A Late Holiday Present

A Short Story for You!

Photo by RetroSupply on Unsplash

Hey Substack Readers!

It’s blistery and cold with snow squalls here in New England today. A perfect day for reading and writing!        

This week, we’re going to try something new. While this Substack typically shares tips on navigating our busy lives to make room for our dreams, today I’m going to share a short story I wrote 12 years ago instead . . .

I’ve been writing my entire life. In fact, even before I was old enough to put pen to paper, I’d pull a wooden chair up to the kitchen counter and record my stories onto my mother’s radio. She kept the radio on the counter to tape her favorite songs when they played (no Spotify back then). I still have the tapes today – me blabbering stories filled with fictional characters on wild adventures, somewhere between my mother’s early eighties recordings of DJ’s talking over the end of Madonna’s Borderline and Bruce Springsteen’s Born in the USA (Sorry Mom!)

Right now, I’m working on my next novel (A telepathic Pop Star and a Mind Control serial killer, what could go wrong?) while editing my latest book (a time travel murder mystery coming your way soon).

While most of my recent published work has been Creative Nonfiction (check out my Substack Publications Page here https://abusylady.substack.com/p/publications), I also write poetry and short stories in addition to novels, for which I’ve won and been nominated for various awards.

Which brings me to today’s post.

Twelve years ago, I wrote the story I’m sharing today: A Story About Life. I wanted to share it with you over the holidays – but that got squashed when I got sick, not to mention the fact I couldn’t find it. Thankfully, I uncovered it from my tomb of writings!

I wrote A Story About Life as a gift to an old writing group, back when I was studying writing as part of the UCLA Writer’s Program. During that time, I had the wonderful opportunity of meeting the late Robert Goolrick, a successful American writer whose first novel, A Reliable Wife (excellent read!) sold over 5 million copies. He accepted this piece to be shared in his Facebook Group, where for a bit, each year he posted selected works of art from various artists during the holidays as a thank you to the community for writing and creating art.  

So here it is, fresh off the presses (or should I say, 12 year old presses) to share with you today. Enjoy!

Best,

Sarah

AKA A Busy Lady

P.S.

Since it’s also a great day for reading, I thought I’d share what books on are on my reading bookshelf today:

Free World Theory by Chas Halloway – a thought provoking nonfiction about what freedom really means:https://www.amazon.com/Free-World-Theory-Solution-Failing/dp/B0CNLJFG5P/ref=sr_1_1?crid=27OCGO7GJ8I6L&keywords=free+world+theory&qid=1702577439&sprefix=free+world+theory,aps,164&sr=8-1

The Burnout by: Sophie Kinsella - a romantic comedy best to read when you really need a break. https://www.amazon.com/Audible-The-Burnout-A-Novel/dp/B0C2R6TC61/ref=sr_1_1?crid=9J4CZ7GSS9JO&keywords=the+burnout&qid=1705268484&s=books&sprefix=the+burnout%2Cstripbooks%2C89&sr=1-1

Quantum Body by: Deepak Chopra, MD and Jack Tusznusky, PHD & Brian Fertig, MD – Unlock the secrets of a new science for living a longer, healthier life with this amazing book! https://www.amazon.com/Quantum-Body-Science-Living-Healthier/dp/0593579984/ref=asc_df_0593579984/?tag=hyprod-20&linkCode=df0&hvadid=663307873431&hvpos=&hvnetw=g&hvrand=12976796117311100724&hvpone=&hvptwo=&hvqmt=&hvdev=c&hvdvcmdl=&hvlocint=&hvlocphy=9003258&hvtargid=pla-2186837492042&psc=1&mcid=36192f6fffee38689deeeb419f056a75

Now, here’s the short story I promised you . . .

Photo by Nong on Unsplash

A Story About Life

By: Sarah Normandie

“Go ahead. Do it, old man. Jump.” Stanley stood by the open hospital window on the 10th floor of Hopkins Hospital, the stiff wind from outside stung his cheeks. Stanley didn’t care about the cold or the way the crack in the back of his hospital gown exposed his bare ass. Ah, hell, he thought. There was never a goddamn nurse or a doctor in sight, anyway. After 27 days in the hospital, Stanley had made it a game to count how many minutes it took the nurses when he hit the beeper button attached to his bed. Yesterday, it took 45 minutes for a nurse to come and change his stoma bag. Yes, so much for the golden years. Stanley was now going to spend the rest of his life shitting in a bag.

Across the hall, the nurses were snacking on Christmas cookies. Stanley was sure of it. The past week, they had all come into his room acting merry and bright, with cookie crumbs on their scrubs. Stanley wasn’t merry. There was no merry to be found under the blaring hospital lights or in his aging body. His body infested with cancer.

