plastic baby jesus (Chp. 1) - [Matthew]
This is the first chapter of a novella I wrote. Relaaax... my ego does know some limits. I'm not going to post the whole thing here and choke up the works. Here's the deal. I am going to debut the first three chapters of this thing here. Anybody who wants to read the rest, just drop me a line (mattheweporter@hotmail.com) and I'll send the balance. Fair enough? Now, on with the show...
[Chapter 1]
Even when the voices got loud, Caitlin still slept. They took turns talking, standing there hand in hand in hand.
Above and behind them, David Letterman was silently talking to a large smiling woman in the audience. She laughed now and turned to her husband sitting beside her.
Nearby sat a vase with artificial flowers, purple and yellow mums. Some were designed to be in full flower, others just buds on the verge of blossom. They would look exactly the same ten years from now as they did tonight.
A silver haired woman spoke now. Fervently, face turned up, her hand gripping her neighbor’s till the ends of his fingers turned red. She said something that elicited a laugh from the group. Eyes still closed, they laughed and nodded to themselves.
They stood in a semicircle around the bed. The contractor, the school librarian, the web designer, the video store clerk, the high school basketball coach, the widow, the woman who ran the gourmet basket shop.
And beyond these stood the construction worker, the aspiring singer songwriter, the dentist’s office receptionist with her two girls, the Starbucks clerk, the traveling computer repairman, the claims adjuster, the manager of the embroidery shop.
They stood there silently, filling the room and out into the hall.
And then there he was, the closest of all, kneeling down next to her with the only open eyes in the room. Her head was turned slightly to her right, an array of blonde spilling over the pillow. All she had to do is open her eyes to see him.
A final word was said and the tableau of compassion gradually melted away, each one taking a moment to touch the man’s shoulder or arm in a tone of unspoken understanding.
After they left, he slowly stood to his feet, did a few deep knee bends, then washed his face in the sink and walked to the window. Looking through his own reflection, he gazed down at the city’s grid of white lights, green and red lights now adorning the main streets.
He stood there for what could have been five minutes or an hour before a knock on the door broke his reverie. A bright faced college intern with a small band of carolers.
Without turning around, he waved them off, the back of his right hand pressed hard to his trembling chin.
The air leaking in from the window made his wet eyes feel cold and glassy.
[end ping]
Above and behind them, David Letterman was silently talking to a large smiling woman in the audience. She laughed now and turned to her husband sitting beside her.
Nearby sat a vase with artificial flowers, purple and yellow mums. Some were designed to be in full flower, others just buds on the verge of blossom. They would look exactly the same ten years from now as they did tonight.
A silver haired woman spoke now. Fervently, face turned up, her hand gripping her neighbor’s till the ends of his fingers turned red. She said something that elicited a laugh from the group. Eyes still closed, they laughed and nodded to themselves.
They stood in a semicircle around the bed. The contractor, the school librarian, the web designer, the video store clerk, the high school basketball coach, the widow, the woman who ran the gourmet basket shop.
And beyond these stood the construction worker, the aspiring singer songwriter, the dentist’s office receptionist with her two girls, the Starbucks clerk, the traveling computer repairman, the claims adjuster, the manager of the embroidery shop.
They stood there silently, filling the room and out into the hall.
And then there he was, the closest of all, kneeling down next to her with the only open eyes in the room. Her head was turned slightly to her right, an array of blonde spilling over the pillow. All she had to do is open her eyes to see him.
A final word was said and the tableau of compassion gradually melted away, each one taking a moment to touch the man’s shoulder or arm in a tone of unspoken understanding.
After they left, he slowly stood to his feet, did a few deep knee bends, then washed his face in the sink and walked to the window. Looking through his own reflection, he gazed down at the city’s grid of white lights, green and red lights now adorning the main streets.
He stood there for what could have been five minutes or an hour before a knock on the door broke his reverie. A bright faced college intern with a small band of carolers.
Without turning around, he waved them off, the back of his right hand pressed hard to his trembling chin.
The air leaking in from the window made his wet eyes feel cold and glassy.
[end ping]
posted by Etcetera at 11:31 PM
2 Comments:
more please.
I agree.
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