The second Nano challenge, title 'Gone!' (exclamation mark optional), genre to be decided by participant (thank goodness), flexible on length (resists slightly risque but obvious double entendre.) Here's mine.
Gone! by Sarah Monteith
As she watched his departing back she tried to recall the salient points of his diatribe but found herself distracted by the tone in which it had been delivered. Yes, it was her fault. Yes, she had had it last, and yes, that meant she was responsible for it, and had likely been the cause of its loss. And yes, when it came down to it, she was the only one who'd been that bothered about it anyway, so, it was unlikely anyone else had done anything with it one way or the other. She'd sighed, and wished she hadn't asked.
If she was honest, she couldn't actually remember when she'd last seen it. She knew she'd had it at Christmas, somewhere amongst all the tinsel and the wrapping paper, but after that... well she couldn't be certain. The days had passed in a blur, and somehow, she just hadn't noticed it was missing. When she realised for certain it was actually gone she'd torn the place apart, going again and again round where she expected it to be, where it was supposed to be, where it ought to have been, checking and double checking, emptying and sorting and searching, manically searching. In her desperation she'd even ransacked unlikely corners, places it would only have been if someone had deliberately hidden it there, delving into the archives of a life, into the boxes of a move, under the floorboards of a rewire and the packaging of old toys. Of course there were references to it in the old diaries, tantalising glimpses, flashes of memory written in carefree hand, its possession taken for granted in her younger years, handled lightly. It appeared in photographs, worn unselfconsciously by laughing teens on nights out. Even on her wedding day... she peered closely at the grainy print, but yes, there it was, clear to see. Shaking albums and envelopes out on the kitchen table was tiring emotionally, physically; she knew it wasn't there, that she was looking in the wrong places, but she was out of options, and she couldn't, wouldn't face the thought that it was... no, it had to be somewhere.
His tone had been... impatient. Yes, that was it, now she put her finger on it. Impatient. As though in his view she had better things to do with her time than all this looking. After the initial patronising cliches, where- did- you- have- it- lasts and I'm- sure- it- will- turn- up- eventuallys, he'd lost his patience. In fact, he'd been so annoyed, the thought had even crossed her mind that he'd taken it, on purpose, to wind her up. She'd dismissed it, but it must have shown on her face, because something had flickered in his eyes, and he'd looked away. He'd walked out of the kitchen at that point, heading out to work, and for a second she'd really wondered... what if he had taken it? And lost it? Not on purpose, not that he'd meant to, but an accident... She shook herself, and tried to move on from the thought. It was irrelevant now. Even if he had, she couldn't blame him. It belonged to her. She should have taken more care of it. He couldn't have taken it if she hadn't let him. Same with the kids. They were kids. They didn't understand how precious some things were. She was the adult, and it was hers. She was the one who should have known where it was.
She allowed herself to stop looking long enough to make a coffee, pouring the steaming water onto the brown granules, fetching semi skimmed from the frost free fridge, stirring tiny white sweeteners in to the insipid milky liquid. She couldn't remember how she'd come to be taking her coffee that way; at university she'd drunk it strong and black, which had the dual effect of keeping her awake in the morning seminars, and saving her from having to buy milk to be stolen from the shared kitchen or develop an entirely independent ecosystem in her room, where the heating was only controllable by taking a hammer to the main boiler. She did prefer it with milk, but the sweetener was a later addition; years of him making it as he liked it and her not complaining had made her immune to the saccharine. She took a sip and wondered what to do.
What if it has really gone? The thought had been knocking at the corner of her mind all afternoon, and she allowed herself to look sideways at it, let it register in her peripheral vision. It was something she'd never considered; for years, even the merest hint of its loss had sent her into panic, left her reeling, unable to breathe. But now it seemed like a real possibility, and she was surprised by how calmly she was able to reflect on it. Perhaps the severity of the situation had focused her mind... or maybe she was in shock. She smiled to herself at that slightly ridiculous suggestion, and set down the coffee cup. Turning back to the table, she collected up the envelopes and papers, and shuffled them together, sliding them back into the box file and snapping them into place, piling the diaries and photographs on top. She closed the lid and looked at the label on the side, pressing her fingers against its corners in a futile attempt to make the ageing glue work and hold them back into place.
