Post by Allya on Dec 14, 2010 13:13:16 GMT -5
This is an excerpt from a novel I'm working on based in Harper's Ferry, WV. I usually write in prose or poems so a novel is a bit of a departure for me. I'm hoping someone can tell me if I've set the right pace, etc. for a longer story. Thanks 
(Oh and I can't seem to get this to indent at the beginning of paragraphs. I'll try and figure it out before I post anything else.)
Slow Eddie
Eddie let the drool dribble from the corner of his mouth and pool on the floor by his feet as he watched his mother hold up one collector’s plate and then another. His vacant eyes, hiding the torment that lay just beneath, followed her as she chatted with Mrs. White. Once he had been Eddie Harris or Eddie Money to his friends. When he had run track, they called him Fast Eddie and when he got too drunk, Crazy Eddie. But not now; now they just said ‘Poor Eddie’ or ‘Slow Eddie’ when they thought he couldn’t hear.
Eddie Harris had a wife and kids. Eddie Harris taught junior high in Shepherdstown, fifteen minutes up the road from Harper's Ferry. Eddie Harris had a nice split level just two miles from his mother’s house and brought the family over every Sunday for dinner. But not Slow Eddie; Slow Eddie slept alone. Slow Eddie couldn’t even mop floors. Slow Eddie lived at his mother’s and watched her pained face as she cared for him each day. Slow Eddie was his mother’s cross to bear. Slow Eddie was a good name, a better name; because he hadn’t been fast enough. Fast Eddie had failed. Fast Eddie was dead.
He knew it was Saturday. Every Saturday his mother, Aileen Harris, would take him to White’s Antiques to see if any new plates had arrived. She would sit him in an office chair just by the counter and coo and squeal as she helped Mrs. White unwrap the new arrivals. Eddie hated the antique store. The old whitewashed barn was full of faded memories and forgotten treasures. A museum to discarded history and unloved trinkets, the store was filled with dusty furniture, old quilts, faded books, and a stale air so heavy you could feel the weight of the years as you breathed it in and out. Slow Eddie was marking time and he hated to be reminded.
It had only been seven years since the fire but it seemed a lifetime ago. In bits and pieces he would see the phantoms of his old life and relive the moments of its passing. He could see the split level burn around him. He could hear his children’s screams. He could feel the fireman’s arms as he was lifted all the while yelling “Not me. Don’t save me. I can still hear them. I CAN STILL HEAR THEM.” He could see the red lights flashing and the doors closing as they pulled him away from the inferno. He could see the fire chief, his best friend Glen Shaffer, shake his head as he watched the house cave in.
And the pain, Oh God the pain; his legs burned, his face burned, and his lungs felt charred from the inside. The first few weeks they had kept him unconscious as they worked to numb the pain and patch the scars. As they brought him out of the coma he screamed uncontrollably, grasping at the tubes running into his arms and face. Writhing he turned and saw his mother sobbing in the corner, afraid for her son. It quieted him and he tried to speak, tried to ask for his wife and children. But the words didn’t come. His mother, the doctors, and the nurses all heard the same incoherent cries. They would later call it aphasia. They would later say low oxygen to his brain had resulted in damage and that he could not speak. They would later say that the same process had caused a stroke, leaving the left side of his body limp like a dead fish. But in that moment they all looked on in horror at the remnants of Eddie Harris. In that moment they saw the birth of Slow Eddie and they were horrified.
“Oh look at you.” His mother walked around the glass case and pulled a tissue from her pocket. She gently wiped the drool from his mouth and straightened his shirt. She was a good woman, a God-fearing woman, and she loved her son. She turned him to face the counter so he could better see what was going on. She was always conscious of his position. She always made sure he could watch the world.
Eddie’s eyes drifted from the counter and up to Mrs. White. She had the cancer now. He could see it in the yellow of her eyes and in the way she gripped the counter as if holding on for dear life. She hadn’t given up yet. She still wore the nice wigs you had to send away for and she still opened the store every day. She still smiled at his mother and talked about the latest gossip. She wasn’t slow yet. She wasn’t marking time.
