MY VELOURIA - Writers Forum

skullfire · 09-26-2005, 04:52 PM

Velouria Falls couldn’t wait to finally return to her own home. Though the actual face transplant and recovery time flew by in a matter of weeks, the unexpected psychological trauma lasted much, much longer.

“Honey, you seem apprehensive. Is this too soon?” Her husband reached across the car and squeezed her knee as he braked for a red light.

“Why shouldn’t I be? This is exciting for me, Sean.” Although he appeared calm Velouria silently noted how anxious Sean had been ever since she and her doctors had decided it was time for her to come home.

Their small cottage seemed the same as it had been when they first bought it nearly twenty years earlier. Even though that was how Velouria wished it to be she was a little disappointed that Sean hadn’t at least attempted to keep up with the neighbors’ improvements. Inside was just the same. Sure, Sean had kept everything clean and tidy, but after thirteen years without any changes the cottage had acquired a dinginess that prematurely showed its age.

“It looks so tiny! I mean, I knew it was going to feel smaller, but it feels even smaller than I imagined it would.” Velouria appraised the different rooms and thought the same thing in each one: he never spends his time here. “Sean, where’d this picture come from?”

“Oh, isn’t it one of yours?”

“No, it isn’t.” She touched the canvas and felt the brush strokes. She knew this painting. It was done by an old friend of hers.

Velouria took a few days to settle in and get used to the simple pleasures of being in her own home. Making tea on the stove top instead of using a vending machine, doing your own laundry and cleaning up after yourself, doing anything you pleased anytime you desired. It wasn’t too long before Sean went back to work and Velouria felt settled.

Then came a day she woke up feeling brave and decided to finally look at the painting she had been doing the day of her accident. She once could remember it well, but after the accident and the surgeries and the pills, and then the transplant and the psychiatrists and the pills, she lost that memory.

For the first time since she came home she opened the door to her studio and there it faced her. The dark, deformed face shocked her back in time thirteen years. It was a face she had grown to know well, even love. She had seen it nearly everyday when she would do her morning painting out by the seashore.

Normally she would be so outside herself while working she wouldn’t notice if a bee stung her nose. But when she saw Mr. Nichols out of the corner of her eye she couldn’t help but stare. It was human nature, Mr. Nichols later told her, and he didn’t mind it. At least she smiled while she stared.

Velouria and Mr. Nichols both came to the Nahant shore nearly every day of the week that spring and summer. Each day they shared something new about themselves and soon they became great friends. Mr. Nichols liked how Velouria could talk to him like he was a normal man, not a disfigured one. Every once in a while he could feel her grey eyes studying his face but he didn’t mind. After all, she was an artist. And Velouria liked how Mr. Nichols paid attention to her. He listened to her and respected her opinions. As a way of thanks one day Velouria offered to paint him. To both their surprise, he agreed.

“I normally don’t do portraits, but I’m sure yours will be beautiful. Just bear with me.”

The following day Velouria brought a blank canvas and set her easel up in a way that she could see Mr. Nichols sitting on his bench but also see the beautiful sea and rocks behind him. Mr. Nichols brought her a cup of tea that morning and happily took his seat on his bench.

“Can I see it now,” he would ask. “I want to make sure you’re on the right track.”

“Actually, this is probably a good stopping point. I’ll need to finish tomorrow.”

“You mean it’s not done? Is anything the matter?”

“Relax, Mr. Nichols. I’m just not finished.” Velouria expertly gathered her things without Mr. Nichols peeking. “Maybe you have step aerobics in the morning?” As she walked away she heard him call her name.

“My Velouria, We will wade in the shine of the ever. We will wade in the tides of the summer. Every Summer, Every Summer.”

She smiled. She wanted to run over and run away at the same time. She wondered if Mr. Nichols wanted to change their relationship and that made her cry for some reason. She knew he was too far away to see so she let her tears flow. These tears were still streaming down her face when Mrs. Montieth’s oldest boy ran her down in his truck as she tried to cross the street.

Now, thirteen years later, she looked at the picture she painted that day. She felt terrible. She should have tried to contact Mr. Nichols while she was in recovery, but she didn’t know how. For all they shared they never exchanged the most basic information. She once considered having Sean search down the shore for him, but decided against it.

Velouria skipped her morning shower and put her tea in a thermos. She gathered her new easel that Sean had bought for her as a homecoming gift, some spare paints she always had on hand, and the unfinished portrait of Mr. Nichols.

She felt beautiful that day, inside and out. Even though her new face is technically prettier than her old one she never felt that way until today. People smiled at her as she walked down the street and she proudly smile back. This was a day of healing, she thought. A day of finally putting things to rest, reconciling. The word rolled around her tongue, “Reconciling. Reconciling the past.”

By the time she got to the beach the sun had completely risen. Its rays made the ocean sparkle and the air warm. She took her spot near the old bench and began to paint. Something didn’t feel right, though, and she was finding it hard to start. Her eyes kept glancing towards the bench.