You’re lucky, Dr. Tony had said after the colostomy. Stanley had stared at the 30 something year old kid, not long out of medical school, he supposed. At 80, Stanley knew luck had nothing to do with it. What was lucky about feeling like this? Being alone with everyone you once knew dead and gone? Stanley knew more people in the daily obituaries than he ran into at the local supermarket. He remembered when his wife, Mary, used to read the wedding and birth announcements. Now those babies were grown and had kids. Kids that were grown-ups now, too. Kids like Dr. Tony, who said Stanley was lucky.

Stanley had been lucky lots of times. Sure. Luckily, he came out of the war with no wounds and was still alive. He knew that. He knew it was luck when at Iwo Jima, a bullet just skimmed his helmet. Too bad he spent the rest of his life having nightmares about it. He ran from those goddamn bombs in his dreams.

Stanley grunted. He watched as the people came and went in and out of the hospital from the parking lot below. He thought about luck some more. Luck like when he signed up for the National Guard four years after getting out of the war. Just a weekend a month, his friend Barry told him. Good extra money. Stanley had needed the money. Back then, he was the provider. He had Mary and his two girls, Ella and May, to take care of. He didn’t expect the Korean War to start a month after he signed on. Now look what you went and did, Mary had scorned. Thought you were a real smartass, did ya? The guys down at VFW gave him hell, too. Didn’t you get enough of the war already, they teased.

Stanley sighed. It was a long way down. What would it matter anyway? Mary was gone. Ella and May were grown up and had families of their own. What did they need this old man around for? Ella rolled her eyes when he told his stories about the war, and May, well, she had a big heart, but he didn’t want her to have to worry about her old man and his shit bag. Besides, he had lived a long life, right? Eighty years! What more could there possibly be to live for? He couldn’t live like this. Hospitals and stoma bags today, what next tomorrow? He didn’t recognize the world anymore, anyway. Hell, the whole damn country was a mess. Yesterday the nurse scorned him because he said Merry Christmas as if it were a crime. Well, he had said it rather sarcastically. He said, Ah Hell, Merry Fucking Christmas while she changed his shit bag.

“Stanley, what are you doing?” The blonde nurse came in. The one he liked best. She came up from behind him and shut the window, blocking out the cold. Stanley took one last look out. He had been chicken shit.

“Come on Stanley,” she grabbed his arm. She smelled like bubblegum and peppermint. “We’ve got to change your bag. And your new doctor is coming to meet you.” She pulled on his arm to lead him to the bed, but Stanley wouldn’t budge.

“What do you mean, new doctor? Where’s the kid? You know, Dr. Tony?” Stanley stared at the blonde nurse. Come to think of it, he hadn’t seen Dr. Tony in two weeks. He had thought little about it. Right after the surgery, he had his checkup. He knew he’d get another one before he left. Doctors today, they had to fit you in their schedule. He figured Dr. Tony was just busy with other patients.

The blonde nurse’s face turned pale. “Didn’t someone tell you?” she said.

“Tell me what?”

“Dr. Tony. He—” she paused. “He died.”

“He died? What the hell are you talking about? He’s a kid. What do you mean, he died?”

“He had a heart attack.” The blonde nurse said. “He died a week and a half ago. The heart attack hit while he was shoveling snow. Can you believe it?” She pressed her lips together and stared at Stanley’s stoma bag. “It’s so sad,” she shook her head. “He has two little boys at home, and his wife is distraught. Terrible, especially just before Christmas.“

Stanley stood still. His cheeks still stung from the cold air by the window. He realized now he hadn’t minded the frigid air because it made him feel alive.

Stanley felt a twinge of sharp pain shoot across his forehead. Dr. Tony, the kid, was dead. The doctor that was only thirty something years old was gone and probably already buried in the ground. How had he missed that obituary? How could the young doctor that had saved this eighty-year-old man’s life be gone? What sense did that make? How could Stanley survive two wars and cancer and this young, brilliant man, be gone, leaving a wife and two small children behind?

Stanley felt sick in his heart. He wondered what purpose God had in this.

The blonde nurse reached for Stanley’s arm again. Stanley let her lead him to the bed to change his bag. He thought of Mary and his girls. He thought of how, moments before, he wanted to die. But he was still here. Maybe there was a reason.

“Well dear,” Stanley said in the kindest voice he had used since being in the hospital. “Isn’t that a story about life? A young man dies and an old man lives.”

The blonde nurse paused as she stared at Stanley. She squinted her eyes and shifted her weight from her left foot to her right. From down the hall, the muffled sounds of Christmas music hung in the air as soft bells chimed, Hark the Herald Angels Sing from the nurse’s station.

“Well,” she said finally, “It is, isn’t it Stanley? Quite a story about life. Yes, it is.”

She finished with his stoma bag as Stanley looked back to the window. Maybe there was no luck, he thought. Just purpose.

Stanley wouldn’t waste it.  

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