Family Life's Short Story Contest Winner

 

 

Easywoods Inspired by a Dream

By Liane N. Rowe

 

Easywoods Inspired by a Dream may sound like a thoroughbred racehorse or maybe even a gated community for the silver-haired, but in fact, it is my given name. I speak the language of love and understand two others, and I hold dual citizenship as well as a passport stamped with transatlantic travel. One flight in particular serves as an indelible reminder of why I prefer traveling on foot. I love outdoor sports and indoor heating and air. My tastes lean more toward meat and potatoes, but the older I get, the more I realize that life without cows could add years to my life instead of inches to my waist. And since I enjoy compliments as much as the next guy, I gladly choose organic in exchange for all those looks from the ladies. They seem to like my six-pack and golden red hair, though I can only take credit for chiseling one and keeping the other cut and combed.

Dutch by birth and American for work, I strive to follow my parents’ ethic to serve, protect, and love what I do and those around me. With 10 children to raise, Mom and Dad both made careers in world class port cargo safety, instilling a desire in their offspring to succeed wherever we landed. My three sisters decided to remain close to home, but all seven of us boys ventured to various parts of the globe. Dad’s name, Masou, could very well translate to “built like a tank” with his broad shoulders and lean body of solid muscle, passing down his physique to all his sons but me. That led some brothers to join the family business, while others chose law enforcement support. I, on the other hand, inherited Mom’s soft heart of strong compassion and worked diligently to sustain my previously mentioned six-pack abs.

Being next to last in birth order, chances were good that I would dare to do something different. I have snored on my back since birth, while everyone else quietly slept on their stomachs, so it is highly likely that my trip across the pond was “inspired by a dream” on one of those noisy nights. Leaving the European continent – and Mom – with little more than gumption and grit might be the hardest thing I have ever done. It has also been the most rewarding.

Discovered by a Netherlands business opening a new American franchise in need of a Superman/Clark Kent look-alike with big brown eyes and a quiet but alert demeaner, I accepted their proposition and packed light. With the promise of a one-way ticket to my new home, deluxe accommodations including meals, gym privileges, and flexible hours — with time off for good behavior, I was confident with my choice, except for one thing — I wondered what, exactly, in this day and age is a “lady’s companion.”

My sisters were all into novel romance, so I was vaguely familiar with the term. I thought it referred to a wealthy woman living in the 1800s who suddenly found herself without fortune and in dire need of financial support. Since my future “lady” was financing this endeavor, none of that seemed to apply. Several questions later and job description in hand, it was clear that I would be expected to provide confidence, surveillance, distraction, entertainment, and undivided attention all while being this lady’s constant companion. Sweet deal. I could do that and add a cherry on top as well.

Culture shock and even allergies to foreign trees and shrubs plucked from all over the world and planted in one place nearly had me turning back. Previously living on my beloved Netherland island, an engineering marvel of dikes and canals that keep it from sinking, I was used to life below sea level where it’s flatter than a pancake. Out of a keen sense of national pride and respect, one-third of our houses will always be painted black in memory of their occupants who perished from one plague or another four centuries ago. They stand as eternal memorials amidst a man-made sea of windmills and vast acreage of rainbow-colored bulbs that ship to spring gardens and fill lover’s bouquets around the globe. My fellow citizens include the likes of Vincent Van Gogh and Anne Frank and her house of temporary refuge during World War II — definitely not the genteel South of mountainous north Georgia. What a delightful surprise it was, arriving at my new home to a burst of yellow sunshine with a bold burgundy front door after driving past row upon row of whites, grays, and tans. It would seem that my lady and I were soulmates in our desire for bright and beautiful. We could be different together.

Time has turned our working relationship into a loving friendship built on trust. Perhaps you’ve seen this in action at one of my favorite places where everyone knows my name. If so, you already swing wide, stay silent, and just smile when you see us coming. For all those friends I have yet to meet, allow me to introduce myself. I can claim a 4-foot vertical jump (leap tall buildings); see day or night at an 11-mile distance (X-ray vision); bite through leather, steel, and bone (superhuman strength); and clock 35mph on a short track (super speed). I can, but as previously mentioned, do not like to fly, and I admit to a kryptonite spot on my belly that tickles me senseless. Easywoods is my surname, the physical place of my birth, and the one word that means everything to me, for it represents two precious people I left behind to accept this mission, the ones responsible for my illustrious pedigree and very being. I am all that and more. I am Cherokee County’s own Clark Kent, a.k.a. Brodie – golden retriever PTSD service dog (photo here). 

Thank You to All Who Shared Short Stories With Us!

We received 30 thoughtful, well written submissions that covered a variety of topics, and we appreciated reading each one. We truly enjoyed “visiting” the succinct worlds you created, which inspired us to think and feel a wide array of emotions. vel dui.