You will find short stories on this site. Most are autobiographical. Some are fiction.

A HIGH SCHOOL READER

For several years I have intended to spend one hour a day clearing ancient junk from my basement. I never did. I wanted to toss out the disintegrating boxes without examining their contents. I couldn’t get myself to take that drastic an action. I also could not bear to disturb the history sleeping in those boxes. Motivated by curiosity and awareness that “it may come in handy some day”. I am disinclined to throw something away with out first examining it. I have been frozen in a state of inaction.

Then a week ago the furnace stopped working. I had to clear a path for a repair man to get to it. One of the many things in the path was one of the old boxes. I picked it up fearing that the weakened cardboard would crumble under the weight of its contents. I moved it. But now it was in the path to the washing machine. I couldn’t leave it there and grudgingly faced the necessity of dealing with it.

This particular box had not been opened for over 30 years. I wondered what could possibly be in it that I would want. I started to put it in the trash bin. But on the way to the garbage cart, I passed a spot on the freezer where I could put it down, just to take a peek. Inside, I found, carefully wedged into the bottom of the box, a neatly folded paper shopping bag and a cardboard box. There was an assortment of glass vases and other junk piled on top of these, which I had no problem recycling and tossing. Again, I considered throwing the rest of the contents in the trash. But no. I had gone this far. So I opened the box. It was stacked full of floppy disks from the 1980s during the time that I was teaching in Saudi Arabia. I looked through the floppies, hoping the labels would reveal valuable contents. Most of the floppies were outdated software, which I threw in the trash bin. It felt good to be throwing things away. That left the paper shopping bag. Again, on a high for having been able to toss the floppies, I thought how easy it would be to put the bag in the trash. But, I had to look. In the bag were books. A Spanish-English pocket dictionary in which was written “tod lundy Mexico City College”. It was my constant companion for those three months when studying Mexican culture and language in 1961. The rest were old books, in bad shape, which I recycled, but as they were going into the bin, one small book lingered in my hand. It seemed to say “Look inside before you toss me out.” I set it aside. I could not have imagined the treasure that I would find in it.

After I had discarded the other books, I opened the small one. Looking inside, I found it to be a book of short stories published in 1914, intended for high school students . Inside the cover was written “Theodore Lundy, English Course, Washington High, Jan. 1924”. In addition my teenage, future father, had drawn the bust of a Mexican man wearing a sombrero with a red scarf around his shoulders. Below the man’s image, two crossed daggers were drawn, both dripping blood. I was not going to be throwing this book away.

I looked further and found the book to be a collection of short stories by American authors: Washington Irving, Nathaniel Hawthorne, Edgar Allan Poe and others. I set it aside with the intent of reading a few of these old stories.

After lunch I settled down with dad’s “high school reader” to read a story by Washington Irving. It was titled “The Spectre Bridegroom”. The pros were immediately captivating. I kept reading, being entangled in a magnificently revealed plot of fascinating characters, mistaken identity, a tragic death and a compelling love story. Upon completing it, I said to Carole, “Having seen how beautifully a master can handle the language and manipulate the mind of his readers, I will never attempt to write again.”

But then here we are. I wrote this with the understanding that it is better to write poorly than not to write at all. In addition, I needed something to read to all of you, if called upon in today’s writing group meeting.

END