"WAALLLYYYY," the mother calls from the front porch of her Ranch style home. "Where could that boy be?" she mutters nervously, her tremulous voice diffusing with the ticking of the old electric clock upon the kitchen wall.
She walks inside, leaving the front door open to the sultry summer heat and the orange and yellow hues of the descending sun. Rivulets of perspiration gather between the creases in her furrowed brow as she paces from the kitchen window to the front door. It was unlike Wally to be this late for dinner, he was usually so punctual.
Not knowing what to do, she rolls up her fists into tight balls and shoves them in her apron pockets. She looks at the telephone sitting silently on a shelf below the clock, wondering who she could call; anyone who might help. She lifts her right hand to her forehead and wipes away the sweat with her palm, the droplets of perspiration falling to the floor, creating a small circular pattern near her right foot. She rationalizes that it is too soon to worry, he was only 10 minutes late, yet she stared through the open front door, hoping to see when the boy came running up the long, winding driveway.
Suddenly, like a trained seismologist, the mother senses a light tremor and a look of uncertainty spreads across her concerned face. The vibration increases until the ground shakes with the force of a minor earthquake.
Unexpectedly, a huge beast bursts through the closed back door, shaking the glassware in the nearby Hutch cabinet as it enters. Eyes glaring wildly, its mouth drooling like an open water main, it grunts an incomprehensible query in the mother's direction.
She turns in fright,
"Oh, there you are Wally," she utters, her voice lowering from panic stricken, to a monotone, "You scared me. I didn't expect you to come in from the back!"
The mother goes to hug the lurid, hulking brute, but it brushes her aside with a surly shrug.
"Well go wash up, while I get dinner on the table."
Setting three plates for dinner, the furrows leave her brow and she contentedly hums a familair tune.
She looks up...her heightened sense of vibration alerted,
"Wally, daddy's home!"
The beast screeches muffled obscenities in reply.
She looks expectantly out the front door, down the twisting drive, toward a huge replica of the infernal creature that was screaming from the bathroom.
"He's home!" she considers, forcing a smile on her face. She sees her reflection in the window of the front door, the smile is actually a grimace.
"This won't do, this won't do!" she speaks in a hurried, horrific tone.
Her words flutter into silence as she scurries to the kitchen cabinet and reaches for a small, dark vial hidden inside a seldom used gravy tureen.
She opens the vial and pops a pill in her mouth. She looks toward the bathroom and then in the direction of her husband, walking sternly up the drive. Hands shaking, she pours out another pill and pops it in her mouth. She hurriedly washes them down with a glass of icy water.
She briefly remembers, many years ago, watching a Beckett play, Footfalls and is reminded that she too, like Mary, is the sole figure on the stage and in a sense, was never born.
Wiping drops of liquid from her mouth, she pats lose strands of hair back in place and painstakingly straightens her apron. She stands waiting near the front door and forces the smile back on her face. He enters the house, with a sauntering gait. He stops and glances caustically at her frozen, artificial smile. His hard lines begin to soften, his monstrous eyes become less harsh, and she is relieved to see the corners of his mouth relax.
The pills would kick in soon--she'd manage it until then.
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Comments
1 - 5 of 5
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This dang near blew me away, Roscoe.
I'm not familiar with the play but I get the general idea I think. I like the word "footfalls" having come across it quite a bit in my short story beach reading this past summer.
The thing that stands out to me most is your character having a sense of never being born. She lost her identity or is maybe hiding deep inside to protect herself from the harsh environment in which she lives.
As usual you give your reader great details to hold on to...the seldom used gravy tureen where she keeps her stash, her fists in her apron pockets...to me shows her trying to bury her anger and frustration.
Lots of good stuff in here. Nice one.
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There are so many things in this story that make me think 'abuse'...will have to re read it to see on which side the abuse is coming from or if it is all sides...or if I have completly misconstrued it...but what ever...you are so good at this story telling...now don't go and get a big head...unles it is filling up with new ideas...
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Definitely abuse. More emotional than physical. Thanks again!
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Mr. Beckett...
Well now, isn't this a fascinating piece of work. I walk into what seems to be a perfectly normal family scene and find myself utterly surprised. You did a marvelous job of using the details to fill in the blanks of your story... the clock, the phone, the profuse sweating, her monotone voice, etc.
I am intrigued as to who this woman is. You mention Mary (I think you mean May) from Footfalls. You seem to reveal her creature-family and make them seem to be real, though shockingly different than what we expect. (Loved that line about her being a trained seismologist... she WOULD have such trained senses if belonging to such creatures!) But by referencing the Beckett play, I have to wonder if these monsters are in her head. Are they real men described metaphorically as monsters, for that's the manner in which they interact with her, OR, are they purely fictional, and is she truly alone, like May? She does after all require pills! But are they to help her deal with her reality, or with her imaginations??? Perhaps the answer to these questions are in the text and I missed it, but it seemed to me that you intentionally meant to mess with the readers reasoning and to leave us wondering.
This was lots of fun to read and think about... so many marvelous imaginings!
Oh, I almost forgot to praise the title! Ha! How clever! The allusion to the play is nice, but also it could allude to her pacing and seemingly nervous condition, the earthquake producing steps of the creatures... again, multiple ways to look at it. I love it!
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Is wow a sufficient reply to your comment? I'll add a thank you. Yes, that is the thing...is her life that bad, or is it in her 'head" so to speak. I shall return the favor as soon as I can. Tonight weather willing. Two feet of snow coming...pray for me, lol Thanks again.
Have any you really would like read, your favorites maybe, please let me know, it's fun to read people's writing, especially when they have something to say.
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