[stylist] short story

[David Andrews]

yes, it is a gmail thing, it doesn't give you copies of your 
messages, it figures you have already seen them.  I can turn on 
acknowledgement of your posts -- if you want.

Dave

At 09:04 AM 1/7/2015, you wrote:
>Are people getting my post to Stylist? They are not showing up for me, so
>curious if anyone else is seeing them.
>
>Bridgit
>
>-----Original Message-----
>From: stylist [mailto:stylist-bounces at nfbnet.org] On Behalf Of Vejas
>Vasiliauskas via stylist
>Sent: Tuesday, January 06, 2015 7:17 PM
>To: stylist at nfbnet.org
>Subject: [stylist] short story
>
>Hi,
>We haven't written short stories in quite a while, so I decided I would post
>one that I wrote for class last year.  I then expanded upon it a bit later
>to improve on it.  I've attached it and, for these who can't read
>attachments, will try to paste it in the bottom of the e-mail (if the whole
>thing doesn't go through I'll send a part 2).
>The assjgnment was to create a character and write about them.
>My title comes from the fact that millions of families look fine from the
>outside but not from within.
>The last thing I have to say is that I hope I created a good character even
>though my family aren't like this.  However, I knew someone for many years
>who is like this character, and the way he talks about his family gave me a
>pretty accurate idea.
>Any suggesttions welcome.
>Vejas
>A Typical Day for Millions
>by Vejas Vasiliauskas
>   Carl pounds on his front door, wanting to be let in.  If he wanted to, he
>could pull out his key, but he doesn't feel like it.  It is 4:00 PM on a
>cold September evening-colder still because he misplaced his coat, though
>what he will probably say if asked is that one of his daughters took it.
>Usually he doesn't get home until 6:00 but there is a sports game that he
>desperately wants to watch.
>His wife, Anna, comes running to open the door for him.  "Hi, Carl.  I
>didn't know you were going to be home early."
>He ignores her and runs into the TV room.  His daughter, Malena, is watching
>cartoons, and another daughter, Dana, is playing with trucks.  Carl, who has
>always felt that cartoons are stupid, snatches the remote from Malena
>without even saying hi and switches the channel to the game, then yells,
>"QUIET!" His daughters, frightened, run away and Carl smiles with glee.  He
>plops down on the couch, flips off his shoes, and even goes so far as taking
>his socks off, creating added stink in the room.
>He spreads his large body on the whole couch, to make sure nobody else can
>sit there.  If his pals are there, he'd move for them to make room, but he
>has that luxury of being by himself.
>Anna comes over.  "You forgot your chips, Carl," she says, handing him 3
>bags of jalapeno chips.  Carl just grunts in response and begins crunching
>on the chips loudly.
>Two hours later, the game is over, and it's time for dinner.
>"You made me spaghetti, didn't you?" Carl asks.  "Because you better have."
>"Of course I did, sweetie," says Anna.
>"And did you use parmesan and mozzarella cheese like I said?"
>asks Carl.
>"Of course.  What else would I use?"
>"Well, you could use cheddar, if you wanted.  That would be interesting."
>Anna is surprised at how helpful her husband is being.  That's rare these
>days.  "Really, Carl? That sounds amazing!"
>Carl repeats it louder.  "You could use cheddar if you wanted to." Then he
>adds, "But then, I'd have to kick you out of the house!"
>Anna stiffens, and Carl smiles.
>Carl lumbers up to get a cold beer from the refrigerator.  He comes back to
>the table and begins eating.
>The conversations begin.
>"Mommy, I'd like to be a goblin for Halloween," Malena says.
>"Really? That would be wonderful."
>"Can you get me a costume?"
>Before Anna can respond, Carl, probably influenced by the bubbles in his
>beer, lets out a long, loud burp.  He doesn't excuse himself; he only does
>that out in public.  And if any of the females said "Excuse you", then Carl
>would definetly have made sure that their head would be added to the next
>batch of spaghetti.
>"We have a rock concert today, honey, remember?" Anna asks.
>"You've been looking forward to it all the time."
>"Of course I remember!" Carl says, insulted.  "One of my pals is in the
