All Things Concerning Kings: Part I

A story of a man whom through his relationships with various people learns to cope with loss in a way most people can never achieve.

     He woke to what at first sounded like rain, but quickly made itself known as hail. Soft, barely audible thuds at first, followed by what was not entirely a downpour, but a steady and loud pelting. This, today, would be his alarm clock as his own had not yet reached the six o’clock mark and wasn’t giving the gift of waking, wailing cries. Laying there in bed, he let his right hand and arm slide across the empty side of the bed, feeling, searching, needing for something to be there. With his left hand, he rubbed the last bit unrest from his eyes, for the night had not been a kind one and sleep was an unfaithful mistress these days. Exercising a stretch, a yawn, and one last swipe at his eyes, he rose from his bed which now lay barren and gaping, needing only a light turn down, which could wait, as his body reminded him he needed both release and caffeine. Switching the alarm clock off, he grabbed a robe and headed for the bathroom.

     In the kitchen, the automatic coffee maker barely had time to finish it's morning chore before he came strolling in. He prepared a cup and poured the coffee, no cream or sugar needed today, taste just didn't seem like a demanding concern right now. Opening the kitchen blind, he saw that his driveway, and what little portion of the highway he could see, were both covered in what was already a dangerous sheet of ice. The weather report had called only for rain and maybe some snow, but he had learned long ago that meteorologists are just simply not to be trusted, so he called the office the night before to let them know that he most likely wouldn't be making the trek to work today. A day off from work seemed appropriate with all of the little things that needed to be done around the house.

     Three cups of coffee into the morning, sitting in his recliner and letting his body prepare itself for the day, he heard the soft ringing of the telephone back in the kitchen.

     "Ring away" he said. "There's nothing you have to tell me that I want to hear."

     The chair was too comfortable, the coffee too refreshing, and the warmth of the heating unit too relaxing to be overcome by a phone conversation. Three rings..... Four rings..... Five..... And then.....

     "Hey, this is Roland. I'm either busy or not home right now so go ahead and leave a message and I'll see what I can do about getting back to you" said the answering machine. The message was followed by a short beep and that was followed by a woman's voice that was just loud enough for Roland to hear and know who it was.

     "Hey Roland, it's me. I just wanted to let you know that everything is still scheduled for tomorrow, so if you still want to be there, give me or Anson a call and we'll come pick you up if you need us to. We know your car wouldn't make it in this weather, and I know sis would love for you to be there. So just give us a call if you need us. Bye"

     The voice belonged to an old friend named Emily who was the sister of an even older friend named Anna, and Anna had finally succumbed to her nearly lifelong battle with diabetes two days ago. Emily had said through what was probably a swollen throat from all the crying "at least she doesn't have to fight it anymore" which as far as Roland was concerned was the most commonly used defensive phrase for the feelings that death usually brought with it, ranking only slightly above "well I guess they had it coming". He had his own state of mourning though and was hit hard by the loss of this friend. In their youth Roland and Anna has shared a rare relationship that goes beyond physical attraction, desire, and lust that ended up fortified beyond what most people will ever experience. They had shared all of life's essentials, laughing and crying, anguish and comfort and all the other feelings and emotions that are needed for a balanced life and came out on the other side of fifty years of age with a friendship just as strong if not stronger.

     The funeral was of course, tomorrow, and the weather, albeit in an unorthodox way, had tried to keep Anna's friends and family from having to deal with the final goodbye. But Anna and Roland both had always saw death the same way, nothing glorious, nothing tragic, just an inevitability "so you may as well be happy" Anna had always said.

     "Her's was an epic personality," Roland had said to Emily through his own tears "something of legend. She was an incredible woman."

     In the two days that had since then passed, all the typical memories of her conquered his thoughts, followed by all of the little, unimportant memories that people only seem to recall about someone after they're gone. Like the way a person combed their hair that just looked ridiculous to you then, or a little catch phrase that made you so mad when you heard it, all of those things suddenly seem paramount to everything else. But Roland had also made his peace with her loss in those two days, as he had done last year when a fatal heart attack had taken the life of his old college buddy Jason. Though He and Jason weren't as close as he and Anna, it hurt just the same. Jason's death followed the death of Roland's father six years before, and his father had followed that of his wife Carol two years before that. Many people have since then looked on Roland with pity, which always seems like a wasted effort to him, for if Roland had been a different person, the weight of it all would've crushed him long ago. The loss of the woman he loved alone was enough to bring him close to a place a man shouldn't have to go, but Carol was so strong and through her, he became stronger, so in his mind, to let the loss of a friend or a father or even his own wife change the way he lived would've been an insult to her memory and their's.

