Thank you very much for your feedback. I’m sorry it’s taken me so long to unlock it!
I have done some significant revising on this piece and have submitted it to a few places. I’m keeping my fingers crossed, but I do like your idea about exploring light/darkness.
Short Story / When They Leave
Brent and I always get closer when he doesn’t have a girlfriend. He tries to nudge his way in when I have a boyfriend; I don’t let him. He’s persistent, but I can be too. I sit in the brown chair beside the couch if I have someone. If I’m uncomfortable I pace in front of the television, knowing that he’s still watching me. He either sits on the couch or at my feet on the worn beige carpeting. The couch reminds me of a big tweed jacket; Brent just doesn’t look right on it. But that’s where I always picture him.
There have been times when we got too close and it spoiled everything for a month or two, then he’d call me or I’d call him and everything would go back to normal. He got drunk once and kissed me. I was over at his place, one of the nice apartments by the mall, sitting on his blue couch. He had a girlfriend at the time, and I had a good boyfriend. I was really confused after that. And I thought it made me stop loving him.
The sun never shines in Decatur. It smells bad here, too. There’s always some Union picketing some plant, some gang after another gang. Decatur’s home now; it’s where I stopped driving, and I can’t leave. I work at the Fannie May in the mall. The mall--no one knows the name of it--is in Forsyth, and the sun shines there. I work there because they needed me when I needed a job, and I get free chocolate. It’s pretty hard to get away from retail without a college degree. I work with little old ladies who are too blind to read the name-tags on our smocks, so they take mine. They have blue smocks; I have a red assistant manager smock. I don’t know how they get confused, but I always seem to end up wearing blue.
Brent’s one of the few post-college, pre-thirties people I know, other than my ex-boyfriends. Everyone I knew in Iowa moved away from me. Frank was the hardest. He’d been my best friend since sixth grade. He left after high school with everyone else, off to college. I didn’t have the money to go to school. I sat on my porch and gave them all hugs and cried as I watched them drive away.
When my turn to leave came there was no one left to hug or walk away from. I got in my car, a beat-up pea green ‘77 Buick LeSabre that I bought for the sole purpose of leaving Iowa, and drove away with my bags in the back seat. The whole car rocked like a toy boat in a bathtub every time I got in. I didn’t know where I was going. I told Frank I’d call him when I got there, but I didn’t know where “there” was. I’m not sure I do now. I don’t want to be in Decatur forever, unless maybe I can move into the apartments by the mall.
I met Brent in my new world. He was beautiful and he had a girlfriend; he gave me his phone number anyway. He told me he could be my shoulder to cry on. I’m a sucker for that kind of thing.
”Won’t your girlfriend be upset that you’re giving your phone number out to other women?” I asked him.
”You’re my friend now, right Kate?” I’d been talking to him for maybe half an hour. ”She can’t be mad if you’re just a friend, can she? That wouldn’t be fair.” We stood in a hallway. The other people at the party had left us alone. He was tall and thin, and the thinness made him seem taller. I felt very small, even though I’m five-ten.
”I’d be mad if my boyfriend did that to me.”
He laughed. He has a great smile. ”If I were your boyfriend I wouldn’t do it, then. Jessie won’t mind.”
Girlfriend went away. Another one came—and went. I refused to care for him. I refused to become another little thread in his rope. He is my good friend. That was what I needed. That’s what I still need. I’ve always had guy friends; Frank, before Frank, Jeff. I grew up boxing with Carl. He got six bloody noses to my two. And after Frank, Brent. I fell in love with all of them, even though I knew I could never have them, and wanting them drove me crazy. I met all the girlfriends. I always said Girl wasn’t good enough. Brent was the one who figured it out; Frank never knew. I was at lunch with Brent and his brother a couple of weeks ago. We were talking about Brent’s newest Girl when I realized he understood.
