Sandpiper Feet

The 2025 Next Generation Short Story Awards Anthology of Winners features two short stories that I penned as chapters in a longer work of fiction. A wise (and well-published) author once told me to write what I know. “Fiction is hard,” he said. “Write about wine,” he said. I took his advice for ten years, but I was recently inspired to take the plunge into the murky waters of make believe when someone close to me made a much more difficult decision – the decision to come out. Sandpiper Feet was inspired by that bravery. The story was a finalist in the LGBTQ+ genre, but won the award in the Wild Card category. The competition and book are supported by the Next Generation Indie Book Awards, the largest International awards program for indie authors and independent publishers. If you prefer holding a book in your hands, you can find one at Headline Books or Amazon

The warm light of dusk shone through the dragonfly’s filigreed wings, illuminating each tiny pane and casting rainbow shadows that Angel captured in her tiny palm. She followed the creature’s movement as it careened off invisible breezes in search of unseen midges. Its wings twitched robotically, sending it forward, backward, and sideways in neck-wrenching maneuvers above the boat’s deck. You are so strange and so beautiful, thought Angel. How can you be so lovely to some and so frightening to others? Angel’s papa sat behind her with his weathered riding boots perched on the port side railing. He lit his pipe and released a stream of white smoke that chased the no-see-ums away. The dragonfly paused midair in confusion and then pivoted leeward in pursuit of prey downwind. Angel turned her attention to the shoreline, where she noticed a man sitting at the water’s edge near a crimson convertible. She smiled and waved her arm in wide, arching circles above her head.

Angel’s papa snapped at his daughter. “Angel, no! We keep to our own kind. Always remember, we are invisible outside of our people.”

Angel’s mood was punctured by her father’s sharp tone. She curled her fists and stomped her foot in anger. “Papa, I am not like our people. I don’t want to be a gypsy!” She crossed her arms tightly across her chest and said, “Why can’t we drive a big red car or live in a regular house?”

“My Angel, this is so much more than a regular house. This house can take us places where other houses cannot go. This house can take us where even a big red car cannot go.”

“But Papa, we live on the river. I want to live on the land like ordinary people.”

Angel’s father looked northward beyond the boat’s bow. The river appeared to narrow upstream, perspective squeezing its opposing shores together into a vanishing point on the horizon. He knew it was a trick played on his eyes but he felt he was sailing into a diminishing world just the same. “My Angel, some people suffer a life constrained to one place, but we are free like the river, free like the wind, free like the birds.”

“I know Papa, but I don’t fit in with the gypsies.” Angel furrowed her brow in distress. “I’m different, Papa.”

“Oh no, my sweet. A gypsy got to be what a gypsy got to be. It is in our nature, just like a horse got to run or a hyena got to laugh. It is a dangerous path when you turn away from your people. That is a choice not to be made lightly.”

“But Papa, I know this in my heart. There is no choice when your heart speaks so plainly to your head.”

“You should talk to Grandmama about this feeling. You are like her in so many ways. You too, have great abilities, and in time your powers may be as great as hers.” He paused in thought before continuing. “Grandmama will tell you it is not good, all this talk of ordinary people. She is a bird, you know. Grandmama has lived among the seagulls.”

“Oh, Papa.” Angel pushed her father’s shoulder. “You’re being silly. Grandmama is a woman. She’s not a seagull.”

“Yes, she is a woman, too. But she has flown with the birds. Ask her. She will tell you great stories about life in the clouds.”

As Angel debated whether to argue further, her grandmother descended the spiral staircase from the houseboat’s roof. She settled into a chair on the deck and said, “My sweet Angel, come and sit on my lap.” The young girl did as she was told. “Now tell me, what is all this talk about being different? Why would you want such a fate?”

“Oh, Grandmama, I don’t want to live on the river. I want to live like other people. I want to be like that man on the shore.”

“Oh no, my little one. It is bad juju to talk this way. You don’t know what drives this man. Maybe he sits at the riverside because he longs to be a gypsy.”

Angel didn’t like the way the conversation was going and changed the subject. “Papa says you have lived with the birds.”

Grandmama closed her eyes and felt her attention drawn inward to where a lifetime of memories hung in the mist. Her fingertips twitched as she turned pages in the family bible she held in her mind’s eye. A breeze caught the tree branches tied to the boat’s hull and made a sound like rustling pages. Their people’s story wasn’t written down in the public records of the courthouse. Family histories were handwritten in that part of the bible set aside for such matters. In Louisiana, bibles like this were as legally binding a record as anything found in the dusty storerooms of the state capital. Histories that weren’t found in the family bible were kept in the memories of the elders.

