livwheat101
10-27-2010, 11:38 AM
Hi. I would really appreciate any constrcutive comments about this. Its my first ever short story!
'Rain Blanket' by Liv Wheaton
Why is he always late? The countless watches and calendars I have given him for birthday and Christmas presents obviously never conveyed the hint strongly enough. I stand at the window, waiting for the headlights to come up the drive. Its raining. It isn’t a windy rain that whips against the windows, as if it wants to break in, I hate that rain. This is the still rain that forms a lush sounding blanket of water outside my house.
An hour late. This has to be a new record. I try to drag myself away from the window by telling myself I have more important things to do, but I don’t. Nothing is more important than him. I realize that my breath has started to condense on the window, forming a little misty circle. I raise my finger and write my name in it. There’s even space left to draw a little smiley face.
A movement on the driveway catches my attention. Its not a set of headlights or even a car, but a person. I move my face even closer to get a better look. At first the stranger is little more than a blurry silhouette I can barely make out, until it moves a little closer. I cant be. It is. I recognize the way he walks, with his hands hanging carelessly by his side. I quickly dart away from the window. There was no way I was going to give him the satisfaction of knowing I was waiting for him. Standing to one side of the window I lean over very slightly and peak through the glass to get a better look at him. He was wearing that hideous green jacket. Why wasn’t he driving? As he comes closer and the porch lights illuminate his face I hide away from the window again and wait for him to announce himself. The standard knocking sounds, followed by the rumbling noise he makes by drumming his knuckles on the door. I wait a moment, smiling to myself as I keep him waiting. I manage about 5 seconds before I break and half run, half walk to the door.
“Who is it?” I call out sarcastically.
“Take a guess.” Comes the dead pan response from the other side of the door.
I open it to be greeted by his smiling, pale face. He doesn’t say anything at first. I try to resist his infectious smile by feigning anger.
“I’ve been waiting for two hours.” I lie.
“Yeah, sorry. I got help up and… you know how it goes.” His smile continues. At this point it is taking all my energy not to simply explode into a smitten giggling school girl.
I force a tone of mistrust into my voice when I ask; “Where’s you car?”
He looks over his shoulder. “I parked it down on the road.”
“Why? And also, how come your not wet?”
He quickly moves into the doorway and slides his hands around my waist. His smile changes into a playful and mischievous grin as he looks me in the eyes and says, “What’s with all the questions? I’m here now, that’s all that matters.” We kiss as I reach behind him and nudge the door closed. Within a second of kissing him any feelings of anger at being stood up are washed away and all that is left is the bliss of the moment.
Before I sink too far into it I pull away, and without saying anything I walk into the living room and start pretending to intently study the DVD collection. I hear him walk in behind me, drop his jacket on the back of a chair and sit down heavily on the sofa.
“So, what do you want to watch?” I say over my shoulder. “I will tell you now, I’m not sitting through The Matrix again.” No response. I carry on scanning the shelf of titles. “Pulp Fiction?”
“I was thinking, maybe Amelie?” Turning around, I fix him with a quizzical stare.
“I thought you hated that film?”
“I thought you loved it?” This made me smile.
What was he up to? I thought I would call him out.
“Alright, fine. But don’t start whining half way through just because I’m enjoying it and you’re unhappy.”
I throw the DVD case across the room and he catches it with one hand. He stares at me with seriousness I rarely see on his face as says, “All I’ve ever really cared about is your happiness.” I wait for the laughter confirming he is mocking me to erupt from him, but it doesn’t come. He just holds my gaze. I’m taken off guard. I don’t think we’ve ever had a conversation like this before. Suddenly feeling awkward with myself and unsure of what to do I turn back around and continue my fake interest in the DVD’s. Without looking at him I say, “Well, put it on then.” I wait for the sound of him opening the player and inserting the DVD, then taking his seat again on the sofa before turning around and walking over to him, making sure I don’t look at him in the process. He has one of those looks that makes me feel as if he knows exactly what I’m thinking. Its one of the things I love about him, and its one of the things that I cant stand. If I’m ever nervous or flustered because of him I cant even face him. No one else has that effect on me. I sit down, close enough that our legs our touching, but not so close that would suggest that we start making out right away. In the corner of my eye I can see him staring at me, so I break rank. Turning to him I ask;
“Adam, What’s up with you tonight? You’re being really weird”
His face slowly molds into a smile, but not a normal smile. A smile that is laced with sadness, a smile with a secret behind it. He says;
“Nothings been normal since I met you.”
