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Fiction Short Story

by Laurie Little

Eleven More Miles

Wanda flipped the open sign at Zack’s Diner to read closed. She sanitized and reset the tables, swept and mopped the floor, and grumbled as she counted her tips.

“Goodnight, Zack.” She collected her coat and purse, opened the smudge-marked glass door and shivered as she stepped into the brisk evening air.

“Get plenty of rest. Tomorrow’s Sunday,” Zack hollered as he waved and locked the door. Wanda waddled to the bus stop and plunked her weary butt on the concrete bench.

“Aaaah,” she sighed. Tension evaporated and her feet tingled. She reached down, massaged her left calf and moved to rub her right leg too. “I can’t wait to get home and take off these shoes.”

Regulars of the gathering crowd checked their watches and paced in front of the bench. Wanda stared down the street, looked at her watch and exhaled. “Eight twenty-five. Why is the last bus always late on Saturday?” she complained out loud. “If I was late to work as often as that darn bus, I’d a been fired long ago.”

A few people chuckled and an urgent impulse to urinate stressed her bladder. She pried herself from the seat, squeezed her thighs together and tightened her pubic muscles. “Don’t let Sam drive off without me. I’ve been waitin’ for him for twenty-two years. He can give me a few extra minutes.” She smiled and bustled down the block in search of a public bathroom.

At exactly 8:30 the bus pulled to the stop. The doors opened and seventeen people departed as new riders boarded. Sam did not sit behind the wheel. Several passengers asked the unfamiliar coachman to wait for Wanda.

“I’m already fifteen minutes behind schedule,” he explained, and pulled away from the curb.

Wanda returned from a gas station bathroom to a vacant bus stop. “Oh no!” She flung her hands to her forehead and wailed. “That bastard! Why didn’t he wait for me? Now I have to walk home. And tomorrow is the busiest day of the week.” She shook her fist in the air as she spoke. “Boy, am I gonna let Sam have it!” She inhaled and looked down at her swollen ankles. “Come on legs, eleven more miles.”

The church clock on the corner of her street struck midnight as Wanda wobbled up the steps to her apartment. She stood in the dark, fumbled through her purse, but didn’t feel any keys. “Shit! Where are my keys?” She dumped her purse upside down. No keys fell out. “Damn. I gotta get in. I want to sit down. My feet are killing me.”

Wanda trudged to the back bathroom window and removed the screen. Her hands pressed hard against the pane and shattered the glass.

"Oooowwww!” she cried.

Blood seeped and pain pulsated from her forearms. She broke the remaining glass away from the frame, placed her hands on the ledge and hoisted her ample torso into the apartment’s new entrance. Her pantyhose snagged as her legs scraped along the stucco wall. “Shit,” she mumbled. “My last good pair.”

Wanda wiggled her shoulders and chest through the narrow window, but her lower body bumped against the building and stopped. She took a deep breath. “One more heave.” She inhaled again, held her breath and pushed with all her might. Her body did not budge.

A flashlight seeped around the wall and focused on Wanda's projected presence. A masculine voice shouted, “Don’t move! I’m a police officer. Do you have a weapon?”

“No!” Wanda screamed. “ Don’t shoot me! I live here.”

“What are you doing, ma’am?” The deep voice softened.

“I lost my keys. I tried to climb through the window. It broke and now I’m stuck.”

The officer slid his gun in the holster and retrieved a police radio. “Unit 472, C as in Charles, D as in David, S as in Sam, do you read? Over.”

A female dispatcher responded. “Affirmative unit 472, C as in Charles, D as in David, S as in Sam, I read. How can I help you? Over.”

“Officer needs assistance at 981 Spruce St. That’s S as in Sam, P as in Paul, R as in Robert, U as in union, C as in Charles, E as in Edward. Over.”

“That’s 981 Spruce St. S as in Sam, P as in Paul, R as in Robert, U as in union, C as in Charles, E as in Edward. Is that correct? Over.”

“Affirmative. Over. “I have a …” He stepped towards the building and focused the bright light on Wanda’s wedged buttocks. “Excuse me, ma’am, what is your ethnicity?”

“What?” Wanda shouted.

“Your ethnicity, ma’am. What is your ethnic background?”