>band.  Hey Anna, you really overdid the sauce.  It's disgusting!"
>"It's really not that bad," Malena says.
>Oops.
>"I said, it's DISGUSTING!" repeats Carl.  "But since you like it, I'll..."
>He interrupts himself, then pours all of his sauce on his daughter's head.
>When Carl and his family arrive at the concert, they decide to join a mutual
>friend, Stanley, who is also there.  Stanley, who has known Carl for a
>while, shares his love for music, but has always been stone-cold sober.
>"Hi," Stanley says to the family.  Then he turned to Malena.
>"What happened with the spaghetti?"
>Before Malena can respond, Carl answers for her.  "Oh, it was nothing.  She
>spilled it on herself by accident, and you know, there was no time for her
>to shower, so she's just like that." He turns to Anna.  "Can I get you
>anything to drink, honey?"
>Anna knows this isn't sincere.  But she loves it anyway.  "Could you get me
>a root-beer?"
>"Of course! And I must not forget my 2 BEAUTIFUL daughters!" Carl is really
>overdoing it.  "Would you 2 lovely ladies desire rootbeer as well?"
>They do.
>During the concert, Anna becomes emotional about the lyrics of one of the
>songs, for personal reasons.  She tries not to, but she eventually does,
>cry.
>"What's wrong, honey?" Carl asks, putting his arm around her.
>This isn't the Carl Anna knows from home.  At home, he would have called her
>a "sissy", and much more.
>Carl gets his wife a tissue, which she uses, then clumsily drops on the
>ground.  He even goes so far as to pick it up for her.  At home, if Carl
>dropped his own tissue he'd probably step on it, smashing it into little
>bits for Anna to pick up.
>When Anna and Carl get home, they update their blogs.  They actually have
>rival blogs.  Anna's is called "Housemaid Married to a Pig." There, she
>pours out all of her woes.  She states everything Carl did that day, and how
>unfair life is.  She used to have supportive friends who read the blog whom
>she would e-mail, but they all got tired of the fact that Anna always
>complained and never followed their advice or did anything to better her
>life.  Anna also can't spell (or won't spell-check), which gives Carl more
>ammunition.
>There are usually four or five comments on Anna's blog during each entry.
>Since she has lost friends, most of them are usually from sympathetic Google
>searchers that don't know her very well.
>There is also always one comment from Carl himself, criticizing her even
>more.  Anna, whose only ability on the computer is to write the blog and
>read e-mails, has never seen these comments.
>What Anna doesn't know is that Carl has a blog too.  It's called "Pig
>Democrat." He always waits for Anna to finish so he can comment on her blog,
>and then he updates his blog.  He always makes sure to spell-check because
>he wants to make himself seem intelligent.  Carl will not only write about
>how bad Anna is, but he will also write about casual things, such as the
>weather, and get into political debates.  He is basically open to any
>political debate with a friend.  He allows any friend to disagree with him
>on his blog, though he always has a comeback for it and always tries to make
>that comeback twice as long.
>Anna thinks to herself that it didn't used to be this way.  Carl used to be
>a lot nicer, and sometimes he still is.  He has often apologized after
>making comments, but he has never been willing to change, always making
>excuses for himself and siting depression for his anger.  She thinks part of
>this behavior, which started last year, has to do with the fact that his
>back is constantly giving out-and then she thinks sympathetically of what
>the poor man must go through every day.
>This is just a typical day for the poor family.  Little will Anna know that
>tomorrow, her life will be thrown upside-down again; Carl will be killed and
>smashed flat like a pancake after crashing his car, and she will become sad,
>not able to think for herself.  She will then feel a sense of longing for
>the life before.  She will miss her provider.
>
>
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         David Andrews and long white cane Harry.
E-Mail:  dandrews at visi.com or david.andrews at nfbnet.org