[stylist] Short Story: "Smart Decisions?"
Jackie Williams
jackieleepoet at cox.net
Sun Oct 30 20:57:01 UTC 2016
Vejas,
I am finally going way back to catch up with so much I missed.
While I am not an experienced critiquer of fiction, my first impression is
of sustained interest in the story and the characters.
You have started so many interesting threads lately, and now you are putting
all of that knowledge into your own writing.
While I never lost interest, I was not quite satisfied with the ending. I am
not exactly sure what I was looking for.
I did learn the term, "self-harm" which I did not know referred to cutting.
The things you write about are keeping me up to date. It was very
interesting to find out the technical steps to get names into her phone.
Something I wish I could do!
Your involvement in the list group has added so much interest from everyone,
and your questions keep us all on our toes. I always think Chris adds so
much of worth to anyone's writing.
Jackie Lee
Time is the school in which we learn.
Time is the fire in which we burn.
Delmore Schwartz
-----Original Message-----
From: stylist [mailto:stylist-bounces at nfbnet.org] On Behalf Of Vejas
Vasiliauskas via stylist
Sent: Thursday, October 27, 2016 6:51 PM
To: stylist at nfbnet.org
Cc: Vejas Vasiliauskas
Subject: [stylist] Short Story: "Smart Decisions?"
Hi All,
Here is my latest short story. The title comes from the fact
that a Smart-Phone is the main focus and is meant to be a bit
ironic. Feel free to tear it apart if you want to, haha.
The story is pasted below as well as attached.
Happy reading!
Vejas
Smart Decisions?
by Vejas Vasiliauskas
London, England, 2015-2016
Prologue, 2016
The man sits alone at a picnic table in a park. He is surrounded
by trees on one side of his picnic table and ducks on the other,
but he has no awareness of this, or anything at all for that
matter. He is completely zoned out, for no particular reason.
It is probably just a reaction to all the stress he has had to
deal with in the past year. He was supposed to be somewhere
else, but drove to the park just to have some peace. He was
supposed to be...
Supposed to be...
Suddenly his IPhone rings. The ringtone itself is nice: it's the
Nokia ringtone he fell in love with and which his son downloaded
for him. It's the vibration that jolts him.
"What's up?" he says in an exhausted voice.
"Charles!" It's Helen. The angry bitch he married, it seems of
late, he thinks scornfully.
"What did I do this time?"
"I'll tell you what you did! You were supposed to pick up Cameron
from art club a half hour ago! He tried to call you, but you
wouldn't pick up!"
Charles groans.
"I've got him, don't worry about that," says Helen. "But how
could you do this to your own son?"
Charles doesn't know what to say, how to answer. "We're all
human and make mistakes," he mumbles.
"I made salami sandwiches for myself and the kids," Helen informs
him. "There may be some ham left for when you get home." Charles
doesn't like salami, Helen knows it, and he knows that she knows
it.
"See you," Charles says weakly, then, when he's off the phone, he
yells, "SHIT!" Nobody can hear hm; if they did, who, in this
messed-up world, would even give a damn? Probably a mother with a
three-year-old yelling not to swear in front of her child, or an
elderly lady screeching at him that the devil is in him, or
something.
Charles thinks of Helen. They used to get on very well, they
did, for 15 years. Long enough to have a 13-year-old son,
Cameron, and 11-year-old twin girls, Ruth and Anna. Even last
year, Helen would have reacted more calmly; she would have tried
to reassure him that forgetting to pick up Cameron was no big
deal. She would not have fed the kids salami; she would have
made something, anything, that the whole family could eat.
Charles knows that it is his fault, it's all his fault.
As he gets up to go back into his beat-up Mustang, Charles takes
his phone, goes to the duck pond, and does something he has never
thought he would ever do before in his life: he gently throws the
phone, which lands into the water with a great splash.
One Year Ago to the Day...
"Sir? Sir!"
The man working at the small sandwich shop is growing impatient.
He is tired, and his next customer has obviously put on too much
Nautica cologne, much to his annoyance. He could try to overlook
the cologne, but the man-by the name of Charles Culvert-is not
answering him. This is not because he is a jerk, but because he
is glued to his IPhone screen and seems fascinated by whatever is
on it. Rolf, the sandwich man, is not sure what to do. As he
debates his options, the girl standing behind Charles taps him on
the shoulder. She is about 20, Charles probably being at least
50.
Charles does look up. "Oh, I'm so sorry," he says, then proceeds
to order a turkey and Swiss cheese sandwich, jalapenos, and
mustard. He has every intention of going back to playing around
with his new IPhone, which he only received the day before.
Ordinarily, he would have been one of these that would have just
stuck to a flip phone, even a pager, but his son Cameron, then
12, had convinced him that this was the only possible way he
could keep in contact with his family. He is trying to figure
out how to add people into the contacts app.
Somehow, Charles notices the girl behind him. It must be that
young actress look, the blond hair, the blue eyes, that makes him
look away for his new device. And the way she is ordering...
"I'll have a pulled pork and salami sandwich on tomato bread,"
she says. "I'll have a slice of cheddar and half a slice of
pepper jack. I want three-quarters of it to have olive oil, and
one quarter to be ranch and more-stard. Please put more ranch on
than more-stard."
Charles is amazed. He is even more amazed when she turns to him.
"Hi, I'm Charles," he says a bit nervously.
"I'm Caroline!" Her voice is sweet and confident. "Do you need
help with your IPhone? I am addicted to mine!"
"Yes, please," he says. "I hate the damn thing."
