Comfort For My People
an "pop up" short story
I sat down to write a post for the weekend, and felt void of thoughts that seemed adequate. Instead, a story surfaced. Simple enough, and short. Take from it what you will.
The woman sat down on the bench in a soft collapse. Her hair was slightly damp from the freezing rain now misting the streets outside the courthouse. She shivered, having been unable to get warm all day. It was four o’clock. Caleb would be getting home soon, surprised to find her not there. She pulled out her phone to text him.
Still at the trial.
Not sure when I’ll be home.
Quesadilla for dinner?
He was always good about taking care of himself. But she wanted to be there. Something about the last six years without his dad had made her almost frantic to spend time with him. Maybe it was unhealthy. She worried she was overbearing. But when she wasn’t being overbearing, she worried she wasn’t doing enough. It was hard, this single parent thing.
The defense attorney found her sitting on the bench outside the courtroom.
It’s been a long day, he said. Thanks for being here.
He seemed resigned, like he already knew what the verdict would be. Claire had done what she could; testified, said what little she knew with as much truth as she could muster. But no one’s memory was perfect. The prosecutor had made that point very clear.
“The jury’s coming back in,” the attorney said to her. “If you want to be there with her for the verdict, you should come in now.”
The woman nodded, “I’m coming. And, for what it’s worth— thank you. Whatever happens, you did a commendable job.”
He nodded, unconvinced. Or maybe he was already moving on. There was nothing left to be done.
Later, sitting in her parked car, Claire couldn’t stop her hands from shaking. She wanted to cry, to weep for the life her friend was now faced with. But the tears would not come and instead her hands shook violently so that she couldn’t even put the keys in the ignition. She was cold, colder now than she’d been inside and she was shaking, shaking so violently but sitting in this cold car unable to turn the key.
And her friend, her dear friend was perhaps alone and cold too, without a key to the outside world, locked away with a sentence of twenty years. Twenty years with no parole. Helplessness was what she felt. Complete and utter helplessness. And cold. Aching, shaking cold.
Sara opened the oven door to remove two perfect loaves of sourdough bread. The hot air hit her face in full force and knocked her back on her heels. It was freezing outside. She moved the loaves onto a cooling rack and watched the window fog up from the sudden heat. Fresh bread and soup on the stove, it was the picture of comfort.
She heard Seth at the door, the three kids clambering in behind him. He came into the kitchen, filling the small space that could barely hold two people with his presence. He kissed her, a little absently perhaps and with the routine of the eighteen years between them, but it was still welcome.
She wondered how she would tell him.. Should she come out and say it? Now? With the kids out there, flopping onto the couches, probably leaving their backpacks all strewn in the entryway again. If she waited until later, he would read it all over her face.
He hadn’t left happy that morning. It was her fault mostly, being picky about laundry left lying around and making some critical comment she hadn’t thought sounded critical but could tell it bothered him. He was soft like that, sensitive to her. It mattered what she thought of him and too easily she made him feel belittled, like his presence didn’t matter unless it was according to her specifications.
So how to talk about this other thing now, with this distance sitting between them.
The doorbell rang. Seth opened the front door. It was their neighbor’s son, Caleb.
“Hey man,” Seth said. “Come on in. You doin okay?”
“Yeah, I’m good, I’m good. Sorry to bother you guys.”
Caleb came in, with Seth’s hand on his shoulder, guiding him into the living room. The kids were strewn about, phones in their hands scrolling, or staring absently at the ceiling with their limbs sprawled across the furniture. It was their usual after-practice routine.
They all sat up when Caleb walked in, especially the two girls, pulling at their hair. Dane, their oldest remained cool. He was younger than Caleb by a year, and they ran in different circles. Caleb didn’t have a circle really. He worked a lot. Played soccer. Sometimes Seth wished his own son was as focused and responsible as Caleb seemed to be.
“Yeah well, the thing is, something’s wrong with our electric. My mom’s out, and she’s not going to be back until later. I’ve checked the fuse box and everything, but I can’t get it to work.”
Seth went to grab his coat and Sara offered Caleb a slice of warm bread. “Tell your mom to head over here when she gets home, no matter what time it is,” she said. Caleb smiled politely and thanked her. She wasn’t sure he would do what she’d told him, or that his mom would listen even if he did.
Thanks for helping him, she mouthed to Seth as he followed Caleb out the door.
Their talk would have to wait.
The temperature dropped and soon the sleeting rain turned into flakes that fell more slowly, softening the dark streets as Claire turned toward home. Her hands were calmer now, but a shudder still shook her now and then from somewhere deep inside. The house was dark. No lights on. She had not heard from Caleb.
As she pulled into her driveway, the screen of her phone lit up with a soft glow.
Caleb was at the neighbors? No electricity for some reason.
Damn this day. Was there no one looking out for them? For anyone?
She shut the car door a little too loudly. But the snow muffled her angry slam. The yard had turned white. She could her footsteps landing with a satisfying crunch as she made her way down the drive to the sidewalk. All up and down the street, lamplight glowed from the house windows.
She liked the Doers. They didn’t freak out about things. They let kids hang out in their yard, and cut across the grass on their bikes. They didn’t put up political signs or give anybody else the cold shoulder for doing so. But she wasn’t sure she felt like hanging out with them all evening.
That was the problem. You just couldn’t make things play out the way you wanted them to, no matter what you did. Husbands died, or left you. The world went dark. Houses abandoned you to the cold. You got weirdly comforted by how miserable the cold rain was, and then, suddenly it turned to breathtakingly beautiful snow. That’s when the tears came, when you looked up and suddenly felt grateful for being alive in the world, even in your misery and worry.
And you felt yourself cracking. She felt it like a small, slivered fracture ever so slightly somewhere deep inside. Maybe from all that shivering. Or from the horrid truth about her friend, and her life. And also from the ache of love she felt for her boy, and the quiet comfort of this dark night filled with white. A sliver of a crack that meant… what could it mean? Only that it must be filled with something. She longed. She cried out quietly, into the dark and endless sky that would not stop covering her.
Beautiful x
I really enjoyed reading this. I hear you in it, but also feel invited into another world. I would read it if you turned it into a novel. ❤️