What It Feels Like (Personal)

A (shorter, and) more personal look at my other short story, "What It Feels Like." Also written for school, though slightly more recently. If possible, I'd suggest reading the original first.

 

     It all started with a crazy Christian extremist and a subsequent plane crash. Or, maybe, it started a while before that, with a shy but beautiful girl and a nationwide writing contest. Later, our whole English class won a trip to England to attend an awards banquet. Then there was the crazy Christian extremist and the plane crash.

     Five of us made it out, while the others panicked (I tried to save them, I did, but they wouldn't listen, and there wasn't anything more I could've done. There wasn't). Two went back, looking for survivors. We'll never know if they found any.

     And so there were three.

     Sarah, David and I made it through. We survived, we swam to an island, we found food, we made shelter, and all that I could deal with. But then I get tripped up - by something small, something stupid, something utterly ridiculous.

     Sarah.

     She is the sweetest, funniest, most adorable girl I've ever met. I've wanted nothing more than to be with her, see her smile, make her laugh, since the moment I met her. It's silly - I'm not even interested in girls - in anyone, really - and I never have been. So why now? What's different about Sarah?

     Needless to say, living here with her has been nigh unbearable. She's a distraction. A beautiful, innocent, wide-eyed distraction. My focus needs to be on other things. Finding fresh water, for example. Gathering food, familiarizing myself with the native flora and fauna. Ensuring our protection, against Mother Nature and any potential predators. But, on the list of things on which I should be focused, "cute girl from English class" is definitely not included.

     I've found that my focus doesn't always consult the list.

     This is ridiculous. It is ridiculous, because it is also hopeless. She has other matters to be concerned with, and, more importantly, other people that care about her - people that aren't mildly autistic; people that don't have to apologize for themselves; people that know how to take care of her - people like David.

     And so I distance myself - watch from the other mini-island, across the bridge I've built. I watch them, and hope he takes good care of her, and that she can forgive me; that she can maybe try to understand, someday.

     Only now something's wrong. She's stalking across my bridge, and she looks upset. I think back, but I can't think of anything I've done that might've upset her. I start to climb to my feet, but she's in front of my before I get the chance.

     "K'? Can we talk?" I wince. She sounds hurt, and concerned, maybe. I look away, wondering if she's seen through my eyes to my secret, the indecision. I nod, and she seats herself next to me in the sand; I can feel her gaze on the back of my neck, even as I prod with a stick some kindling in the small fire before me.

     "Do you hate me?" The question startles me; how could she think that? I shake my head quickly, but continue to avoid her eyes. "Then, may I ask why you're avoiding me?" Ah, I get it now. She misinterpreted my actions, and now I've hurt her. It isn't the first time; sometimes I feel like I'll never get all these social signals straightened out. I laugh nervously, unsure of what else to do.

     "Why, come now. I'm not - " She puts her hand on my shoulder, and I jump. This is not exactly the type of physical contact I'm used to receiving when I've upset someone. I'll have to add this to my list of "strange social responses that I'll have to figure out later." I turn and study her expression, looking for a clue, but she still looks upset to me. Quite angry, in fact, but I can't help but want to laugh - she's too cute to pull off a severe looks that's anything more than comical. I sigh, instead. Something tells me laughing would not be the proper response to this situation. "I'm sorry," I tell her. "I just don't think I can do this anymore." Suddenly, something else, a far-off, almost-familiar sound, catches my attention. I strain my ears to find the source, and when I do, I can't seem to do much more than gape over Sarah's shoulder. Confused, she turns to follow my gaze, and finds her voice before I do.

     "It's a helicopter! They've found us!" We jump to our feet, but for two very different reasons. Sarah starts wildly across the bridge, heading in the direction of the helicopter. I grab a piece of wood from the fire, and approach the bridge as well, a good distance behind her.   I've made my choice.

     She's halfway across before she realizes that no one's behind her. She turns, and her eyes widen to see a growing wall of flame between her and me. I pause, waiting for her reaction. When none comes, I nod in the direction of the aircraft.

     "Go on, then." She waves her arms frantically at me, her eyes and voice pleading.

     "Come on, you've got to jump over. You can make it - "

     "No," I stop her, and do my best to smile. "That's alright, love. You go." She just stares mutely for a moment, then her expression turns severe again.