She could call someone. Ask for help. This option had taken a long time to come to, and she knew why she'd been avoiding it. Who would she ring? His reaction had been telling; her parents would almost certainly react the same way. And friends? Well, the friends they'd collected over the years would be as unlikely to notice its loss as the kids were... and, if anything, more unconcerned about the consequences. She opened the box again, looking at the photograph on the top, friends from university she hadn't seen since graduation, people who had been part of her life, but were now not known. Her friends. She wondered how they'd come to surround themselves with such self absorbed people, but maybe that wasn't fair, maybe they just had such important troubles of their own that no-one else's... She shut the box again abruptly; this train of thought wasn't helping. Glancing at the clock she realised it was later than she'd thought; they'd be expecting food and she'd said she would cook.
She put the box file on the side and opened the cupboard, extracting the potatoes and carrots that would form the basis of a soup. Taking her rings off she placed them carefully on the side near the empty cup, and tipped the vegetables into the sink, absent- mindedly scrubbing them in the water with the wooden handled brush. She thought again about who she could call, but knew in her heart of hearts that this was her problem, and she'd have to solve it. She was on her own.
She listened to their chatter as she served them the soup, ladled into the warm bowls, chunks of crusty baked bread being torn from the loaf in the centre. She chided them as she heard them tease and cajole, bicker and bitch. The children. Except now they weren't. And in a week they'd be gone anyway, back again to the universe-city all of their own. She was glad for them. She was proud of them. She was breaking up inside. That was the problem with twins, a double whammy for every emotionally fuelled parental moment. She smiled at them and sat, taking her time, savouring their company, just her and them.
They'd laughed at the uni photos, at the hair and the clothes, asking teasing questions about boys and drugs before spiralling out of the door in a whirlwind of see yous and laters, leaving her alone, with the returning awareness of the feeling of loss. She idly picked up one of the pictures and finally knew, with absolute certainty, that she wasn't going to find it. Not here anyway. Not in this life, in this house.
Packing a few things into a small holdall she grabbed her keys and bag and headed for the door. At the last minute she stopped and turned again to the kitchen. Taking a piece of paper from next to the phone, she sat once more at the table and wrote.
It's gone!
I know it's my fault, but, I have to find it.
I hope you can understand.
There's soup in the pan.
Setting it on the side, near the kettle, she placed her wedding ring on top of the note, and walked out of the house.
Gone! by Sarah Monteith
As she watched his departing back she tried to recall the salient points of his diatribe but found herself distracted by the tone in which it had been delivered. Yes, it was her fault. Yes, she had had it last, and yes, that meant she was responsible for it, and had likely been the cause of its loss. And yes, when it came down to it, she was the only one who'd been that bothered about it anyway, so, it was unlikely anyone else had done anything with it one way or the other. She'd sighed, and wished she hadn't asked.
If she was honest, she couldn't actually remember when she'd last seen it. She knew she'd had it at Christmas, somewhere amongst all the tinsel and the wrapping paper, but after that... well she couldn't be certain. The days had passed in a blur, and somehow, she just hadn't noticed it was missing. When she realised for certain it was actually gone she'd torn the place apart, going again and again round where she expected it to be, where it was supposed to be, where it ought to have been, checking and double checking, emptying and sorting and searching, manically searching. In her desperation she'd even ransacked unlikely corners, places it would only have been if someone had deliberately hidden it there, delving into the archives of a life, into the boxes of a move, under the floorboards of a rewire and the packaging of old toys. Of course there were references to it in the old diaries, tantalising glimpses, flashes of memory written in carefree hand, its possession taken for granted in her younger years, handled lightly. It appeared in photographs, worn unselfconsciously by laughing teens on nights out. Even on her wedding day... she peered closely at the grainy print, but yes, there it was, clear to see. Shaking albums and envelopes out on the kitchen table was tiring emotionally, physically; she knew it wasn't there, that she was looking in the wrong places, but she was out of options, and she couldn't, wouldn't face the thought that it was... no, it had to be somewhere.
His tone had been... impatient. Yes, that was it, now she put her finger on it. Impatient. As though in his view she had better things to do with her time than all this looking. After the initial patronising cliches, where- did- you- have- it- lasts and I'm- sure- it- will- turn- up- eventuallys, he'd lost his patience. In fact, he'd been so annoyed, the thought had even crossed her mind that he'd taken it, on purpose, to wind her up. She'd dismissed it, but it must have shown on her face, because something had flickered in his eyes, and he'd looked away. He'd walked out of the kitchen at that point, heading out to work, and for a second she'd really wondered... what if he had taken it? And lost it? Not on purpose, not that he'd meant to, but an accident... She shook herself, and tried to move on from the thought. It was irrelevant now. Even if he had, she couldn't blame him. It belonged to her. She should have taken more care of it. He couldn't have taken it if she hadn't let him. Same with the kids. They were kids. They didn't understand how precious some things were. She was the adult, and it was hers. She was the one who should have known where it was.