”Don’t listen to Kate,” Brent told his brother as I listed Girl’s downfalls. The Perkins waitresses were eyeing him; I wanted them all to just disappear. ”You know how she is, they’re never good enough for me. No one’s good enough, except for her.” He wasn’t being mean when he said it, but it still hurt like hell. He laughed, then looked at me and grinned, his good-natured smile, the one he can give me because we’re just friends. ”Isn’t that right, Kate?”
”Someone’s gotta be picky for you; God knows you’re not.” I poked my lettuce for the rest of lunch. My water tasted bad. I didn’t eat my sandwich. Brent didn’t notice; I think his brother did. Maybe Brent did see, but he didn’t say anything. Sometimes I think he knows everything, but doesn’t want to embarrass me. I just want him to find a good girl. I know I’m not good enough for him either, but I’m also very selfish. That afternoon he kissed me on the cheek, then went to see Girlfriend. I cried after he left. It wasn’t the first time.
Last night Brent came to my apartment. He seemed taller than before, standing beside the short brown couch. I didn’t have any makeup on. I was wearing a sweatshirt and jeans. My hair was up in a ponytail; he pulled it out so it fell around my shoulders. Then he pushed it back from my face. The movement made me tingle. Everyone has someone who’s just dangerous to them; for me it’s Brent. He sat with me on my couch and stroked my arm. His eyes are magnificent; they’re blue. They’re perfect. I can’t even describe them, but they’re something only God could create; they make me believe in God. His hair was just right, too, a little crooked in front, one blonde piece touching his left eyebrow. The college guys in the apartment below mine were watching some Star Trek spin-off. They always have their t.v. way up. Brent held my hand. He was quiet. Lately I’d been trying really hard to distance myself from him. He has too much power. When he’s quiet I get weak.
”I’ve loved you from the first time I saw you.” He was rubbing my neck.
I knew I shouldn’t have sat so close to him. I wanted to hear this for so long that it didn’t sound real. I tried to joke about it. ”You don’t remember the first time we met,” I told him, staring at the torn Top Gun poster on the beige wall behind him.
But he did; he described it, a friend’s party, neither of us can remember whose anymore. We were both trying to find the host, so we could each leave in our separate cars and go to our separate apartments alone, without ever having met. But we stayed all night at the party. He even remembered the blue dress I wore, and my twisted gold hoop earrings. I lost one of them last year. He asked me why I don’t wear them anymore. I shrugged.
”We never hit at the right times,” he told me. My head was on his shoulder. He looked down at me out of the corner of his eyes as he spoke. ”I’ve always thought we were meant to be together. I’ve always loved you.”
I lost it, then. I told him how I felt. He already knew; he’d known for a long time. When he kissed me it was strange because we were both so afraid. He made me feel beautiful; I don’t know how, but he did it. My other boyfriends have kissed me with groping passion. This wasn’t that. I wanted to pull back and run inside my little wall, but I wanted to be there in his arms, too. I couldn’t let go of him, and I think he felt the same way. He didn’t say. I did.
Last night we made love.
I know he’s leaving. I don’t think he knows yet, but I do. I can’t get this close to someone without them going away. He already broke through all my previous blockades. He was my best friend, even before I could tell him anything important. Now I have to wait for him to tell me he’s leaving. I keep hoping he won’t, but I know better than to count on that.
He said he’d stop by after work. He works at a bank, making real money. I didn’t have to work today. Instead, I had to spend the day wandering around my square little rooms staring at posters that I’ve had since seventh grade and wondering what happened between us. I paced the cold hardwood floor of my bedroom. I looked at the pictures taped on the beige walls, pictures of Brent, Frank, friends of mine in Iowa, and even a few ex-boyfriends. I sat for a long time in the chair I keep by my bedroom window, Brent calls it my Thinking Chair. There’s a tree in the yard that really opens up in front of my window. It’s gorgeous in the fall. I can sit for hours and watch the sun setting through the golden leaves, pretending there are no factories or Soy smoke or picketers or gang wars. I think about my dreams there. Brent left his clothes on the chair.
