adrianhayter

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Malone

"He had a sarcastic streak in him although he kept it well hidden."
I don't like that line. It's obvious his sarcastic from the exposition you've given already, so explaining it so bluntly like this is pointless and sounds weird, dumbed down even.

"Some passer by’s thought the pillow might be an extra large colostomy bag and took pity on the old man but most didn’t stare." This feels out of place, as most of the story has been from Bill's perspective. Maybe just say Bill felt like he was holding a colostomy bag. I like the idea and the image you're going for.

Awesome story. Tons of good stuff here. I love the fish avoiding the fire, the Yugo reference, and his sarcastic voice. I really liked a lot more, too many things to list them all here.
Repeating the number 41 so much, and including it in the check, was amazing. His thought about 42 at the end was near brilliant.

Tons of grammar and punctuation stuff here, but I realize it's just an early draft, and you mentioned you're not worried about that now. I still had to point it out. Sorry, I'm well trained.

Awesome, awesome story. You continue to impress me and raise the bar. We both seem to appreciate the same sort of humor, and I love reading your stuff.

adrianhayter

Thanks Malone - I didn't notice that shift in POV. It's obvious now.

Does this piece move along well enough or is it just "navel gazing"?

Adrian

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Malone

It moved fine for me. I only found myself getting distracted once or twice, which is about the best I can hope for with my ADD. I found it very interesting and I wanted to keep reading the whole way through. I really did enjoy it.

Lost in Some Story

I loved both of these characters. If you're worried about how credible he is, stop worrying now. He's incredibly believable. Whatever it is you're writing about him, keep writing it. I love their relationship. I also love how the mattress was used as a metaphor for marriage. The only thing I didn't appreciate was the last bit of dialogue at the very end. It seemed a trite forced. Keep it up. Oops, bad pun.

Lost

Lost

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adrianhayter

Thanks Lost, for the comments. It's funny, I just sat down to start a major hysterectomy on the piece, ripping out the guts when I thought, I might as well remove the story in the forum. Normally, when there's little interest, you know you've gone wrong. Then I see your comments.

I too, like the metaphor and have tried to spruce it up some with the lesbian scene.

I'm attempting to write this character with not so much "quiet desperation" as "comfortable desperation".

Again, thanks for reading

Adrian

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adrianhayter

I've tried to clean this up some - maybe it's more readable.


Lesbian Mattress


Bill celebrated their forty-first wedding anniversary by taking his wife Jane, to an upscale restaurant where he splurged by ordering grilled tuna and sharing the ambiance with politicians and lobbyists. He’d picked the Rio Chama next to the Capital Building, out of his senior citizen dinning book. And not just because of the easy access parking, although that fact had first perked his attention. He’d selected it believing his wife was less likely to cry on a white linen tablecloth, surrounded by stripped ties and dark suits. Jane was a casual woman, private in nature, and always on her best behavior among the well dressed. Less interested in fashion, Bill only wished to avoid an unpleasant scene when he asked for a divorce.


Waiting until the forty-first year to end their marriage had been one of Bill’s best ideas since forty-first sounded better than forty, more committed and less frivolous. Being practical, his wife ordered herbs and chicken which he secretly envied when his Tuna arrived undercooked, dark red on the inside and gray on the exterior; cool all over as if the tuna, unsure of it’s destiny, had hesitated on the edge of the fire. Bill’s stomach, like its owner, had never been terribly adventuresome but it would have climbed Everest on its knees before digesting Sushi. Bill pushed the fish around on his plate, wishing his lunch had come with a dinner roll.

But even with the raw fish, Bill would have enjoyed the ambiance except for one thing; an especially loud and shrill woman in her mid-forties sat at the next table propositioning a representative silently eating a romaine and mushroom salad. Bill eventually asked his wife for a Kleenex which he tore into tiny pieces and stuffed into his right ear, the ear closest to the frantic woman across the aisle. It wasn’t necessary to protect his matching ear from the onslaught since it had mysteriously quit working years before. The cause was unclear but whether by accident or miracle, the hearing on his left side had suddenly disappeared when he’d attempted to remove some misshapen wax. Upon closer inspection of the large blob at the end of the Q-tip, he’d discovered something resembling the Virgin Mary. Considering it an omen, he believed the sacrifice of his hearing was the least he could do and never touched that ear again. Now, if anyone had cared enough to ask about the white Kleenex in his good ear, Bill was prepared to tell them he had an infection. If they persisted, he intended to say it was a fashion statement. For given enough time, Bill had stories ready for most questions while he waited for the right time to tell his wife it was over. He and his wife finished their meal in mutual silence and exited through the cool adobe columns into the quietness of the sun-lit Santa Fe street. Hating to waste money, Bill had eaten the green twigs supporting the tuna.

