didi768

Would love for opinions on this piece. And does anyone know where I could try and get it published?
Thanks,
Dianne
VALENTINE TEARS

I can still see them. Despite the many red and white vehicles and all the people standing about I could still see my sister’s legs. Though covered in blood I could still see the pink and white checkered valentine stockings she wore that dark February day.
Betsy and I were twins and being the same size, we shared the same dresser in our mostly-pink bedroom. That dreadful morning we were arguing over a pair of ankle socks that I had received from my favorite grandma for Christmas, and being it was Valentine’s Day, my sister was begging me to let her wear them to school. I told her no because I absolutely adored those socks and no one, not even my own sister, was going to wear them. We shared a lot but I didn’t want to share those. We were normally very close but I had to put my foot down about those socks. They were special because of who gave them to me. But then finally, after five minutes I gave in…she had a way of pouting that was hard to resist.
Over a year ago my sister was run over and killed by this grandma whom I loved. They called it an accident but I called it murder. You see… grandma had a drinking problem.
My family didn’t talk about my sister when we were together. In fact, we didn’t talk about my sister at all. I suppose because it was just too painful. But I neededto talk about her, to keep her alive in my memory. I was alone now because the only other person I could talk to was no longer an option. All I had to go on now was memories.
I remember one day I caught my dad rummaging through boxes of Betsy’s belongings in the garage. He wasn’t crying or anything but I was embarrassed to have him catch me watching him so I carefully crept away. I knew if our eyes met neither one of us would know what to say. I knew that we wouldn’t talk about her anyway.
I remember another day, well a night actually, about a year after her death; my mother and I were watching television in the living room, and my dad was busy reading the newspaper in his worn leather recliner. Everyone knew better than to try to talk to him because all he would say was “Uh huh, hmmm”, etc. The sports page was clearly more interesting than anything anyone had to say. Mom, in her usual white Angel-Tread slippers, was poring over her recipe books when she whispered to me, “Beth, could you go upstairs and get my desk calendar that is by the computer? I’m still trying to figure out what to bring for Easter. Your dads’ parents invited us over for dinner and I want it to be good because you know how Grandma Alice is about other peoples’ cooking…and then afterwards we are going to stop by Gramma Maxine’s house to bring her some left-overs because she is not feeling well.” Beth’s heart sank. No way was she going to go to her house and pretend everything was normal. All of a sudden she felt sick to her stomach. Her palms, although dry, felt sweaty and cold. Despite how she felt however, she obeyed and went upstairs to get the calendar. Next to the computer was a picture of her sister and herself at Disney World two years ago. It hurt so much to look at that picture. Betsy, then twelve, was so happy... she finally saw Cinderella’s Castle in person. I grabbed what mom wanted and ran for the stairs.
“Thanks Beth” said mom, taking the calendar from her daughter. “What would I do without you?”
I smiled weakly then turned around towards the staircase, hoping to avoid further conversation.
“Where are you going? Don’t you want to watch Jeopardy with me tonight?”
Turning around I replied, “No thanks, I have some homework I need to finish up.”
“Ok…well… don’t be a stranger,” said her mother somewhat dejectedly.
I quickly turned back and made a beeline to the steps, hoping to get up to my room before more was demanded of me.
I didn’t always hate her. Grandma Max was a heavy-set woman with the most loving brown eyes and there had been a time when I couldn’t get enough of her. When I was younger, I spent many overnights there. Most times it was wonderful, other times not so wonderful. You see…gramma had a slight drinking problem but nothing too serious. Or so I thought. Everyone else knew she was a full-blown alcoholic. She hid it well especially when us girls were over there. Despite her drinking though, she was the nicest woman I knew. My sister wasn’t attached to her like I was though, which was okay because then I could have her all to myself and on overnights we could stay up late and watch scary movies and eat popcorn until we were too tired to keep our eyes open. I felt safe with her and wondered if her mother felt the same way with her when she was a little girl. And not only was this woman the best friend a girl could have, she was also the best baker of cookies I had ever met. Every year she entered those cookies in the state fair and won first place and it didn’t matter what kind of cookie they were either. They were all the same--too good to pass up. In fact, she never failed to offer fresh ones with hot cocoa to Betsy and me on cool fall days when we would stop in after school. And once, at my own birthday party where I turned twelve years old, she found me crying in the attic because a boy named Charlie from school kept calling me “fatty fatty two-by-four.” She admitted that she too used to get teased in school and how that was just how boys were. They love to name-call because it was the only way they could show affection without the girl becoming suspicious. I’m still not sure if all that was true but it made me feel better nonetheless. But none of that mattered anymore because the woman who took my sister away forever was out of my life for good now and I’d have to get along without her now.
Lying on my bed, I felt sad so I put on my headphones and turned up the volume on the radio while grabbing a teen magazine. This was how I usually fell asleep nowadays. The family was still in the living room doing their own thing as usual. I really missed the nights we’d would hang out in our own bedroom.
The next morning I felt even worse. It was raining outside. I had gymnastics practice every Saturday morning but today I just didn’t feel like going. Practice was inevitable though as tournaments were in two weeks.
Sluggishly, I made my way to the kitchen. After I grabbed my sneakers I thumped down at the kitchen table to put them on while mom made me a piece of toast and poured a glass of orange juice, sliding it across the table at me.
All I could think of was how much I didn’t want to go to Grandma’s for Easter. It was the first encounter since the accident and honestly, I didn’t know how my parents could even talk to her. They made up months ago and were ready to put the past behind them. But…I didn’t have to forgive anyone if I didn’t want to, and I didn’t want to.
