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- Story Listed as: Fiction For Adults
- Theme: Drama / Human Interest
- Subject: Character Based
- Published: 12/19/2018
Crossroads
Born 1947, M, from Oceanside, United StatesCrossroads
I first met Marie when the both of us were in college and trying to become lawyers. We were in the same study group. We also discovered we were from the same state. Then during my second year of college, I decided that being a lawyer wasn’t really for me after all, so I quit and joined the Air Force. Four years later, I got out and went to work for a publishing company, starting out in the mailroom. The one good thing about working for the publishing company was I could ask the editors to look at my stuff.
For several years, I had been trying to become a writer-mostly short stories-but without much success. Then after I went to work for the publishing house, the critiques I received from editors and fellow employees helped my writing take off, and suddenly, I found myself published, not only in several college magazines, but winning a number of contests as well. Eventually, the denizens inside the publishing house decided I should be more than just a mail clerk, so they plopped me down behind a desk and promoted me to Assistant Editor. It was shortly after this, I ran into Marie.
I was driving through town one day, when traffic prevented me from being able to make a left-hand turn. So, I turned right down a side street, thinking I could just swing back around. That’s when I spotted a new bookstore I had never seen before. It was called “My Little Book Nook.” Curious, I angled toward the curb, parked and went inside.
A young woman, maybe in her late teens or early twenties, stood behind the counter checking in books. She had straight brown hair and a pleasant smile. “Can I help you find something?” she asked, her smile never leaving her face.
I kind of waved my hand in a dismissive manner and said, “No, just looking,” but then thought better of it, so I turned back to her and said, “This place is new in town, isn’t it?” She nodded. “Is it your store?” I asked.
She shook her head. “No, I just work here. The owner stepped out for a few moments. She should be back any time now.” I nodded then continued to peruse the aisles.
The first thing I noticed was that the bookstore sold both new and used books, as well as educational toys for kids. I’ll have to admit, I was impressed. It seemed to be well set up, with a fake fireplace and comfy-looking stuffed chairs. It had a pleasant homey feel to it. About five minutes in, I heard the bell on the front door chime.
“I managed to get you the last of the cheese Danishes,” I heard a gravelly female voice say. It sounded vaguely familiar.
Turning around, I looked toward the front counter. A small woman with dark curly hair and a medium build had her back toward me. She was putting down a brown paper sack and a cardboard tray with two large cups in it on the counter in front of the young woman. After dropping her purse next to the tray of cups, she turned around. That’s when I saw who it was.
“Marie Brinkerhoff,” I said, truly surprised. “Are you the owner of this place?”
She looked at me, her own brown eyes opening wide with surprise. “Gary Post, is that you?”
“One in the same,” I replied.
“What are you doing here?”
“Actually, I should be asking you that question. I thought you were set on becoming a lawyer.”
The smile she had been displaying disappeared for a moment and she replied, “I was for a while. I was a Deputy District Attorney up in Orange Tree County.”
Gesturing around me, I asked, “So what happened? How did you end up here?”
Her smile returned, and she reached for one of the cups in the cardboard tray. “Come on, let’s sit down and I’ll tell you.”
I followed her over to a set of lounge chairs near the back of the store. A small table stood in between the chairs with a tiffany-style lamp sitting on top of it. I thought the lamp in particular helped to add a homey touch to the place.
Marie took a sip from her cup then began her story. “Like I said, I was a Deputy District Attorney for a little while, but eventually the pressure got to me. I ended up having to take a leave of absence. Then when I got sick again, the doctors found out I had Lupus.” Hearing what she said made me cringe mentally. “That’s when my doctor suggested I find a less stressful job. Since I’ve always loved books and reading, I thought why not my own bookstore?”
“But what made you come to this town?”
“My parents were living here at the time. What about you?”
“Well, as you may remember, I left college for the Air Force. Once I got out, I got a job working in the mailroom of Lowe Publishing. Eventually, they promoted me to Assistant Editor.”