Bill left the waitress a large tip. It wasn’t the fault of the serving girl that the tuna was raw and the patrons frantic. The waitress was young and helpful, a lesbian from the looks of her short hair. Someday, she might also be shrill but she had complimented him about his tuna selection. She’d smiled and said it was an excellent choice. Why make her a liar at such an early age? Unfortunately, Jane never gave Bill an opportunity to ask the question and the ticket was forty-one dollars plus change with tax and gratuities. Bill walked out of the Rio Chama with unfinished business, less than satisfaction, a worsening hearing impediment, and the beginnings of a slight erection. He was also still hungry but he’d been hungry before.

“What would you like for an anniversary gift?” he’d yelled as they circled the plaza, weaving in and out among the groups of tourist who huddled in front of the shop windows.

“Nothing,” Jane answered.

He’d expected no other reply. He’d have to make suggestions, name gifts a woman might want but not just any woman. A quick trip to the jewelry story would have satisfied just any woman but not Jane. Jane was different. When first married, he bought her a mix-master but had learned quickly that she had little interest in mixing. As Bill had matured and grown wiser, he’d learned to depend on her hints; the way she’d move her body with his suggestions, opening up as he grew warm and tightening as he grew cold. It had become a long and difficult task, decoding Jane’s needs, but it was one of his responsibilities and he took it seriously. Standing now in the middle of the Plaza, he mentioned several items which she rejected as too expensive, she’d never use, or simply no. Bill got more nervous as Jane’s body tightened into a clam.

“I’ll tell you what Bill. We need a new mattress,” she’d finally said, tiring of Bill’s futile attempts and hoarse from having to shout.

Still practical, they drove to the mall on the outskirts of town, hurrying past the adult video merchants and beyond the lingerie shops where Bill found a discount store – ‘Mattresses Galore’. Inside as promised, rows and rows of virgin beds spread forever, all covered in white, like the fabric ticking of coffins. The salesman was quiet and reserved, alone and confident. For no reason and out of the blue, he mentioned that everyone spends one third of their life in bed as if that was a revelation. Bill didn’t ask him for the meaning of life not knowing what it might cost. For Bill was shocked to see that mattresses were as expensive as Yugos. He twisted the mattress’s price tag around to check the back, to find what accessories were included for the price of an eastern European automobile. A drink holder would have been nice, a pine tree deodorant even better.

“Lay down Bill. See how it feels.” Jane patted the bed as if encouraging a miniature poodle.

Self-consciously, Bill laid on the white fabric and sank softly into the mattress. He closed his eyes and after a while, he thought about the short hair lesbian waitress and how it would feel if she was laying next to him naked. Would she be disgusted about his thinning hair, the wart on his chin he hid with a large briar pipe or would she ignore these faults but still hungrily wish for a freckled girl. Would he disgust her with his manhood or with his liver spots?

Bill opened his eyes and the lovely body of the lesbian disappeared as he heard his wife discuss his faults with the revelation salesman.

“He’s so big…he crushes the edge of the bed when he gets up in the morning. I need a something with the strength capable of supporting my husband.”

Bill thought, don’t we all.

Bill didn’t want to crush beds, to destroy their very existence with his body. He should buy a new Yugo and follow the carnival out of town. He could make a home next to the Tattooed Man; Bill would be the incredible aging fat human no woman would touch. He could sit in a wicker chair and make the young Baptist girls just say no, the Catholic girls run for the convents. Back on the mattress, he wished the beautiful lesbian could consider a life style change as his erection continued to swell.

“It’s not that bad Helga. I think our old bed is comfortable.” When he said Helga, Jane’s face flushed and she turned to see if the salesman was paying attention. Looking back and down at her husband, she saw the bulge in his pants and quickly laid the mattress advertisements over the swelling. Since the day was Sunday and the advertisement two pages, order returned on the lesbian mattress.

“Now Franz, you know it’s worn out… totally useless.” Jane’s knees weakened as she called him Franz. Helga and Franz were secret names of lust unspoken for years. Bill had no idea why he’d used it after so much time but blamed the tuna; the dark lesbian had never given her name, holding it secret for the freckled girl. And Bill was shocked that Jane even remembered the swashbuckler Franz, the ruthless pirate who would have his way with damsels.

