i’ve reworked it. found a lot of errors- as I always do. thanks so much for your careful reading.
I’m sorry for your loss. It’s hard to bury- or scatter someone you love. I’m up to three now..c’est-la-vie…
Short Story / Little Black Box
Little Black Box
My family is fucked up. I drove down the freeway with the sun staring me in the eyes for as long as I could stand it. I took the Pinole Exit off highway 80. I had twenty bucks, and I stopped in front of a small liquor store and went inside for cigarettes and a bottle of vodka
“Marlboro Light 100’s and a small bottle of Absolut,” I told the Arab behind the counter. I had tears in my eyes. He gave me a weird look; but I could give a shit what he thought anyway. I got back in the car, lit a cigarette, turned up the music full blast, and headed west to San Francisco. My little brother sat in a little black box on the front seat with me. I played “Rocky Mountain Way” one of his favorite songs, but we weren’t singing. I had to concentrate on driving. He was dead.
I drove down 80 towards the Bay Bridge with traffic that got more and more congested as I got closer to Berkeley. When the detective called me, he said he was trying to find a relative, and asked if I would be able to identify the body.
“Yeah,” I said, “he has a tattoo of a girl’s name- Karen on his forearm.” I held onto the phone trying to listen if he was someone playing a trick on me, or was it real?
“What happened?” I asked as my stomach flip flopped. The sinking feeling I had was my answer.
“Did he have any enemies?” he asked quietly. I knew he was writing everything I said down.
This was the interview with the death detective. Morgues. Lies. Hate. Love. Tears.
“Every where he went. He was on the run.”
“What?” my sister said and hung up the phone.
I asked my brothers and sisters to come so we could talk. They sat around like they were at a camp fire roasting marshmallows. I asked them all for some money, what ever they could spare to have him cremated, and the sister with the money said – the soul leaves the body after death- it didn’t matter to her; he could be buried in a potter’s field. Silence.
I told them- “What if it was me? Would you let me be buried in a pauper’s grave? How could you do this?”
They shook their heads no.
“Then how could you do it to him?” I yelled.
No one offered a dime. When they started talking about him, I didn’t say another word. Then they started talking about money, and I walked out stupefied. Dumb. Numb. I got in my car realizing that the ties that bind where cut. I would never love them the way I used to. Ever. It was over.
I asked people I knew – the painter who was in the Hell’s Angels, the guy who managed the tire store, the bartender, the guy with the moving company- everyone I could think of who knew him and I still didn’t have enough money to get him cremated and flown back home. I asked nieces and nephews
He died alone in a state where no one knew him. He was working for a guy who owned a bar, and he lived in the apartment upstairs. He didn’t show up for work. The guy had the key and opened the door. He was asleep, the TV was on, and so he just shut the door, and left him. He had been dead for a week. What about the smell? Maybe he had something to do with it, it seemed fishy to me.
The medical examiner said he died of an overdose- a super ball- a mixture of heroin and speed, and too much beer. His heart didn’t know if it should speed up or slow down. The detective said the coroner couldn’t even tell what color his eyes were. Green. They were green.
It took two weeks, but got most of the money together but not enough to fly him here. They sent him through the mail to a local funeral parlor. I picked him up and he sat on my dresser for a week. I started having strange dreams. I couldn’t take it. My sisters said they’d scatter his ashes in the bay with me on the weekend, but no one showed up on Saturday. I called them twice, but no one answered. From the way they talked when we were discussing the arrangements; I knew they wouldn’t show up, so I left. I didn’t know how I was going to do it. I just knew I had to.
I hit the fog over the Bay Bridge and drove down Junipero Serra Boulevard towards the Great Highway. I slowed down looking for a place to park –there were kids lined up lined up along Ocean Beach shaking in wet beach towels as mothers wiped sand from the bottoms of their feet, and blond surfers in wet suits who stood beside their boards talking about the waves, and young lovers huddling closely together trying to stay warm, and groups of Mexican boys standing between the cars drinking beers.
