Some Other People

Entropy

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SOME OTHER PEOPLE

by
GENE HILL


The spring air was not sweet and in the DOT it was sticky and tasted of over-boiled coffee. The numbers slowly belled, "157. 158. 159. . ."

"What number are you again, mother?"

"163." She said, squinting down the bridge of nose and bifocals.

"It'll be a miracle if they let you renew at all."

"Oh, hush now, Gertrude. I've worn these same glasses for twenty years. I wore these same glasses to your wedding and drove myself there just fine."

Gertrude rolled her eyes. "I just don't know why you need to," she said. "You're living with me now. I can drive you."

"Because I want to, and because I can. Why, in Atlanta--"

"Yes, yes, you told me all about Atlanta, Mom."

"Well, you're sister let me--"

The bell chimed, "161."

Nobody approached the desk.

The clerk started to look anxious when, from the back, a voice both old and lively cooed out, "Hold on, we're coming! Not as fast as we used to be!"

A silver bird in pastel sweater came sauntering to the front with a beau who bandied her with one arm and a red cane with the other. They clerk had no reaction than to slump forward again and from the corner of her eye Gertrude saw her mother looking puzzled. The couple only paused briefly on their way to the front, but Gertrude saw that too, and the wink the lady in pink and sea-foam threw her mother's way.

"Do you know them?" she asked.

"I think so. . . yes, I do. I just can't seem to place--"

The bell chimed, "163."

It would have been easy to believe the clerk was wearing a mask trimmed from card-stock his face was so bland and pale, if not for the high blood pressure red giving it depth. His voice sounded much the same.

"How can I help you today, ma'am?"

"Yes, I'd like to renew my license."

"Name?"

"Estelle Gettes."

"Spell that, please?"

"E-S-T--"

"Your last name, please."

"Oh, G-E-T-T--"

"There you are. Just a minute, please."

Estelle smiled cordially as the clerk's fingers outpaced his demeanor on the keyboard. She turned and saw the man and his red cane at the photograph station, smoothing back iron hairs. She looked away before he noticed.

"My, it's so hot today. I just got back from Atlanta, that's where my daughter lives, well, rather my younger darling, Erica, and it was far cooler down there. She owns a convertible and I was hoping to open up the top when I, oh, I mean we (she would let me drive), when we would go--"

The clerk looked up and his eyes came back into focus. "Mrs. Gettes, you have a restriction flag popping up, you'll have to take the vision test for verification. If you'll return to your seat, please, we'll call for you when it's available."

"But I've worn these same glasses for twenty years, I wore--"

"I don't make the rules ma'am, I just have to follow them. If you'll
return to your seat. Please."

He gestured insistently and she complied. Gertrude watched with a cool eye.

"What did he say," she asked.

Estelle brushed at her sleeve. "Oh, some silly formality. I have to wait a moment and take the vision test."

"I told you."

"Stop sounding so smug, Gertrude, you'll turn into a peacock."

Gertrude rolled her eyes again just in time to see the couple from earlier at the nearby counter. Estelle had already noticed.

"There they are again. I suppose I'd better go say hello."

"Mother!"

"What?"

"You don't even remember who they are," said Gertrude.

"Well, that's no reason to not be polite."

It was taken out of both their hands. They were coming, slowly, but coming. Estelle stood up, only to be embraced by warm pastel.

"Hi, Estelle! how have you been?!"

She put on a cardboard mask of recognition. "I've been just fine! how are you?"

"Oh, can't complain. Say, you remember my husband--" the woman cut herself off. "What am I saying, of course you do!" They all laughed and he shook her hand with a strong fist.

"Hi, Estelle, what's new?"

"Oh, I just got back from Atlanta, actually. My younger daughter, Erica--"

The woman chimed in brightly, "Of course, the dear."

Gertrude's face was dark out of the corner of her eye. "Yes, yes, she brought me down for a few weeks to see the grand babies. Wonderful time! But, enough about me, how about you?"

The man leaned on his cane in dandy fashion as he spoke. "Well, ever since the surgery--"

"Did it help?"

"Yes, yes, a lot, but I still decided to take early retirement. Too bad I didn't have anything to do but putter around the house!"

They all laughed again. The woman continued the story in her sing-song voice. "So, we thought, 'Why don't we finally do it? just get out there and see the nation.'"

Estelle let her eyes grow wide. "You didn't?!"

"Yep, bought a brand-new Winnebago RV, fully-loaded with every gadget they got," he declared triumphantly. "Be taking it out within the week, just had to come and pick up our--"

The bell chimed, "161."

"Oops, speak of the devil."

They all hugged goodbyes, and then the red canes and pastels were gone, and Estelle was sitting back down and Gertrude was glaring at her very sternly.

"What?" Estelle asked.

Gertrude just shook her head.

"Well, what did you expect me to do?"

"Mother, that was just the rudest thing I have ever seen."

"Honey, they came and started talking to me, what should I have done, pretended like I didn't see them? Oh, you're angry I didn't introduce you. I'm s--"

Gertrude bit down hard and whispered through gritted teeth, "You could have asked them their names."

Both were quiet after that. For a very long time, both were quiet.

"For the life of me," Estelle finally said, "I still can't remember that old lady's name."

"You're not going to spend the rest of the day racking your brains over it, are you?"

"No, no I'm not."

Gertrude sighed.

