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Second String HS2023
page: 112
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The telephone broke the silence, ringing once, twice, five times before Dennis crossed the room to answer.
“Yep?”
“Dennis. It’s Avery.” She’d been crying.
“Avery. Been a while. What's goin on?”
“Look…I’m sorry to be abrupt. I—we—need to send Noah somewhere and we don’t have many options. No options. Larry’s got all these doctor’s visits coming up, and between time and money and energy…”
Dennis leaned on the wall next to the phone, threading his finger through the coiled cord. His cheeks puffed as he let a long breath out in a fine stream through pursed lips.
“Aw, I’d like to help, I jus—”
“Your parents told me you haven’t been going out on the boats.”
“Yeah, I just…” he trailed off thinking of excuses. “You really want Noah to stay with me?”
“We were going to send him to Don and Rita’s, but as you know, they’re moving into the retirement community next month. There’s nobody else. Besides, Noah can’t get in trouble if he’s staying with you.”
“You think just because you can only get here by boat or plane there’s no trouble to find? Can’t you send him—“
“Dennis, remember when you asked us for a loan to move to Alaska and buy your house? We barely had the money but we gave it to you because you needed it. Remember? I need to call in that favor.”
***
The air taxi appeared as a dot against a thin band of blue sky between the cloud-bottoms and the top of Excursion Ridge. The plane landed and taxied. Noah descended the stairs with a duffle bag in one hand and a chipboard guitar case in the other, morosely surveying his surroundings from deep within the hood of his sweatshirt as he entered the terminal.
“Welcome to Gustavus, Alaska,” said Dennis, his arms spread wide. “Damn boss, how long’s it been since I seen you?”
“Since dad died,” Noah rejoined. Dennis’ provisional smile evaporated and his eyes fell to the ground.
“Yeah. Guess it’s been a while.”
They loaded into Dennis’ pickup and drove through town on Gustavus Road. Dennis broke the awkward silence by pointing out the schoolhouse, post office, city hall, the fish processor. Every block or two, he nodded or waved at someone on the street, and after about a mile, they turned north on Mountain View Road.
“Not much to see. Lotta places for tourists to stay, but they won’t really get busy until summertime. There’s the grocery store—ToshCo. Fellow named Toshua owns it, and he gets most of the goods from CostCo in Juneau. Get it? ToshCo?”
Noah rolled his eyes, pulling a pair of earbuds from his pocket. After starting music on his phone, he slumped down in his seat with his back turned toward Dennis. Dennis gave him a short, hard glance and shook his head before returning his attention to the road.
After about another mile, they turned west on Veneta Road, then down a gravel driveway leading through a thicket of spruce trees into a clear-cut five acre lot. A thin mist loitered across the property, which was commanded by a blue-gray bungalow with shingled gables and a roof rashy with moss. The flower beds around the house were populated by stone mushrooms and yard gnomes from the original owners. A workshop with rusty siding flanked the house about fifteen yards away.
They exited the pickup and crossed the veranda, where a green plastic-bristled doormat hung crusted with freeze-dried mud over the railing, then entered the house, which had an open floor plan, with the kitchen, living room, and dining area combined in a great room. Several folding tables stood at various positions along the walls, each strewn with tools and toolboxes, tackle and tackle boxes, hunting and fishing magazines, old carburetors and spark plugs, frayed timing belts. Dennis gestured to a short hallway on the far side of the room.
“Bathroom’s first door on the left. Your room’s at the end of the hall. Why don’t you put your things in there and meet me back out here so we can go over some ground rules while having a little something to eat. You like chili?”
“Can I get the wifi password?”
“Sorry, bud. No internet.”
Noah scoffed. “You don’t even have internet out here?”
“Some folks do. I—“ Dennis paused for emphasis, “—do not. Don’t need it.”
Noah sulked down the hall to his room, emerging several minutes later with the old nylon-string guitar. He collapsed on the threadbare sofa and began languidly strumming chords with his thumb. Dennis opened cans of chili and emptied them into a saucepan, which he placed on the stove. He twisted the knob to turn the burner on. He looked up to Noah.
“You know I bought that for your dad?”
“Mm.”
“His twelfth birthday. Saved my burger-flipping money for three months and bought it from Ken down at Hillsboro Music.” By this point, Dennis was rinsing the chili cans.
“Mm.”
The waves of Noah’s aloofness was beginning to erode the shore of Dennis’ patience. Dennis set the rinsed chili cans on the countertop with enough force to make them ring hollowly, reverberating off the cathedral ceiling.
