Cobblestone Hollow

My father, Roy Alexzander Cobb, had no sons. This bothered me when I was a little girl because I felt that a man who was so big and strong, with such huge hands, should have a son to do "male" things with and to carry on his name. I joined a softball league, determined to somehow "be" that son. My dad taught me how to bat by tying a tin can to one end of a rope and the other end of the rope to a stick. He swung the stick so that the can would swing around, and I was to try to hit it with my baseball bat. Well, it worked. I developed a "good eye," never swinging the bat unless I made solid contact with the ball.
One day while at bat during a game, I heard a voice in the crowd call out, "Who's the slugger at bat?" My father's voice, rising clear from his usual position near the fence answered, "That's my kid." One of my proudest moments, for sure.
Even though my dad died several years ago, I still try to keep his name alive. I have written several stories over the years that have taken place at Cobblestone Corners or Cobblestone Hollow. People who reside at the corners are pretty normal. People who reside down in the Hollow have a slightly different view of life. Or, perhaps, they simply live out certain views to the extreme.

This story won 5th place in the Genre category of the 77th Annual (2009) Writer's Digest Writing Competition.




Cobblestone Hollow


"I like living down in the Hollow," Pamela said. "It's a small price to pay for all we have here."
Her husband, Jeff, sighed and looked up from his morning newspaper. "Guys at work are always asking me why I put up with the commute. I'll never explain it to them." He went back to his reading.
"We sure can't let out any of our secrets." Pamela tapped a long red fingernail against the rim of her porcelain cup.
"This one, Mommy?" their three-year old son, Evan, asked as he stepped into the kitchen.
Pamela motioned for him to turn around. "Tuck in your shirttail, and be sure to keep it in all day."
Evan's little fingers struggled with the white cotton.
"What do you think, Jeff? Does Evan look like a child Mama Ruth would favor?"
"Mm-hmm." Jeff turned a page.
"At least look," Pamela said.
Jeff glanced around the paper. "Scrumptious."
Pamela frowned, her focus narrowed at Evan. "You know what? I've changed my mind. Go put on your cream-colored dress shirt.".
Evan heaved a sigh at his mother, then trudged from the kitchen.
Pamela spoke to Jeff over the paper. "I wish you'd show more interest. Just think of all that we could have if Mama Ruth picks Evan."
Jeff carefully folded the paper and placed it on the table. He picked up his coffee cup and gazed at Pamela over the rim.
"You know if Mama Ruth selects Evan, the whole family benefits. The kids could finally attend night school. Mindy Walters is always telling me about it. Her daughter, Susie, no, Sarah. Oh, I don't remember the name. Anyway, the girl got selected last year and now Mindy's son James is on a fast track with computers at the night school."
Jeff reached for the carafe, refilling his cup.
"Just think. We could both work late. You'd finally get that promotion you deserve and I could take on more clients. We'd have more money, Jeff." Pamela leaned across the table, smiling at him. "We could finally put that luxury pool and spa in the backyard."
Corey, their elder son, shuffled into the kitchen. He gingerly placed a science textbook on the table, then sat down. He stared at his mother.
Pamela raised her brows at him. She knew he was brooding. He'd recently learned from his big-mouthed older sister that he had been in the running when he was three years old. He had not been selected.
"You got vanilla scented shampoo." He practically spit the words out. Seven years old and full of himself.
Pamela tried to shrug it off. "You can use it, too."
"And vanilla body wash."
"So use it." Pamela drank coffee.
"Mama Ruth doesn't care how I smell." He sat back, crossing his arms over his chest.
Pamela sighed. She wanted to tell him how great it would be for the whole family if Evan got selected by Mama Ruth. She wanted to point out that Corey could finally attend Mama Ruth's night school and learn to play a musical instrument, join one of the elite sports teams. She wanted to remind him that his older sister, Margaret, had been supportive of him when he was up for selection. And she had been so disappointed when he was not selected that she couldn't bring herself to speak to him for a year.
Pamela grunted. Maybe she shouldn't remind him of that. Truth was Corey probably didn't remember any of it because Margaret had returned to her happy, hopeful self when Evan was born. "Don't be jealous, Corey. Just be nice to your brother, okay? And keep his shirt tucked in. Mama Ruth likes them neat and orderly."
