Hanging On

May 11, 2009 by Julie

Miss Fish Refuses To Evacuate

Julie Buffaloe-Yoder

…..Miss Fish sits on the roof. She is seventy-five-years old and hanging onto

shingles. The water is now above her windows. It is hot, and the sun

threatens to shine. She wears a red bandana as a kerchief. It flaps in the stiff

afternoon breeze. Her black boots are muddy. She cut her leg and tore her

favorite jeans climbing through the bedroom window and up the old trellis.

She dropped her canteen of water. It took too long to get up here. Now all

she wants is to be left alone.

…..She didn’t ask anybody to rescue her. She won’t go. It’s her house. Her

land. If she ends up drowning in flood waters, well then. That’s her business.

At least she’ll die with North Carolina salt water up her nose.

…..After the last hurricane, she never saw Almeeta again. Almeeta is her best

friend. Now she’s gone. Almeeta’s kids talked her into moving to Chapel Hill

with them. Just for a little while until we can clean up, they said. Ha! They

sold so fast it made everybody’s head spin. Now Almeeta’s laying in a nursing

home, dying with the hard hands of strangers flipping her over twice a day.

…..Miss Fish is right where she intends to draw her last thin, blue breath. She

was born with a silver bucket in her hand and has worked at McCumber’s

Shrimp House since she was old enough to carry it. This creaky yellow house

next door to McCumber’s is her home. She grew up here. She falls asleep

every night watching the lights of shrimp boats slide across her bedroom

walls. She loves the deep gurgle of engines, the shush of shovels in the ice

room. She loves the way the fishermen cuss. She loves the smell of marsh

mud, the mockingbirds in the trees. Every cypress root and thick patch of

moss on this beautiful black ground sings her name.

…..McCumber’s is on the verge of closing down, but Miss Fish refuses to

move. When the developers came in and made their big offer, she wouldn’t

sell. And now, she won’t move off this roof until the waters go down. Then

she will clean it all up, stick by stick.

…..Miss Fish hears a helicopter again and looks up. It’s the people from the

six o’clock ActionNews! team. They will show her on the television tonight.

She gives them the finger. She might be an old woman, but she knows what

the finger means.

…..Let people call her a fool. What people say never worried Miss Fish. She

gave birth to Cully back when having a baby out of wedlock was unheard of.

She refused to quietly leave town. She refused to give him up for adoption.

Miss Fish held her head high. She marched to the front row of Oak Shore

Baptist Church every Sunday with no husband and little Cully boy in her

arms. She made them love Cully. And they did. All the men in the

community became his daddy. He had cousins galore. They patted his curly,

black head and swung him high in the air. They built him a flat bottom skiff.

He spent his childhood in that boat with crab pots and nets. He was a fine,

strong boy.

…..Cully paid them all back by moving upstate. Mr. Big Shot computer

programmer. He lives in a fancy mansion in some subdivision that smells like

lettuce. He just turned forty, and he looks like an old man. Always talking

about how stressed out he is. His prissy little wife acts like she smells dog

crap when they visit once a year. And the kids! Two sad, fat boys who don’t

even act like boys at all. They sit on the couch all day staring at gadgets in

their hands. Whoever heard of an eight-year-old with a cell phone? Kids

should be out in boats or playing in the woods.

…..She wonders what happened, where she went wrong. Miss Fish was the

first and only woman in the county to become a captain. She knows

currents, wind, and tide like the back of her two big hands. She ought to

be taking those kids out on the water and showing them a thing or two. If she

hadn’t let Cully sell the boat, she would be on it right now.

…..Miss Fish was so proud of Cully when he went to college. He was the first

one in the family to go. Then he came back and announced that he didn’t

want to be a fisherman. Well, that’s his choice. But he could have at least

helped her on some of the campaigns. For years now, she has fought on

behalf of the small commercial fisherman. She has protested, written letters,

joined groups, gone to meetings. She even goes to the capitol to speak for

them. “You just can’t fight it, Mama,” Cully says. “There are too many

government regulations. The price of fuel is too high. Too many of the

waters are closed. Real estate is the only way to make any money around

here anymore. You could sell this place, get a nice condo in town, and never

have to worry about finances for the rest of your life.”