“You’re a writer?” she asked, her eyebrows jumping up in surprise.
I nodded. “Have been for a long time now.”
“Anything I might be familiar with?”
“Not unless you read a lot of college magazines. Mine are mostly short stories. But I have entered several contests and won!”
“I’d like to read some of your stories sometime,” she said.
At first, I dismissed this as just a case of her being kind, but when she insisted, I realized she really meant it. So the next day, I brought over some of the magazines in which my stories had appeared.
“They’re mostly literary fiction,” I told her as she began to flip through the magazines.
“That’s okay, I happen to like literary fiction a lot better than all that sci-fi and vampire stuff.” That made me feel good; we had something in common.
Leaving her with the magazines, I came back a couple of days later carrying a tall cup of green tea, which was what she had been drinking the other day when we met.
“So what do you think?” I asked, after handing her the cup.
“I’ve only had a chance to read one of your stories so far, but I liked what I saw.” I felt a little serge of excitement. Then her look became curious. “Was that your mother you were writing about?”
Knowing which story she was asking about, I explained, “No, my mother and I get along really well. That was based on someone else’s stepmother.”
Marie made a face. “I’m glad she wasn’t my stepmother!”
“I’ll agree to that,” I replied. “From what I’ve been told about the woman, she made Cinderella’s stepmother seem like a saint in comparison.”
We continued to talk. That’s when I found out both her parents had died within the last couple of years, each from cancer. “I’m so sorry,” I said and inwardly grimaced as I thought about what their deaths must have done to her, especially with her condition the way it was.
She gave me a little smile. “Don’t be,” She said. “It was the money I got from their combined estates that allowed me to open the bookstore.”
We continued to talk some more, and that’s when I also found out she was living with someone—a woman!
“Allison’s been such a Godsend,” she said, looking down at the counter top with the briefest of smiles, almost as if she was cataloguing in her mind all the things the woman had done for her. Marie looked up at me, and with a gesture said, “She was the one who helped me get everything ready here in the store. I don’t know what I would have done without all her help and companionship.”
“So I take it she’s part owner?” I said.
“How did you know?”
“Just a wild guess.” Glancing around, I asked, “So where is this modern day Florence Nightingale? I’d like to meet her.”
Marie smiled, “Now that the bookstore is up and running, she took a week off to go visit her parents. Speaking of parents, what about yours? You haven’t really said much about them.”
I could feel my face getting a little red. “Well, by the time I got out of the Air Force, my parents were already separated. Right now, I’m sharing an apartment with my mother.” I held up my palms. “Yeah, yeah, I know; a man of my age shouldn’t be living with his mother, but we kind of help each other out. I help her with the rent and she does my laundry for me.” I flashed a huge grin, hoping she’d get the humor.
I guess she did, because she smiled back and said, “I don’t see any reason to be ashamed.” She added, “I just wish my parents were still around.” She stopped for a moment then asked, “What about your father?”
“He has his own apartment not too far away from us.” Again she nodded as if to acknowledge that it was okay, at which point I asked, “So when is your . . .” I hesitated, “roommate coming back?”
Marie laughed. “You can say it—girlfriend, lover, whatever you want to call her is fine with me.” I nodded. “She should be back by Monday.” And that’s where we left it for the time being.
Eventually, I did meet the highly supportive Allison Porter. I was a little bit surprised, though. Where Marie was short, probably five-five or six, Allison must have been at least five feet ten inches, if not more. Her strawberry blonde hair hung straight down her back, and her pale blue eyes looked like two unpolished marbles in their sockets. In any other situation, I might have found her attractive, but since she was into girls, I put all romantic ideas aside.
“So who’s the hottie?” she asked when she saw me talking to Marie. Allison had just come in from the nearby Starbucks with a frozen drink. For some reason, I felt taken aback. If indeed Allison and Marie were “lovers,” then I didn’t think it was okay for her to be calling me a hottie.
