Sweat Stripes Across Our Bellies

I feel like this could be expanded more.  I wish I had more time to revise because this story changed a lot!  I am happy with the revisions, I just think I ended too soon.  Let me know what you think.  Suggestions are very welcome!  

I’ve taken care of sick people for 11 years but it’s different when it’s your own mother who has failing health.  I thought those years as a heart transplant coordinator made me fearless, a woman who could handle every bleeding knee, broken arm, or surgery that could ever befall her children or family.  But no gasping, white patient depending on me to find them a heart told me how to handle my elderly mother with memory loss.  Often Dad calls to tell me about her roaming the house looking for her glasses so she can read the recipes she used to have memorized.  Her shrill cries of surprise when she finds them on the top of the piano in the dining room echo through countless afternoons and are recounted to me as I sit defeated, states away.  

I call my brother at least once a week to discuss mom’s condition.  The news is never of improvements, it’s usually of periods where she has stayed the same or has changes to her medication.  Often he will ask me when I am planning to visit.  He tells me it would be nice to have a nurse’s help but his motive is to get me in Pennsylvania again. He can’t fool a wounded daughter into believing that coming home would only be to provide nursing know-how.

“So what are you trying to say, Connie?”

“I’m saying that it makes sense to forgive Mom and go visit her in Dalmatia but my heart is still refusing to forgive her.”

“Well if you know the problem, why did you call me?”

“Because I want you to decide for me, Rick.  I want you to make me choose one way or the other.  Convince me.”

“I’ve been trying to, Connie.  You’re the only one that is still upset.  Shouldn’t that be a clue that coming home won’t be as bad as you think?”

“I just can’t forget how she treated me.”

“That is your pride talking.  It’s been a long time since you moved to Alabama and when has Mom ever held a grudge for so long?  I really can’t decide for you but you know exactly what the right answer is.  Mom has Dementia, for Pete’s sake.”

Rick hung up without letting me feel any more sorry for myself.  I hug up the receiver and walked to the bed where Craig looked up at me and smiled his “I-love-you-but-your-brother-is-right” grin that I could recognize on his face if it was miles away.  Yes, apparently Rick is right so often that my husband has a smile designated for his agreement and I have it memorized.  I rolled my eyes and climbed into bed next to him.  Affectionate but careful, Craig rubbed my arm until he fell asleep and my thoughts were stayed on Dalmatia, Pennsylvania...

The summer was my favorite.  I hated the bugs, but the sweet, corn-scented air made them bearable.  At night I would sleep with my windows open and sometimes you could hear the wind cut through the fields and toss the stalks back and forth.  I always tried to fall asleep before the 10:00 train came through.  The tracks were just over 50 yards from our house and it would be another half hour before the whistling could stop echoing in my head.  In Birmingham I just hear the highway when things get quiet.  

When I woke up I could hear Craig in the kitchen eating his Cheerios.  Since he ate slow, he always let his spoon fall back into the bowl from his mouth so every 30 seconds was a loud bang.  I got up to do what I had done each Saturday since I was old enough to walk.  Garden.  

Mom and Dad were diligent in keeping a garden but it was mostly Mom and me on Saturdays watering and weeding.  By the time we finished, we smelled like hay and wet grass clippings.  Our hair would be stuck to our damp foreheads and Mom wouldn’t bother changing from her sweat striped shirt.  

We were in the garden when the fight started.  I was finishing up my nursing degree at Pitt and I was applying for jobs.  I was somewhat desperate to leave Dalmatia to prove that my degree was worthwhile, but also because I was just ready to work hard.  As we were pulling weeds I mentioned the job I was planning to take.

“So, I got a job offer recently.”

“Wow, Connie, already?”

“Yeah, it’s at a really nice hospital, mom.  I would be on a heart transplant team.”

“Oh, I just can’t believe you are so old.  Don’t you just want to take a while to spend being young for me a little longer?”

“You’re funny.  Seriously, this is the best offer I’m gonna get.”

“What hospital is it?”

“It’s a hospital in Birmingham, Alabama associated with a college so they are interested in research.  It couldn’t be more perfect.”

Mom stopped smiling.  She stopped pulling weeds and sat back as her eyes remained fixed on mine.  I stared back, quizzically but she eventually looked away, got up and walked inside.  