Before he left he said we need to talk, but we won’t. He could probably come and sit in the chair and look perfect and mysterious and we could talk about the color of his cousin’s new car and the weather in Italy, but we would never talk about what happened. I’m closer to him than anyone else in the world, but I don’t know how to get through his wall. I’m going to be screwed up for a while, and by the time I sort everything out, he’ll be gone. Bad timing.
Frank called me today. I told him. Frank and I haven’t had a real conversation in four or five years, since the summer before his sophomore year in college. That’s when the wind blew my long hair into my eyes. He pushed it out of my face and said he was a sucker for girls with brown hair and brown eyes.
I remember I laughed a little and tried to joke about it. “Then why do you always date blondes?” I didn’t know how to act. Then Frank kissed me. Later that year, just before Christmas break, I went to visit him. He apologized to me twenty-two times in three days. That spoiled us, until today.
It scared me that something like that might happen with Brent; I wouldn’t be able to take it. Today I told Frank that I will die for Brent or die because of Brent. But I know I won’t die with Brent, no matter how much I want to.
”What’s the problem then, Kate?” he asked me.
”I can’t have him.”
”If you know that, then just use him.” It hurt a lot to hear that; if he thought that I could do that, then he never really knew me. I don’t know how he could have been so close to me without knowing me, but I guess it happened.
”I just needed to tell someone. I don’t think there’s really any advice you can give me.”
”I apologize to you on behalf of all men.” He was joking, but I couldn’t be amused. I must have lived all this time on memories, thinking he’d stayed the same, but he’d become so much different.
I hide my phone in my underwear drawer sometimes. That way I don’t have to hear it not ringing. I can leave my phone in the drawer for days without realizing it, except while getting dressed in the morning. I don’t miss it much if I don’t know it’s gone. After Frank called, I put my living room phone underneath the couch. I put the bedroom extension in the drawer, on top of my bras. I called Brent’s office from the phone in the kitchen; I’d counted eight rings before I hung up. Then I stood beside the dripping faucet. Maybe he hides his phone, too.
Brent’s brother sent me six pink carnations last week. I suppose he meant them to be romantic, but they reminded me of the flowers my mother gave me for confirmation and graduation. He’s been after me for a long time, but I can’t want him. It’s not his fault. We used to go out sometimes, I suppose they were dates, but I never kissed him. When Brent left in the morning, he passed the dead carnations. He was wearing a green shirt that I meant to give one of my ex-boyfriends and a tie I bought for myself. I don’t know why he came to me last night. I threw out the flowers after Brent left. I hadn’t even realized they were wilted until he passed by them.
He kissed me at the door. I liked that. Turning back into my own beige little apartment on Wood Street instead of his fancy blue one was disappointing. Part of me always hoped that I would end up in the nice apartments by the mall, especially his, the one on the third floor, looking away from Rte. 72, into the big pine trees.
Brent brought me a Big Mac and a dozen yellow roses. He knows that I like yellow roses better than red ones. He kissed me at the door. It wasn’t a real kiss, but it was enough. My legs tingled and I was worried that I would fall over. None of my boyfriends ever gave me roses. I’ve always wanted them, though. I want them to signify something. These even had Babies Breath. I put them in my favorite vase, a present from a friend who left a long time ago. Brent had on his own clothes again. He wore my favorite blue shirt; it makes his eyes glow. He hugged me, standing in the middle of the room. I put my head on his shoulder. He held the back of my shirt when he wrapped his arms around me. I’d put on a brown shirt that matched my eyes. I was all fancied up for him, even though I knew I shouldn’t be. He told me I looked beautiful and sexy, and I believed him.
We both sat on the couch. I tried to smile at him, beside me, his knee just touching mine. I couldn’t look away from him. I couldn’t even distract myself with the Marshall Field’s bag hanging on the wall. He didn’t look so wounded as he did last night. I wanted to find the words that would make him love me forever. Sitting on the couch I didn’t know what Brent was or where he fit.