“Is something wrong?”
“No. Nothings wrong.”
The title music begins to play from the T.V., but neither of us are watching it.
It was this enigmatic, unpredictable streak that made me fall in love with him. Everyday I think I’ve got him figured out, then the next day he always surprises me. I love it. I slowly lean over to kiss him. As our lips are millimeters away from each other a knock at the door interrupts us. I freeze, close enough to make out each of his individual eye lashes. I remain that distance from him for one more second before pulling away.
“Whoever that is, they’ve got worse timing than you.”
“It isn’t possible.” He says as he comically rolls his eyes. I jump up and make my way toward the front door. Whoever is at the door, they aren’t as important as what they just disturbed. Just before I leave the room he calls out.
“I love you, Hannah. More than anyone ever will.” I stop and spin back around to face him. These is no sarcastic smile or cheeky grin. I suddenly become very aware of my breathing. I try to hold it together but my reflexes betray me. I blush and a smile tugs at the corner of my mouth. Without another word between us I walk away to see who is at the door.
Placing my eye against the spy hole in the door I see two policemen standing in the rain. Their hard anxious looking faces squinting against the cold and the wet. My chest feels as if it is gripped by a cold invisible hand. My mind races to conjure up a hundred different reasons why they might be here, at my door. I open it up and my eyes quickly scan them both. The porch light reflects of their reflective jackets and makes the rain drops coating them sparkle. One policeman, who stands a whole head taller than his partner, say hello then introduces first himself, then the other, but both names are forgotten within the time it takes to say them. I haven’t said a word before they move unto the what is obviously the reason for this untimely visit.
“Are you Hannah Pellini?” The shorter of the two men says to me. I can instantly tell from his tone that I’m not in trouble of any kind, which replaces my nervousness with fear. Something bad has happened.
“Yeah, that’s me. What’s happened?”
The shorter man continues. “Is this you in this photo here?” He holds up a photo in one hand and shields it from the rain with the other. It is a photo I have seen a thousand times. I stare at the image of Adam, wearing a novelty Christmas hat, with my arms around his neck. We are both smiling into the camera as a crowd of drunk people are frozen mid-dance routine in the background. I know this photo so well because it has been in Adam’s wallet since the day it was developed. Only there is something slightly different about it. A strange brown tinge lines one of the edges.
I speak before my mind has a chance to process everything that is happening.
“Yeah. Where did you…” My speech trails off as my confusion takes hold of my thought. This time the taller of the two policemen speaks;
“Can we assume that you are involved with Adam Jacobs in some way?” There is something wrong with the way these men are talking to me. They aren’t being pushy and aggressive like they are investigating a crime, they’re voices are gentle and they’re language simple, as if they were comforting a child.
“He’s… he’s my boyfriend. In fact he’s just...” My head at last catches up with my mouth. Is he in trouble? Are they searching for him? A scowl forms on my face and I instinctively place my hand on the door from to look more intimidating and restrictive. “What’s going on? What do you want?”
The two men don’t know where to look. The shorter one simply lets his eyes fall to the floor while the taller one takes in a long, painful breath, and looks me dead in the eyes. He speaks slowly and deliberately;
“We’ve just come from an incident on the A67 about 5 miles from here. There was a car accident involving three vehicles.” He pauses, not for effect, but because his mouth seems tense, as if he is struggling to say the words. “I’m terribly sorry to tell you this miss, but Adam Jacobs was driving one of the cars. Paramedics did everything they could, but he died at the scene.”
