Short story

Guys,

This is a fictional short story I wrote recently. I'm not sure if that's kosher on the board, or not.

If not, feel free to delete this thread.

Thanks,
CI


“Remember last night”

Almost seven days passed and he'd been back to see her only a few times. Not quite sure why. Maybe Mike realized he needed to get over this, get over the loss.

He pulled the car into the driveway, worked his way to his spot. Stop. He listened to the radio a few more minutes before leaving the car and heading into the house. The nights haven’t much changed since his wife lost control and found herself doing so at the most inopportune of moments, striking a mini-van full of kids and a mom and a dad. Jessica went into the intersection – beyond the red light and beyond her control.

Mike walked into the door, put down his keys, stomped his shoes and headed up the stairs from the landing and into the house. His sadness tempered with what remains in the bedroom closet. But only for a few more hours.

Sadness came in waves. Some moments very bearable, others offering no more than memories which test the limits of his mind. Mike was there. He’d felt enough, cried enough about everything. Too many extremes. He just wanted to … be. Laughs with her, cries about her. People at work were the usual help. Condolences. I’m sorry. Blah, blah, blah. Mike lamented her death, came to realize its inevitability. Trips through the bedroom closet were fleeting. Wonderous, but fleeting.

He’d come across the time rift the night of Jessica’s death. Time’s a fickle thing. But Mike had to mettle – for one more kiss, one more love-making session was well worth the pain Mike felt each day he’d return to present day. He’d visited just about every night since. A trip amongst the dress shirts and shoes and polos in his closet would spit him out exactly seven days into the past. The rift would transport him exactly the week backward, into that very bedroom at that very moment of that very day. He and Jessica would have great sex, great conversations, great dinners, great times. But seven days ago tomorrow morning, Jessica would get into her car, and minutes later, her life would end.

Each trip back for Mike seemed ethereal, as if it didn’t really take place. Some things moved in fast forward, others in slow motion, a bad student film. How was it Mike’s present day self was there, but his past-day self not? Did his presence in that time eliminate the need for a past self to exist? Was he therefore, by his time travel action, changing his own self, as well as his wife?

Mike didn’t care. He’d cried too much to let laughs and times he loved so strongly to go without remembrance.

Two thirty seven a.m. One more trip, that’s all he'd be allowed. Staring into the closet, he took a step inside, moved aside some dress slacks and stepped again.

Two thirty eight a.m. Mike slipped into bed, scooted up next to Jessica and kissed the back of her warm neck.

“Hey,” she said though a yawn.
“Hey,” he answered back.
“How was work?”
“Good.”
“That’s nice.”
“How was your day?”
“OK. Same old stuff. The dog slept most of the night.”
Jessica shifted to face Mike and leaned over to kiss him, in the same motion rolling over and wrapping her arms around him. Mike leaned in and gave her a long look and kissed her as long and hard as he ever had.
“I just want you to now how much I love you. And I don’t want you to have ever doubted that, no matter how much I’ve made you feel taken for granted over our years together. Your presence, your love has changed me and I want you to know that I will forever be grateful – thankful - for how much you have changed me.”

Jessica’s eyes widened and she suddenly woke a bit more. “What brought this on?” Jessica asked while still finishing her thought, “I love you, too.”

A short pause turned into a larger one and they both laid separately on their sides of the bed, thinking, thinking … a long kiss melted into one last time together.

