Your protagonist is in the bath, when the sight of an everyday object in the room triggers an epiphany, a profound breakthrough insight, the solution to a major problem, or a paradigm shift.
Lucy hooked her toe onto the tap and cranked up a little more hot water into the bath. She checked her fingers for wrinkles. Sure enough, there they were, accusing little crevasses reminding her that she’d been dithering in here for far too long.
Joe was going to be here soon. Glancing at the little fish clock on the wall, she realised he was going to here in no less than 20 minutes. She’d invited Joe for 7:00 and Joe would be here at 7:00. He might even be here at 6:55 but he wouldn’t be even a minute past 7:00.
She actually knew quite a lot about his arrival. He’d be right on time. He’d bring a bottle of wine in the $13 to $17 range. He’d say, “Hi, I hope I’m not late,” followed shortly by, “Sure smells great in here. What’s for dinner?” He’d hesitate about whether to kiss her or not and then he’d settle for a cheek-brush. He’d have his hammer along because he’d promised to fix the broken bit on her bookcase.
He was predictable, Joe was.
And therein was the problem. He was SO not her style. She looked around the bathroom for reassurance. There was the little collection of china frogs she kept on the shelf, the art deco mirror with the sea horse frame, the shower curtain littered with wonderful Lunig characters. Even the screenplay that she’d been reading on the loo reminded her about who she was: adventurous, colourful, impetuous, quirky. She ran the list over in her head. Yes, those things described her well.
So what was she doing inviting someone like Joe over again anyway?
Her attention was caught by the sponge at the foot of the tub. It was the sponge she used to clean the tub and it was the ugliest thing on the planet. Some cheapskate at the agency had given it to her as a Kris Kringle present, in an attempt to be funny – it was designed to look exactly like a MacDonald’s hamburger, with layers of yellow, red, brown and green sponge between orangey bun-like bits.
She picked it up and thought about how hopelessly it did NOT fit her bathroom. She aimed it across the room at the bin, hit the rim, scored the first time. There was a second of satisfaction, then suddenly the whole thing stabbed her heart. The hamburger sponge was lying there in a bed of tissues, old dental floss and drain-hair. Lucy gave a little cry, leapt out of the tub and rescued it, almost shaking. What was wrong with her!? – this sponge was the most useful thing in the bathroom. It cleaned the bath, it squashed into position to support the shower head, it was her little nephew’s favourite bath toy. She also realised she liked it a lot. It wasn’t ugly, really, it just looked like a hamburger. It was reliable, sturdy, practical. She practically hugged it as she stood there dripping.
She glanced at the fish clock. 6:50. Shit! – five minutes to early-arrival time.
She grabbed the thick orange towel, rubbed a few drops off her skin and dabbed at the puddle she’d created on the floor. She swabbed on a quick splash of mascara and some eyeliner. She raced to the bedroom, threw on her favourite black tights and jumper and flung her cheetah tunic on top. She fluffed her hair, batting her eyes at herself in the mirror. The colour was high in her cheeks but otherwise she looked quite acceptable. Quirky, impetuous and whatever those other words were.
She whipped into the kitchen, checked the lentil curry stewing in the slow cooker and yanked the salad mix out of the fridge. She quickly selected the square red plates and tucked them under her arm as she grabbed two wine glasses. She glanced at the clock. 6:57.
The doorbell rang. She deposited the plates and wine glasses onto the table. She put her hand on her heart and discovered to her amazement that it was thumping rather alarmingly. One last swish with her fingers through her hair and she pulled the door open. “Joe! Hello!” she cried.
Joe stood there, a bottle of wine in one hand and a tool kit in the other. ‘Hi, I hope I’m not late,” he said. He leaned toward her, “You sure smell wonderful, I mean, it sure smells wonderful.” He blushed, and reached down toward her. “What I really mean is, you smell wonderful,” he said, and kissed her soundly.
And Lucy, who hadn’t had even a moment to think since the hamburger-sponge rescue, stood on tiptoe and kissed him earnestly back.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
4 comments:
Heather says:
750 words.
The latest assignment in my course is to write a falling-in-love story, and I realised that although I love falling-in-love stories, I hadn’t written any yet. So, just to practice, I developed this idea before we had the teleconference this week, and then found I couldn’t shake it.
So here it is, with nothing very unusual in the character. In terms of PoV I found it tricky to try to write completely in Lucy’s language. She’s a bit caught in the Heather-writing style.
Also, I’m not happy with the title. Any suggestions?
From Rick
Heather this was such a wonderful falling-in-love story and perfectly caught the spirit of the prompt. I love her epiphany - that in-a-split-second transformation in which the "hamburger" goes from tacky junk to practical possession. And then you followed that so simply with Joe when she discovers herself going through her second epiphany in the space of a few minutes.
My only comment for improvement might be in how she kisses Joe - I think they both deserved better than "earnestly".
Jenny says:
You and Rick have been channeling the same muse!
I like the detail in the first paragraph - it really takes the reader into the scene, and the pre-description of Joe captures Lucy's view of him beautifully.
I would have likes to see her epiphany about the hamburger linked to the emotion which made her cry out, rather than the practical rationalisations which followed - they seemed a little out of character with the way Lucy described herself.
I would have found it more believable if Lucy had given a little cry, rescued the hamburger, and then found herself seeing it with new eyes - seeing it as beautiful in its own right, not for its practical value, but purely because she loved it, for no reasonable reason at all.
Colourful, impetuous and quirky wouldn't ask herself "what am I doing?" as she rescued the hamburger - she would perhaps be planning its liberation from dull labour and its elevation to something like a table centrepiece.
The ending was great, particularly the way Joe strayed from "the script" in the space of her new listening for him.
Great story especially the relationship with the hamburger sponge.
I was transported into the bath and was just getting interested in what was going to happen in the bathroom when Lucy recapped the stuff about Joe. The next couple of paras did a great job at creating Joe as a character but I'm not sure that's what this story is about. I would like to see more about Lucy's character.
Back in the bath, I enjoyed the survey of what was in the bathroom ending with the hamburger but I didn't really get a sense of Lucy (how old, a working girl etc - whats the relevance of those things in the bathroom what are they trying to tell me about Lucy?)
To be honest I thought you were having a love affair with the sponge!! really.
I'm amazed how much she managed to accomplish in the couple of mins from bath to opening the door. Not sure how relevant all that is to the love story with Joe. When he arrives it's a bit of an anticlimax.
I think the challenge here is how to write a longer story and keep it all relevant and crisp. How about a couple of different scenes? the one in the bath and then at the front door. I'm not sure - would love to hear what your tutor says.
Well done. Keep up the quirky bits in your writing.
Post a Comment