Before

This is a very experimental short story about before, because all they ever show on TV and the movies is what happens after.

            Holden Charles Smith was living the American Dream. Three beautiful kids, one beautiful wife, (though this statistic differs in others' versions of the American Dream), one beautiful Manhattan apartment, and eighty-thousand beautiful dollars a year. That was his beautiful life. Holden's mother, who had chosen his name on the lightning-frenzied morning of February 29th, was a pious fan of J. D. Salinger and his The Catcher in the Rye. Holden, incidentally, was not so fond of that book, but instead preferred the works of F. Scott Fitzgerald. Funny though- he and Holden Caulfield had that in common. As Holden Charles Smith's colleagues liked to joke, you could say Holden was only nine years old; his birthday, after all, only occurred every four years. But all jokes aside, he was really thirty-six, thirty-six and doing quite well for a man his age.

            "Honey, don't you remember what happened the last time you left this at home?" 

            Holden grinned sheepishly at his Clarissa, a perturbed shadow in the doorway holding up a blue electronic toothbrush. They had been high school sweethearts, married as soon as they could convince their naive parents of letting them take an "innocent weekend trip to Nevada. Why, Claire's never even been past the Mississippi River. It's a shame, isn't it?" Maybe eloped is a better term. In their eighteen years of marriage, Holden had never suffered a cavity; Clarissa was a sucker for peppermint breath. But while readying himself for bed in an Acapulco hotel during last month's business trip, Holden found himself without a toothbrush, brushed it off (without a toothbrush, no less), and a month later found himself floating blissfully above Dr. Carpenter's dentist chair. Of course he remembered what happened last time.

            "Of course I remember what happened last time," he chuckled as a pain flashed quickly through one of his bicuspids. He snatched the toothbrush from Clarissa's hand, and then a kiss from her lips. Clarissa giggled.

            "Oh, I'm going to miss these soft lips," she sighed with a smile. "And those blue eyes. Just what am I going to do without these blue eyes?"

            It was true- Holden's eyes were quite a sight. Unlike most blue eyes, a tiny telescope with one end stuck into the blue-green ocean, Holden's were like blue fire, tamed and bottled and put on display below a soft tuft of light brown hair. Holden was a looker, that was for sure.

            "Don't you worry about these old eyes," Holden said as a pair of size two feet came pattering into the room. "By some luck, I've passed them on to Daisy." Little Daisy paused for one moment to stick out her tongue, and then bolted away. But her daddy was too quick- he came swooping in, launched Daisy high into the air, and then, after laughter-muddled protest from his daughter, set her down on the floor.

            "Daddy, why do you have to leave?" Daisy asked, her tiny index finger resting on the corner of her lip.

            "Well sweetheart, daddy's got a business meeting in Atlanta."

            "Atlanta," Daisy said, her button nose scrunched up in thought, "where's that?"

            "Why, all the way down south in Georgia, where people pick peaches and listen to," Holden tried his darned best to imitate a Southerner, "cuuuun-try music." He slapped his knee and gave a whoop while Daisy laughed hysterically. It was one those great little things about fatherhood that gave all the college loans and business trips worth- it didn't take much effort to make his children laugh. But this rule had an expiration date; thirteen-year-olds seemed to lose as much humor as inches they gained.

            "Now, is Myrtle still mad at you?" Clarissa, genuinely concerned, asked as Holden dragged a black duffle bag into the living room. He scratched his stubble and furrowed his brow; it was a nervous habit of his.

            "I wouldn't know- she's been locked in that room of hers all day, probably texting Michelle God-knows-what about how terrible her father is." There was a drop of ice in his voice as he said it. Not cold, harsh ice, but ice as if Holden himself had been frost-bitten.

            "Well, Holden, she'll get over it. It's just a stage. You did the right thing anyways."

            "I sure hope so."

            Daisy, idly combing through a Barbie doll's hair with her fingers, could not yet see it, but her parents were actual people. Many kids do not realize this, but unfortunately, it is so. Holden, sensitive like the character he was named for, and Clarissa, doubting the 378 page parenting book she had laboriously lugged through. Perhaps life would be simpler if we never knew of our parents' lives outside of our affairs. Daisy was still in that simple stage, for she did not know Clarissa and Holden yet, only Mama and Daddy. Myrtle had not quite reached that wisdom yet either, but she was close; in her eyes, Clarissa and Holden were Annoying and Just-Plain-Mean.

            "I'm going to get Elsie and," Clarissa hesitated, "hopefully Myrtle to come down and say goodbye." Her rubber flip-flops clicked as she walked up the stairs. "ELSIE! MYRTLE!"

            Holden suddenly felt something grab at his legs.

            "Oh daddy, don't go!" It was only Daisy. She was quite a sight: her arms were wound tightly around her daddy's ankles like an anaconda attacking its prey, yet she started up at him pleadingly with the prettiest blue eyes on the whole face of the planet. Those just might be the prettiest eyes on the whole face of the planet, Holden thought as he bent down to ruffle his daughter's dark hair; that had come from her mother, who was dark-skinned, dark-eyed, dark-haired, and bright-minded. Slowly, though unsurely, Daisy loosened her grip and allowed Holden to kneel down on one knee, engulf her tiny hand in his, and announce his plea bargain.

