SHORT STORY

This project began, as they usually do, in English class. The assignment was to write an original short story, like last year, but with dialogue and descriptive elements to create a more complex story. I chose to write mine about Ernie, an old man who everyone in the town seems to hate, and Julia, a newcomer who shows him some kindness.

Ernie

Ernie rose at 7:00 sharp, as he did every morning. He sat up and stretched, the thick sleeves of his flannel pajamas crackling with static as he did so. He swung his legs over the edge of the bed slowly. The dull aches and pains that appeared every morning began within his joints. He had a thin stature that he now reflected on, inspecting at the way his suit jacket hung off his frail frame in the mirror. White had almost overtaken the gray in his patchy beard. Every day he alternated between his gray tweed and brown wool suits, depending on the weather. Today he noted that the sky outside his dusty curtains was clear and blue. He chose the gray tweed, worn and patched in several places. Even though there was no sign of impending rain, he picked up the umbrella that rested next to the front door as he left.

As he made his way down the street for his daily walk, he removed a piece of fabric from his wallet and rubbed it between his bony fingers, like a child would do with their favorite blanket. It was frayed at the edges, and the rosette pattern had worn in the middle from daily friction. Holding the fabric, Ernie thought about his wife. He was always thinking about his wife, from the moment he woke up to the moment his eyes closed for the night. The small cutting of her favorite dress still smelled like her. Ernie was so lost in his memories that he didn’t notice the trio of kids following in his tracks, snickering quietly. Suddenly, a whistling noise screamed past his ear, and when Ernie turned around to see the source another small but sizeable rock hit him in the neck.

“Freak,” the kid spat. His friend handed him more ammo.

But rather than cry out in fear or run, Ernie sighed. He opened his umbrella and held it behind him, the rocks bouncing off of his makeshift shield. He was prepared.

“There he goes. Bye, Crazy Ernie!” the kids screamed.

Ernie didn’t understand why the kids terrorized him day after day. The whole town had always treated him strangely. Mothers held their children closer when Ernie walked by, and occasionally he would hear whispers of that name they called him. But he had never thought anything of it. It was a small town, and gossiping about other people was all its residents did to pass the time, he always said to himself.

He had moved to Northridge, Indiana about six months after she died. He sold all of her belongings except that small square clipping from her dress. He was glad for it now. When he held it, it felt like she was with him. If she were here, she would laugh and say, “Ern, not everyone hates you. They’re just stupid kids.”

Something that Ernie felt so guilty about, that he couldn’t even admit to himself, was that he couldn’t even really remember what she looked like. He knew she was beautiful, and he remembered the feeling of being around her, how she made him laugh, but he couldn’t for the life of him remember what color her eyes had been. It was probably because of his age. Or at least that’s what he told himself whenever his subconscious attacked him.

“My memory just isn’t what it used to be,” he thought.

—

“…His memory just isn’t what it used to be?” Julia asked.

Her new neighbor, Lisette, looked back at her, her pinched face frowning at the question. They both turned to watch Ernie trudge down the sidewalk in front of the coffee shop in which they both sat.

“That’s a nice way of putting it. But he’s just crazy, honestly.” Lisette said.

“And everyone in this town just knows him?” Julia inquired curiously.

“I always forget you moved here just last month,” Lisette sighed. “We’ve all been dealing with Crazy Ernie for years. It’s a good thing you have such a nice neighbor to warn you about the likes of him.” She preened.

“How can someone remember a person who never existed?” Julia said, shaking her head back and forth quizzically.

“A lunatic’s mind can do powerful things. He also thinks he moved here after she died, even though he’s lived here all his life.”

“That’s so sad. And the kids are so mean to him.”

Ernie tipped his hat at the women, blissfully unaware that he was the subject of their conversation. They waved back, Julia with a small smile and Lisette with a grimace.

“I guess…. But the kids should know. He’s probably dangerous.”

Julia decided that she didn’t like her new neighbor all that much.

—

Ernie heard a knock at his door. He couldn’t remember the last time someone knocked on that door, let alone came in and talked to him.

He peered through the peephole, seeing a slightly distorted image of a slightly mousy brown haired woman.

“Ernie?” she said, smiling.

He didn’t recognize her, but opened the door anyway, because he also noticed a large casserole in her thin arms.

“My name is Julia,” she said. “I’m new to the neighborhood… Thought I would bring something over,” she added, motioning to the casserole with her chin.

“You’re new… Aren’t you the one that’s supposed to get casseroles?” Ernie said, confused.

“I guess,” she laughed. “Can I come in?” It was obvious that she couldn’t hold the massive dish for much longer.

Ernie opened the door wide enough for her and stepped aside. The house was clean and cozy, she noted with surprise. Immediately she chastised herself for assuming it would be dirty, like Lisette’s voice in her brain told her it would be. But the house was well-worn, like his tattered suit and slightly unkempt hair.

She took slightly uneven steps into the hallway towards the kitchen.

“I would offer to hold it, but I’m afraid my arms are too weak not to drop it,” he said dejectedly.

She put it down on the counter and waved his apology away with a limp hand.

“Not necessary. It’s here now,” she said. “Shall we?”

Their finished plates sat in front of them, hers with picked-apart remnants of the casserole, his wiped clean. As they ate, she had told him about her life, how she had moved from Michigan to be a schoolteacher, how she had never been married. How she lived alone and sometimes felt afraid at night because she knew she couldn’t protect herself. Through all this, Ernie had said nothing. He had stared at her with casserole in his beard, chewing his second heaping piece and listening. Finally, when she seemed to run out of the endless stream of words, he spoke.

“Why are you being so nice to me?” he said slowly, as if Julia and her casserole would disappear as the words left his lips.

“Like I said, I’m new to the-”

He stopped her.

“I know what they call me, you know. Crazy. Crazy Ernie. They think I don’t hear them, but I do.”

Julia didn’t know what to say. She just looked at the linoleum under her shoes.

“I don’t know why they call me that,” he continued. “But they do.”

“Well, I don’t know either,” she lied. “But I just had a meal with you, and you don’t seem crazy to me.”

He said nothing once again. He simply stared at her, then at the flowered wallpaper.

“Though, I could get to know you better,” she said slowly. “You haven’t told me much about yourself.”

He looked back at her. He paused, then told her about himself. As he spoke, it became very clear that his story didn’t make sense. He told her he had bought this place new ten years ago. But as Lisette had said, it looked as if he had lived in the house his entire life.

And then he told her about his beloved wife.

“She looked a little bit like you, I think,” he said at one point.

Although that contradicted something he had previously said about her being a blonde, Julia was flattered. He showed her the piece of fabric from her favorite dress, presenting it like it was the most precious thing he owned. Julia held it carefully, and thanked him for letting her touch it. She noticed that it was the same fabric as the curtains.

She stayed in his imaginary world for a while, leaving his stories unquestioned, his facts unchecked. He was content, there, living in his imaginary world.