I have talked to a number of people about writing lately - mainly much younger people who like to write. I appreciate this love, sometimes obsession, and will do everything to encourage it. However, if you ask me to critique your writing or give you advice, I will be honest. And I expect those who read my scribblings to be honest, too. It does me no favor to tell me that you like something that you sincerely believe is flawed.
As I said in the title of this entry, writing has always been an addiction for me. I can always remember writing stories, poems, bad song lyrics, and I have started countless novels. I also say that it torments me because it is a demanding addiction. It wants so much from you. It wants your memories, your dreams, your very soul. And it wants your time. It is far from happy when you ignore it...so much so that it becomes elusive and difficult sometimes when you want to spend time with it.
With all that being said, I am listening to one of these young people who said I should share the short stories I have entered in a local magazine's annual writing contest. I had a taste of glory the first year I entered when my story was selected in a vote by the readers and was published. And I have had lots of doses of disappointment when my stories have lost in the first round each year after that. But, even if they may be homely to others, they are still my children, and they have a place in my heart. That being said, here is one of my losing stories. Feel free to be honest....
MARY’S COPING SKILLS
Mary Chauvin had always known how to
cope. She could cope with a child with a
stomach virus in the middle of the night.
Mary could cope with a science project that was due the next day but had
not been started until the last possible moment. She could cope with a house full of hungry
teenagers who had landed at her house at suppertime.
Mary wore many hats in her
house. She was cook, nurse, chauffeur,
maid, and tutor. Mary didn’t begrudge
these duties. After all, she did give up
her career to stay at home when the first of the two kids was born. Mary loved every moment of being a mother,
even when racing from picking up Todd at soccer practice on one side of
Lafourche Parish to pick Katie up from band practice on the other side of the
parish in order to get home to make supper and get homework done before
bedtime. Sometimes she imagined she was
a racecar driver as she navigated all the hairpin twists and turns around the
bayou. But she didn’t need yet another
hat – or helmet – to add to the mix.
Mary was also a good housewife. She felt that since she did not work outside
the home that she needed to do everything in the home. There was never a dirty dish in the
sink. Mary was constantly doing laundry,
vacuuming or dusting. Her house was
always neat and clean. She had dinner on
the table every night at 6:30. Carl
probably took this for granted, but he never once complained about Mary’s
cooking. His stomach flopping over his
belt proved that he never missed a meal.
Mary stayed busy outside the home,
too. She was a somewhat accomplished
piano player. At every service, wedding
or funeral, Mary was there to provide musical accompaniment. In fact, Carl always referred to Mary as “the
Church Lady.” Whenever she wasn’t doing
something for him or the kids, she was seated at that piano.
Everyone viewed the Chauvins as the
very definition of a perfect family. Carl
had a good job as an operator at the nuclear power plant. In fact, he had been there for over twenty
years and he made a good living. It was
good enough that Mary had the luxury to be the housewife and mother that she
wanted to be.
No one else knew the Carl that Mary
knew though. In front of the rest of the
world, Carl was the hard-working family man who loved and his wife and kids
above all else. That was his public
persona. But in truth, as good a wife
and mother as Mary was, that was how bad a husband and father Carl was.
Carl was never at a soccer game or a
band concert. In fact, Mary wasn’t even
sure that Carl realized that he even had kids.
He paid little or no attention to them.
In many ways, Mary thought the kids were lucky. She wished sometimes that he would forget he
had a wife.
By 7:00 almost every night, Carl was
laid out in his recliner in front of the TV, swilling down one beer after
another. The more he drank, the meaner
he got. On a good night, he was “just”
verbally abusive.
“Everybody loves St. Mary,” he would
slur. “The Church Lady is perfect – the
best freaking mother, the best freaking piano player…too bad she can’t be the
best freaking wife!” That would go on
and on. Mary would just bite her lip and
take it. She knew she didn’t deserve
this kind of treatment, but she also knew enough not to add fuel to the
fire. And she had years of experience
coping with Carl, too. Mary always
breathed a little easier after Carl passed out.
She knew he was out cold by the loud snoring.
There were a number of not so easy
to cope with nights. Sometimes Carl was
ready for a fight. Mary never knew what
triggered these episodes, whether it was something at the nuclear plant or
what. On those nights, Carl didn’t go to
sleep until he took a swing or two at Mary.
He was a lot bigger and a lot stronger.
Mary would cover up the bruises and would never mention what happened to
anyone. She prayed that the kids hadn’t
heard anything. Mary didn’t want to call
attention to what had happened. She
didn’t want the kids to know that their father was capable of this kind of
behavior. It was hard enough on them
knowing that Carl showed no interest in the things they were passionate about.
Mary had proven that she could cope
with anything – well, almost anything. One
Sunday morning, after a particularly rough Saturday night, Mary went into the
bathroom to start getting ready for church.
There on the toilet sat Carl with his pants down around his ankles. It didn’t take long for Mary to realize that
Carl was dead. Mary was able to cope
with everything else in her life. Now
she had to learn to cope with widowhood.