”Do you have to work tomorrow?” He smoothed his fingers over mine on my blue jeans.
”Yes.”
”What time?”
”Eight-thirty. I have to get the new candy out.” Putting out trays of chocolate is harder than most people think, especially when you have to distinguish the chocolates and fillings based solely on vague swirls on the candies. But that’s what underpaid assistant managers are underpaid to do.
”I would like to stay here with you tonight, if I may?”
I put my head on his shoulder and told him I would like that. I’m not sure I was happy, but I know I wasn’t devastated. I liked having him hold me. We sat on the couch and watched bad t.v. shows on my television with bad reception. He had his arm around me. I felt safe with his arm around me, safe in a way none of my ex-boyfriends could make me feel. He scratched my shoulders. I leaned into him.
Brent held me tonight, all night long. We didn’t make love. He hardly even kissed me. He was warm. I lay in bed tonight beside him under my big blue comforter and wondered when he’d leave me. He told me he wouldn’t.
”You’ve watched everyone walk away; I know that, Kate. I won’t leave you. I don’t want to watch you walk away.”
”Why would I leave?”
”You left Iowa. You left everyone there.”
I didn’t have anyone there to leave. They had already left me. Brent doesn’t see it that way. He thinks I left them, too. I guess he’s right. I won’t leave Brent. For what it’s worth, even when he leaves me, I won’t leave him.
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taurusmoon reviewed Version 1 -
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You have a good story and well developed characters. The voice of the protagonist was consistent throughout the entire chapter.
I made a few suggestions to clean up some of the content a bit so that it flows better.
All-in-all I enjoyed your story.
You have: I sat on my porch and gave them all hugs and cried as I watched them drive away.
Suggestion eliminate an ‘and’: I sat on my porch, gave them all hugs, and cried as I watched them drive away.
This was probably a typo: And after Frank, Brent. I fell
Did you mean?: And after Frank, Brent, I fell
You have: His hair was just right, too, a little crooked in
Suggestion: His hair was just right too, a little crooked in
You have: I sat for a long time in the chair I keep by my bedroom window, Brent calls it my Thinking Chair.
The above line would probably work better as two sentences: “my bedroom window. Brent calls it my…”
You have: pretending there are no factories or Soy smoke or picketers or gang wars
Suggestion, eliminate an ‘or’s’: pretending there are no factories, Soy smoke, picketers or gang wars
Can’t wait to read more. Keep up the writing.
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Hx reviewed Version 1 -
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Excellent work. The ending was low-key and somewhat unexpected…but its ambiguity works perfectly.
The pacing is particularly remarkable. This piece is paced just perfectly to convey a mood, and reveals quite a lot about the narrator. That includes a lot of seemingly unrelated observations, which I think demonstrates the way the narrator’s mind wanders, particularly at emotionally uncomfortable moments. That works very well throughout most of the piece, but there was one such instance, about halfway through, where the observation seems so out of place with the action going on, that it almost felt like a non sequitur (I’m referring to this observation: The college guys in the apartment below mine were watching some Star Trek spin-off. They always have their t.v. way up.)
And that’s about all I’ll take issue with. Your text is nicely polished, and your story is extremely readable. You know your craft. Keep it up.
OweFiresRight reviewed Version 1 -
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I enjoyed this..with that said please don’t think that I am just review this to make nice or recive points. There are some past/present issues along the sentences…I don’t really have any feelings of the characters, seems like this is a story I have read before, the grammer is excellent however. and if you find that piece of sometihng to make it pop this could be a memorable story.
qwesto reviewed Version 1 -
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I would suggest submitting this. It’s really good. You’ve captured every facet of the narrator’s life in vivid clarity. I’d recommend cutting the side references to Star Trek and Top Gun, because it pulls focus away from the scene and action at hand, but I could see how they could be just quirks of the narrator. An interesting idea might be to play with the motif of light and darkness as it pertains to love. (the idea that true love exists only in the darkness, etc.) This could work, with a visit to Brent’s apartment, since the sun never shines in Decatur but it does in Forsyth. Your call. Overall though, this a very strong piece. I liked it!
