Door

A short story about a newlywed couple who were busied by being married and forgot about what brought them together in the first place.

On the second week after they moved to the little house she came walking back from the town market carrying a bag of groceries and a package of different kinds of thread. He came out to meet her, wiping the perspiration off his forehead with the back of his hand. His shoulder length hair was ponytailed with a shoelace, his nose sunburnt; she told him that already he looked like a rugged, handsome farmer. Her oversized shirt clung to her, her sandals dirt clad. He assured her she looked like a sweet, little housewife. 

Had she brought the pipe wrench? He had been waiting all day long to do the plumbing. They had forgotten it when they went to market the other day. 

Gosh, no, she hadn’t. Oh, but he could do it tomorrow, she said. She thought she had everything else. He told her it was only because she was not the one who would do the plumbing. Suppose they ran out of paper tissues? Then he saw the package. What was that for? Well, she thought she might want to learn sewing. Why, he said, she didn’t even have the time to watch a late-night movie with him. She said there were a lot of things a thread might come in handy for. He wanted to know what, for instance. She thought a few seconds, but nothing occurred. Well, he thought it funny that she remembered to buy a package of threads instead of the pipe wrench. She said she might find something to mend or she could sew curtains for their naked windows. He just looked at her.

She wanted to say she bought it because she wanted to but didn’t sound it out. Hadn’t he remembered that he also bought things for himself because he just wanted to? She thought of reminding him about the guitar he bought but never played, and it was left lying inside its case, perhaps dead already.

Anyhow, he was a little disappointed about the pipe wrench but managed to shrug his shoulders and left her standing in the middle of the kitchen. She watched his back until he disappeared in the doorway, and a few seconds later, she heard the sound of his saw agonizing through wood. 

She looked around her taking in the unpainted walls and the little furniture they had. She bit her lower lip and dug through the grocery bag and brought out a tray of eggs. As she put it on the table, her elbow disturbed the package and the threads tumbled down the floor. A green one rolled towards the doorway and sat on the mat. She stared at it for a very long time. He found her that way when he entered the kitchen. He followed her locked eyes and looked down at his feet. He reached down for the green thread and as he did she looked up. He walked towards her, handed the thread, and then helped himself with a glass of water from the pitcher on the table. She didn’t look at him and resumed bringing out the items from the grocery bag. She heard him turned on the faucet in the sink while she tucked the package of threads inside the kitchen cupboard. When she turned around, she found him gone.

She went out of the house and into the street. She felt like her shirt was soaked in honey. She wanted to go back and change but thought otherwise. Things were so unrelenting you barely turned your head when it slipped off your hands. Things were so unsteady you barely blinked when you heard it crashed on the floor. What to do now? Well, she would go back to town and buy the pipe wrench and what about the threads? She rolled herself into a ball of ice and head off.

When she came back he was leaning against the doorframe waiting. It was twilight, the smell of chicken stew floated in the country air. His face was young, contented, and warm. She was suddenly reminded of her childhood days with her grandmother. His tousled hair was down toyed by the wind. She waved to him and speeded up. She realized she was starved when she approached him at the door. As the door closed in behind them, they were famished.

Yes, they both knew they were.

Reviews

[S. D. Forogar]

An unusual story, one that invited me to make several different conclusions regarding it, and so the Good and the Bad are below!

The GOOD: Generally, the simple and uneventful tone of this piece. By that, I only compare and contrast with other pieces I've read, wherein the authors oftentimes feel the need to cram seven or eight action sequences into a five hundred page article, and barely remember that their characters have to have some form of interaction and that their scenery must be hinted upon, if nothing else.

As well, the character interaction and scenery, where described haha!

