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Fiction Short Story

by Rhonda Parrish

Big Bear

Dust covered the leather tack that hung on the walls and the air was thick with smoke. Loud country music blared from the old jukebox, and the handful of patrons raised their voices to be heard over it. They were all men, all but the waitress, Kelly, who weaved her way through the maze of tables and bodies with practiced ease, a tray full of beer bottles balanced on one hand and a perpetual smile on her lips.

Suddenly, the door slammed open, bouncing against the wall, and every head pivoted to see why. A native man stood in the doorway; bits of his short hair stuck out in every direction, his arms red with blood all the way up to his elbows. With eyes wide with alcohol-fuelled fear, he looked around from one pale face to another.

"Help! Liz got bit by a bear!"

"Bit by a bear?" One old farmer shook his head. "This is rural Alberta, Amos, we ain't got no bears. Cougars sometimes, but no bears."

"She got bit by a bear!" He used his hands to emphasize the word big, then continued, "A big bear! Call an ambulance."

"It'll take an ambulance at least an hour to get here—you’d be better off putting her in your car and driving her there yourself."

"But she'll bleed all over!"

Kelly sighed, well used to the logic of the inebriated, but annoyed just the same. She set down her tray and pointed to the telephone. "Call the ambulance; I'll go see what I can do."

Snatching the first aid kit from under the bar, she raced out the door. Outside, a dozen people crowded around a woman as she lay on the ground beside the bed of a pick-up truck. As the crowd saw Kelly they surged forward and she smelled the strong scent of beer as they neared her—each of them eager to tell their story. Irritably, Kelly pushed them out of the way with assurances that she'd listen later and finally reached the injured woman.

The odour of beer was stronger here, and shards of clear glass littered the ground around Liz, while a puddle of blood grew steadily beneath her foot. The sole of her foot sported a very deep jagged cut and an exceptionally large and bloodied chunk of glass stood nearby. The alcohol in Liz' blood had thinned it, making her bleed even more than normal; it also numbed her pain, making her unaware of the seriousness of her injury.

As Kelly worked to stop the bleeding she looked up at where Liz’ friends and family milled about talking excitedly and laughing about the big bear.

"You know, you could have taken her to the hospital or done first aid instead of making up stories about a bear." She snapped.

Some of the crowd had the grace to look ashamed for a moment, but Liz Snorted with laughter. "I did get bit by a bear."

Kelly, still applying pressure to the gaping hole in Liz’ foot, looked up at her in disbelief. "Liz, you've quite obviously just stepped on a piece of broken glass."

"Nope," the older woman shook her head, her black eyes dancing with mirth. "I dropped my beer when I was jumping out of the truck, then, when I landed, the big bear bit me."

Kelly ground her teeth together and, fed up with drunken foolishness, was just about to spit out an angry reply when she saw it. Lying in the broken glass was a beer label. In the light from the neon bar sign she could clearly read the words "Big Bear Beer."


About the Author
Rhonda Parrish grew up in rural Alberta but eventually moved to the “bustling metropolis” that is Edmonton, Alberta where she lives with her husband and daughter. Her work has been featured in a half dozen publications with more on the way. You can find out more about her at her website.