Their friendship was fated. The three of them met in college through mutual friends. Greg and John met through their rambunctious hall-mates and Sydney joined in when the three met in one of the large intro classes every college freshman was required to take. They hit it off that first week, they happened to sit together that first day and never bothered to change seats afterwards. They’d talk about the professor’s outfit that day or how college was or wasn’t different than what they expected. The jokes that were made between the three of them were never ending.
Sydney was the type of girl listens to her iPod and dances in her chair while doing her homework in the library and the type of girl who would run around in the rain with her arms outstretched. She disliked stereotypes; she didn’t believe stereotypes in the slightest and was easily offended and perturbed when jokes were made about them. Greg was charismatic and personable and a bit of a smooth talker but no one held that against him. He was the out of state one who worked harder on maintaining the wellbeing of his friends and family more than he did for his schoolwork, which showed by the ever growing pile of unfinished homework on his desk. Adam could smooth talk any smooth talker but he was also the guy who gave everything he had to his friends. Whether it was lending money or staying up to three in the morning helping a friend write and edit a paper, he never hesitated to be a good friend but this would backfire sometimes and his generosity would get taken advantage of. Together the three of them balanced themselves out, like yin and yang plus one.
Like any other friends they had their fights, mostly though the fights were between Sydney and Greg. Sydney would get upset when Greg would make some comment about how the reason certain people are stingy because they’re Asian or Mexican so they’re lazy, leaving John to eventually be the peace keeper.
One night the three of them went out to get a midnight snack as all college students do if they have access to a car. They drove out a ways to their favorite 24-hour fast food place that they always went to when the other food places were closed. It was farther than most places they went to and in a shadier part of town, but it was always open. This food place understood that hunger doesn’t have any regard for normal business hours. Tonight, though, it was still early only a little after midnight and Sydney was craving one of their greasy beef burritos. It was unusually chilly that night so the friends decided to head through the drive-thru instead of getting out to walk in. They waited behind an old Audi while placed its order in front of them then they eased forward to the glowing sign of deliciousness.
“How’s this?” John asked Greg as he rolled the driver’s window of his Mustang down so there was an opening of only two inches, “No one can shoot us from here.”
“Don’t be stupid,” Sydney says rolling her eyes, getting a little irritated at the undeserved remark.
Before Greg could back John up, the female voice from within the glowing sign asked for their order and John had to roll the window down more for the three of them to order. “Your total is $16.84. Thank you,” was the last thing they heard before John rolled his window up again.
“Ooh, it’s so cold. I thought Southern California is supposed to be warm all year round,” John said as he drove forward to wait behind the car paying for its food at the window.
“It’s not that bad,” Greg commented and fiddled with his friend’s radio system. He switched the station to one that was playing some popular new song.
“Does this sound like Chris Brown to you?” John asked when the chorus started playing.
Greg pulled his hand back from the dial and leaned back in his chair, eyes closed listening, “Kinda, I guess. But no one’s playing his shit anymore.”
“I miss his voice. It’s so smooth and sexy,” Sydney said as she leaned forward from the back seat to join in on the conversation.
“You would like him.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“You know what that means.”
“Oh shut up, Greg. Don’t be jealous”
John just shook his head and laughed at his friends.
“You’re the jealous one. I bet you wish you were Rihanna. You’d like that wouldn’t you? Get yo’ ass beaten.” Greg retorted jokingly. The conversation continued on in a similar manner for a while more, the three of them just laughing at each other.
Out of the corner of her eye, Sydney saw someone approach the driver’s side of the car in a black zip-up hoodie. Tilting her head to the side she asked without “What do you think he’s doing?”
Before the boys could turn to look the man in the black zip-up hoodie and his two accomplices pounded on their car windows. Sydney’s eyebrows rose up and knotted themselves together causing crinkles to form across her normally smooth forehead, her mouth a large “O” and eyes widened as she the standing on John’s side of the car continued to bang on the window. All she could see was his pale neck and his fast moving chapped lips saying something to the window but she couldn’t hear what he was saying. Whipping her head to the right, she saw a pair of dark baggy jeans with a white wife beater exposing muscular arms with an obscure tattoo on his left pale shoulder and another pair of jeans with a dark gray hoodie with a gold banded ring on his right hand banging on the window. Time slowed down. She heard the handles of the doors lift and snap back down from the outside, her eyes still wide and mouth open, not fully grasping what was happening. The men outside continued to hit the windows with their fists and pry at the doors but Greg had hit the lock switch on the inside of the car so the efforts outside were in vain. John threw the car in reverse and sped out backwards out of the drive-through. As their car was reversing, the men stepped back, mouthing some unfriendly words through narrowed eyes and moved on to the Audi still waiting at the window. She saw the man with the chapped lips grab at the door behind the driver’s door and open it while the other two banged on the car windows. Sydney’s eyes widened and as their Mustang peeled out towards the street to take them back home. Craning her neck, she barely saw the Audi peel out of the drive through as they had done leaving the three men empty handed.
Breathing hard, Sydney tried to mind her head around what had just happened. The three of them drove in silence.
Minutes passed. “Should I call the police?” Sydney asked.
Both boys nodded, staring straight ahead. No one said more than they had to, each deep in their own contemplations. With a shaky hand, she dialed 9-1-1.
“911, what is your emergency?” a woman with a bored, blasé voice asked.
“I’d like to report a…” She didn’t know what to say. What should she say or not say? Sydney didn’t finish her sentence.
“Hello? What are you trying to say?” the disinterested voice asked. Sydney handed the phone to Greg in the front.
She listened to Greg explain what had just happened and flinched at the line where he described the three Hispanic men. She cringed at the connotations the description had and wondered if the police officer on the line heard a lot of these reports daily. Did she believe in stereotypes?