Mom handed me a piece of toast while pointing to the jelly.
I slowly began… “Mom, for Easter is it alright if I have dinner at Stacy’s house? Her mom invited me, and Stacy really wants me to come.”
Mom stopped what she was doing and looked at me like I had two heads or something. “You’re kidding right Beth?” she asked rather sarcastically.
“No” I said looking back down at my toast.
“Beth, please, you have to stop doing this.”
“Stop doing what mom?” She bellowed. “What exactly is it I’m doing?”
“You can’t keep running from her. I know it is hard to forgive Beth but Gramma is sober now and she has suffered so much since the accident. It’s been over a year and it’s about time you stopped punishing her. Your dad and I forgave her and now you have to do the same, for your sake and for hers. We can’t bring your sister back and my mother, more than anyone, knows that. She is grief-stricken and she will pay for that accident for the rest of her life. If I remember correctly, you were not just her granddaughter, you were her friend.”
With tears forming in my eyes I stood up. “Mom”, my sister is dead and there is only one person to blame, can’t you see that? How can you just go on as if nothing has happened? You go ahead and forgive all you want to but I can’t do that, and no one is going to tell me how to feel or how to forget.
Just then I saw raw pink flesh rise in front of me and felt a burning sting on my already searing cheek. Mom had never hit me before. She wasn’t going to get away with it. I angrily pushed back my chair and ran for the back door.
“Beth!” I heard her scream, “Come back here.” Oh my God, what have I done?” She had never hit one of her girls before. The tears came hard and fast and she sat down hard. With her head in her hands she sobbed for the daughter she no longer had and for the daughter she could no longer help. She cried for them and she cried for herself. Betsy was gone. Forever. “Oh Betsy” she moaned. “How can I go on without you? We miss you so much. And your sister.... she feels so alone and can’t forgive what was done to you.” She knew Betsy could hear her now. She knew in her heart that Betsy herself forgave the old woman, so why couldn’t Beth?
I couldn’t see where I was going through my blurry tears. By the time I got my bearings straight I realized that I was only a block from the murderer’s house. I quickly sat down on the cement curb and grabbed a blade of grass. I refused to go any further. I wiped away my shameless tears and dropped my head to my knees.
It seemed like hours had passed.
“Beth, is that you?”
Startled, I quickly looked up, shielding my swollen eyes from the brilliant rays of the sun. It was Mr. Martins, Gramma’s next-door neighbor, a widower who lost his wife a few years back. I remembered how good he was to gramma, mowing her grass for her when his arthritis wasn’t acting up, and doing all the other things for her that old women couldn’t do for themselves.
“Oh, hi Mr. Martins” I said in a low voice.
He shielded his eyes from the sun. “I thought that was you-- what are you doing sitting out here all by yourself?”
“Oh, I was just out walking and got tired so I decided to sit down for a minute.”
“Oh, I see.” Chuckling, he went on. “You’re awfully young to get tired out so easily but it’s good to see you again anyway. We’ve been praying for your Grandma you know, the neighbors and I. I’ve known her a long time and it hurts me to see her suffer so.”
Her suffer? Why pray for her? What about me? She was my sister. Why can’t anyone see that it’s me that is suffering? My eyes started to burn again.
Mr. Martins went on… “It won’t be the same around here without your grandma, that’s for sure. And I hear liver cancer is the most painful kind of cancer to have.”
I hastily stood up.
“Your mom tells me she has only a couple months left. I ran into her yesterday at the market.”
I quickly tried to compose myself then excused myself, saying I needed to stop somewhere before heading home.
“Well okay then. You take care and say hello to your parents for me.”
“Okay Mr. Martins, thank you. See you later.”
“Okay, bye-bye now.”
I quickly bent back down and pretended to tie my shoe while Mr. Martins continued on his slow methodical walk.
I knocked five times but there was no answer so I turned the knob and it opened to my surprise. Gramma always locks her door, she remembered. The kitchen where she usually sat was cold and very quiet, so unlike the usual warmth and busy sounds and awesome smells. I went into the darkened living room where we used to watch those scary movies and saw that she wasn’t in there either.
I decided to check her bedroom and that is where I saw her. What I saw made my scalp tingle and my eyes water…lying there on her back, gramma’s face appeared white as a ghost. Her eyes were closed but I could see a gentle rise of her chest and then I let out a somewhat loud, relieved sigh, which must have startled her because her eyelids started to flutter. I then slowly and carefully walked up to the bed and bent over the pale-looking woman. Her darkly circled eyes settled back down in closure. I could see that she was holding something to her chest: there… in her hands…something pink and white. I knew right then what it was. My eyes started to burn and wetness filled them. It was the old blood-covered sock of my sisters. I felt a million pinpricks run down my neck and slowly leaned over the bed. I froze, stiff as a broom handle, and just stared at her, hoping to see those dark brown eyes again, even if for just one more time. I knew then why I had come.
“Gramma?” I whispered. “Gramma, I.... I’m...”
The old woman suddenly opened one eye then both. Time seemed like it stood still and I just stood there with my eyes as big as dinner plates, staring at this stranger. Gramma held up her hand as if to stop traffic… “I know Beth,” she whispered is a raspy, slow voice.
“You do?” I asked with my eyes again filling up with tears.
“I’m sorry too, more than you’ll ever know,” she again barely whispered. I’m glad you came.”
I leaned down and kissed her soft, white cheek. Her skin felt cold. Like a duet, tears started to fall from both our eyes. Startled, I felt a hand on my shoulder and turned around quickly. It was my mother. Just then, two whole years worth of tears fell from my eyes, tears not only for my sick grandmother but also for the mother who was soon to lose her own mother. I cried for the sister I missed and would never see again. I realized just then that it was all just a circle, a continuous circle of recycled tears… tears three women now shared that were long overdue. Beth, feeling now cleansed, decided that all that really mattered was right next to her and always was. She could finally let go of the hatred and anger that filled every bone in her body and it felt good. It felt real good.