…..A condo! They may as well put her in jail. She won’t do it, not even

for Cully. Miss Fish hears an engine in the distance. It might be the Coast

Guard. They’ll climb on the roof and carry her off. The muscles in the backs

of her legs are knotting up in cramps. She scoots her backside a little to see if

she can move. That doesn’t work too well, so she lays down on her stomach

and slides toward the chimney. Shingles come loose under her as she

moves. She pants. The skin on her arms is on fire.

…..She makes it to the chimney and catches her breath. The sun has come

out now in full force. It is so hot. She wishes she had her canteen. Her

tongue has never felt so dry. She wonders how much time has passed. It may

have only been minutes, but it feels like hours. Mosquitos swirl around her

eyes. Her leg below the knee is bleeding. She takes off her bandana and ties

it tight around her leg.

…..It used to be that the wishes of elders were respected. When Cap’n Orrie

wanted to die on his boat, people let him. Nobody rushed him to the hospital

to be hooked up with tubes and machines. His time came, and he left the way

he wanted to go. Rocking gently in his boat on a soft pile of old nets.

…..Miss Fish sits up and leans against the chimney. She’ll rest for a minute

and get over this dizzy spell. If she can get a good toe hold on the chimney,

she’ll climb inside. They’ll never reach her in there. If they try, she’ll jab

their hands with her little pocket knife.

…..The helicopter circles above her head again. How they would love to see

an old fool drown! She sees the boat coming closer. Heat shimmers on the

roof. She feels like she might throw up. She looks down at her backyard.

Clothes are hanging in the tree limbs. The red and blue patchwork quilt

Grandma made looks like a jellyfish flapping in the water. Little white squares

float all over the yard. She hopes it’s not the box of pictures she tried to

shove up in the rafters. She sees a patch of green cloth float by. Maybe that’s

Cully’s boyscout uniform.

…..Her little Cully. He was such a sweet boy. He used to peek around the

corner of her bedroom to see if she was awake every morning. Then he’d grin

with those two front teeth missing. He couldn’t wait to get to the fish house.

When he grew up, he couldn’t wait to get away.

…..It is so hot. So hot. Little white spots dance in front of her eyes. The

water has leveled off now. If they would just leave her alone, she could make

it. The men on the boat are coming too fast. She can see them now. Their

faces are young and round. She hears the beeping of crazy computers inside

their boat. A boy talks on a radio and looks bored. Miss Fish gets on her

knees and puts her arms around the chimney. She hangs onto the chimney.

She stands up.

…..She never said Cully had to be a fisherman. Even after he came back from

college, she didn’t pressure him to go out on the boat with her. He sat in the

back room for days at a time. He liked to build computers. He could take an

engine apart and put it back together when he was in the tenth grade. It

seemed logical that he’d want to work with some kind of machine. She

cooked his supper every night and left it covered on a little table by his

closed door. She tried to leave him alone.

…..But Cully could have helped his people with the computers. He could

have spread the word. All she wanted him to do was help her make a flyer.

She made flyers with an old typewriter. His machines could make fancy

colored letters and spit out twenty of them at a time. “This dump is not worth

saving!” he screamed. He crumpled up her handmade flyer and moved out

that night.

…..Miss Fish feels faint. Her legs buckle. She tries to hold onto the chimney,

but her hands slip. She falls on her side and begins rolling. Sky, roof, sky,

roof. It feels like she is rolling into space. Any second now, she will feel the

drop. The warm water will clap around her body.

…..She stops rolling. She is on her stomach again, still on the roof. Her body

is perpendicular to the gutter. Her face hangs over the edge. Miss Fish

stretches her arms sideways and feels shingles. She digs her fingers

underneath the shingles as hard as she can. She should have kept going. If

she rocks her body back and forth, she can roll into the water. It will only

hurt for a little while.

