Frabes

Hey I'm Frabes, and I'm new to this forum. I usually write essays and memoirs, but this is my first attempt at a short story. It's pretty straight-forward I think. Nothing too subtle or abstract about it. Comments/suggestions welcome.



I close the door behind her and walk to the kitchen. Through the window over the sink I watch her throw her bag in the back of the car and slump behind the wheel. Frustration is written across her face, and I smile to myself in an odd, detached way as she fumbles with the controls to the seat, no doubt cursing me and my excessively long legs. She had complained to me about this inconvenience many times before, and now, as
I watch her pull out of the driveway and peel off into the night, I wonder if she finds any solace in the fact that she'll never have to perform that particular ritual again.


When the silhouette of the car is no longer visible, I turn, open the fridge, and pull out the last beer. I walk into the dining room and sit at the table, staring at our half-eaten dinner. Over the last few months our meals had gotten quieter and quieter, until the only sounds that came from either side of the table were forks scraping plates, ice rattling in glasses, or the barely audible, ambiguously disgusting sounds of chewing and swallowing. Ironic, then, that our last great argument—the one that finally ended the nightmare our relationship had become—occurred over the graveyard of communication that was our dining room table.


I pick up my fork and start to finish my spaghetti, which by now is frigid and floating in a pool of watered-down tomato sauce. It feels strange, foreign, in my throat—like a mass of worms slowly wriggling their way down my esophagus. I get through two or three bites before I give up and let my fork fall to the plate.


It was her idea to not have a microwave. "A soulless box," she called it. In her mind, there was something unsettling about the way it worked. I was compelled to tell her I felt the same way about the Prius she had bought weeks before, but decided it would be best for me to keep my mouth shut and agree. Even at that time, so early in the relationship, I could sense that our cohabitation was a sort of balancing act—something fragile that could come crashing to earth at any moment. But now, as I watched my cold spaghetti float in a pool of nauseating red liquid, I found myself wishing I had been more assertive. And not just about the microwave.


I take my eyes off the table and look around the room—a room she had decorated. I stare at the drapes, the china cabinet, the area rug. I stare at a room full of her decisions. I should have been more assertive.
I get up and walk to the couch. The living room is in stark contrast to the rest of the house. This room was mine from the beginning, and I am grateful for the escape it provides me. It is an oasis of masculine technology in a desert of floral femininity. I turn on the television and flip through the channels. At one in the morning it's a futile gesture, but it provides a temporary distraction. When I've gone through every channel twice, I turn on Conan and press mute. I settle into the couch and for the first time think about what happened. I can almost hear our heightened voices still reverberating around the house.

--I made a stupid mistake, and I'm sorry. I'm so sorry for hurting y--.

--A stupid mistake? A stupid mistake is forgetting to carry the one, or locking your keys in your car. Getting drunk and fucking someone else while I'm gone for the weekend is far beyond that, Jenn. How I am supposed to ever look at you the same way again?

--Don't say that. Please don't do this, James. I love y--

--You love me? You and I both know that isn't true. Not anymore.


A chill runs down my spine as I the words "forgive and forget" float around in my head like ghosts. As I lay on our couch, staring up at the ceiling, I realize how ridiculous that phrase is—how it's possible to do one or the other, but never both. I wonder when it is we began to value alliteration over the truth. For the time being, I tell myself, I'll do neither.


I sit up and rest my head in my hands as the light from the flickering TV casts grotesquely distorted shadows on the walls. I stand up and walk to the computer across the room. A small icon blinks angrily as I sit in the leather office chair, beckoning me to check my email. I have one new message, and I open it. I see immediately that it is a chain letter. I scroll to the bottom to see what amusing curse will be set upon me if I don't forward it to everyone I know. This one is relatively benign—only a seven year string of bad relationships waits. Nothing I'm not used to.


I move my pointer over the delete button before stopping to wonder if, by some strange chance, these chain letters are real. A thousand questions spring up in my mind. What if my inability to sustain a relationship really is due to my deleting of these emails? What if the pain I've experienced throughout my adult life could have been avoided by simply clicking a "forward" button? It is an unsettling thought, and I briefly consider passing along this letter before realizing what little good it would do. If these things are indeed true, then years of neglected emails means I'm already hopelessly doomed.