Tuesday, April 21, 2009
Critical Response to Coates
Matt Carroll
Critical Response to Lawrence Coat’s The Master of Monterey
I thought the quote that summed up this novel was “-Sir, the only tune we know how to play is ‘Yankee Doodle.’ ” (P.258). This story is both a fictional account on history as well as a tragedy.
The greatest literary tool used by Coats was his use of irony. There are a few major events that reflect this. The first, and Coats discussed this at his reading, was of how the Louisa Darling had an effect on both Hannibal and the Commodore. This is ironic because Hannibal was impacted by the slave ship Louisa Darling, and the Commodore was impacted by the actual woman named Louisa Darling. Other major themes are how Coats uses a person’s habits, or body, as a symbol for their actions. Hannibal is described as a large and obese person who always has a hunger. The hunger can be a metaphor for the same drive and passion he has of trying to get his story told, and the story of his family remembered. Another example of this is the question mark shape of the Commodore. Throughout the story he is always questioning and wondering what it would have been like to be with Louisa Darling. He questions his legacy.
Coates is brilliant in his writing because he created a story that was both humorous and tragic. “. . . to celebrate the peaceful outcome of the conquest of Monterey, which had ended without a single casualty. . .” (257). Throughout the story the Commodore believes he is bringing long lasting peace to the people and democracy. An example of this is when he saved a boy from being lashed with a leather belt. The boy, at the end of the story, runs up to explain to the Commodore that he was lashed and still hasn’t been paid, and this is followed by the Commodore that he no longer has jurisdiction because it was not America. This is tragic because the Commodore’s life, the meaning he put behind the conquest and his legacy, was all false. He had a distant memory of a woman who left him for his brother, he thought he was doing good for the Mexican people when his conquest was on false pretenses, and his legacy was ruined.
Another great tool used by Coates was symbolism. The use of the word memory was played very well both for Hannibal’s name and actual memory. He used it as an interesting play on words throughout the novel. Also, the reoccurring use of a bull in Arcadia’s life and her love story with Rafael Rafael. Coates also did a great job of putting things in the story that came back into play later on. An example of this was the snake tattoo on a mysterious man’s wrist as well as the bull.
I learned a lot of things that I can use in my own writing. The first thing is that everything must have a purpose in your story. If there’s a mysterious character in the first act of a story you have to somehow tie him into the third act. Coates also has an extensive knowledge of ships (His time spent in the Coast Guard was probably beneficial) much like Robert Dahl showed in his story “Taste,” with his knowledge of wine. This indicates to me that a writer shouldn’t fear going into detail about the things he knows. Go with your strengths, and if you are not strong on a topic— research it. That was something Coates said at his meeting with us as well. Also, the use of irony, humor, foreshadowing, and symbols can be a great tool to tie things in the first part of your story (or the first act) with the end of your story (or the final act).
Wednesday, April 15, 2009
Critical response to Kady's Story
Critical Response to Kady Oliker’s Story “Lucky 19”
By: Matt Carroll
I liked this story because it did a good job of setting a symbol stage. The environment is fast paced and the setting is always changing. I thought the constant changing of setting and the environment was a very good idea. I did want the wife to be developed a little more as a character, and maybe the husband a little as well. I thought a little more development of the couple would have helped the symbol become deeper, maybe a quick conversation of all the “19’s” in their own lives that impacted them.
The reason this story was so intriguing is because it conveys the idea that we are constantly surrounded by numbers and names that we always overlook, but until they have personal meaning in our own lives we will never notice them. Our brain, our conscious, filters things out that have no meaning to us and this story really captures the revelation people get when they see something new in their environment that has meaning for them.
One problem I had with the story is how quickly the numbers stop, and without reason. I don’t need an explanation of why the numbers stop, but I need the world without the number 19 to be shown to me a little more. Did they stop noticing the number 19 because it lost meaning, or where they really looking for it and simply couldn’t find it?
Overall I thought the fast pace of the story was effective and I want more. Good job, go deeper and this can be a great story.
Tuesday, April 14, 2009
critical response#7
“The Bath” by Raymond Carver was a good story and I liked reading it alongside its elongated counterpart “A Small, Good Thing.” To be honest I liked the style of “The Bath” better, the preference may have come from reading it first and liking the ending then reading a different story and ending with the same characters. I didn’t like that the son, Scotty, died in the longer story or how the baker had such a different personality in person than he did over the phone, it seemed too inconsistent. I also didn’t like how the mother had a sudden epiphany and realized the caller was the cake baker. These changes in the story seemed to be too coincidental and convenient to be realistic.
I liked the way Carver depicted the mother’s detachment from reality and the father’s denial. It was illustrated particularly well when the two parents were having a conversation with the doctor. The father kept asking to make sure his son wasn’t in a coma, and that the doctors were sure that he’d wake up while the mother would attach herself to any words that came out of the doctor’s mouth. Even when the doctor said Scotty wasn’t in a coma, Ann, the mother, would conclude that her son was in a coma, and the doctor would have to try to re-explain it so that she understood that he wasn’t in a coma. This mindset is realistic of someone in disbelief and disconnected from reality, she’s not completely coherent and isn’t able to form sensible conclusions or deductions from what is happening around her. These realistic portrayals are what I liked best about both versions as well as the ironic ending of the shorter one.
I liked the way Carver depicted the mother’s detachment from reality and the father’s denial. It was illustrated particularly well when the two parents were having a conversation with the doctor. The father kept asking to make sure his son wasn’t in a coma, and that the doctors were sure that he’d wake up while the mother would attach herself to any words that came out of the doctor’s mouth. Even when the doctor said Scotty wasn’t in a coma, Ann, the mother, would conclude that her son was in a coma, and the doctor would have to try to re-explain it so that she understood that he wasn’t in a coma. This mindset is realistic of someone in disbelief and disconnected from reality, she’s not completely coherent and isn’t able to form sensible conclusions or deductions from what is happening around her. These realistic portrayals are what I liked best about both versions as well as the ironic ending of the shorter one.