     He brought the cup to his lips but received no coffee from it, realizing that he had drank the whole cup and lost thirty minutes playing old memories in his mind. He looked to the entertainment center where a picture of Carol sat on the end of one of the shelves, she was smiling so brightly with her chin tilted slightly downwards, a habit she had that made his stomach tighten even now. He got up and stepped back into the kitchen for a refill and glanced through the window and saw that the hail now had snow mixed in with it.

     "I guess I should put some salt down" he said with a sigh to no one in particular "and I guess maybe I should put some clothes on."

     With coffee in hand, he made his way back upstairs to the bedroom glancing at the various pictures he had accumulated throughout his 54 years of existence. Pictures of friends and family, mostly portraits, some from vacations. There were no pictures of children on the wall or anywhere in the house for that matter, but not because he didn't love his children, just simply because he and Carol never had any. They had both wanted children at one point, but the longer they were together, the more they realized it just wasn't in the cards for them. Roland oft times thought to himself that it didn't matter anyways, his legacy wasn't impressive enough to pass on at any length. Though his mother (who is still alive and will most likely outlive us all he thought) told him again and again that a little girl would've suited him just fine.

     "A little daughter to dote on and spoil a bit. A baby girl to give some of that heart to, and some of the knowledge you get everyday." But a little girl never came along, and he thought his life still felt just as rich and full without the presence of a daughter.

     He entered the bedroom and riffled through the closet and his chest of drawers looking for warm clothing, made his choice, and got dressed all the while making a mental to do list for the rest of the day. He made up his mind that the first order of business was putting salt along the walkway connecting the house to the garage and what he called his "workshop". On his way downstairs towards the shoe rack, Roland figured he should just go ahead and top off his cup to help battle the chill outside. He filled his cup and shuffled into the enclosed porch he and Carol had added on to the house a few years before she passed, stepped into his boots and began lacing them when he remembered that the salt was actually in the "workshop". He grunted at himself and as had become tradition, looked at one of the many pictures of his wife and spoke.

     "Well, you always hated it when I brought the salt inside because it left a film on the floor, so I left it out there. I expect no ridicule from you m'lady."

     Though Carol didn't respond, it had become therapeutic to him to speak as though she were still there from time to time and then, with a chuckle, immediately dismiss it as senility creeping up on him though in his heart, he felt she was still listening and subsequently ridiculing his predicament.

     Again, with coffee in hand, he stepped out into the cold and placed his free hand over the cup to avoid unnecessary ice in his drink and slowly, carefully, and awkwardly made his way to the "workshop".

 

Author's Note

My first attempt at anything I've ever let any eyes other than my own view. Be brutal, for without honesty and critical opinions, one can never hope to be any better at anything.

Reviews

[Ms. Gruye]

Hiya: you did a very good job of developing your character slowly while setting the stage for the later emotional reveal. You should be story proud of this one, for the is much that you did well.

The first paragraph was lyrical. Your word choice was plain and unfolding. Here's a a good example of what I mean:

This, today, would be his alarm clock as his own had not yet reached the six o’clock mark and wasn’t giving the gift of waking, wailing cries.

This was a quiet, humble character study. The only fault I see is that you could lengthen it a bit by showing instead of telling. Such as:

In the two days that had since then passed, all the typical memories of her conquered his thoughts, followed by all of the little, unimportant memories that people only seem to recall about someone after they're gone. Like the way a person combed their hair that just looked ridiculous to you then, or a little catch phrase that made you so mad when you heard it, all of those things suddenly seem paramount to everything else.

here maybe instead of telling the reader about the memory, you could just show me the memory. Perhaps Roland recalls one time in particular when she said one of her phrases...here is an example, but you probably can come up with something better: maybe the night they went for a night drive together in the snow to look at christmas lights strung up, playing phillip glass on the oldsmobile cassette player, and she says something odd and humorous and has to explain what she meant.

All in all, you've got a good feel of the craft. I would encourage you to hone your skills. Onward and viva la

[Jim Walters]

Captain, I will not be brutal. I don't think that would be necessary........but I would like to help you a bit. So....

In my opinion (and my opinion is ALWAYS second to your own) the writing above is way to wordy. You could say the same thing using half as many words. This is a common mistake that we all make. I have found that to go back and cut the s**t out of a story by eliminating most adverbs and a lot of the unnecessary adjectives generally makes it far better a read.........

and those passages that you really think are cool......be brutal with them also...........

I'm here to help you so .....

It seems to me, you have a corner on the writing thing though........really. else I wouldn't even bother to say anything.