…..Miss Fish pants. The sun slaps like a demon against her body. A wild

horse floats by, struggling to swim. It is a pretty one, dark brown with a

blond mane. It holds its head above the water as far as it can. Its eyes are

rolled back and white. Slowly, the head goes under. It comes up again. Then

it goes down. The eyes disappear.

…..There’s a pile of muddy nets wrapped around the trunk of the live oak

tree. The net is full of trash and beer cans. There’s the gold lace tablecloth

Almeeta gave her. There’s a crab pot buoy. She sees more things from her

house float by. But she can’t imagine what they are anymore. Colors appear

beneath the surface and turn into a thick, gray line. Everything looks the

same.

…..The men climb up on the roof. In no time, she hears boots thudding

toward her. Hard hands grab Miss Fish around the waist. They flip her over

on her back. They cut her shirt and favorite jeans from her body. The hands

wrap her in a scratchy, wet sheet. Quickly, they carry her down. She refuses

to cry.

Posted in Short Stories | Tagged aging, characterization, fiction, loss, loss of culture, loss of heritage, New South, overdevelopment, short story | 34 Comments

34 Responses

on May 11, 2009 at 3:03 pm Catherine Vibert

Julie, I have never read a short story from you before. This is simply amazing, and so poignant. I was right there with her on the roof, and I was so angry with Cully for thoughtlessly ripping up her flyer. He is a thoughtless person with a sad lack of compassion. I love Ms. Fish and I feel absolutely terrible for her. Is she based on someone real?

***********************************************************

Hi, Cat. Thanks so much. Most of the places I can find that publish fiction don’t want a story if it has been posted on a blog. At least the ones I can find. I can’t do flash, so I’ve been looking for places that are open to “old school” form. If anybody knows of journals that don’t freak out about fiction that has been on a blog, please let me know.

Yes, Miss Fish is based on a real person (actually a combination of a couple of women).

Cully is representative of the new world. He’s not necessarily a bad person. The story is coming completely from her point of view. Maybe she was bugging the crap out of him when he crumpled up her flyer…ha!

Thanks so much, dear Cat. It’s always great to see you. I appreciate your support! -Julie
on May 11, 2009 at 3:33 pm Christopher

{{{Julie}}}

Juggernaut

Like a tree standing
in the volcano’s ashy
path, like being stuck
on the straight iron
tracks, foot caught, staring,
standing upright still,
like being lynched, lynched
in this day and age, this rude
life takes us, takes us.
on May 11, 2009 at 3:47 pm Julie

Christopher, your poem is awesome. Thank you so much! You always have powerful endings…those last two lines are right on. I love it:)

Have a beautiful day & thank you again!
on May 11, 2009 at 4:18 pm Brigindo

I love Miss Fish! and the story. Really pulls you into the moment but also manages to make you see another side. Who wouldn’t want to save an old woman from off the roof? Unfortunately we just don’t consider that the elderly have thoughts of their own.
on May 11, 2009 at 4:36 pm Julie

Hi, Brigindo! Your words about the elderly are so true. My mother used to take me to visit people in nursing homes. It was one of the best lessons she ever taught me. Then when I was a teenager, I worked in housekeeping at a nursing home. I was startled at how the staff talked to the residents. It was the same voice people use to talk to puppies. Things have changed somewhat, but I still notice that condescending voice in some nursing homes I visit now. Older people are a wealth of knowledge, yet they often get treated like they don’t know anything.

Thanks so much, Brigindo! I appreciate your comments.
on May 11, 2009 at 10:19 pm Karen

Julie, whether you are writing poetry or short stories, you manage to tell the right story in the right way. This is especially meaningful to me today while people in two counties in WV are trying to deal with the aftermath of horrible flooding. I wonder how many old folks are thinking Miss Fish’s thoughts about leaving their homes?

I admire Miss Fish’s strength. She dealt with the town when she had Cully, became the first female pilot, worked and put Cully in college and was strong enough to survive his defection. Now she hasn’t gone down without a fight, and she refuses to cry.

I hate to think what will happen to her now.

