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Shorts And A Tee-Shirt, by Bruce Levine

26/2/2017

“My condolences”

“What?” the man in shorts, a sloppy tee-shirt and ratty looking sandals that were falling off his feet asked.

“My condolences,” I said again. He gave me a confused look so I continued, “that you think so little of yourself that you’d present yourself to the world looking like that.”

He gave me another confused look and started to speak, but he probably either didn’t know what to say or simply didn’t have the mental wherewithal to assimilate what I’d said so I simply walked away, disgusted, and returned to searching through the men’s department of the major department store for a shirt with a collar, sleeves and buttons down the front.

The salesman, who had heard the exchange and had been stifling his laughter, joined me and asked if he could help me with anything.

“Not really,” I answered. “I’ve got plenty of shirts, but you never know when something’s going to jump out at you that you 'have to have'.”

“Exactly,” he responded and looked over his shoulder at the man who had just walked away. “I don’t know how they do it,” he added conspiratorially.

“What?” I asked.

Now that he believed I was a friend and not a spy for the store who was going to immediately report him he added, “Look like that. I agree with you. I bet they get up in the morning and look in the mirror and ask themselves, ‘how can I make myself look as disgusting as possible today?’”

“Exactly,” I said. “It used to be that boys couldn’t wait to get their first pair of long pants. Until they were twelve they wore shorts because they were children and getting long pants was a sign that they’d become a man – like a Bar Mitzvah.”

The salesman laughed and nodded in agreement before leaving me with a friendly farewell to continue looking around.

While I didn’t find anything interesting enough to add to my wardrobe that day I felt better knowing that I had found a fellow devotee of looking like a civilized adult male. That, at least, made me happier than I’d been when I’d walked in and a little less repulsed by the shorts and tee-shirts surrounding me everywhere I looked.

I smiled to myself as I walked toward the ladies shoe department to meet my wife.

America, 2017, by Sankar Chatterjee

24/2/2017

In September of 2016, Ed Miller, an undergraduate history major student from a US university went to attend his fall semester in a European university as a part of a study-abroad program. Besides taking the required courses, during his holidays he was able to travel throughout Europe visiting historic palaces, churches and museums, especially the ones dedicated to the resistance movements against the Nazi regime during the Second World War. To Ed, all those museums were the reminders of a human promise of “Never again”. In the meantime, his own country was undergoing a most divisive political process to elect its next President.

On his return in January, he realized that something amiss. Most of the country’s mood was in a state of utter shock and despair. The new President won the election on a platform of bigotry of hatred towards religious and ethnic minorities. To add salt to the injury, the President actually lost the popular vote by a margin of more than two millions, but still won the election via an obsolete electoral paradigm “electoral college majority”, still in place from the foundation of the country from centuries ago.

Then one day, while checking for messages from his social networking sites, he came across to a post, as if sent from an underground resistance movement, reminiscent of the European history he learned about a few months ago. First two instructions that attracted his immediate attention stated: a) Don't use his name; b) Remember this is a regime and he's not acting alone. Ed’s memory immediately took him to the Dutch Resistance Museum in Amsterdam, Netherlands. There, in room after room, the history of Hitler’s rise and Nazis’ invasion and occupation of Netherlands were displayed through old images and printed reports from the period. But, equally impressive was the display of the account of country’s resistance movement: the bravery of the citizen, the tactics the resistance-fighters employed as well as the hardship ordinary people endured, while fighting an evil force.

Next post in the list from the social media was direr: “c). Do not argue with those who support him - it doesn't work.” Ed remembered a historic image hanging on one of the walls of the museum known as the Topography of Terror in Berlin, Germany. This museum was erected at the very site that once served as the nerve center of combined evil machinery, the Gestapo and the SS. In that picture, while an entire crowd was engaged in a Nazi-salute, there was one exceptional brave gentleman who remained stoic. While describing the time and place of the image, a line said “No identification or further whereabouts of the gentleman was ever found.”

As Ed went down the remainder of the post, a few more lines stood out: d) Keep your message positive; e) Support writers and the artists because they spread the message; and finally, f) Resist.