Wanda grimaced and mentally counted to three. “My mother was Irish and my father came from Holland. They met in France during the war and came to this country after Ike was elected president. What does that have to do with getting me out of this window?”

“Nothing, ma’am.” The officer spoke into the radio again. “…A large, Caucasian female, approximately…” he turned to Wanda. “How old are you, ma’am?”

“I was 59 when I got stuck in here,” Wanda answered, “ but I’m afraid I’ll be 92 when I get out.”

“Don’t’ worry, ma’am. We’ll get you out of here soon.” He returned to his radio. “…59 years old. Send an ambulance, and …” he looked at Wanda’s wide rear end and held back a chuckle, “… a fire engine with a sledge hammer. Over.”

Wanda screeched. “Sledge hammer!”

“An ambulance is on the way, ma’am,” he reassured. “You’ll be out of there shortly. Are you alright?”

“I’m fine. I just want to get inside my apartment and get some sleep.”

“Have you been drinking, ma’am?”

“No sir. I missed the bus and had to walk home after work.”

“Did you use any illegal drugs today, ma’am?”

“No sir, I don’t use drugs! I told you I just wanted to get inside my apartment, and go to bed!

“Do you take any prescribed medications, ma’am?”

“No!” Wanda shouted. “But I’m gonna need something soon if I don’t get out of here!”

“Calm down, ma’am. I’m just doing my…”

A siren’s scream smothered the police officer’s words and woke most of the building’s tenants. Neighbor's lights switched on, people rushed outdoors and gasped at the sight of Wanda’s round butt protruding from the apartment window.

Two rescuers sprung from the ambulance and ran to the victim. They kneaded and twisted Wanda’s soft curves, tugged at her legs and pulled her from the window. The audience applauded. One paramedic checked her vital signs while another cleaned and bandaged her wounds. A fire engine rolled onto the scene. The crew grabbed several tools, raced up the stairs and unlocked Wanda’s apartment door. The police officer escorted her inside and jotted some notes. She graciously thanked all the heroes, closed the door, and looked at the wall clock. 2:15 AM.

She gathered a hammer and a box of nails from a kitchen drawer and grabbed a piece of plywood from the coat closet. The flashing red and blue lights faded from her view as she nailed the board over the hole in the bathroom wall.

Wanda finished the repair job and flopped in a beige overstuffed chair in front of the television. “What a day. I just want to take my shoes off and relax.” She leaned her head back, stretched her arms and legs and yawned twice. Her eyelids drooped, and she fell fast asleep.

At 6:00 AM, the church clock chimed and startled her awake. “I’m late!” she roared, and leapt to her feet. Debris crunched under her shoes as she entered the bathroom and shrieked at the image in the mirror. Stale make-up filled in wrinkles and smeared across blood-streaked cheeks. Tousled gray hair shone with glass highlights. The once crisp white shirt lay torn and bloodied against her skin. Tattered panty hose scantily covered skinned knees and scraped shins. She washed her hands and face, applied fresh make-up and tidied her hair. She splashed cologne over her torso, changed her shirt, and rushed to catch the bus.

Wanda exited the bus one block short of her usual destination, dashed into a convenience store and purchased two pair of nylon stockings. She raced to the diner, barreled through the back door, headed straight to the employee bathroom and plopped herself on the toilet. She removed her shoes, peeled off yesterday’s pantyhose and wrinkled her nose as the stench of sweaty over-worked feet filled the stall.

"Peeewwy!" she exclaimed, and let out a long sigh as she stretched her moist toes. "At last."

Zack's fist banged on the bathroom door and his gruff voice yelled. “Yo! Wanda! Let’s go! We got customers.”


About the Author
Laurie Little is a middle-aged crazy freelance writer who discovered her voice after turning 40. She lives in a citrus grove near Palm Springs, CA with a sexy Fire Captain, her Tae Kwon Do kicking teen-aged son, a few cats, dogs, fish, birds, and raccoons. Most of her writing focuses on the children’s literature and article market. She is an active member of The Society for Children’s Book Writers and Illustrators and Writers' Village University. Previously published in print form, "Eleven More Miles" is Laurie's first e-zine publication.