Morning came soon and Mike was awoken by Jessica’s hair dryer making an air-blown structure with her brunette locks. He leaned off the bed, peered into the hallway and saw her. She didn’t see him watching and kept prepping, drying, her hair dancing atop her still naked body. Her shape aroused him one last time. As he rose from the bed, and walked into the bathroom, Jessica was surprised by his presence. The blow dryer shut off, it’s light hum slowing to a quiet so pristine in its relation to the noise.
“Hey. You need the bathroom?” she asked.
“Just wanted to see you off for the day.”
“Oh,” Jessica gave a playfully quizzical look and smiled. No matter the infrequency of Mike’s romantic actions, she never went without appreciating them. He’d never been up to see her get ready for work. He hadn’t the day she died, or any other day since they moved in together. But Jessica still smiles that smile he remembers from the engagement party photo on the nightstand – like someone had taken crochet needles to her cheeks, dimples as deep as love.
She brushed her hair. He watched.
She applied foundation, eye makeup. He watched.
She dressed – underwear, nylons, skirt, bra, blouse, jacket. He watched.
“Well, I gotta go.” She grabbed her purse and headed to the door with a quick kiss.
“Hey,” he said. “Remember last night.”
“Yeah …”
“Well, just remember.” A pause. “I love you”
“I love you, too,” she said, adding a quick hug and kiss. “See ya.”

Mike replied with just a smile as Jessica walked out the door, got into her car and began backing out of the driveway. Mike kneeled backward in the chair perched before the front window, his face close to the glass, his eyes watching her car slowing to a stop after backing from the drive. Jessica looked up, flipped her hair back and smile that smile.
Mike waved. Jessica left.

As her car made its way down the road, Mike stared out the window and let out a long, overdue sigh. And then he began to laugh so deep it reddened his saddened face and wet his tired eyes.

 

I don't have any experience writing fiction, aside from reading it.

I thought this was wonderful, but damn, man, after I read this, I went and kiss my fiancee. This is depressing, but compelling.

I hope this didn't come from personal experience, if so, wow. I'm truly sorry. I couldn't imagine.

Anyway, very good stuff.

 

Damn CI, that story gave me chills. I like the way it moved back and forth in time. Good stuff.

 

CI, good good story...sort of Back to the Future meets Groundhog Day meets emotional hell. It's moving, but might be even more so with a bit of streamlining. Specifically, these two grafs:

"He’d come across the time rift the night of Jessica’s death. Time’s a fickle thing. But Mike had to mettle – for one more kiss, one more love-making session was well worth the pain Mike felt each day he’d return to present day. He’d visited just about every night since. A trip amongst the dress shirts and shoes and polos in his closet would spit him out exactly seven days into the past. The rift would transport him exactly the week backward, into that very bedroom at that very moment of that very day. He and Jessica would have great sex, great conversations, great dinners, great times. But seven days ago tomorrow morning, Jessica would get into her car, and minutes later, her life would end.

Each trip back for Mike seemed ethereal, as if it didn’t really take place. Some things moved in fast forward, others in slow motion, a bad student film. How was it Mike’s present day self was there, but his past-day self not? Did his presence in that time eliminate the need for a past self to exist? Was he therefore, by his time travel action, changing his own self, as well as his wife?"

You've created this very powerful idea of a wardrobe portal, so your character can get some - any - time he can with his wife. But that first graf kind of muddles it. Describe the closet in more detail, and make it crystal clear what he's doing, and how this thing works. Time's a fickle thing, but as narrator, it's your job to sort it out. For instance, Tuesday the 19th he enters, and it's Tuesday the 12th all the sudden. Then somehow he gets to the 20th then the 13th? How is that? Maybe I'm just a tired retard right now, I don't know. But by clearing that up, and providing more physical details, you can really make the reader feel what he's doing - walking into the clothes, feeling the cotton against his skin, then hearing his wife's breathing. Things like that.

That would, in turn, take care of that second graf, which is a bit airy. What moves in fast pace, slow mo? I know this is a short story, so don't overdo it, but set the scene a bit. This is a really good story so far, that pulls at some major heartstrings for anyone with a significant others. Though I believe you can make anyone - fiancee, wife or not - feel the pain this guy's feeling with the right details and organization.

 

Great, great stuff IMO. A little Donnie Darko time portal action, but without the weird, one-eyed rabbit. Reminds me why I should read things other than sports. Do you have any others?

 

Thanks for the great feedback, Martin. I had originally explained the time-travel aspect in more detail, but felt it bogged down the story. Although I think I can find a happy medium.

And thanks to everyone for the comments. I'll post another soon.