These are three short true stories I wrote for publication in SUN MAGAZINE.   The SUN has a regular feature where each month they choose the topic, and ask their readers to submit short, 300 – 400 word true stories.

I submitted all three of these stories.   And all three were rejected by the SUN! 

But I still think this is some of my best writing.  

REQUIRED SUN MAGAZINE TOPIC:   SUMMER JOBS

Elvis in Saudi Arabia

Out of sight. Out of touch.

I was farther away from my Northern California home than I had ever imagined.  Riyadh, Saudi Arabia.  8000 miles away.  Different country, different continent, different culture, different language, different religion.    And the temperature was often over 120 degrees.

I was a 23-year-old graduate student, working a summer job for the US Corps of Engineers, providing a recreation program for American dependent children.   It was the Summer of 1977.The impact of the distance from home was astonishing.  I had no access to a telephone.  Mail was rare, and often weeks late.   There was, of course, no email, and no internet.  I was out of contact with the entire world I had grown up in.

Every week or so I would find a copy of an English language newspaper.   I would first check the baseball box scores to see how the San Francisco Giants were doing.  But I rarely did more than glance at world news headlines, because I really did not expect anything of importance to me to happen.  But one day, the major headline certainly caught my eye:

ELVIS IS DEAD!

I read the article over and over.  It couldn’t be true, it just couldn’t be true.   It must be some kind of joke, or a well-played hoax.  How could Elvis Presley be dead – he was only 42! 

It wasn’t until many hours later, when a few of my bilingual Saudi and Egyptian co-workers were able to confirm from radio reports (in Arabic, of course,) that Elvis had, indeed died.

But the massive distance and disconnect from home meant I never really, fully, believed that Elvis was gone. Months later, when I returned home to California, one of the first questions I asked a friend was,

“is Elvis really dead?
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REQUIRED SUN MAGAZINE TOPIC:   HIGHS and LOWS

Patty and the Kiss

It was a bad storm.  There was more than enough rain to endanger a driver only 18.  But my friend, Steve, was safely in control of the car, driving in the far-right lane, across the San Francisco Bay Bridge.  Steve was driving the four of us home from a double-date trip to the City.  It was nearly midnight.

Then in a wink of an eye, Steve lost control of the car. We began to slide and spin to the left.  I’ll never know if we completed one or two full revolutions, but when we finally stopped, now in the far-left lane, we had spun clear across all the lanes on the bridge! Amazingly, we crossed four lanes without harm.  Steve took a deep breath, we all mumbled that we were OK, and he drove us home.

Forty minutes later, back in our little town, we took my date, Patty, home first.  

Her mom rushed out to the driveway, relieved to see that we had survived the storm.  This was only the third date of my life.  And my first with Patty.  I had held her hand tightly ever since our spin-out on the Bridge. But I was still a social misfit, awkward and scared around girls, and even more scared of kissing one!  Facing Patty, as she stood next to her mom, I felt my self-esteem sink in despair.   I just didn’t have the courage to kiss Patty good night. And then…. And then, in a miracle moment I only vaguely remember, but will surely never forget, Patty stepped forward, touched my shoulder, and kissed me.  Right on the lips!  I was stunned.

Patty’s eyes sparkled.  Her mom gave me a knowing smile. And Steve grinned at me with his eyes wide open in surprise.

There were still several months left in my senior year of high school.  But for dark and painful reasons I could not then possibly understand, I quickly retreated into my anguished, damaged emotional shell.   I don’t think I ever even spoke to Patty again.   All I had was the brief memory of joy and optimism, and then a rapid return to the depression that would continue to haunt me for decades.

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REQUIRED SUN MAGAZINE TOPIC: BROTHERS

My Sister Found Me a Brother

My sister, Wendy, is my only sibling.  She is four years older than me.  When I entered high school, Wendy seemed more and more useless to me.  She spent hours and hours doing who knows what in the bathroom.  She was a perfect student, loved by all her teachers; the same teachers who four years later would expect me to be just like her.  And she couldn’t throw or catch a ball if her life depended on it.  Every day I wished I had a brother!

In her senior year of high school, Wendy began to date a boy named Dick.  And I found a brother!  Almost every day Dick would come over to see Wendy, but first he would play basketball with me in our driveway for 20 or 30 minutes.  Sometimes we’d get out a football or baseball and toss it around on the front lawn.  And on rainy days, we had a football board game we’d play on the kitchen table, while she waited, impatiently, for him to spend time with her. 

I did not know then that the time Dick spent with me made Wendy feel concerned and somewhat worried.   Years later I found out that she had often sought out our mom for advice, asking her why Dick spent his first half hour at our house with me.  Wendy wondered if Dick really liked her, or if he was more interested in playing basketball with me. 

I now know that my mom would gently reassure Wendy that it would all work out fine.  Mom told my sister not to worry; that Dick liked her very much, and to try to enjoy the fact that he and I got along so well.

Well, mom was right, of course.  Near the end of this summer, Wendy and Dick will celebrate their 50th wedding anniversary.  And I still have a great brother!

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