We Could’ve Been Happy Here by Keith Lesmeister (review)

Farms and suburban neighborhoods feature equally in the Midwest of Keith Lesmeister’s collection of short fiction, We Could’ve Been Happy Here; instead of a common landscape, these big-hearted stories are connected by characters that would like nothing more than a release from the daily ache of their lives. Lesmeister paints the interiors of his characters as skillfully as he presents the world that they inhabit, turning his small towns into a much larger canvas. Here characters crave connection— despite their flawed tendencies— and are willing to pursue it through any means. In “Between the Fireflies” childhood friends Alice and Ike attempt to rid Alice’s backyard of cottontails using a pellet gun and slingshot at the request of her recently deployed father. Ike is unconvinced of his friend’s devotion to the task but remains quiet and steadfast, even as the stress of Alice’s father’s absence takes its toll. “Neither of us love it, I know that, but when we saw the young ones— the ones that had been causing the most damage to the gardens on account of their size and ability to get between the wire mesh fence— there was a feeling of duty, necessity, and we acted accordingly.”

The characters in the book, like Ike, are loyal to a fault, willing to go along with whatever situations life presents, and yet they are often unsure of their own wants. This sort of passivity, in the hands of a lesser writer, could mar these stories, but Lesmeister respects his characters and approaches them with compassion, even if their motivations might be less than wholesome.

In “A Basketball Story” twins Jake and Danny want nothing more than to be like their older brother Gabe, a basketball star who is also their father’s favorite. The twins are equally inefficient on their backyard court until their brother’s teammate takes one of the twins, Jake, under his wing— and while Jake’s skills improve, his brother’s confidence dwindles. The usually close twins grow apart, and Jake tries to explain to Danny that it is for the best, going so far to tell his brother, “We need to stop being so attached.” Later, unable to sleep, Danny wanders into the kitchen, grabs a knife and considers ending his life. Something stops him and when he puts the knife down he discovers his mother in the doorframe. “She is only an inch taller than the boys, the twins, but her presence feels marked, and in the still night air, with only the stars to light the rooftops, Danny’s legs give way, and he whimpers quietly while his mother holds him.”

While Midwesterners as a group might be characterized as unemotional, Lesmeister is at his best when he is digging deep into the emotional corridors of his characters, whether or not the cause of this agony is obvious.

The Midwest is lovingly detailed, even when the images are not particularly beautiful such as in “Today You’re Calling Me Lou,” where a twenty-something and his grandmother get drunk on her birthday while driving around Cedar Rapids, Iowa, then at her request, buy a garage-sale kayak, in which he helps her set sail in an Iowa City reservoir:

We pass dilapidated houses ravaged by the flood. Streets worn and potholed. Yards with junk piled high, and chain-link fences with “Be-ware of Dog” signs. People sit in their yards, on their porches. The streets look gray with dust. We pass a neighborhood bar where men stand outside the door, smoking and talking. It’s dark inside the bar, except for the green and red neon beer lights.

This is a Midwest built on solid details and populated by characters with authentic and complex personalities. Some of these characters are ready to move beyond the mistakes of their past while others are still very much in the discernment process. Lesmeister refuses to judge even the most un-likeable sorts, like...