Marie must have suspected I was feeling uncomfortable, because she said, “Don’t mind Allison. She calls all the good looking guys hotties.” I’ll admit I wasn’t bad looking—thick brown hair, no grey yet and almost the same weight as when I went into the Air Force—but I’m not sure I would have classified myself as a hottie. Marie continued with the introductions. “Allison, this is Gary Post. We knew each other back in college. Now he works for Lowe Publishing as an Assistant Editor.”
Allison’s eyebrows shot up. “So you’re a writer, too?” she asked.
I must have looked a little bit confused because Marie explained, “Allison writes and draws. She’s trying to become a children’s book author.”
Now it was my turn to look surprised, but at the same time wary. I had a feeling I knew what her next statement would be. So, in order to head it off, I informed her that Lowe Publishing didn’t print children’s books, and that wasn’t even my field of expertise. That didn’t seem to dissuade her, though. “Could you take a look at my stories anyway?” she practically begged me.
Normally, I might have put her off, but when I glanced at Marie, I could see the silent plea in her eyes, so I turned back to Allison and told her I would.
She practically tackled me, her long arms wrapping around my body in a smothering hug. “Oh, thank you, thank you!” She said, grabbing the sides of my face and planting a large kiss on my forehead. “You won’t be disappointed.”
I thought that was kind of a bold statement for anyone to make, but as it turned out, she wasn’t wrong. I was impressed with the two stories she gave me, though I wasn’t sure about the pictures that went with them. Like I said, children’s fiction wasn’t my area of expertise, so I couldn’t tell her anything for sure about the drawings, but I did give her a good report about the text.
Seeing the look on her face, you would have thought I had just handed her a check for a million bucks. “Fantastic!” she crowed. Then she leaned forward and asked, “So what should I do with them next?” I could see she was practically bursting with anticipation.
“Well, before I make any recommendations, I’d like to show these to one of the other editors at my firm. I think she once worked in the children’s department of another company.”
Allison’s eyes practically lit up. “And how long will that take?” she asked, her gaze fixed on me almost like a lioness assessing her next meal.
I held up my palms. “Whoa, hold your horses, kid! She’s a busy person, so it might take several days or even weeks for her to get back to me.” Allison nodded in agreement, but I could practically smell her impatience.
As it was, it took Maggie only about a week and a half to let me know her decision. The response was favorable, at least for the text anyway. She suggested that Allison send in just the manuscripts and let the publisher find an artist if they decided they wanted the stories, which was what she did. The next couple of months were like dealing with someone who had to go to the bathroom really bad and couldn’t wait for it to become unoccupied, but finally the publishing house responded.
Yes! Yes! YES!
It turned out, they wanted both stories. The smile never left Allison’s face. Even Marie couldn’t stop grinning. We had a little party to celebrate, with people from both my office and the community showing up to toast Allison’s success.
And then the roof came crashing down.
Someone in the publisher’s marketing department decided they couldn’t promote the books the way they would normally, so they returned both manuscripts. Talk about despondent! For the longest time, Allison walked around the bookstore like one of those zombies from that TV show, The Walking Dead. Nothing Marie could say seemed to help ease her disappointment. I decided then and there it was time for me to put my two-cents in.
For nearly twenty minutes, we sat outside the nearest Starbucks while I basically explained to Allison that she was at a crossroads in her writing career. She could give up, and slink off to hide in a corner with her tail between her legs, or push on through no matter what. It was up to her. She didn’t say much during my little speech, but continued to look down at the table between us with sorrowful eyes. Finally, when I was done, she looked up, and in a quiet choked voice, said that she would let me know what her decision was.
Two years later found Marie and I standing on the threshold of My Little Book Nook, watching as Allison carried her duffle bag and backpack to the limo that would take her to the airport, where she would board a jet to her first writing for children’s conference; but not just as someone in the audience, but as one of the guest speakers, describing to the many hopefuls in the attendance how she managed to get her first children’s book published.
