[Short Fiction] Corduroy

MissTeja · Post by **MissTeja** » Wed Aug 13, 2003 12:50 am

It's my first attempt at writing in awhile, so please be kind if you are going to offer any criticism. Though constructive criticism is readily welcomed:

There was a fog surrounding her as she sat at the small, marble table. The cigarette had been lit and left to slowly burn. It's smoke rose from the square, red glass ashtray like a ribbon, eventually unthreading itself as it peaked into the still air. The steam billowed from the freshly-poured cup of coffee sitting on the other corner of the table. A woman sang jazz on the radio above. An old tune, the lyrics were practically incomprehesible when coupled with the hushed murmers that arose about the cafe. The walls were a blended mix of sienna and brown, so as to insinuate a burning ache coming from them. Had the cafe been silent, one would have been able to hear the steadily racing beat of the young woman's nervously enchanted heart.

She sat and stared out the window at the passing cars on the street and she wondered if the world would ever slow back down to a pace that she would be able to one day match. Momentarily, an aged man glided into the cafe. Tall and lean, dressed in a blue collared shirt and corduroys that were much to big for his lanky build, he walked towards her as if to approach the young woman's marble table. Her chest tightened and she dragged the cup of coffee to below her chin, staring into its blackness as if pretending she had never seen the man arrive. Her legs tensed as one and she contracted her brow, as he was almost on top of her. Closing her eyes, she pictured herself at home, sitting at her own dining table made purely of solid oak. Oh, how the young woman hated marble. To her, it held so much confusion. The patterns on the marble reminded her of frightened ants, scurrying around in bewilderment after a young boy, pleasingly viscious, stomps down their home. She hated coffee, as well. The cafe only stocked green tea, which she had not accquired a taste for, either. Rather, she imagined the pleasant aroma of Earl Grey rising from the cup below her. She could hear the sound of the birds outside and could almost feel the warmth of the sun beating on her through her paned kitchen window.

As she sat there, she began to wonder if the man was still standing over her, debating over whether she had dozed off or not and if so, whether he should wake his sleeping beauty. Maybe, she thought, if she were to stay frozen long enough, he would leave her as he had her mother so many years ago. She was a woman now and did not need such a manipulative force entering her life this late. Eyes still clenched, even tighter than before, she drew a long bit of air into her slim nostrils, but was baffled when she smelled no cologne, no sweat; but only the strong stench of the brew. Slowly, she lifted her eyelids, then her chin and she noticed the man had proceeded up to the counter. He turned to her with a grin and nodded politely as he carefully carried his large mug and a small bag to a nearby table where he sat down. The young woman pitied herself for having mistaken the man. Returning her chin to its lowered position, she watched keenly out of the corner of her eye, as the man sipped his latte and munched on roasted peanuts, the grin never leaving his face all the while. She imagined he had just finished writing his first adventure novel and now sat in his own silent celebration.

Her legs relaxed as her heart sank slightly. Whereas just brief moments prior, she had wanted nothing to do with him, she now wished it was he whom she was to meet that breezy summer afternoon. She wanted to embrace and welcome him while they sat for hours, excitedly tellling tales of their lives to one another. They would sit and capture the faces of each other into lasting memory. The young woman had no rememberance of her own father's face.

Her gaze went back, once again, to the cafe window. It was now half past the hour of their planned meeting. A saxaphone played a sad tune overhead and the young woman felt a small tear swelling in her left eye. Reaching her hand to the cigarette that had almost sweltered in its own ash, she took a drag off of the stump that remained, and gently pressed it into the glass tray until no more streaming ribbons could be seen. With the coffee still untouched, she rose to her feet and strung her leather purse over her right shoulder. As she walked past the man with the corduroy pants, she smiled in sweet congratulations to him, granting the man her acknowledgement of his honorable success. His grin grew wide when his eyes matched hers.