His mother told a joke and Mrs. White erupted in laughter. He followed the sound of her laugh up to her smile before his eyes fell squarely on the mirror behind her. It was an old mirror with an intricate, hand-carved frame. The mirror itself was so worn in places that the flat, silver matte had started to show through in veins across the surface. He studied the corners, four roses that looked like ancient faces swirled on each end. His eyes followed the curve of each wood-carved petal down into the center of each rose, each face and then traced the veins of the leaves and vines that led to the next corner. It was dizzying maze for the eye that lulled him into the soft places of his memory.
And that’s when he heard it. At first the ticking was quiet, almost like a faint bug flying at the surface of a nearby window just a tick, tick, tick. But slowly it grew louder until the sound was buzzing in his ears. TICK, TICK, TICK; it was merciless and mocking. TICK, TICK, TICK, his eyes darted around until they landed on the offender, a small necklace-watch in the glass counter in front of him. TICK, TICK, TICK, he had to make it stop.
Slow Eddie lurched forward with his right hand, almost falling out of the chair in the process. He teetered at the edge of the chair and tried to point for his mother. TICK, TICK, TICK, “Watch, watch” he tried to say but it only came out “Wah, Wa.” TICK, TICK, TICK, he leaned forward and fell to his knees, his face landing squarely on the glass, pressing his cheek into the case. His forehead caught the edge of the counter and a small trickle of blood fell down his right side. “Wah, wa,” he said again, squirming to set himself up. TICK, TICK, TICK, his mother who had been bent over a box, pulling out another plate, gasped and ran over to help set him to rights.
She tried to pull him up but he wouldn’t budge. “Now Eddie you’re going to have to help me. I can’t pick you up all by myself.” She tugged at his arm but he would not give. Mrs. White came out from around the corner to help. They each took an arm and lifted with all their might. They set him back in the chair but he shook his head furiously. TICK, TICK, TICK, he pointed again to the watch inside the glass counter.
“What is it honey? Do you want water?” His mother dabbed at the blood on his forehead all the while apologizing profusely to Mrs. White. “I’m so sorry. He never acts like this. I don’t know what’s gotten in to him.” TICK, TICK, TICK, she turned the chair away from the glass case and rummaged through her purse for a wet nap and a band-aid. TICK, TICK, TICK, Eddie used his good foot to turn the chair around and pointed at the case again. Then he finally saw the light flick on in Mrs. White’s eyes.
“Aileen, I don’t think he wants water. I think he’s after this old watch.” The ladies studied it and him for a moment as Eddie nodded his head in the affirmative. Mrs. White opened the glass case and pulled the tiny necklace-watch out by its chain. It dangled on the tips of her fingers swinging back and forth until he reached up and grabbed it with his right hand.
“Eddie!” His mother yelled, embarrassed. “You give that back right now!” She grasped at the necklace and he moved the chair again to get away from her. In his hand the sound grew quiet again, now just a faint scratching at the back of his mind, tick, tick, tick. “Don’t worry about it Aileen. It’s just an old silver necklace. Just one of the baubles I buy for the tourists who come in wanting to take a piece of history home. He can have it if it makes him happy.” Mrs. White lifted Eddie’s chin up and looked him in the eyes. “Does this make you happy Eddie?” Eddie knew he couldn’t even begin to tell her what would make him happy so he just squeezed the watch even tighter and looked at her, pleading. She smiled and patted his shoulder.
“Well I don’t want this to become a habit.” His mother eyed him nervously; wondering what would happen if he lost control one night. What could she do? Eddie relaxed his eyes and face as best he could to show her it was over. He wanted to say thank you but didn’t even try, he knew it would just come out a garbled mess.
Instead he focused his attention on the object squeezed tightly in his hand. It was warm and buzzed with an energy all its own. The tick had faded to a soft hum but he still felt the metric in his palm. As his mother and Mrs. White went back to unwrapping new collector’s plates, Eddie opened his hand. The watch lay pressed into the center of his palm with the silver chain slipping between his ring and middle finger, dangling towards the floor.
