The Neighbor

Since when did I become such a curmudgeon? There was a Whistler-type on the platform that day. My unthinking response to whistles and hoots is disdain. I can’t remember why or when or how that came to be. I used to sing and dance, perhaps even stranded in the middle of nowhere with a broken-down vessel. It’s only in one’s later years that they feel the sorrow in a location. Somewhere in the spin of the world, I decided there is a fault to everything. 

Before long, a train came into view, screeching to a halt in front of the platform. A man, the Whistler, approached the guard as a few people piled on. 

“Where are you coming from, where are you going, and where would you like to go?” he said.

The guard didn’t smile. As a matter of fact, there weren’t many gleams of life or joy at all in his expression. “Headed back to Dublin.”

At this, the Whistler wished him a good day and turned to face the continued oppression of heat and impatience. “Well, I’m going this way.” he said as he embarked nonchalantly through the nearby brush.

With the weight of the question resting on my shoulders �" that is, about whether to remain in the irritable lull of the train station or consciously forgo our senses to follow the Whistler. 

Monique turned to me eagerly. “I’m not staying here any longer.”  Pauline appeared to have a heat stroke but I knew she didn’t. 

We set off as sheep straying from their flock. Much as the old adage goes, our senses were inclined towards a spiritual magnetism. 

We trailed behind the Whistler at the summit of a rolling green hill. At the top, he set his feet in the roots and gazed into a forgotten sanctimony. A team of cows were clustered in the distance amongst their beloved green land. 

The Whistler didn’t acknowledge our presence. His speech rang out as if meant for nobody at all. 

He started, “Did you know that a cow’s milk is made richer keenly by the sweetness of the grass she consumes? I love that. It seems to me that this is the crag of mankind’s malnourishment. He wrings the cow’s exceeding riches for his contract with existence. The man who rather houses one cow in his earthly domain and creates a passage through life by her and with her has not signed this contract. He has rather found a life to be shared.” 

The Whistler found a bed in the grass to lie down on. My sisters and I had anticipated that this was a man with sense. It appeared not to be so. 

“Sir…sorry to bother you. We’re just trying to get to a place called Sherkin Island. Perhaps you know where we are?” I asked.

The Whistler did not provide an immediate response, until finally, “I do not.” 

There was a cottage weaning out smoke from its little chimney down the way. We decided it wasn’t a moment for a nap, continuing on to seek the beginning of our journey. 

My sisters and I had generally been perceived as well-mannered and well-tempered. We didn’t like to ask for things, particularly considering that the threat of being properly communicable seemed far greater than the consequences of avoiding a confrontation with fact or error. I often preferred to struggle quietly within myself or commit myself to unreasonable bouts in the name of independent thought. 

Pauline squabbled, “What are we doing, trying to get a ham sandwich? This is a waste of time.” 

I replied, “Feel free to backtrack if you wish, but I’m going to get on with it so we can return to our lives and remember dad properly.” 

Monique added, “‘They should have just taken the giant eagles’ is what will be said of this.” 

We traversed the field of cows. Little beady eyes on strong, chomping faces followed us through. 

I never worried too much. I suppose I’d been on the path gone, out of sight. It gave me an excuse to put off the world. I believe this had its fortunes, but for its blessing it always had me looking forward, even I suppose to the end of it all. 

I knocked on the door to the cottage, with an edge in my swings, and a dying patience; tt tt tt. TT TT TT. 

Monique said, “Hey, gentler! We don’t want them to think we’re marauders.” 

There wasn’t a sound coming from inside the home. I said, “Maybe we are.” and turned the knob.

Our presence entered that forgotten home like a hunter disturbing the confines of a hibernating grizzly bear. It was peaceful in its rest as a bygone entity, but its acting forces surmounted each breath and posited that this place should be left to its fortitudes. The walls spoke of the humble spirits who resided there. It held comfortable memories and it wasn’t trying to become anything more. It was rustic, laced with homely crockery. It could well have housed healthful human souls to this day, yet at the very same time it was evident that nobody had lived there in a long time. 

“Nobody is here.” I said. My words pierced the room.

Pauline said, “C’mon, the train is going to leave without us.”

There was a small milk jar above the fireplace. I walked over and examined it, then spoke softly, “Remember when I refused to eat anything but mom’s milk? I would scream for it. All until age three when she left. I suppose mom was dealing with her own issues then, but she surely must have loved me to put up with that.” 

Monique said, “I don’t want to hear it, Ovida. We’ve been down this road before.” 

Pauline turned away from me and said, “If she really cared, she wouldn’t have done it. She hurt us, but more than that she broke dad’s heart. His health never recovered. I don’t know how you can forgive her.”

I responded, “I don’t forgive her, but that doesn’t mean I can’t still love her. She still writes gramps and he reminds me that she still asks about us, and she still calls me Omnia, where dad called me Ovida, in her lyrical voice, ‘Omnia mutantur, nihil interit.’ Everything changes, nothing perishes.”

“That’s because you’ve stuck your neck out your whole life, where it doesn’t belong. In front of us, anyway.” Pauline jested. 

“Do you ladies need a glass of bourbon and a stack of pancakes? They said to help yourself to anything in the fridge.” Monique added.

“Who said that?” I looked at Monique coldly. 

“The cows.” Monique replied. 

“Oh yeah, the cows.” I said, returning to space and time. 

In that instant, there was a peculiar knock on the door. It could be said that it gave us a fright. 