Long Story: Kady Oliker
If Only
One was a stripper, another a writer, the last a photographer. Some would say that we had absolutely nothing in common; I beg to differ. We were just three souls entangled in a magical dance, all awaiting the same disappointment. I wish I could tell you that she felt remorse, I wish I could inform you that her body was not lying six feet under for eternity and I wish I could say that I saved her but “could haves and what ifs” weren’t going to save our three lives.
Kendal:
I thought we had the perfect relationship. From the moment he moved in across the hall in building 51, I knew we were destined to be together. There was this aura about him, the way he found humor in everything and never took life too seriously; he was like my other half. Granted, I didn’t live the most respectable life, but when he was around, I really didn’t care. I was who I was around him and that’s all that mattered; he loved me through all the long nights at the club.
I remember the first time I ever laid eyes on his photos, I was stunned; I always thought one day he’d be a professional photographer. They were flawless, the way the light was always perfect and the subjects so unassuming; just like the one on his refrigerator. It was a girl hiding behind a pillow, her eyes just peering over it in black and white. It was one of the prettiest pictures I think I’d ever seen, the sun was just about to set, the light circled her head like a halo and the contrast of the bleach white pillow made her dark eyes sparkle, and that’s when I knew. I think I always knew to some degree but never really wanted to accept it. The second Carter told me he was leaving me for that skank back home I knew what I had to do; it just dawned on me one night. I decided if I couldn’t have him, no one was worthy, especially her. So I found out what flight he was taking back to Hilton Head, grabbed one sooner and made my move. I’m not going to lie to you; I almost did feel a little bit guilty pulling up to her house. I mean it was just so cute, slatted white house, with a blue door, white picket fence and a river running near the back of it. The trees had overgrown into their yard, creating a blanket of security. I looked down into my crimson purse, making sure the handgun was still there and proceeded up the cobblestone steps. I knocked three times before a girl, with a towel wrapped atop her head, answered. I said, “Hi, I’m Kendal, are you Sophia?” It was almost time.
Sophia:
“Mom, I got it!” I had just jumped out of the shower when the doorbell rang. I had long since given up on the hope that surged through my body hoping every time it was Carter, so I casually opened the door. Standing before me was a beautiful woman with platinum bleached-blond hair and blood-red stilettos. “Hi, I’m Kendal are you Sophia?”
“Yes…”
“I came here to talk to you about Carter, can we chat?” I nodded and let her in directing her to the backyard where the noise of the party wouldn’t disturb what she had to share with me. As we walked back, a sinking pit fell in my stomach, something was wrong with Carter. I turned around to find Kendal pointing a sliver gun at me. I knew this was it, the moment it all ended and I was surprisingly calm.
“You can’t have him, he’s mine!”
“Kendal, what are you talking about?”
“Carter, he loves you, always has. I could see it in his eyes, but you’re not worthy of him, not even close!”
“Kendal, calm down, I haven’t seen him in five years, you must be thinking of someone-_
“No, it’s you, I recognize you from his fridge. You stole him from me…”
I thought, we wouldn’t even be having this conversation had I never met Carter. The bullet shot into my chest. I’ve never felt such pain in my life, my mind went blank except for the very last time I saw Carter Dean. He’d gotten that job in California he’d so dreamed of and decided to take it.
The sky was a deep shade of blue the morning we said goodbye. The birds had stopped their monotonous chirping just long enough to hear the parting words. We stood in the middle of the road, embraced in each other’s arms; you could cut the tension with a knife. He bent over, whispered, “good luck Griggs,” before turning, letting my hand go slowly and boarding the grey hound bus. I watched the most amazing person walk right out of my life with so much regret wrapped around my heart. I had always longed to tell Carter how I felt, but never had the guts. I honestly never thought I’d see him again, and I wasn’t bitter. I accepted this fact and tried to move on with my life to no avail. He was always on my mind and would be forever. Someone once told me that the first person you love steals your heart, and that’s exactly what Carter Dean did, he took it with him across the country. But to be honest at this moment, I wouldn’t have wanted it any other way, I’d rather go out now then never have met the most influential person in my life. I realized my greatest fear had been that he would leave and never look back to me but I was wrong. There he stood, the same mesmerizing green eyes that I had watched board that bus five years before were now watching me die…Darkness.
Carter:
The only flight I could get was out of Oakland at 12:30 AM with a two-hour layover in Chicago. I boarded flight 523 with butterflies in my stomach and wild ideas bouncing through my head. I wrote and rewrote what I was going to say to her on nine napkins before drifting to sleep.
“We are making our final descent into the Chicago O’Hare airport. Please place all tray tables and seats in the full and upright position and turn off all electronics. We would like to thank you for choosing American Airlines and hope you join us again soon. Flight attendants, prepare for landing.” I was awakened by the mechanical voice of the attendants as they made their final rounds to collect drinks and empty peanut wrappers. I stared out the window in aw at the lights that littered the ground below as each individual light twinkled back at me. The landing gear soon emerged from the belly of the plane as we landed on the runway. It was 3:30 in the morning as I stepped off the plane and made my way towards gate ten and plopped down in a plastic seat. I reached into my green canvas bag and pulled out her book. I took my pointer finger and traced the embossed letters on the front cover, Sophia Griggs.
The heavy cover was flipped open to reveal those words that had made me come back. I shut the book with the widest smile on my face and awaited the loud speaker to announce my next flight.
I de-boarded the plane with the feeling of grogginess being taken over by excitement. I could picture the look on her face now; a huge smile spreading from ear to ear as she opened the door to find me waiting there. We would embrace each other and kiss the kiss that held five years of emotion and sorrow all together. I would apologize for ever leaving and not realizing how in love I was. I then would utter two words that would bond us together forever, “Marry me?”
