“First Times” by Jennifer L. Turney— Our March 2026 Silver Medal Winner
Jennifer is our second place winner from the contest posted in our March 2025 issue!
What the judges had to say:
“Strong motivations, clear characterization. Everything believable. The beginning is crisp and pulls the reader in.”
“Right away I was able to relate to the main character...”
“There is something lovely and simple about this story. It has a quiet energy that I enjoyed.”
Meet Jennifer
One of Jennifer L. Turney's first stories ever published was in Blank Spaces Magazine. A lot of her stories come from real conversations, real memories with people that inspired her or made her smile. When she's not looking for a new hot sauce or trying to grow her own peppers, she's happy to be at home with a book and her best cat-friend Brian. She believes there is inspiration everywhere and in every thing if we keep ourselves open to the moment.
First Times
the unedited story by Jennifer L. Turney
“So, I’ll drop you off here and be back in about an hour. Sound good?”
Another question that wasn’t really a question. She would be back in an hour. She was wired that way, scheduled. I used to know someone like that.
I kept my eyes fixed on the door handle, eager to make my escape. I nodded, a slight untruth. I was used to being rushed about, but I wasn’t eager to step out of the car.
It was the first time; another first. Everything lately felt that way even though I’d been treading on the earth for almost 75 years. I was tired of ‘first times’.
The first time I woke up without her. We’d never spent a night apart in our 50 married years.
The first time I called out to ask where I’d left my glasses; the silence echoing in the emptiness her absence left behind was infuriating.
The first telemarketer calling and asking for my misses.
“No,” I’d whispered. “No, she’s not here anymore.”
The person on the other end of the line apologized.
“Yeah,” I’d said into the dropped line. “Yeah, I’m sorry too.”
I’d replaced the phone onto the cradle and watched the cord dangle and sway, remembering how she used to wrap her fingers in it over the years, stretching it across the kitchen while she gabbed and stirred soup on the stove.
“Dad,” my daughter’s voice brought me back from the freefall. “I’ll see you in an hour.”
“Yes,” I managed to chirp out, opening the door and stepping out onto the sidewalk.
I turned back and gave her what I hoped was a smile, my eyes meeting her nervous gaze. She was worried. Hell, I was worried. Barely a month had passed and every day I was met with reminders of how good I had it and how much my dearest had done for me.
As she pulled away from the curb, my cane helped me tap my way across the sidewalk to the door I’d walked through countless times before. The neon OPEN sign felt like the only upgrade in 5 decades; the original painted barber pole was safe behind the front window.
I reached up to grip the handle and paused.
So many times I’d had something ready to say; a joke I’d read in the paper, a headline we’d all beat to death with nostalgia and gripes of what the world was coming to. I didn’t know what to say this time. It felt like I wasn’t bringing the obligatory dish to the potluck.
A push had the door swing open, the brass bell announcing me and the step inside an inch or two higher than my knees remembered. I hung my coat on the hook, tossed my hat onto the shelf with the others, and took the seat nearest the door. The cracked leather cushion and wood frame creaked the same way my joints did in the morning.
Russell was on the left, the chair in the corner like a cat in the sunshine, glasses perched on the end of his nose, buried in the paper. Gus was flinging the drape off his latest victim in the chair, brushing the stray bits from the back of his collar onto the checkered floor where his nephew would sweep them away momentarily, once he’d taken the cash into the register.
“Jacque-O,” he called over.
How Gladdy had hated that nickname. It made me grin remembering it.
“Why do men do that?” she’d asked. “Jacques is a distinguished name, it doesn’t need…” she motioned with her hands, searching for the right word to capture her distaste.
Unable to help myself, I looked up from the television, “Embellishment?” I teased.
The look she gave me, that side eye.
It was never part of a conversation again from what I could remember, but the look on her face every time she heard my name butchered could have melted the ice off Everest.
I braced myself, using the chair arms to stand and made my way towards the chair.
Everything felt uncomfortable. I hadn’t been here since it happened. I wondered who had talked about it, if they knew details, if they’d ask.
Russell gave me a nod and went back to his crossword respectfully. He’d had 3 wives throughout his life and didn’t seem to miss any of them.
The nephew rushed to skim the broom ahead of me, whisking the hair to the corner.
He looked up at me briefly, “Sorry, Excuse me Mister Jacque-O, sir,” and carried on. I wasn’t sure what sort of batteries powered the kid but he always seemed to be moving.
Gus swung the chair my way, parachuting a new drape to cover my clothes, and spun me to face the mirror.
I was anxious, nervous. There was no reason to be. It was just another first, just a haircut she wouldn’t see when I went back to the house.
I took a look at the old guy in the mirror to see if his heart was about to leap out of his chest for no reason like mine was threatening to.
This was my place; Gladdy, bless her heart, she wasn’t missing from here. How could I be missing her?
Gus stepped around me blocking my view for a moment, grabbing a comb and a spray bottle from the counter, the scissors tucked lightly in his shirt pocket.
He combed his way back behind me, “It’s been a while, Jacque-O,” he said, the voice the same as always; familiar, normal. He rested a hand on my shoulder, just a moment, long enough for him to nod at my reflection. “It’s good to see you.”
“Are you kidding?” Russell croaked from his corner, “The Mets lost again!”
Gus glanced away and I stifled a chuckle.
It was a strange comfort to see not everything had changed.
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