“Grandmama?”

“Shh,” whispered Angel’s Papa. “Grandmama is drifting through the memories of our people to find the one you seek. Give her time.”

Grandmama first felt the waters rising and falling beneath her. As darkness gave way to light, she saw the seafoam surrounding her, stretched thin over the water’s surface like cobwebs in an attic. Floating nearby were her friends, Theodosia and Reynaldo, and their son Jonah. Watching over them all was the wise one, Eliana. They were laughing and cackling the way seagulls do. The sound wasn’t like the caw of the crows, who were sullen and moody, or like the screech of the hawks, who were all business. The cackles of the seagulls rang like laughter, full of cheerfulness and joy to those who understood its meaning.

Grandmama had found the memory she was searching for and opened her eyes to the present world. “That was a long time ago, my Angel, but it is true nonetheless. I knew someone like you in that world, a little bird named Jonah.”

Angel smiled and snuggled deeper into her grandmother’s lap.
Grandmama slipped back into the private realm of memory. She knew not to underestimate the mystical power of the history stored there. Vaporous visions competed for her attention. They tugged at her like déjà vu, tempted her with the dangerous bait of nostalgia, and pulled her relentlessly towards the emotional riptides of her past. In this inner sanctum, a single recollection could lift you up or drag you down and she knew this memory had a current capable of pulling her under with its turbulent strength. Grandmama opened her eyes and let the story unfold.

“One day Jonah said to his father, ‘Why do I have these big, clumsy feet? I want feet like the sandpipers so I can run in the surf.’

“’That is a bad idea, Jonah,’ said Reynaldo. ‘You can’t paddle in the ocean currents with such bony feet.’

“’But if I had toes, I could run with the sandpipers, free and fast and happy on the beach. It is where I belong, father. It is where I have always belonged.’

“Theodosia paddled nearer. ‘But Jonah, you are a seagull, not a sandpiper. You need webbed feet to walk in the deep sand where we nest.’

“’Oh mother, get with the times. Webbed feet are so … so amphibian.’

“Eliana, her eyes cloudy with age but her mind clear with wisdom, looked at Jonah. ‘Why do you talk this way, little one? You are a seagull. We are a proud race. For centuries we have weathered storms and comforted sailors at sea.’

“’I don’t care about any of that,’ snapped the youngster. ‘Ever since I was a chick, I knew I was meant to be with the sandpipers.’

“Before Eliana could respond, a squadron of pelicans in the clouds overhead raised an alarm. They spotted a shark and their warning sent panic through the clan. Beneath Eliana, a shadow appeared and she flapped her wings wildly as the beast’s gaping mouth opened and surged upwards. Her webbed feet caught the current and propelled her skyward a split second before the shark broke water and closed its jaws on empty air. With a great crescendo, the birds rose in unison, circled over the waves, and searched the crowded sky for loved ones.”

“Oh, Grandmama!” gasped Angel. “Were you scared?”

“Yes, my Angel, but that shark went hungry because the birds looked out for one another that day. Later that night we gathered in the warm sand and listened to the elders tell stories of other sharks and other seagulls who weren’t as lucky as Eliana.

“Jonah wasn’t interested in the stories of the elders and he came to me on the outskirts of the flock. ‘You will help me,’ he demanded. ‘I know you are not one of us. I have seen you change from a bird into a human. You are a sorceress disguised as a bird and you will cast a spell and give me feet like the sandpipers.’”

Angel looked up in wonder. “What did you do, Grandmama?”

“I tried to talk sense to Jonah. I told him it was foolishness, but he wouldn’t listen to reason. He threatened to tell the others if I didn’t help him. It is very dangerous to expose a dreamwalker. Things gone wrong in that world could keep me from returning to this world. I did not want to risk losing all that is precious here, especially now that you are in my life.”

Angel cuddled deeper into her grandmother’s lap and blinked away the tears that stung behind her eyes.

Grandmama closed her eyes on the present and felt herself surrendering to the irresistible pull of the past. Angel gave her grandmother a gentle nudge.

“Are you okay, Grandmama?”

The old woman snapped to attention. “Oh yes, yes. This was many years ago, but it is very powerful, this memory.” She steadied her breath and her heart and then returned to Jonah’s story. “I couldn’t sleep for worrying about what would happen if he revealed my secret. At midnight I gave Jonah what he wanted. He knew that I was not of his world and I had to protect my secret.

“The next morning there was a great commotion among the seagulls. Reynaldo disapproved of his son’s change and cast him from the roost. Theodosia followed Jonah to the beach where she witnessed starlings and magpies laughing and teasing him. She saw the crows chasing Jonah and saying terrible, hateful things to him.” Grandmama looked into Angel’s eyes and said, “Nobody was surprised by this because everybody knows that crows are assholes.”

