What happened to Shirley? Her brother was shot and she lived her life feeling shrapneled. I wish I could tell you her story. I’ll tell you what I know. He was the heir-to-be with a sunny smile for photographs and adoring sisters, the glory of his father’s eye, sent to play with a kid who frankly terrified him. Papa told him it would be OK. He may have said more. Whatever he said haunted him to his deathbed. His only son, the uncle I never met, was killed that day by the kid who thought it would be fun to point a gun. My Aunt Shirley was three. She took a turn. She watched her family recoil and thought it was from her; she felt she was being shot at and took to shooting back first. She got her own room while her sisters shared. She was catered to because she wouldn’t not be. Slinger of superficial insults and lethal compliments, wicked, hilarious, she could torpedo a romance with a casual “You’re wearing that?” and kiss the air. I know. It sounds trivial. A blameless boy was killed and these are the repercussions? And yet, Papa died delirious, pinned by something, screaming. And Grandma, who had life left to live without him, chose Shirley to live with, to make it all up to her and prove her love once and for all. So there were shock waves that shudder us grandkids still. Of course it didn’t work, Shirley and Grandma. They were both looking for apologies, enough to make you weep. Or else I’m wrong. When Grandma fled, she needed Shirley’s help to pack. She watched as Shirley upended drawers into cartons and packed clothes with her foot and thought: I have other daughters. I didn’t fail them all.
Copyright © June 11, 2007 David Hodges
8 comments
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June 11, 2007 at 7:47 pm
~willow~
hi! I’m a first time visitor, got here via BlogCatalog. I’m only just starting to flex my writing muscles, and am appreciative of this idea of fitting all that needs to be said [or *not* said!] into 299 words… will drop by more to see what else you’ve produced. happy writing!
~willow~
Thanks, willow! And welcome to Very Short Novels.
–David
June 11, 2007 at 9:18 pm
patrickmtracy
Hi, David,
I enjoyed the “natural” flow of this one, where you can imagine someone telling this story orally. As with everything I’ve read of yours, the compression of language is impressive. Then there’s your productivity…wow.
Take care, and happy writing.
Thank you, Patrick. That’s sharp of you, to notice what’s different about the tone. As for producing, it’s my new priority.
–David
June 12, 2007 at 12:37 am
Diahann
Unbelievable! I can’t fathom how effectively you say it all in so few words. I loved the story. It is so like the story one is dying to know about that strange relative – someone we all have as part of our families. Remarkable, once again, David!
Thanks, Diahann!
-David
June 12, 2007 at 3:48 am
John
Hi David,
What a great blog, wow I’ll be around again and again.
Thanks, John, and welcome to Very Short Novels.
–David
June 13, 2007 at 12:40 am
verbivore
I like the multiple layers in this story, David. You get at the stories of several different family members and each one’s reaction to a shared guilt and a family tragedy. I particularly liked the last line – how sad.
Thank you, verbivore. I’m sure each family member would tell a different story about Shirley.
–David
June 13, 2007 at 9:54 am
wizzer
Does anyone ever see anything exactly the way others do? Reality fades into perception and we start from different reference points. How I’d love to meet some of your characters, David.
Thank you, Wizzer. I’m glad they seem like such real people to you.
–David
June 13, 2007 at 11:58 am
litlove
I love the play between distance and immediacy in the narration, or in other words, the way the narrator tells us he doesn’t know everything, but becomes a ventriloquist for the words and the feelings of his relatives. We forget he’s putting this patchwork tale together for our benefit, and feeling his way through his family history, so vivid is his retelling at times. But then he undercuts it with uncertainty. The past is a mirror in which we only see ourselves looking. Beautiful, layered, intricate work as always, David!
Thank you, Litlove. I wonder what stories they’ll be telling about us two generations from now!
–David
June 22, 2007 at 12:36 am
Miriam Robbins Midkiff
You’ve captured the very essence of a family wracked in grief and tragedy; one whose members are doomed to never fully deal with either the actions or lack thereof that led to the tragedy itself, and so by doing, add layer upon layer of more tragedy, spiraling downward, never-ending until blessed death takes each one in turn.
Yikes. Blessed death! Surely there’s some other way out, Miriam!
–David