Max & Ally

A story of two long-time-friends and their struggle with eachother and their mistakes.

"You asked me to come see you... What is it?"
"I cried today.

"Hmmm?" The grass was uniform and cool beneath their heads. A carpet of natural growth, green and cloud like in a way was a resting place for their somber heads, relaxed limbs and contemplative eyes.

"Max?" She turned her head to face his though he still stared up into the sky. He squeezed her hand in his.

"Ally. I literally cried today."

"Why?"

"I was sitting around. I couldn't come up with something to write. I was thinking and tears came to my eyes." She looked at him and now she could see that his once passionate and deep eyes were shallow. They looked dead. The shining blue now looked a sad gray.

"Max? Are you...ok? I don't understand."

"You ever just think about everything. I thought about everything today." She squeezed his hand.

"Like what do you think of?"

"Oh mistakes. Obstacles I don't think I can jump. Mostly missed opportunities. There are so many. I can cry about them all."

"Oh babe"

"Ally. I cried so much I passed out for an hour. Just cried myself to sleep. Then when I woke up I finished a six pack. That was when I called ya."

"That's why I'm here." She sat up and he looked up at her.

"I'm coming down off that buzz right about now. Needed my friend to talk to."

"You worried me when you called. I could tell you were drunk, alone, and sad. That's not good for you dear."

"I know. I couldn't control it. All of a sudden I was crying and I couldn't stop. I tried to call her again."

"Darling you didn't?"

"I called you when she didn't answer." She leaned over him groaning then picking her head up again she spoke to him looking into his eyes with care.

"Max. You’re digging a hole again. It's not good to go down that way again."

"I can't help it. She used to make me feel great I want that back." He yelled that at her though he did not change position.

"You know it isn't fair that you use me to pick up your pieces when you relapse to her." She screamed at him then and he moved for the first time. He looked into her eye sitting up. He put his hands on her shoulders.

"I'm sorry. I need you. You’re all I have. My best friend."

"That's all well and good now, but what happens when you turn it into a lie later, when you crawl back to her and leave me in the lurch. I love you. She doesn't.” Max and Ally had known each other since they were toddlers. Every time Max broke up or got into trouble with the law or even got too drunk to puke on his own, Ally was there like she said ’to pick up the pieces.’ The latest of his conquests was a beast of a girl when it came to personality. Max was blindly infatuated and nothing, not the fighting, not the countless times Bella snubbed him, or the even more times she took him back only to kick him to curb when the better one came along, could shake him from his connection to her. It was always a painful torture for Ally every time he called in the last year. It made her want to scream and cry when she delicately held his head up over the toilet in his drunken stupor. Ally cursed herself all the nights she slept on Max’s couch over night to be sure he woke in the morning. For a quick moment upon morning as she stood in his kitchen wearing his shirt standing before the pots on the stove, she felt calm. She felt like she was his and he loved her as well. She was always quiet about everything when he murmured the thank you after sobering up because she knew as soon as the door closed behind her on her way out he was dialing Bella. Before she never questioned what she felt for her friend. He was her friend, best friend nothing more. As more and more often she picked him up out of squalor and ran her fingers through his hair as he struggled into a drunken sleep she began to love him more than she ever did. She began to love him and want to love him like she could, if he would let her.

She just sat there silently for a moment staring forward. He leaned closer and put his head on her shoulder. She shrugged him off turning her body to face the woods away from him. She wished she had never come to find him lying in his own backyard. She knew he wouldn't remember any of this tomorrow or he would choose to forget it. His head almost fell to the ground but he stopped himself, his elbow breaking its fall. If he were sober he would have been able to hold himself up. He stared at her when she moved to face away.

"Al, I need you to help me get her back." She laughed sarcastically.

"Hah! I will not do that! That's the last thing you need. You need a good night’s sleep, a cup of joe and a shrink!" He slumped over behind her. That last thing hurt him, but she didn't care after-all he had been hurting her for over a year while he was ’with’ this Bella.

"I cannot be an associate to this destructive mess anymore. Max I can't." He groaned. She waited for his next remark and when it didn't come she glanced over her shoulder at him. What she saw disgusted her. With a thrash of violence that even surprised her, Ally swung her little hand towards him. The brushed nickel flask flew from his hand and tumbled three feet away spilling some cheap whiskey all over him and the lawn. When it was ripped from his teeth he growled harshly.