(After this essay was finished, a gunman shot at two Indian immigrant engineers, killing one, described as a hate-crime.)

What the End Could Have Been, But Wasn’t, by Sankar Chatterjee

21/2/2017

Richard Tussmann, an aging baby-boomer, on the invitation from his next-door neighbor, accompanied him to the screening of a recent Indian movie, subtitled in English. This also brought back the memories of his rebellious college days from 1970-s when he used to attend the protest-rallies against the Vietnam War, while listening to the music of both the Beatles and Ravishankar, the sitar maestro. This was also the time when he attended to all the acclaimed movies from the “Apu-trilogy,” the masterpieces created by late Satyajit Ray.

The current movie began with an aging couple who was about to start the celebration of a festival with their grown-up children and little grandchildren. Amidst the joyfulness, the patriarch, stunning the family-members, announced that he had already initiated a legal divorce procedure from the stay-in-home matriarch. For him, the current life had become nothing but just a repeat of monotonous daily habits. Thus, he wanted to start all over, learning new hobbies as well as traveling to faraway places.

Richard started to sense that while globalization took root in technological advancement in India, it also brought along what ails the modern western lives. As the movie advanced, the caring judge instructed the couple to give it another try, instructing them to spend next couple of weeks in a faraway place doing different things together. However, against the judge’s wish, the matriarch decided to take along the entire clan. There, the family started to re-bond together, but when time came to return to the city, the patriarch stayed behind, sticking to his original plan for an eventual separation. With his memory flooding with Ray’s past lyrical movies, Richard realized that the current directors moved on, now dealing with the subject of a stale marriage, divorce and follow-up events. The matriarch returned to the city and took up the challenge of living by her own. Then, one day when she was busy at her sewing machine, he showed up, admitting that he could not live without her and thus reuniting with a happy ending.

Richard felt a deep sense of betrayal about the lack of an entirely different bolder ending. In his version, he conjured up following alternate scenario: after seeing him, she stopped sewing, stood up and pulled out her new i-phone. She showed him a picture of a handsome matured gentleman, telling that she had met the fellow several weeks ago while taking a morning-stroll along the bank of the river bordering the city. She gave him an invitation card for a reception event announcing their upcoming union. Finally, she showed him a pair of airlines tickets of flying to the Great Barrier Reef, while explaining how excited she been of the prospect of learning the scuba-diving to explore the underworld wonders of the blue water of Australia.

But, then it hit Richard. Though India became modern via globalization, its ancient culture of family values of togetherness “through rain or shine” remained unchanged, thus shielding it from modern-day fragmentation of the western societies.

The Other Side of a Rainbow, Sankar Chatterjee

17/2/2017

Image: Flickr/Creative Commons

Newly-minted young US Naval Officer Todd Scott climbed out of his basement living quarter to get the fresh morning air of the Mediterranean Sea. And that’s when, from the deck, he observed a remarkable natural phenomenon that he had been hearing about all these days. It was as if his companion vessel was about to enter through an arch created by a rainbow formed on the melting fog in collaboration with the rising sun. Both vessels were on surveillance-duty together to protect the shorelines of the smaller European countries, as a part of their own country’s commitment towards international security. Viewing the rainbow, Todd felt a kind of joyous welcoming of their mission. However, being a Physics Major himself while studying in the Naval Academy, Todd knew very well that the rainbow will keep on receding as they approach towards it. He came down, entered the cafeteria, grabbed a cup of coffee and sat in front of the flat-screen TV to catch the headline news from back home. The country had inaugurated a new President four weeks ago amidst a divisive political turmoil, not seen for ages. Suddenly, there is a “Breaking News” flashed on the screen. Newly selected National Security Advisor (a retired three-star army general) of the President just submitted his resignation letter. Recently, he was implicated in making unauthorized phone calls to the ambassador of a rival foreign country, even before his selection to the position. Throughout the electoral process, there were persistent rumors about this foreign country’s meddling, especially pitting one political party against the other, for its own interests. The political talking heads then showed up on the TV screen discussing to how much higher-ups the foreign meddling might had taken place!