Caroline helps Charles put Cameron's information into the phone.
"Do you know how contact cards work?" she asks.
"No." He is uncertain but fascinated, and she knows it.
"OK. I'm going to send you my contact card," she says
determinedly, putting on an enthusiastic smile.
Charles receives a text from a number not on his phone, but that
says "Caroline Wilson, contact card."
"What the hell am I supposed to do?" Normally Charles wouldn't
use this language with someone young enough to be his daughter,
but he senses Caroline doesn't care. And he's right: she
doesn't. She only laughs.
"Click on the contact card, go to more info, and hit create new
contact. Everything's all filled out for you. Then hit DONE!"
Charles does so. Now he has 21 contacts, as opposed to 20.
And if it were not for that phone, he would never, ever have to
see Caroline Wilson again.
When he gets home, Charles texts his work friends, Bow and Mason.
"Hey man I have an IPhone, what's up?" he writes in both. The
replies from Bow and Mason are positive but basic, and yet,
somehow, Charles loves it. Now he can understand why his son and
friends love to text and love social media. The idea of getting
an immediate reply from someone makes him feel good, like he is
validated and cared about.
He texts his wife Helen, "I love my new phone!" He watches the
"friend is typing" icon. He loves it! Someone is taking time
from their day, if only a few minutes, to send HIM a message.
Helen is currently visiting relatives with the kids. Charles
hates the in-laws; there is nothing wrong with them, but they
annoy him, and so, as an agreement, Helen makes sure that he
never has to see them but the kids can spend time with their
grandparents.
Helen's reply: "Hi honey, I'm glad you like your phone, and
we're having a great time! You can still have some of the
mushroom risotto. We still plan to come back on Sat." (It was
Thursday).
Finally, Charles texts Caroline.
"Hi Caroline, thank you so much for helping me with my phone," is
all he writes. Caroline's reply within 40 seconds: "Hi!! I'm so
glad your phone is working for you!! What are you up to??"
"Bored as hell," replies Charles. Thinking about it, Charles
realizes he really is. He misses his family and wishes he could
talk to someone. Helen and the kids were having too much fun.
Soon he and Caroline began having a conversation about books.
By the next week, Charles and Caroline are still chatting.
That's all he wants it to be. But he's scared to tell Helen
about it and, when she's out of earshot, asks Cameron how to
change the passcode. By the next week, the phone itself is not
so much an issue as is the topic Caroline has brought up:
self-harm. One night at 23.00 in the morning she randomly texts
him that she hates her life, she cuts and self-harms and nobody
else gives a damn. Charles is woken up by the vibration of the
phone, and so, too, is Helen.
"Who is that?" she says peeppy.
"Mmm," he replies in a half-sleepy state, not really hearing the
question but somehow sensing it requires a response. Clicking on
the text, though, he becomes on high-alert.
"Who is it from?" she asks, seeing the concerned look on his
face.
"Lizzy." That's the first person Charles can think of to not make
his wife suspicious. Lizzy is their adored double niece; the
child of Charles's brother Solomon and Helen's sister Sarabeth, a
happy-go-lucky girl of 15 raised in a loving home.
"Is she all right?" Helen asks, concerned.
All Charles can say, still in shock, is "Self-harm."
"Oh, God," Helen says, looking scared. "I'll ring Sarabeth later
and talk to her."
"No, no," Charles says defensively. "Lizzy doesn't want me to
tell anyone." That part is true in a way; Caroline doesn't want
anyone to know.
"No, I'll ring her now," Helen decides, jolting herself awake.
Charles knows he is in a mess, but at least his wife is away from
the room, and he tries to counsel Caroline. Telling her she is
beautiful how she is, that if she needed to talk to someone she
should find a doctor. Could her parents support her?
Soon afterwards, Helen comes back in, distraught. "Not only does
Lizzy self-harm," she says worriedly, "but Sarabeth is already
very aware of it. They go to the doctors on Monday."
Charles is shocked. Not only had he lied, but how could his
happy nice find life that unbearable? At least she confided in
her mother about it. Charles hopes Caroline has that comfort as
well.
Two Weeks Later
In the past two weeks since Caroline's self-harm crisis, she had
been texting him daily, explaining her progress. Today, Charles
is relieved, because she says she is completely cured, and they
begin chatting about books again. Luckily, Lizzy is also
healing, her self-inflicted injury being an isolated incident
related to unresolved matters she was getting counselling for.
"Can I see your phone for a minute?" Helen asks. "I'm trying to
update Cameron's but it's being extremely slow."
Mid-text, but slightly zoned out, Charles hands it to her without
thinking.
She gasps. "CHARLES! Oh God. How could you! HOW COULD YOU!" And
she breaks into a sob.
Charles tries to explain. He tells her about the fact that
Caroline just helped her with her phone and that he didn't want
her even for sex, he was just trying to be a good friend and help
her with her self-harm crisis.
"You didn't even know Lizzy was cutting herself, did you," Hcclen
says hotly. "As soon as she did, she told Sarabeth. She never
told anyone else."
"Shit," Charles mutters.
Helen will have Charles back, as long as she breaks all contct
with Caroline. He doesn't really have a problem with this; after
all, he was only trying to help her. Her reaction is
surprisingly calm and he knows from reading it that she will not
stock him.
But this is why the atmosphere in the Culvert household has
changed.
This is also why, on this day in the park, Charles had thrown
away the device that has caused him problems in the first place.
Relieved that the Sim card could be an entertainment toy for the
ducks, Charles drives home, awaiting the ham sandwich.
The End
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