OnTheFireEscape

This is the story of Magda. And love means nothing to Magda. She employs her latest acquisition, a police sergeant at the 43rd, for the sole purpose of erasing her legal indiscretions of a younger age. That and all of her dear friend’s parking tickets. The sergeant, Andrew McNally, offers his services in losing certain files related to Magda’s time on 35th street, and Magda, in turn, offers her 35th street services.

And Andrew, who has spent the majority of his life as “Drew,” on the lips of his family and friends, has been promptly christened “Andy,” because Magda already knows a Drew. And there are no repeats for Magda. Ever.

I am Drew. The first. The only. And this is the story of Magda. The girl I am not in love with.

Magda was born bored and has spent the rest of her life trying to thrill herself into existence. I was born next to Magda and have spent my life keeping her in existence. I caught her by the left suspender of her overalls when she slipped off the top branch of the tree behind the deli. She dropped to the ground, tumbled on the browning grass, and somersaulted the three blocks home. I broke three fingers and my left tibia.

“This is Drew,” my answering machine drones from the counter,“Leave a message-.”

Click.

Magda. I glance from the couch to the clock - eight. Counting on my fingers makes twelve days, fourteen hours.

I write it in the record book. Andy lasted twelve days and fourteen hours. I pencil it in beneath Matt, Jake and Xavier. Check the clock again.

8:02.

Magda Arrival Prediction: 8:15. Stretching out on the couch, I rest the book on my chest and let the pages flip open. Past Alex and Aaron. Past Frank and Michael. It falls to Colin, two seats behind Magda in Mrs. Sumner’s first grade class. Two hours and ten minutes. The time from first recess to final bell. I had to play with Chuckie Sylings for two hours and ten minutes.

I pulled open the front door of my childhood cheap-siding box that afternoon to find her on the front step, ringing out the “I Dream of Genie” theme on my doorbell. In stained hands she held out heart shaped chocolate and said nothing. We ate them on the white carpet, blamed the stains on the muddy dog. I forgave her for the two hours and ten minutes and pretended not to see the “Love, Colin” valentine scotch-taped to the wrappers.

8:09.

I flip the page, back through Frank and Michael, after Alex but before Aaron. Chet. Nine hours and thirty-nine minutes. The round trip from Aisling, South Dakota to Minneapolis, Minnesota. The margin notes read: red ‘82 Chevy. I sat on her front step with my chemistry books for nine hours and thirty-eight minutes. In the 39th it took her father to chase Chet away with a shotgun, I hid beside her garden hose. She brought me back a Snow Globe and laughed at my study guide I made her. We both got a zero on the test.

8:12.

Jason Leery. Twenty-two seconds. The time it took for the senior prom photographer to pose and snap the picture. She gave me a copy, after emergency Sharpie editting. Her in a blue dress, smiling beneath a terrace, embraced by the newly rendered demonic semblance of Jason: horns, tail, and pitchfork.

8:14.

The doorbell rings. A chiming reprise of “I Love Lucy,” fills the living room. Magda. I open the door. She hands me a badge and brushes past. To the Raisin Bran I left her on the table with separated raisin and bran.

“Catch.” She tosses a raisin. In my eye. I am blinded. But I am Drew. I am the first. I am the only. And this is the story of the Magda. The girl I am not in love with.

Spaztikfingers

I think I read this about three times. Each time I read it, I liked it more. This is a very original piece and I like the flavour of it. I know this is a short story but it could be a premise to something more, ...is it?
In such a short piece, so much is derived from the two characters. Yep, tasty little piece I must say.
If I have to say anything, I guess it would be about the time. Since it's a key ingrediant in the setting you may want to have it more easily displayed. The '8:02' is clear enough because it's at the end of the sentence and split from the next paragraph but the next time stamps are a bit mingled with the rest of their respective scene. If they are set a bit more clear a definite pattern of countdown can be seen. Yes, this does seem cosmetic! ...ok, that's all I got.
Don't stop writing... and again, nice piece!