I drove by slowly – looking at the horizon, and for a spot where no one would be on the beach. I parked- and took the vodka out of the paper bag and took a long swig and another. I waited a minute. I started crying, I lit cigarette and looked in the glove compartment for my dad’s buck knife. I cut open the cardboard box and put the plastic bag with the pale grey ashes in my purse with the knife, and then stood outside the car put on my jacket, and drank some more. I stepped on the cigarette and walked down a path holding on to the long sea grasses so I wouldn’t fall off the cliff where the path narrowed and dipped quickly. I jumped down to the beach, and saw a man in a Levis jacket walking his tan lab along the black, wet sand. I stared out to sea waiting for him to leave and then tears came as I walked away and sat on a long half burnt log, put down my purse, took off my shoes, and rolled up my jeans. When he was far enough away, I pulled the bag of ashes out and looked at them. They felt heavy in my hands. I said the Our Father and walked barefoot into the water. It was freezing cold; the current comes down the coast from Alaska. I looked around, I was afraid of being caught, or of scaring people, and took out the knife, cut the bag on the top under the staple, and turned it upside down just as a wave said good-bye. He fell in a pile onto the wet sand.
Sea gulls swooped down and hovered above the mound. I panicked. Then another small, cold wave came in and touched the edge of the pile, pulling a flimsy white trail of bubbles out to sea on the receding waves with more than half of him still sitting on a now wet in a pile on the dark sand. I prayed- please God; please don’t let it be low tide… I’d have to scoop him up with my hands. I waited, pleading with God, please don’t let it be low tide, as a wave came in and stopped two feet from the ashes. People were coming up the beach. Another small wave came up – and stopped three feet away and fell back into the sea with nothing. The waves kept coming closer, then further, closer – closer, closer-nothing, and- then another came and touched the edge of the pile and pulled a little pale line out to sea. Thank you. Each wave got a little bigger, and took a little more out to sea as the couple came closer. Hurry. The tide was coming in-and then a little more- and I watched the thin line flow out to sea in the waves. I had to step back when they came crashing and then -he was gone. Thank you God. Finally it was done. The woman smiled at her lover. I stared at the fog and the sea with its line moving over the white crashing waves and felt empty. I knew I had done a good thing.
I walked back up the cliff on the path and sat in my warm car and finished the bottle, and a few more cigarettes. Ashes to ashes, dust to dust. My family is fucked up.
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SwordMistress reviewed Version 1 -
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I think this shows a lot of promise. I believe we a few changes this could be a very powerful story.
“My family is fucked up.” You start and end the story with this line, yet I don’t see a lot of evidence to support it. The brother was in trouble with the law and it sounds like most of the family turned their back on him even in death. The fact that he was on the run doesn’t justify their abandonment of him necessarily, but it is a pretty typical reaction. There isn’t really enough details. Also we don’t know much about main character. We don’t even know even know the sex until page 4 and that’s only a guess because she carries a purse and most men don’t. All we know about her is the she thinks her family is fucked up and she lovers her brother. Give us more insight into this person. Give us some more details on what went wrong with her brother. What happened to their parents? I think all these things can really enhance the story.
The other thing that is miss here is I’m not sure what the main character is actually feeling, yes she loved her brother and felt he deserved a proper burial (or in this case scattering the ashes). But did she resent the trouble he was in? How about the fact that he basically killed himself by overdosing? How long was he on the run? Why was he on the run? Does the main character feel a sense of obligation to take care of her brother’s remains or was it only because she cared. What place is she in the family? Is she the oldest? How about the brother? All of these things will make an impact on the reader.
“detective called me,” had called
“or was it real?” Awkward. ‘if it was real.’
“my sister said and hung up the phone.” I thought she was on the phone not her sister. If some time elapsed you need to indicate that.
“nieces and nephews” nephews. Also are their no parents, grandparents, aunts and uncles to ask? How old are these people? It doesn’t sound like any of them have families of their own.