I opened it to the bolloxed countenance of the Whistler. He stepped right in, and said “You locked the door, did you? Weren’t you waiting for me?”

I mumbled, “I didn’t realize we should have expected you.” 

The Whistler said, “I didn’t realize I was the one following you.” 

He read our intimidated expressions and lightened the scene. “No, make yourself at home, by all means. What are you doing in my house, anyhow?”

I responded, “You live here? Rather, I don’t know why you shouldn’t, but it didn’t appear fit.”

The Whistler said, “You aren’t mistaken. This home is lived in, but it hasn’t been for many years. I thought it a bit of a practical joke to my forbearers to spend the rest of my days here. You see, I made little effort to return home, even in all its comforts, once I had left it. I was chastised as such. Once a young boy becomes a man, he is often disinterested in keeping up the work that had broken his father. As a child the work and rites of one’s parents is a sacred mystery. But when a man becomes his father, he is but a child once more.” 

Monique popped in, “Sorry, but I have to ask �" the train stopped right at this spot, in the middle of nowhere…” 

The Whistler interrupted her, “I am quite aware, yes.”

“How’d you ever manage something like that?” I asked. 

The Whistler replied, “I don’t kiss and tell.” 

Reviews

[William Michael Reeves]

When you solicited a review from me I thought you were a different Sam. When I went to her profile and couldn't find the story I went back to your message to find you. I don't usually read stories because of the time factor. I have my mind full trying to keep up with the wonderful poetry in the Cafe. I might suggest you reach out to people who are writing similar material as you. But I do love a good book and since I'm here ...

I think you write well. Reads easy. You have a poetic flair in some of your phrases and paragraphs which is interesting. But after reading both chapters I feel confused about what the story was about. Often I had to stop and scratch my head trying to figure out what I had just read. That can be a good thing in poetry, but I feel like fiction should be more direct. Develop characters and plot then go. The second paragraph of the first chapter seemed the beginning of a developed character but I never really got to know anyone in the story and couldn't figure it all out. Some of your phrases strung together would make an interesting poem. Welcome to the Cafe!

Bill

[Aura]

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The second chapter definitely builds from the first. In this chapter we see more diagnose between the sisters but nit as much. I can see there is still hostile feelings towards the mother. It also introduces a new character, the whistler which I think is an interesting one. From the first glance, Ovida already doesn't like the whistler because she hates whistles and hoots. And it certainly doesn't help that the whistler turns out to be their neighbour, and that the house they barged into was his!

In this chapter you write "Whistler type" and I believe the captlization of the letter w is not needed, as you did that in the second line.

Throughout the chapter, maybe once or twice I saw these little question marks inside a black square. This was apparent after the sentence "With the weight of the question resting on my shoulders" I am not sure what this represents but my guess is that you tried to add something that wasn't transferable into the Writers Cafe software, but I am not 100% sure. I am also unsure if others can see if, because I'm working from a mobile device. I'd say to just look through and to see if you spot any oddities in spacing or for those question mark boxes I mentioned.

You also write "It’s only in one’s later years that they feel the sorrow in a location" and because this story is being written in the first person, I feel that you should change the wording of this sentence a bit to " It's only in my later years that I feel the sorrow in a location" I'm pretty sure if you changed the wording here it'll still make sense, as I perceive this sentence to be the main characters reflection.

The sentence "Our presence entered that forgotten home like a hunter disturbing the confines of a hibernating grizzly bear" —is a powerful use of analogy comparing the current situation to a hunters intrusions on a grizzly bear.

I also liked the little memory about the milk, how Ovida refused to eat anything except her mother's milk until three. To improve the dialog I'd take out "All until age 3 when she left" and replace it with "All, until I was three when she left" to make the dialogue seem like a conversation, no one says age three, they'd be likely to say, when I was three. Also shouldn't it be drink instead eat? Because you drink milk you don't eat milk.

I love the saying you add in " Omnia mutantur, nihil interit" Everything changes, nothing perishes. Oh that's lovely just because her mother abandoned them, doesn't mean Ovidas love for her mom will be abandoned either which is so beautiful. If i may ask, what language was the saying written in?

Overall i found this chapter to build dramatically from the first, i feel that in the next coming chapters we should get to know more abut the sisters as we know alot about the main character. Overall i found it engaging! Enjoying to read

[Alec R. Zeelie]

The story has enough creative bait on its hook to make me want to keep reading, want to know what happens next. I'd like to get to know the characters better along the way. So far, much of the three main characters is still a mystery. Nevertheless, the first two chapters seem to be the start of a journey, and I'm eager to see what their journey is going to reveal.

[Carlos Lorenzo Estrada]

This is a good start as far as first drafts go, Sam. I feel as a reader more meat needs to be put into this tale. I found myself wanting to know more about the sisters. What differentiates each individually and their idiosyncrasies. Do they leave their own family members behind while they travel away in a great distance. Perhaps, giving facial descriptions on how each individual sibling looks as well. Character traits can add a lot in telling a story, especially one that involves a family journey. Narrative format at times can hamper a story taking away depth and dimension, while tossing away the perspective of other characters who may be just as vital to plot. If it was a lone individual on a journey of self discovery than your narrative style would be fitting, but multiple characters need to be flushed out more instead of being just background objects. More dialogue can help, as well as descriptive individual traits. You gave some but I feel more was needed to empathize more with each individual character. It is a solid start to this story, so keep plugging along and flushing it out. It is a journey unto itself.