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BlackHoleEnvy

Yes, I agree, quite delicious. Your style is a breath of fresh air. It has a dizzying effect: it moves fast and seems disjointed, yet somehow still seems to flow. A bit like buckshots from someone else's life fired at my head.

My full opinion of this depends on whether it is finished, or just a piece of something larger. If this is all there is, then I feel cheated. There are too many holes in the "plot". Too many questions. I'd love to see this expanded. Especially since I get the feeling the narrator is utterly deranged, and I'd like to see how that pans out.

Some minor commentary:

Who is "her dear friend"? This is a tad confusing.

This line is golden.

I find this confusing because I'm not sure what you mean by "cheap-siding box". Are you talking about a house?

Awkward. Perhaps split this into two sentences.

No need for the comma.

I am confused as to what happens here. Who says "Catch?", and what is supposed to be caught?

That's it. I look forward to reading more of your work. Cheers.

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OnTheFireEscape

Thanks for your responses! I originally wrote this as an assignment: the prompt was to write a short story. I sort of failed on that point... (the requirements included actual scenes vs. reminiscings and dialogue as well), but that's not really important. It seems to me, as it did to you, that its part of a bigger piece...Drew became more obsessed the longer I wrote him and Magda all the more oblivious...

Sorry for the confusion as to the "Catch!" comment...I intended to say that she'd thrown a raisin at him, but apparently left that part out (I edited it today).

I think this will probably continue with Drew taking the next step...following her, attempting to sabotage future relationships subtley...(perhaps the badge can help him in this?). I really appreciate your commentary and ideas! Thanks for reading!

OnTheFireEscape

“I called,” she says.

“You hung up.”

“It was the answering machine-.”

“It always is.”

“Jesus Drew, why won’t you ever just use the phone? I got you that one-.”

“The cell phone.”

“Yeah!”

“It was in Michael’s name.”

“Well it was pre-paid. Besides, you pay the bill for this one every month, just use it!” She runs her hand along my phone. She presses the red button. I wince.

“You have 43 new messages,” the perky computerized voice intones.

“From your mom? From me?” She sighs. “Jesus Drew, no one can get a hold of you! You know that every time I have anything to tell you I have to actually come over here to see you? Why can’t you just use the phone?”

She throws her last raisin at me, exasperated. “And you’ve got nothing to eat over here anyway.”

“Chinese?” I offer. Its her favorite. She wore that mandarin collar dress for Thanksgiving in the sixth grade.

“No, its okay, I’m having dinner with Andy in a bit - but you can order some-.” She gestures at the phone and turns to me. I’m reeling. Can’t speak. Andy? She rolls her eyes.

“Right. I’ll call, why? ‘Cause Drew is phone-a-phobic…can’t use the phone…modern convenience but no…,” she mutters to herself, flipping through the phone book.

I turn, shaken, back to the record book and reach for the eraser, furiously wiping at the latest entry.

Andy - twelve days, fourteen hours.

Andy - twelve days, fourt

Andy - twelve d

Andy - twel

Andy -

“Alright, yes, thank you, bye.” I hear the click and her turn back to me. I abandon the glaring blank beside “Andy.” She bustles past, ruffling my hair. “Alright, listen, Drew, I gotta run, ‘cause Andy’s waiting, just wanted to check on you though - pick up the phone once in awhile, will you? Or else I’m gonna have to keep coming over here! Oh, and I ordered you the chicken in peanut sauce!” she calls over her shoulder as the door slams closed. She’s gone. And I’m allergic to peanuts.

I sit on the couch. Record book on my lap. Blank beside “Andy.” The imprint of “-twelve days and fourteen hours” glares back at me. I could average all the past times, take a comprehensive median-. I shake my head. I need data, real data. I need concrete details to weigh her down or else she flits above me, out of reach.