“I slowed … the cars drinking beers.” This Sentence is 70 words long and difficult to read. Consider splitting it into more than one sentence.
“ I parked- and took the vodka out of the paper bag and took a long swig and another.” Awkward. Consider, ‘I parked, pulled the vodka out of the paper bag, and took a long swig and then another.’
“I waited a minute. I started crying, I lit cigarette and” The way this is phrased it sounds like she had to wait a minute to cry. Also put a period after ‘crying.’ ‘I lit a cigarette’ a new sentence.
“I cut open the cardboard box and put the plastic bag with the pale grey ashes in my purse with the knife, and then stood outside the car put on my jacket, and drank some more.” awkward sentence. Consider, ‘I cut open the cardboard box, put the knife and the plastic bag with the pale grey ashes in my purse. Then I put on my jacket, stood outside my car and then drank some more.
“just as a wave said good-bye.” This isn’t very clear.
“He fell in a pile onto the wet sand.” Who fell into a pile of wet sand? You mean her brother’s ashes? I thought she was in the water. If the tide is coming in and out you need to say that to be clear.
“please don’t let it be low” tide,” Why didn’t she just walk further into the water?
“The woman smiled at her lover.” This doesn’t make any sense.
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avedis reviewed Version 1 -
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I really liked this and, having cast my mothers ashes in a Southern England park, can identify with a lot of it.
So, I’m going to be very picky – as you can afford to be with something you like.
First, the kick off sentence. Yes, the echo at the end works well – but I’d prefer it to be a bit more meaty and “living”.
Something more like “Yes, my family are fucked up alright”.
“I drove down..stand it.” Not clear, stand the drive or stand the sun in your eyes? Reword this, and give emphasis to the fact that you “couldn’t stand it” and that is why you had a choice to continue but chose to take the Pinole exit.
“twenty bucks, and I stopped ”. “So” would work better than “and” here.
“When the detective called me,” Start a new paragraph and “When the detective had called me,” as you are changing from current to past.
Keep all the “history” stuff in the past tense.
“Every where he went. He was on the run.” Does this belong to the conversation with the detective or your sister? Make this clear.
“that bind where cut.” “were cut”
“He didn’t show up for work.” -> “He didn’t come down for work.” fits better.
“He was asleep,” “My brother” would work much better here. The “he’s” get confusing in this section.
“but got most of the money” “but I” works better.
“arrangements; I knew they wouldn’t show up,” Repetition of “show up”, use “come”.
“lined up lined up” – “lined up”
“took a long swig and another.” -> “took first one long swig and then another.”
“upside down just as a wave said good-bye.” I get the imagery, but it is a bit clumsy.
“upside down. I had chosen the moment when the wave decided to say good-bye.” or something similar.
One other general remark, watch your use of commas, colons etc – you have either missed or misplaced quite a few.
squarehopper reviewed Version 1 -
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This became tedious to read. It was because of the constant use of “I”. You need to limit that. Also became tedious because it was all relating events and not showing them to us. I felt I was being bombarded by Ben Stein by fact after fact after fact. There was no action, no tension, no suspense, nothing.
I recommend you redo this and include events as they happen. Instead of telling us about the sibling meeting, actually have it happen. Have the sisters and brothers talk, act, react and live.
This also may give more insight into your character and the dead brother which will go a long way to making us feel the emotion we need to feel in this story.
Owl_Light reviewed Version 1 -
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Well written. Can’t fault it.
Reminded me of Dartmoor. Rubber stamps are placed in containers and hidden. You find one and get your inkpad and stamp your book then replace the stamp for others to collect. The containers for the stamps are many and varied; from margarine tubs to ammunition boxes.
We saw some kids who had found an urn. They were puzzled to find no rubber stamp inside; just a load of ash. They tipped out all the ash but still couldn’t find a rubber stamp. They told their parents who returned with them ashen(sorree) faced to replace the urn in its hiding place in the rocks.
I wonder if the person who originally placed that urn thought they had done a good thing?
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