By now the smaller man was also staring at me, waiting for my reaction. I’ve never been a fan of dark, morbid jokes, but this was two far. I smile, but my eyes grow tighter. This surprises them. Tilting my head, I say;
“I cannot believe you guys agreed to go along with this. It’s so much effort.” The two men simply stare at me, their expressions remaining the same. “What, are you two his friends from work or something?” An air of confusion seems to descend on the men as they look at each other and then back at me. They are playing their part perfectly. I can envision Adam right now behind the door to the lounge, turning red from trying to hold his laughter in.
The short one speaks. “Miss, we need you to-”
“Why did you think I would fall for this?” I cut him off. “This little joke isn’t funny guys.” The anger at being the victim of such a cruel joke is starting to swell within me. “In fact, you two should be ashamed of yourselves for going along with it!”
The short man, his face now contorted into a look of utter bewilderment, moves a small step closer and carries on talking. “Miss, I know this is hard, but you were listed as his next of kin. We understand if you don’t feel up to it right away, but we need someone to come down to the station with us.” His gentle, nurturing tone is perfect, almost as if he was a real policeman.
My hand comes up to my forehead. This joke is already getting old. I turn and shout into the house, “Adam, you tool, this isn’t funny anymore.” I wait for him to burst through a door, howling with laughter. Nothing.
A voice from the doorway utters, “Miss Pellini?”
My patience breaks. I turn around to face to two pale faced men. “Listen guys. Well done on the costumes and the superb acting and everything, but I really doubt Adam is dead, seeing as he’s inside my friggin’ living room.”
“What?”
“Yeah. So its over. O.K.?” I pause. Why do they still look so stunned and lost for words? “Do you want to come inside and have a look at him?” As both mouths simply hang partially open in a show of stunned silence, I shake my head and walk into the lounge, leaving the door open. The ‘police-men’ slowly follow me. I call out to Adam with impatience ringing in my voice. Still no answer.
Entering the living room I notice something strange. Something is different. His jacket isn’t on the chair where he left it. Why would he have moved it? Another oddity catches my attention: the TV is off, and the DVD is sitting on the sofa. I look around, searching for him. If he left this room he would have had to come past me at the door. He couldn’t have sneaked past, I would have seen him. Bet he isn’t in here. I look down at the sofa where we were sitting moments before. There is only one indentation in the cushions, where I was sitting. A strange feeling begins to rise in me. I glance around the room again. It almost looks as if he was never in here.
The two men slowly walk into the room and look around. Their heads don’t move with purpose. They are scan the room, but only for my benefit. They are humoring me. One of them begins to talk, I don’t register which one.
“Miss Pellini, are you O.K.?” He struggles to find the words. His voice quivers with uneasiness. “This isn’t some sort of joke.” They both look severely distressed now. Neither one knows what to do with themselves, or me.
“Give me the photo,” I say. The look at one another for reassurance, each one silently asking the other if this is all actually as bizarre as it looks. The lack of emergency in their actions is killing me. I scream “Give me the damn photo!” as I jerk towards him with my hand out. The short one begins fumbling around in his pockets, nervously searching for it. He retrieves the photo and I snatch it from him and hold it close to my face. It’s definitely the same photo. I run my finger along the browned edge and smell it. It has been burnt. I flip it over to read – Christmas, 2002 – in Adam’s handwriting. My mind can drags out a memory that I have replayed in my head a million times. I remember what he said to me as we were both looking through the newly developed camera film all those years ago. “I’m going to keep this in my wallet for the rest of my life.”
Only now do I notice that my hands are shaking. I look up at the two men. One of them places his hand lightly on my shoulder. “Hannah,” he says. “We’ve taken Adam to the hospital.” The tears slowly begin to glide down my cheeks. I hold onto the photo. As I crumble to my knees I can feel the strong arms beneath my armpits, slowly easing me down. I hear a muted voice asking if they can call anyone for me. They don’t realize that I’ve already spoken to the person I need the most.