"Max! Knock that the f**k off!" She screamed as her arm swung toward him. Seeing him lying on his back, bottoms up on that vessel, eyes closed and hair ruffled like a vagrant scared her. After he realized what had happened, after his eyes opened in terror, he yelled out.

"Ally!" His arm flung towards her but she ducked his open hand. That was lucky; for both of them that he missed. Should his heavy hand have met her round and smooth cheek for starters she would be in a pain that would last the better part of the next few weeks. Max was a big guy, towering over her by at least a head and a half when they stood up. She always found it a miracle when she could handle his half lifeless body enough to clean him up and put him to bed all those times when if it wasn’t for her he would have slept sprawled out on the shower floor a soused frown upon his face. He was tall but not muscular.  His hand could be like a baseball glove on its own just from the sheer size of it. On the other hand if he would have hit her it would have definitively ended everything between them. She would not have tolerated that. A friendship would have been ended in mere seconds. Nothing, not even if he sobered up and institutionally reformed himself, could make her accept that apology.

Scared and furious she had shrieked at him when his huge arm came flying towards her. She scrambled back and away from his reach. After he missed he let his entire body slump back down. He realized his fault. He realized the instant he threw that one hand in her direction the mistake he was making; the person he was making it to. Covered in whiskey and sweat he laid there breathing heavily and holding his forehead.

“Max! Why did you do that?” she cried.

“Ally.”

“What are you doing to me? It’s not fair…” he interrupted. Her tears were beginning to form.

“Ally. Why did you smack my flask away?” he asked that very plainly through his heavy breaths. She shuttered and crying now said to him with confusion and hysterical passion.

“Why did I do that? What is wrong with you? You are killing yourself over a b***h!” she screamed that through her mouth dripping with tears. “And you are trying to take me down with you.”

“Why did you?”

“What? How can you ask me that??”’

“Why did you do it?”

“You are so stubborn!”

“Why did?” he was starting to become in coherent. Though she had stopped him from finishing the flask he must have consumed most of it. Only a small amount was now drying on his shirt and she had no idea what else or how much he drank before.

“Max? Because I care.” She shook her head and put her hands out palms up in desperation.

“Why did you do it?” there was no reasoning with him now. She thought that she should just leave at this point. But it was him that her mind told her was a reason to leave and it was also him that her heart told her was a reason to stay.  He was quite now.

“I should be asking you that question.” She sat there debating what to do now. Five minutes later she got up and stood over him to see that he was asleep jut lying there. She cursed herself for staying but she knew she had too. She was crying again and it began to rain. How was she going to get him up and back inside? She rubbed her eyes and ran her fingers back through her hair. Getting down to her knees the grass was wet all around him by now. She shook him. He did not wake. She tried again and she heard a small groan but his eyes stayed closed and his mouth still was swelled open.

“Max. Wake up!” she yelled and her tears were all the same as the rain drops now.  “Max! Get up we have to go inside. When he did not answer she decided she had to make that call she didn’t want to in desperation.  She pulled out her phone and dialed.

“Dad?”

 

The afghan was warm over her toes. She curled up into the corner of that couch pulling Max’s too big clothing closer to her body. Now everything was dry and warm. It was calm and quiet. She had resorted to calling her father for help the night before. Hysterical on the phone she had explained things and he came at once. She was sitting in the rain next to Max while she was trying to hold back her tears when the comforting hand touched her shoulder. She had turned to see her father trench coated and though he was concerned he smiled at her. Her once curly hair had swung back and forth when she looked up at him. It was her father who after failing to wake max again from his drunken sleep picked the big man up and carried him over his shoulder into the little house. She laid towels over the bed and her father put him down as best he could.  Soaking wet they two sat at the kitchen table and were quiet for a few moments before he said in his deep caring voice.

“Allison. How many times are you going to do this for him? I beg you to come with me or go home now.” It was never this bad before. She never had to call her father for help with Max though he knew that she often spent the night nursing the boy back to a sane mind and a sober body. He could not tell what drops on her face were rain and what her real tears.