Lunsford reviewed Version 1 -
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This sounds more like a personal diary than a short story, and there were a lot of sentences connected by semicolons. I don’t think I’ve ever seen so many in such a short work.
“I sit in the brown chair beside the couch if I have someone.” By ‘someone’ I am assuming you mean boyfriend, right? You pace if you are uncomfortable . . . he sits in the chair . . . I was lost from the beginning.
I believe you need to be a little more specific. Who is someone? Who watches you when you pace?
“There have been times when we got too close and it spoiled everything for a month or two” What did he spoil? ‘Everything’ is much too broad.
The college kids watching a Star-Trek spin off . . . I found no relevance in that. Mood?
“I met all the girlfriends.” Which girlfriend? Brent’s? Frank? Jeff?
“Sitting on the couch I didn’t know what Brent was or where he fit.” I don’t understand “what Brent was”. If you were referring to friend or boyfriend, you should specify.
The writing structure needs a lot of work. I think you connect too many short sentences. You’re not very descriptive and those that you do use are somewhat vague.
“He laughed. He has a great smile.”
“His eyes are magnificent; they’re blue. They’re perfect.”
Words, to a writer, are like colors to a painter.
darkdescent reviewed Version 1 -
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I really like this story. It’s so descriptive of a young woman who’s unsure of herself and indecisive and damaged. To me, this woman is a fascinating enigma. I’m not sure why she’s so damaged, but it’s very interesting to try to figure her out (being a guy, I’m sure I couldn’t). You put in just the right amount of detail about her past to give the reader an idea of who she is , but not so much that she’s completely explained.
“I hide my phone in my underwear drawer sometimes. That way I don’t have to hear it not ringing.” That is a brilliant pair of sentences.
Very good story.
Edaurdo reviewed Version 1 -
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I liked the way youlet the reader into the narrators head. I t realy brought this charecter to life. I’d suggest a little more imagery like you used in the description of getting in the car , through out the peice to improve it.
Kym reviewed Version 1 -
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‘My water tasted bad’ is a wonderful blend of pathos and irony. A blend that you manage to maintain throughout this piece of wonderful writing. It reminded me of how I use to feel in my early twenties, and have long since forgotten. Thankyou for letting me revisit these feelings in the most gentle way. I hope that the warmth of giving will sustain you through any agony that may, in turn, be the source of your creativity.
obscuredemerald reviewed Version 1 -
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The passionate parts are really passionate and stirred a response from me. However, the tone of the rest of the story is a bit monotone and reserved. The story is sweet, however, and otherwise well written.
bbillycurtis reviewed Version 1 -
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This is a very good short story. To me it is very reminiscent of Raymond Carver, which I consider a high complement because he is by far my favorite short story writer.
I agreed with one of the earlier reviewers who found the generic ‘girl’ somewhat distracting.
You are a master of the semi-colon ;-)
What I’d most like to see is some symbolic representation that is used at the end to convey her decision as opposed to simply hearing her thoughts on it.
One example off the top of my head would be to keep comparing and contrasting her short brown couch with his nice blue sofa and her blue comforter throughout. Then end the story with something like:
I didn’t have anyone there to leave. They had already left me. Brent doesn’t see it that way. He thinks I left them, too.
Surrounded by my big comforter I snuggled in close and imagined myself lounging with him on his blue sofa. For what it’s worth, even when his sofa is frayed and worn and needs new springs, I’ll continue to lounge there.
OK – I just kinda cranked that out, but hopefully the idea comes across. If you haven’t done so, I highly recommend reading every Raymond Carver story you can get your hands on. Like him you are great at conveying your voice and tone.
Thanks for adding me as a friend and I’m curious if you yourself are really from Iowa (or if that was just your character) only because I’m an Iowan born and raised.
I look forward to reading more.
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