People should have to get a license before they get married and go around having kids. My parents would never pass the test. Maybe the written. They talk like they understand. But what was all that crap about unhappiness? They should listen to the kids in my class for one day, see if they could solve their secrets. They have no idea. I had it good. Both parents, both working, never divorced, sleeping in the same house, you don’t find that so much. I’m working on a book about the future. Everybody uses surrogates and children are raised by professionals who get fired if they’re no good. Kids are fine but parents shouldn’t have them. I’m not blind. I know how they were. I heard too much. Mom had one eye out for Dad and one on the door. I know why. Worthless fat animal cunt, good for one thing only and not much good at that. You don’t forget words like that. You don’t forget cleaning up after they took it to their room. She couldn’t go alone. I know that. That’s on me. That Sunday morning the door was unlocked and I saw her looking at the street, listening for something upstairs that would tell her it was time. It was never going to be time. I pulled her through the door and wedged his keys into the trunk of the dogwood tree to slow him down, plus in case I ever needed them, and dragged her to the bus. It wouldn’t be to move back in if I ever did need those keys. I told her we’d go to the zoo. Told the bus driver to call 911 and floor it. I only wish I knew for sure I could trust her to never go back.
Copyright © February 8, 2007 David Hodges
Very Short Novels 
9 comments
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February 8, 2007 at 5:29 am
AAA Copywriter
Beautiful suite, David. A real pleasure to read, as usual. 😉
Alex
Thank you, Alex. Suite is a wonderful choice of words.
–David
February 8, 2007 at 9:22 am
red dirt girl
I haven’t read the other two yet……so cannot comment as a whole…….but I do like this……..from the child’s point of view and then the mother’s through the child’s eye. Yes, our children often shoulder our emotional burdens – and that’s a shame. But as an adult, I try to teach my children that we are children, too. Just playing dress-up; pretending to have all the answers……..and sometimes I look longingly at the street, the car and wonder ‘what if……..’
I love how you echoed the line about the street, red dirt girl. It’s so simple it breaks my heart.
–David
February 8, 2007 at 2:53 pm
Jayme
I never thought such a small number number of words could carry such a huge impact. It’s amazing how you were able to cram so much emotion into so little space.
Thank you, Jayme. You probably did most of the work yourself.
–David
February 8, 2007 at 4:21 pm
briseis
Amazing. I love the different perspectives of the three tales– powerful.
Thanks, Briseis. I hope it’s not too bleak.
–David
February 11, 2007 at 11:41 am
litlove
I’m generally fond of the multiple perspective. It gives a real richness to the situation that the single first person narrative cannot possibly attain. You work your usual magic here, David, finding just the right symbol in the dogwood tree to centre and focus the moment of escape from overwhelming emotional catastrophe. Beautifully done.
That’s all I need to hear, litlove.
–David
February 12, 2007 at 7:14 pm
Annelisa
Now, isn’t it funny that this is the member of the family’s view I wanted to hear most, yet read it last…. though you’d written it first….
and you know what? I think it’s absolutely most perfect as a last part of the story! It’s like the bringing together of all the other disparate views… and suddenly it all makes sense. This is definitely the climax, that makes it all work so goddarn well!!
Great stuff, David! I’m glad I read the views in the order I did!
Leave it to the child to have the clear perspective.
–David
February 16, 2007 at 10:01 am
caveblogem
Another good one, or three, David. Thank you.
Have you ever heard of “Lean Manufacturing,” David? It is, like other ways to organize factories, a way of looking at production processes that leads to better efficiency, more profitability, happier employees, whatever. Lean Manufacturing takes, as an organizing principle, the elimination of waste (which the Japanese call muda and is much more descriptive and nuanced than “waste.” So instead of chasing production bottlenecks, like a pile of parts waiting to enter the assembly line, one would try to notice all types of waste, like an employee who is not contributing as much as she is capable of. One would then eliminate the waste by putting that employee in design work, sending her back to school, putting her in management, I don’t know.
Anyway, it seems to me after reading most of your posts since September or so (not most of them recently. You seem to have gone on quite a binge here since last I carved out a few hours to see your work) that what you have here are not very short novels, which would be a different genre, one far less ambitious, or condensed novels (which I think tend to strip out much of interest, like imagery, etc.) but lean novels. These seem to be novels conceived as 70,000 word works and then restructured carefully, stripping out all but the essence, the soul. Perhaps distilled might be a better word, with its vinicultural connotations, or concentrated.
I say all of this because these things often affect me more than full-length works, and take as long to digest. They pack the same punch.
Thanks, Cave. I’m glad to have you as a reader. Maybe brandy is the metaphor you’re looking for. A little goes a long way.
–David
February 16, 2007 at 10:28 am
caveblogem
Brandy seems too mundane. Cognac? Calvados? Get a snifter full today!
February 28, 2007 at 10:37 am
Annelisa
Have you disappeared one of the stories, David? I’m sure there was one from the perspective of the girl’s mother? Or am I going mad?
Not trying to hide, Annelisa. I numbered the Unhappiness triptych for you: 1, 2, 3.
–David