Etiquette's Dictation

Etiquette's Dictation

It was the time of the year when the song of the cricket's succumb to the patter of rain. On
this particular Friday, you could hear the tires rushing over the wet tangled leaves. The sky broke and a ray of light shined into the classroom, illuminating the desk of the teacher leaning over a pile of paper. Looking up into the sky, she felt an acute ache from the brightness.

Her husband and son walked up the sidewalk and she motioned them into the school. Mrs. Roberts flipped a few more pages in a curriculum guide before walking into the hallway. Standing in the light of the door, she leaned down to greet her young son. Picking him up, she noticed the last blonde highlights fading into dulled shades. Inhaling him, she embraced his tiny body.

Out of the corner of her eye, three men passed as she kissed her husband. This trio had a movement unto its own that only the familiar identified instantly, as if they were shadows from the past. This pack of men were father and sons resembling each others inner and outer spiritual construction. These were good men, even if poorly flawed.

Franz faced her as she hesitated before looking over her shoulder. He stood with pocketed hands, while brightly smiling into her eyes. She had not seen him for years, but had often dreamed of this smile and to encounter it was stunning. It was of pure joy radiating through the dim hallway with the energy to blow back her hair. He often smiled this way in her class after an agreement had been reach about philosophical or ethical differences. She always thought that God smiled on her through him.

When the rush of this shock subsided, she recovered herself to reply with her own smile. It was like the sun burning the vapor off the dewy morning mums. She held up the baby and walked over to Ajax, Franz's brother. She eagerly shook his hand and handed him the baby. He took the child and cooed at it as naturally as any uncle might. Although these people were all incredibly awkward they understood this about one another and for this reason their greeting was of an oddly subdued happiness.

“Yes, yes, FINALLY meet my husband.” Mrs. Roberts announced.

And there was another round of introductions and greetings. A moment of small talk was followed by an awkward pause. “Well, if I can just grab my bag, I will walk out with you.”

They walked out of the building into the rain. He was a man now as she imagined him to become. And he smiled as he observed her interact with the child carried on her hip. He told her of his studies and accomplishments. “Well, I always knew this would happen, because you and your brother are so gifted. And here you are engineers.”

They continued to chat under her umbrella, until the allotted time dictated by etiquette ended.

“You look so happy,” he said.

“Yes, and you have made something of yourself. Both of you must make your parents very proud.” Her husband pulled up besides them on the sidewalk and she waved, signaling that she was coming. “Well, it was so nice to see you again and congratulations on finishing college and good luck getting a job.”

“Likewise and you have a cute guy there.” He said as he leaned into the window and waved at the baby.

She stood there a moment awkwardly and he embraced her and kissed her on the cheek in a very open and polite manner. He continued to smile at her as she fumbled into her car. As the car pulled away, Mrs. Roberts watched him smiling and waving until he was gone. She turned, put on her sunglasses as the sky opened up and her heart began to rain.

A very poetic story I have to say. You use the phrase “subdued happiness” and that’s exactly what the story conveys what with the rain, the fallen leaves, and the general restrained terseness of the prose.

I especially liked the contrasting imagery of the sentence “It was of pure joy radiating through the dim hallway with the energy to blow back her hair.” In a word, splendid, this one imagery.

This is so good in so many ways I hardly know where to start or what to say.

Prose is hardly expected to be this poetic and evocative. It's a delight to read. The word choices are so right. Someone unfamiliar with the site once remarked about you, something to the effect of, "She doesn't write much, what does she know anyway?", in order to discount your opinion.

So maybe you don't write much. It's quality not quantity that counts in many things in life. Me, I bat wildly, and hope that by sheer numbers, I will sometimes hit one out of the park. You, slow and deliberate, place your feet, take your stance, point like Babe Ruth, and go about your business.

This one is a well-deserved home run. Bravo, Babe.

Yes, I agree with Steven Hunley that it is a very poetic piece of prose. Elegant where elegance is difficult to achieve, i.e. through prose. I particularly enjoyed reading the final line which married Mrs. Roberts with the environment and the weather. Beautiful. And that reminds me of the early line about tires rushing over wet tangled leaves which I so much enjoyed.

One negative thing I would say, although I'm not clever enough to express the point very well is that the structure of some of the sentences are too close to one another, for example, one sentence you start with 'Standing in the light of the door, she leaned down to greet....' and the next sentence you start with 'Inhaling him, she embraced his tiny body.' There are a couple of other places where two complex sentences of this type are used one after the other, and this seems to me to be a little bit clunky, with the break after the comma, if you understand where I'm coming from. I hope that's clear. But anyway, you may disagree.

All in all I did enjoy this story. A pleasant meeting depicted really nicely.

Thanks for all the comments! It was not too hard to draft, but the second paragraph that Breathtest highlighted was the hardest one for me to write. I see that it can read in a clunky way. That's a good train-eye.

I don't need this line:
she noticed the last blonde highlights fading into dulled shades

I think I made my point; the change of a season as reflecting the passage of time in a teacher-student connection.

This reader echoes the enthusiasm for this piece.

Just to throw in something for the sake of critisicism, something a little funny seems to be happening at the part where Mrs. Roberts sees her family coming up the sidewalk. This is going to be hard to articulate, but... it doesn't seem wholly grounded in context. The reader can conclude that Mrs. Roberts is looking out a window, but drawing that conclusion feels like slightly too big of a leap without a little more help in description. This happens at a few other places in the story. It's not really deabilitating, but it's definitely a quirk.

But mostly this story is to be praised for being on the good side of descriptive and poetic.






J

Thank you for reading. I find that I am trying a minimalist approach to writing. My usual style is to tell way too much. The result is that I am still trying to figure out when I need to tell just a bit more. Therefore, I understand what you mean! Thanks for noticing that.

I'm glad you finally got a chance to read this and enjoyed it. It means a lot. There are times when I feel like there is just no point to even keep trying. The feedback on this thread has boosted my low self-esteem about myself as a writer. Again, I appreciate all the feedback! It is all so helpful.

Yes, an intriguing, pastel-shaded piece of writing that manages to say a lot in a few words.

I've often fallen into the same trap as the one Jack has discovered - inconsistent point of view. It's easily done and just as easily remedied.

You begin the story describing everything from Mrs Roberts pov (even though it's written as third person narrative rather than first-person it is still her perspective on events that we are witnessing). So you can't suddenly jump out into the street in paragraph two telling us how her family walked up the sidewalk. The focus has to remain fixed on the one character's experiences and observations. You either need to remove the reference entirely or tell us 'As she saw her husband and son walk up the sidewalk...'.

Having two separate perspectives in such a short piece can be disorientating to say the least - and often it's not possible for the reader to identify what the problem is.

Other than that, a great effort.

H

Hillwalker- I am truly honored.

I have learned something writing this story. It is not about too much or too little but about a difference in perspective. Got it!

Thanks for reading.