Shorts: A Collection of Short Fiction

A Box of Weeds

Isaiah needed to pee. His father hadn't stopped the truck in hours, and he looked cranky.

The box sat between his mother's feet on the floor. Her sweaty face turned to look behind them, again. His parents seemed nervous. Could the box be a gift for him?

No. His birthday was still five months away. He'd be nine. And since this was the hottest part of the summer, Christmas was pretty far down the road, too.

All he knew was they didn't have the box when they began their journey to Oregon, and somewhere during the trip, the box showed up. They were heading home now. They crossed the Idaho border about ten minutes earlier.

"Damn it!" His father shouted beside him and swerved off the road.

"Flat tire?" his mom questioned.

"I'm afraid so."

His dad jumped out of the truck and set to work putting on the spare. His mom prayed aloud.

"Please, Lord, don't let any highway patrolmen come this way. We're good people. I know this is against the law. Please keep us safe and in your loving embrace. Amen."

She opened her eyes and patted Isaiah's head.

Isaiah slid out the driver's side door to relieve himself while his father worked.

"I told her it was too dangerous bringing that much weed over state lines..."

"There's weeds in that box?" Isaiah asked.

His father's head snapped up from the tire. "Get back in the truck."

His words stung, but Isaiah obeyed. How could weeds be illegal?

He was even more confused when they returned home and his parents presented the box of weeds to his grandma who had cancer. His mom looked happy now.

They must have cheered Grandma up because she began to cry.

Isaiah wondered if all families were as weird as his.