“Would’t kill you to talk to me, you know. I’m not the bad guy here.”
Noah turned, looking squarely at Dennis for the first time. “What am I supposed to say?! This is great! La-Dee-Dah! I’m sooo happy to be here!”
“This ain’t no resort and it ain’t no vacation. You’re here for a reason.”
“I’m only here because that asshole Larry got sick.”
“Larry’s not a bad guy. I know he doesn’t replace your dad, but he treats your mom right. Besides, the way I hear it, you’re not exactly doing yourself too many favors. Running around getting drunk with your dumbass friends. Getting kicked out of school for sending dirty pictures on your phone.”
Noah’s face turned red and his mouth gaped in dismayed embarrassment.
“You think your mom sent you here without telling me why? You think she didn’t tell me she cancelled your cell service and told me specifically not to let you get near the internet?”
Noah huffed trying to find words, finally shouting, “Yeah, like you’re one to talk!”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
Noah chuckled. “What, you think I don’t know about you? My parents have used you as a cautionary tale since I was a kid! I found my dad’s journal after he died and read all about why you escaped to Alaska after—”
“You better watch yourself, Noah!” Dennis was shouting by then.
“Why should I?” Noah abruptly started bashing out chords on the guitar, shouting (to the tune of “The Wheels on the Bus”): “DENNIS USED TO LOVE HIS HOOKERS AND BLOW!!! HOOKERS AND BLOW!!! HOOKERS AND BLOW!!! DENNIS USED TO L—“
The old strings couldn’t take the thrashing. The B string snapped. As if raised from a trance, Noah stopped.
Dennis clenched his jaw and stomped across the room. He stopped in front of Noah, who flinched, expecting to get hit. Instead, Dennis wrested the guitar and stormed out the door. Noah sat there in shock, listening first to the sound of receding footsteps crunching in the gravel, then the roar of the workshop door sliding open on its rail.
After five minutes, Dennis returned to the house.
“A man’s allowed to make mistakes." His voice was calmer. "If he’s lucky, his mistakes don’t have to make him.” He extended the guitar, whose broken string had been replaced by heavy gauge fishing line, back toward Noah. “This oughta work for now.”
The neglected chili had started to burn. Noah sat dumbly plinking out single notes on the homespun guitar string while Dennis scraped the bottom of the pan, stirring the burnt parts in with the rest.
THE END
“Yep?”
“Dennis. It’s Avery.” She’d been crying.
“Avery. Been a while. What's goin on?”
“Look…I’m sorry to be abrupt. I—we—need to send Noah somewhere and we don’t have many options. No options. Larry’s got all these doctor’s visits coming up, and between time and money and energy…”
Dennis leaned on the wall next to the phone, threading his finger through the coiled cord. His cheeks puffed as he let a long breath out in a fine stream through pursed lips.
“Aw, I’d like to help, I jus—”
“Your parents told me you haven’t been going out on the boats.”
“Yeah, I just…” he trailed off thinking of excuses. “You really want Noah to stay with me?”
“We were going to send him to Don and Rita’s, but as you know, they’re moving into the retirement community next month. There’s nobody else. Besides, Noah can’t get in trouble if he’s staying with you.”
“You think just because you can only get here by boat or plane there’s no trouble to find? Can’t you send him—“
“Dennis, remember when you asked us for a loan to move to Alaska and buy your house? We barely had the money but we gave it to you because you needed it. Remember? I need to call in that favor.”
***
The air taxi appeared as a dot against a thin band of blue sky between the cloud-bottoms and the top of Excursion Ridge. The plane landed and taxied. Noah descended the stairs with a duffle bag in one hand and a chipboard guitar case in the other, morosely surveying his surroundings from deep within the hood of his sweatshirt as he entered the terminal.
“Welcome to Gustavus, Alaska,” said Dennis, his arms spread wide. “Damn boss, how long’s it been since I seen you?”
“Since dad died,” Noah rejoined. Dennis’ provisional smile evaporated and his eyes fell to the ground.
“Yeah. Guess it’s been a while.”
They loaded into Dennis’ pickup and drove through town on Gustavus Road. Dennis broke the awkward silence by pointing out the schoolhouse, post office, city hall, the fish processor. Every block or two, he nodded or waved at someone on the street, and after about a mile, they turned north on Mountain View Road.
