Funny how things don't always happen

I should have known the moment I mentioned my short story in Woman's World that it wouldn't come out when I thought it was supposed to.

It has been interesting, sending short stories to the magazine. I sent my first story to them right after the magazine began publication after reading that they were looking for short fiction. I had to send for a free issue since they didn't sell in the town where I lived. Now they sell everywhere.

Back then the guidelines called for stories no more than 6,000 words. As I submitted, the guidelines changed, dropping first to 4,500 then 3,500. I ended up selling 36 short stories to Woman's World, most of them in that range.

Now the guidelines call for 800 words. Or maybe not since I haven't checked the guidelines this week. They change quickly. But Woman's World is one of the few magazines around that still prints short stories and I'm glad of that. They published my first piece of fiction so I have a special place in my heart for the magazine.

But I have to tell you, I loved the stories when they were longer. It's hard to tell a story in 800 words. I used to love Tima Smith's stories. If you're out there, Tima, I'd love to hear from you. I used to write as Barbara Johnson Smith. Some people thought Tima was just another name I wrote under. I wish. Her stories were better than mine.

I get short story ideas occasionally and I feel the need to write them, though it is frustrating since I think I write much better now than when I used to sell to WW. It seems I might be wrong about that since my favorite short story I've written just came back rejected. An editor at WW(apparently there are a few) said it was too sad and suggested I read the magazine to get a feel for what they are publishing.

Yes, I bristled at that since I have been a loyal reader since their beginning. I know what kind of stories they're buying. I study the market, so to speak. The thing is, I didn't want to do a story about a 20-year-old falling in love. This was a story about a man who could have been anywhere from 25 to 70 who dares to take that first step after a loss. The idea was...

Wait. Better yet I'll attach the story here and you can see what you think.

But first let me say, I loved this story and because of that I committed a sin that every writer is guilty of some time in his or her career. I sent a publisher a story I thought they SHOULD be publishing -- not one like they WERE publishing. So I shouldn't have been surprised to get it back.

But since I still love this story... Here's: Just Like Riding a Bike
by yours truly.

“Are you listening to me?”

Tom smiled at his brother as they finished their lunch. “Yes, you said dating is just like riding a bike.” Except that he hadn’t done either in way too long.

“Amy’s been gone for four years,” Johnny said as if Tom didn’t know that. “She wouldn’t want you to be alone.”

Tom knew that was true, but he also knew there was no one like Amy and for so long she’d been all he could think about.

“I appreciate your concern,” Tom told his brother. “But trust me, I’ll know when it’s time.”
What he couldn’t tell his brother was that he was waiting for a sign from Amy. He knew it sounded crazy, but he believed she would tell him when to move on.

Later that evening, he was sitting on his front porch enjoying the cool breeze when he heard a familiar sound. Squeak, thunk. Squeak, thunk. Squeak thunk.

It surprised him because he realized he’d been hearing the annoying sound this time every evening for the past week but it hadn’t really registered.

Now he looked up to see a woman on a bike round the corner and start by his house. She had short curly reddish-blond hair and when she glanced in his direction there was a wariness in her gaze that he recognized.

“I can fix that,” he called to her surprising himself.

She slowed to a stop. “Sorry?”

“That noise your bike is making.” He motioned for her to wait a minute as he went into his garage and came out with a small oil can.

She stepped off the bike, holding it up as he put a little oil on each pedal.

“There that should do it,” he said. “Try that.”

She took a couple of quiet rotations on the pedals before braking to look back at him as if she was surprised.

“Thank you,” she said as she walked the bike back to where he stood. “I didn’t even realize it was making that noise until it stopped. I guess I’ve had too much on my mind.”

“I know that feeling,” he said smiling. She was about his age, slim and attractive, but it was her cautious smile that tugged at his heartstrings. Instinctively he knew this woman understood loss.
“I’ve been thinking about biking again,” he said into the silence that fell between them. “It’s been years though.”

“For me too. My sister kept telling me I needed to get out of the house. That it would do me good.” She looked away as if embarrassed by revealing so much and he noticed her left hand resting on the handlebars and the fading white line where her wedding band had been.

“Sounds like my brother who’s been encouraging me to…bike again.”

“You too?” She smiled then, her face lighting up at the knowledge she wasn’t alone. “I’m sorry, I’m Sarah. Sarah Branson. It was kind of you to fix my bike for me.”

“Tom Walker,” he said wiping his hand on his jeans before taking hers. Her hand was small and cool in his and jumpstarted something in him that had been lying dormant.

“I moved in a week ago.” She smiled looking a little embarrassed. “But then I guess you knew that since I’ve been biking by your house every evening. I found this old two-speed in the garage when I bought the house and thought…” She shook her head. “I guess I just finally felt the need to get moving.”

He nodded, feeling the same need stir in him.

“Well, thank you again,” she said and he stood back as she climbed on the bike and pedaled quietly down the street.

He watched her go for a few moments before heading back to his garage to put his oil can away.

As he was wondering if he’d have noticed her if her bike pedals hadn’t squeaked, he saw his old ten-speed in a dark corner of the garage.

It was as if Amy was there with him in the dim light of the garage, nudging him to get moving again and he realized he’d been ignoring her nudges for some time now.

He reached for the bike, telling himself that after all this time he’d make a fool of himself his first time out.

Even as he climbed on, he wasn’t sure he was ready for this. Down the street, he saw Sarah in the distance. He wobbled a little as he started pedaling, thinking she must have too.

But then he got his balance and began to pick up speed. Maybe he could still do this after all.

Tom pedaled faster, enjoying the cool breeze on his face. As he caught up with Sarah, he just hoped his brother was right, that dating was just like riding a bike.