Single Point Fiction: Uncle Bob's Whereabouts

"Single point fiction" is a genre that I have developed as a refinement to the common short story concept, which advocates that the culmination of a good story should come late, with a twist, taking the reader by surprise. Here, the point is only revealed in the very last sentence. Fasten your seatbelts, ladies and gentlemen, let’s go!

Da-da... da-da... da-da....

“Where are the napkins?” I asked, trying to be helpful. Fourteen guests had napkins on their place settings, three had none.

“Where is uncle Bob?”

Puzzlement and bewilderment momentarily darkened Aunt Freeda’s legendary overview. A perfect host, she had been always, the type you could put in charge of a soup kitchen inside a military detention camp. I’d safely project that if 3,000 starving military prisoners stood in line for their morning bowl of soup, she’d have the surplus to send the last one a big smile.

“Uncle Bob?” I asked quizzically. “He’s...”

Nathan, my younger brother, came in between Aunt Freeda and me. He has that way of making his sister feel important. I wouldn’t say that he takes me for granted, it’s more that for him our relationship came with a “satisfaction guaranteed” lifetime warranty. He will always be satisfied with me, poor unassuming guy, and presupposes that I’ll make do with what I get.

“The double-layered fudge and fruit cake, we’re out!” he said. “You’ve got any more of those, or some suitable substitutions at hand?”

I found him rude, but Aunt Freeda didn’t pick up on that. “It’s... The kitchen counter, ask Stella,” she replied with detachment.

“Stella!” Nathan shouted, as he paced towards the kitchen where the caterer was busy preparing hot chocolate for everyone.

“Now, where was I?” she asked. “I’m sorry.”

“I was about to explain about uncle Bob, his whereabouts,” I reminded her. “He...”

“Sure, that’s right, sweetie!” she said with a strained smile. I noticed a tear in her eye, now understanding that she was really nervous and upset over her husband’s absence.

Their house is like an all-year-round cabin, which sits on a large natural property overlooking the sea. Behind it there are pine woods, which spill pine cones and needles onto the sloping lawn, which extends from both sides of the house and down to the cliff. First-time visitors are under the illusion that the property simply sits upon a cliff right above the ocean, but they’ll discover upon closer inspection that there is a narrow, thinly traveled road that runs parallel with the beach.

Everyone present that day were closely related to Freeda and Bob in some shape or fashion. About a dozen of us were family members, and the rest were neighbors, former colleagues, and good friends. Bob’s birthday was the next day, Monday, which had given him a perfect excuse to defer any celebrations until several years later when his birthday fell on a Saturday. Either he must have gotten mellow in his old age, or someone had talked him into making a celebration out of it: A Sunday brunch and cake arrangement in their lovely home.

“Aunt Freeda, please don’t get upset,” I continued, much more apprehensive than before. “It’s probably nothing. He went out for a walk, I believe, and then he...”

“Come here, sister!” I heard someone whisper loudly into my ear. “I’ve got to show you something, and it has to be right now.”

Nathan pulled me away from Freeda, dragging me across the floor, through the kitchen, and outside to the terrace on the western side of the house. It was a warm September day, I could hear different kinds of birds singing, and there was a mild wind, which grew stronger farther away from the house. How I would have loved to just stand there and listen to sounds of the wind playing with the trees.

“Look!” he said, pointing out towards the ocean.

“I’m looking,” I replied. “It’s blue. Oceans usually are on sunny days.”

“Can’t you see it?” he persisted, now staring at me, adding to my discomfort. Inside stood Aunt Freeda, alone and bewildered, I knew that I was letting her down.

“See what?” I asked.

“It. Come, come!”

He laughed like a boy, which is what he actually still is inside his 38-year old body, pulled my arm, and made me sprint with him towards the far edge of the lawn.

“See it now?” he asked, sounding slightly out of breath.

I nodded with tears in my eyes. Uncle Bob had gone fishing alone, he was sitting about two miles offshore in his tiny boat.