Tarantula

First piece of advice, just to make it more readable...
Make it bigger. I'm sorry, but that tiny font is too much for my eyes.

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A virtue maker took every last dime with that scam
It was worth it just to learn some slight of hand.

Rogozhin

I didn't read it.

(Omg!! Emocry!!111 HE doesn't GET ME!)






Don't take this post too seriously though. Imagine what a publisher would say if he saw something like this. He might sound like me. Do you want him to sound like me? Impress the idiot the next time.

Fossy

Okay, first of all you need to pick one POV and stick to it. Sometimes it was first person, then it was third person. That was so confusing. There are a lot more problems, but I'll leave it at that for now.

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Originally posted by Sam Winchester.
Fossy's good too. She gives good advice.

WriterJohnB

I agree that it's not a very good opening para. The story also jumps around with lightning speed, impossible to follow. It goes from the accident, to that morning, to a year after the accident, an unidentified day of rummaging, another day of watching TV, and all of a sudden, it's BETH looking at the calendar, rather than I. (Shift of first person to third.) And it's all tell, no show. It needs a lot of work before trying to publish. Sorry.

JohnB

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http://www.johnbushore.com

didi768

Ok, well I condensed it down by 250 words or so, still working on that part.
It's hard to take an outside look at your own material.
But anyway, I fixed the POV problems.
I do have a lot of Dialogue, is that bad?
Here is what I now have. Sorry you hate the beginning but I kinda like it so until it hits me in the head how awful it is or if I can think of something else, let's just go with it.
You don't like the garage part about dad? I was trying to show that despite the father is tormented too by the death of his daughter.
My prof. in college always told me, like you did..."Don't tell, show!!" Can you guys give me examples of that?
Well here is the revised story.
Gotta go to bed after a 16 hr. day at work, I can't see straight.

Valentine Tears

I can still see them. Despite the many red and white vehicles and all the people standing around, I could still see my sister’s legs. Though covered in blood I could still see the pink and white-checkered valentine stockings she wore that day.

