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wordwhackerWow, talk about posting early in the week! Practically unheard of. I rushed this one a little, and I think I'll want to go back and re-work it to some degree. I'm surprised by how well it came out considering, though - I'd been sitting on the first 400 words or so for a few weeks, knowing what I wanted it to say and how I wanted it to play out, but just not feeling motivated to get it there. Well, today I decided to push myself and see if I could finish it by the end of my shift (45 minutes, give or take.) Boom, a story happened!
Like I said, it was a bit of a rush job and wasn't as detailed as I originally thought it might have to be, but I think I actually like it at the length it is now. Anyway, let me know what you think. (I made myself write this in third person - for some reason everything's been popping out in first, lately.)
(This is a challenge to write a story about "completion", as per![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
shloop.)
Making Ends Meet (vignette, 1,300 words, first draft)
Jerry couldn't believe what he was hearing.
"You what?"
"I sold it." Claire didn't seem phased at all, like she'd just told him she'd taken out the trash.
"But I was - you said that - why?"
She shrugged. "It was taking up space. You weren't doing anything with it."
Jerry exhaled deeply, pressing his hands into his face. She'd sold the car - his antique car, supposedly. Her father had left it to him years ago, before he -
"What about your dad?" He said, snapping his head up to look at her. "He left that thing to me, remember?"
"So you could sit on it for five years?" Claire brushed past him, heading into the kitchen. "If you were going to restore it you'd have at least done something with it by now."
"I did! Just last week I was in the garage looking at it, remember?"
"No, I don't." Her voice floated to him around the corner.
"But it's still here, right?"
There was the sound of clinking glasses, and silence for a moment before she spoke. "Yeah, it's still there. The guy's coming to get it next week."
Jerry turned and stormed out, taking the steps to the garage two at a time. It was bad enough that she'd sold it, but she hadn't even talked with him about it. Hadn't even told him until it had come up in conversation. Jerry wondered if she had planned on telling him at all.
It was still there, all right, boxed in and covered in dust. He really had looked at it the week before… but not necessarily touched. Still he felt his gut clench when he thought about how casual Claire had been, how practical.
This wasn’t a matter of being practical. This was sentimental.
He moved a sawhorse out of the way so he could open the door. It squeaked a little; he’d have to spray some WD-40 on it… before they sold it. Dammit. He slipped into the driver’s seat and yanked the door closed behind him. The car rocked on its shocks a little. With a sigh he leaned forward on the wheel and stared out through the cracked windshield.
Before he could settle into a good solid brood, the automatic garage door started to open with a low-pitched whirrrrrr. It was Jessica, just getting back from a bike ride and looking for a place to stash her ride. For a moment Jerry thought she’d missed him, but she did a double take and then waved. With resignation, he waved back. So much for solitude.
“Hi, Jay!” She’d called him that ever since she was a little kid. Not that she was much bigger now, just older and shaped more like a budding beanstalk.
He rolled down the window, despite its protestations. “Hey, kiddo.”
“What’s up?” She slid off her helmet and started picking her way over to the car. “Goin’ nowhere?”
“Best way to get there.” He patted the dashboard. “Apparently this hunk of junk actually is going somewhere soon, though. Your mom sold her on me.”
“No kidding?” Jerry could tell she was trying to read the situation before throwing her chips in. He must have given something away just then, because she leaned on the window and raised her eyebrows. “Whatcha gonna do about it?”
“Nothing.” What could he do, after all? The woman was right, as much as it pained him to admit it. “I’m surprised she didn’t trash this thing years ago.”
Jessica rolled her eyes. “Yeah, I know, she was gonna get rid of my bike last year when we had that really rainy summer and I didn’t ride it, like, every single day.”
She was a good kid, always had been. Jerry figured that for a guy who hadn’t been too keen on kids, he’d lucked out on the one that had come with Claire’s package.
That pain in his gut came back, reminding him about just how bitter he didn’t want to be. He didn’t want to be angry with Claire for selling the car. He figured he had a right to be pissed off that she hadn’t even talked about it with him, though. Communication had never been Claire’s strong point. Sometimes he thought it was funny, how they got along – he was the one who wanted everything to be out in the open, laid right out on the table, every last option examined and weighted; she wanted to cut the process down to broad strokes, getting it out of the way. Practical. So damn practical.
Where do the ends meet here, anyway?
“Are you mad?”