“Daddy. Thanks for coming to help. I just need to make sure he wakes up tomorrow.” He stood up from his seat and walked over to her. A hand on her shoulder he kissed her on the top of the head.

“That can’t be done with a phone call? I still think you should come. You are a good friend, but I don’t know that you owe him anymore.” He walked out the front door after putting his coat back on. She sat at the table and cried again. She did not tell her father that Max had tried to hit her. That would have been too much for him and she knew it. If he knew that he would have picked her up right there and taken her away.

Lying there on the couch she heard the rain drops and the cracks of thunder. It was still raining and she thought about the entire night prior. Max was sprawled out over his bed. His clothes were soaked and muddy. She undressed him and covered him with a sheet. She wiped his face and a little smile passed across his unconscious face. Seeing him like that made her cry again. She changed into a pair of his sweats and then put all the wet clothes in the washing machine. She found herself a blanket and cried herself to sleep on the couch. Too often did she sleep on that couch with the inebriated friend in the room next door.  Around three in the morning she had woken and heard him coughing. She rushed into the room and his big sweatshirt swung back and forth on her. He was on all fours next to the bed trying to get to the bathroom.  The sheet was still wrapped around him and tangled as he tried to crawl forward. She grabbed him by the shoulders and pulled him forward into the little room and pushed his head over the toilet. They stayed like that for a half an hour until he was finished and she helped him back to bed putting the trash can and a glass of water at the bedside.

An hour had passed while she was awake on the couch. She looked over at the kitchen clock. It read eight o’clock am. He walked drearily into the room wearing a gray robe.

“Good morning Ally.” She just grunted out a hello. His eyes were bloodshot and his face looked wrinkled. His hair was wet and he must have showered while she was still asleep. She moved over on the couch. He sat down.

“Listen thank you for last night. I need to apologize for trying to…that. That was a huge mistake. I appreciate that you stayed here to keep an eye…” she interrupted him.

“Max. It doesn’t mean anything anymore when you say the same apology all the time.”

“I’m sorry what can I say?”

 “You swung at me. Don’t you ever try to hit me again. It’s insane that I’m still here after you did that. Never again.”

“Christ Ally. I…I…” she interrupted him before he could ramble out a lackluster apology.

“I don’t even wanna hear it Max. That and everything you scared me. Out of control. A total mess. You know I had to have my father come carry you inside.”

“Your dad?”

“Yes my dad and when it was over he told me I should leave.”

“I guess I owe him an apology too.”

“You know I’ve cried too much over all this.” He in a moment of passion leaned over and kissed her. She was cut off before she could say more. She kissed him back and when it slowly ended she smiled without anything to say. Their heads still close she looked into his eyes and whispered something to him.

“Does this mean…” she said that softly when he kissed her again and nodded. Inside she was jumping.

She looked quickly at the kitchen clock. She got up to leave. She smiled at him from the door and before stepping out she said, “I have work. I’m glad I stayed. See you later.” He smiled and waved good bye. She walked out onto the street happy. To her it was a beginning. To her it was the first sign of a change. She didn’t have to hide her feeling anymore.

When the door closed his eyes shifted and his smile changed. Inside the house he picked up the phone and dialed.

“Bella?”      

Reviews

[Wolfwind]

First off... the male character... I hate him. He's a drunk and a player and is using the women in his life... he should have been left to die.
Secondly... Ally is the best friend anyone could have... Go for her... she needs to walk away from the idiots in her life.

Overall... the story is a bit black and white in my opinion. It's well writen, in the fact that there are no grammar issues as far as I could tell and the technical layout is spot on. What I don't see is the background description in the story... You focus very powerfully on the dialog and action between the drunk and Ally, but as far as I could tell.... they could have been in the spot light on an empty stage.
I can't complain about the inter character dialog... it's done well.

What I would suggest, is slow the pace of the story down a bit with more background. Let me see the world that these two are in. Paint scene so that I can tell the time of day by the shadows of a tree... that type of thing. While you've certainly got potential in this piece... It's not my cup of tea for the most part.

I wish you well on your writing.

Aaron - Wolfwind

[Michael Fricker]

Thank you for reading and the review.