The rest of the week she spent acting hurt.  When she spoke to me she wasn’t inviting, she was reserved, and our conversations were mere exchanges of facts.  She asked a few things about Birmingham and my plans to move there and when I would be able to start the job, but showed no excitement.  Her intention was to put me on a guilt trip and it worked and worked until I was living in a city with no friends and only directions to get to the hospital and back.  That is when I started to rely on Dad.  I’d only talk to him so that she would feel ignored and that it would remind her of how she treated me.  I put him in a hard position then and he was never one to mediate.  He avoided conflict altogether.

“I can’t even understand you, Connie.  Try to calm down.”

“I...I can’t understand, Dad.  Why would she do this to me?”

“It would really be better if you didn’t call me when you were crying.”

“I need you to tell me it’s okay, Dad.”

“It’ll be fine, Connie.  Mom loves you.”

“Dad...I know she does, but I don’t know it too.”

“None of this is a surprise to you.  You had to know it would go something like this.  We have been in Dalmatia our whole lives and it isn’t often anyone leaves here.”

“Yeah, I know.”

“I’m proud of you but you could have tried harder to make it easier on your mom.”

“I didn’t call so you can tell me I’m the one to blame.”

“I didn’t answer so I could lie to you, Hon.”

“I’ve gotta go.  I need sleep tonight.  Bye, Dad.”

Pulling up weeds in the garden has been a sort of strange therapy since then.  I work every Saturday that I can, as long as I can, tearing weeds from the soil and nursing vegetables as they grow.  Craig will stop by the kitchen window to wave or just smile down at me while I’m out there.  

“Hey Con!” He had a glass of water in his hand and an envelope in the other and was walking toward me.  I stood up and met him, taking the water glass.

“What’s in the envelope?”

“Well...long-version or short-version?”

“Short.” I smiled.

“A letter from Dalmatia.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”  He handed it to me and I opened it carefully.  I didn’t want Craig to see my eagerness to know what was inside.  It was from Rick so it really could have been anything.  Normally, the only mail we get from him are family Christmas cards.

I pulled out a piece of paper that read:

“SHE FORGAVE YOU A LONG TIME AGO.”

And a plane ticket.  

The toilet flushed at 6:00 am and Mom swayed down the hallway to the stairs and into the kitchen where she began to put up clean dishes.  The noise had woken me up so I went downstairs to join her minutes later.  I helped with the dishes, then chopped fresh herbs and put them into bags for the freezer.  We talked about old friends whose kids were having babies, relatives who had passed on or were sick, and general reminiscing about days in Dalmatia that, for her, were un-fogged, perfectly remembered, and savored.  By 8:00 we had moved outside to the vegetable garden.  Mom sat in a lawn chair as I pulled up weeds and watered the tomatoes, peppers, and herbs growing as small souvenirs of years past.  She watched me for an hour as the dew mixed with our sweat and stuck our hair to our foreheads.  She called to me waving her hands to get my attention so we could go in and have a glass of water and begin to cook breakfast.  Not once did she bring up the years past.  Maybe she really had forgotten the years I had let my anger keep me away.  Perhaps she held on loosely so the Dementia took those memories sooner than the rest.  But it seemed like it was gone and my old Mom grinned at me as I walked toward her.  I helped pull her out of the chair and we walked into the house, arms linked, with stripes of sweat across our bellies.

So, Why Now?

I wish I had more time in revising this.  It really changed a lot from the previous story and I feel like I had to end it too soon and I think additions may be good.  I would love any comments or suggestions!

“So, why now?”

“Mom, you knew this was coming.  It shouldn’t be a surprise to you.”

“Yeah, but do you really want to marry a 19-year-old?”

“He will be 20 by the wedding, and that’s not the point.”

“Then what is the point, Essie?”

“The point is that we have been praying for our marriage to happen in God’s timing.  I mean, I can truly say I have seen Him work this out in our lives.  Nate got that co-op last minute, I am graduating in time, not to mention...”

“Sometimes...things just don’t work out like that.  God doesn’t always lead like that.  It makes more sense for you to wait until you both have jobs...what if he is holding you back from your dreams?”