This story really moves me, Julie.
on May 11, 2009 at 10:35 pm Julie

Oh my gosh, Karen. I didn’t know about the flooding in WV, and I just looked it up. I am so sorry! What I just read said they have called in the National Guard. What a horrible ordeal. I really am sorry. My family home was destroyed after flooding from a hurricane. We weren’t there at the time, so we didn’t have it bad. My friends, on the other hand, had it much worse. Some lost everything.

Thanks so much for your kind words, Karen. I appreciate having you as a reader…and a friend.
on May 11, 2009 at 11:30 pm harrietsdaughter

Beautiful. Thank you.
on May 11, 2009 at 11:57 pm Julie

hi, harrietsdaughter. Thank you very much:) I appreciate the kind words.
on May 12, 2009 at 1:41 am Annie King

Hi Julie, Your ending- which would ordinarily be viewed as happy- is so sad, and telling. They cut off Miss Fish’s clothes (the last of what she has left, in terms of material things), wrap her in a tarp to cart her off, and you know where she’ll probably end up- in a nursing home. Maybe not. Maybe Cully will take her to his home, but that’s not what she wants, either.

You keep a sense of momentum and rhythm throughout Miss Fish’s story, securing both the reader’s attention and emotions. Like a good poem, everything you include is essential to the picture, and the effect is cumulative. This is one of my favorite lines: “Now Almeeta’s laying in a nursing home, dying with the hard hands of strangers flipping her over twice a day.”

I don’t know about places that will publish stories that have appeared online, other than Glimmer Train.

As the reader, I’m glad Miss Fish was rescued. If she ends up in that nursing home, I don’t think she’ll be there long. She’ll collect the insurance (if she has any) and start over somewhere; or she’ll run away and find her own kind of peace, or she’ll come to terms with her son and find out he’s not so bad after all. (The sign of a good story: You’ve made Miss Fish real!)

*****************************************************

I always mix up my comments…lol! Yours is below, Annie. -J
on May 12, 2009 at 2:55 am Annamari

I love it (because it is so alive, again you capture the way people , like Miss Fish, used to be so well – I still remember the thoughts of the young baptist girl )

I guess that, to a point, we are all caught between two worlds…

*****************************************************

Hi, Annamari. Great point. We’re all caught between two worlds (or maybe more than two). I feel it in my own life. Cully definitely feels it in his. Thanks so much for the good words, Annamari! -Julie
on May 12, 2009 at 3:07 am Kimberli

How do you do this? Line after line displayed an amazing story filled with vivid images and feelings (did you have to kill the horse? What do you mean you were making a point?)

Nice work!

*****************************************************

Hi, Kimberli. Thanks so much. You’re too good to me:) I had to laugh about the horse comment, because my husband said the same thing. Ha! Ha!

Thanks, as always, for being here to lift me up, Kimberli. -Julie
on May 12, 2009 at 3:14 am Julie

Hi, Annie. Thank you very much for the careful reading and thoughtful observations. I may end up changing the last sentence, though I’m not sure yet. Originally, I thought the word “cry” was a bit much, and too intrusive for the narrator to use (like holding up a sign and saying, “Look at this…it’s so sad).

But I like the idea of having one thing left that she can refuse to do. The refusal to cry is her last act of power in her life (or at least she thinks it is). Still, I may end up changing it. I tried really hard to keep the point of view consistent and don’t want to shift it on the last sentence. Often, I’ve found that when a little voice nags at me, it’s probably right.

The discovery is the fun part, isn’t it?

Thanks for the Glimmer Train info. I didn’t realize they’d take previously posted stories. I like the stories I’ve read there.

And thanks again for your kind comments and encouragement! It’s great to talk to you:)
on May 12, 2009 at 3:54 am Rachel Westfall

Oh, Julie. Bravo! I’m with Miss Fish, all the way down. I love the bit where she was going to hide in the chimney and stick them with her pocket knife if they tried to grab her.

