Choices

A story of a couple struggling to find a way to communicate. A minimalist story using the iceberg theory.

Choices

 She leaned in and wrapped her arms around his body. He pulled away.

            “Please, just stop,” he said.

Her hands were cold on his bare back. He moved to the kitchen sink and turned on the faucet, adding a little water to his glass of whiskey. She took a cigarette from the half-empty pack and lit it. She rubbed her eye; the smoke had irritated it, making it feel dry and stale.

            “I didn’t do anything wrong,” she told him. “I’ve been thinking about it for a long time.”

            “I know.” He looked at her, his eyes red and growing heavy. “But you could have told me first.”

            “I didn’t think you would care,” she said, flicking her cigarette into the ashtray on the table as she sat down. “I didn’t know you were that serious about it.”

            “I wasn’t, but it just makes me sad. Did it hurt?”

            “I didn’t feel anything.”

            “Nothing?”

            “Nothing.”

The man turned on the overhead light in the kitchen; it flickered once or twice, and then steadied out. He took the bottle of whiskey from the counter, poured another glass, and then placed it in the cabinet.

            “What do we do now?” he asked.

            “Move on. Stop talking about it.”    

            “I have to talk about it.”

            The woman got up from the table and grabbed for his hand. He reached for the keys to the truck.

            “Where are you going?”

            “I just need some fresh air and time to think.”

            He sniffed as he walked out of the front door; the woman turned on the television.

 

 

            At a bar on 52^nd street, the man sat holding his cigarette and staring at the glass bottles on the shelf behind the bar. He wondered if his wife had even bothered to come look for him. All he needed was an apology.

            He took a cab back to his home around 2:45 in the morning. He was far too drunk to drive; his eyes were blurry and he couldn’t see anything clearly. When he walked in, she was sitting on the couch. She barely noticed him enter, just a simple nod in his direction. He stumbled toward the kitchen, loosing his balance and falling onto the television set that had been keeping his wife’s attention. It may have been the fact that the room was dark--not even the moon gave light through the windows--that made him lose his footing.

            “What are you doing?” she said, rising from the couch to make sure the television set was not broken. He grabbed her forearm, pulling himself up as she leaned down to pick up the antenna.

            “It was your fault,” he said.

            “My fault? It’s my fault that you can’t hold your liquor?”

            “That’s not what I meant.”

            He couldn’t look at her. She stood with her hands on her hips, staring at him and waiting for something. He clinched his fist, restricting the blood from his knuckles and making them white. Then he slapped her.

            She stood in silence and shock with her hand on her cheek. She tried to back away as he came at her again, but she tripped over the television wires and he grabbed her, pulling her up. He aimed his fist at her stomach and started to slam his knuckled into her abdomen. She resisted, trying to get away, but his grip was too tight. All she could do was thrash around in his arm and prepare for the collision of his fist hitting her stomach over and over.

            Then he stopped and she turned around to get one hard slap to his face. He flinched, then the man turned and walked out of the door and back into the cab, which he had told to wait.

             

 

 

Author's Note

What do you think? I've been trying to use the iceberg theory in my writing lately. I have been reading a lot of Carver and Hemingway. Does it work, or does it leave you annoyed with the lack of information.

Reviews

[A. Louis]

i think the whole point of minimalist fiction IS the lack of information. not everyone likes the genre, so the audience is a lot smaller. personally, the sudden entrance and departure from this vignette is what makes it successful. keep up the good work. check out amy hempel's work (if you don't already know it), she's a SHINING example of minimalism (even though she shirks the label). here is a link to a good interview with her: http://www.theparisreview.org/interviews/227/the-art-of-fiction-no-176-amy-hempel

cheers,
a.

[Catcher]

It seems like you have a really heavy and emotional subject that would lend itself to allowing you to get invested in the characters, but you don't spend enough time on either of the characters to care about them. I mean, its about an abortion, right? Has he always dreamed of being a father? Was she too afraid to bring a child into the world? Why did this happen and why did the two of them act the way they did? And if it is about a woman getting an abortion and her husband goes out drinking and comes back screaming "It's all your fault," then why does she think he's talking about holding his liquor. I mean, I know she wanted to move on from it, but I think she would know what he was talking about instantly. In fact, the image of her just watching tv or standing with her hands on her hips so nonchalantly is off putting. She seems oddly unaffected by the whole situation, its a little uncomfortable. Like she told him she just had a mole removed.

Other than that, its a good start, it just needs more than the one layer.

And dont just say his eyes were blurry when he was drunk. Get drunk and describe it.