Mrs. White was right; it was a simple and cheap trinket. The silver finish had worn off in places to reveal the pewter underneath. The embellished metal swirls around the face of the watch were once filled with tiny rhinestones but now many spots were left bare. The glass face had warped and melted a bit causing the interior to bend in a surreal fashion, like viewing a watch through a fish-eye lens. The hands were bent along the same curve and methodically moved counter-clockwise, counting down to some unknown end.
He had seen the watch before. This was his memory. This was his forgotten treasure deposited in the whitewashed barn off Route 340 waiting for him to pluck it out of obscurity. He closed his hand around the watch again and felt the steady tick. He strained his memory trying to remember the piece of history he held in his hand but the fog in his brain would not let him see through. He tried to shine a light on the dark recesses of his mind but the light only bounced back, blinding and dizzying.
His tongue felt thick and his mouth, dry. Now he really did want water. He traced the edges of the watch with his thumb and forefinger, trying to place the touch, hoping muscle memory would do what his mind could not. But it was no use. His body was a slippery, useless cage and his mind was no better. Both were exhausted by the energy he had already exerted today.
His hand closed again around the watch and his eyes drifted back to the mirror behind the counter. In its reflection he watched his mother and Mrs. White finish the box of new plates and sort through them, separating the tourist fare from actual collectibles. His mother set one plate aside, her prize for the day. They looked younger in the reflection, sitting there with their legs folded to the side and heads together; two young girls giggling and playing house. The girls in the mirror didn’t know about cancer and broken sons. The girls in the mirror believed in wishes and pinky-swears, Santa Clause and the Easter Bunny. The girls in the mirror dreamed of Prince Charming and thought witches could be bested by water.
He gripped the watch tighter and closed his eyes. He felt guilty for hating this Saturday ritual. He felt guilty for stealing this sliver of childhood from his mother. He was determined not to interfere any more today. Slow Eddie slipped the necklace-watch around his neck and rested his chin on his chest. He drifted off to sleep, searching in dreams for things his waking mind could not see. The watch pulsed against his chest, marking time, counting down.
(Oh and I can't seem to get this to indent at the beginning of paragraphs. I'll try and figure it out before I post anything else.)
Slow Eddie
Eddie let the drool dribble from the corner of his mouth and pool on the floor by his feet as he watched his mother hold up one collector’s plate and then another. His vacant eyes, hiding the torment that lay just beneath, followed her as she chatted with Mrs. White. Once he had been Eddie Harris or Eddie Money to his friends. When he had run track, they called him Fast Eddie and when he got too drunk, Crazy Eddie. But not now; now they just said ‘Poor Eddie’ or ‘Slow Eddie’ when they thought he couldn’t hear.
Eddie Harris had a wife and kids. Eddie Harris taught junior high in Shepherdstown, fifteen minutes up the road from Harper's Ferry. Eddie Harris had a nice split level just two miles from his mother’s house and brought the family over every Sunday for dinner. But not Slow Eddie; Slow Eddie slept alone. Slow Eddie couldn’t even mop floors. Slow Eddie lived at his mother’s and watched her pained face as she cared for him each day. Slow Eddie was his mother’s cross to bear. Slow Eddie was a good name, a better name; because he hadn’t been fast enough. Fast Eddie had failed. Fast Eddie was dead.
He knew it was Saturday. Every Saturday his mother, Aileen Harris, would take him to White’s Antiques to see if any new plates had arrived. She would sit him in an office chair just by the counter and coo and squeal as she helped Mrs. White unwrap the new arrivals. Eddie hated the antique store. The old whitewashed barn was full of faded memories and forgotten treasures. A museum to discarded history and unloved trinkets, the store was filled with dusty furniture, old quilts, faded books, and a stale air so heavy you could feel the weight of the years as you breathed it in and out. Slow Eddie was marking time and he hated to be reminded.
