Disturbia, fiction, family, friends, and everything else between the lions.
my shot
Published on November 12, 2006 By Tova7 In Writing

“The most beautiful thing we can experience is the mysterious. It is the source of all true art and all science. He to whom this emotion is a stranger, who can no longer pause to wonder and stand rapt in awe, is as good as dead: his eyes are closed."
- Albert Einstein
 

 

                                                          LIFE CLOSED EYES 

 

Mike and Selma sat in the beaten up old blue ford waiting for Kelly to come out of the two story brick elementary school.  She usually rode the big yellow school bus, but since it was her tenth birthday, Mike took off a half day from the factory so he and Selma could pick her up.

 

They arrived fifteen minutes early and after notifying the office to send Selma to the truck, headed back out to the parking lot to wait.

 

It was hot.

 

Early September wasn’t the hottest part of the year in west Texas, but sitting in a tin can on black pavement while waves of heat vibrated off the ground, rivaled any August heat wave.

 

The windows on the old Ford were down since the air conditioner gave up the ghost some years before.  Money was tight and luxuries like air conditioning were pushed aside for necessities like ice cream cones on birthdays, and an almost new red bike for Kelly.

 

Kelly was the only child Mike and Selma ever produced.  She was the apple of their eye, and for all intents and purposes, the glue which stuck the little family together.

 

Mike was not an educated man having quit high school his junior year to party with friends.  He started working at the factory when his father kicked him out of the house shortly after.  It was hard dirty work, but it was a decent wage for someone whose only needs at the time consisted of food, shelter, gas for the truck, and beer money.

 

He met Selma at the Maverick High School homecoming football game in 1996.  She was a tall girl, thin, with brown hair and green eyes that sparkled when she laughed.  She was a senior honor roll student and college bound when their worlds collided.

 

Mike was twenty-two, had a decent truck, dark hair and eyes, and a muscular body from working long hours lifting heavy molds at the factory.  Most men his age were off in college or the military.  So, his friends were usually in high school.  They used him to buy them beer.  He used them for entertainment.  He knew Selma saw him as some sort of bad boy, and he played it for all he could get.

 

 And he got everything.

 

Selma was pregnant at graduation.

 

They married.  Selma worked as a waitress to supplement their income until Kelly was born.  She never went to college.  Sure, she talked about it, once Kelly was in middle school next year and able to stay home a bit by herself.  But, with the long factory hours, a child to take care of, and a home to maintain, that’s all it was, talk.

 

Mike liked it just that way.  No need for the woman to go out and do something foolish like outgrowing him. 

 

He sighed.  “How much longer you think she’ll be?”

 

Selma shrugged.  She wore her brown hair up in a pony tail as a tribute to the heat and a white floral dress with a deep scooped neckline that showed off both her narrow shoulders. 

 

They sat for a few minutes in silence, sweating.

 

“This is an old school,” Selma said.  “At least fifty years old.”

 

Mike grunted.

 

“And the trees.  They look like they were planted at the same time the school was built.”

 

“Yup,” Mike said and checked his watch.

 

Selma eased forward enough to dislodge her sweating bare shoulders from the faux leather seat.  She smiled at the slight sticky pull.

 

“Can you imagine how many children those bricks have seen?  Those trees?  If those bricks could talk, can you imagine the stories they’d have?  They’re older than we are.  They were standing here watching kids come to and from school everyday before we were even born.”  She laughed.  “The stories!”

 

Mike rolled his eyes.  “Do you know how tired that idea is?  How many movies and stories are out there with that kinda thinkin?”

 

Selma nodded her head, pony tail bobbing.  “Yeah, that’s true.  But none of them are told by me.”

 

“For good reason,” Mike said.  “You ain’t got no schoolin girl.”  He leaned forward squinting out the dusty windshield toward the school’s front doors.  “You just don’t have what it takes honey.  I think she’s coming.  Is that her?”

 

Selma looked, nodded, and stuck her arm out the window!  “Over here Kelly!”

 

Mike rested his calloused hand on Selma’s small soft shoulder.  “We’re gonna have another baby.  Give Kelly someone to look after.”

"
Comments
on Nov 12, 2006
Mmm...good writing. Kinda sad...I can feel the broken dreams...

~Zoo
on Nov 12, 2006
Cold, cruel,  And so very true.
on Nov 12, 2006
I can feel the broken dreams...


Exactly. Very, very well done.
on Nov 12, 2006
Thanks Zoo, Doc, and Shovel. When I saw the quote I just thought....life is so mysterious to children. When do some of us lose that? Then I thought about people I know whose life has sucked any imagination, any mystery away. And then those I know who have allowed someone else to steal the mystery.....

Not a very fun topic.

Hey I vote for making a story around a sentence next time. Like perhaps a sentence that contains fingers and crevices! buwhahahahahaha.  
on Nov 12, 2006
Tova,

I really felt the despair of Selma, hanging on to the last bit of imagination she had left. Well done.
on Nov 12, 2006

I really felt the despair of Selma, hanging on to the last bit of imagination she had left. Well done.

