABBIE’S cozy, carpeted, and brightly lit room, there were abstract landscape paintings, pottery figurines, and woven baskets. In the center of the room, a square glass coffee table was heaped with delectable goodies, including Benjamin’s pastries.

This evening, the women’s first hour was spent catching up with medical issues. Abbie suffered from spiking and plummeting blood pressure and dizziness, Bea had COPD, Dee needed plasma shots in her eyes, Cici worried about cognitive decline.

The Fly consensus was, Boring. But no gossiping to relay to Benjamin—so far.

The next hour, the women agonized over the state of the nation’s political affairs and tried to think of what they could do to help the situation.

Leader Fly concluded, This political content is not important to give to Benjamin. His mind is already made up that there will be a civil war, and he tunes out of politics.

Fly No. 2 buzzed, But still no gossip to report, right, dear leader?

Before Leader Fly could answer, Abbie spoke. I had a profound experience last week, and I want to share it with you.

This sounds important. Baby! Heads up! Leader Fly buzzed.

Abbie had returned home shaken with grief and horror. She had been to The National Memorial to Peace and Justice, a site and monument that recognizes forty-three hundred lynchings in the United States, in Montgomery, Alabama.

Abbie passed her iPhone around, showing photos of the site. She then asked Bea to enlarge one photo and read aloud the text engraved on a marble slab wall. As Bea started to read, her throat clenched. She had to prod herself to read it, pausing after each line to breathe so she could speak through her tears. The engraved words said:

For the hanged and beaten,

For the shot, drowned and burned,

For the tortured, tormented, and terrorized,

For those abandoned by the rule of law.

We will remember.

With hope because hopelessness is the enemy of justice,

With courage because peace requires bravery,

With persistence because justice is a constant struggle,

With faith because we shall overcome.

When Bea had finished reading the quotation, all five women had tears in their eyes.

A long, sorrowful eddy of silence filled the room.

CROSS BUZZED, SOFTLY, out of respect. I can identify. We flies get tortured too, and tormented, and terrorized. It’s beyond belief.

Bea asked Abbie, Can I have a copy of the photo?

Abbie said, Sure. All the women wanted a copy.

Cross buzzed, These gals aren’t so bad. They really care about humanity.

Just then, Baby started buzzing extra loudly, and Bea looked up at the sound and pointed to the flies. She turned to Abbie and made a motion, sticking her fingers in her ears. That motion was the women’s usual way to remind Abbie to put her hearing aids in.

Abbie did and said, Oh, yuck! Flies. I’ll get my fly swatter. She disappeared into the kitchen and reappeared with a big green plastic flap with a handle.

This was a cue for the flies to use distracting maneuvers and fly in four fast circles just out of her reach.

Abbie raced around the room, swinging the swatter. The flies were too high. When they landed for a few moments on the wall, she pulled a chair over, stood on it, and smashed the swatter against her wall.

She missed them. The flap of the swatter fell off, and the fantastic five took off, buzzing again in four circles just out of her reach. (Baby had taken advantage of the mayhem and flown down to hide under a pastry.)

Leader Fly buzzed encouragement to his troops. Ha! People just don’t realize our visual advantage—their brains can process sixty images per second, ours can process two hundred fifty images a second—‘We shall overcome,’ indeed, buzzed Leader Fly.

Fly No. 2 buzzed, Yes, indeed, Boss.

Abbie opened her balcony door, hoping the flies would leave.

As the women refocused on the agonizing meaning of the Montgomery monument, Dee reached for a chocolate cupcake. I need some comfort—just thinking of what People of Color have had to endure breaks me apart.

Cross gave a curt buzz. Comfort? We never have comfort. We have to work so darn hard just to live.

Abbie tried to shift the painful mood. Right after Montgomery I went back to my Pennsylvania hometown—population two thousand—for the funeral of an old friend’s husband. A woman friend told me this joke. She smiled, thinking of it. Notice how different it would be if a man told it.

"A woman goes to a new dentist. She’s seated in the dentist’s chair and leans forward for the assistant to fasten the paper bib behind her. She notices the dentist’s diploma on the wall in front of her. The dentist’s name seems somehow familiar to her. She’s trying to piece together where she might have known him. Just as the assistant dips her chair backwards, something dawns on the woman. She’s excited with her revelation.

"When the dentist comes into the room to greet her, she turns to him and asks, ‘Did you go to Conestoga High School?’

"‘Yes,’ he replies.

"‘Did you take a French class in 1956?’

"‘Yes.’

"‘Oh, my gosh! We were in class together!’

The dentist looks at her, perplexed... ‘You were my teacher?’

Eeeeuuuuuuuuuuuuu, everyone groaned as they registered the insult.

The five flies had found places to hide behind little hillocks of Abbie’s popcorn ceiling. I don’t get it, buzzed Baby.

Leader Fly ignored Baby and summarized, Well, they are still not either gossiping or bad-mouthing men. The dentist is clueless, but they don’t present him as a bad person. All in agreement? Four buzzed in accord. Buzz-E took a couple seconds longer to buzz. On principle.

When the women’s laughter died down, Cici grabbed a pastry and took a bite. Talking through the raspberry pastry crumbling in her mouth, she said, That reminds me of a new knock-knock joke I heard. She almost choked as she inhaled to speak again. She turned to Dee, Knock, knock.

Who’s there? Dee said.

Little old lady, said Cici.

Little old lady, who? Dee asked.

Oh... I didn’t know you could yodel, Cici said, delighted in her own joke. She tried but failed to keep a straight face.

Eeeuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuu. More group groans. Two women lean over, heads in hands. Somebody asked, Where did you hear that?

Cici talked through her laughter, I’m old too. So, I don’t remember. Laughter crescendoed and dwindled around the room.

Buzz-E said, These so-called jokes are so corny it’s embarrassing. I’m ashamed on their behalf.

Cross buzzed, Yeah. It’s hard to believe these women all have advanced degrees.

Leader Fly pulled them back on course. But to the question of whether they gossip and bad-mouth men? Not proven. Our personal opinions are not facts.

Essie bounced up and down on her couch cushion and said, Now I have one.

Essie said, "An Old Man and Old Woman sit in a booth at Denny’s, opposite each other. He eats—ever so slowly—his order of coke, hamburger, and French fries. The Woman sits, waiting patiently as he eats. No conversation.

"A man at the counter notices this silent pair and wonders about them. The Old Man finishes everything and orders a slice of apple pie with vanilla ice cream. The Old Woman again sits waiting, quietly and patiently.

"The Counterman worries about the woman who, he thinks, is being shortchanged. He walks over and says to them both, ‘I’m sorry; I don’t want to intrude.’ Then turning to the woman, says, ‘I’d like to buy you something to eat.’

"The Woman shakes her head, lips pressed tight, says, ‘No, thank you, I’m fine.’

"Counterman sits back down at the counter and sneaks a peek at them out of the corner of his eyes. The Old Man orders yet another hamburger, fries, and coke. The Old Woman, again, sits patiently waiting.

"The Counterman can stand it no longer and goes back to their booth. He turns to the Old Woman, his hands raised to the heavens, ‘What in the world are you waiting for!?!’

‘His teeth,’ she said.

Even louder groans flew from the women’s mouths. Double eeuuuuuuuuuuuuu, and Oh, gross! and Yuck! and helpless laughter filled the living room where the painful silence had swirled earlier.

When they recovered, stomach muscles sore from laughing, Bea, the one morning person among them said, This is a good time for me to go home to recover fully.

Leader Fly concluded, There seems to be no gossiping or bad-mouthing of men. So, our report tonight to the man who wanted to be a fly on the wall, will be just that. He will have a dream of the kindness and humor of women.

BIO

ALETTA BEE, AN EMERGING author, lives in Culver City (nearly Los Angeles) alongside the lake MGM made for its Tarzan movies. She loves the 47 ducks and 24 koi who populate the lake. Her cat would love them too, but that’s a no-no. 

A Licensed Marriage and Family Therapist (LMFA) in private practice, Aletta Bee is fascinated by the way people influence each other, misunderstand each other, and ultimately love each other. 

Her previously published fiction works include short stories, "Footloose, in Short Fiction Break Literary Magazine, A Definite Risk on Amazon Books, and A Fly on the Wall" in the Amazon Books anthology, Silver Hair Tales.

She is currently working on a second draft of her novel-in-progress, Mommy Do-over, the story of Melissa, a shy 55-year-old artist, who faces a lung cancer diagnosis and desperately wants to heal her relationship with her angry, estranged, and recovering alcoholic son. 

An English Literature major at Duke University and English teacher for senior high for several years, she wrote a nonfiction blog, Your Zesty Self for PsychologyToday.com (under her psychotherapist doctorate name) and wrote a monthly Daily Inspiration piece for Agape Press’s Inner Visions. 

After 30 years of almost exclusively reading clinical nonfiction, her love of fiction came roaring back when a friend of hers was lied to and psychologically threatened by a neighbor—and Aletta had to write about it for her own sanity. Aletta Bee’s short story Deceit and Dirty Laundry came out of her outrage on behalf of her friend.

You can read more of her work by visiting her author’s website: https://www.AlettaBeeWrites.com.

She can also be found on social media:

Facebook: @AlettaBeeWrites

Twitter: @AlettaBeeWrites

Instagram: @Aletta_Bee_Writes

JUST AN EGG

Fantasy / Magical Realism

Brandon Caudle

HE WALKED BY THE TABLE holding the same blue lunch bag he did every day.  As one, the group silently watched him leave the break room and go back to his desk.

Every day, said Lenny.  Every single day. 

I know, seriously, Cori chirped, taking a sip of her drink and tossing her purple streaked hair.  Didn’t you say that he’s been eating the same lunch every day for the last five years?

Eggs. Lenny stated. He eats eggs every day.  A lot of hard boiled, but he also brings in fried sometimes.  At least once a week he eats at his desk, and I can tell when he brings in the hard boiled ones, I can smell them all the way down the hall.  Lenny wrinkled his nose.  Blech.

Micaela chimed in, daintily popping a corn chip into her red lipstick-lined mouth. Well. I started here twelve years ago, like, right when I moved here, and he was eating eggs every day back then as well.

Yeah, that’s right. I forgot you told me that, said Lenny, turning to Micaela, his eyes widening. I’ve only been here five years, but you’ve been here way longer, and you’ve never seen him eat anything else, right?

Humph, Micaela snorted, reaching for her diet soda.  Not just here but get this. Last year, my boyfriend and I were downtown on a weekend and decided to get some lunch. We popped into one of those cafes right by the pyramid-looking building, and guess who was there eating?

The others looked at her as one, the answer hanging in the air.

Anthony? Lenny ventured, looking towards the break room door, motioning with his head where their collective minds had gone.

Yep!  And guess what he was eating?

No way, Cori said dismissively, twirling her fork in her microwaved pasta.  He was eating eggs...at a restaurant?

Oh yeah.  He was eating eggs, said Micaela emphatically.  "A huge egg omelet, at two in the afternoon.