When Mary didn’t show up at church,
everyone at St. John’s assumed she was sick, or maybe one of the kids was. In no time at all, word to start to get
around that the Lafourche Parish Coroner had been at Mary’s house and that Carl
was dead. News was that it looked like
he had a massive stroke while doing his business.
“Oh, my!” said Tessie Bourgeois, the
secretary at the church. “Carl went the
same way as Elvis!”
“Well, not exactly,” said Carol
Landry. “First of all, Carl was no rock
star! And I don’t think Carl had lots of
drugs in his system.” That was true –
with the exception of all of the alcohol that Carl had consumed.
Mary began to cope with each day as
it came. She handled the funeral
arrangements. She contacted the nuclear
plant about getting Carl’s last paycheck and inquired about his company
insurance policy. Mary fielded Todd and
Katie’s questions and tried not to let them see that she was disappointed that
they were not sadder about their father’s passing. But she really was not surprised. The air in the house seemed a little lighter
now.
Mary coped with the funeral by
playing the part of the grieving widow.
In a small way, she was grieving…but not for this Carl. She grieved the death of the Carl she first
met back in high school. She missed the
Carl who played first base on the school’s baseball team. Mary missed the Carl who had an easy smile,
loved a good joke, and enjoyed going to the movies. She missed the Carl who would attend church
with her every Sunday and take her to lunch afterward. Mary missed the Carl who got down on one knee
to propose to her, the Carl who looked so dapper in the tuxedo at their
wedding, the Carl who was over the moon with joy when Mary told him she was
pregnant with Katie. But that Carl died
a long time ago. She felt as if she
really didn’t know the Carl lying in the coffin. She had no idea when he slipped into their
lives, killing the Carl that she loved.
“Mary, I am so sorry for your loss!”
“I know it’s tough now, Mary, but it
will get a little easier each day.”
“I’ll be praying for you and the
kids, Mary!”
“Just remember, Mary, that Carl has
gone to be with God and you will be with him again one day.”
Mary knew that the parishioners all
meant well, but she knew there was no way that this monster had gone to
Heaven. And she sure didn’t want to ever
be with him again! Mary endured all of
the condolences and accepted the hugs that were offered. She coped with all of the mourners who
descended on her house with plates of food.
“I know you won’t feel like cooking,
so here’s a little something for you and the kids.”
One well-wisher was right – each day
did get a little easier. The very first
day after the funeral, Mary woke up and just lay in bed for a while. She didn’t spring out of bed to get coffee on
and make breakfast, but just reveled in the cool sheets and stared at the
clouds out the window. There was nothing
left to fear.
Each day, the kids came a little
further out of their shells. Mary had
never seen them so happy and talkative.
In a way, nothing had changed for them.
They didn’t have a father to attend the important events in their lives
– but they had never had that. The
difference was that they didn’t have to endure dinner every night with sullen
Carl, who only wanted to get to his recliner, TV and beer. Mary was sad that they didn’t know the young
Carl who had won her heart.
What could make a person change from
a sweet, fun-loving young man into an old, abusive drunk? Mary couldn’t answer that question. She was there for Carl every day of their
lives together. It must have been
gradual or she was sure she would have seen it happening. Mary couldn’t put her finger on a turning
point. She wished she at least had that
for closure. Since she didn’t, she just
coped with each day as it came.
The insurance policy from the
nuclear plant and the one that Mary and Carl had taken out on their own paid
out. The money made life a little easier
for Mary and the kids. She might go back
to work – after all, she did work before the kids were born. But there was no hurry now. Mary just wanted to keep the kids in their
routine. She figured that was best for
them. There had been enough change in
their lives recently without adding to it.
Mary went back to playing piano for
services at the church. Todd and Katie
were more comfortable bringing friends home now and Mary enjoyed cooking for
them and hearing the chatter and laughter throughout the house. In some ways, nothing had changed for Mary –
but in other ways, everything had changed.
Mary was still the cook, maid, nurse, chauffeur, and tutor, but she took
even more joy in it now.
Mary went to the animal shelter and
got a dog for the family. She had always
wanted a dog, but Carl wouldn’t stand for it.
“You are not bringing a stinking, filthy
beast in this house! We have kids – we
don’t need any more creatures to eat all of our food and lay round here not
doing a damn thing!” Mary couldn’t
understand thinking about a dog – or her kids – that way.
Sparky settled right into the household. The dog, the kids and Mary fit perfectly
together.
Mary planted a garden. She had always wanted rose bushes and a
vegetable garden, but Carl thought that “nonsense” was a waste of time. Mary loved digging in the soil, and under her
green thumb, it wasn’t long before she had one of the most envied gardens in
the neighborhood.
Yes, life was good for Mary now. And maybe she would go back to work one day
in the not-too-distant future. It
probably wouldn’t take her too long to get back up to speed and get current on
her licenses. She had heard that there
was a shortage of nurses at Lafourche General Hospital. Mary may have forgotten a few things, but she
remembered many more. For instance, Mary
had not forgotten that injecting an air bubble into an artery can cause
death. Since the coroner never noticed
the needle mark, Mary knew she hadn’t lost her touch.