It had only been seven years since the fire but it seemed a lifetime ago. In bits and pieces he would see the phantoms of his old life and relive the moments of its passing. He could see the split level burn around him. He could hear his children’s screams. He could feel the fireman’s arms as he was lifted all the while yelling “Not me. Don’t save me. I can still hear them. I CAN STILL HEAR THEM.” He could see the red lights flashing and the doors closing as they pulled him away from the inferno. He could see the fire chief, his best friend Glen Shaffer, shake his head as he watched the house cave in.
And the pain, Oh God the pain; his legs burned, his face burned, and his lungs felt charred from the inside. The first few weeks they had kept him unconscious as they worked to numb the pain and patch the scars. As they brought him out of the coma he screamed uncontrollably, grasping at the tubes running into his arms and face. Writhing he turned and saw his mother sobbing in the corner, afraid for her son. It quieted him and he tried to speak, tried to ask for his wife and children. But the words didn’t come. His mother, the doctors, and the nurses all heard the same incoherent cries. They would later call it aphasia. They would later say low oxygen to his brain had resulted in damage and that he could not speak. They would later say that the same process had caused a stroke, leaving the left side of his body limp like a dead fish. But in that moment they all looked on in horror at the remnants of Eddie Harris. In that moment they saw the birth of Slow Eddie and they were horrified.
“Oh look at you.” His mother walked around the glass case and pulled a tissue from her pocket. She gently wiped the drool from his mouth and straightened his shirt. She was a good woman, a God-fearing woman, and she loved her son. She turned him to face the counter so he could better see what was going on. She was always conscious of his position. She always made sure he could watch the world.
Eddie’s eyes drifted from the counter and up to Mrs. White. She had the cancer now. He could see it in the yellow of her eyes and in the way she gripped the counter as if holding on for dear life. She hadn’t given up yet. She still wore the nice wigs you had to send away for and she still opened the store every day. She still smiled at his mother and talked about the latest gossip. She wasn’t slow yet. She wasn’t marking time.
His mother told a joke and Mrs. White erupted in laughter. He followed the sound of her laugh up to her smile before his eyes fell squarely on the mirror behind her. It was an old mirror with an intricate, hand-carved frame. The mirror itself was so worn in places that the flat, silver matte had started to show through in veins across the surface. He studied the corners, four roses that looked like ancient faces swirled on each end. His eyes followed the curve of each wood-carved petal down into the center of each rose, each face and then traced the veins of the leaves and vines that led to the next corner. It was dizzying maze for the eye that lulled him into the soft places of his memory.
And that’s when he heard it. At first the ticking was quiet, almost like a faint bug flying at the surface of a nearby window just a tick, tick, tick. But slowly it grew louder until the sound was buzzing in his ears. TICK, TICK, TICK; it was merciless and mocking. TICK, TICK, TICK, his eyes darted around until they landed on the offender, a small necklace-watch in the glass counter in front of him. TICK, TICK, TICK, he had to make it stop.
Slow Eddie lurched forward with his right hand, almost falling out of the chair in the process. He teetered at the edge of the chair and tried to point for his mother. TICK, TICK, TICK, “Watch, watch” he tried to say but it only came out “Wah, Wa.” TICK, TICK, TICK, he leaned forward and fell to his knees, his face landing squarely on the glass, pressing his cheek into the case. His forehead caught the edge of the counter and a small trickle of blood fell down his right side. “Wah, wa,” he said again, squirming to set himself up. TICK, TICK, TICK, his mother who had been bent over a box, pulling out another plate, gasped and ran over to help set him to rights.
She tried to pull him up but he wouldn’t budge. “Now Eddie you’re going to have to help me. I can’t pick you up all by myself.” She tugged at his arm but he would not give. Mrs. White came out from around the corner to help. They each took an arm and lifted with all their might. They set him back in the chair but he shook his head furiously. TICK, TICK, TICK, he pointed again to the watch inside the glass counter.