Betsy and I were twins and being the same size, we shared a dresser in our pink-walled bedroom. We were arguing over a pair of ankle socks that I got from my favorite grandma for Christmas, and being it was Valentine’s Day, my sister was begging me to let her wear them to school. I told her no because I adored those socks and no one besides me was going to wear them. We shared a lot but I didn’t want to share those. We were normally very close but I had to put my foot down about those socks. They were special. But then finally, after five minutes, I gave in…she had a way of pouting that drove me nuts.
Over a year ago Betsy was run over and killed by this grandma whom I loved. They called it an accident but I called it murder. You see… grandma had a drinking problem.

My family didn’t talk about my sister when we were together. In fact, we didn’t talk about her at all. I suppose because it was just too painful. But I needed to talk about her, to keep her fresh and alive. I had no one left.

One day I caught my dad rummaging through boxes of her belongings that were stored in the garage. He wasn’t crying or anything but I was embarrassed to have him catch me watching him so I got out of there and quick. I knew if our eyes met, awkward would be the word -of -the-day. We wouldn’t talk about her anyway, I knew that much.

About a year after her death, my mom and I were watching TV in the living room, and my dad was busy reading the newspaper in his sacred recliner. Everyone knew better than to try to talk to him due to “Uh huh, hmmm”, etc. The sports page was always more interesting than anything we had to say. Mom was poring over a recipe book when she said to me, “could you go upstairs, and get my glasses, the ones by the computer? I’m trying to figure out what to bring for Easter dinner because you know how Alice is about other peoples’ cooking…and then afterwards we’ll stop by Gramma Maxine’s house to bring her some left-overs because she doesn’t feel well.” My heart sank. No way was I going and pretend nothing had happened. I felt sick to my stomach all of a sudden. My palms felt sweaty and cold. Despite how I felt though, I complied. Next to the computer was a picture of us at Disney World two years ago. It hurt so much to look at that picture. Betsy was so happy she finally got to see Cinderella’s Castle.
“Thanks babe”, said mom, grabbing the glasses from me. “What would I do without you?”

Trying to fake a smile and get out of there, I turned towards the staircase, hoping to avoid further contact.

“Where ya going? Don’t you wanna watch Jeopardy with me?”
“No, I have homework I need to do.”

“Ok…well… don’t be a stranger,” she said barely looking at me.
I turned back and made a beeline to the steps, hoping to get up to my room before more was demanded of me.

I didn’t always hate her. Grandma Max was a heavy-set woman with the most loving brown eyes. When I was little I spent lots of overnights at her house. Most times it was wonderful, other times not so wonderful. She had a slight drinking problem but nothing too serious. Or so I thought. Everyone else knew she was a full-blown alcoholic. She hid it well especially when us girls were over there. Despite her drinking she was the nicest woman in the world. Betsy wasn’t attached to her like I was though, which was okay really because then I could have her all to myself and we could stay up late and watch scary movies and eat popcorn until we bursted. I felt safe with her. Almost more than my own mother, which I always felt guilty about.

Once, at our twelfth birthday party, she found me crying in the attic because a boy named Charlie from school kept calling me “fatty fatty two-by-four.” She just told me boys love to name-call because it was the only way they could show affection without the girl becoming suspicious. It did make me feel better. But, none of that mattered anymore because the woman who took my sister away forever was out of my life for good now.

Back in my room, on my bed, I felt sad so I put on my headphones and turned up the volume. This was how I usually fell asleep now. I missed the nights hanging out with my sister though.
The next morning it was raining and I had gymnastics practice. I didn’t feel like going. I had to though because J.V. tournaments were in two weeks. I knew I needed to perfect my dumb bars routine. I made my way to the kitchen. After I grabbed my sneakers I thumped down at the kitchen table to put them on while mom made me a piece of toast and poured a glass of juice…sliding it across the table at me.All I could think about was Easter. It would be our first time together since the accident and honestly, I didn’t know how my parents could even talk to the murderer. They made up months ago and were ready to put the past behind them. But…I didn’t have to forgive anyone if I didn’t want to, and I didn’t want to.Mom handed me the piece of toast and pointed to the jelly. I slowly began, “Mom, for Easter is it alright if I have dinner at Stacy’s house? Her mom invited me, and they really want me to come.”