But as I drove up to the house near the river, walked through the picket fence, up the three steps and knocked on the door, all my visions were destroyed. Standing before me was Sophia’s mother with apron in one hand and a beaming smile across her face. “Carter Dean, now what in the hell are you doing back here. We haven’t seen you in almost five years!” She embraced me, not exactly what I’d had in mind, and kissed me on the cheek.
“Soph’s out back with a new friend of hers. Oh what’s her name-” She put her hand up to her forehead. “Kendal.” My mouth dropped open as I pushed past her and sprinted towards the sliding door. I pushed it back to reveal Kendal holding a gun, pointed at Sophia, her hands in the air.
The silver gun, glistening in the sun, sat comfortably in Kendal’s shaking hand whilst the point finger and thumb prepared for battle. Her eyes were wild with fear and anger, darting from side to side. “You can’t have him, he’s mine and I won’t give him up! I don’t care how much you love him. You don’t ever get to fucking touch him again!” Kendal turned her head, looked directly into my eyes with a mischievous smile before turning back to Sophia and pulling the trigger. The bullet shot out hitting Sophia directly in the chest. The scarlet liquid seeped from beneath her white shirt into the crevices of the sidewalk. Church bells were the only thing to break the eerie silence. Ding-dong, ding-dong, ding-dong…
My world froze. The next few minutes were like slow motion. It’s hard to describe what it’s like when I’m still trying to cope with it myself. I held Sophia, feeling the life slip away from her and mouthed ‘I love you.” She mouthed it back but all I could think about was the first time I’d laid eyes on her.
It was the sixth time we’d moved, and frankly I just stopped unpacking. Every time I would be settled and the brown boxes stashed away, they would reappear at the foot of my bed with a note reading “I’m sorry hunny.” But “this time was supposed to be different,” coaxed my mother. “We were here to stay.”
The six cities consisted of everything from huge cities, like New York, to small farms just south of Iowa. But this place somehow was different. The town of Hilton Head was apparently in the shape of a boot and consisted of one small main street with a Joe’s grocer, a gas station, an auto repair shop and a souvenir shop that hadn’t been used in some ten years. There was a delta that flowed through the outskirts of the town, separating what was known as the “spot” from everywhere else. Lining the murky shores stood wooden docks and behind them, white houses with red roofs and doors.
But when we pulled up on that June morning, I saw what made this town different. Lying on a striped green lawn chair in a blue bathing suit was the girl next door. Her perfectly proportionate body, with its glorious curves and all, sat propped up against that chair, nose engrossed in a Cosmo. Her long dirty-blond hair was draped over her shoulders and when she pushed it out of her face, her lips were revealed; it’s what instantly drew me to her.
As the paramedics pulled into the driveway and unloaded their equipment, I bent over and kissed those ruby red lips; they felt exactly as I had imagined. The paramedics laid the sheet over her body and removed it onto the gurney leaving only the blood splatters as memories. Tears now flowed freely down my cheeks, how could I have been so blind for so long? I knew she might have had feelings but I was too scared, of rejection or something I still cannot say for sure. I wasn’t perfect, but she was, and we could have been if only; if only I hadn’t moved to San Francisco, if only I hadn’t met Kendal, if only I’d said ‘I love you’ sooner. The guilt would forever eat at my core, the unanswered questions circling through my head; if only, if only, if only…
One was a stripper, another a writer, the last a photographer. Some would say that we had absolutely nothing in common; I beg to differ. We were just three souls entangled in a magical dance, all awaiting the same disappointment. I wish I could tell you that she felt remorse, I wish I could inform you that her body was not lying six feet under for eternity and I wish I could say that I saved her but “could haves and what ifs” weren’t going to save our three lives.
Kendal:
I thought we had the perfect relationship. From the moment he moved in across the hall in building 51, I knew we were destined to be together. There was this aura about him, the way he found humor in everything and never took life too seriously; he was like my other half. Granted, I didn’t live the most respectable life, but when he was around, I really didn’t care. I was who I was around him and that’s all that mattered; he loved me through all the long nights at the club.
I remember the first time I ever laid eyes on his photos, I was stunned; I always thought one day he’d be a professional photographer. They were flawless, the way the light was always perfect and the subjects so unassuming; just like the one on his refrigerator. It was a girl hiding behind a pillow, her eyes just peering over it in black and white. It was one of the prettiest pictures I think I’d ever seen, the sun was just about to set, the light circled her head like a halo and the contrast of the bleach white pillow made her dark eyes sparkle, and that’s when I knew. I think I always knew to some degree but never really wanted to accept it. The second Carter told me he was leaving me for that skank back home I knew what I had to do; it just dawned on me one night. I decided if I couldn’t have him, no one was worthy, especially her. So I found out what flight he was taking back to Hilton Head, grabbed one sooner and made my move. I’m not going to lie to you; I almost did feel a little bit guilty pulling up to her house. I mean it was just so cute, slatted white house, with a blue door, white picket fence and a river running near the back of it. The trees had overgrown into their yard, creating a blanket of security. I looked down into my crimson purse, making sure the handgun was still there and proceeded up the cobblestone steps. I knocked three times before a girl, with a towel wrapped atop her head, answered. I said, “Hi, I’m Kendal, are you Sophia?” It was almost time.
Sophia:
“Mom, I got it!” I had just jumped out of the shower when the doorbell rang. I had long since given up on the hope that surged through my body hoping every time it was Carter, so I casually opened the door. Standing before me was a beautiful woman with platinum bleached-blond hair and blood-red stilettos. “Hi, I’m Kendal are you Sophia?”