*****************************************************

Hello, Rachel! My husband thought that one was mean, too. LOL! She might have jabbed them if she could have. But what we say and what we actually do are often completely different things. Thanks for pointing that one out and for your kind words:) -Julie
on May 12, 2009 at 12:42 pm Annie King

Hi Julie, I didn’t think the ending was sad because of the last sentence; I thought it was sad because of the last paragraph, the rescue that should be happy, but for her is sad. So, I’m not sure I’d change it. It makes sense that she’d want to cry, but she’s not going to, the one act of defiance available to her, like you said. And, I just noticed the “hard hands” in the final paragraph, which I hadn’t even noticed before, which alludes to the beginning and what is probably her biggest fear. Also, I didn’t read it as the narrator saying “she refuses to cry.” I read it as Miss Fish deciding she wouldn’t cry, which keeps it in her point of view. So, I like the ending, as it is; but if something is nagging… there’s probably something you’d like to change. For me, the ending was effective.
on May 12, 2009 at 1:53 pm Julie

Thanks, Annie. Your comments are a big help. My worry with that one was a shift, so that’s great to hear. I’m glad you noticed the hard hands flipping her over. Yes, the nursing home is her biggest fear. Moving anywhere is a huge fear for her, though. She sees it as a loss of her way of life.

Miss Fish is a very strong woman, so she could probably live in another house and do well physically for years. But in her mind, leaving her home is the end of the line, the end of her culture.

In many ways, she’s right. The younger generation in her world is moving away for economic reasons. The older generation is dying. She’s holding onto the last shingle as hard as she can.

Thank you, Annie! You have been a big help to me. I appreciate it very much. -Julie
on May 12, 2009 at 6:55 pm johemmant

Spectacular. Really spectacular. I take my hat off to you. Again.
on May 12, 2009 at 7:14 pm Julie

Hi, Jo! Thank you so much.

P.S. – Where’s your poem? I’m Jonesing to read it🙂
Or is that Jonesin’? In other words, I can’t do without it!
on May 12, 2009 at 11:03 pm soulintention

Julie, great story – I know a Miss Fish here in the town where I live – she fights tooth and nail against progress – its justs so happen she is from Georgia – living in this town for 30 years – she will go down fighting for the trees and the river —

Great Story—
on May 13, 2009 at 12:00 am Julie

Hi, Barbara. That is so cool! I bet there are people like her everywhere.

Actually, my best friend back home comes to mind first. She’s not a senior citizen, but she has many of the same attributes Miss Fish does, like determination.

I am so proud of my friend. She works endless hours, and it’s often a thankless job and uphill battle. Many people (like me) have moved away to go to school or get better jobs. Others seem to throw up their hands, ready to give up. But she has stayed and has rallied others to help preserve the heritage of the area. It’s nice to know there are leaders like her still around!

Thanks so much, Barbara. I like hearing about your Miss Fish!
on May 13, 2009 at 5:44 am Michelle

I love Miss Fish, Julie! You’ve drawn her so well that I feel I know her. I want to reach out and stroke her wrinkled cheek, tell her everything will be okay (she’d probably smack me). 😉 Stunning stuff, girlfriend.

*****************************************************

Nah, she wouldn’t smack you. She knows who the good people are:) Thanks, Michelle! -Julie
on May 13, 2009 at 2:09 pm jorc709

This is just awesome! I know her, Miss Fish. I know her obstinance, her love of this place, her fight for what little she has that she calls home…thank you for sharing her with us. What a great story!…jorc
on May 13, 2009 at 4:19 pm Julie

Hi, Jorc! It’s great to see you. “Love of this place” is the perfect way to put it. Thanks for the kind words.
on May 14, 2009 at 1:10 am K. Lawson Gilbert

This blew me away, Jules!!! Your strong southern voice is the south itself.

“She loves the smell of marsh mud, the mockingbirds in the trees. Every cypress root and thick patch of moss on this beautiful black ground sings her name. ”

You experience the world around you, as if examining it under a microscope. You find every little nuance in daily existence and make it as important to a character’s life as breathing – because it is. You have stored in your brain everything you have ever seen – and put it to use in your works. – That is what makes your work so rich and vibrant.

