First Quarter: Flash Fiction Winner
BETWEEN THE LINES
by C. Rochelle Weidner
It is said that mariachi bands have no sense of humor. I, Jack or Juan Reecho, beg to differ. If you consider that they wear funny looking clothes and make music that is, at best, an acquired taste and play for tips and sometimes meals, with no retirement benefits, no health coverage, and no guarantee of a gig next week, life can still sometimes be quite humorous. Of course only if you enjoy the darker side of humor.
When my father, Manual, donned his huge sombrero, shouldered the big Spanish guitar and left to play in a seedy restaurant on the wrong side of town, I swore out loud that would never be me. My beautiful mother put her finger to her mouth, and shook her head, pointing at the prized beloved Mary painting she bought in Mexico. I asked my mother’s forgiveness and bowed my head, again praying that would never be me walking out that door.
But when Felipe got sick, I filled in, and when George died from a gastric by-pass, I filled in. Four years later, I’m the one in the big sombrero, and the group that began with my father is now mine by bequest. Life can be cruel. So rather sink into depression or drink, I laugh at the rude hombre at the front table, second from left, the one with the striking brunette who winks at me when he is not looking. I take a chance and wink back. Stranger things have happened. I am not bad looking, and there is no need for her to know what my day job is. To her I am only a handsome man who might provide a diversion from her boorish companion.
When she follows me into the alley behind the café at our break, she promises me privileges and much cash, and I think to myself how good she smells. Her fine chiseled body presses up to mine and she slips her tongue into my ear and whispers temptations. Leaving me breathless she slips a card into my pocket. Written on the back, instructions and a phone number. I barely hear the words; I feel only the warmth from her lips, and the tightness in my body. From a purse that looks only big enough for her red lipstick she pulls a small gun that she presses into my hand. No one will suspect me, she whispers into my mouth. I am just a mariachi guitarist not worth a second glance.
It is so sad. I think about her offer, but only for seconds. I promised myself, you see, that I would do more with my life than play in the band, and as I slip the cuffs from my back pocket and onto her slender wrist, I remind her gently that you shouldn’t make assumptions about people based on what you think they might be.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR:
C. Rochelle Weidner has received several honorable mentions for short fiction. She received an Honorable Mention for her story “The Soft Touch Killer” in the 78th Annual Writer’s Digest Genre Short Story Category.
JUDGE’S COMMENTS:
I selected this story as a winner because it seems, better than the others, to actually capture the essence of what "flash fiction" is all about. Most of the stories struck me as "regular" stories that the authors had simply tried to make "shorter." Flash fiction, however, is a specific form of story. It isn't just a "shorter version" of a short story. It must be self-contained, and quite often involves a twist or punch line that catches you by surprise. Most of all, though, it must give you the sense of being complete in itself-no word wasted, no extra verbiage, just a concise beginning-middle-end piece. This story accomplishes those things. The language is skilful; the character (and even the characters who feature in the main character's memory) are well drawn. I can "see" the setting and the action; I feel like I'm reading about a real person. I sense that the author could write about some completely different character and make that person just as real, i.e., this author can handle the basics of fiction. And the twist at the end is just right.