“Yes…”
“I came here to talk to you about Carter, can we chat?” I nodded and let her in directing her to the backyard where the noise of the party wouldn’t disturb what she had to share with me. As we walked back, a sinking pit fell in my stomach, something was wrong with Carter. I turned around to find Kendal pointing a sliver gun at me. I knew this was it, the moment it all ended and I was surprisingly calm.
“You can’t have him, he’s mine!”
“Kendal, what are you talking about?”
“Carter, he loves you, always has. I could see it in his eyes, but you’re not worthy of him, not even close!”
“Kendal, calm down, I haven’t seen him in five years, you must be thinking of someone-_
“No, it’s you, I recognize you from his fridge. You stole him from me…”
I thought, we wouldn’t even be having this conversation had I never met Carter. The bullet shot into my chest. I’ve never felt such pain in my life, my mind went blank except for the very last time I saw Carter Dean. He’d gotten that job in California he’d so dreamed of and decided to take it.
The sky was a deep shade of blue the morning we said goodbye. The birds had stopped their monotonous chirping just long enough to hear the parting words. We stood in the middle of the road, embraced in each other’s arms; you could cut the tension with a knife. He bent over, whispered, “good luck Griggs,” before turning, letting my hand go slowly and boarding the grey hound bus. I watched the most amazing person walk right out of my life with so much regret wrapped around my heart. I had always longed to tell Carter how I felt, but never had the guts. I honestly never thought I’d see him again, and I wasn’t bitter. I accepted this fact and tried to move on with my life to no avail. He was always on my mind and would be forever. Someone once told me that the first person you love steals your heart, and that’s exactly what Carter Dean did, he took it with him across the country. But to be honest at this moment, I wouldn’t have wanted it any other way, I’d rather go out now then never have met the most influential person in my life. I realized my greatest fear had been that he would leave and never look back to me but I was wrong. There he stood, the same mesmerizing green eyes that I had watched board that bus five years before were now watching me die…Darkness.
Carter:
The only flight I could get was out of Oakland at 12:30 AM with a two-hour layover in Chicago. I boarded flight 523 with butterflies in my stomach and wild ideas bouncing through my head. I wrote and rewrote what I was going to say to her on nine napkins before drifting to sleep.
“We are making our final descent into the Chicago O’Hare airport. Please place all tray tables and seats in the full and upright position and turn off all electronics. We would like to thank you for choosing American Airlines and hope you join us again soon. Flight attendants, prepare for landing.” I was awakened by the mechanical voice of the attendants as they made their final rounds to collect drinks and empty peanut wrappers. I stared out the window in aw at the lights that littered the ground below as each individual light twinkled back at me. The landing gear soon emerged from the belly of the plane as we landed on the runway. It was 3:30 in the morning as I stepped off the plane and made my way towards gate ten and plopped down in a plastic seat. I reached into my green canvas bag and pulled out her book. I took my pointer finger and traced the embossed letters on the front cover, Sophia Griggs.
The heavy cover was flipped open to reveal those words that had made me come back. I shut the book with the widest smile on my face and awaited the loud speaker to announce my next flight.
I de-boarded the plane with the feeling of grogginess being taken over by excitement. I could picture the look on her face now; a huge smile spreading from ear to ear as she opened the door to find me waiting there. We would embrace each other and kiss the kiss that held five years of emotion and sorrow all together. I would apologize for ever leaving and not realizing how in love I was. I then would utter two words that would bond us together forever, “Marry me?”
But as I drove up to the house near the river, walked through the picket fence, up the three steps and knocked on the door, all my visions were destroyed. Standing before me was Sophia’s mother with apron in one hand and a beaming smile across her face. “Carter Dean, now what in the hell are you doing back here. We haven’t seen you in almost five years!” She embraced me, not exactly what I’d had in mind, and kissed me on the cheek.
“Soph’s out back with a new friend of hers. Oh what’s her name-” She put her hand up to her forehead. “Kendal.” My mouth dropped open as I pushed past her and sprinted towards the sliding door. I pushed it back to reveal Kendal holding a gun, pointed at Sophia, her hands in the air.
The silver gun, glistening in the sun, sat comfortably in Kendal’s shaking hand whilst the point finger and thumb prepared for battle. Her eyes were wild with fear and anger, darting from side to side. “You can’t have him, he’s mine and I won’t give him up! I don’t care how much you love him. You don’t ever get to fucking touch him again!” Kendal turned her head, looked directly into my eyes with a mischievous smile before turning back to Sophia and pulling the trigger. The bullet shot out hitting Sophia directly in the chest. The scarlet liquid seeped from beneath her white shirt into the crevices of the sidewalk. Church bells were the only thing to break the eerie silence. Ding-dong, ding-dong, ding-dong…
My world froze. The next few minutes were like slow motion. It’s hard to describe what it’s like when I’m still trying to cope with it myself. I held Sophia, feeling the life slip away from her and mouthed ‘I love you.” She mouthed it back but all I could think about was the first time I’d laid eyes on her.
It was the sixth time we’d moved, and frankly I just stopped unpacking. Every time I would be settled and the brown boxes stashed away, they would reappear at the foot of my bed with a note reading “I’m sorry hunny.” But “this time was supposed to be different,” coaxed my mother. “We were here to stay.”
The six cities consisted of everything from huge cities, like New York, to small farms just south of Iowa. But this place somehow was different. The town of Hilton Head was apparently in the shape of a boot and consisted of one small main street with a Joe’s grocer, a gas station, an auto repair shop and a souvenir shop that hadn’t been used in some ten years. There was a delta that flowed through the outskirts of the town, separating what was known as the “spot” from everywhere else. Lining the murky shores stood wooden docks and behind them, white houses with red roofs and doors.
