Novel Treatments / Emme (Analysis)
Good evening. What ever the time is for you. For me it is night. Nonetheless, greetings. I hope you have a good day. Today I wondered why I was still alive. My friends all have some purpose they are fulfilling. I travel in and out of their minds clandestinely. I attempt to observe and record their process in order to duplicate and personalize it. Unfortunately any notes I take end in demise. One time my dog ate them. Another time there was this big rainstorm. I was just walking down the street and a big wind whooshed down and blew my notes into a rushing stream. But this is not a story about my lost notes, or espionage. It is more of a timeline. Therefore I will start at the beginning and work my way from there. When I was born I was very much wanted. my parents had had several miscarriages so my successful birth was quite a happy patch of clear skin on an otherwise blemished face. Growing up was somewhat typical. Both parents worked. They decided to tempt fate with another pregnancy. After my brother was born a dog was added to complete our picture of perfection. To continue the story of happy American life they divorced when I was five. We went to live with my mother. My father got the dog. A couple of years later, actually 10, he married this little hoochie 12 years his junior. Iquite content traveling between houses.
Daddy’s House
Daddy wanted to be a music producer. In his tiny queens apartment he had quite the collection of equipment. At all hours of the night strange men and women lingered in and out to “put down” a track. The walls would shake with the beat of the bass. My brother and I would occasionally record a few impromptu songs. I wasn’t a very good singer but I tried, and of course that is all that counts. Allen James, my brother, would play the drum machine. A.J. was very good at that. After I accepted his presence as permanent I stopped threatening gruesome attempts on his life and successfully convinced him he was adopted. I also allowed him to make music for me.
The apartment was on the 6th floor. For entertainment we would throw things off Daddy’s balcony. While the adults were preoccupied with music and alcohol, mostly the latter, we would find random objects to heave. Anything from water balloons to shoes would have their moment of glory. On one visit we found pieces of brick that clearly needed a job. They too made their way off the balcony. After a certain hour, nothing is prohibited. When there was nothing left to get rid of we rode the elevators. This was usually a very short adventure. A.J. and I lived with mommy next to the ocean so we didn’t usually ride public elevators. and daddy lived in a building with a very public elevator. We weren’t allowed to touch the walls of the buttons with our bare fingers. A light constantly flickered in one elevator which offered great fodder for horror stories. Both units smelled strong of urine. The unit with the flickering light bulb was clearly the site of a murder scene. There were bullets lodged in the walls and doors. The ceiling was easily removed and the floor never completely became level with the floor of the hallway. In any case, we avoided that one at all costs. The other one was better, slightly. It was at least brighter and faster.
We played in that elevator until the novelty wore off which didn’t take long. When that occurred we took to throwing random objects down the garbage chute. We liked throwing things. There are no garbage chutes on the beach, or balconies for that matter. Supposedly there was a furnace at the other end of the garbage chute. Kind of like the one on Charlie and the Chocolate factory. The old version, with Gene Wilder. Not the newer one that one was just strange. In any case, we didn’t attempt to go down it. It was smelly. It was dark. It was New York. Back in the apartment we were never missed. Eventually our father would declare it was late and he had children. All the wannabe rappers would go shuffling out the door loudly to their respective places of residence. So at about 2 am it was finally time to go to bed. At ten years old, I knew there was a problem with this situation. In the morning one of our “cousins” was usually commissioned to babysit when daddy went to his 9 to 5. One in particular, Jamie, had a son around our age. I thought he was great, he had a bigger barbie collection than me. In fact, his dolls made me question my lack of toys. I am not sure i had any actually. AJ liked him because he finally had a boy to talk to. They would play video games or compete in some physical sport I usually refused to participate in. Jamie just ate. Jamie didn’t mind us leaving for a couple of hours just so long as we came in when lunch was served. The t.v. always seemed to be watching itself. Even Jamie chose books or the radio instead of visual entertainment. It was one of those big machines with surround sound. It was kind of hard to avoid seeing when you entered the tiny apartment. The other thing that was hard to avoid was the overwhelming sense of bachelorism. The tiny apartment consisted of a large bedroom and a “study”. a kitchen, bathroom and a living room. Guitar magazines were scattered around. Occasionally A.J. or I would find a dirty magazine with naked women tucked lazily in a drawer or cupboard. our father also seemed to by only the best in gourmet foods. My brother and I had a great time concocting recipes in the kitchen or bathroom. And to think of it, the balcony. The rule was we weren’t allowed to tell Daddy or Jamie. Because there was no safe playground we spent a lot of time during our visits inside the apartment. Daddy would come home around six. We were always happy to see him. He would change the channel to the sports station and send Jamie home. Daddy cooked really well. At dinner he would sit us down and ask seriously “So what’s on your mind?” AJ and I would sit silently asking each other this question. Almost simultaneously we would burst out laughing at the thought of communicating without words. Daddy would get frustrated at our apparent obstinance and take his place on the couch waiting for more appropriate company. That brief moment we had him was nice though. After dinner the routine of object throwing, elevator hopping and garbage chute wonderment would resume. Daddy was very handsome. Aside from his large nose he still had many women comment on looks, and when he would return their comments in kind he subtly formed a sense of beauty in my mind. These women had long wavy hair, high skinny heels and perfectly round breasts. that sat up almost cheerfully as if to Hi! Their nails were always clearly acrylic with jewels or some elaborate design. they wore tight clothes that almost negated their necessity. They were quite the parade of beauty.