Todd came back on the deck. The sun was now higher up in the sky and the rainbow disappeared, so Todd would never know whether his vessel ever went under the rainbow or not! But, one thing he knew with certainty that the nuclear submarines of that foreign country had been keeping constant watch on them from underneath this international body of water and any misunderstanding on either side might trigger a catastrophic event for the rest of the world. He began to ponder “Do the politicians ever wonder what might be on the other side of a rainbow?”

There Was Hope, by Brittany Davidson

14/2/2017

He stood above the freeway in silence, listening to the dull rumble of the cars flying beneath him. The air was cool and the light continued to fade besides the eyes of the machines travelling desperately below. It did cross mind of whether he should jump. He thought of about whether his final kiss would be with the grey tarmac or the harsh metal of a bonnet, although, sadly, that would include someone else in his search.

These thoughts passed away from him in the wind relatively soon after they started; quietly captured and caught early enough for him to blankly gaze as the flashing lights. He wondered whether he could entice the hurricane in his heart to jump onto one of the cars; whether he would be able to attach the chaos that began to consume him onto something without the same subtle heartbeat to carry it away.

There was hope for him, for his heavy and aching heart, but what he unfortunately began to realise was; this was not it.

Laughter, Playfulness and Joy in the Era of Trump, by Sankar Chatterjee

7/2/2017

On a business trip, Harry Richardson was visiting Vancouver, Canada, one of the most cosmopolitan urban cities in the country. Of course, the development of sky-scrappers along with explosion of downtown businesses took away early natural magnificence of historic Vancouver, situated next to a bay. Fortunately, the city planners also created an urban oasis within city’s perimeter, near the waterfront. The place is city’s embrace of nature in Stanley Park that Harry decided to explore one day. Besides a walking trail, the park also offered Harry a biking trail, paved and mostly flat, while encircling the park. So, he rented a bike from a commercial outfitter, accessed the biking trail and started moving counter-clockwise with the flow of the traffic, with a view of the waterfront on the right. No sooner than he began pedaling, a scenic view of the urban skyline of the city appeared across the water. As he was enjoying the gorgeous day, while on motion, the scenery on his left changed. A lush garden containing several colorful and unique wooden totem-poles depicting native Indian culture (known here as the First Nations) appeared. Very soon, the scene on the right side of the bike-trail also changed with large swath of water framed by distant mountains and wide open sky replacing the modern high-rises of the city. As Harry moved on, a bronze-statue resting on a massive rock-platform, similar to the “The Little Mermaid” in Copenhagen, Denmark appeared in the view, as if she just got out of the water to enjoy the sun. Taking a break, Harry learned that the statue was titled “Girl in a Wetsuite” created by the Hungarian sculptor Elek Imredy who claimed that it was fashioned after one of his friends, Ms. Debra Harrington. After biking several more kilometers through beautiful sceneries on both sides, Harry arrived at the sea-wall that protects the city from the sea. From there, he looped back through the park to the starting area.

On his way back from the park to the downtown area, Harry came across at a nearby bronze sculpture A-maze-ing Laughter consisting of 14 laughing bronze tall statues created by the artist Yue Minjun purportedly to express artist’s own image of "in a state of hysterical laughter”! An inscription nearby stated "May this sculpture inspire laughter playfulness and joy in all who experience it." Harry arrived in Vancouver, just two weeks after his own country USA had inaugurated a new President whose winning platform was hateful rhetoric against the minorities and the religious beliefs, different than his own. Subsequently, his closing of the country’s border to the citizens of a few selected countries sent a chill through most of the citizens. Harry went around each statue, grabbed one of its legs, looked up to see the face and mimicked the laughter, playfulness and joy displayed in that particular statue and murmured to himself “It’s a wonderful world after all!”

Love Flies, by Mileva Anastasiadou

6/2/2017

Our eyes have certainly met before, yet tonight, it’s as if I face him for the first time.
We hang around at the same old bar, in the same forgotten town, forgotten by God and its inhabitants, like those old and worn out relationships you hang to by habit. Our love has run out, when we ran out of fuels. We are now opponents, instead of partners, spending our time blaming each other.