“Alright, Mr. Nichols, have it your way.” She picked up her easel and placed it over the part of the bench where Mr. Nichols used to sit. She held her brush against the canvas until her eyes caught the glimmer on the waves and she felt inspired. The sea wasn’t glistening that day all those years ago, but she felt that something new needed to be added to come full circle, to reconcile. Velouria was happier now than she ever remembered.

She became so absorbed in her painting that she didn’t notice there was a man standing on the other side of her easel until she heard him say, “I said, move!” And he pushed her easel with all his strength, sending both it and Velouria crashing to the ground.

“This is my bench!” he roared.

At that moment she felt like a child on a swing set that had broken midair. She propped herself up on her elbows and stared at the man who was now sitting down. Never before had she felt this angry. Not when she learned Ray Montieth was acquitted for hit and run. Not when Sean confessed he had been cheating on her with her best friend. Not even when Sean reasoned he needed someone to comfort him and she wasn’t there.

Velouria left her things scattered on the ground and dusted herself off. She put her hands to her face to make sure everything was okay. Her features felt stranger than ever and for a second all she wanted was to rip that face off of her head. As she walked away, face intact, she thought she heard a familiar song being played somewhere.

That night she waited in the parlour for Sean to come home, mulling over the things she wanted to say. When she heard his key in the front door she crossed her legs and folded her hands over her knees. She looked at her wedding ring and wondered how many months’ rent it was worth.

“What are you doing in the dark, Honey? What’s happened to your face?”

“How would I know, there aren’t any mirrors in this house?” She stood up and put her hands on her hips.

“Is something wrong?”

“Yes, there aren’t any mirrors in this house. I feel suffocated. I feel guilty. I feel like an ass for feeling sorry for you that you had a monster for a wife! I feel like slapping you for not being able to see how differently you treat me since I put this mask on.” She fought back her tears.

“Vel, I’m sorry. I know you must-“

“Don’t touch me! You know nothing, Sean. And don’t look at me as if crying will cause this face to fall off. It can withstand water damage.”

“Velouria! You’re still my girl.”

“You haven’t said that to me since before the surgery. Oh, god.” Velouria felt sick. “It wasn’t the deformity that drove you away.” She covered her mouth with her hands.

“A rose by any other . . .,” he trailed off. “Even I’ll adore ya, My Velouria . . .”

For an instant Sean thought he had her, but her thoughts were with somebody else.

Chris Miller · 09-28-2005, 09:46 AM

What a well written story. I thoroughly enjoyed the read.

I found only one possible grammatical:
"For the first time since she came home..."
"since she had come home"

The beginning is particularly strong, as she goes through the cabin and senses he has not spent time in any of its rooms.

The theme of deformity worked well.

The ending was a bit subtle for me. Perhaps I am thick today. Is she blaming herself for her feelings for the man she was painting? For her husband's treatment of her. Who was the guy who pushed her? I'm thinking it was the guy she was painting. But I can't say why.

In any case, this was a very polished work and a worthwhile read. Thanks for sharing it.

Chris

Wyndstar · 09-28-2005, 02:35 PM

This was a good story, very focused and the grammar and structure are excellent. The subject definetely kept me reading, but I did have a few questions about it.

Did she spend all the 13 years disfigured for the accident? How long out of that time was the surgery and the recovery time? Did she know the whole time of her disfigurement that her husband was cheating, of did she realize it finally coming home? Who was the man who shoved her off the bench?

I can see her anger at the end. I think I'd just like a bit more definition of it.

Angelic Dreamer · 09-28-2005, 03:11 PM

wow.. what an amazing story. I was instantly wrapped into it and couldn't stop reading. I would love to see even more written.

I saw a few areas that needed punctuation, but nothing major. Very well done.

I look forward to reading more.

semtecks · 09-28-2005, 03:20 PM

Good story, I noticed a few punctauation problem (esily fixed).

I was wondering, is this based on The Pixies song of the same name? I think the lyrics from the song were actually in the story (I can't be sure, i'd have to listen to the song again).

semtecks · 09-28-2005, 03:20 PM

Good story, I noticed a few punctauation problem (easily fixed).

I was wondering, is this based on The Pixies song of the same name? I think the lyrics from the song were actually in the story (I can't be sure, i'd have to listen to the song again).

skullfire · 09-28-2005, 07:42 PM

I really appreciate that stuff. Thanks a lot. Seriously.

I kind of like how people want to know this or that. I think if you read it again, though, with the whole idea of 'face transplants' in mind, you'll understand. (At least, I hope so!)

When the story came to me, I felt her name began with V, and then after I chose Velouria I subconsciously tried, I think, to impart the same feelings I have when listening to the Pixies song of the same name.

And as far as the punctuation goes, I'd love to have an editor, because I'm turning this in on Friday to my professor! Ha ha!

Any suggestions are taken very seriously!

Well, thanks a lot, guys! I'll return the favor soon and read your stuff!