Short Story / Crash-Landing
“I’ve always said, ‘the best way to get to know someone is to get them drunk’.” His lips stretch into that grin I’ve come to know so well, and he flicks the ash off his cigarette and onto the concrete. The table we’re sitting at is littered with notebooks, pencils, pens, empty or half-empty cigarette boxes and our matching Zippo lighters. The ashtray by my right elbow is nearly overflowing with my stubbed-out cigarettes, several of the filters still smoldering. The air around our heads is full and pungent from our current smokes, and the smells of nicotine and caffeine mingle in the air.
I look up from my writing and notice that his cigarette is glowing ever closer to the filter, and ever closer to the delicate skin lying between the first and second joints on his middle and index fingers. I refrain from pointing out this fact, knowing as I do that he will spot it just in time to take one last drag before tossing the filter onto the ground. He’s like that, always has been. It’s almost eerie the way he notices things, even those as small as a cigarette. He always seems to catch them right when they become dangerous and just before they become painful. It’s one of the things that has drawn me to him; one of the things that keep me from leaving. He intrigues me; he keeps me interested in a way no one else ever has. And at the same time, he frustrates me to no end. Take, for instance, the statement just made – it’s ever-so-cocky, but in that perfectly charming manner that makes me uncertain as to whether I want to strangle him or kiss him. Even worse, he says things like that knowing all the while that I’ve never been drunk, and in making such a statement he points out one of the few things I’ve never wanted to admit. He will never know me as well as I know him.
I was right; there went the last embers of cigarette, just in time…again.
-—---—---—---—---—---—---—---—---—---—---—---—---—---—---—-—
He’s been drinking. The harsh smell of alcohol lingers on his breath and I can taste the remnants of cheap vodka in his kiss. It’s a taste I’ve come to know all too well, and I know even better what the after-effects of that vodka will be. I can’t say that it doesn’t bother me to see him this way. I won’t say that I hate it, but I don’t love it either. I merely tolerate it. He’s not drunk yet, but it’s near absolute that he will be soon. Sometimes it seems that I’m more aware of his level of intoxication than he is.
“Hey baby.” The slur in his speech would be undetectable to anyone other than me, but hearing it so often has made my ears finely attuned to every drawl and over-extended syllable.
“Hey, where’ve you been?” A simple enough response, but in truth it’s one laced with pain, worry, and a twinge of anger. “You’ve been gone awhile.”
“Awhile” is my way of saying 3 hours and 23 minutes; it’s my way of masking the fact that I’ve kept count of every single minute he’s been away.
He grabs me around the waist and plants a sloppy kiss on my forehead. “Out,” is all the answer he’ll give me, just enough of a response to justify my fears. He lets me go and takes another swig from the brown-bagged bottle he hasn’t set down since he’s been home. He presses a button on the stereo and it begins to thump the resounding bass of a Jimi Hendrix tune. He sways in time to the music and makes a failed attempt to get me to join him. “C’mon baby…” He pleads, holding his empty hand out to me. “Just feel it…” I am angry. I don’t want to “just feel it”, but he’s just standing there, and he won’t stop until I join him. So I do. I take his offered hand and step into his warm embrace. He begins to move slowly and gently as “The Wind Cries Mary” begins to play. Suddenly, and just a simply as that, the argument is diffused. He untangles his left hand from mine, and places it on the small of my back. The dance continues.
“I’m sorry baby,” I whisper, even if it is untrue. I just want things to stay like this forever. “Just missed you is all…”
He shushes me with a finger to the lips and draws me closer. My breath is now hot on his chest, and I can hear his heart beating slow and steady. He moves our bodies close to the coffee table and I hear him take another drink of vodka. The rustling of the bag is noisy and loud above my head, and his swallowing makes a strange gurgle as the liquid flows down his throat. “Want some?” he offers. My initial thought is habitual, a refusal, but I can barely hear my logical brain over the roar of every other member of my body. My only response is a nod, and he willingly passes me the bag. The bitter smell reaches my nose, and I have to resist the urge to turn away. I press the bottle to my lips and inhale sharply through my nose as the burn begins on my tongue. The taste of vodka is exactly what I had always imagined it would be, and I can’t help but be slightly disappointed. But I keep swallowing, and soon the warmth washes away all feelings of remorse and any remaining trace of anger. I let the bottle fall from my lips and pass him the now near empty bottle. “How was it?” He asks me this like you would ask someone who just took a parachuted leap from a plane and crash-landed in front of you.