Talk about feeling like proud parents!
Crossroads(Tom Di Roma)
Crossroads
I first met Marie when the both of us were in college and trying to become lawyers. We were in the same study group. We also discovered we were from the same state. Then during my second year of college, I decided that being a lawyer wasn’t really for me after all, so I quit and joined the Air Force. Four years later, I got out and went to work for a publishing company, starting out in the mailroom. The one good thing about working for the publishing company was I could ask the editors to look at my stuff.
For several years, I had been trying to become a writer-mostly short stories-but without much success. Then after I went to work for the publishing house, the critiques I received from editors and fellow employees helped my writing take off, and suddenly, I found myself published, not only in several college magazines, but winning a number of contests as well. Eventually, the denizens inside the publishing house decided I should be more than just a mail clerk, so they plopped me down behind a desk and promoted me to Assistant Editor. It was shortly after this, I ran into Marie.
I was driving through town one day, when traffic prevented me from being able to make a left-hand turn. So, I turned right down a side street, thinking I could just swing back around. That’s when I spotted a new bookstore I had never seen before. It was called “My Little Book Nook.” Curious, I angled toward the curb, parked and went inside.
A young woman, maybe in her late teens or early twenties, stood behind the counter checking in books. She had straight brown hair and a pleasant smile. “Can I help you find something?” she asked, her smile never leaving her face.
I kind of waved my hand in a dismissive manner and said, “No, just looking,” but then thought better of it, so I turned back to her and said, “This place is new in town, isn’t it?” She nodded. “Is it your store?” I asked.
She shook her head. “No, I just work here. The owner stepped out for a few moments. She should be back any time now.” I nodded then continued to peruse the aisles.
The first thing I noticed was that the bookstore sold both new and used books, as well as educational toys for kids. I’ll have to admit, I was impressed. It seemed to be well set up, with a fake fireplace and comfy-looking stuffed chairs. It had a pleasant homey feel to it. About five minutes in, I heard the bell on the front door chime.
“I managed to get you the last of the cheese Danishes,” I heard a gravelly female voice say. It sounded vaguely familiar.
Turning around, I looked toward the front counter. A small woman with dark curly hair and a medium build had her back toward me. She was putting down a brown paper sack and a cardboard tray with two large cups in it on the counter in front of the young woman. After dropping her purse next to the tray of cups, she turned around. That’s when I saw who it was.
“Marie Brinkerhoff,” I said, truly surprised. “Are you the owner of this place?”
She looked at me, her own brown eyes opening wide with surprise. “Gary Post, is that you?”
“One in the same,” I replied.
“What are you doing here?”
“Actually, I should be asking you that question. I thought you were set on becoming a lawyer.”
The smile she had been displaying disappeared for a moment and she replied, “I was for a while. I was a Deputy District Attorney up in Orange Tree County.”
Gesturing around me, I asked, “So what happened? How did you end up here?”
Her smile returned, and she reached for one of the cups in the cardboard tray. “Come on, let’s sit down and I’ll tell you.”
I followed her over to a set of lounge chairs near the back of the store. A small table stood in between the chairs with a tiffany-style lamp sitting on top of it. I thought the lamp in particular helped to add a homey touch to the place.
Marie took a sip from her cup then began her story. “Like I said, I was a Deputy District Attorney for a little while, but eventually the pressure got to me. I ended up having to take a leave of absence. Then when I got sick again, the doctors found out I had Lupus.” Hearing what she said made me cringe mentally. “That’s when my doctor suggested I find a less stressful job. Since I’ve always loved books and reading, I thought why not my own bookstore?”
“But what made you come to this town?”
“My parents were living here at the time. What about you?”
“Well, as you may remember, I left college for the Air Force. Once I got out, I got a job working in the mailroom of Lowe Publishing. Eventually, they promoted me to Assistant Editor.”
“You’re a writer?” she asked, her eyebrows jumping up in surprise.