“What dreams are you talking about?  Honestly, when have you ever thought of me as one to climb some corporate ladder?  Can’t success have nothing to do with money?”

“Well good luck doing anything without money, Essie.  What do you think you can accomplish without it?”

“Plenty, mom.  Haven’t you ever thought loving your husband can be successful?”

“Sometimes you just need to make your own money. God won’t provide you things that you can provide for yourself.”

“I can’t win this, mom.  You don’t really want to resolve this.  I’m gonna to go now.  Bye.”

Her end disconnected.  I couldn’t touch the knitting project sitting in my lap.  I closed my eyes and leaned back.   A minute or two later I felt Doug sit down on the couch next to me.  He ran his hand over my forehead and down the side of my face.

“Beth, I love you, but what is the matter?”

“Not you too.”

“I’m just wondering why you can’t be happy.”

I wouldn’t respond to him.  I moved the yarn off my lap and went back to our room to get ready for bed.    

The truth is, I knew Essie was still naive.  I didn’t teach her to be the girl that got married so young, still in school without a proper income.  But it had to be my fault she ended up that way.  When she was young, maybe six or seven, she started to ask about my relationship with her dad.  It was the girls at school who started it because the moms in the PTA were discussing what story they decided to tell their daughters about their marriages.  Essie would come home telling stories about Jamie’s parents and Lindsay’s parents and then wanted to know her parents story to tell on the bus ride the next morning.  I told her the romantic, conflict-free version of our marriage because it was all she needed to know at that age.  I never told her anything false, I just didn’t give her the whole picture.

“Well, your dad and I, we started to date when we were 16 and we dated until we got married right after we both graduated from MSU.  Neither of us had dated anyone else, so we were each other’s first loves.”

And that was the story I told the PTA moms and my daughter.  And they were sighing over the dream-likeness of the story and soon I was sighing too. 

“You must really have important love to love each other so long.”  Is what Essie told me as we waited for the bus to come pick her up.

Essie and Nate started dating in high school.  Essie was a senior and Nate, a sophomore.  Nate was one of her brother’s friends and somehow they ended up getting to know each other.  Nate wasn’t Essie’s first boyfriend.  She actually had a different one for each year of high school.  She told me she just couldn’t tell them no because it may hurt their feelings.  But two months later she would get tired of them and send them whimpering back into singleness. The difference between Nate and the other boys was that he loves her and Essie loves him.

After two weeks, Essie and Nate came home from MSU for the weekend.  Their faces were practically glowing with happiness as if they were billboards advertising getting engaged at a young age.  They convinced Doug.  A few bites into dinner that night and he was asking for the proposal story.  

“I’ll let Essie tell it, she enjoys telling it and I like to watch her.”

“You only like it because you make fun of my hand motions.” 

“Yeah, and I know your dad would appreciate them too.”

Essie couldn’t make a mad face at Nate that didn’t look like a smile.

After dinner Nate took Essie’s plate to the sink as she continued to talk to her dad.  I took a few dishes to the sink as well so he couldn’t start cleaning our dishes for us.  I just can’t let a guest clean our dishes, even if he has been familiar in our house for four years.  He set the plates on the counter and turned around to smile at me.

“Can I help you Mrs. Beth?”

“No, I’ve got it.  You can go relax with Essie.”

“I can load a dishwasher pretty well.  You can hand me the dishes when you clean them off.”

“I’d hate to make a guest clean.”

“I really don’t mind.”

Just because I was tired, I let him help me.  For a second I thought he may have wanted to talk to me about my sentiments toward the engagement, but he was quiet most of the time.  He asked about work and let me talk until we were finished.  As I dried my hands he looked at me like he wanted to express something he couldn’t put words to.  He scooted closer to me and gave me a hug and smiled at me then walked to the den to sit by Essie.

“Mom?”

“Yeah, Essie?”

“I want to talk to you about Nate and me.”

“Okay.”

“Do you want to hear it?”

“Sure.”

“Well, I know that you aren’t happy.  I know we had discussed about this happening a few years from now, but we made plans.  I have a spreadsheet of our finances for the next five years and it works, mom.”

I nodded at her with an emotionless face.  

“So, why wait when it all adds up?  The waiting is hard.  And I know you won’t believe me but I do believe that God is leading us.”

