Thanks a lot, that’s very encouraging, lolleymac.
Short Story / Baby Stink
The video is grainy and I’m getting drowsy but I can’t stop watching. I’m like an addict. I hit rewind and there she is, running away from my arms, pink-cheeked and smiling, back to her tricycle that magically rights itself just in time for her to climb on. Cheryl is asleep. I don’t know how she does it. It is three in the morning but I hit stop and then play and watch the tape again. Her hair is pulled into two mangy pigtails with leftover Christmas ribbon. There is fresh snow on the ground and in the background Larry, our Labrador puppy, is bounding out of the woods. I know Larry is a terrible name for a dog but we let her decide and once you tell a child they can choose any name they want you can’t change it on them. Larry is running behind her and she yells out, “Daddy,” drops the tricycle in the snow and lunges towards me with wobbly steps. All you can see in the frame are my arms lowering to the ground, preparing for her embrace until she fills them up and my body and my head come into view, holding her tight.
I hit pause and then rewind and go back to the beginning.
She stood outside of my political-science class making faces in the window. It was the eighties and Cheryl’s hair was dyed jet-black except for a few wispy streaks of pink in her bangs that she said was her tribute to Madonna. She was puffing up her cheeks, crossing her eyes, and blowing on the glass while the teacher rattled on about the Continental Congress. The thing that I loved about Cheryl was that she was always moving, dancing, laughing.
Later that night we had sex for the first time: drunken, awkward, beautiful sex.
Sometimes when I am feeling good, when the scotch is working, I turn on the light to watch her sleep and try to remember those days. Eventually she begins to look like my daughter and I am reminded that she is no longer here. I’m reminded that Cheryl didn’t cry at the funeral. I’m reminded that I can’t sleep; that all I can do is stand in her old room trying to conjure up the smell of her fresh skin after a bath, her baby stink after a day of playing, even her dirty diapers. Sometimes I crawl into bed and try to forget. I lay there imaging the bed is a casket and the blanket is soil. It actually is comforting. Cheryl will stir and groan in her sleep, subconsciously repulsed by my presence. I know it’s just a matter of time until we’re divorced. It’s in the numbers. Sooner or later couples that lose a child often end up taking it out on each other; half a man, half a woman, trying to destroy the other’s remaining half. It’s a statistical tragedy.
Around dawn a train whistle cracks the silence and fills the valley. Usually when I am out on the porch smoking cigarettes, watching the dark, and imaging a world made of one. Out of the cold it creeps towards me, bringing with it the sound of the Industrial Revolution, Manifest Destiny, Commerce, Civilization; but mostly it brings the idea of other people, of life moving on. The thing is, there are no train tracks for miles and miles, I’ve checked, and no one else has heard the whistle, I’ve asked. One night I forced Cheryl to stay awake with me and listen but the whistle never came. The next day she woke up with a cold and subtly suggested I see someone. “Like a professional,” she clarified while honking into her Kleenex. After that I dropped it.
“There were so many people there. I didn’t feel anything. It was all so strange.”
I watched her lips move but still to this day I can’t picture the sounds those words made. While the seasons tumbled forward haggard and childless, those words became spectacularly more brutal and immeasurable.
I reach down and grab Larry under his jowl, give it a good shake. His sleep slobber attaches itself to my hand. It’s warm and disgusting but I don’t mind. I hit rewind and watch her paddling backwards onto the tricycle. Rubbing his ears, I tell Larry, “See that old man, you were just a puppy then.”
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katelynjane reviewed Version 1 -
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Wow, I really liked this one. It was so sad! And you drew me into the emotions of it, really well done.
One think that I found to be confusing was that at first I couldn’t tell which girl was the wife and which was the daughter. I thought at first that he was hopping into bed with the daughter and I was like “waa?”
I noticed you didn’t have a name for the daughter, maybe that would help with clarity. Also, I think when you introduce Cheryl (“Cheryl is asleep”) you could put “my wife, Cheryl, is asleep” or something like that.
Really well done, you just showed the emotion the main character was going through so well, and also the emotions the wife was feeling. It made me feel as if I was really there, experiencing it with them.
-katelyn
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x_taste_of_ink_x reviewed Version 1 -
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A very touching beautiful piece. Its hard for anyone to imagine what it must be like to lose a child and you’ve portrayed it very nicely – if a little on the unoriginal side however.
