Marshall Ramsey

Water bugs zipped across the surface of the stream’s pool, making tiny waves that traveled to the sides of the rocks. Light filtered through the trees, creating spots on the water’s surface. He could see his face. And then he saw her beautiful face.

The noise of the stream had masked her approach. She was a year older than him but he had been love his whole life. (Or so he thought.) He knew that he had loved her as long as he could remember.

And lately she felt the same.

She was blonde, freckled and thin. And she possessed the most beautiful smile he had ever seen.  He was 17 and she was 18: This was the last summer before she went off to college.

They had spent every summer of their lives on this stream near the Smoky Mountains.  Her grandmother’s cabin was next his parent’s place.  Every school year, the thought of her blue eyes got him through the dreary gray of winter.

Now it was time to say goodbye.

They sat on the rock and splashed their bare feet in the cold, mountain water. She told him that she was going away to school. Far away.  His heart suddenly grew as chilled as the mountain stream’s water. Warm water flowed down their cheeks.

The next year, letters were exchanged and phone calls were made.  But a trip to Europe kept her face out of the stream that next summer. Distance and absence started to fray the strands that tied them together.  She met a senior from Burlington, Vt. And one day he got the phone call.  She was getting married.

That next summer, he sat on the rock by the stream and looked at the reflection of his face in the still pool.  He waited, but hers never appeared.

He also eventually married. She was a wonderful woman he had met in school. That next summer, his parents sold their cabin and eventually developers clear cut the property upstream. The clear stream’s water became muddy. He’d never see her reflection in the pool again.

As the years passed, he and his wife raised a beautiful family. He was blessed to be successful in business and accumulated a huge fortune.  One of his company’s first purchases was the land where the stream ran. He replanted the woods and donated the land to the National Park. The once-muddy water began to run clear again.

His beloved wife died the fall of their 50th anniversary.  Breast cancer had taken her from him and his children were now scattered across the nation like dandelion seeds in the wind.  By the next summer he realized he was alone. Very alone.

So he came back and sat on the rock.  The rock by the pool. The rock next to where his old parent’s cabin had been.

Water bugs zipped across the surface of the stream’s pool, making tiny waves that traveled to the sides of the rocks. Light filtered through the trees, making spots on the waters surface. He could see his face. And then he saw her beautiful face.

Her eyes were just as blue, but wrinkles now surrounded them.  She was still thin, but gray hair had replaced the blonde. But her smile was unchanged. It was as beautiful as ever. He felt her arm slip across his back. Her husband had died the previous year, too, she said.  And she felt like she needed to come home.

The two faces in the water just smiled.  And the water bugs continued to do whatever it is water bugs do.

Good morning! I was up late but I slept late. So that works for me.

Magic 8-Ball is one of my favorite recent stories. Hope you’ve gotten to read it.

At a yard sale in a wooded neighborhood across town, a man browsed through the cornucopia of junk, toys and other value-priced flotsam. He walked over to a table that reminded him of Rudolph’s Island of Forgotten toys.  A doll. A water pistol. And a Magic 8-Ball.

Manufactured by Mattel, the Magic 8-Ball is a popular toy used by some to predict the future. The man felt its warm plastic in his hand, shook it and said,. “Will I buy this Magic 8-Ball?”

The blue die inside rolled up to the top of the plastic screen. “It is certain.”

He had had one as a child and loved it. He shook it again, “Will I be rich?”  The die answered, “Without a doubt.”

He walked up to the scowling lady with the cigar box and plunked down a dollar.  “Thank you,” she said as he nodded and collected his purchase.  “Is she really a man?” The 8-Ball answered, “Without a doubt.”

He carefully placed his prize in the front seat of his Saturn wagon. He shook it again, “Will I be late for dinner?”

The Magic 8-Ball answered, “You will arrive at 5:07 and your girlfriend will be mad.”

The man looked around to his left.  He looked around  to his right.  The grouchy lady was the only person he could see.  He held the 8-Ball and asked another question, “What kind of car will drive by next?”

The 8-ball answered, “A green Chevrolet Malibu.”

A green Chevrolet Malibu went past.

A slight evil smile came to his face. The man held the 8-ball greedily, covering it in case the lady with the cigar box wanted it back. He had the look of the man who found the singing frog in the old Warner Brothers’ cartoon One Froggy Evening.

The next day, the man sat in his cubicle while holding his new toy.  “What will the stock market do today?”  The Magic 8-Ball spun around and answered, “It will lose 232 points.”  The man got on his computer and made the appropriate trades.  He then asked it, “Who will win the baseball game tonight?”

“St. Louis 4-1.”

The man called his bookie and made a $100 bet.   He took a sip of his coffee, went back to playing Farmville on his computer and continued collating yesterday’s work reports. He looked at the picture of his girlfriend. “I’m going to be something. You just watch me.”

The next morning, he checked his cellphone.  St. Louis had won 4-1 and the market had acted just as the 8-ball had predicted.  He asked another series of sports questions and called his bookie again.  “No need to get greedy,” he thought. These would be the last sports bets this week.  Just for fun he asked, “Where is Osama Bin Laden?”

The Magic 8-Ball answered, “Abbottabad, Pakistan.”

The man smiled and picked up the phone.

Two years later, CNBC’s reporter sat in the opulent office.  She was there to interview Wall Street’s newest power broker. He was a man who had risen out of nowhere to become one of the richest men on the street.

“You have amassed a fortune of over $1 billion dollars. So what would say is the secret to your success?” she asked.

The man pointed over his shoulder to a glass case. Inside of it was a Magic 8-Ball.

“You have to be kidding,” the reporter scoffed.  The man smiled at her, handed her to ball and said, “Try it yourself.”

She held the ball, “Will I get a straight answer to my question?”

The Magic 8-Ball said, “It is certain.”

The next morning while overlooking lower Manhattan, the man held the 8-ball in his hand.  He was busy writing down all the sports scores and stock prices for the next day.  He picked up the 8-ball and looked at the window.  It read, “You will die at 5:04 p.m..”

A chill ran down his spine.

He looked at it again, “You can’t hide from your fate.”

The man panicked. He ran out of his office and down the hall.  He had to hide. He had to run. People noticed the sweat forming on his forehead.  The clock read, “8:59 a.m.”

“I’ve got to hide.” The man shoved himself into the supply closet.  “I’ve got to stay safe.” Hour after hour passed.  “I’ve got to stay safe,” he whimpered.

An alarm rang out and his heart stopped. In the dark of the closet, the man smelled smoke.  “OMIGOD,” he thought. “The building is on fire.”  His heart pounded into his throat.

He ran out into the office and toward the stairwell.  If he had bothered, he would have noticed that it was now 4:57 p.m. As he ran down the stairs, he clutched his Magic 8-ball for dear life.

The office employees gathered on Wall Street as the smoke billowed out of the top floors. The panicked man ran out onto the curb and stopped.  Looking up at his burning building and confused by the chaos around him, he stepped unsteadily.  A New York Cop came over and told the crowd to get back. The man stopped and then walked two steps back off the curb.

He never saw the cab that hit him. It was 5:04 p.m.

As his dead body hit the ground, the Magic 8-ball rolled across the street. When it came to a stop, a young man bent over and picked it up.

A slight evil smile came to his face. He held the 8-ball greedily, covering it just in case someone decided to take it back. He had the look of the man who found the singing frog in the old Warner Brothers’ cartoon One Froggy Evening.