Essie told me again that they are getting married in God’s timing, that He cares for His children and that means He won’t let them fail if they are in His will.  Her confidence scares me sometimes.  It’s like she really believes what she is saying.  I know that God is who He says He is, for goodness sake, I go to church every Sunday and give away a big chunk of my salary but I am also a practical woman and it doesn’t make sense to rely on something that isn’t certain.  But there was a sincerity in her voice that can’t be faked.  It made me wonder if I was wrong.  

“Doug, do you remember how being engaged felt?”

“It felt like relief.”

“Yeah, I remember that too.”

“What did Essie talk to you about?”

“She was telling me more about God.”

“How was that?”

“I don’t know yet.  Do you think Essie has changed?”

“Yeah, Beth, a lot.”

“Do you think she is wrong to get married young?”

“No.”

I taught Essie to garden when she was six.  Before then she would watch me out of the window in the kitchen holding a plastic shovel and watching every move I made.  But as she grew up we would go out early and pull weeds and water and she would be excited to see the blooms appear.  The May she turned nine years old, I was driving her back from school when we passed her favorite house in the neighborhood.  The flowers in the front yard were blooming and there wasn’t a patch of dirt left to fill in with some plant.  “Mamma!  Their garden looks like Southern Living.  Oh, it’s beautiful.” I looked over and she was looking back over her shoulder, as best as she could, to watch the house until it was out of view.

So that year I had to make my garden look like a Southern Living garden, not because Essie demanded it, but because I wanted her to say that our garden was beautiful too.  And it was.  And as years passed, I let her fill her own bed.  She really had a knack for it too.  She never took long to plan what she wanted, she just had a sharp eye for seeing how things would look before they were there.    

“You just have to trust that plants will be beautiful.  They always have been.”

“That’s all, Essie?”

“Well, if you do your part there is no reason they shouldn’t grow.”

“There are other reasons, but I get your point.”

“I’m glad you know the reasons.”

“Yeah, I can help you and you can help me.”

I was starting to feel less and less like the one who knew the reasons.  I could tell you about Noah’s ark and Samson’s hair and Jesus’ cross but Essie’s trust in God was stumping me.  For years I relied on Doug to explain things I couldn’t.  We were both diligent people and we knew that things needed to happen.  There were plenty of times where I blamed him and he blamed me for things that went wrong, but somehow they never tore our marriage apart.  I wonder how we love each other sometimes.  Do I love him for him, or do I love him for me?  It seems like Essie loves Nate for Nate.

I walked back to our bedroom and shut the door behind me.  I grabbed my Bible off the nightstand and got on my knees on the floor.  I couldn’t open it yet because I was pretty sure that when I opened it, it would be new to me.  Tears began to slide down my cheeks and off the tip of my nose.  I put the Bible on the floor and laid my cheek on top of it and closed my eyes, hoping the cool leather would be comforting too. 

Response to Shelby Rice's "A Flicker in the Night"

Shelby -

This short short story was a girl remembering when her mom would tuck her in to go to sleep.

I really love the "nostalgia" -- I am thinking of a different word but I can't remember it -- the reminiscing feeling of this story.  I think you have a strong, clear voice in the story and I like your descriptions; they seem very significant to your story as a whole.

I read this story as if the narrator was a little girl, rather than an older girl reminiscing.  I don't know how much of a problem that is (it could just be that I read it badly) but I wasn't prepared to be pulled back out of the remembering at the end.  The voice saying "Mama" and the descriptions just didn't sound like they were coming from an older girl.  It sounded young.

Also, I want to add that I like the spacing in your story and how you use it to give attention to certain sentences.  However, I do not understand the significance of the ending of the story.  You talk about the mother not coming in but I don't know where she is or why she isn't there or much more than it is different than it used to be for the narrator.  I wonder if the mother died but I feel like that can't be assumed from what is given.  She could be on a long trip for all I know.

I really enjoy your writing.  I really love the smell of the perfume "Mama" wears and how you describe the girl falling asleep.  Very nice to read!

Response to Robert Lee's "Jenson's Day"

Robert -

Your short short is about a day in the life of Jenson, who is late to his job because of traffic, or maybe because of the girl who was in his bed...it seems like days like these are normal for him.

