polaroids.

technically not the poem Devons asked for, but when the words speak, you listen. or else.

   Since the day his mother died, he walked around with a Polaroid in his head. The image was of a single scarlet cherry-pie cherry, staining the linen tablecloth his mother had always put out "for best". To him those two words meant "don't touch a thing, don't-you-know-how-hard-i-work-to-keep-us-from-looking-like-we-are-a-pack-of-savages". His mother always talked in these long sort of sentencewords when he was meant to be "learning what is good for him". She also seemed to speak with many quotation marks around things she felt it was important to listen to. Benjamin had never much cared to listen to the content between the verbal quotation marks, because he knew it would be repeated over and over again. He was positive that eventually one of the repetitions would coincide with a time he actually needed to know whatever it was she was teaching.

   Another image he kept in his head was of his father's fingernails, bitten to the quick. That he had captured the day his father came home from the hospital to tell Benjamin his mother had "passed on". Dad never bit his nails, and as a matter of fact, he'd just lectured him the other day on how unsanitary a habit it was to have. To see the thin crust of blood along the side of his father's left thumbnail was terribly shocking. It held Benjamin transfixed for so long, he almost didn't hear what was being said.

   He wasn't quite sure, at first, exactly what sort of thing or activity his mother had passed on. Surely it couldn't have been such a great thing if she'd turned it down... He figured it out three days later, when they buried a big wooden box he was meant to cry over, that what his dad really meant was DEAD. Why is it grownups never just said what they meant, instead of couching it in terms it took Benjamin days to muddle out? He swore to himself by her graveside that he would never confuse his kid with all the doublespeak obstacle courses of words his parents used to hide the important stuff.

   The image of the cherry actually was taken after the fingernails, but Benjamin always put it first. It seemed far more final than any words they could come up with to describe DEAD, to see the pure white expanse marred by something his mother could never wash out again.

   The third image was one that came long after the first two. Two years after, in fact.

   Benjamin was eight now, and, he felt, well on his way to adulthood. It would only be a matter of time before he was the one wearing the suit to work, to be taken off after two scotches (poured by his own loyal son) had been solemnly drunk. He practiced it sometimes, when Mrs Rosarita was busy vacuuming the upstairs rooms. Of course, Benjamin used iced tea, the scotch having a horrible taste he figured only grownups could ever like. Perhaps when you got older, all your tastebuds fell out, like the teeth he'd so carefully placed under his pillow. Though maybe after your tastebuds fell out, they didn't grow back. Next time Dad falls asleep in his chair, Benjamin had thought, I'll try to see if his tongue looks any different.

   The third Polaroid came from the day he discovered why his mother was DEAD. The snapshot was of a single word from the top of a newspaper clipping, once hidden amongst the bills on his father's desk. Benjamin had been practicing his grownupness in his father's office and had just added the two clinking icecubes to his glass of iced tea, when he saw a corner of a picture of a face. That face looked suspiciously like the smiling Mom face he slept next to every night. When he pulled it out from underneath the pile, he saw it was indeed his mother. The words over her face read "Loving Wife and Mother, 32, Commits Suicide". Suicide. Such a strange word. He hastily shoved the paper under all the rest and gulped back his iced tea. The vacuum had stopped, and he knew he had to beat feet before Mrs. Rosarita tried spying on him. He'd just managed to slip out of the study and into his room before she went looking for him. When she found him, he was innocently leafing through his dictionary to the "S" section. Appeased, she galumphed off, and he could continue his research in peace. Somehow, he just knew from the way the article has been hidden that suicide was yet another thing he was "better off not knowing".

   The tip of Benjamin's tongue slipped out as he dragged his fingers down the page of the dictionary to land on the secret word. His brain imploded into a million sludgy layers of grey and black when he read the words "the act of killing oneself". He knew what killing meant. And he knew what DEAD meant. 

   Benjamin lay back on his bed, fingers laced behind his head. He closed his eyes and reviewed the three Polaroids he carried within him over and over, then pondered if he could handle taking anymore. When his father came home, many hours later, it was still something he hadn't found an answer for. For the first time in his life, it was a question he hoped he'd never have to figure out. Some things, he realised, are just too big to know.

Reviews

[Rory CJ Frankson]

I liked this, although I got no real connection to the beginning chapter. I hope that as I read through. the connect, will become apparent.
There are some words obviously created from your own vocabulary, yet suit Benjamin's little guys world. As the framing did create an instant sort of followable picture for me. I would say that it seems to leed to an interesting sort of tale, though I'm still grinding through the opening in my mind, trying to establish its relativity. Well I'll turn the page, an find out.

I do find this place (WC) a bit of a giggle in terms of length, good golly Miss Molly... a page does not a chapter make. Ah an sigh, the attention span is relative I guess?

[Nobody.]

Well written. The first part made me laugh. Last part made me cry. But both parts painted a picture of a child coming to learn about LIFE, and hw some things are hard to know. I sure wish I could un-know a few things even at this age. This was brilliant.

[Coyote Poetry]

A very interesting chapter. I like the description of each picture. You were very detail. I had to read this chapter a second time to understand the photos. A excellent chapter. I will read on.
Coyote

[emmajoy]

'Benjamin had been practicing his grownupness in his father's office and had just added the two clinking icecubes to his glass of iced tea, when he saw a corner of a picture of a face' - that to me, is the boy caught in the moment.

What a story, a chapter, yet more theatre acted out with near surreal phrases in parts and a some time twist in his Polaroid world.

I'll be back to read more and will go on until the very last chapter. Captured.

[Toon]

you could go a long way with this character. a good foundation for an interesting grown up.

[Pax Analog]

The droll humor of the first chapter segues into a greater poignance.

Love the part about registering advice in quotation marks, and anticipating repetition as per moment of need, like a living recording. Then the fact the "living recording" died adds an ache to the wit.

The gradual discernment of the mother's death being suicide and the staggeringness of that to a child was rendered brilliantly.

Strong unique talent you have.

[Michael X]

jeez, this is touching, made me feel the verge of discovery was at the tips of my fingers, the character play, the way you lead the reader though a puzzlement masked with subtle clues, the entirety is a symposium of life, love and living, memories and death, and what it means to concede, there are numerous ways to look at the metaphorical concept,
at the same time generally speaks realistically,
your talent is shining here J.W. your story telling ability is perfect

[Miss Coral]

This was sad, but beautiful at the same time. I will definitely need to read the rest of the book. The description and tone were both executed beautifully, drawing in the reader, and putting them back in their childhood, but with a much darker situation. Great style and character development. Fantastically written.
100/100 from me
-Coral-

[alan peter kelly]

great use of language, both quirky and original..."the upstairs." does't feel quite right to me. please discard my suggestion if you feel it does not apply, but perhaps you could either remove the word "the" and just leave it that she is vacuuming upstairs or add that she is vacuuming the upstairs rooms which adds another poetic touch to an already elegant write.

[Brittany]

Ok, you amaze me. An inside look into a seemingly wealthy, image-ladden family. The reader can be left to assume a life of social standards proves too much for the mother. The parents seem to be about appearances, sweeping the 'dirt under the rug' and such and such. Benjamin is heart-breaking, being young and discovering the truth behind his mother's death. He possesses all the qualities of childhood innocence, the association with images so strong for a young comprehension. A small child realizing ignorance is bliss- this is truly brilliant. You have a new fan.