“Not much to see. Lotta places for tourists to stay, but they won’t really get busy until summertime. There’s the grocery store—ToshCo. Fellow named Toshua owns it, and he gets most of the goods from CostCo in Juneau. Get it? ToshCo?”
Noah rolled his eyes, pulling a pair of earbuds from his pocket. After starting music on his phone, he slumped down in his seat with his back turned toward Dennis. Dennis gave him a short, hard glance and shook his head before returning his attention to the road.
After about another mile, they turned west on Veneta Road, then down a gravel driveway leading through a thicket of spruce trees into a clear-cut five acre lot. A thin mist loitered across the property, which was commanded by a blue-gray bungalow with shingled gables and a roof rashy with moss. The flower beds around the house were populated by stone mushrooms and yard gnomes from the original owners. A workshop with rusty siding flanked the house about fifteen yards away.
They exited the pickup and crossed the veranda, where a green plastic-bristled doormat hung crusted with freeze-dried mud over the railing, then entered the house, which had an open floor plan, with the kitchen, living room, and dining area combined in a great room. Several folding tables stood at various positions along the walls, each strewn with tools and toolboxes, tackle and tackle boxes, hunting and fishing magazines, old carburetors and spark plugs, frayed timing belts. Dennis gestured to a short hallway on the far side of the room.
“Bathroom’s first door on the left. Your room’s at the end of the hall. Why don’t you put your things in there and meet me back out here so we can go over some ground rules while having a little something to eat. You like chili?”
“Can I get the wifi password?”
“Sorry, bud. No internet.”
Noah scoffed. “You don’t even have internet out here?”
“Some folks do. I—“ Dennis paused for emphasis, “—do not. Don’t need it.”
Noah sulked down the hall to his room, emerging several minutes later with the old nylon-string guitar. He collapsed on the threadbare sofa and began languidly strumming chords with his thumb. Dennis opened cans of chili and emptied them into a saucepan, which he placed on the stove. He twisted the knob to turn the burner on. He looked up to Noah.
“You know I bought that for your dad?”
“Mm.”
“His twelfth birthday. Saved my burger-flipping money for three months and bought it from Ken down at Hillsboro Music.” By this point, Dennis was rinsing the chili cans.
“Mm.”
The waves of Noah’s aloofness was beginning to erode the shore of Dennis’ patience. Dennis set the rinsed chili cans on the countertop with enough force to make them ring hollowly, reverberating off the cathedral ceiling.
“Would’t kill you to talk to me, you know. I’m not the bad guy here.”
Noah turned, looking squarely at Dennis for the first time. “What am I supposed to say?! This is great! La-Dee-Dah! I’m sooo happy to be here!”
“This ain’t no resort and it ain’t no vacation. You’re here for a reason.”
“I’m only here because that asshole Larry got sick.”
“Larry’s not a bad guy. I know he doesn’t replace your dad, but he treats your mom right. Besides, the way I hear it, you’re not exactly doing yourself too many favors. Running around getting drunk with your dumbass friends. Getting kicked out of school for sending dirty pictures on your phone.”
Noah’s face turned red and his mouth gaped in dismayed embarrassment.
“You think your mom sent you here without telling me why? You think she didn’t tell me she cancelled your cell service and told me specifically not to let you get near the internet?”
Noah huffed trying to find words, finally shouting, “Yeah, like you’re one to talk!”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
Noah chuckled. “What, you think I don’t know about you? My parents have used you as a cautionary tale since I was a kid! I found my dad’s journal after he died and read all about why you escaped to Alaska after—”
“You better watch yourself, Noah!” Dennis was shouting by then.
“Why should I?” Noah abruptly started bashing out chords on the guitar, shouting (to the tune of “The Wheels on the Bus”): “DENNIS USED TO LOVE HIS HOOKERS AND BLOW!!! HOOKERS AND BLOW!!! HOOKERS AND BLOW!!! DENNIS USED TO L—“
The old strings couldn’t take the thrashing. The B string snapped. As if raised from a trance, Noah stopped.
Dennis clenched his jaw and stomped across the room. He stopped in front of Noah, who flinched, expecting to get hit. Instead, Dennis wrested the guitar and stormed out the door. Noah sat there in shock, listening first to the sound of receding footsteps crunching in the gravel, then the roar of the workshop door sliding open on its rail.
After five minutes, Dennis returned to the house.
“A man’s allowed to make mistakes." His voice was calmer. "If he’s lucky, his mistakes don’t have to make him.” He extended the guitar, whose broken string had been replaced by heavy gauge fishing line, back toward Noah. “This oughta work for now.”
