Welcome to Friday Fiction! Sara is hosting today at Fiction Fusion. Head on over to read more great fiction, or to add your own fiction to the the list.

This story was written as a writing assignment on a writers' weekend on the North Shore of Lake Superior in northern Minnesota. Notice that the letter "a" is not used anywhere in the story. That was the challenge of the assignment and a great way to practice word choice.


CURFEW IGNORED© 2007 Joanney Uthe

The little green building sits serene, hidden in the trees on the shore. Only the sound of moving liquid interrupts the thoughts of the only non-sleeping resident. Tired from the night’s enduring encounter, she sips her hot coffee, seeking the solution to the problem still lingering. Should she confront the child who refused to obey curfew once more? Does the emergency room visit drive home the point in his stubborn pride? Would her words only serve to drive him further from her?

The ship on the horizon blows its horn, interrupting her thought, reminding her of his first ride on the pontoon. Only five, he bounced on his uncle’s knee, helping to drive the vessel. Swimming off the dock would follow the next evening. Monthly visits to the Superior resort deepened his love for his uncle, for this hidden respite. When, over the time of his young life, did his love for dihydrogen monoxide become his tool for torture of his mother? Where did she not succeed in getting him to know her love for him?

When the door behind her opened, she turned to see the object of her musings. Eyes shut to slits, one bruised from the night before, he hugged her gently. “Sorry, Mom, for the fright. I didn’t know the rocks would be so slippery. I envisioned this weekend to be perfect, to show you I desire to do better. Didn’t intend to go to the emergency room.”

“So, who is this? Where is my son? Why the pre-written discussion?”

“I’m serious, Mom. I do intend to do better. It sounds pre-written, ‘cuz I thought through my words before coming out here.”

“Better. Right. How much better did you do in the two weeks since you told me you were done ignoring curfew? Where did you meet the girl you were with? The one who phoned for help?” Trying not to cry or to yell, she kept her voice quiet.

“I would’ve been here by curfew, but some girl fell on the rocks by where I left my truck. I helped her, but I slipped myself. I couldn’t find something to hold onto to. Unlike the girl who didn’t get wet, I went in the sound. She is the one who phoned for help. I never met her before helping her.”

His story mirrored the one the girl recited the night before in the emergency room. She knew she should let go of her ever-tight hold on his life. He would be finishing High School next spring, then off to the University. Yet, thinking of loosing him brought memories of the loss of every guy who’d been in his life. Jim never knew his pop who’d died before Jim turned two. Now his only uncle, the one who owned this resort, lie buried in the ground. He’d been Jim’s role model for most of his young life. Where would he turn now when he needed help? Who would believe him if she didn’t.

“Sorry for thinking the worst. I’ve never been so frightened in my life, Jim. I thought I might loose you. We just lost Uncle Bob. Kind of lost my mind, I guess.” She returned his hug. “I love you, Son.”

“I know, Mom. In the bed in the emergency room, I worried you would be worried. Sounds funny, doesn’t it? I’m so sorry for hurting you, Mom.”

“You’re forgiven, Son. So, how ‘bout some muffins?”

“Sounds good. I’ll get the mix.” Jim stopped when he got to the door. “Mom, will they need to sell the resort with Uncle Bob gone? He’s no wife or kids to inherit it. Whose job would it be if they do sell? Poppy couldn’t do it from the nursing home. You’re his only sibling. Would you be the one to sell it?”

“I don’t know.” She’d pondered the question herself but being too tired from buying the coffin, informing his friends, etc, she didn’t expend too much energy on it.

“I don’t think this incident should define our goodbye memories of the resort. Let’s enjoy the rest of our time here.” Jim held the door open for her.

“I hope this trip isn’t goodbye to the resort. But I think you’re right. Let’s enjoy our time. Together.”

Friday Fiction: Prostitute Provisions

Welcome to Friday Fiction! Catrina is hosting today at A Work in Progress. Head on over to read more great fiction, or to add your own fiction to the the list.