The doorbell rings. “Changs!” a voice calls out. I pay the delivery man - $9.75. The food sits in front of me on the glass table. Chicken in peanut sauce. There’s a blank beside “Andy.” Magda is gone. I need concrete details. She’s too far above me. One time in seventh grade-

* * *

Magda brushes my hair back. I stare at her, hazy, above me. I reach a hand up-

“Jesus Drew!” she smacks my wrist, “You scared me!” I crack a smile around the plastic tube down my throat. “God - who knew you were allergic to peanuts?”

Magda’s kitchen - seventh grade. An “F” stamped on paper under “Home-Ec,” stuck to the fridge under a car wash magnet. I’m wearing a pink ruffled apron. She laughs at me. I make her laugh, I smile. She reads me the recipe out of the book as I pour ingredients into the mixer. Tommy Thomasino rides his bike in the driveway, she stares at him out the window, circling pavement on a red Schwinn. “1 cup peas - ,” she starts, staring, “I mean, I mean, peanuts!” she snaps back to the recipe.

I yank my hand away, the pilot light now glowing, and turn back to the counter from which her legs were formally dangling. Upon which now sits an overturned cook book. In front of the window framing Magda on a red Schwinn.

I watch her until the oven dings. I sample her Home-Ec homework. My throat begins to swell. Magda bounces in, smiling. I lay on the floor, my face swelling. She looks down my cheeks puff. She laughs and I can’t smile.

“Sucks you’re allergic to peanuts,” she says, beside my hospital bed. She shifts her weight. “Got an “A” in home ec! And Tommy Thomasino said I could ride his bike later today so…” She’s gone.

“That’s just so weird! I mean, here you are, 24 years old, and we hadn’t figured this out yet? Weird!” Magda laughs beside my bed.

“You know you’re lucky she found you-,” a nurse cuts in. “You would’ve been a goner without that CPR-.”

The heart monitor beeps in rapid succession as I turn to Magda.

“Yeah, lucky I forgot my purse,” she smiles, brushing back my hair again. “And that Andy had to take that CPR class before he earned his badge…”

Andy. He walks into the my room at the mention of his name.

“Yeah buddy, you gave us a real scare there,” I hate him. I am not his buddy. “Magda? You ready babe?”

She smiles and turns. “I called your mom, Drew, she took the first flight down.”

I close my eyes as they walk out. Magda’s hand is replaced by my mother’s as I wake.

“Drew,” she calls, seeing my eyelids flutter,“Drew, I came right when Magda called…What a lovely girl. So lucky to have her, you know. What would you do without her?”

BlackHoleEnvy

Hey there fire escape person. I enjoyed this latest installement, though I found myself a little confused. Not sure why. Perhaps it is just a little too disjointed. Some of the dialogue seemed a tad forced. Anyhoo, I found the bit about erasing the info but leaving the imprint to be very clever. It's the kind of little thing that gives your narrator a distinct charm--something most writers would never think to include. I laughed out loud at the peanut sauce bit. Recently, someone insisted on making me home-made Thai food: noodles in peanut-sauce. I did not want to eat it. But. I was too drunk not to eat it. I digress.

A suggestion:
I would remove the two middle sentences, as you have already said this. It would have more impact if it simply read: "Magda is gone. One time in seventh grade-"

Another thing. What's with this punctuaion in the dialogue: "-."? A double dash is sufficient. I think. Depends on what you're trying to convey.

Two sentences.

Some other grammatical/punctuational flubs. Little things you should be able to find on your own.

Oh yeah. And the fact that he ate the peanut stuff knowing full well that he was allergic. Just because Magda ordered it for him. Brilliant. (That's how I saw it, anyway.)

Cheers.

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gohn67

I like your wriiting stlye it was different.
Sounded kind of like the style of the narrater in fight club.

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Rob

I've only read part 1, but it was very enjoyable. Will come back to part 2 some time.

Cheers,
Omni

gohn67

I read your story again, its really good. The second part is ok though, but the first part is very good.

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BlackHoleEnvy

The general concensus seems to be that Part 1 is much stronger than Part 2. After some re-reading and thought, I've come to the conclusion that FireEscape just needs to do a lot more writing inside this character's mind until the style/tone is internalized and completely natural. When that happens, this story will be golden.

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