Jerry blinked, a little too stunned by the frankness of the question to respond right away. Once that passed he chewed on it for a second, not too eager to get into an in-depth discussion of his relationship status with her mother. “Sort of, yeah. She didn’t tell me she wanted to sell it, just went straight ahead and did it.”
Jessica nodded. “Maybe she just figured you’d never do it if you kept thinking you were gonna fix it up sometime.”
“Yeah, but…” She was right, of course. If Claire had asked him about it, he’d have just told her that he’d get to it eventually. He’d have believed it, too, at the time. Jerry sighed. “It doesn’t mean I have to like it.”
Jessica giggled. “You sound like a big kid.”
“I’ll big kid you,” he said, lurching out to grab her ponytail.
She shrieked and slapped at his arm. “Leggoleggoleggo!”
Jerry would have been the first to admit that, in a way, Jessica wasn’t far off the mark. Sometimes he felt like a kid, compared to Claire – she wasn’t old, not unless early 40’s was suddenly considered “over the hill”, but Jerry was only barely pushing 30. It was a reversal of how things usually went, at least as far as movies and TV would have the general public believe. Jerry was used to cutting down arguments that suggested their relationship wouldn’t work based solely on their age difference, but every now and then he wondered if there might be any truth to them.
Where do the ends meet here, anyway?
Jessica freed herself and miraculously managed not to knock over a stack of boxes. Jerry used his previously menacing hand to steady her from falling. “Woah there, kiddo. This place is enough of a mess, dontcha think?”
“That’s not my fault, you’re the one who keeps sayin’ he’s gonna clean it and have a yard sale.”
“Yeah, well, I’ll get to it.”
“You know who you should get to organize it?”
“Who?”
“Mom.”
He opened his mouth to protest, but he shut it again. “You have a point, there.”
Jessica grinned. “Maybe that’s why you and mom get along so well.”
Jerry blinked. “Why’s that, now?”
“’Cause there’s one of you to mess stuff up, and the other to clean it up!” With an impish giggle she slunk just out of his reach, stuck her tongue out at him, and made her way back into the house.
Jerry couldn’t help but laugh a little. Here he’d thought he was going to sit and brood and wonder and doubt about the six years he’d spent with his wife, and her daughter had gone and ruined his mood. He still needed to have a talk with Claire, of course… but then again, one of them had to take care of things like that.
Maybe they didn’t always see eye to eye, but at least they were working at opposite ends of the same lever.
Like I said, it was a bit of a rush job and wasn't as detailed as I originally thought it might have to be, but I think I actually like it at the length it is now. Anyway, let me know what you think. (I made myself write this in third person - for some reason everything's been popping out in first, lately.)
(This is a challenge to write a story about "completion", as per
shloop.)Making Ends Meet (vignette, 1,300 words, first draft)
Jerry couldn't believe what he was hearing.
"You what?"
"I sold it." Claire didn't seem phased at all, like she'd just told him she'd taken out the trash.
"But I was - you said that - why?"
She shrugged. "It was taking up space. You weren't doing anything with it."
Jerry exhaled deeply, pressing his hands into his face. She'd sold the car - his antique car, supposedly. Her father had left it to him years ago, before he -
"What about your dad?" He said, snapping his head up to look at her. "He left that thing to me, remember?"
"So you could sit on it for five years?" Claire brushed past him, heading into the kitchen. "If you were going to restore it you'd have at least done something with it by now."
"I did! Just last week I was in the garage looking at it, remember?"
"No, I don't." Her voice floated to him around the corner.
"But it's still here, right?"
There was the sound of clinking glasses, and silence for a moment before she spoke. "Yeah, it's still there. The guy's coming to get it next week."
Jerry turned and stormed out, taking the steps to the garage two at a time. It was bad enough that she'd sold it, but she hadn't even talked with him about it. Hadn't even told him until it had come up in conversation. Jerry wondered if she had planned on telling him at all.
It was still there, all right, boxed in and covered in dust. He really had looked at it the week before… but not necessarily touched. Still he felt his gut clench when he thought about how casual Claire had been, how practical.
This wasn’t a matter of being practical. This was sentimental.
He moved a sawhorse out of the way so he could open the door. It squeaked a little; he’d have to spray some WD-40 on it… before they sold it. Dammit. He slipped into the driver’s seat and yanked the door closed behind him. The car rocked on its shocks a little. With a sigh he leaned forward on the wheel and stared out through the cracked windshield.