I nodded. “Have been for a long time now.”
“Anything I might be familiar with?”
“Not unless you read a lot of college magazines. Mine are mostly short stories. But I have entered several contests and won!”
“I’d like to read some of your stories sometime,” she said.
At first, I dismissed this as just a case of her being kind, but when she insisted, I realized she really meant it. So the next day, I brought over some of the magazines in which my stories had appeared.
“They’re mostly literary fiction,” I told her as she began to flip through the magazines.
“That’s okay, I happen to like literary fiction a lot better than all that sci-fi and vampire stuff.” That made me feel good; we had something in common.
Leaving her with the magazines, I came back a couple of days later carrying a tall cup of green tea, which was what she had been drinking the other day when we met.
“So what do you think?” I asked, after handing her the cup.
“I’ve only had a chance to read one of your stories so far, but I liked what I saw.” I felt a little serge of excitement. Then her look became curious. “Was that your mother you were writing about?”
Knowing which story she was asking about, I explained, “No, my mother and I get along really well. That was based on someone else’s stepmother.”
Marie made a face. “I’m glad she wasn’t my stepmother!”
“I’ll agree to that,” I replied. “From what I’ve been told about the woman, she made Cinderella’s stepmother seem like a saint in comparison.”
We continued to talk. That’s when I found out both her parents had died within the last couple of years, each from cancer. “I’m so sorry,” I said and inwardly grimaced as I thought about what their deaths must have done to her, especially with her condition the way it was.
She gave me a little smile. “Don’t be,” She said. “It was the money I got from their combined estates that allowed me to open the bookstore.”
We continued to talk some more, and that’s when I also found out she was living with someone—a woman!
“Allison’s been such a Godsend,” she said, looking down at the counter top with the briefest of smiles, almost as if she was cataloguing in her mind all the things the woman had done for her. Marie looked up at me, and with a gesture said, “She was the one who helped me get everything ready here in the store. I don’t know what I would have done without all her help and companionship.”
“So I take it she’s part owner?” I said.
“How did you know?”
“Just a wild guess.” Glancing around, I asked, “So where is this modern day Florence Nightingale? I’d like to meet her.”
Marie smiled, “Now that the bookstore is up and running, she took a week off to go visit her parents. Speaking of parents, what about yours? You haven’t really said much about them.”
I could feel my face getting a little red. “Well, by the time I got out of the Air Force, my parents were already separated. Right now, I’m sharing an apartment with my mother.” I held up my palms. “Yeah, yeah, I know; a man of my age shouldn’t be living with his mother, but we kind of help each other out. I help her with the rent and she does my laundry for me.” I flashed a huge grin, hoping she’d get the humor.
I guess she did, because she smiled back and said, “I don’t see any reason to be ashamed.” She added, “I just wish my parents were still around.” She stopped for a moment then asked, “What about your father?”
“He has his own apartment not too far away from us.” Again she nodded as if to acknowledge that it was okay, at which point I asked, “So when is your . . .” I hesitated, “roommate coming back?”
Marie laughed. “You can say it—girlfriend, lover, whatever you want to call her is fine with me.” I nodded. “She should be back by Monday.” And that’s where we left it for the time being.
Eventually, I did meet the highly supportive Allison Porter. I was a little bit surprised, though. Where Marie was short, probably five-five or six, Allison must have been at least five feet ten inches, if not more. Her strawberry blonde hair hung straight down her back, and her pale blue eyes looked like two unpolished marbles in their sockets. In any other situation, I might have found her attractive, but since she was into girls, I put all romantic ideas aside.
“So who’s the hottie?” she asked when she saw me talking to Marie. Allison had just come in from the nearby Starbucks with a frozen drink. For some reason, I felt taken aback. If indeed Allison and Marie were “lovers,” then I didn’t think it was okay for her to be calling me a hottie.