But when we pulled up on that June morning, I saw what made this town different. Lying on a striped green lawn chair in a blue bathing suit was the girl next door. Her perfectly proportionate body, with its glorious curves and all, sat propped up against that chair, nose engrossed in a Cosmo. Her long dirty-blond hair was draped over her shoulders and when she pushed it out of her face, her lips were revealed; it’s what instantly drew me to her.
As the paramedics pulled into the driveway and unloaded their equipment, I bent over and kissed those ruby red lips; they felt exactly as I had imagined. The paramedics laid the sheet over her body and removed it onto the gurney leaving only the blood splatters as memories. Tears now flowed freely down my cheeks, how could I have been so blind for so long? I knew she might have had feelings but I was too scared, of rejection or something I still cannot say for sure. I wasn’t perfect, but she was, and we could have been if only; if only I hadn’t moved to San Francisco, if only I hadn’t met Kendal, if only I’d said ‘I love you’ sooner. The guilt would forever eat at my core, the unanswered questions circling through my head; if only, if only, if only…
Unexpected
Christina Ledesma
Long Story
Unexpected
You were unexpected, but I couldn’t wait to feel your new soft skin. There you are wrapped up in a tiny bundle placed in my arms. And there’s your uncle moving around the room taking pictures of us from different angles to show all his friends. Your first baby picture, your head pressed against my chest where I can hear your tiny heartbeat. I wanted to name you Isaac if you where a boy and Isabelle if you were a girl, but your father insisted that we would name you after him cause he was positive you were a boy. I watched you all day when you were asleep and I wondered how I squeezed you out of my tiny frame. My family showered you with gifts especially your grandmother; your grandfather however didn’t seem to like you to much, because your skin was to dark for eyes. Eventually I knew you would grow on him. He was watching you from the window when I saw him crack a smile in the corner of his mouth. Your hair was thick and black and would stand straight up on the top of your head. I would use a dab of baby oil to slick it back. You had my eyes, big and brown with flecks of gold around the middle. And when the light would hit your face they would almost look green. I knew you would be tall like your father and have the shape of his lips, and my button nose. When we brought you home your room was decorated in pastels and I had just bought you the entire collection of Dr. Seuss. That night I sang until you were asleep with the lullaby that my mother would sing to me.
You were unexpected; I didn’t even know you were inside me. I had just gone in for a checkup. And the next thing you know I’m sitting on a toilet waiting to catch my pee in a plastic cup. After I was done I placed the plastic cup inside a silver box in the restroom and went back to my room. I sat on the edge of the patient bed and waited for the doctor to come in. The walls of the room looked like they were moving. They moved closer and closer to me, some of the posters on the walls advertized different types of birth control, others were pictures of women with labels on their body parts. The nurse walked in with a clipboard and told me the doctor would be here shortly. She took my blood pressure and asked me when I started my last period. The doctor finally walked in with his white long coat and a stethoscope around his neck. He took off his coat and rolled up his sleeves and asked me to lie down. He lifted up my shirt and placed his cold hands over my belly and pushed his fingers into my skin. “Are you constipated Mrs. Flores?” “No doctor”. “Have you been feeling any nausea?” “No doctor I haven’t”. When he asked me if I had been feeling nauseas I remembered puking after eating a burrito from the lunch truck at school, but I figured that was only because I had food poisoning. You can never trust any food that’s being made in a truck that has a kitchen. He spread a purple jelly over my skin and ran a monitor over my belly. I looked over on the screen and there you were the size of a lima bean. “Congratulations!” the doctor said, and handed me a picture of you. I stared at you on the screen and could see your heart beating. I turned over to my side and closed my eyes. “Congratulations Mrs. Flores!” he said. “Was this a planned pregnancy?” “No doctor Han, this was unexpected”.
It was unexpected the moment you were conceived, both of us cramped up in the back seat of his car in the middle of the night. I wish I could say there were rose petals on top of the black silk sheets and intimate candles surrounding me. Instead it was so much more romantic, my skin rubbing up against his gray upholstery with my back against the handle of the door and the steam from our young hot breaths melting the frost off the windows. We both had been drinking, and the alcohol had shut off every sensible thought in our minds and turned every body part we touched into gold. The possibilities didn’t even cross our minds; we were drunk off passion and young love. We finished, got dressed and kissed each other goodnight. It was unexpected; if we had thought of the possibilities.
The nurse asked me what my plans where and the only plans I could think of were my parents. I couldn’t image the look on their faces when I told them that I was three months pregnant because I fooled around with a guy that they didn’t even know. The image of their virgin daughter dressed in a pure white dress and married in a catholic church would be broken. They would be reminded every time they saw my over size belly about the mistake that I had made. I turned over to my side and asked the nurse what my options were? Her white porcelain smile turned to a serious frown. She asked me “Well are you not planning to go through with this pregnancy?” I told her that I would call in the morning and that I needed time to think about it. That night I lied in my bed knowing that a life was growing inside me. My parents had no idea I wasn’t showing yet and I didn’t really have any symptoms. The only thing that I noticed was that I had this weird craving for pickles and ice cream. I stared at my ceiling lost in the white paint. I kept asking myself what would be the best decision to make. I kept imagining the look on my parent’s faces, what the father would say, and the burden that would stay with me for the rest of my life.
The next morning I called the nurse and made an appointment. She gave me directions to another hospital near home. On the way I called the father, he answered and I could feel him breathing into the receiver. I hung up and drove to the hospital and parked my car in the back of the building. I closed my eyes and rested my head on the steering wheel. I looked up and wiped my tears and watched the rosary swing back and forth around my rearview mirror. I ripped the beads from the mirror, locked my doors and went inside the building. I took the elevator to the second floor like the nurse had said and found room 12. My hand trembled over the door knob I clenched it tightly and turned it slowly. I walked into a room full of patients. I walked over to the front desk and told the nurse that I was here for an appointment. “Oh Mrs. Flores we have been expecting you”.