This is my first time participating in Friday Fiction. Since Cathy used her entry from "Every Cloud has a Silver Lining" I decided to do the same. It didn't win an EC, but it was the closest I've come. (I think it placed 12th overall and 5th in Advanced.) I had made a few changes to the story that hopefully are improvements.


PROSTITUTE PROVISIONS
© Joanney Uthe

"Time to go to sleep, Obed."

"Please, Grandmother. Just one more story. Tell me about when you lived in Jericho. When you met the spies."

"Only if you promise to go to sleep afterwards." After receiving the promise, Grandmother began her story:

I was young when my parents gave me to the temple, forced to choose between child sacrifice and prostitution. There were days I wished they’d chosen differently. I hated my job from the very beginning, but it was part of our religion. We didn’t know the true God like your people do. Men worshipped our gods by using prostitutes like me.

Men can feel very vulnerable and need someone they can share feelings with. Listening to their fears and worries was part of the job. Often I only pretended to listen. But then they started telling stories about a strange people who didn’t have a land of their own. Of course, we all believed that a people without a land must have a very small, weak god. But oh... the stories that these men told disputed that belief.

I began listening intently to their stories, increasingly interested in these people who had been wandering in the desert since before I was born. People without a land who had defeated the mightiest kings of the Amorites. Our city was undefeated in battle, yet the stories of these people made even our bravest soldiers tremble.

We heard rumor that these people believed their God was going to give them a land – ours. Everyone became frightened. People became suspicious of all strangers. Yet the more I heard, the more I wanted to know about these people’s God. Could their God, who wanted to give them our land, hear me even if they were not yet here? I began praying to this unknown God.

As discontentment with my job increased, so did my desire to learn more about these strange, feared people. I no longer believed in the teachings of the temple that employed me. I couldn’t explain it, but somehow I knew that the gods of my people weren’t real gods. Everything about these gods was wrong, especially the prostitution. But what could I do? I continued to pray to the God of the desert wanderers.

One day two Israelite spies came to my door. Fear within the city dictated that I refuse to open the door, except that I was a temple prostitute. If they wanted to worship our gods, I must oblige. I wanted to turn them away, but a voice told me to let them in, to take care of them, even to hide them from the authorities. I turned to see who had spoken. No one was there.

My heart was pounding almost as loud as their knock. When I summoned up the courage to open it, I noticed a man following them at a distance, watching where they went. I knew the man, a temple regular, would report these men to the city officials. I had to act quickly to protect them. After feeding them, I led them to the roof of my house. The musty smell permeated my nostrils as I covered them with drying flax. I prayed to their God that they would not sneeze if anyone came searching.

I brushed the dust off myself when another knock came to my door. I’m sure the neighbors thought that these calls were related to my temple work, that the gods would be pleased. But I only wanted to please one God – the God of the Israelites. I had concluded that it was His voice I heard directing me in what I should do. The voice telling me not to worry about what to say to the soldiers at my door and that I would be calm during the conversation.

When the soldiers asked about the Israelite spies, my calm words surprised even myself. “Yes, the men came to me, but I did not know where they had come from. At dusk, when it was time to close the city gate, the men left. I don’t know which way they went. Go after them quickly. You may catch up with them.*” It worked. The soldiers left the city looking for the spies. Before the men turned in for the night, I had them promise that when they attacked Jericho, they would spare me and my family.

You see, Obed, God used my job as a prostitute to prepare me to be open to Him and His people so that He could use me in giving them this land. This is how I met your grandfather.

"So I an not a true Israelite?"

"You are an Isrealite in God's eyes because you are an Israelite in your heart. Your mother, Ruth, was not originally an Israelite, either and I don't know of anyone who doubts her loyalty to our people."

"Tell me that story, too. Please, Grandmother."

"Another time, Obed."



Story based on Joshua 2
*Joshua 2:4-5
The story of Ruth and Boaz can be found in the Old Testament book of Ruth.