Short stories

Short Stories

All story tellers are either liars or the world is such a bad place. And if you don’t believe me, here’s a thought: how many Cinderella stories have you read, heard or watched? Countless! And you know there are still some more out there. The same theme for the story: sad beginnings with happy endings, different people and locations but all in all beautiful, I must add.

What I am about to tell you is a Cinderella story without a prince or a crystal shoe but with every feeling Cinderella felt.

Wait, a Cinderella Story

A friend of mine, Joe, lost his mother when we were in second grade. He had never seen his father because he died in an accident at a construction site when little Joe was only four months old. His mother married an accountant who was a darling stepfather up to the time of his mother’s death. His stepfather married another woman shortly after that she moved in with her two sons; twins, Darren and Doyle.

Joe’s step brothers were slightly older than us and bigger in size too. We went to different schools at the time and they seemed more serious at it than we were. But that did not mean their grades were better than ours. I grant we did not top the class but we managed a few Aces whenever we could.

When Joe’s stepfather lost his job for stealing, things became ill for him. His stepfather had found work somewhere in the city and would be gone for days before he returned with his earnings. Although he brought back very little good things for Joe, we were both grateful for the candy beans he brought with him.

By the time we were in fourth grade Joe would sell small cakes his stepmother made to construction workers. I always liked to help him. It was difficult to make money though because there were so many of us selling the same thing. Sometimes we sold very little and his mother would be furious and punish him. We decided to do something about it.

We found work at Mrs. George’s restaurant where we delivered food to workers at the construction site. The hungry workers liked her food because it was the best in town and it was clean. Many times we had to make four trips and there was quite a distance between the two places. She always paid us extra everyday because she was such an angel. Sometimes we made a little more when we helped to clean her kitchen and took out the trash.

Our little town was booming with development at that time. And after our work was done we would go and find a spot that overlooked the huge construction site and ate what was left from his mother’s cakes. We were always careful and paid for what we ate. Once at our little spot we would imagine ourselves as engineers driving big cars and earning huge incomes as the afternoon passed.

We met Darren and Doyle in high school. We were glad not to be in the same class but ‘Double D’ as we called them, made sure we met every day for them to pick on us in front of their friends. We were a lazy gang me and Joe; the only thing we did was join the school drama club because we did not have to compete with other athletic kids.

Nancy was the girl to get. She was rich and famous especially that her father worked for the government and was responsible for all the development our town was seeing. Joe and I fantasized about getting the best girls in school and Joe would always choose Nancy. I do not know how Darren and Doyle managed to find out about our little secret but they made Joe regret he was alive when they told everyone in school that he had a crash on her.

We decided to stop our foolish behavior and concentrated on school work. Our grades had improved significantly that sometimes we got more Aces than everyone else. Although we had less time because of the many hours at school we still had our part-time jobs which we went to after school hours, on weekends and during holidays. After what happened Joe was going to need them.

One Friday morning before the term had begun; Joe’s stepmother took Darren and Doyle to the city to do their school shopping. Strange as this was, his stepfather remained at home. I reached their house at 10 am and I was there barely ten minutes when his father asked me to leave. He called Joe in the house and I feared for him. I knew how they treated him and whatever was coming had to be bad.

Once in the house his father started about how that day was his and Joe’s mother’s anniversary. He seemed troubled by something and for the first time in years Joe could see the sincerity in him. He handed him a small box which felt heavy in his hands and told him to open it whenever the time was right. His father quickly left the house with words that he was late for work.

Joe opened the little box and found a small photo album, his mother’s diary and some money. Joe had never had that much money before and despite all the emotions felt great excitement. Maybe this was a chance for him to bond with his father. But he should have known because that was the last time he ever saw him. His stepfather left and never came back.

Now Joe had to work even harder than he ever did to take home some money for food. He had cut on the hours he spent on other school activities and sometimes he worked so much that even I could not help him. I felt very bad that I could not. It was such a shame.

One time he was given a role in a school play in which he was playing a romantic part with Nancy. We talked about it every day after school because it made us both excited. After two weeks of practice he went to our literature teacher and told her he could not do the play anymore. Everyone including Nancy thought he was being ridiculous but he had made up his mind and none of us could change it. I was disappointed.

His grades had become very sloppy. He went from A to D in some of the subjects and it surprised everyone. Everyone noticed there was something which was clearly bothering him but he would never admit it to anyone. Joe had to take money home or he would have no home to go to. He had to work for every luxury that we enjoy as children. I had a feeling that sometimes both Darren and Doyle felt sorry for him.

When exam time came, I doubted he even knew what was happening or what was required of him because none of his programs seemed to have changed. He still worked hard and I feared he would fail his exams. But Joe knew better than to waste his life away. He had studied very hard that in the end he aced it and won himself a scholarship overseas.

Many years later he was not the civil engineer he had dreamed to be when we still sold his stepmother’s cakes, nor was I. He became an established a civil rights lawyer and I became a newspaper editor. He married his college girlfriend and they now lived happily in the city. Joe is still my best friend. And Nancy is expecting his second child.