The room was filled with different women; pregnant women, women with kids, women with their nervous boyfriends, and women who were alone like me. I picked up a magazine from the coffee table and found a seat in the corner of the room. I opened up the magazine and began to flip the pages. I started to read titles like “Plan your Pregnancy”, “Newborn Mommies”, and “Top Ten Baby Names”. I threw the magazine back on the coffee table and sat back in my seat. I couldn’t help to notice the little girl in her pink flowered dress playing next to her mother’s feet. She was wearing the cutest black maryjanes with white stockings wrapped around her legs, and pigtails with pink ribbons to match the flowers on her dress. She was beautiful and identical to her mother. With her curled auburn hair, pale soft skin, and sea green eyes. I couldn’t help to smile and she noticed me. She wobbled her little pudgy body toward me and held on to the coffee table so she wouldn’t fall. She smiled and hugged the trunk of my leg. “Mrs. Flores?” the nurse said. “The doctor is ready for you now”.
I said by to the little girl and followed the nurse down the hallway. The cold tile gave me goose bumps and the smell of the paint on the walls made me nauseas. We step inside a room with no posters on the walls. She handed me a backless night gown and asked me to undress only below my waist. She closed the door and I could hear her put my clipboard on the back of the door. I sat there on the patient bed nervous and scared. The image of my parent’s faces and the little girl kept replaying in my head. I prayed to God before the doctor came in and asked him to forgive me for my sins. I grabbed a tissue from the counter and wiped the mascara tracks off my cheeks.
I could hear the doctor grab the clipboard off the door. He knocked before he came in. “Mrs. Flores, how are you?” “Are you ready for the procedure?” I nodded my head. The nurse walked in with a tray filled with silver tools and placed them on a stand near the doctor. She brought in water and blue tablets and told me to take them to help ease the pain. The doctor asked me to lie on the patient bed. He placed my legs in metal stirrups that kept my legs from closing. The nurse who was assisting him handed him a needle. “Mrs. Flores, this is going to hurt a little it‘s going to numb the area so you don’t feel any pain”. I wanted to tell the doctor the only pain I will feel is the scarring that will be left inside me every time I remember my first pregnancy. The doctor left the room, he wanted to wait about twenty minutes so I could numb properly. When the doctor returned the nurse handed him another tool and he began to poke me. “Mrs. Flores can you feel this?” “Do you feel this Mrs. Flores?” I looked at the doctor and screamed at him in my head. I could feel everything, the hate from my parents for breaking their traditions, the guilt on my shoulders for committing a sin, and the empty belly I would go home with. The doctor had not even started yet and I could feel my stomach twisting and turning. I could feel the little soul inside me. I clenched my teeth and dug my nails into the sheets on the bed. “Stop!” I said. I got dressed and ran out the door. It was unexpected, that little girl. I never expected her to smile back.
Long Story
Unexpected
You were unexpected, but I couldn’t wait to feel your new soft skin. There you are wrapped up in a tiny bundle placed in my arms. And there’s your uncle moving around the room taking pictures of us from different angles to show all his friends. Your first baby picture, your head pressed against my chest where I can hear your tiny heartbeat. I wanted to name you Isaac if you where a boy and Isabelle if you were a girl, but your father insisted that we would name you after him cause he was positive you were a boy. I watched you all day when you were asleep and I wondered how I squeezed you out of my tiny frame. My family showered you with gifts especially your grandmother; your grandfather however didn’t seem to like you to much, because your skin was to dark for eyes. Eventually I knew you would grow on him. He was watching you from the window when I saw him crack a smile in the corner of his mouth. Your hair was thick and black and would stand straight up on the top of your head. I would use a dab of baby oil to slick it back. You had my eyes, big and brown with flecks of gold around the middle. And when the light would hit your face they would almost look green. I knew you would be tall like your father and have the shape of his lips, and my button nose. When we brought you home your room was decorated in pastels and I had just bought you the entire collection of Dr. Seuss. That night I sang until you were asleep with the lullaby that my mother would sing to me.
You were unexpected; I didn’t even know you were inside me. I had just gone in for a checkup. And the next thing you know I’m sitting on a toilet waiting to catch my pee in a plastic cup. After I was done I placed the plastic cup inside a silver box in the restroom and went back to my room. I sat on the edge of the patient bed and waited for the doctor to come in. The walls of the room looked like they were moving. They moved closer and closer to me, some of the posters on the walls advertized different types of birth control, others were pictures of women with labels on their body parts. The nurse walked in with a clipboard and told me the doctor would be here shortly. She took my blood pressure and asked me when I started my last period. The doctor finally walked in with his white long coat and a stethoscope around his neck. He took off his coat and rolled up his sleeves and asked me to lie down. He lifted up my shirt and placed his cold hands over my belly and pushed his fingers into my skin. “Are you constipated Mrs. Flores?” “No doctor”. “Have you been feeling any nausea?” “No doctor I haven’t”. When he asked me if I had been feeling nauseas I remembered puking after eating a burrito from the lunch truck at school, but I figured that was only because I had food poisoning. You can never trust any food that’s being made in a truck that has a kitchen. He spread a purple jelly over my skin and ran a monitor over my belly. I looked over on the screen and there you were the size of a lima bean. “Congratulations!” the doctor said, and handed me a picture of you. I stared at you on the screen and could see your heart beating. I turned over to my side and closed my eyes. “Congratulations Mrs. Flores!” he said. “Was this a planned pregnancy?” “No doctor Han, this was unexpected”.