Perhaps it’s the song that’s been playing while our lips collide; “love flies,” goes the verse and I imagine little insects, like kites flying through the roof, towards the sky, shaping hearts, which are blown away by the wind and then stubbornly get into shape again, resembling this old bar and my town and the old and worn out relationships and my life, sliding through my fingers, yet seemingly never-ending at the same time, until it’s over. The kites start spinning, confusing me, as my feet feel weaker and weaker.

Love is here. She wants to stay, but she can’t pay the rent.

His eyes are the first thing I see when I come round.

“One more drink,” I ask.

“We should go home.”

I return to the same old bar, the same town, the same old and worn out relationship. The love flies have vanished. The smoke dissolves the last heart dancing over my head. He kisses me tenderly on the forehead, while he helps me wear my coat. That old familiar comfort runs through my veins, pushing the liquor away.

“It’s cold outside,” he says, as he embraces me.

“Let’s start over,” I say.

“We always do,” he answers, staring at the void.

Love is here to stay; his smile is enough to refill the gas tank of our love.

Going It Alone, by Eric Smith

3/2/2017

Some people cannot bear doing things by themselves. They need a date or, failing that, have to meet a group of like-minded folks to go to a movie or out to dinner. I’ve a theory about such people: I’m thinking they grew up in large, close families, and as they reached their maturities they felt the warm, constant support of loyal siblings at every turn so that by the time they reached adulthood the idea of going somewhere alone, or even spending an evening without company, terrifies them. When they can predict they might have to spend an evening without a companion, they pull out a list of friends or even acquaintances and try to contact each of them to organize a group outing, small party, or at least a meeting with someone, anyone, even if only one person. And they won’t get particular about whom they end up with, either, if it’s not their first or second choice. I have some experience in this regard, having found myself in the company of people with this, well, let’s call it a phobia, and realizing that I’m probably number seven or eight on the list, if that.

You might ask why I choose to describe this irrational fear. I do so because I find it fascinating that I’m disposed in quite a different manner. I certainly don’t shun opportunities to socialize with groups of friends. It’s simply that I don’t require the so-called comfort of the group. I’m not constructed that way. Why, on one occasion I decided to attend a boxing match featuring two prominent contestants. The match was to occur hundreds of miles from my town. Did I call one or more friends to make a day and evening of it? No. Without giving it a thought, I immediately purchased a train ticket, traveled to the fight venue, and viewed the event by myself, except, of course, for the thousands of other spectators, none of whom I knew or spoke to. Afterward, I returned late and alone. Often, I find myself attending films by myself and dining out as a party of one. Additionally, I’ve spent hours alone in bars or taverns, speaking to no one other than the bartender, drinking until I can’t see straight.

I did intimate I had a theory about those who feel they must surround themselves with friends; as to why I spend so much time alone, I haven’t a clue.

Snack Time, by Bruce Levine

2/2/2017

“Is it hot enough?” I asked my wife who was standing at the kitchen counter eating some re-heated penne with vodka sauce left over from last night’s dinner.

“Yup,” she answered as she put another piece of penne in her mouth.

“Are you going to just stand there?”

“Yup,” she answered again.

“I can’t believe you’re eating again.”

“I’m hungry.”

I couldn’t believe it. We’d had a huge lunch less than five hours earlier and in the past hour my wife had consumed a container of left-over salad from the same Italian dinner, spoon after spoon of German potato salad directly out of its container from the deli and a bunch of grapes. And now the penne. It was a wonder that she wasn’t in the emergency room at the nearest hospital both from the quantity and the assortment.

I, on the other hand, was still so full from lunch that I wondered if I would ever eat again.

“I’ve had enough,” my wife announced, leaving about six pieces of penne in the bowl which our dog happily finished off.

We watched television for the next several hours and at midnight my wife suddenly disappeared.

I looked in the kitchen and there she was, standing at the counter eating a ham sandwich.

“I got hungry,” she announced.

I went back to the living room to watch TV.

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However, in response to demand, the FFF team constructed this forum for significantly longer stories of 151-500 words. Please send submissions for these using the Submissions Page.

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