Hey, guys! This isn't my submission for Miss Lady's prompt, but I need to host this story here. I recently joined the staff at OwieArt, and this is my first piece for them. Critique is still welcome, of course.
Runnin' Dry (Part 1)
T.M. (Duke/Volume-Junkies)
I was my father's housewife. My jobs were, but not limited to, ironing shirts, making breakfast, ensuring a good amount of shampoo was left for his morning shower, changing his razor, and picking up the trail of socks he left throughout the week. It wasn't a spiteful setup, and he never came out and demanded anything; it's just the way things worked out. It started gradually—cleaning up the coffee mugs in his office and putting his pencils back in the cup holder. Eventually I noticed just how much of a bachelor he was. One could accurately describe him as an infant with an overly active schedule.
He was that guy that all the temps fell for. Coifed black hair and nicely tailored suit. Shoes with a shine that the blind could recognize. What they didn't see was the 5 a.m. scrambling around the house and him spilling his coffee on the kitchen floor. His appearance in the professional world was not intentional. He doesn't attempt to hide his life's disarray, but he certainly didn't try to flaunt it. The problem was that he never stopped working. He's that guy you see driving home on the highway with his cell phone glued to his ear, as you wonder, "Does he know that he's in the fast lane?"
Talking to one another was reserved for weeknights during dinner. By dinner, I mean that we sat on the couch and watched television, feasting upon whatever wasn't expired or stale. And when eight o'clock rolled around, well, that when he turned his phone back on, and I would draw a bath for my brother George. I had it pretty easy, actually. I ran that house. I never saw the need to enforce a bunch of typical household rules. I never forced my brother to eat his peas or made a big deal if someone drank out of the milk carton. Popcorn for dinner was okay. Smoking in the house is not a big deal. Curfews were non-existent.
~
Annie was tall, had a tendency to use a little too much perfume, and her hair looked as if it lowered on her head Darth Vader-style. She tried the best she could, but no matter how hard she tried, she didn't know how to talk to kids. It's difficult for a seven year old to understand words like "dynamic" and "refine." Sitting on the couch, squished to one side as to avoid the chocolate sauce stains, she looked into the piles of laundry I had yet to do. Her black coat was highlighted by the gold purse in her lap, and she would stroke it nervously, as if in her mind George and I were about to pounce.
"Ben!" I heard him shout-- the kind of shout that could mean a number of things: he couldn't find the right tie, he lost his wallet, or he noticed that I had been taking quarters out of the jug in his room. I left George alone to stare at her. One kid is more than enough to make Annie squirm in her seat.
"Yeeees, Jeff?" I said, turning the corner into his room.
"Listen, I'll be out late. As in, really late."
"As in, you'll be home tomorrow morning."
"As in, watch your mouth, you smart-ass," he said, tightening his tie. "Pass me my coat." As always, it was lying on the other side of the bed atop of pile of old shoes. "You can order out tonight. Twenty dollars maximum."
"Sweet. Thank you," I said, lightly ripping the money from his hand and grinning.
"So, where're you taking her tonight? The 99? Friendly's? Sonic?"
"Sonic? No, we're not going to the seventh dimension to find the only Sonic in existence."
"Way to work for your 'love'," I said, flipping through the newspaper lying on his bed. He sprayed cologne on his wrist and held it to my face.
"What do you think?" he said with bright eyes. I scowled.
"Well," I started, "it's certainly...potent…" I said, wriggling my nose.
"Thanks for the help. Annie gave it to me."
"Sorry, Jeff. You're just not my type, and Annie's, well, not my type."
"Some fag you are," he said, shutting off the light and leaving me in the dark.
"Bitch."
2 comments:
I liked it up until the end. You describe the personalities of your characters not only very well, but concisely. Despite this, there is very little description of what the characters actually look like. For instance, I still don't know the age of the narrator. I know Annie's haircut, but not her hair color. I know the father's hair, but not his age.
Do you have an unhealthy focus on hair?
The first thing that really threw me off was "... I heard him shout." At that point, there was no context of who "he" was. In fact, I initially thought it was George.
You show the relationship between the main character and his father well, as some sort of utilitarian symbiosis -- the son calling his father by his first name. This, and I had gotten the idea from the third sentence that there wasn't much malice in their relationship. This doesn't match up with the father's last line, unless I misinterpreted the tone of it, which is why it confused me so much. The main character's second to last line also seemed sort of... out of place. If it were a conversation, I couldn't see it flowing naturally. It was as if there was something in before it originally and it was taken out -- something that would allow me to understand what happened.
I understand this is only part one, but it still seems like it cuts out before the real ending or something.
Smaller issue: there is never any sign of Jeff holding a bill. He goes from fixing his tie, to having a bill taken from his hands.
Also, there is a Sonic a few miles away from me. I've still not gone.
I may have more comments later.
I like hair...it's...shiny. >>;
I will definitely concentrate a little more on the description of the characters. I definitely know what they look like on paper. ;)
I think I'm gonna keep the tie-thing the way it is.
Also, Sonic. Are you near Jack in the Box, too? I hear the nearest one is in the midwest.
Post a Comment