Angel smiled. She liked it when Grandmama spoke to her like an adult.

“Later that day I found Jonah running in the surf with the sandpipers. The waves chased him in, lapped over his tiny toes, and retreated into the foamy sea. I had never seen him so happy. His calling could not be denied and despite the pain and the danger, Jonah did not regret his decision.
“That afternoon Jonah grew lonely for the company of his clan and flew out to the ocean to join the other seagulls floating on the waves. Eliana said, ‘Have you had enough of being what you are not? A seagull cannot be a starling or a sandpiper any more than it can be a shark or a human.’

“Jonah looked at me knowingly and then spoke to Eliana. ‘You know so little of this world. I have the feet of a sandpiper because I’ve always known in my heart that I am a sandpiper.’

“At that moment, Reynaldo’s shout pierced the air and sent a thousand feathers ruffling in fear. The shark had returned and the flock rose from the sea as one. Jonah tried to paddle with his new feet but the ocean waters ran through his toes. He flapped his wings furiously but he could not lift off without the thrust of webbed feet.

“The shark spotted Jonah and turned towards the floundering bird. From above, Theodosia screeched, ‘Fly, Jonah, fly!’ The flock made suicidal dives at the shark’s head and shouted terrible things about the beast’s mother. They pecked and scratched at its monstrous back but the beast raced toward Jonah as he struggled in the surf.

“Jonah’s screams rose above all other sounds and his father Reynaldo dropped from the clouds onto the shark’s back. He bit into its exposed fin again and again. The shark rolled over and pulled Reynaldo under the waves. Then the beast turned, opened its jaws, and lunged upward towards Jonah. When it broke water, Reynaldo was still holding on, his beak drawing blood from the shark’s fin. The splashing and thrashing seemed to go on for a full minute but when the waters settled, we saw that Reynaldo had been thrown to safety but Jonah was missing.”

Angel looked up into her grandmother’s face and noticed, for the first time, the weariness that this memory had wrought. Her grandmother’s eyes had grown dark and Angel sensed the remorse behind their opaque façade. “Oh, Grandmama, that is so sad.”

“All creatures are born into a clan, my sweet Angel. It is the reason a bird comes home to roost. It is why they say birds of a feather flock together. But it is also true that everyone is born with a unique coat of feathers that they must grow into it if they are ever to be happy.” She paused to see if Angel understood. “It means that some creature’s destination lies outside their clan.”

Angel turned back to shore and spotted the crimson convertible driving up the grassy slope toward the levee’s peak. “I think Jonah was like that. He had to listen to his heart even if it meant he had to leave his clan.”

Grandmama followed Angel’s gaze over the port side railing. “Some folks have to go where their voice tells them to go, but you should know that on that path there lies great danger.” She paused as the crimson convertible disappeared behind the levee’s peak. “Great danger … but also great reward.” She nodded shoreward. “You look at that man with the big car and you are envious, but maybe that man carries burdens beyond your ability to understand. Does he follow the call of a troubled soul, or is he only driven by a hungry stomach and a good woman at home? We cannot know his heart. We only know that there is a voice that only he can hear.”

Angel looked at her grandmother and spoke in a voice that was partly an acknowledgement and partly a question. “Jonah was different and even though it was dangerous, he had to follow his heart.” She bowed her head and said, “But what a horrible way to die, to be eaten by a shark!”

Grandmama said, “Oh no, Angel. Jonah wasn’t eaten by the shark. Jonah’s friends and family distracted the beast and he escaped by a tail feather. The waves and seafoam concealed him from our sight, and delivered him safely to the shore. Jonah lived because his flock was there for him when he needed their support. It is what families do.”

Angel sat up straight and threw her arms around her grandmother’s neck.

Grandmama smiled and patted Angel’s back. “That is how it happened, my little bird. The sandpipers gathered around Jonah on the beach and welcomed him to their flock with open wings. They thought Jonah was as brave as a bird could be, not for his adventure with the shark, but for the choice he had made.”

“Oh, Grandmama, I am so happy for Jonah, but also so sad that he had to part with his clan.”

“It was a difficult path that Jonah chose, but he did find happiness with the sandpipers, and he made a life with them for many, many years. One day Jonah flew out to join his old clan swimming in the waves. Eliana had moved on to the next world, but Reynaldo, Theodosia, and all of Jonah’s old friends were there to greet him.” Grandmama smiled at the memory and said, “In no time at all they were laughing and cackling the way seagulls do. It was a sound filled with great happiness for those who understood its meaning.”