The BAD: Easily, the worst part of this piece is its most noticeable also, and that is the Flow. There are sections, a good deal of them, where events 'move along' without being included, and so the story will pick up from there. An example of what I mean is below:

"She went out of the house *and into the street.* (SOME DESCRIPTION WOULD BE NICE. WHAT ARE THE NEIGHBORS DOING? WHAT DO THE HOMES LOOK LIKE? ET CETERA. AND, IF NOTHING IS HAPPENING OR EXCITING OUTSIDE, EXPLAIN THAT AND WHY IT MIGHT BE SO) She felt like her shirt was soaked in honey. She wanted to go back and change but thought otherwise. Things were so unrelenting you barely turned your head when it slipped off your hands. Things were so unsteady you barely blinked when you heard it *crashed on* the floor. What to do now? Well, she would go back to town and buy the pipe wrench and what about the threads? *She rolled herself into a ball of ice* (WHAT DOES THIS MEAN?) and head *[Spelling error? head(ed)] off.*

***(EXPLAIN THE JOURNEY BETTER TO TRANSITION INTO PARAGRAPH EIGHT)***

"When she came back he was leaning against the doorframe waiting." Story par. 7 full - par. 8, Sent. 1.

In the above excerpt, I outlined a few errors, but I'll call more attention to the Flow error highlighted with three asterisks. Since nothing was written into the story, we as an audience are simply to assume that "she" collected the wrench, and that the only existent subject in the story was "her." In other words, the vendor didn't exist, the rest of the town didn't exist, roadway traffic didn't exist, and so on. The cripple to lacking on Flow as blatantly as the above is that the author effectively dismisses all concept of the external world, and forces such dismissal upon her or his audience in turn. We don't know what's happening in the story simply because the author did not include it, and therefore we the audience must make up a story to 'fill in the blanks.' If a story is written in such a way, then anyone can effectively have simply imagined the tale and its presence is moot.

Some issues with detail are present, but as this is a considerable 'short story,' I won't go too far into this point. I only wish that a BIT more of the scenery, more pertinent character descriptions and more effective imagery were presented.

Finally, I didn't feel the "Power" of the piece. Though this tale had a good deal more interaction than I would have seen in most other works of its size, the interaction was still rather bland and without any emotional bind. There was no sense of 'love' sent forth by either of these people who are meant to return to a state of 'true love,' and that does great harm to a story. I wrote a small piece entitled "What a Wonderful World" that displays a bit of what I mean, and though I'm not a fan of shoving my stories into others' faces, I do recommend that the author check it out. I can't say I've ever read another story of such tiny length that I can reference here, unfortunately (more of a 'novella' type!).

A bit of a nit-pick I'll add here, at the end, was my distaste with the lack of quotation marks for dialogue, and no excuse was given for this lack. The duo weren't communicating telepathically, for example, so quotes would be necessary.

In conclusion, I wasn't overly-satisfied with this piece simply because it aspired to be something it was not, though I admit to a few successes regardless.

[MomzillaNC]

The ending gives hope of a space for them to recall and revel in the love that brought them together.

NOTES: There are a few places where the telling of the story is a little awkward; I'm sure you will find those places in a second reading.

[S]

I admit the way I use the English language is somewhat unpolished. But I'm really not sure about what you mean by awkward. Maybe you could enlighten me? Thank you for noticing, whatever it is :)S

[MomzillaNC]

It's not that you used terms incorrectly. But, if you read your passage out to yourself aloud, you'll hear the places where the copy doesn't flow, almost stumbles. I was reading it to my son while he practiced his guitar, and there were just places that didn't flow.

[S]

Oh I see what you mean. When I showed this to my friend, she said there's a problem with the flow, too. I edited this actually, but sadly it turned out to be another rewrite failure. Thank you, I'll do something about it :)S

[MomzillaNC]

Try recording yourself reading it, then listen to the playback with your eyes closed.

[S]

Wow, that's a really good suggestion. I will. Thank you, Momzilla :)S

[S]

And maybe you could read it again after I rewrite it? :)S

[MomzillaNC]

I'd be happy to read a final draft.