My Friend Sue ©2016 Literocat
[This story began as a short writing essay that was pushed out in twenty minutes. When I considered publishing it here, I embellished a bit, then a bit more. Soon I had a pale Pygmalian story that was better suited to this forum, but began to lose its roots. Ultimately, I decided to combine both versions in an unusual way, as an experiment subject to your votes and comments. So if you choose to participate, please leave your insightful comments
;
if not, just enjoy either or both versions. The seminal root is now at the top.
]
[Fixed typo 1/12/17] [Swapped positions 8/2/17]
Seminal Essay (ver 1.1)
My friend Sue now lives alone in her abruptly oversized, minimalist home. She approaches it on a serpentine, heat-beaten blacktop road then wearily turns into her arrow-straight, flower-lined driveway.
After a pensive moment of staring blankly at the crimson door of her sky blue home trimmed in brown, she reluctantly unlocks the brushed brass lock and enters her nightly prison. She typically stops and stares, still holding the door open, at once-cluttered rooms. Maybe the divorce wasn't such a good idea after all? It certainly wasn't the relief she expected it to be.
The clean, nearly barren room reminded her of what she used to have. The blank walls remanded the dusty outline of familiar photos, ghosts of family portraits. With no children, they'd both focused on their cats. He'd taken them too!
The single blue recliner, half of an identical set of two, was a favorite hangout of hers and the cherished pets. She ate her dinner without tasting it, watched TV without watching it. Besides eating on the recliner, she slept on it, read and wrote on it - though most of her extended reading was done in the bare, porcelain room.
After finishing her quick microwave dinner, she fell asleep knowing that tomorrow would be the same. At least she'd kept her Miata and took comfort in the drive to and from work - especially when she left the highway and chose the most twisted and dangerous roads,
as she always did.
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Extended version
My friend Sue now lives alone in her abruptly oversized, minimalist home. She dejectedly approaches it again on a serpentine, sun-beaten blacktop road. The even, pristine, shimmery road mimics and mocks her barren mind. Once past the gated entry, she passes a dozen ticky-tacky homes until she reaches her cloned dwelling and wearily turns into her arrow-straight, flower-lined driveway.
After a pensive moment of staring blankly at the crimson door of her sky blue home trimmed in brown, she reluctantly unlocks the brushed brass lock and enters her nightly prison. She typically stops and stares, still holding the door open, at the once-cluttered rooms. Maybe the divorce wasn't such a good idea after all? It certainly wasn't the relief she expected it to be.
The clean, nearly barren room reminded her of what she used to have, the empty vows, the lost friends and the miseries. The blank walls remanded the dusty outline of familiar photos, ghosts of family portraits. With no children, they'd both focused on their three cats. He'd taken them too! Three wraiths now happily ran out to great her with their silent meows.
She stripped off all her clothes and left them where they fell as she indifferently walked past the uncovered windows. Neighbors commented to me that they enjoyed the daily show, as did my husband, Jim. I didn't tell her that. After combining a few near random relics from her fridge, she prepared a quick all-in-one microwave dish and a tall glass of Chianti. Then, after a pause to consider eating at the one table and either of two simple, wooden chairs in her stripped kitchen, she decided to eat in front of the TV, as usual.
The single blue recliner, half of an identical set of two, was a favorite hangout of hers and the cherished pets. The recliner became the center of her world so she could avoid the bedroom filled with a double dresser, an oversized Queen bed and too many memories. Besides eating on the recliner, she slept on it, read and wrote on it - though most of her extended reading was done in the bare, porcelain room.