It was unexpected the moment you were conceived, both of us cramped up in the back seat of his car in the middle of the night. I wish I could say there were rose petals on top of the black silk sheets and intimate candles surrounding me. Instead it was so much more romantic, my skin rubbing up against his gray upholstery with my back against the handle of the door and the steam from our young hot breaths melting the frost off the windows. We both had been drinking, and the alcohol had shut off every sensible thought in our minds and turned every body part we touched into gold. The possibilities didn’t even cross our minds; we were drunk off passion and young love. We finished, got dressed and kissed each other goodnight. It was unexpected; if we had thought of the possibilities.
The nurse asked me what my plans where and the only plans I could think of were my parents. I couldn’t image the look on their faces when I told them that I was three months pregnant because I fooled around with a guy that they didn’t even know. The image of their virgin daughter dressed in a pure white dress and married in a catholic church would be broken. They would be reminded every time they saw my over size belly about the mistake that I had made. I turned over to my side and asked the nurse what my options were? Her white porcelain smile turned to a serious frown. She asked me “Well are you not planning to go through with this pregnancy?” I told her that I would call in the morning and that I needed time to think about it. That night I lied in my bed knowing that a life was growing inside me. My parents had no idea I wasn’t showing yet and I didn’t really have any symptoms. The only thing that I noticed was that I had this weird craving for pickles and ice cream. I stared at my ceiling lost in the white paint. I kept asking myself what would be the best decision to make. I kept imagining the look on my parent’s faces, what the father would say, and the burden that would stay with me for the rest of my life.
The next morning I called the nurse and made an appointment. She gave me directions to another hospital near home. On the way I called the father, he answered and I could feel him breathing into the receiver. I hung up and drove to the hospital and parked my car in the back of the building. I closed my eyes and rested my head on the steering wheel. I looked up and wiped my tears and watched the rosary swing back and forth around my rearview mirror. I ripped the beads from the mirror, locked my doors and went inside the building. I took the elevator to the second floor like the nurse had said and found room 12. My hand trembled over the door knob I clenched it tightly and turned it slowly. I walked into a room full of patients. I walked over to the front desk and told the nurse that I was here for an appointment. “Oh Mrs. Flores we have been expecting you”.
The room was filled with different women; pregnant women, women with kids, women with their nervous boyfriends, and women who were alone like me. I picked up a magazine from the coffee table and found a seat in the corner of the room. I opened up the magazine and began to flip the pages. I started to read titles like “Plan your Pregnancy”, “Newborn Mommies”, and “Top Ten Baby Names”. I threw the magazine back on the coffee table and sat back in my seat. I couldn’t help to notice the little girl in her pink flowered dress playing next to her mother’s feet. She was wearing the cutest black maryjanes with white stockings wrapped around her legs, and pigtails with pink ribbons to match the flowers on her dress. She was beautiful and identical to her mother. With her curled auburn hair, pale soft skin, and sea green eyes. I couldn’t help to smile and she noticed me. She wobbled her little pudgy body toward me and held on to the coffee table so she wouldn’t fall. She smiled and hugged the trunk of my leg. “Mrs. Flores?” the nurse said. “The doctor is ready for you now”.
I said by to the little girl and followed the nurse down the hallway. The cold tile gave me goose bumps and the smell of the paint on the walls made me nauseas. We step inside a room with no posters on the walls. She handed me a backless night gown and asked me to undress only below my waist. She closed the door and I could hear her put my clipboard on the back of the door. I sat there on the patient bed nervous and scared. The image of my parent’s faces and the little girl kept replaying in my head. I prayed to God before the doctor came in and asked him to forgive me for my sins. I grabbed a tissue from the counter and wiped the mascara tracks off my cheeks.
I could hear the doctor grab the clipboard off the door. He knocked before he came in. “Mrs. Flores, how are you?” “Are you ready for the procedure?” I nodded my head. The nurse walked in with a tray filled with silver tools and placed them on a stand near the doctor. She brought in water and blue tablets and told me to take them to help ease the pain. The doctor asked me to lie on the patient bed. He placed my legs in metal stirrups that kept my legs from closing. The nurse who was assisting him handed him a needle. “Mrs. Flores, this is going to hurt a little it‘s going to numb the area so you don’t feel any pain”. I wanted to tell the doctor the only pain I will feel is the scarring that will be left inside me every time I remember my first pregnancy. The doctor left the room, he wanted to wait about twenty minutes so I could numb properly. When the doctor returned the nurse handed him another tool and he began to poke me. “Mrs. Flores can you feel this?” “Do you feel this Mrs. Flores?” I looked at the doctor and screamed at him in my head. I could feel everything, the hate from my parents for breaking their traditions, the guilt on my shoulders for committing a sin, and the empty belly I would go home with. The doctor had not even started yet and I could feel my stomach twisting and turning. I could feel the little soul inside me. I clenched my teeth and dug my nails into the sheets on the bed. “Stop!” I said. I got dressed and ran out the door. It was unexpected, that little girl. I never expected her to smile back.
Wednesday, April 8, 2009
Critical Response to Kelly Hanken
Critical Response to Kelly Haken’s
“Tell Me What It Means.”
I think a major strongpoint to this story is how quick and efficient it is. In a very short period of time, only five paragraphs, a scene and mood is set. It allows little time for character and scene development, but that is established with the actions of the main character. The character seems young, college aged, watches Cartoon Network, and eats pizza he can make at home. This implies that he is a single bachelor living in an apartment-like setting (Of course this can be wrong, but that’s the feel the reader gets).
The title, Tell Me What it Means¸ is perfect. I believe this story goes along with the symbol story assignment, and if this is true this is a very clever way to tell a symbol story. The title is great because I want to know what it means.
My only suggestion, or critique, is I think the character’s expectations have to be discussed a little more. I’m not saying to reveal what the meaning of the object is, but I do think reflecting his expectations is important because it will give the readers a reason to care about the key, or the character. Overall I thought it was a short story that got straight to the point. Good job!
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