Tell me about her.
Whenever I made waffles, she’d steal my fork. She’d pair it
with her own, turning them upside down, turning them into stabby feet, and have
them march over the waffles as she narrated Mothra’s latest attack on Japan.
She pretended to snore whenever I explained Mothra was a flying-type monster.
Tell me about her.
She licked the roof of my mouth too often when we kissed. She
didn’t know how to kiss very well, but she was awesome at that one trick.
Tell me about her.
She was five feet and five inches in bare feet. She was a
hundred and nineteen pounds in the winter.
She wore corrective lenses because she was nearsighted. Ever since she was a kid... this isn't right.
Tell me about her.
She once waited on a rope line for two hours to greet George
W. Bush as he got off his plane in the next county over. It was raining and
blustery, and she put up with all of it just to fake him out and pull her hand
away as he reached to shake it. She did the whole “running her hand through her
hair” thing. Afterward she had to talk to a guy for half an hour. She fell
asleep in his office.
Tell me about her.
She loved sad movies and never cried at them. She'd lean
forward in her chair and squint, and groan skeptically, and sometimes chew her
upper lip like this didn’t make sense. When we got home she’d buy the
screenplay. She only read screenplays alone. They’re what made her cry.
Tell me about her.
She loved hating sports. She would say she was going out, or
upstairs to read, or simply promise to stay out of the living room, and within
five minutes of starting time she’d plant her ass on the couch. I’ve never seen
her so animated as when she was complaining about the rules being arbitrary and
the game being dumb and the losing team being treated unfairly. Never. Well,
maybe it’s a tie between that and sex, but I don’t have witnesses to how
animated she got during sex. I have a Superbowl party of witnesses to her
throwing a bowl of popcorn at a blind referee.
Tell me about her.
She always got tired. She got tired when we were in school –
she fell asleep during a midterm and snored her way to a C+, so we didn’t think
much about it. I drove. I shoveled the driveway. When I think of all the things
I did instead of her, without really talking to her, or asking why, or making
her ask why… She just got tired. It was a quirk. Except it wasn’t a quirk.
Tell me about her.
I love all these little sketches of her character, culminating in that third to last paragraph, connecting the dots.
ReplyDeleteHow did you feel about it going on for two paragraphs after that?
DeleteWhat a wonderful depiction of the woman who he(?) couldn't describe. Thank you. These vignettes did create a very clear image.
ReplyDeleteIt's a 'he' for me, but I don't specify and have no problem with anyone reading it as 'her' or 'other.' That's something I hand over to the audience.
Deletethis one really sounded inside my head as I read with the refrain. I don't know, almost had a song-like quality to it. Very much enjoyed that experience.
ReplyDeletemarc nash
Thank you for bringing into song-like experience, Marc. Any particular lines or passages work that way for you?
Delete"... turning them upside down, turning them into stabby feet ..." You're a poet, my lad. Why not treat us to a prose poem sometime? N. xx
ReplyDeleteWould you consider He/She up that alley? I'm not sure...
DeleteI liked this John and enjoyed the slowly building picture and all the unanswered questions. It felt sad and wistful and kind of broken at the end.
ReplyDeleteClarified on Twitter, but I'm very relieved "broken" didn't mean the story stunk at the end!
DeleteWe've gone for a similar theme this week I see. Very touching piece, and I too would like to have had the chance to do that to George W Bush...
ReplyDeleteMinor missing word catch - "She lean forward"
Thanks for catching that, Mazz. Corrected it as soon as I woke up. Definitely letting some things slip in my old age.
DeleteAll these details are just heartbreaking, John.
ReplyDeleteThanks for reading, Tony, and being so receptive.
DeleteThat first part, about the forks & waffles, made me think he was talking about a little sister. The next part kind of blew that out of the water. :-D
ReplyDeleteThis is a good depiction of relationships... you really can't explain someone else, only the stuff they've done.
How do you feel about the dichotomy, of going from little sister to make-out session? Because of course, yeah, they're not brother and sister, but the whole thing is about cracking up descriptions, so starting with sharp clefts felt correct. I'm very curious if those land well for readers, though.
DeleteThe waffle paragraph is beautiful. The whole thing is beautiful. It's honest, uplifting and heartbreaking. Worthy of inclusion in a flash anthology. One of your best John. Thanks.
ReplyDeleteThat paragraph is probably my favorite, and was the genesis of the whole piece. The ignition for the white heat, I guess. Thank you for the very kind words.
DeleteA very nicely paced piece, I like how the "Tell me about her" lines keep it flowing and connected. It works very well :)
ReplyDeleteDid any of them click particularly well for you, Casey?