She allowed herself to stop looking long enough to make a coffee, pouring the steaming water onto the brown granules, fetching semi skimmed from the frost free fridge, stirring tiny white sweeteners in to the insipid milky liquid. She couldn't remember how she'd come to be taking her coffee that way; at university she'd drunk it strong and black, which had the dual effect of keeping her awake in the morning seminars, and saving her from having to buy milk to be stolen from the shared kitchen or develop an entirely independent ecosystem in her room, where the heating was only controllable by taking a hammer to the main boiler. She did prefer it with milk, but the sweetener was a later addition; years of him making it as he liked it and her not complaining had made her immune to the saccharine. She took a sip and wondered what to do.
What if it has really gone? The thought had been knocking at the corner of her mind all afternoon, and she allowed herself to look sideways at it, let it register in her peripheral vision. It was something she'd never considered; for years, even the merest hint of its loss had sent her into panic, left her reeling, unable to breathe. But now it seemed like a real possibility, and she was surprised by how calmly she was able to reflect on it. Perhaps the severity of the situation had focused her mind... or maybe she was in shock. She smiled to herself at that slightly ridiculous suggestion, and set down the coffee cup. Turning back to the table, she collected up the envelopes and papers, and shuffled them together, sliding them back into the box file and snapping them into place, piling the diaries and photographs on top. She closed the lid and looked at the label on the side, pressing her fingers against its corners in a futile attempt to make the ageing glue work and hold them back into place.
She could call someone. Ask for help. This option had taken a long time to come to, and she knew why she'd been avoiding it. Who would she ring? His reaction had been telling; her parents would almost certainly react the same way. And friends? Well, the friends they'd collected over the years would be as unlikely to notice its loss as the kids were... and, if anything, more unconcerned about the consequences. She opened the box again, looking at the photograph on the top, friends from university she hadn't seen since graduation, people who had been part of her life, but were now not known. Her friends. She wondered how they'd come to surround themselves with such self absorbed people, but maybe that wasn't fair, maybe they just had such important troubles of their own that no-one else's... She shut the box again abruptly; this train of thought wasn't helping. Glancing at the clock she realised it was later than she'd thought; they'd be expecting food and she'd said she would cook.
She put the box file on the side and opened the cupboard, extracting the potatoes and carrots that would form the basis of a soup. Taking her rings off she placed them carefully on the side near the empty cup, and tipped the vegetables into the sink, absent- mindedly scrubbing them in the water with the wooden handled brush. She thought again about who she could call, but knew in her heart of hearts that this was her problem, and she'd have to solve it. She was on her own.
She listened to their chatter as she served them the soup, ladled into the warm bowls, chunks of crusty baked bread being torn from the loaf in the centre. She chided them as she heard them tease and cajole, bicker and bitch. The children. Except now they weren't. And in a week they'd be gone anyway, back again to the universe-city all of their own. She was glad for them. She was proud of them. She was breaking up inside. That was the problem with twins, a double whammy for every emotionally fuelled parental moment. She smiled at them and sat, taking her time, savouring their company, just her and them.
They'd laughed at the uni photos, at the hair and the clothes, asking teasing questions about boys and drugs before spiralling out of the door in a whirlwind of see yous and laters, leaving her alone, with the returning awareness of the feeling of loss. She idly picked up one of the pictures and finally knew, with absolute certainty, that she wasn't going to find it. Not here anyway. Not in this life, in this house.
Packing a few things into a small holdall she grabbed her keys and bag and headed for the door. At the last minute she stopped and turned again to the kitchen. Taking a piece of paper from next to the phone, she sat once more at the table and wrote.
It's gone!
I know it's my fault, but, I have to find it.
I hope you can understand.
There's soup in the pan.
Setting it on the side, near the kettle, she placed her wedding ring on top of the note, and walked out of the house.
1 comment:
I really like the pace of this piece and it kept me enthralled to the end. I feel sure this is a situation that lots of people find themselves in and you have written it in a beautifully intelligent,interesting and descriptive way.
It was a journey through a life at times scatty at times endearing but ended with a promise of a new life to come with the measured and humourous note and the positive act of the breaking of the wedding vows.
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