Marie must have suspected I was feeling uncomfortable, because she said, “Don’t mind Allison. She calls all the good looking guys hotties.” I’ll admit I wasn’t bad looking—thick brown hair, no grey yet and almost the same weight as when I went into the Air Force—but I’m not sure I would have classified myself as a hottie. Marie continued with the introductions. “Allison, this is Gary Post. We knew each other back in college. Now he works for Lowe Publishing as an Assistant Editor.”
Allison’s eyebrows shot up. “So you’re a writer, too?” she asked.
I must have looked a little bit confused because Marie explained, “Allison writes and draws. She’s trying to become a children’s book author.”
Now it was my turn to look surprised, but at the same time wary. I had a feeling I knew what her next statement would be. So, in order to head it off, I informed her that Lowe Publishing didn’t print children’s books, and that wasn’t even my field of expertise. That didn’t seem to dissuade her, though. “Could you take a look at my stories anyway?” she practically begged me.
Normally, I might have put her off, but when I glanced at Marie, I could see the silent plea in her eyes, so I turned back to Allison and told her I would.
She practically tackled me, her long arms wrapping around my body in a smothering hug. “Oh, thank you, thank you!” She said, grabbing the sides of my face and planting a large kiss on my forehead. “You won’t be disappointed.”
I thought that was kind of a bold statement for anyone to make, but as it turned out, she wasn’t wrong. I was impressed with the two stories she gave me, though I wasn’t sure about the pictures that went with them. Like I said, children’s fiction wasn’t my area of expertise, so I couldn’t tell her anything for sure about the drawings, but I did give her a good report about the text.
Seeing the look on her face, you would have thought I had just handed her a check for a million bucks. “Fantastic!” she crowed. Then she leaned forward and asked, “So what should I do with them next?” I could see she was practically bursting with anticipation.
“Well, before I make any recommendations, I’d like to show these to one of the other editors at my firm. I think she once worked in the children’s department of another company.”
Allison’s eyes practically lit up. “And how long will that take?” she asked, her gaze fixed on me almost like a lioness assessing her next meal.
I held up my palms. “Whoa, hold your horses, kid! She’s a busy person, so it might take several days or even weeks for her to get back to me.” Allison nodded in agreement, but I could practically smell her impatience.
As it was, it took Maggie only about a week and a half to let me know her decision. The response was favorable, at least for the text anyway. She suggested that Allison send in just the manuscripts and let the publisher find an artist if they decided they wanted the stories, which was what she did. The next couple of months were like dealing with someone who had to go to the bathroom really bad and couldn’t wait for it to become unoccupied, but finally the publishing house responded.
Yes! Yes! YES!
It turned out, they wanted both stories. The smile never left Allison’s face. Even Marie couldn’t stop grinning. We had a little party to celebrate, with people from both my office and the community showing up to toast Allison’s success.
And then the roof came crashing down.
Someone in the publisher’s marketing department decided they couldn’t promote the books the way they would normally, so they returned both manuscripts. Talk about despondent! For the longest time, Allison walked around the bookstore like one of those zombies from that TV show, The Walking Dead. Nothing Marie could say seemed to help ease her disappointment. I decided then and there it was time for me to put my two-cents in.
For nearly twenty minutes, we sat outside the nearest Starbucks while I basically explained to Allison that she was at a crossroads in her writing career. She could give up, and slink off to hide in a corner with her tail between her legs, or push on through no matter what. It was up to her. She didn’t say much during my little speech, but continued to look down at the table between us with sorrowful eyes. Finally, when I was done, she looked up, and in a quiet choked voice, said that she would let me know what her decision was.
Two years later found Marie and I standing on the threshold of My Little Book Nook, watching as Allison carried her duffle bag and backpack to the limo that would take her to the airport, where she would board a jet to her first writing for children’s conference; but not just as someone in the audience, but as one of the guest speakers, describing to the many hopefuls in the attendance how she managed to get her first children’s book published.
Talk about feeling like proud parents!
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