Nothing nuttier than losing an entry halfway through. I'm just gonna pretend I didnalt and start where I left off.
Sometimes he'd come as Sam and want to see how crude he could get. But sometimes, he'd be nameless, and just want a massage. He would talk to her then. She was surprized to learn his wifes name was one he had called out before. He talked of his wife freely when he was like this. He came and went off and on over the next year or two when suddenly he was coming more frequently, with an almost urgency-at least he'd start that way. But more and more he'd go from intense and angry, to a sullen state. Sometimes she wondered if he remembered she was there, he grew so quiet. She liked him-liked how he would charm her into free services, liked how despite his taste in roles, he wanted to be liked. Wanted desperately to adopt the character that HE would like. All his characters would fail though, and he'd leave more despondent than ever. She didn't like feeling like a failure. It injured her pride to see him leave miserable. But it was also s painful mirror he was holding up to her. She was good at covering it up-she had to be- but it was hard to stay in character when he broke role like that. Finally, she said what was painfully obvious. He couldn't keep running to her. Whatever he was running from had caught up and was coming with him. He needed to find what it was that would make him happy, and it wasn't here. that was the last time he saw her before now, here in this hallway.
After she finally escaped the conversation in the hallway, she couldn't help watch him and his wife on the dance floor. Was this another act? He played the part of debonair very well. Of course that would be a good role for this audience. His wife was beautiful. He had said as much. She had a flush to her cheeks. Was it the exersize? Probably, but she noticed her stealing a glance or two in her direction, so maybe it was more than that after all.
But now that she knew her face, the burden of small towns set in. The face showed up everywhere. She brought her two babies to a Mom and tot group
Cont later-gotta put kids to bed. Still grumpy from losing first half. May rewrite it tomorrow
Yeah,too bad about the middle bit.
ReplyDeleteThe idea of suicide as a way to keep a promise -- ouch. But good ouch.
Impressions on the storytelling: I think I'd like this better with a less-is-more approach. For instance, the part about being prettier than the professional. For me, the same -- and I think even more -- impact could have come across with maybe a third of the words.
I like being part of the art.
Also the tone breaks sometimes. When she's talking about the kids she gets kind of high-blown sentimental while she keeps to a more toned-down voice when talking about the colossal struggles in her marriage. It's funny that the really emotional topics get the most carefully controlled emotional treatments. I guess that's an effective way to convey the gingerness the narrator still needs to use when handling her feelings about her husband. But still, I'd prefer it her other outbursts about the kids and stuff were brought more into the same line.
And it always amazes me that small town people accept that "burden" and stick it out and keep bumping into their skeletons over and over again. That's sure not the way I was raised. But it's kind of beautiful and I think it's a theme/phenomenon that could be explored in interesting ways in this story.
Thank you! And its interesting you commented about the gingerness. I'm not sure I would know how to convey that depth of emotion without it being really heavy.
ReplyDeleteWhat do you mean "that's not how I was raised"? I was at a garage sale last summer where I ran into a girl who I accused of stealing my coat in sixth grade. That was very nerve wracking. How do you handle it?
I know what you mean about heaviness. I think it might have been possible to express the depth of her feelings by talking about the dance she had with her husband in front of the pro -- what they looked like, how other people were looking at them, what was real about how they appeared and what was not. Storytelling goes places expository mindreading can't reach.
ReplyDeleteAre you being sarcastic about how I was raised? Uncle Lloyd was, as Rob liked to put it, "always lookin' for that clean slate." My two years in Raymond was time enough to rack up a bit of baggage but didn't leave me much time to have to learn to deal with it in a mature, functional way. And Magrath is right out. Who wants to live in a town where she's known as "the one who found the body"? I guess I handle it by not going back.
Not going back...huh. Never thought of that approach. I mostly try to alleviate my own embarrassment by sending even more embarrassing e-mails trying to explain myself. It doesn't go well... Although we did spend last new years with Kirk's ex fiancee and her family. I don't know why_ but I'm suddenly reminded of a Sunday we were travelling and stumbled across a large family picnic. Larry got the bright idea that we could keep the sabbath by inviting ourselves to this picnic. He got out and talked with them, then came back and said we were all welcome. Of course we wouldn't budge from the car out of mortification. He got ticked off, and spun out of the park. Don't know what made me think of that other than we had very different fathers...
ReplyDeleteYes, but our mom and dad are so much the same.
ReplyDelete