I delete the message and walk back to the couch, vaguely aware of the fatigue in my limbs. Though I am physically exhausted, however, I know that sleep is an impossibly long way off. The thought of climbing into our bed and sleeping alone for the first time in two years keeps me from walking down the hall to our room. Instead, I stare at the ceiling and for the first time think about life without her. I think of the things we'll never do together again. I think of lazy Sunday mornings spent sharing a paper in bed. I think of drives to the country, her eyes glimmering in the light of the setting sun as she sings along with the radio.


I stop myself. These thoughts are salt in a fresh wound. Instead, I force myself to imagine her in our bed with a stranger, moaning in beautiful agony as he takes her, over and over again. These thoughts hurt as well, but it is a different hurt. It's a pain I find easier to withstand—one that allows me to tell myself I hate her. It's easier if I hate her.


Finally, exhaustion beats my restless mind into submission, and sleep washes over me as I roll over and close my eyes. A solitary thought enters my mind as I linger briefly on the threshold of nothingness:

Better rest up. Tomorrow you've got drapes to burn and microwaves to buy.

Travmire

Of the few short stories I've read so far, I would say that this one is my favorite.

At the moment, I only have two suggestions. First, I don't think you need the part about chain mail. I suppose you could argue that it gives a glimpse inside of a man who seems logical, but due to what happened to him, he begins to question reality and his doubts toward superstition, but that characterization doesn't fit anywhere else in the story. I would consider cutting it or changing it in some way.

Second, I think you can do much more with the hate at the end. Perhaps you could do more with the man's thoughts of his wife/girlfriend with another man. Have him picture them at different moments through their night (be specific, but don't be vulgar), and as each thought becomes more intimate, his hatred for her intensifies, and be sure to show the reader how the rage is building up, make them feel it. After he hates her as much as he can, or as much as you can make him, he falls asleep and you deliver he last line. That's probably how I would do it, but I do suggest playing around with this part of the story and seeing what you come up with.

Frabes

I understand what you're saying about the chain mail part. I do believe, however, that it's an important part of the story. The narrator's isn't necessarily questioning reality--he's trying desperately to find some way to rationalize the pain he's experiencing, even if that means finding it in an irrational superstition. I think you're right about that part not fitting, but I think it's because the tone is a little different. That was actually something I had written some time ago, long before I started writing this story, as part of a memoir. I put it in there because I felt it would provide some insight into the narrator's mind. In retrospect, I probably could have rewrote it.

As for the ending, I actually wrote two--the one that there's now, and one similar to your suggestion. I chose the first because the other came across a little too much like a dramatized version of The Hulk. Also, I think it's important to note that the narrator only tells himself he hates her. Deep down he knows he doesn't, but for the moment he believes it because it makes the pain easier to deal with.

Thanks for the comment, by the way. I appreciate it.

Keridwen

Hello Frabes,

First off, overall, your story was absolutely fantastic. It was sturdy, solid, and all-round well written. For specifics...

Your first paragraph was delivered beautifully. When I'd finished reading it, it was all I could do to not hit the reply button right there - made me want to continue reading, and for someone who is dying to get to bed like I am, that's a pretty good save. The last line in relation to the rest of the paragraph is terrific, couldn't fault anything at all.

Brilliant. Adds a certain dry humour into the tale, a much appreciated virtue.


I do have to disagree with Travmire - the chain mail thing worked well because its something all of us can relate to, can immediatley recognise, and allows us to equate ourselves with the character - the most important element of a story such as this. And with the ending - I think what Travmire suggested, while it is a good idea and would definitley work well, it would be too long and involved for the plot line. What you've done really works solidly.

The last line is good - mixes self-fullfilling prophecy with irony and sums it up nicely.

Nice job! I really enjoyed reading.

