Another one of the stories I worked on while taking the Holly Lisle class: How to write Flash Fiction that Doesn’t Suck. (https://howtothinksideways.com/)  I’m not happy with my title to this one. What do you think? What would you name this story?

New Life

“Jean, you really did it?” my best friend Joy asked, wide-eyed with surprise.

I nodded, heart thumping. She’s the only one I told.

“What are your parents going to say?” she covered her mouth, glancing quickly around the room. “What will the pastor say?” she whispered.

I knew what they’d say. Mama would retreat into silence and Papa would erupt. I tossed my braid over my shoulder. “I don’t care,” I sniffed. “There’s more to life than marrying the man the community picks for me and having his babies.”

Joy looked over her shoulder at the door. “But you can’t just…leave!”

It all crystallized for me right then. “I don’t want to end up like my mother! She never talks, Joy. Except to call us for meals or tell us what chore needs to be done next. No! There’s a whole world out there,” I pointed out the window. “And I’m going to see it.”

Two months later Papa called from the parlor, “Jean!”

It was time to make supper and Mama said I cooked so well, I made most of our meals. “Yes, Papa,” I walked into the room, wiping my hands on a towel. I froze. Mama was sitting down, hands folded and eyes downcast. I’d never seen her sitting down this time of day before.

“Come here,” he said. I loved my parents but his tone of voice made me hesitate. He pulled a paper out of his pocket. “Did you send this stranger,” he shook the paper, shouting, “a letter?”

In a soft voice I answered, “Yes, Papa.”

His face grew red and his voice quiet. “You shame us. Writing to strangers! Outsiders!” He dropped the letter and his hands to his lap. He shook his head. “What do you say to this?”

The look on his face told me he didn’t understand. “I want to see the world, Papa. I want to be more than a farm wife.” Mama’s head came up, tears flowing down her face.

Papa burst out, “Are we not good enough for you?”

“No…no, I just want something more.”

I spent the rest of the week in my room, staring out over the horizon. Mama brought me all the bread I could eat and plenty of water.

On Sunday I was made to stand in front of the congregation, Papa and Mama behind me.  After a long sermon about the wickedness of the world and the weakness of women, I was excommunicated. Papa drove me to the bus stop giving me my letter, ticket and $100. We stood quietly until it was time to board. As I climbed the steps, I heard him say, “Be safe.”

At the meeting with the director, he looked me up and down, and even though I’d cut my braid off, I still wasn’t much to look at. “Can you cook?”

Standing in the grocery store line, Joy noticed a tabloid picture of her friend, Jean. She was named Hollywood’s best personal chef.

The End

497 Words

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