The day to day monotony ended as abruptly as it started. We would be either picked up or dropped off mid-day. One time daddy was particularly intoxicated as we made our way out the building. As we rode the scary elevator to the ground floor an argument erupted between Aj and daddy. The reason is irrelevant. Aj was 8 or 9. I can’t remember the exact events but aj was thrown into a wall. I screamed. One of those, “ i don’t really know what is happening but this is scary” scream. My own fear raced up in from of me and I think that’s when I met Emme. Emme only existed inside my mind and i knew that. Nonetheless, I could have complete conversations and debates with her. She wasn’t irrational. In fact, she fostered voice from my open mouth when I was otherwise mute. Almost like the boy on The Shining. Only I was completely aware of her presence. She saved me at times like these so I could watch at a distance. Aj’s head hit the wall and i could see the crack in the tile. Emme made me move too. the broken tile fell as aj did , but I caught him. I wish he could have Emme because after that he was not the same. Continuing down the hall our father summoned us out into the hot afternoon air. Daddy moved a couple of times. The background changed but the memories haven’t.
chapter 2
We are flying. Hand in hand. Above everything. Looking down, the buildings gradually fall away from sight. They shrink smaller and diverge. The busy verb of city life is slowly subtracted by sidewalks and growing fauna. Slowly our bodies lifted out of our seats, the tight uniform of conformity loosens from our necks. My breath deepens and respirations decrease. My mind’s eye ceases to reflect the blood red of rage or blurred gray of confusion. It’s dilating to a calmer green and more relaxing blue. Almost like tasting honey for the first time, I experience the sweetness of returning home. But remnants of the charred city grip weakly on me. For me, its easier to release the hold. My only brother has a more difficult struggle. I see his eyes are still blinded by the ash of disappointment. They speak and tell me he is quietly succumbing to despair. My own ears ignore his call. Instead they choose the more pleasant sound of self-talk. Incessant chatter seems to calm my nerves. the landscape widens offering views of a new england coastline. Tourists stop occasionally to enjoy the salty air, and ocean breeze. From in the air we watch them unload their perfect family, from their perfect car, on their perfect vacation. When you fly it is had to stop and rest until you reach your destination. Like birds flying south we always take the same route. I have almost memorized every signpost, can point out any minor change in either detour, road construction or traffic flow and am able to perfectly schedule arrival and departure times. As our bodies land in our cozy Cape Cod home , i occasionally wondered how long it would be until this seemingly constant motion will end forever. The movement between houses tires me; my wings weaken easily. The familiar sound of squawking seagulls and waves crashing greets me now. I erase the image of the concrete jungle of my fathers house with every exhale. We stop to notice those familiar missed items during our visit away; the local grocery store, our school playground. our narrow street, the rocky half-circle of our driveway. Aj and I resume our daily race to the mail box hoping for something bearing our names. We land and one foot in front of the other we take the handi-cap ramp to the side door of our house. Opening it, at first glance nothing has changed.
chapter 3.
mother’s house
Knowing that in this place things will stay predictable, we scramble inside leaving our belongings in the car. But our mother’s house is unmistakably a tribute to a dying breed of gypsies. It is warm. Not the get that cozy feeling when you enter the room warm. Warm like several generations live under one roof and you will always gain some information even when not requesting it warm. A.J. and I frequently forgot ourselves at our fathers house. Our mother would have to retrain us and the process usually took several days if not weeks. Our home sat quietly in the woods waiting for us to return. We woke up the neighborhood with unruly behaviour and sheer dis-concern for peace. My primary residence sat two stories high among un-manicured lawns and wild shubbery. Neighbors were summertime Irish students looking for daily work and two sets of elderly couples. The street was common to other streets. It ran from the beach to a Main street passing typical houses and unimportant businesses. Before waking i new i was home by the loud silence that burst through my window. There is a certain amount of comfort in knowing what to expect.
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This 119 word review has not been unlocked.
For technical feedback, I did notice there are some grammatical errors in this…a few misspelled words, a couple places where the beginning of the sentence needs to be capitalized, a missing word here and there. Proof reading type stuff.
You created a very real sense of closeness and bonding between the siblings. I would like to know the narrator’s real name though. I liked how the narrator discovers Emme, but it was very brief. I think it might help if you describe Emme further and her significance to the narrator. Create the kind of bonding and love that you already have with the two siblings. I don’t know if maybe you plan on doing that in future chapters.
I liked that the two houses of the parents are so different. And the mindsets that the Cape Cod setting has that is so different from the New York setting. It really helps to explain the struggle that the kids have with the divorce.
One question that I wasn’t quite sure on is, do the siblings have some kind of telepathic abilities? I was wondering that because of the dinner scene with the father.
I am very interested to read more of this story.
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