A few things didn’t sit right with me for this piece. First off, you refer to the narrator’s daughter as she throughout paragraph one, but then in the second paragraph you start off with ‘she stood outside of my political science class’ but here you mean Cheryl…this is confusing because I continued to think it was your daughter until I then figured out it wasn’t… you need to make this clearer.
Also you talk about Cheryl not crying at the funeral, and then you randomly mention it again later, which just doesn’t flow right…I would suggest including this phrase; ‘“There were so many people there. I didn’t feel anything. It was all so strange.?’ and the following paragraph with the one where you mention the funeral for the first time. It would make more sense.
Also a couple of times you’ve used ‘imaging’ instead of ‘imagining’ for instance; ‘and imaging a world made of one’
There were some really strong parts in this story. I liked the part where he is watching the video and the way you describe it is really good because I could totally imagine it. I liked the way you finished with him watching the video too. The dog with the awful name is a nice touch too!
However, I would say it would be nice to know why the daughter died…it just feels like somethings missing and when something as tragic as this happens its hard not to focus on what took her away from them in the first place. Just a suggestion.
Overall a nice, thought-provoking piece. Well done.
lolleymac reviewed Version 1 -
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I think this piece stands fine on its own, as is. It’s one of the best I read on here in awhile. I think a lot of the suggestions above are good, but to me it needs no major changes. I can see where everything ties in together and I don’t think that any of the elements need too much more context or explaining. Seriously amazing piece, I added you to my favorites and I’ll be reading more of your other work soon.
Katza reviewed Version 1 -
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Wonderful showing of emotions.
The loss and the disarray of a family in morning.
I would like to see a bit more detail maybe the train whistle could come into play here.
What age was the little girl when all this happened? The dog is old now but he is still expecting a divorce. Have they made it several years? He imagins he is sleeping in a coffin and it is comforting, Is he contemplating sucide?
Silverwind reviewed Version 1 -
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Wow, this is sad. I mean, you hear a parent talk about how hard it is to loose a child, but when you read about it as if it had actually happened to a person you kind of just, hurt I guess is the right word. My great grand ma lost my grandmother, and so did my own mother loose her mom. But once you hear about death like that, it hurts and sticks with you. You try and shake it off but you never really do. Any type of death, whether its someone you love or someone you are close to, hurts. But I guess that knowing that you created a piece of life then lost it, your hurt even more then you did once before. Its a good piece of work and I should probably read more, good job.
OwlStretchingTime reviewed Version 1 -
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I’ve skimmed over a few short stories on this site and, from lack of patience or from lack of interesting writing I had yet to finish one. I did finish this story and found it haunting. Any book on writing will tell you to “show don’t tell” which was done quite well.
Loekie reviewed Version 1 -
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The piece starts well, with poignancy. But then it starts to lose focus. I feel you are trying to cover a bit too much in a short piece.
The shift to Cheryl in the 80’s does not seem to fulfill a purpose. And you bring up key things like Cheryl not crying at the funeral. Then you bring up the train whistle.
I know thoughts can be fragmented when dealing with grief. But I felt there was no thread being weaved here.
Yet you capture the grief well, when you are focused on it. Especially with a line like: that all I can do is stand in her old room trying to conjure up the smell of her fresh skin after a bath. Or See that old man, you were just a puppy then. That was when I felt your piece really worked.
haveyouseenmyass reviewed Version 1 -
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Really well done. It felt very personal, and that makes it exceptional. You showed poise and patience in not over/under exposing the childs death. A lot of writers have tendencies otherwise (me).
I lay there imaging the bed is a casket and the blanket is soil.
Nicely done imagery.
If there was anything that I could suggest expanding, it would be about Cheryl. Her existence is kinda fringey. You have opportunity to bring her in a bit more. If nothing else, just to simply reveal more about her character.
wrmathews reviewed Version 1 -
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I really like the warmth in the final paragraph. The interaction between the speaker and Larry breathes life and manages to get us over the absolute tragedy of losing a child.
I may be being obtuse, but what does the train whistle have to do with anything? I wasn’t sure what it was supposed to represent.
Overall, it is a well done peice.
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