He was always late, but he always showed up. He always left early, but he never forgot to say goodbye.
'Rain Blanket' by Liv Wheaton
Why is he always late? The countless watches and calendars I have given him for birthday and Christmas presents obviously never conveyed the hint strongly enough. I stand at the window, waiting for the headlights to come up the drive. Its raining. It isn’t a windy rain that whips against the windows, as if it wants to break in, I hate that rain. This is the still rain that forms a lush sounding blanket of water outside my house.
An hour late. This has to be a new record. I try to drag myself away from the window by telling myself I have more important things to do, but I don’t. Nothing is more important than him. I realize that my breath has started to condense on the window, forming a little misty circle. I raise my finger and write my name in it. There’s even space left to draw a little smiley face.
A movement on the driveway catches my attention. Its not a set of headlights or even a car, but a person. I move my face even closer to get a better look. At first the stranger is little more than a blurry silhouette I can barely make out, until it moves a little closer. I cant be. It is. I recognize the way he walks, with his hands hanging carelessly by his side. I quickly dart away from the window. There was no way I was going to give him the satisfaction of knowing I was waiting for him. Standing to one side of the window I lean over very slightly and peak through the glass to get a better look at him. He was wearing that hideous green jacket. Why wasn’t he driving? As he comes closer and the porch lights illuminate his face I hide away from the window again and wait for him to announce himself. The standard knocking sounds, followed by the rumbling noise he makes by drumming his knuckles on the door. I wait a moment, smiling to myself as I keep him waiting. I manage about 5 seconds before I break and half run, half walk to the door.
“Who is it?” I call out sarcastically.
“Take a guess.” Comes the dead pan response from the other side of the door.
I open it to be greeted by his smiling, pale face. He doesn’t say anything at first. I try to resist his infectious smile by feigning anger.
“I’ve been waiting for two hours.” I lie.
“Yeah, sorry. I got help up and… you know how it goes.” His smile continues. At this point it is taking all my energy not to simply explode into a smitten giggling school girl.
I force a tone of mistrust into my voice when I ask; “Where’s you car?”
He looks over his shoulder. “I parked it down on the road.”
“Why? And also, how come your not wet?”
He quickly moves into the doorway and slides his hands around my waist. His smile changes into a playful and mischievous grin as he looks me in the eyes and says, “What’s with all the questions? I’m here now, that’s all that matters.” We kiss as I reach behind him and nudge the door closed. Within a second of kissing him any feelings of anger at being stood up are washed away and all that is left is the bliss of the moment.
Before I sink too far into it I pull away, and without saying anything I walk into the living room and start pretending to intently study the DVD collection. I hear him walk in behind me, drop his jacket on the back of a chair and sit down heavily on the sofa.
“So, what do you want to watch?” I say over my shoulder. “I will tell you now, I’m not sitting through The Matrix again.” No response. I carry on scanning the shelf of titles. “Pulp Fiction?”
“I was thinking, maybe Amelie?” Turning around, I fix him with a quizzical stare.
“I thought you hated that film?”
“I thought you loved it?” This made me smile.
What was he up to? I thought I would call him out.
“Alright, fine. But don’t start whining half way through just because I’m enjoying it and you’re unhappy.”
I throw the DVD case across the room and he catches it with one hand. He stares at me with seriousness I rarely see on his face as says, “All I’ve ever really cared about is your happiness.” I wait for the laughter confirming he is mocking me to erupt from him, but it doesn’t come. He just holds my gaze. I’m taken off guard. I don’t think we’ve ever had a conversation like this before. Suddenly feeling awkward with myself and unsure of what to do I turn back around and continue my fake interest in the DVD’s. Without looking at him I say, “Well, put it on then.” I wait for the sound of him opening the player and inserting the DVD, then taking his seat again on the sofa before turning around and walking over to him, making sure I don’t look at him in the process. He has one of those looks that makes me feel as if he knows exactly what I’m thinking. Its one of the things I love about him, and its one of the things that I cant stand. If I’m ever nervous or flustered because of him I cant even face him. No one else has that effect on me. I sit down, close enough that our legs our touching, but not so close that would suggest that we start making out right away. In the corner of my eye I can see him staring at me, so I break rank. Turning to him I ask;
“Adam, What’s up with you tonight? You’re being really weird”
His face slowly molds into a smile, but not a normal smile. A smile that is laced with sadness, a smile with a secret behind it. He says;
“Nothings been normal since I met you.”