The neglected chili had started to burn. Noah sat dumbly plinking out single notes on the homespun guitar string while Dennis scraped the bottom of the pan, stirring the burnt parts in with the rest.
THE END
edit on 20-12-2023 by QRST4D because: (no reason given)
Your story took me back to my days as a rebelous teenager, along with surviving raising a few of my own! Well told!
a reply to: nugget1
Thanks for reading and complimenting my story.
I love the mental exercise I get from writing for these contests. For the last one, I produced a story in about four or five days, while this one took twenty. I found it a challenge to generate a situation, then incorporate the theme, then get it down to about 1,300 words (which is about how many will fit in a post). I used to try to write these sprawling, epic short stories, but found that few readers had the patience for them, and it's actually more challenging to write in the "flash fiction" style. I had a version I liked but it was 300 words too long, so today, I hacked away at it until it fit into one post.
But anyways...
I just started reading the entries posted to the first page of the current contest thread. If you posted something, I'll be getting to it soon.
Thanks for reading and complimenting my story.
I love the mental exercise I get from writing for these contests. For the last one, I produced a story in about four or five days, while this one took twenty. I found it a challenge to generate a situation, then incorporate the theme, then get it down to about 1,300 words (which is about how many will fit in a post). I used to try to write these sprawling, epic short stories, but found that few readers had the patience for them, and it's actually more challenging to write in the "flash fiction" style. I had a version I liked but it was 300 words too long, so today, I hacked away at it until it fit into one post.
But anyways...
I just started reading the entries posted to the first page of the current contest thread. If you posted something, I'll be getting to it soon.
a reply to: QRST4D
Well, I think you did a fantastic job at condensing it to fit the format! I look forward to more of your entries in the future!
(I'm not a writer, so you won't find any work from me. I only wrote poetry, and it's far too dark for public view.)
Well, I think you did a fantastic job at condensing it to fit the format! I look forward to more of your entries in the future!
(I'm not a writer, so you won't find any work from me. I only wrote poetry, and it's far too dark for public view.)
a reply to: QRST4D
That was great! Describes my life to a T.
I moved home four years ago to look after my fifteen year old grandson. I'm living that dream lol.
I no longer have a mobile phone and ditched the car a few months ago.
S+F
That was great! Describes my life to a T.
I moved home four years ago to look after my fifteen year old grandson. I'm living that dream lol.
I no longer have a mobile phone and ditched the car a few months ago.
S+F
edit on 21-12-2023 by midicon because: (no reason given)
a reply to: QRST4D
A captivating read, QRST4D!
Notwithstanding you pruned your first draft, I think you left in enough details to immerse the reader in your Alaska world.
Also, I very much like how you divulged the character traits and history through the dialogues and actions. The guitar string incident is the perfect hook to what I hope will be a new, long-lasting bonding between Noah and Dennis.
A captivating read, QRST4D!
Notwithstanding you pruned your first draft, I think you left in enough details to immerse the reader in your Alaska world.
Also, I very much like how you divulged the character traits and history through the dialogues and actions. The guitar string incident is the perfect hook to what I hope will be a new, long-lasting bonding between Noah and Dennis.
a reply to: QRST4D
I liked this one a lot ....
It seems very 'real' with true to life conflict / tension of the type with which I can definitely relate.
Really good dialogue too.
And most striking of all: there is something to learn from it. All of that must have been tough to convey in such a short story, but it worked.
I wonder what happens next, and if there will be a 'part two'.
I liked this one a lot ....
It seems very 'real' with true to life conflict / tension of the type with which I can definitely relate.
Really good dialogue too.
And most striking of all: there is something to learn from it. All of that must have been tough to convey in such a short story, but it worked.
I wonder what happens next, and if there will be a 'part two'.
edit on 21-12-2023 by Fowlerstoad because: added more
thoughts
edit on 21-12-2023 by Fowlerstoad because: still thinking about it ...
a reply to: midicon
Thanks for reading. I'm glad you liked it!
I partly envy and partly pity the situation you describe.
In spite of how practical a mobile phone can be, I find myself hating it. The constant emails and texts. I bet ditching it has helped you reclaim some of your time and energy.
On the other hand, a teenage boy can be quite a drain on both. I hope he's a good kid. In a couple years, I'll have a teenager in my house, and I'm bracing myself for it.
Thanks for reading. I'm glad you liked it!