The woman left the cafe and began the long walk that would eventually return her to her haven, where the hummingbirds sang sweet melodies, much to her delight. Several strides away from the entrance, she passed the beat-up blue Chevrolet truck that her father had visited her in at her grandparents home during her fourteenth year. The truck sat empty, but the young woman was sure of its familiarity. She had noticed the same slate grey patching on the door that she had noticed those several years ago. She had been staring at it from the bedroom window that day in which her grandmother had refused her fathers company. However, the pick-up was much more worn than it had been that day so long ago.

A quiet contentness overtook the young woman, and her heart sang a sweet jazz melody as she briskly strided the rest of the way to her home. As she walked in the front door, the smell of roasted peanuts remained with her and a smile encaptured her heart.

Salvation122 · Post by **Salvation122** » Wed Aug 13, 2003 3:18 am

I like it; it would be a good prologue to a longer story, once the main character was given a name.

Jackal · Post by **Jackal** » Wed Aug 13, 2003 11:39 am

Nice, a few grammar and spelling mistakes but all minor stuff. Just the grammar nazi in me speaking there.

I like it, so I have to ask, was that her fathers truck and she had avoided him, or did she just walk past him in the coffee house? Have to forgive me if I'm a bit slow.

Wildfire · Post by **Wildfire** » Wed Aug 13, 2003 5:55 pm

I like the mood and the implied bits, very cool. Works nicely on its own or a part of a larger story, maybe a flashback type incident.

MissTeja · Post by **MissTeja** » Wed Aug 13, 2003 11:11 pm

Thanks people. It won't be part of anything longer, I'm afraid unless I go back and lengthen the scene a bit for what it is. I've never tried my hand at full-length fiction, as I'm afraid I would burn out quite quickly. Not to mention it would take me ten years to find the time to get it finished. Rather, I do short fiction. I like it too because I can write more stories, and there are so many different things you can do with them. Corduroy takes place all in maybe 5 minutes, if that. Yet, you can write short stories that span over years. I just think it's cool.
Anyways - as for the grammar - yeah, I just typed it up out of my notes straight to online. I didn't bother with any word programs first, thus lacking a spell-check or grammar-check before posting. I have made the amendments on my copy, but it doesn't change the story much at all from what is above.
The young woman will probably never be named. I rarely name my characters. From having read and studied the short fiction of Poe, Carver and other writers who sometimes or often have nameless leads, I think it lends a lot to interpretation on the readers part. I like that.

Jackal wrote: I have to ask, was that her fathers truck and she had avoided him, or did she just walk past him in the coffee house? Have to forgive me if I'm a bit slow.

It's okay. The man who came in was her father, even though she initially thought she was mistaken. There's a bit of foreshadowing, but not a ton (Examples: "The man's grin grew when his eyes matched hers.") Just takes a lot of reading into it to catch them. At the end, as well, is a tie to giving away that the man was her father when she can still smell the roasted peanuts - it was he who was eating them. I dunno, I guess I could clairify it a bit better, but I kinda like that unsureness of my work.

TheHeather · Post by **TheHeather** » Sat Aug 16, 2003 5:01 am

I've recently been reading a book of short stories by O'Henry, and your ending kind of reminds me of his style, because there's usually a surprise or epiphany at the end. That's a compliment, because I really like O'Henry. You've also got some really nice descriptions in there, and I even like that you didn't name your characters; it encourages your reader to fill in their own details and personalize it to him/herself. It could probably use some polishing, but I really liked it.

Salvation122 · Post by **Salvation122** » Thu Sep 04, 2003 6:58 am

Are you ever going to send me that e-mail?

MissTeja · Post by **MissTeja** » Fri Sep 05, 2003 5:10 am

Aaaaah! Sal, sorry dude! I got rolling on my monologue compilation this past week and have set Corduroy aside as I got writers block and couldn't get past it. I will review it and make those last few changes I wanted to make this weekend and send ya what I got by the first of the week. Thanks again man.