“Is something wrong?”
“No. Nothings wrong.”
The title music begins to play from the T.V., but neither of us are watching it.
It was this enigmatic, unpredictable streak that made me fall in love with him. Everyday I think I’ve got him figured out, then the next day he always surprises me. I love it. I slowly lean over to kiss him. As our lips are millimeters away from each other a knock at the door interrupts us. I freeze, close enough to make out each of his individual eye lashes. I remain that distance from him for one more second before pulling away.
“Whoever that is, they’ve got worse timing than you.”
“It isn’t possible.” He says as he comically rolls his eyes. I jump up and make my way toward the front door. Whoever is at the door, they aren’t as important as what they just disturbed. Just before I leave the room he calls out.
“I love you, Hannah. More than anyone ever will.” I stop and spin back around to face him. These is no sarcastic smile or cheeky grin. I suddenly become very aware of my breathing. I try to hold it together but my reflexes betray me. I blush and a smile tugs at the corner of my mouth. Without another word between us I walk away to see who is at the door.
Placing my eye against the spy hole in the door I see two policemen standing in the rain. Their hard anxious looking faces squinting against the cold and the wet. My chest feels as if it is gripped by a cold invisible hand. My mind races to conjure up a hundred different reasons why they might be here, at my door. I open it up and my eyes quickly scan them both. The porch light reflects of their reflective jackets and makes the rain drops coating them sparkle. One policeman, who stands a whole head taller than his partner, say hello then introduces first himself, then the other, but both names are forgotten within the time it takes to say them. I haven’t said a word before they move unto the what is obviously the reason for this untimely visit.
“Are you Hannah Pellini?” The shorter of the two men says to me. I can instantly tell from his tone that I’m not in trouble of any kind, which replaces my nervousness with fear. Something bad has happened.
“Yeah, that’s me. What’s happened?”
The shorter man continues. “Is this you in this photo here?” He holds up a photo in one hand and shields it from the rain with the other. It is a photo I have seen a thousand times. I stare at the image of Adam, wearing a novelty Christmas hat, with my arms around his neck. We are both smiling into the camera as a crowd of drunk people are frozen mid-dance routine in the background. I know this photo so well because it has been in Adam’s wallet since the day it was developed. Only there is something slightly different about it. A strange brown tinge lines one of the edges.
I speak before my mind has a chance to process everything that is happening.
“Yeah. Where did you…” My speech trails off as my confusion takes hold of my thought. This time the taller of the two policemen speaks;
“Can we assume that you are involved with Adam Jacobs in some way?” There is something wrong with the way these men are talking to me. They aren’t being pushy and aggressive like they are investigating a crime, they’re voices are gentle and they’re language simple, as if they were comforting a child.
“He’s… he’s my boyfriend. In fact he’s just...” My head at last catches up with my mouth. Is he in trouble? Are they searching for him? A scowl forms on my face and I instinctively place my hand on the door from to look more intimidating and restrictive. “What’s going on? What do you want?”
The two men don’t know where to look. The shorter one simply lets his eyes fall to the floor while the taller one takes in a long, painful breath, and looks me dead in the eyes. He speaks slowly and deliberately;
“We’ve just come from an incident on the A67 about 5 miles from here. There was a car accident involving three vehicles.” He pauses, not for effect, but because his mouth seems tense, as if he is struggling to say the words. “I’m terribly sorry to tell you this miss, but Adam Jacobs was driving one of the cars. Paramedics did everything they could, but he died at the scene.”