I don’t even know how to say how impressive this is. Excellent Voice and POV. The narrator is speaking, not only about Miss Fish, but for her. It is just a wonderful device for this type of piece. I can’t find ordinary words to comment here. I would have to create a new language to express how fine this is.
on May 14, 2009 at 1:25 am Julie

Thank you so much, K. Those are wonderful compliments, and I take them to the heart, because they come from you:) Thank you for all of the encouragement and friendship. It means a lot to me.
on May 17, 2009 at 12:34 am Poetikat

As usual, I’m late.

I’ll be honest. It’s Saturday night, after dinner and I wasn’t in the mood for a story – just looking for a poem, but as it’s you Julie, I couldn’t just leave without giving it a shot. I was drawn in from the first words and enjoyed every line. Really. No regrets. This was brilliant!

I saw a documentary on the Katrina disaster and those types of images were recalled as I read your story. The way she was holding on to those shingles and then being on the edge of the roof — not able to do it–take the final leap. Amazing how you got in her head. I gulped when the horse disappeared (actually the whites of the eyes got me). Oh, and I loved the quilt looking like the jellyfish.

That line about Almeeta being flipped twice a day by hard hands — that was a killer line for me.

You’ve got a novel in you, I’ll bet.

Kat

**********************************************

Hi, Kat. This one actually started out as a poem (a lot of them do). Then it got so dang long that I finally quit being stubborn and realized it was a short story. The poem was turning into an epic…ha! Thanks so much for your kind words. Have a great weekend! -Julie
on May 17, 2009 at 12:54 am JR

I love the setting of this story – how Miss Fish tries to hang on to what she believes in. It’s evident that in the end, for her to survive, she will have to give up what she so dearly loves. Excellent pacing as well.
on May 17, 2009 at 2:35 am Julie

Hello, JR. Thank you for the good words. I’m especially happy to hear the pacing works for you. I worked really hard on that one. My tendency is to go off on tangents. Me? Tangents? Why, never! Ha! But I went through a couple of drafts to reign it in and keep it consistent. I’m sure I’ll do more work on it in the future. Thanks again & have a great weekend.
on May 21, 2009 at 2:48 am Christine

Wow! Just wonderful. What a character, what a story. It’s interesting too, because I’m always seeing people who refuse to leave their homes as they’re depicted on the news, from helicopters. You really turn the whole perspective inside out. Great stuff.
on May 21, 2009 at 3:30 am Julie

Thanks, Christine. It’s so good to see you. I hope layout of ouroboros is going well. Let me know when it’s out, and I’ll put y’all up here.
on May 23, 2009 at 11:46 pm nan

Hey Julie, It’s good to see a short story from you! I was more upset about the horse going under–envisioning its terror, than about Miss Fish, because to me, that she hung around long enough to let them (yes, let them; she *could* have just let herself drop over the edge but she didn’t) rescue her meant she wasn’t gonna let go of *life* either. She’ll be fine. She’ll argue with CUlly, who will think she’s crazy–for a while. THen he’ll remember his childhood… or an old friend of hers will remind him… SHe might not get *that* home back, but seh sure as shootin’ won’t wind up in a nursing home.

Yeah, you managed to make them all come vividly alive when we’re all speculating on what happens after the story!
on May 24, 2009 at 12:40 am Julie

Hi, Nan! Yay! I love that you notice how she “hangs on.” She was weak, but if she really wanted to die, she could have done it. Yeah, poor little horse. I love wild horses (or any horse). But wild ones are my favorite.

It’s hard to post a story, because once it’s up on a blog, most places I know don’t want to read it. A lot of the lovely journals where I have poetry are cool about it, but they’ve already been so nice to me. I hate to swamp them with a bunch of fiction.

Thanks so much, Nan. It’s great to see you!!
on May 24, 2009 at 4:39 pm nan

Ya know, we *could* put together a little book from blurb.com….
on May 25, 2009 at 3:21 am Julie

I like that idea, Nan. I love the stories you have published. Actually, I’ve been thinking a lot about doing something like that. My only problem right now is time. After the chapbook and a bunch of other projects wrap up this summer, I’d love to look more into it. If I have any hair left. HA! HA! It’s not that I don’t love what I’m doing, though. And I guess I can write without hair😀