I liked the dialogue in this story.  It was interesting how you presented the television as if the people on it were in the room.  It is an interesting statement about television that it is included in our lives so much that we actually try to accommodate the people on it into our lives.  I feel like a lot of the dialogue was really natural and comfortable to read so good job.

A few parts in there get confusing.  Does he work for a lawyer?  If he does, why is he wearing cargo pants to work?  I didn't notice that Jenson changed any throughout the story.  I'm not sure how to recommend him to change... I don't know if he is unhappy or happy with his life.  So, there may be no conflict in this story other than a boss who is really demanding.

At the end of the story, the narrator mentions that the cat was watching Snookie on T.V.  Is this the woman who is catlike or is this Jenson's cat?  I feel like there may be some significance to the ending that I am not getting.

Response to Patrick Padilla's "From Me For You"

Patrick -

Your short story is about a guy who is mourning alongside his cousin after the death of her husband on Thanksgiving day.

What I really love about your story is how you describe the Mexican/Spanish dishes being prepared for Thanksgiving.  I have never heard about a Thanksgiving without a Turkey and your descriptions really let me imagine the food and how it smelled.  Those details really characterized the narrator.  For example, I loved when he mentioned he ate the green chili because he was "too old for the mild now".  I also liked that you focused on a relationship with a cousin.  I think it is a really interesting dynamic.  Cousins can be wonderful and influential or you can be totally disconnected from them.

I wish I understood more about Isaiah's relationship with Debbie previous to Thanksgiving.  I think if you could include things about them growing up together or specific details that show how Debbie was an influence to Isaiah or maybe even how her husband, Albert, was important to him.  I'd like to be more comfortable with Isaiah's tears and his inability to keep down his food at the end of the story.  At one point you mention that she is the "cool" cousin and I'd like to understand why other than her smile and talent for dancing.  I feel like those don't have much to do with Isaiah unless he aspires to be like her.

I think you have a knack for interesting small details that can really paint a setting but it some places I feel like they are unattached.  For example, on page 2, first paragraph, it is about moving to Chicago and missing things about New Mexico.  While I like the details, the paragraph doesn't have anything to do with what come before or after it.  However, if the move has something significant to do with why Isaiah is connected with his cousin then include it and go into more detail or include a scene.  Also, the details about Albert seem like reminiscing that isn't connected to why Debbie or Isaiah are sad over his death.  The details about his jokes are comical but I don't know why they are included.  Maybe you can make them more significant through a scene or two.

I really did enjoy reading this!

Response to Molly Kirkpatrick's "Blood"

Molly -

Your short story is about a girl, Scarlett, who is in a psychiatric facility talking to a psychiatrist.  She is there because of a suicide attempt from cutting herself sometime after her dad died.  We learn details about her parents that would seemingly lead to her cutting.

I really like how this story is not something I have heard before.  I think the things that are working for you are definitely the details about the cat being run over and the patients as well as Scarlett's reactions at the dying and death of her cat and her father.  These all work to create an original character.  I also think Scarlett has a strong voice in this piece that serves to characterize her very well.

The thing that isn't working as well is that, like my story, yours is basically all summary with no real scenes.  The one dialogue you included was a remembering of an exchange between Scarlett and her dad.  I think having things happen in scenes would give the details I mentioned that were working for you even greater impact.  Also, I didn't sense much of a change in Scarlett since your story was summary.  Since the point of view she held at the end of the story was they same one she held at the beginning, though she was talking about a time she didn't have the same point of view, the character didn't ever go through a change.

I know the mom in this should be OCD because of the details but I would like for Scarlett to actually say she is rather than me just perceiving through details because I want Scarlett to have a voiced opinion about her mother.  The mom is satirized throughout the whole piece but I never hear the narrator say that she does or doesn't like her mother.  On that same note, I want more specific detail about the dad so that I can like him more and know him better as a character since he played such a big role in Scarlett's life.

Even though there are great details about the psychiatric facility, I feel like they are in excess and they can be replaced by these details about the parents.  I care more about that relationship.  Since you spent a lot of time describing the psychiatric facility I thought something more significant would happen there.

Overall, this is a great piece!  I really enjoyed reading it.