By now the smaller man was also staring at me, waiting for my reaction. I’ve never been a fan of dark, morbid jokes, but this was two far. I smile, but my eyes grow tighter. This surprises them. Tilting my head, I say;
“I cannot believe you guys agreed to go along with this. It’s so much effort.” The two men simply stare at me, their expressions remaining the same. “What, are you two his friends from work or something?” An air of confusion seems to descend on the men as they look at each other and then back at me. They are playing their part perfectly. I can envision Adam right now behind the door to the lounge, turning red from trying to hold his laughter in.
The short one speaks. “Miss, we need you to-”
“Why did you think I would fall for this?” I cut him off. “This little joke isn’t funny guys.” The anger at being the victim of such a cruel joke is starting to swell within me. “In fact, you two should be ashamed of yourselves for going along with it!”
The short man, his face now contorted into a look of utter bewilderment, moves a small step closer and carries on talking. “Miss, I know this is hard, but you were listed as his next of kin. We understand if you don’t feel up to it right away, but we need someone to come down to the station with us.” His gentle, nurturing tone is perfect, almost as if he was a real policeman.
My hand comes up to my forehead. This joke is already getting old. I turn and shout into the house, “Adam, you tool, this isn’t funny anymore.” I wait for him to burst through a door, howling with laughter. Nothing.
A voice from the doorway utters, “Miss Pellini?”
My patience breaks. I turn around to face to two pale faced men. “Listen guys. Well done on the costumes and the superb acting and everything, but I really doubt Adam is dead, seeing as he’s inside my friggin’ living room.”
“What?”
“Yeah. So its over. O.K.?” I pause. Why do they still look so stunned and lost for words? “Do you want to come inside and have a look at him?” As both mouths simply hang partially open in a show of stunned silence, I shake my head and walk into the lounge, leaving the door open. The ‘police-men’ slowly follow me. I call out to Adam with impatience ringing in my voice. Still no answer.
Entering the living room I notice something strange. Something is different. His jacket isn’t on the chair where he left it. Why would he have moved it? Another oddity catches my attention: the TV is off, and the DVD is sitting on the sofa. I look around, searching for him. If he left this room he would have had to come past me at the door. He couldn’t have sneaked past, I would have seen him. Bet he isn’t in here. I look down at the sofa where we were sitting moments before. There is only one indentation in the cushions, where I was sitting. A strange feeling begins to rise in me. I glance around the room again. It almost looks as if he was never in here.
The two men slowly walk into the room and look around. Their heads don’t move with purpose. They are scan the room, but only for my benefit. They are humoring me. One of them begins to talk, I don’t register which one.
“Miss Pellini, are you O.K.?” He struggles to find the words. His voice quivers with uneasiness. “This isn’t some sort of joke.” They both look severely distressed now. Neither one knows what to do with themselves, or me.
“Give me the photo,” I say. The look at one another for reassurance, each one silently asking the other if this is all actually as bizarre as it looks. The lack of emergency in their actions is killing me. I scream “Give me the damn photo!” as I jerk towards him with my hand out. The short one begins fumbling around in his pockets, nervously searching for it. He retrieves the photo and I snatch it from him and hold it close to my face. It’s definitely the same photo. I run my finger along the browned edge and smell it. It has been burnt. I flip it over to read – Christmas, 2002 – in Adam’s handwriting. My mind can drags out a memory that I have replayed in my head a million times. I remember what he said to me as we were both looking through the newly developed camera film all those years ago. “I’m going to keep this in my wallet for the rest of my life.”
Only now do I notice that my hands are shaking. I look up at the two men. One of them places his hand lightly on my shoulder. “Hannah,” he says. “We’ve taken Adam to the hospital.” The tears slowly begin to glide down my cheeks. I hold onto the photo. As I crumble to my knees I can feel the strong arms beneath my armpits, slowly easing me down. I hear a muted voice asking if they can call anyone for me. They don’t realize that I’ve already spoken to the person I need the most.
He was always late, but he always showed up. He always left early, but he never forgot to say goodbye.