Mom stopped short and looked at me like I had two heads. “You’re kidding right Beth?” she asked rather sarcastically.“No” I said, trying to avoid her eyes.“Beth, please, you have to stop doing this.” “Stop doing what mom, what exactly is it I’m doing?”“You can’t keep running from her. I know it is hard to forgive Beth, but Grandma is sober now and she too has suffered greatly since the accident. It’s been over a year and it’s about time you stopped punishing her. Your dad and I forgave her and now you have to do the same, for your sake and for hers. She is grief-stricken too and she will pay for that accident for the rest of her life. If I remember correctly, you were not just her granddaughter, you were her friend.”With tears forming in my eyes I suddenly stood up. “Mom, my sister is dead and there is only one person to blame, can’t you see that? How can you just forgive like nothing happened? You go ahead all you want to, but I can’t do that, and no one is going to tell me how to feel or how to forget.Just then I saw raw pink flesh and felt a burning sting on my cheek. She had never hit me before and wasn’t going to get away with it, so I pushed back my chair and ran for the back door.“Beth!” mom screamed, “Come back here. Oh my God, what did I do?” The tears came hard and fast and she sat down. With her head in her hands she sobbed for the daughter she no longer had and for the daughter she could no longer help. She cried for them and she cried for herself. Betsy was gone. Forever. “Oh Betsy” she moaned. “How can I go on without you? I miss you so much. And your sister.... she feels so alone and can’t forgive what was done to you.”

I couldn’t see where I was going through my blurry tears. By the time I got my bearings straight I realized that I was only a block from the Grandmother I wanted nothing to do with. I quickly sat down on the cement curb and grabbed a blade of grass. I brushed at my tears and dropped my head to my knees.“Beth, is that you?” Startled, I quickly looked up, shielding my burning eyes from the sun. It was Mr. Martins, Grandma’s next-door neighbor… a widower who lost his wife a few years back. I remembered how good he was to my Grandma, mowing her grass for her when his arthritis wasn’t acting up, and doing all the other things for her that old women couldn’t do for themselves.“Hi Mr. Martins.” I said.“I thought that was you-- what are you doing sitting out here all by yourself?” “Oh, I was just out walking and got tired so I decided to sit down for a minute.” “Oh, I see.” Chuckling, he went on. “You’re awfully young to get tired out so easily but it’s good to see you again anyway. We’ve been praying for your Grandma you know, the neighbors and I. I’ve known her a long time and it hurts me to see her suffer so.”Her suffer? Why pray for her? What about me? She was my sister. Why can’t anyone see that it’s me that is suffering? My face got hot.Mr. Martins went on… “It won’t be the same around here without her, that’s for sure. And I hear liver cancer is the most painful kind of cancer to have.” I hastily stood up. “Your mom tells me she has only a couple months left.”I quickly composed myself and said I needed to go.“Well okay then. Take care and say hello to your father for me, will you?”I quickly bent down and pretended to tie my shoe while Mr. Martins continued on his slow methodical walk…head and back hunched over.

I knocked five times but there was no answer so I turned the knob and it opened. Grandma always locks her door, I thought. The kitchen where she usually sat was cold and extremely quiet, not the usual warmth and busy sounds I remembered. I went into the dark living room where we used to watch those scary movies and saw that she wasn’t in there either.I decided to check her bedroom. What I saw made my scalp tingle…lying there on her back, her face looked white as a ghost. Her eyes were closed but I could see her chest rise and then I let out a relieved sigh, which must have scared her because her eyelids kind of fluttered. I walked up to the bed and bent over the pale woman. I could see she was holding something to her chest. There… in her hands…something pink and white. I knew right then what it was. It was one of the bloody socks. I felt a million pinpricks run down my neck now. I froze and just stared at her… I knew then why I had come.“Gramma?” I whispered. “Gramma, I.... I’m...”The old woman suddenly opened one eye then both. Time stood still and I just stood there with my eyes as big as dinner plates, staring at this lady. Grandma held up her hand as if to stop traffic… “I know Beth,” she whispered in a raspy monotone.“You do?” My eyes filled up again.“I’m sorry too, more than you’ll ever know, I’m glad you came.” I leaned down and kissed her wet cheek. Her skin felt cold. Standing back up, I felt a hand on my shoulder. It was my mother. Just then, one whole years’ worth of tears fell from my eyes, tears not only for my grandmother but also for my mother who was losing her own. Finally feeling cleansed I decided that all that really mattered was right here and always was. I could finally let go of the hatred and anger that filled every bone in my body and it felt good. It felt real good.

didi768

Oh Lord.......it's just getting worse. I'm glad no one looked over my last "Valentine Tears" yet cause I'm still not done. I keep revising and seeing more and more problems. I kinda like fixing the errors though as sick as that sounds lol.

I have to take a breath and redo this the right way so please ignore that last revision for now. I'm just making too many changes.

I might need a Zanax.

didi768

OOPS