There was a conscious intention to make you dislike the male lead. At the same time I tried to write the ending so you can read it many ways. ON the first hand, the obvious answer is his phone call to the mentioned Bella is his disgraceful crawling back to her and once again leaving of Ally behind. I A different reading of it was meant to leave the possibility that that call was a final good bye and healthy closure to that relationship.

An early draft ended with, "Bella? I'm Sorry." Think about the piece with those last words. Hopefully it is different.

While Ally is clearly a heroine (again her story can be a tragedy or not) its easy to see her as a victim. She is flawed just as he is. She is a slave to him, because she is his friend and through his mishaps has grown to love him. He is a slave to this one girl whom he continues to crawl back to and is addict to his alcohol. He uses these two as substitutes for each other.

I tend to write with a pace that sometimes translates to the piece itself. It surely can be expanded and I agree with your thoughts about slowing it down. I often write in vignettes that become episodic in nature. I prefer to jump right into action and dialogue, because it excites me more than details and background, however it can held the story and I intend to do that.

thanks again

Michael

[Douglas White]

This isn't bad at all. You could probably develop a little more backstory to the characters, but this is good in and of itself. The writing itself was good, with only a few small things that should be touched up , such as the line:

"Al, I need you to help me get her back." She laughed sarcastically.

In the reading of it, it sounds like she is talking to herself. The easiest fix it to drop "She laughed sarcastically." to the next line down - problem solved.

The only complaint for me, truthfully, is more a matter of personal taste than anything else: the concept behind the story is as old as history. It is so very typical that there are really no surprises to be had. I like when stories go deeper than you would expect, or go places that you never see coming. But, like I said, that is more a matter of personal taste. Just something to think about.

[exotic flotsam]

Be prepared. My reviews intend sometimes painful constructive criticism. All for the sake of the writing art. You are the artist.

Little wonder Max's muse neglect him. They sing to writers, not six packs. He reeks of over wrought self indulgence. Ally builds an emotional house of cards. It will fall. Her compassion for him fails to see her heart's imminent certain suffering. She knows what he is and yet hides denial to herself with friendship, or more. Sadly, she enables him, although I'm unsure why save her woeful hope for his love. Her formica thin anger rings empty. That her father helps her reveals her weakness origins. He taught her the same. They both don't see their admonitions are hollow, spoken yet inactive; all talk without the strength to follow through. Max's violence ought draw a more intense protective reaction to save herself. If her father found Max's abuse, then I hope she would think he would confront Max, not just than pick her up. She suffers guilt by omission harboring her secrets. Perhaps misguided love overcomes her reason. Should Max develop a sentient existential introspection, he might accept his unconscionable friendship and self abuse. It is his only hope for salvation.

Subject your work to Edit Death. Some passages run on or repeat what we know. Conversation exchanges sometimes feel stilted and stiff. Let yourself write these as if you were speaking, flowing absent linguistic accuracy. Overlook some spag for realism's feel. Conversely, insist on precise structure everywhere else. Words occasionally are misused or are inappropriately paired. Be wary of making some nouns verbs. As a one scene passage, read this piece as a screenplay. I only know and feel what you give me. Consider briefly developing supporting roles further. You have some punctuation and tense issues. Pack all that will reasonably fit into your allotted length. Put in some poem brevity to ensure you every word's relevance. Use every word carefully. "I'd have written you a shorter letter, but I didn't have the time." Mark Twain.

I like being thrown into the scene abruptly. I feel like I have just turned a page to an potent passage following a subdued chapter section. Pace is perfect. It is a charged circumstance. Nothing is going to happen slowly in an exchange such as this. It is appropriately modulated. Ally begs sympathy from me, yet doesn't earn it. Nice. Flow lurks within. Guide it parsimoniously. Your exploration of Max's disfunction is your strength in that I know his thinking and his ample flaws. Environmental descriptions are well done. That I don't care for Max tells me you have written him well. I don't need to like characters or even the passage.If it is well written I will feel your emotional thrust. Indeed I may loathe Max. Darth Vader emotes nothing but deep revulsion and righteous anger. But it is so because of the writing. An interesting write. Well done. Keep writing.

exotic