Thanks Dynamaso.  Nothing like a slice of despair with your Sunday supper.  Heh.

on Nov 12, 2006
Well done. The story beneath the story is quite good and left to the reader to discern.
on Nov 12, 2006
The story beneath the story is quite good and left to the reader to discern.


Wow Mason, I wasn't sure if people were picking up on that. Letting the reader incorporate a little imagination makes the story unique to each person imo.

Good job...you are a very insightful reader (no shock there) and I am flattered you read it.
on Nov 12, 2006
Well done. The story beneath the story is quite good and left to the reader to discern.


Exactly! I could feel the despair as well! Good job Tonya!
on Nov 13, 2006
Thanks forever...this was a bit difficult for me because its not the way I usually write...reading someone else's words and then making a story about it. But I do like a challenge...um, sometimes.  
on Nov 13, 2006
This is impressive work, is it a first draft?

"and for all intents and purposes"
I would dump this line, it reminds me of chemistry class, and you don't want your kid character to remind people of a science expriement unless that's what you are going for.

" “Can you imagine how many children those bricks have seen? Those trees? If those bricks could talk, can you imagine the stories they’d have? They’re older than we are. They were standing here watching kids come to and from school everyday before we were even born.” She laughed. “The stories!”
Mike rolled his eyes. “Do you know how tired that idea is? How many movies and stories are out there with that kinda thinkin?” "
Why is this in the story? To me it reads as idle conversation. Is it? What is the purpose?

Your dialogue is almost perfect, I'm a tough critic but what I read was appealing, easy to follow, well paced, a bit rushed but you just need to add a little detail. The scene could take a few more moments to play out, I can feel the heat, of sitting in a car, had one with no AC and know what it's like to sweat waiting in the hot sun for someone, you can draw it out and put in more detail. Another 50% or so.

May I see more of what you have written, additional chapters. I'm very eager to see where your story goes. Thanks for sharing.
on Nov 13, 2006
This is impressive work, is it a first draft?


First welcome to my blog and thank you for reading and more for giving FEEDBACK... WOOT!

It is my first draft, and my only, as I have other things I am working on and just wanted to play with the writer's club on JU.

The "all intents and purposes" line is something I heard a lot from friends when living in Texas, so it def stays as my tribute to authentic Texan talk (at least on my block). It reminds you of chemistry, reminds me of my Texan buddies. Tomato, To-mat-0.

This is a short story and so the definition will answer some of your questions.

Brittanica definition of a short story.
"It usually presents a single significant episode or scene involving a limited number of characters. The form encourages economy of setting and concise narration; character is disclosed in action and dramatic encounter but seldom fully developed. A short story may concentrate on the creation of mood rather than the telling of a story. Despite numerous precedents, it emerged only in the 19th century as a distinct literary genre in the works of writers such as E.T.A. Hoffmann, Heinrich Kleist, Edgar Allan Poe, Prosper Mérimée, Guy de Maupassant, and Anton Chekhov."

OR I simply like to call it "slice of life" stories.

You are welcome to read any of my writing on JU and comment. I am writing a fantasy story right now called Cade...and it is on my blog listed in Chapters (ex: Cade 1&2). I only allow myself one edit so they are far from perfect. (I find if I don't force myself to a certain number of edits, I never get anything out there. So one edit it is.)

The story starts here. Be warned, you have to like fantasy or it won't appeal. And I have posted 31 chapters on JU. Heh.


WWW Link
on Nov 13, 2006
" “Can you imagine how many children those bricks have seen? Those trees? If those bricks could talk, can you imagine the stories they’d have? They’re older than we are. They were standing here watching kids come to and from school everyday before we were even born.” She laughed. “The stories!”
Mike rolled his eyes. “Do you know how tired that idea is? How many movies and stories are out there with that kinda thinkin?” "
Why is this in the story? To me it reads as idle conversation. Is it? What is the purpose?


Funny you read it as idle...it is on the surface to someone who didn't know some of their history (outlined before).

Remember the inspiration for the piece was about lack of imagination/mystery?

Reading that dialog, who has the imagination, if somewhat timid? Then who crushes it?

Selma doesn't talk much in this piece...but when she does, what is she saying?

Selma wants to imagine trees and bricks telling secrets (per the inspiration piece, to me that means LIFE). Mike wants her to shut up and have another baby so she won't leave him (per the inspiration piece, that means worse than DEAD).

He is a dead man walking. Intent on using the mechanics of a hard life to ensure he is not alone in his zombie stupor.





on Nov 13, 2006
Tova: I am sufficiently amateur I wouldn't really try to criticize. It would be presumptuous of me. I just wanted to say I really enjoyed it. I think you built up the characters enough, without going too far, to really hammer the idea of the inspiration home.
on Nov 13, 2006

Tova: I am sufficiently amateur I wouldn't really try to criticize. It would be presumptuous of me. I just wanted to say I really enjoyed it. I think you built up the characters enough, without going too far, to really hammer the idea of the inspiration home.

Thanks Blue...but really feel free to criticize.  I am no professional fiction writer.  I've read your blog enough to know any comments from you are sincere.