“Mmm…”
He smiles understandingly, “My thoughts exactly.” And then his lips are on mine and there are no more words.
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Did you steal my exboyfriend(s)? This is GREAT, I loved it! Your descriptions are marvelous, the dialogue just enough, the feeling wiht the overflowing ashtrays – know it al too well. Grammar – refrain from sentences starting with AND and BUT. I enjoyed the ending as well. This character (him) comes to life – you have done an excellent job portraying him. From a veteran like myself, imagining taking a slug of vodka being such a traumatic (lack of better word) situation makes ones mind reel. Its almost as if he gave her heroin for the first time. Excellent piece.
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Very well written and sucks the reader helplessly into its vortex. The beginning seemed a little slow with the cigarettes, but then it opened up (not exactly sure when) and grabbed a hold of me and would not let go. A bit disappointed I’m left hanging, but I read the notes and understand it’s a mere part of a short story. Would read the whole thing with relish (and mustard, too) when available! Best of luck and write on!
Sincerely,
J.L. Campbell
www.jlcampbellbooks.com
GREAT use of a hook. From the minute I read the first line, I was intrigued by this piece.
Your descriptions are crisp, vivid, and you have a great talent for “showing” us what is happening in the story, rather than telling, excellent job, I especially loved the “cheap vodka in his kiss” line.
I think that if at all possible, you should characterize the woman in the piece a little more. Show us how much she loves her man through description, actions, anything.
Great job, look forward to reading more.
The air around our heads is full and pungent …
The cigarette theme is way overdone in para. 1. I would cut some of it to avoid redundancy.
The same is true in para. 2 with all the talking about how he’ll be drunk. It’s overkilled quickly. One sentence on the topic would do just fine.
Overall, the work was hard to stay interested in. I have no sense of who the charachters are and no sense of what they are doing or where they are going. There is nothing reeling me in at this point. It is critical to get some conflict brewing or pose some question to make the reader want to continue. I think you need to look at the piece and decide if single themes are too frequently repeated. Some judicious cuts would do this piece justice.
The key element in this piece that I want to compliment is the dodging attention to all the things that everyone knows, but no one ever says. Such things make up perhaps 90% of our minds and lives and are often ignored in literature. A travesty. Well done. For the depth of the work though- there are a million little emotions involved in a situation like this. Why someone would remain so close (even dependant?) upon a man who drinks himself to pieces (among other things) must inevitably be explored. Unless the theme is that one attached does not know themselves why…
Thank you for the read.
Very good, I’ve already become involved with the main character. My first question is: where is it going? It’s hard to judge a piece with just a part of it.
“Sometimes it seems that I’m more aware of his level of intoxication than he is.” I know what you are trying to say with this line, but realistically, anyone who is intoxicated isn’t very aware of their level of intoxication, and anyone who is sober around them IS a better judge of that.
I’m not sure if you want the main character to be or not, but from the little I’ve read, she seems like a co-dependent. (Trust me, I’m one.) If she knows down to the minute how late he is, well, it’s VERY realistic, but I don’t know how sympathetic it makes her. Many of us will identify with her, but many of us will start to dislike her because she reminds us of us. Hope that makes sense, again, I’d have to read more to know where this is going before I could really comment on her.
Wow. I would definately like to read more. Your dialogue and description flow together so naturally. It’s really good.
The second part is pretty good, I won’t critique it. The first part could use a bit of work. In the opening paragraph, it sounds as if you are just making a list of details of your surroundings. There isn’t very mcuh transition from sentence to sentence. Although you do describe surroudings very well, you could try to put more flow between the sentences.
This was almost like a string of thought…I like that there is little dialouge; usually I wouldn’t but it works with this. It was very interesting and the scene was vivid. Nice job…The characters need a name though ;)
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