(I'm working on something a lot longer. So long that I'm dividing it into chapters. Here's the first.)
Chapter One:
Rico's Serenade
I stared at the brass bell of the trumpet, ringing stings to latin music in a lounge somewhere in downtown Montreal. I got lost in thought, wondering what it'd be like to shrink myself and go spelunking in the horn. My daze was broken by the trumpeteer (or is it trumpetist? Whatever. His name is Rico) lowering his instrument and bowing while the club was taken over by the sound of palms colliding repeatedly. I had been here before. With Mari.
Marianne Duhaime was my girlfriend at the time. We were both two years underage so we snuck in. Nobody seemed to mind; All we did was dance. Neither of us had jobs, so we couldn't buy drinks, but the owner was a young Italian who was a sucker for young love.
However, Mari and I weren't in love. In fact, we barely spoke: We let our bodies do the talking (they say, "We like how we feel when we get touched."). It was more of an infatuation or facination, like most of my relationships.
Mari was a special case though. She was my first. The fact that she was beautiful made me quite proud. Also, her last ex was a girl. I had been the man virile enough to entice her back into the wild ride of testosterone. At least that's the way I chose to look at it, which also made me proud.
But I guess the only thing we really had in common was our love for women, because she left me for another human with a cave between their legs.
Speaking of caves, I had lost myself in the bell of Rico's trumpet again, still waiting. Mari should be here any minute. I heard she's been dating a guy steadily for about three years, which is a huge deal for her. She'd never been in a relationship for more than eight months before she would find someone new. I guess that sort of made her a passive (or subconscious) control freak. In retrospect, I should have broken it off. But what good is retrospect anyway?
I swung about the stem of my glass. The martinis here are great. I have no idea why she wanted to meet me here. Or tonight. Or at all for that matter. We haven't spoken in four years.
I can still remember her though. Her big, blue eyes and tiny nose complimented her sharp lips. She looked like a cat. Her blond hair was "banged" to cover her forehead for three quarters of the way. Her skin was the softest thing in the world after those lips. Her tiny hands, never weighed down with unnecessary jewelery. And her curves. I choose not to describe those because the gentleman in me won't allow it. But they were fun. I mean, her physique was ideal for any woman (and those who enjoy women): healthy.
She was shorter than me, which was a big deal because of how short I am. It's difficult for me to find any girl who is into me, let alone a girl shorter than me, but she was both. When she looked at me, she looked up and that always made me feel warm.
The band put down their tools and I've become impatient, rubbing the blue velvet armrests of the booth I occupied. She said she had black hair now and would wear a red dress. I raised my hand, my index deciding to reach for the ceiling. "Waitress!" I called, "One more please." She nodded and walked back toward the bar. I prepared the payment and left it on the table so I wouldn't have to rifle through my pockets later. I stared impatiently at the door, curiosity eating away at me like my family eating cheesecake. Finally, she walked in. She neglected to tell me about the red bow in her hair. She looked magnificent. I got her attention.
"Mari!"
"Omagod, Mike!" she screamed in her quebecois accent. She'd been speaking English lately. I could tell. She rushed over and hugged me tightly.
"Mon dieu, Mike, t'as perdu du poid! I barely recognize you!"
"Yeah! I lost the fat. Feels weird."
I pointed to the booth and we sat. I noticed the martini where my money used to be. Needless to say, I won't be drinking that.
"So what's going on with you?" Mari asked, fixing her bangs, "Anyone special?"
I chuckled. "Nope. Nobody special yet."
The truth is, I haven't been with anyone since Mari. But she doesn't need to know that.
The silence between us accented the conversation around the lounge and the latin music on the radio. The band should be back soon.
"How about you? I hear you've been dating a dude for a few years."
I laugh nervously, "After a few girls, of course"
She nudges me. "Heille! Pi j'ai experimente! On s'en crisse." (ignore the lack of accents)
She gets closer to me and leans in. I know why she's here. I know why I'm here.
(but just to be sure...)
"Why'd you want to see me?"
She pulls away and sighs, "I figured you'd just go with it."
"You broke up with him?"
"What?!" she shouts, taken aback. "No! Never!"
"So," I started to drag the O for obvious reasons, "what are you doing?"
She pouted the way she would when she'd lose a coin toss.
"He cheated on me," she said, "with his ex."
I was shocked, but somehow vindicated.
"So why are you still with him?"
She shyly pouted again. "Because I love him." She dropped her voice like a child forced to apologize.
"Fantastic..." I dragged out the sarcasm in the first syllable and fell back into my seat. "But why me? Why not some random guy?"
"Because you're my ex..." her tone made me feel stupid and that her reason should have been obvious.
I froze. "No, I-" I stammered, "I mean why not another ex? One of those girls, maybe?"
"Pfft! Il s'en calisse si je fourre des girls!"
"Right. So, you've had other male exes... why me?"
(I wanted compliments)
"You were my only 'real' boyfriend. We dated for a while."
"I'm confused," I tell her bluntly.
I watch the band get on stage. I turn back to her.
"Okay, here's the deal," I start. "I won't help you cheat on your boyfriend. I don't even think you should." (I got a little preachy) "Or that you should even take him back and stay with him," I watched her disappointment when I paused. I felt her excitement when I said, "But...I will dance with you."
I got to my feet and extended my hand. Putting hers in mine, we reached the dance floor and relived memories. It was then I realized that boys and girls can't just be friends.
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3 comments:
Yay prose!
Okay, for starters, I like the germ of the idea that's here, the build up to actually meeting Mari and then the last line where it's pretty clear that you've got more to say. I also like the narrator's editorial comments on everything. And the image of spelunking in the trumpet is a great way to segue back into the narrative after the tangential description of Mari.
It all felt pretty rough, though, I have to say. You have a lot of good ideas and really nice phrases, but there's a finish that I think is really missing. It doesn't always flow too well, and there's some questionable shifts in verb tense that make for some confusion.
It also feels really abrupt that Mari is using the narrator to get back at her sleazeball boyfriend, and I'm not sure if I like that or not. It has a certain appeal - it's a shock to us and a shock to him - but I think that appeal is lost by how calm he seems to be about it, how he's all "I know why she's here. I know why I'm here," in such a...not agitated way.
The whole last two paragraphs are great, but they come out of almost nowhere. I can see where you're coming from, with the description of how they used to dance rather than talk, but I feel like the connections could be drawn much more strongly, so that it isn't necessary to hunt to find out how everything fits together.
All of that being said, I enjoyed the piece! I think it needs some polishing, but it's a great start, and I'm curious to read the rest of it. :]
I enjoyed this too mike and am looking forward to reading the rest of it.
I agree with Jessica on the quality of the prose. The verb tenses need to be reviewed and the overall piece needs some work. Have you tried reading it out loud, to get the flow of sentences in?
Generally I like the story, I like where it could be going, although as also noted by Jessica the fact that Mari is using the narrator to get back at her boyfriend is strange. But then this could go in a lot of directions, and you've built up some anticipation about that, so it's good. I didn't feel dragged into the story so much, though. Whatever was happening didn't grab my interest that much. I had difficulty sharing the narrator's feelings, his desires, his fears. Granted this was a short piece, perhaps in the long run I'll be sucked in.
I'm excited to read the rest! It's nice to read something different from you!
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