Silent Snow (Real Life V; Short Fiction, 1110 words)
It was a warm December day, no snow had fallen in weeks, the lawns and streets around the city were bare, not at all like a typical winter. He wanted to read a book, to lose himself in its words, and maybe to find himself in their meaning.
He hopped in his car and went to the used bookshop downtown, it was an out-of-the-way place, and he didn't want to fight with the crowds at the mega-store down the street.
It was a quaint shop, a little pretentious he thought, with its Victorian decor, but it had a comfortable feel and friendly service, and books you just could not find at the chain stores.
He entered the shop and went immediately to the classic fiction section: old favorites, that he could trust. He knew what to expect from Faulkner's meticulous style, or Hemingway's bare prose, they were perfect for escape.
He was also looking for a story. One he hadn't read since he was young, a tale of a young boy lost in a world of snow. He wasn't sure he knew why he wanted to read, "Silent Snow, Secret Snow" but it kept coming up in his thoughts, and so he wanted to read it again and see why.
While looking, he noticed a someone in the romance section, tall, thin, and attractive, a woman he knew. He was surprised, for he did not expect to see her at this bookstore, and by the way she quickly averted her eyes and hurried around the corner of the aisle, she had not expected to see him either.
He could have left it there, just walked out of the store, done the thing he knew was the right thing to do. But there was a voice inside him, that he struggled to ignore, that told him, to follow her, make it impossible for her to ignore him, and so he did.
He watched as she quickly walked to the check-out, and he then hurried to the exit, and when outside, he sat down on a bench to the side of the store, but one that would be conspicuous, that she would not be able to ignore. He untied his shoe, an act that embarrassed him, made him feel small, but he needed an excuse, and he would wait, shoestrings in hand, making believe tying them.
She walked out the door, she thought she was safe, she lost her guard and looked around, and there he was, looking up at her.
"Oh...Hi Paul," she uttered, her tone too high, too artificial.
Paul, on cue, looked up, "Oh hello Joan, what a surprise to see toy here. I was just in the store looking around for a collection of Conrad Aiken's stories, there was one I wanted to read again, you've maybe heard of it, "Silent Snow, Secret Snow."
"No, never heard of it," she said and smiled uneasily. She then held up the store bag she carried, "But you know me, always reading trashy romances."
He winced at her words. He remembered many discussions they'd had in the past, How he'd chided her reading choices, always offering her one of his books: Dostoevsky, Proust, Henry James. He always got carried away, became slightly sarcastic, condescending, an odd thing to do with someone he loved more than anyone else. He'd feel bad later, but then it was too late. She'd taken his words, and stored them away, kept them as evidence that he did not love her...at least not in the way she needed to be loved.
He looked at her, she saw his uneasiness at her words, but it did not please her, she was surprised.
He stammered for a moment, "I ah, I...oh, I'm sorry, I was an idiot then, many times, you have a right to like what you like, I've no idea why I always insisted that you should read what I like, it was very egotisitcal of me. I'm sorry."
He, of course, knew exactly why he did those things, but he could not tell her that he always tried to destroy the things he loved. It was easier on him to to be seen as sophomoric, or arogant, and it kept the truth hidden from himself, as much as was possible anyway.
"That's okay," she replied. "We all say things. There were lots of things going on then, I don't hold those things against you."
Which of course was a lie, because that broad term, those things meant everything that had happened between them: his lack of ambition, his not tasking her to marry him, even after three years together, as well as those vain insecurities, that extended beyond books.
He looked at her and half-smiled, "So, you're good? I mean, you doing ok?"
"Yes, fine" she replied, then sensing that he wanted more, "I'm working over at the DMV now, just got promoted to Regional Secretary, life is good, you?"
He said the right words, choked back the ones that he most wanted to say, "That is good, I am glad you are happy and doing well. As for me, you know, still working at the department store, still doing Bookkeeping, same old same old."
He looked down, he did not want to see her face, see how she reacted to those words, but he would have been safe, for she gave no sign, no hint of past regrets,
"That is good then, and you look good, nice and healthy, you've lost weight."
He had, something which he was never able to do when they were together, and he wondered if she now would add that too against him, but her face showed no sign of it.
"Well, I have to be going" she said, smiling perfunctorily, And he was caught between extremes...wanting her to stay, and wanting her to go, but she had to go, he knew that.
She nodded, "Good to see you again Paul" and he made himself believe her. He smiled, and wanted to say something, many things but he knew spoken words no longer mattered. They had become relics of the past, like hopes, dreams and love. And as he watched her walk away, snow began to fall. He sat back down on the bench, and stayed there long after she had gone, watching the snow blanket the ground and coat the trees with thin layers of quiet. He felt the snow melt on his face, but he no longer heard or saw anything other than the falling of the silent snow.
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Comments
1 - 20 of 20
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it may be listed as fiction but...I feel like this is autobiographical...sad and seems unfinished...is there a sequel?