            "Tell you what, if you let me leave, whenever I come home I'll fix whatever you want for supper." Daisy's blue eyes lit up, shimmering flames.

            "Really?"

            "Really."

            "Well then," she scratched her chin and furrowed her brows, "can we have breakfast for supper?" Holden leaned back as if he were floored by this suggestion.

            "Breakfast? Why sure! What kind of breakfast?"

            "I say," she counted the items on her fingers, "pancakes and Frosted Flakes." She proudly held up two fingers for her daddy to admire.

            "I think we'll have to add eggs and bacon to the menu as well, but it sounds like a plan to me," Clarissa said as she came into the room, Elsie limping steadily behind her. Myrtle's absence was noticeably there.

            "You gonna be okay without me, Elsie?" Elsie was eight and the spitting image of her mother. She flickered her brown eyes apprehensively.

            "Sure, I'll be all right. Doctor Fisher says this surgery is probably the last one. Says it won't take long and won't hurt too much afterwards. Says I might get to play soccer by the fifth grade!" Elsie had one crutch of metal which helped her walk; the other crutch was crafted from optimism which helped her stand. She was born with a crippled foot and an ambitious mind; it was a despairing combination.

            "You'll be the best one on the team." Holden caught Elsie in an embrace, and only let go once he was certain his eyes were dry. "I'll be saying a little prayer for you Monday morning. And when I come home, I'll bring you back something special from Atlanta, how about that?" Elsie nodded eagerly.

            "And we're gonna have breakfast for supper!" Daisy added with a shout. The living room shook with hilarity; it was instantly quieted when Holden swung his duffle bag over his shoulder. He paused, sighed, then looked up at the ceiling as if contemplating whether or not he should speak to it.

            "Myrtle," he called loudly. "I'm leaving."

            No response. Clarissa bit her Sally Hansen nails. Elsie fumbled unconsciously with one of her crutches.

            "I've got to go, Myrtle."

            Nothing.

            Holden cleared his throat awkwardly. "I love you."

            He waited for what could have been hours, agonizing hours. Nothing.

            "And I love each of you," he said heartily, perhaps too heartily, as he hugged each figure in the living room. He opened the door cautiously, as if something rabid was lurking outside. "I'll see you all on Tuesday. Be good at school." And that was that. The door closed softly- it was something Holden had resolved to do the first time his own father had slammed the door in a burst of indignance: Never slam a door. He walked briskly towards the elevator, hummed softly along with the music until he reached ground floor, and then walked across the lobby, waving to each familiar and unfamiliar visage that passed him by. That was just Holden's way.

            "Another business trip, Mr. Smith?" The door man asked pleasantly.

            "I'm afraid so, Caleb. This one's in Atlanta."

            "Atlanta...Haven’t been there since '75. Lord. Well, you enjoy your flight, Mr. Smith."

            "Well thanks." Holden chuckled. "'75...Shoot, I was just being born. Well, you have a swell day."

            "I'll try my best."

            The bright sunlight of early spring slapped Holden's face and radiated off his unfortunately black bag. A bit of perspiration slipped from his brow, and nearby some animal jostled a shrub. It was shaping up to be an early summer. Jauntily, Holden stepped down the busy sidewalk, scanning the road for a taxi, all the while wondering what flavor pancakes Daisy would like.

            Blueberry? Chocolate chip? Maybe just buttermilk because...Myrtle never answered me. She'll get over it though. Hmmm, buttermilk pancakes, yes, that's it. But it's just a phase, just a phase. She was up there thinking the whole time that she loved-

            Quite suddenly, a deafening shot rang out, and like a water pistol, it extinguished the burning blue fire, only nine or thirty-six years old, in Holden Charles Smith's eyes.

Author's Note

Please don't be too harsh! As I am only sixteen, my feelings haven't quite grown callous to harsh critiques yet. But I'm working on that...
I just really want some honest opinions on this piece, because I plan to edit it quite a bit.

Reviews

[Carl]

Hi first of all Welcome to Cafe. Hope that in your time here you will be encouraged and grow as a writer. I really liked this piece of work for many reasons. It's good to see that you have done your research. The prime example of this is the way Holden got his name from "The Catcher In The Rye" I like the place in which you have set your piece. A house with the husband about to go away on business. The introduction of something as small as a toothbrush creates a great side line to the main story. How that trip to the dentits still haunts Holden to this day. What else have you told us. Holden has a good job and a nice house and a nice wife and three great kids. Myrtle the teenager in her room. Elsie who we learn is about to under go surgery and the delightful Daisy who clings to her Fathers leg in one last attempt to keep him from leaving, but the promise of a Whatever - you - want - breakfast in his return soon relents her grip. He says "good bye " to Myrtle and there is no reply. Just another teen in her room. which we learn is not unusal as she and Holden had a row the previous day. But Myrtle not speaking or returning holdens goodbye is a sinister twist because we both know that Myrtle is not in her room. So where is she. Has she run away in the night. Is she involved in something that the family dosen't know about. Is she like the flower Myrtle and have a darker side. We are not told. But note what the author told us That this piece is called "Before" So the story will pick up with Myrtle missing. And its tha realisation that hits Holden as he is about to board the plane for Atlnta. This piece has depth and strength and is very well written. I like that this is before piece and i hope that this is not the last I have heard of the Chracters in this story. Very well done