Corey stared at Pamela for a long moment, and then deliberately yanked his own shirt out of his pants.
Pamela pursed her lips and then pushed the box of Sugar Twists toward him. "Eat something."
Evan came back to the kitchen holding his arms out at his sides, ready for inspection. Pamela smiled, motioning him toward her. She gave him a hug, and then straightened his clothes. She pulled a vanilla candy from her pocket and tucked it into his pocket. "You can suck on this while Mama Ruth is looking you over for the selection."
Margaret skipped into the kitchen breathing deeply and smiling. "I smell vanilla everywhere. Nice touch, Mother. Mama Ruth loves vanilla." She bent over to inspect Evan, motioning for him to twirl for her. "You look and smell terrific. I think Mama Ruth's just going to love you. She's going to eat you up!" She lifted her face to Pamela. "If I finally get to go to Mama Ruth's night school, I'm taking ballet and the French Horn. Maybe I'll even learn to play field hockey."
Pamela smiled. "That's nice, Margaret."
"We're so lucky to live here in Cobblestone Hollow," Margaret said with a lilt in her voice. She planted a kiss on her father's cheek.
"No need to convince me again," he grumbled.
Margaret winked at her mother before skipping over to the refrigerator and removing a carton of eggs. "I mean, with Mama Ruth as both mayor of the town and owner of the school, it's like the whole town is just for us kids." She smiled at her father, making a slight bow. "Only during the day, of course, when all the other adults are working in the city."
Pamela nodded. "And I love all the family events on weekends. We're lucky to be here." She reached across the table to squeeze Jeff's hand.
"Ladies, please. You've convinced me. I promised not to say another word, remember?"
Margaret cracked an egg on the side of a plate and then tipped back her head, allowing the contents to ooze out of the shell into her mouth. She burst the yolk inside her mouth and swallowed.
Jeff frowned. "I don't think this diet will--"
Margaret ignored him, interrupting. "Mama Ruth sure knows how to run this place. It's Paradise. Really." She cracked another egg, preparing to repeat the process.
Corey snorted. "Maybe when I grow up, I'll be mayor of Cobblestone Hollow, and I'll run the school and the town."
Margaret laughed, tousling his hair. "I'm going to beat you to it. Besides," she cracked another egg, "you're too skinny."
Corey slapped her hand away, standing up so quickly, his chair toppled over. His fists were clenched, his eyes narrowed.
Pamela jumped up, clapping her hands. "Well, if you have any hope of that, we've got to get going. You know Mama Ruth doesn't tolerate tardiness. Everyone to the SUV."
Jeff stood, sighed, grabbed his briefcase and headed for the door.
As Pamela and the children followed, she offered Evan more advice. "Be sure to smile at Mama Ruth. Show her your chubby cheeks."
Evan nodded, smiling up at his mother.
Pamela helped him into his seat. "And don't forget to suck on that vanilla candy while Mama Ruth interviews you."
"Sweet!" Margaret cried. "You thought of everything this time. French horn, here I come!" and she launched into excited chatter about her hopes and dreams should their family be the lucky one this year.
Corey stared silently out the window. Pamela pulled at loose strings on her scarf. Jeff stayed focused on the road. Evan hummed a nursery song.
"Hey," Margaret said to him as they disembarked at the school. "Hum that tune about Old MacDonald's farm when she's not asking you questions."
"Oh, Margaret. Are you sure that's not pushing it?" Pamela asked.
Margaret smiled. "It's Mama Ruth's favorite song."
Pamela nodded, and stood watching as her children joined the small throng of students entering the building. She focused mostly on Evan's back, hoping Mama Ruth would select him. If only Mama Ruth would choose Evan, then she and Jeff could stay in the city until late at night, make lots of money, and have everything they could ever want.
As the sea of students ebbed away, a lone figure remained just outside the school doors. Mama Ruth. All two hundred and fifty pounds of her. She was stoking the fire in the pit under the rotisserie.
Pamela climbed back into the SUV, her focus still fixed on Mama Ruth. "Think we'll be lucky this time? We'll be the ones able to get wealthy?" she asked Jeff without turning her head. "You think Mama Ruth will choose Evan for the annual feast? Will we return tonight to find him proudly spinning above the fire?"
Jeff shrugged. "He did look scrumptious."