Home » Short Stories » The Journal of Admiral Wade

The Journal of Admiral Wade

Admiral ebookStrange dim light, shifts in time, in perspective. Can we experience past lives? How do we survive the inexorably slow loss of love? Why do epiphanies slip up on us?

A man drives his aging Volvo into another day and out of any world he’s ever known.

A woman retrieves an old trunk and finds hidden treasure of inexplicable nature.

Delores is eager to discuss the details of Carlos’ file, which she appropriated from Records across the corridor. “He’s a bright young man, girls,” she says, reorganizing the lettuce on her sandwich with her long nails.

Josie’s room in an ancient hotel built over a Mayan temple leads to intimate hallucinations. Or are these men real?

What quirks of the universe drive us to the thoughts and deeds that ultimately define our lives? Does magic happen? Do dreams transport us?

These lyrical short stories explore pivotal moments, realizations, and inevitable conclusions in lives of unexpected dimension.

With a December 5 release date, this anthology of eight short stories is available as an ebook or paperback. Pre-order the ebook through December 4 for only 99¢. Amazon buy link — http://www.amazon.com/dp/1519372639

EXCERPT from Her Natural Home:

The dining room opened from the lobby through an archway of gray stone and onto a patio where flowering plants, shrubbery, and vines formed a low wall around the perimeter. Candles and torches illuminated the space. The maître d’ led Josie to a corner table close to hibiscus shrubs with papery yellow blossoms. A starched white cloth spread over the table, which was set with white cloth napkins, a fat white candle in a saucer, and a squat glass vase with vibrant red flowers. Night air wafted over her and above she could see the stars. She sighed and leaned back.

“Tequila,” she ordered when the waiter came.

She imagined throwing the burning liquor down her throat in one quick toss and slamming the empty glass onto the table before demanding another, as if she were some dusty outlaw in a Clint Eastwood western. In planning for the trip, she had pictured herself ordering wine with her meals. Something elegant. Yet the idea of ordering tequila seemed familiar, as if she had considered it without acknowledgement. It surprised her that she had entertained that train of thought and kept it hidden from herself, only now to discover her self-deception.

If that’s what it was. The term seemed unduly harsh.

The waiter set a small glass of amber liquid on the tablecloth in front of her nestled on its own personal round coaster, white and scalloped around the edges. He also delivered a small plate with a mound of coarse white salt and several wedges of lime. All of it glistened beautifully in the light from her table candle. She waited until he left then sipped the tequila. The offensive liquid burned then sweetened explosively in her mouth. The salt and lime relieved her discomfort and by the end of the portion, she felt a relaxing glow in her biceps and throat.

The waiter appeared at the table.

“I’ll have another,” she said precisely, aware of the movement of her lips.

Senora,” he said with a slight bow.

She turned with unusually greedy appetite to the soft enchiladas and guava and meaty sauces that swam in the plate. Sips of tequila diminished the fiery tang of the sauce. Shadows flickered on the tablecloth. She cut her eyes sideways at the waiter as she ordered her third tequila, and he brought a double, along with more salsa and fresh avocado. Red tiles underfoot emanated warmth through her thin sandals. The faint breeze shifted, heavy with the scent of blossoms and chilies and scorched flour tortillas.

What other life had she ever known? What house, what furniture, and why had it ever held any meaning? Who were the people she knew, neighbors, coworkers, relatives she saw on occasion, people at the familiar stores where she bought gas, milk, hosiery? She knew the streets of Woodson Terrace, even of the inner city where she could merge into speeding traffic and compete with the most aggressive drivers. She kept a list of reliable repairmen. She was an assured adult, someone who on a whim entered a contest for a digital camera and won instead something she did not want at all. Something she had not expected and could not explain, now that she was doing it. It was happening. Something she enjoyed very much. Whatever it was.

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