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No sequel yet but one is likely to be written.
Yeah, it's autobiographical.
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Another that I have read before, you should consider join accounts instead of cut and paste
As usual a very well written story. The content, well, we don't need to go there, we have been there, just as in and outside, one side or the other.
I wonder if you really meant to write 'his not tasking her to marry him' or it was asking her on the original.Just a detail, and yes I know how much my eyes to details annoy you
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I apologize now for the subject matter though now when I look at it, it's just a story. There's honesty there as I remember...they guy making excuses to be there waiting when she came out...so I'm pleased that I didn't shy away and make it less real. I like it as a story, and as a personal document, but it ceases to have any more meaning than that.
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So I decided since we were chatting the other day about personal favorites you've written, I would post my 2000 here...my favorite piece of your fiction works.
This one has stayed with me since the first time I read it back in January. -
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I kind of like this story. Now looking at it from a distance I could make it a lot better but I'm too lazy and it's a topic I'd rather not revisit. Thanks for 2000! I owe you that poem for sure now. I wrote a weird story, want that one named for you? Trust me, you don't.
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It's still my favorite though I have many more past ones to read not to mention any new ones.
Like you didn't still owe it from before? lol Where's the weird story? I want to read it first.
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Do you ever look at certain types of people and get a kick out of them? Maybe not those you might think however...that's the story.
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I'm always watching people.
It's what I do, like it's my job. lol -
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Good. I sometimes watch people, but not the people most watch. I watch the suits and ties and the well-fed, self-satisfied. I find them very comical.
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I like to watch drunk people dance. They're comical too.
I worked with high level execs for quite a while...designer suits and ties...I know them well and what you're saying.
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I've had enough dealings with a drunk to last a lifetime. I'll leave them to you.
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Aha---another gem that was somewhere
and then not somewhere, but transferred
to Here!!
I do remember it well, for in my reply,
I indicated how muchI wanted her
to give him a boost, to tell him her number
is still the same, or to pull out a card with
the new number and her cell, for that could
have changed with the job change.
Or told him she had moved, and where,
or that she was in the same place, for that
would give hope that love moves in cirlcles,
or, at least, with renewed respect.
Respect would have warmed him.
You captured the past regrets, the present
momnent of angst---so well, so intimately!
M-C
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Okay, so this is intriguing. Your Paul here is Aiken's Paul, all grown up, or is just a man who intensely identifies with the boy's rejection of reality or the difficult? In retrospect, that one line at the beginning seems to bear even more weight/meaning, "He wanted to read a book, to lose himself in its words, and maybe to find himself in their meaning." When he sits in the snow at the end, it is as if he has done both. Also that notion that "SPOKEN" words no longer mattered....as if to imply that the written ones did, they had become once and for all his reality. That's where my thoughts went, anyhow.
I can't get past that image of him with the shoestring. Indeed it sounded humbling, when he was trying to seem like he was "together," as if this were just one of those little necessities. And what was worse, I think, is that while she was uncomfortable with the reunion, she really didn't seem to be affected by his state of mind or his state of being. THAT is beyond humbling, past hurtful. I think he may have almost rather had her fuss at him than to just want to avoid him or thinking about him at all.
Some of the details were pretty cool too...like his choice of bookstore, something reclusive. Telling.
I like how the snow mirrored his loss of himself, or his escape from himself...and from the bleakness of the opening paragraph. It was great to open and close with those contrasting images...reflecting in the scenery the change that occurred within him.
Really nicely done.
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'she really didn't seem to be affected by his state of mind or his state of being. THAT is beyond humbling, past hurtful. I think he may have almost rather had her fuss at him than to just want to avoid him or thinking about him at all.'
No she wasn't affected, and yes, a fuss would be better, but to fuss, she had to care and she was done with the relationship while he was not. He was not a healthy guy, needing to just accept that people sometimes stop caring. C'est la vie.
Thanks!
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The hand of fate in bookstore decision and the words, breaking the ice between what could have been and what is. I loved the irony of no snow on the ground that day and how it started to fall as she walked away...and of course the book that was calling from the shelf..."pick me, pick me".
I felt the anxiousness and awkwardness of the situation through your words. Most of us have found ourselves in that situation one time or another. It all came flooding back including the butterfies of the moment like it had just happened to me.
I wish it was longer *sighs*
I will stop now so as not to overinflate your ego
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Thank you, there's shame in honesty sometimes, like the waiting for the person to come out of the bookstore. In real life it wasn't a bookstore, or anystore but it was a shameful waiting.
Over-inflate my ego? I have no ego madam, and you can ask any of my fellow intellectuals!
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Well, excuse me SIR, sure...I'll ask them...who are they? Where do you stash them? lol
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I need Sir Ima to reply here since he is the stuffy one (make believe it is him)
Madam, we do not STASH anything, we ALLOCATE it! -
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I've never read Sir Ima. I just look at the pictures *g* besides he's imaginary...I can't talk to imaginary beings.
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