Friday, February 27, 2015

The Birds Are Disappearing - Conclusion

By Bettyann Moore

In retrospect, I shouldn’t have taken that last shot at Larry. Things would have turned out very differently, at least for some.

Mrs. Oddstetter was pleased to see me, though she still wanted an audience with her great-nephew. She forgot all that, though, once I told her about the holograms and the birds’ refusal to migrate.

“I knew it!” she said. “I just knew there was something rotten going on, thanks to my good-for-nothing great-nephew and those of his ilk.” She gave me a nasty look, then picked up an old-fashioned rotary phone. I watched, fascinated, as she dialed. It seemed to take forever just to make one call, especially when she messed up and had to start all over again. She waved me away when I held out my cell phone to her. I wandered around the grand living room, admiring the antiques and paintings; the lady was loaded.

Saturday, February 21, 2015

The Birds Are Disappearing - Part II

By Bettyann Moore

There’s little reason to go into how I managed to get access to Larry and to the place he works, a place that most people don’t even realize exists. Most couldn’t fathom the work he does there anyway. Suffice it to say that this town runs on favors and I called a few in.

Larry’s room was two doors down from mine at the frat house. He was brilliant and the go-to man for any math or science questions. We weren’t close, but I happened to be in the wrong place at the right time one frigid December night and kept him out of big, big trouble. Like most people with a debt to pay, Larry began avoiding me, moved out of the frat house and changed schools. I never saw him again. I kept track of him, though.

Friday, February 13, 2015

The Birds are Disappearing - Part I

By Bettyann Moore

It’s up to me, I guess, to tell the real story, to set the record straight as the Senator used to say, only when he said it, one could be sure it was all kinds of skewed. I didn’t know that at first, of course. This wide-eyed poli-sci major fresh out of college and tapped for the position of administrative assistant to Senator R_______ of the great State of M_______ would have been happy just shining his shoes. Looking back, being the Official Shiner of Shoes would have been a blessing.

Friday, February 6, 2015


Image via Wikimedia Commons

The children screamed and rhymed as the merry-go-round spun, each taking a turn (or not) at jumping down and pumping their legs around the dusty track when the group had fallen below some arbitrary but important minimum speed. The less adventurous pumped back and forth on the swings or clambered around the jungle gym. At the edges, in the shade, parents watched (or didn’t watch) from benches.

Mark sat next to Lauren, watching a girl hop down from the merry-go-round and wind the group up. Mark, in dark jeans and gold-swirled shirt, sat with his arms folded and his ankle resting over a knee. He twirled the pointed toe of his dark cowboy boot in time to his daughter’s circuits on the merry-go-round. Lauren sat with an elbow propped on the back of the bench and rested her head on a wrist. Her legs curled behind her on the bench and she watched the playground through dark sunglasses, though an observer would be hard-pressed to know whether her eyes were on her kids or Mark.

“I know you were sleeping with her,” Lauren said.