DeleteI liked this! I liked especially that you were smart enough to have the responder say "this isn't right" at one point. Now I have to watch (500) Days of Summer, 'cos there did seem to be a certain amount of "manic pixie dream girl" happening.
ReplyDeleteDid the traces you picked up upon annoy you?
DeleteNot annoying -- the manic pixie dream girl exists. The manic pixie dream girl exists most palpably in the heads of people (mostly ex-boyfriends) remembering here. That's why my favourite scene in that film is when Summer announces she's marrying someone else, and the viewers get a chance to realise that the woman portrayed in all the memories doesn't really exist -- or rather she does, but there's more to her than that. Or to switch gears to another film, the part in High Fidelity where Rob meets up with Charlie again and exclaims to the viewers, "How did I edit all this out?" because he's finally seeing Charlie as a whole person, and he's not liking what he missed the first time.
DeleteThe way I read that "this isn't right" line, it's like the narrator realises on a gut level that a) the descriptions can't describe the whole person and b) the narrator knows there is editing going on.
Enjoyable!
ReplyDeleteHi John. This really hit me hard, as I've lost several people close to me over the years. When you try and remember, or describe them to someone else - well, you've captured my thought process exactly. You remember their quirks, the things which made you laugh, pull your hair out, and want to pull them closer. And sometimes you kick yourself for not noticing a warning sign, as though it is somehow your fault even though you know that there was nothing which you could do.
ReplyDeleteI didn't think the first paragraph was about a child, but rather that childlike quality which many people retain as adults. What I loved most about this piece was that it rang "true"; as though you were describing a real person - and someone that I would have loved to have known. Bravo.
I seem to keep losing people I know, too, Lisa, so it's been on my mind more. Strangely it comes to mind more often as I try to judge the value of death in fiction at all. I still don't have a decisive grasp on it.
DeleteAnd I'm glad you had that interpretation of the first answer. That's how I intended it, though I'd still allow people their interpretations if they liked them.
Whenever a story touched me I lose the words to describe what I feel, thats going on now. Like or enjoyed don't feel strong enough. I need to study more.
ReplyDeleteI liked the first paragraph the most, might be because I've been raised by nerds. The second would be throwing a bowl of popcorn at a blind referee, made me laugh and it's something I'd want to do, but would't dare.
That's beautiful and sad, John. It's deeply romantic (not romance) because it's the little, intimate moments that make up a life together.
ReplyDeleteIt almost felt like he was coming to terms with who she really was. It was like he was admitting despite all the good or bad she was her and he liked it.
ReplyDeleteYou never fail to surprise me, John. Such a beautiful piece and it reminded me of the girls I've known. I loved the faking out handshake.
ReplyDeleteThis piece is amazing. You're not allowed to make me cry next week :(
ReplyDeleteThose things that drove you nuts are often the things you miss most of all. Bittersweet and beautiful piece.
ReplyDeleteYou bring her extremely to life John, with all her foibles, strengths, and frailties, I especially loved the paragraph when she did the "Faking out" with George Bush.
ReplyDeleteBeautiful.
ReplyDeleteI can't imagine a better way to describe someone without knowing how. It's magnificent, this read. We do remember the things the person does, all the little details of completely ordinary stuff, the habbits, the actions. It's amazing, and this piece can be a small perfect study. Bravo John!
ReplyDeleteGreat piece John, I too loved the waffle paragraph and it made me think he was talking to his child about thier mother maybe. Then the kissing paragraph led me from that to him maybe talking to a therapist, worried that he never really knew her at all. very thought provoking and thats what makes great writing. Great work
ReplyDeleteI just keep thinking that "It's not who you are underneath, it's what you do that defines you", and you've encapsulated that perfectly.
ReplyDeleteBeautifully done. The man who loved her describing her when he doesn't know how... and the cadence was lovely. The 'this isn't right' part hinted at something wrong, and I got the image in my head of someone on a psychiatrist's couch baring his soul. Wonderful writing.
ReplyDeleteI like the way it goes from whimsical (the fork bit was awesome) to thought provoking in such a quick pace. Great piece!
ReplyDeleteYou did an amazing job here of creating a sad, wistful mood with little context. I read it twice - the first time I thought she died, the second I thought maybe they just broke up. Either way, it's a great piece.
ReplyDeleteI'm with you Sonya..or at least perhaps she was/is seriously ill.. Heartbreaking and brilliant John!!
ReplyDeleteThat ending is perfect, because even though we have memories of people, or know certain things about them, sometimes, that still doesn't describe how we know them, doesn't illustrate the deeper parts which are so hard to define. That said, I had to laugh at a few of them : )
ReplyDelete