     "You can't just - exactly what do you think you're doing?!" I hear David call our names from behind her, but she just waves him off. "Now I know you don't care, because if you did, you wouldn't do this to us!" I stop, feeling myself tense. How could she say that? Doesn't she understand what I'm doing?

     "You really don't get it, do you?" I hear the words come out of my mouth before I can stop them. "I have to do this! I'm doing this because I care, so don't you even dare -" I stop myself, take a deep breath, and fold my arms. Of course she doesn't understand, and she can't be expected to. Still, the decision has been made, and she won't change my mind. "You'd better hurry. This is a wooden bridge, after all, and not a terribly sturdy one at that." I didn't have to say it; she was already edging away from the flames. Meeting my eyes, she huffs, then whirls around and starts to stomp away; then, she stops, whirls back around, and points a finger at me, with her other hand on her hip.

     "Yeah? Well there's something I've always wanted to say to you first." I arch a brow at her, forcing myself to keep my expression impassive. It isn't easy. "I - just...ah, hell! You're such an idiot!" and with that she throws down her fists, and runs the rest of the way to the main island. Once there, she turns back to face me, with her hand on her chest. It looks like she says something, but I can't hear her, and I guess she's probably just talking to David, who stands behind her, watching the bridge collapse into the water. Then he takes her arm and leads her around the trees, to where the helicopter waits for them - the only two survivors of a terrible plane crash.

 

 

     So as I sit once more in the sand of my private island, flames crackling at my feet, I wonder if I made the right choice. Sarah must be angry at me, for now, but maybe, some time in the future, she'll understand, and maybe then she'll forgive me. Or maybe she won't; but, as I watch the helicopter fly clumsily away, I realize that it doesn't matter; because I know that this was the best I could do for her, and because I know that someday, without me, she'll smile.

Reviews

[Lawrence]

A nice story that has a fable quality to it, I mean the allegory about surviving alone, which after all is what Autisim must feel like, and the bridge that the autistic narrator fears to cross--I found that engaging and original.

I guess I was a little confused at first at the extreme christian reference, I was thinking they were in NY and this was 9-11 or something, you might want to at some point going into a quick flash back about the accident, not neccessarily in a lot of detail but adding deatail makes the story, even if fantastic, believable.

What I felt quite a lot was the predicament of the narrator, an intelligent, yet isolated person. I think you could dig that and explore more becuase theres a deeper human truth there. For example, purely to get you thinking, in a modern society where out only connection to each other and reality is FOX News and Game Boy, arent we all to an extent autistic, that is unable to understand each other and connect deeply. That's just an example but the point is your story is a vehicle for a wider human truth.

I felt that you didnt really need the accident stuff, though that would take your story in a different direction, what I mean is that the core felt it was around the narrator and the confusion with the girl, and the action felt a little forced. I think you could build more natural tension in a simple say class room scene--check out Adam Haslett he does pieces like NOtes to my Biographer which might make good models for your work in exploring the human condition and the themes of human isolation. For example, is it purely a genetic or behavioural thing or is it a part of todays society. Whatever.

If you feel strongly you do need the accident and survivor thing, then I feel it needs more development, more significant detail and more scene, really pump out that aleegory in the way say Gabriel Marquez or Borges does. Steal their works, steal their structures and build your work around a model you admire.

Voice. I think the strongest thing here is the narrators voice. You use italics great, Salinger style, with the partly italicised word stressing accent. The diction, the thinking and comments build a great picture.

I think you might be a little less on the noise, use more subtely when you do the tension scenes, imply indirectly the issue, maybe he's afraid to talk about it, and when his girlfiriend and him are talking they skip around the topic, e.g. Hemmingways Hills Like White elephants where the man and girl are talking about trivial things like the beer and the name she gives to a hill, but their really talking about something serious--this failure to communicate could come out in the dialogue.

I also felt the narrator was way too perceptive to be autistic so I wonder if thats a slight view point problem. Merely as an excerices I'd try witing this in a more distance third, with no thoughts, show you show the failure to communicate which is the problem.

Instead of a real bridge, can you create a social situation that is a metaphotical bridge, maybe an invite to a party he's terrified to accept or something?
In any case good work