The salesman heard his cue and added helpfully, “ You can’t expect a mattress to last longer than ten years. It’s recommended you get a new one then, nothing’s forever.” The salesman shrunk as his shoulders slumped, suddenly saddened by his new revelation.

Ten years or forty-one, what was the difference in the life of a land tortoise as Bill’s blood pounded into his member. Late at night, after Jane went to bed and snored, he’d watch a hundred-year-old turtle mount a seventy-five year old, both in slow-motion - The Discovery Channel offered something for everybody. He’d turn the volume down as low as possible, not to create an embarrassing scene with his wife.

Jane told the salesman they’d think about the mattress but she purchased a fluffy pillow for Bill to hold in front of his bulge as they walked to their old Yugo. For once, she didn’t haggle about the price. Jane hurried Bill past the lingerie store, fearing a scene she’d be unable to handle. Bill thought the pillow resembled a large colostomy bag and even a few shoppers took pity on him. Fortunately, most didn’t stare, keeping their heads down to avoid the Victoria’s Secret laced panties .

Safely on their way home, Jane finally turned toward her husband.

“I saw the way you looked at that waitress. Is that what you want? Is that what this is all about?”

“What waitress?” Bill lied.

“Are you telling me the truth?”

“Yes.”

“Then would you get that tissue out of your ear? It makes you look foolish.”

“It’s a fashion statement.”

“Why did you call me Helga. You haven’t done that in years.”

“I don’t know, it just came out. I haven’t been myself today. Maybe it’s something I ate.”

“We haven’t played Helga and Franz forever. Do you think we still can?”

“Yes.”

“Okay.”


On the drive back home, Jane was lost in her thoughts, waving the mattress advertisement in front of her face, trying to cool her damp skin as Bill silently mouthed the numbers forty-two. It sounded better than forty-one, less frivolous and more committed. And for the next twelve months, whenever he watched the ancient tortoises, Bill thought about the Lesbian and her mattress. Sometimes, he would even waken Jane and they would watch together, in slow-motion.

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Egab

Good read so far. Liked the parts about Bill's stomach climbing the Everest on it's knees, and the image of the virgin Mary on an end of a Q-tip. You made me laugh : )

".....short hair serving girl that the tuna......" I think short haired would be a better expression here.

"And Jane never gave Bill an opportunity to ask the question and the ticket was forty-one dollars and change with tax and gratuities."
I think this section could use a comma or two. Maybe you could kill the second "and" and put a comma there.

"Bill opened his eyes and the lovely body of the lesbian disappeared as he heard his wife discuss his faults with the revelation salesman."
I have beef with this one.
Maybe you should use it like this:
"Bill opened his eyes and the lovely body of the lesbian disappeared, as he heard his wife discussing his faults with the salesman of unsought revelations."

"He could make a home next to the Tattoo Man; Bill would be the incredible aging fat human no woman would touch."
Maybe the Tatto man could be the Tattoed man, and bill would be the incredible aging fat guy, whom no woman on earth wold ever touch.

I second my first statement. Interesting and good read. I came to like both characters. They kind of remind me of my own parents, divorced after 24 years. Oh well, that happens all the time.

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adrianhayter

Thanks for the comments Egab -all good points.

I'm new at this writing but have already noticed a strange peculiarity in my style. Sometimes, a sentence I write is like a little song in my head. I know it's not grammatically correct but the tune continues playing away.

You're right, this is one mangled sentence but the sound comforts me.

Thanks for reading

Adrian

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Egab

Who are we to strip you from writing the way you like? But that peculiar sentence is tedious and tiring to read. It's the only part of the story, where I stopped and said "Ughh. No, no. That shouldn't be that way." But only becouse the three "and"-s. If i read through it, I won't remember it's meaning, only : "And..........and................and.......... ..."

It's your writing. If you like it that way, than you shouldn't change it. But some other people, who would otherwise love your work, might get hooked up at this particular sentence.

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adrianhayter

Thanks Egab. If it's that important, I changed it.
I need all the love I can get

Thanks Adrian

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Malone

I loved that sentence. I'm sorry to see it changed. I thought it had a very classic, almost Joycian sound to it. If anything, I would have made it a little longer to add to its power and effect.

adrianhayter

You know when Brando is screaming "Stella" ?

I just can't get no love.

Adrian

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Malone

When you start trying to please the critics more than yourself, you've failed. Do what you want with your story.

adrianhayter

That's absolutely true but hard to follow when you're an admitted beginner like myself - in my case, everyone knows more

Adrian

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