“What is it honey? Do you want water?” His mother dabbed at the blood on his forehead all the while apologizing profusely to Mrs. White. “I’m so sorry. He never acts like this. I don’t know what’s gotten in to him.” TICK, TICK, TICK, she turned the chair away from the glass case and rummaged through her purse for a wet nap and a band-aid. TICK, TICK, TICK, Eddie used his good foot to turn the chair around and pointed at the case again. Then he finally saw the light flick on in Mrs. White’s eyes.
“Aileen, I don’t think he wants water. I think he’s after this old watch.” The ladies studied it and him for a moment as Eddie nodded his head in the affirmative. Mrs. White opened the glass case and pulled the tiny necklace-watch out by its chain. It dangled on the tips of her fingers swinging back and forth until he reached up and grabbed it with his right hand.
“Eddie!” His mother yelled, embarrassed. “You give that back right now!” She grasped at the necklace and he moved the chair again to get away from her. In his hand the sound grew quiet again, now just a faint scratching at the back of his mind, tick, tick, tick. “Don’t worry about it Aileen. It’s just an old silver necklace. Just one of the baubles I buy for the tourists who come in wanting to take a piece of history home. He can have it if it makes him happy.” Mrs. White lifted Eddie’s chin up and looked him in the eyes. “Does this make you happy Eddie?” Eddie knew he couldn’t even begin to tell her what would make him happy so he just squeezed the watch even tighter and looked at her, pleading. She smiled and patted his shoulder.
“Well I don’t want this to become a habit.” His mother eyed him nervously; wondering what would happen if he lost control one night. What could she do? Eddie relaxed his eyes and face as best he could to show her it was over. He wanted to say thank you but didn’t even try, he knew it would just come out a garbled mess.
Instead he focused his attention on the object squeezed tightly in his hand. It was warm and buzzed with an energy all its own. The tick had faded to a soft hum but he still felt the metric in his palm. As his mother and Mrs. White went back to unwrapping new collector’s plates, Eddie opened his hand. The watch lay pressed into the center of his palm with the silver chain slipping between his ring and middle finger, dangling towards the floor.
Mrs. White was right; it was a simple and cheap trinket. The silver finish had worn off in places to reveal the pewter underneath. The embellished metal swirls around the face of the watch were once filled with tiny rhinestones but now many spots were left bare. The glass face had warped and melted a bit causing the interior to bend in a surreal fashion, like viewing a watch through a fish-eye lens. The hands were bent along the same curve and methodically moved counter-clockwise, counting down to some unknown end.
He had seen the watch before. This was his memory. This was his forgotten treasure deposited in the whitewashed barn off Route 340 waiting for him to pluck it out of obscurity. He closed his hand around the watch again and felt the steady tick. He strained his memory trying to remember the piece of history he held in his hand but the fog in his brain would not let him see through. He tried to shine a light on the dark recesses of his mind but the light only bounced back, blinding and dizzying.
His tongue felt thick and his mouth, dry. Now he really did want water. He traced the edges of the watch with his thumb and forefinger, trying to place the touch, hoping muscle memory would do what his mind could not. But it was no use. His body was a slippery, useless cage and his mind was no better. Both were exhausted by the energy he had already exerted today.
His hand closed again around the watch and his eyes drifted back to the mirror behind the counter. In its reflection he watched his mother and Mrs. White finish the box of new plates and sort through them, separating the tourist fare from actual collectibles. His mother set one plate aside, her prize for the day. They looked younger in the reflection, sitting there with their legs folded to the side and heads together; two young girls giggling and playing house. The girls in the mirror didn’t know about cancer and broken sons. The girls in the mirror believed in wishes and pinky-swears, Santa Clause and the Easter Bunny. The girls in the mirror dreamed of Prince Charming and thought witches could be bested by water.
He gripped the watch tighter and closed his eyes. He felt guilty for hating this Saturday ritual. He felt guilty for stealing this sliver of childhood from his mother. He was determined not to interfere any more today. Slow Eddie slipped the necklace-watch around his neck and rested his chin on his chest. He drifted off to sleep, searching in dreams for things his waking mind could not see. The watch pulsed against his chest, marking time, counting down.
