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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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Opunaya reviewed Version 1 -
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This was great. I must say that this is probably the only female character I’ve felt connected to. You do an excellent job on expressing her frustrations and building her world without ever having her leave her apartment. I honestly have no real ideas on how to improve it, aside from making it longer. Good job.
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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.
producerelf reviewed Version 1 -
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This was a very strong piece. i have absolutly no criticism because I love this so much. I suggest you get it published, I think it’s good enough. I love the theme of loss and friendship. It was great.
Brandnewlovely reviewed Version 1 -
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“I sit in the brown chair beside the couch if I have someone.”
Are you talking about sexually? emotionally? or having someone in a relationship? I’m not sure what your message is intended to be with this sentence or why it was added…
I kind of feel like this is a list of facts… I mean, it doesn’t seem like a story to me, but more like a letter to a friend. More description maybe, and not so much jumping around… if you want to jump, make sure you set the scene and give us readers an idea of why you are jumping…
I am not sure what I would do to it honestly.
I sat on my porch and gave them all hugs and cried as I watched them drive away.
Maybe another way you could word this would be:
I sat on my porch handing out hugs and cried, watching them drive away.
“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.” On this, it kind of jumps from how bad it is, to Decatur’s home now… but there really isn’t any kind of… I’m not sure what the word is…
Maybe something like this?
“The sun never shines in Decatur. It smells like ____, and there always seems to be a Union picketing some plant, or some gang after another gang. However, I chose Decatur, it is my home now; it’s where I stopped driving and I just can’t bring myself to leave because ___.”
I would go back through this one, and read it as if you didn’t write it, but as if I wrote it… and not knowing what motivated you to write this… but just read it as is. I think it would make it easier. I definately think it lacks description… It has potential and I can’t wait to see what you do with it! Let me know!
Your friend,
“Brand new lovely”
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.
finedani reviewed Version 1 -
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He didn’t look so wounded as he did last night – He didn’t look as wounded as he did last night.
”I would like to stay here with you tonight, if I may?” – This seems a little formal. I’m not sure if you intended it as such.
I’m not sure I was happy, but I know I wasn’t devastated – this doesn’t make a lot of sense to me. Why wasn’t she happy? She’d been wanting Brent for so long and she seemed to have been afraid that he either wouldn’t come to see her or would tell her that it had been a mistake even if he did come to her. Surely, she should’ve been happy that he wanted to stay? If there is another motivation for the ambiguity of her feelings, maybe you should make it clearer.
Other than those things, I really enjoyed the story. I thought it was incredibly well written – vivid and very easy to get lost in. The only complaint I have is that I didn’t enjoy the ending. It seemed rather abrupt and unsatisfying. A strange place to end the story, I thought.
OkieJay reviewed Version 1 -
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You haven’t stated the purpose of this piece, so reviewing it is somewhat difficult. If it was an exercise in creating a character (Kate) and rounding her out, it is good. If it is meant to be part of a short story or novel, it needs to move, and it doesn’t. There is no arc of increasing tension, climactic episode and resolution. No cliffhanger.
The biggest problem with the piece is that the reader doesn’t know why Kate can’t have Brent—why she’s so sure he will leave. Maybe she’s clinically depressed. Whatever the reason, the reader doesn’t know.
Summing up, this is very nice as a presentation of Kate, but unsatisfactory as a part of a longer story. The reader needs more.
M_Shay reviewed Version 1 -
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I thought this story was pretty interesting, it gave me a sort of wonder what happens next vibe.
The first paragraph is sort of floaty, as it doesn’t seem to fit anywhere else in the story. It’s a good opening it just seems like it doesn’t fit in, obviously it’s somewhere between when they first met and the end when they’re together, it just seems kind of unspecific.
I find there to be alot of little details that don’t really go anywhere. I have a hard time deciding if they really add anything to the story or not.
Overall I thought it was a Good story, it keeps it’s focus and it doesn’t really wander off on anything too off topic. The characters are well done and keep the story interesting. I can’t find much else to criticize, it was easy to read and visualize. I enjoyed it.
Wytchcat reviewed Version 1 -
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This has potetntial.
It certainly reads like real life as far as that goes… almost as a blog entry.
Actually that might be a good way to present it to readers as it has a very personal voice, much more personal than standard fiction.
Needs more descriptive narrative and the pseudo dating with Brents brother came as something of a shock after dinner with the two of them and no mention of it there.
The whole wish for upward mobility is kind of oddly distracting as well. Maybe expand on that a little.
Kiss_my_Eyes reviewed Version 1 -
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This is really good… makes you really sympathize with kate… It’s a great story and i really love the way it ends—“For what it’s worth, even when he leaves me, I won’t leave him.” It’s almost controversial… keep it up…
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