Social Distancing Journal 08: Short Fiction: What She Won't Remember

It’s Monday again. Today’s short story is What She Won’t Remember.

As usual, the .pdf, linked above, can be downloaded for free (you might have to “save as” after you’ve clicked on the link). The book page is here. B&N and iTunes have not gone live yet; the former is propagated through Smashwords. I’ll add links as they go live.

This was written for Mike Resnick’s Alternate Outlaws just over a quarter century ago. It was only a little bit longer than what was requested. I was still far more comfortable with novel writing than with short story writing. And in some ways, this has continued, which will probably be a surprise to no one.

***

I am still writing. I can’t remember if I mentioned that I’ve sold the next Cast novel, but if I haven’t, I did. It’s on of the two books I’m working on now, the other being the first book in The Burning Crown series, which is the last of the West novel arcs.

Yesterday, I spent way too long reading covid-19 news stories and various reports. My aunt died last week – or maybe two weeks ago; I find I really lose track of the passage of time these days – and I’m reminded that funerals are such an important part of grieving and closure, not for my own sake, but for my mother’s. Because of course there is no funeral. Almost all of the cases of covid-19 in one of our provinces can be traced back to a funeral.

We’re all still working from home; we leave to buy groceries and prescription medication. We’ve been making use of FaceTime for the dinners – Sunday and Thursday – that we no longer have with the other half of our family.

The kids — who are not kids, but, well Mom here — have been fine, but they miss that other half of the family, and they miss my mother. My mother comes to our house two days a week. In theory, and when things were normal. But I had a friend come to stay for several weeks, and he asked me what, exactly “I won’t be here tomorrow” means as he pointed out that she pretty much drops by every. Single. Day. I told him it means “she’s not staying for the entire day”.

She’s been part of the kids lives since they were born; they’ve seen her “two days a week” for the entirety of their lives. When she dropped groceries off last week, my older son came downstairs and stood at the back of the kitchen, chatting with her. She said, “I thought you’d all be happier without me to interrupt everything.”

He looked at her, and finally said, “Bachan, if you stare at the sun for a long time you hurt your eyes. But no one wants to live without sunlight.”

I thought this was a terrific analogy, and so I’m sharing.

Edit: typos. Again. T_T