Jackson Tel Writes

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How many writers does it take to drag a corpse wrapped up in a $15,000 Persian Rug from the smoking lounge of a Duke's castle, down a semi-circular flight of marble steps, out the grand entranceway, then around the gravel driveway loop to a rented delivery van before the police arrive?

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Baby Estella, tiny clenched hands up for balance, teetered determinedly across the iwan gathering space to her grandfather, Aghavni.

The delighted guests at the Sevsaryan family reunion applauded the toddlers' balancing act.

The old scholar, Aghavni, scooped up his only grandchild and rose to dance the Dabke with her. His four brothers immediately jumped from their seats to join Aghavni in the circular, high-energy foot-stomping celebration.

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Due to a trick by the Gods, Jim and Anna unexpectedly found themselves locked in an intimate embrace at the wedding reception in the church hall.

They were doing the two-step with others on the crowded dance floor, to the music of the Sweets Family Band, and Anna had eyes only for Jim

Simultaneously, Jim was entranced by the accordion virtuoso blowing the roof off the reception hall.

Barely on the cusp of adulthood, the musician with pecan-toned skin, big hazel eyes, button nose, full, smiling lips, and curly, jet-black hair played the accordion as if she were having an orgasm.

Jim was amazed. ‘This girl is the real deal,’ he thought, taking the first opportunity to leave the dance floor and stand before the band with his hands in his pockets to watch and listen.

In early April, Little Sweets started seeing the handsome, trim, intense athlete pedalling his bicycle with abandon through the streets in and around the Fairgrounds. Then she noticed the cyclist appreciatively watching her perform at the recent wedding reception at the Catholic Church.

Soon after that event, she spotted the young man, with regularity, among the crowd on the dancehall floor. And every time she made eye contact with the alluring man, a thrilling spark shot up her spine. That’s what happens when you fall in love with a stranger, isn’t it.

“Engaged?!” Little Sweets protested, as Patty shook her head vehemently up and down, ‘Yes,’ then back and forth sideways in an emphatic ‘don’t-even-think-it’ NO.’

“How would it even work?’ Little Sweets speculated, imagining what it was like to be with the dashing, soon-to-be-married, college athlete with a big smile and captivating eyes.

Seeing the wistful expression on Little Sweets’ face, Patty chastised her, “Listen, you have absolutely no business having those kinds of fantasies about a rich, privileged white man like Mr. Jim Eberton.

Though technically still a child, Little Sweets’ appearance belied her actual age of 15, as she inhabited the mature body of an attractive young woman with strong sexual urges; one who, by the way, turned more than a few randy men’s heads in the street.

“He doesn’t even look white, to me,” Little Sweets argued.
“Then, what then does he look like…to you, dear girl?” Patty mocked..

“Yummy.” Little Sweets answered, closing her eyes and clasping her hands together in a make-believe swoon, “Absolutely yummy.”

At that, the two confidants snorted with amusement, which turned into giggling, which escalated into laughter that culminated in hilarity as they fell onto the bed, side by side.

When their laughter subsided, Little Sweets abruptly sat up to soberly conclude, “But he’s engaged and ‘that’s that.”

“And ‘that’s that!’” Patty agreed by ceremoniously pounding her palm down on the blankets. She then said mischievously, “But, I hope you don’t mind if I have a crack at him,” which elicited a ‘don’t-you-dare’ punch on the arm from Little Sweets.

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Stories by Jackson Tel

Go to the Jackson Tel Flipbook Stories Library:

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My editor, Dalena Faith, has something pithy to say about dangling prepositions:

"You can first figure out where in tarnation you are going to? Or just start dangling wherever you are at."

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Ending sentences with a preposition is a sin I repeat over and over again. It's a recurring grammatical faux pas I am trying to break free of.

0000-REVIEW COPY-1906-The Black Jellybeans EPISODE ONE Review Copy of The Black Jellybeans EPISODE ONE

Free Flipbook copy of The Black Jellybeans EPISODE ONE for Goodreads reviewers.

Flipbook:
online.fliphtml5.com/vqcix/inju/

Some people won’t talk when they are mad at you. The silence is the punishment. Anna, on the far side, exploded into a full-blown, insane asylum-tantrum that made spoiled-rotten squalling toddlers look well-behaved, ranting until you wanted to kill yourself or her, whichever was more expeditious.

I just have to say that time is a myth, and this moment is the only one.

All that hubbub we are so earnestly trying to measure is caused by an immense cloud of buzzing atoms busy combining and recombining to become stuff that does stuff.

Take it with a grain of salt, balanced on a grain of sand.

I prefer to stretch the facts, not the truth. As long as the facts don't snap, I'm good. The truth is sacred and must be kept pure. Things get murky when you dilute the truth. But facts are less like water and sunlight, and more like muscle and brain. The latter are meant to be stretched.

Two whirlwind weeks later, when Jim proposed to Anna, she said yes. The deciding factor was that he was supportive of her becoming a doctor, unlike every other eligible man she had met in St. Louis so far, who felt threatened by the prospect.

“That’s great, Anna,” he had said, “You make a great doctor. I could help you out with the tuition, but it would come at a price.”