I partly envy and partly pity the situation you describe.
In spite of how practical a mobile phone can be, I find myself hating it. The constant emails and texts. I bet ditching it has helped you reclaim some of your time and energy.
On the other hand, a teenage boy can be quite a drain on both. I hope he's a good kid. In a couple years, I'll have a teenager in my house, and I'm bracing myself for it.
a reply to: Encia22
Thanks, Encia!
In preparing for this story, I researched a little bit about "flash fiction". One of my big takeaways was that the author must be fastidious in making each sentence ratchet up the tension just a little bit. This attempt is probably the most I've relied on dialogue, and I'm pleased with how it worked out.
Thanks, Encia!
In preparing for this story, I researched a little bit about "flash fiction". One of my big takeaways was that the author must be fastidious in making each sentence ratchet up the tension just a little bit. This attempt is probably the most I've relied on dialogue, and I'm pleased with how it worked out.
a reply to: Fowlerstoad
Thanks, Fowlerstoad!
As I mentioned in a reply to another post, I researched the "flash fiction" sub-genre. One tip I came across suggested to hint at a larger story. In that way, I think I succeeded. By the climax of this story, there are some lingering questions. What exactly were Dennis' troubles? How did Noah's dad die? etc. I'm not sure yet if I'll revisit this or let it stand as it is, but I'm glad you liked it.
I see that you've posted some entries, so I'll be checking those out soon...
Thanks, Fowlerstoad!
As I mentioned in a reply to another post, I researched the "flash fiction" sub-genre. One tip I came across suggested to hint at a larger story. In that way, I think I succeeded. By the climax of this story, there are some lingering questions. What exactly were Dennis' troubles? How did Noah's dad die? etc. I'm not sure yet if I'll revisit this or let it stand as it is, but I'm glad you liked it.
I see that you've posted some entries, so I'll be checking those out soon...
a reply to: 19Bones79
I definitely haven’t always done it this way. I’ve spent a lot of time around writers, and read lots of books about the craft and process of writing. One thing that took years to sink in for me is to write fearlessly everyday. “Don’t be afraid to write crap—it makes great fertilizer,” were the words of one of my teachers. For some it’s easy, and others like me, difficult. I tend to want every little thing I write to be Shakespeare and I can be hard on myself when it’s not.
For a story like this, I spent anywhere from half an hour to an hour every morning, while I drank my coffee, tinkering with it.
Some of those days were just researching Gustavus, Alaska. Other days I only researched architectural styles and looked at floor plans online so I could describe the house. I spent a day writing back story on the original owner of the house, which ended up being 100 words that agonized me to cut completely from the story. I really liked it but it had to go.
One of the truly magical things about it is if I just sit with it a little bit every day, I know it will work out. It doesn’t feel like that the first couple days when I’m trying to form something solid from a nebula, but if I stick with it day after day, it works out.
It takes patience, and while I don’t think it’s a natural trait, I’m glad I cultivated it. I know that you could, too.
I definitely haven’t always done it this way. I’ve spent a lot of time around writers, and read lots of books about the craft and process of writing. One thing that took years to sink in for me is to write fearlessly everyday. “Don’t be afraid to write crap—it makes great fertilizer,” were the words of one of my teachers. For some it’s easy, and others like me, difficult. I tend to want every little thing I write to be Shakespeare and I can be hard on myself when it’s not.
For a story like this, I spent anywhere from half an hour to an hour every morning, while I drank my coffee, tinkering with it.
Some of those days were just researching Gustavus, Alaska. Other days I only researched architectural styles and looked at floor plans online so I could describe the house. I spent a day writing back story on the original owner of the house, which ended up being 100 words that agonized me to cut completely from the story. I really liked it but it had to go.
One of the truly magical things about it is if I just sit with it a little bit every day, I know it will work out. It doesn’t feel like that the first couple days when I’m trying to form something solid from a nebula, but if I stick with it day after day, it works out.
It takes patience, and while I don’t think it’s a natural trait, I’m glad I cultivated it. I know that you could, too.
a reply to: QRST4D
I really enjoyed your story; your writing style drew me in and the tension built. You left it on a perfect note, where we all would like to read more, but feel hopeful, that Noah and Dennis have survived their first skirmish and both of them will help each other. Well done!
I really enjoyed your story; your writing style drew me in and the tension built. You left it on a perfect note, where we all would like to read more, but feel hopeful, that Noah and Dennis have survived their first skirmish and both of them will help each other. Well done!
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