Before he could settle into a good solid brood, the automatic garage door started to open with a low-pitched whirrrrrr. It was Jessica, just getting back from a bike ride and looking for a place to stash her ride. For a moment Jerry thought she’d missed him, but she did a double take and then waved. With resignation, he waved back. So much for solitude.
“Hi, Jay!” She’d called him that ever since she was a little kid. Not that she was much bigger now, just older and shaped more like a budding beanstalk.
He rolled down the window, despite its protestations. “Hey, kiddo.”
“What’s up?” She slid off her helmet and started picking her way over to the car. “Goin’ nowhere?”
“Best way to get there.” He patted the dashboard. “Apparently this hunk of junk actually is going somewhere soon, though. Your mom sold her on me.”
“No kidding?” Jerry could tell she was trying to read the situation before throwing her chips in. He must have given something away just then, because she leaned on the window and raised her eyebrows. “Whatcha gonna do about it?”
“Nothing.” What could he do, after all? The woman was right, as much as it pained him to admit it. “I’m surprised she didn’t trash this thing years ago.”
Jessica rolled her eyes. “Yeah, I know, she was gonna get rid of my bike last year when we had that really rainy summer and I didn’t ride it, like, every single day.”
She was a good kid, always had been. Jerry figured that for a guy who hadn’t been too keen on kids, he’d lucked out on the one that had come with Claire’s package.
That pain in his gut came back, reminding him about just how bitter he didn’t want to be. He didn’t want to be angry with Claire for selling the car. He figured he had a right to be pissed off that she hadn’t even talked about it with him, though. Communication had never been Claire’s strong point. Sometimes he thought it was funny, how they got along – he was the one who wanted everything to be out in the open, laid right out on the table, every last option examined and weighted; she wanted to cut the process down to broad strokes, getting it out of the way. Practical. So damn practical.
Where do the ends meet here, anyway?
“Are you mad?”
Jerry blinked, a little too stunned by the frankness of the question to respond right away. Once that passed he chewed on it for a second, not too eager to get into an in-depth discussion of his relationship status with her mother. “Sort of, yeah. She didn’t tell me she wanted to sell it, just went straight ahead and did it.”
Jessica nodded. “Maybe she just figured you’d never do it if you kept thinking you were gonna fix it up sometime.”
“Yeah, but…” She was right, of course. If Claire had asked him about it, he’d have just told her that he’d get to it eventually. He’d have believed it, too, at the time. Jerry sighed. “It doesn’t mean I have to like it.”
Jessica giggled. “You sound like a big kid.”
“I’ll big kid you,” he said, lurching out to grab her ponytail.
She shrieked and slapped at his arm. “Leggoleggoleggo!”
Jerry would have been the first to admit that, in a way, Jessica wasn’t far off the mark. Sometimes he felt like a kid, compared to Claire – she wasn’t old, not unless early 40’s was suddenly considered “over the hill”, but Jerry was only barely pushing 30. It was a reversal of how things usually went, at least as far as movies and TV would have the general public believe. Jerry was used to cutting down arguments that suggested their relationship wouldn’t work based solely on their age difference, but every now and then he wondered if there might be any truth to them.
Where do the ends meet here, anyway?
Jessica freed herself and miraculously managed not to knock over a stack of boxes. Jerry used his previously menacing hand to steady her from falling. “Woah there, kiddo. This place is enough of a mess, dontcha think?”
“That’s not my fault, you’re the one who keeps sayin’ he’s gonna clean it and have a yard sale.”
“Yeah, well, I’ll get to it.”
“You know who you should get to organize it?”
“Who?”
“Mom.”
He opened his mouth to protest, but he shut it again. “You have a point, there.”
Jessica grinned. “Maybe that’s why you and mom get along so well.”
Jerry blinked. “Why’s that, now?”
“’Cause there’s one of you to mess stuff up, and the other to clean it up!” With an impish giggle she slunk just out of his reach, stuck her tongue out at him, and made her way back into the house.
Jerry couldn’t help but laugh a little. Here he’d thought he was going to sit and brood and wonder and doubt about the six years he’d spent with his wife, and her daughter had gone and ruined his mood. He still needed to have a talk with Claire, of course… but then again, one of them had to take care of things like that.
Maybe they didn’t always see eye to eye, but at least they were working at opposite ends of the same lever.