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Frabes

Thanks for the comment, Keridwen , and for staying awake to read the story in the first place. I'm glad you enjoyed it.

c is 4 cyanide

That story was really great and I could feel James's pain. I disagree when people said the chain mail was irrelevant. I thought it added a lot and gave a different view into the mind of men; rational and irrational. I do think that there should be more about the hate and anger and thoughts of Jenn in bed with another man. Otherwise this is great.

Rob

Hi Frabes,

Maybe you could do something with the sentence structure. There were too many 'I did this, I did that' sentences for my taste and it became distracting.

Some tell in there that spoils it a little, and I think it's avoidable if you restructure your story a little (more later).

Examples of the 'I did this, I did that' sentences, but also giving us a level of detail that's unnecessary. Does it matter whether he turns or not? Do you have to tell us he opens the fridge door, or if you say he takes the last beer from the fridge can we picture that anyway? (I notice he doesn't close the door, right?) If he sits at the dining table, do you need to say he walked there or can we as readers make that connection? You know what I'm saying - there are details here that the reader will fill in without you having to say them, so you can focus on the parts of the story that move it forward instead.

More unnecessary tell that could be avoided, or at least improved, by restructuring a little. You're in first person present tense, but here you've stopped the action to tell us what happened in the past, and what you're describing is critical to the story.

More 'I did this, I did that'. Consider describing it without saying that you stare at everything, and how it might be written as 'her drapes' and 'her china cabinet' and 'her area rug' so that we know she decorated it without you having to say so. Readers like to get things that aren't spelled out.

Okay, but there's nothing here that I can visualise.

Here's where I think you might consider restructing. This is a key dramatic event in your story. It took place in the past. You begin your story when this event is done and she's out of the door, so we don't really connect with it. You might consider creating a version of this that starts at the dining table, with the forks scraping plates and ice rattling in glasses, creating some tension, and then lead into the ironic last great argument - but play it out in front of the reader. Then continue with what you have now. Not only does this involve the reader in the key events of the story, it can avoid some of the tell by showing it as it happens.

Other than that, and apart from trivial issues, I thought it was quite promising. As I say, then, maybe work on the sentence structure to avoid the 'I did this, I did that' feel, restructure the chronology so that the reader is involved in the key dramatic events - and gain some tension and direct conflict along the way, and cut some of the trivial details that the reader can get anyway.

Cheers,
Rob

Frabes

Thanks for the input, Rob. The problems you hit on are actually the same ones I'm fighting with now as I'm trying to finish the second draft. Spacing the argument out over the whole story is an interesting idea that I hadn't thought of. I might go back and do that. Thanks again.

Rob

No problem, and good luck with the next draft.

Just to clarify, I'm not suggesting that the actual verbal argument should be stretched over the whole duration, but that it should be played out in front of the reader in a linear chronology - place it when it happens by starting your story earlier. The rest of the story, as written, can follow that, including the development you have now with the email and the thought process.

Cheers,
Rob

snorrie

For the most part, this is a pretty strong piece. It flowed very well and it pulled me through. There was one thing that got to me. There were a few points that read like a script. You had his every movement and I don't think it's necessary. I'll give you a couple examples.

These are details that detract from the story. You don't have to tell the reader that you are walking or pulling out a beer or moving your pointer. I know this may seem kind of nit picky, but I've been dinged pretty hard by a very experienced writer for this exact same things. There are more subtle ways to describe these things without holding the readers hand every inch of the way. Good stuff though. I enjoyed your writing. Good luck.

Mobius88

This was a very enjoyable story and it was almost impossible not to connect to the main character. I feel like if I said much about the story, I'd just be repeating what everyone before me has said so I'll spare you. Just know that I enjoyed reading it and it was a very well played out story on a subject that many writers wouldn't be able to get across to the reader. You did it very nicely.

Xion Night

Very nice. I'm really sorry I don't have any crits, but, like the Mobius above me, I seek to give you praise where praise is due. I applaude your awesomeness.

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Azmakna

what can one say of a piece like this. this was a sheer delight to read. you have such a talent for observation. this is inspiration for me and i will reference this for my future projects. cheers

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