"Being a good writer is 3% talent, 97% not being distracted by the internet." Cyrus Farivar

Wednesday, March 2, 2011


 Something short I wrote some time ago. I gave it a quick edit/revision. But this was a piece I really liked but have no idea what to do with.      


            I watched my dork of a husband flounder in the waves. He was trying to catch one to surf, but he wasn’t having much luck. After inquiring one of the locals to teach him, he couldn’t help going one last time before we returned home. Finally catching a wave, he rode it for some time before flipping over. James floated in, laughing at himself.
            Picking up the board, he made his way back to me.  He returned the surf board to the surfer before flopping down in the sand next to my towel. I tried to restrain and hold in my laughter, but I couldn’t help it.
            “Laughing at me, are you?” he grinned, a mischievous glint in his eyes. I lay back, giggling. “Well for your information I hit my head on that last stunt,” he pouted.
            “Aww, poor baby. Does he need me to kiss it?” I teased, sitting up. I leaned against him, sighing in content. I felt his nose press against my scalp; burning my scent to memory.
            “By this time tomorrow we’ll be back home,” he murmured as we watched the waves batter the sand.

            “Yeah. Back home as Mr. and Mrs. Hopkins.” I smiled feeling a tug as the scene changed.
We were sitting together at dinner, our family enjoying the night with us. He grinned at me as we both picked at our plates. Seeing his glass empty, I stood and took it. James preferred water, and there wasn’t a pitcher on the table. I entered the kitchen, dumping the ice and refilling his glass with water and new cubes. Returning to the dining room, I looked at him.
His face looked pained. The fork in his hand clattered to his plate as James fell limp. It seemed everyone was speeding around while I moved like a sloth. I said his name, but my voice made no sound. I rushed to him suddenly, pushing my way through the family. With his eyes open and seeming to lose their focus, my hand stroked his cheek. Somewhere I could hear someone calling for an ambulance.
It felt as though years had passed before help arrived. Lights flashed in through the windows, and soon paramedics were at his side. I was moved a short distance from him as a medic pulled me aside, they got to work.
“Mrs. Hopkins? I need to ask you a few questions about your husband.” His voice echoed in my head as I nodded barely, seeing them move him onto a stretcher.
“Is he allergic to any drugs that we should be aware of?”
“No. He was fine earlier…complained of a headache,” I remember saying.
The ambulance doors closed behind us as we sped to the hospital. I started to get that feeling again—an alarm somewhere—as the surgeon came walking toward us in the waiting room. His face looked worn and tired, as if he’d been working for hours.

My eyes opened to stare blankly at my alarm clock as it rang. A quick flip of the switch and it was silenced. Rubbing my eyes I sat up, barely glancing around the room that I once called ours.
Boxes were strewn everywhere, some empty and some half full. His. Mine. Ours. Stuff needing to be packed; needing to be moved. Without James, I couldn’t afford this apartment. I couldn’t stand to be here alone.

1 comment:

  1. I'm not sure how I feel about this, there's a lot of summary and kind of passiveness that gives it a really disjointed feel. I'm not sure if that's what you were going for, but for me it feels removed where it out to feel immediate. Some examples

    "My hand stroked his cheek" instead of "I stroked his cheek"

    Referring directly to a scene change, rather than just saying: we were at home...

    That kind of thing. I dunno, for me, that took me out of the story quite a bit. But the beginning was really cute, and I love the idea overall!