"I'm getting hungry," she said. "What should we eat?"

Estelle still looked puzzled, but responded anyways.

"Pizza. . .?"

The bell chimed, "163."
 
Interesting story, but I need to ask, is there more? Or is the purpose of the story to make you confused and unsettled at the end, like Estelle is?
 
C&C, yeah? I feel sort of the same way as Houde. It's generally well written, but what's it building to? Anyway, when I comment on a short story, I tend to be incredibly anal retentive about it. I just want to preface this by saying I like the story, even if I'm a little befuddled by the intent, so don't take this as me trying to rip your **** apart.

The spring air was not sweet

I don't really like this. You shouldn't be telling us what the air isn't, unless it's relevent to the story, and I don't think this really builds anything for the story. Besides, when is spring air sweet anyway?

and in the DOT it was sticky and tasted of over-boiled coffee. The numbers slowly belled, "157. 158. 159. . ."

I'd cut out "in the DOT", because the DOT is where the scene takes place. What the air is like anywhere else is completely irrelevent. I'd suggest more subtly suggesting their surroundings than outright saying it. I'm also not sure I buy the air tasting like over-boiled coffee. It suggests that the strongest smell is over-boiled coffee, when the DOT is apparently crowded with all sorts of stinky people. I feel like it draws the reader away from how bustling this place is. Finally, I'm not sure "belled" is the appropriate verb there.

"What number are you again, mother?"

Personally, I wouldn't have her keep repeating "mother", "mom", whatever. But that may just be a personal thing.

"Because I want to, and because I can. Why, in Atlanta--"

"Yes, yes, you told me all about Atlanta, Mom."

While this works fine, I'd maybe give Gertrude a more obtuse response. I mean, if her mom's chirped off about Atlanta in the past, then Gertrude is likely used to hearing it, meaning her response would probably be something more like, "Not this again".

A silver bird in pastel sweater came sauntering to the front with a beau who bandied her with one arm and a red cane with the other. They clerk had no reaction than to slump forward again and from the corner of her eye Gertrude saw her mother looking puzzled. The couple only paused briefly on their way to the front, but Gertrude saw that too, and the wink the lady in pink and sea-foam threw her mother's way.

I like the imagery there. If anything, I'd expand it a little bit. Since these characters are so central to the story you're telling, and since they're obviously so colorful, I'd give them a little more space to expand on their descriptions. Especially given the setting. I mean, there's not much to do at the DOT except study other people anyway...

It would have been easy to believe the clerk was wearing a mask trimmed from card-stock his face was so bland and pale

This is a good image, but I think it's weakened by "It would have been easy to believe", and I also don't think you need the "so bland and pale". The card-stock metaphor is strong enough that you don't have to explain why his face looks like card stock, and the "It would have been easy" feels like it weakens a rather strong metaphor. As a reader, that doesn't convince me of how pale his face is. But if, for instance, his face had the blandness and paleness of card-stock, or his face WAS a mask trimmed from card stock, I think it would stronger suit the metaphor.

, if not for the high blood pressure red giving it depth. His voice sounded much the same.

His voice sounded bland? or his voice sounded blood pressure red? Again, "much the same" seems like too wavering a choice of phrase.

"How can I help you today, ma'am?"

"Yes, I'd like to renew my license."

"Name?"

"Estelle Gettes."

"Spell that, please?"

"E-S-T--"

"Your last name, please."

"Oh, G-E-T-T--"

"There you are. Just a minute, please."

You work very well with dialogue. I like that exchange.

Estelle smiled cordially as the clerk's fingers outpaced his demeanor on the keyboard. She turned and saw the man and his red cane at the photograph station, smoothing back iron hairs. She looked away before he noticed.

See, the problem I'm having here is picturing the man with the red cane in my head. Estelle and Gertrude are no problem, because they've been built up comfortably through dialogue, but there isn't any indicator as to how to picture this guy except that he's got a red cane.

It was taken out of both their hands. They were coming, slowly, but coming. Estelle stood up, only to be embraced by warm pastel.

It? What it?

She put on a cardboard mask of recognition.

I don't follow this one.

They all laughed again. The woman continued the story in her sing-song voice.

She has a sing-song voice? Well that's new to me. It's something you should address when she first starts talking. It would also be a perfect excuse to tie in with the imagery of her as a "silver bird".


I'm not gonna cut and paste all the dialogue, but I wanted to say again that I like the exchanges between the two groups. It's good language.

Estelle still looked puzzled, but responded anyways.

puzzled seems like a rather bland word to describe her, especially considering this is (presumably?) the resolution of the story.

Also, I don't quite get why she's puzzled by pizza? Or is she still puzzled by the people she didn't recognize? Why does Gertrude think it's rude for her mother to have strung along a conversation with the couple? That could be in part because we don't really know much about Gertrude. I think there's a lot of good stuff here, but there's also a lot of questions that need to be answered. I feel like the characters need to be established a little more strongly, and you might want to hone down some of the ambiguities and wish-wash word choice.

But overall, I dig it.
 
Really appreciate the comments and opinions zombipanda. I'll be making revisions soon that I'll share with you.

And yes, Houde, that is the entire story.

My intent with this (and several others I plan on writing) is to attempt to broaden and temper my writing style. The other day I was looking through a number of pieces I've written and I came to the conclusion that I was far to hysterical for my own good. Legitimately, I've been stuck in the rut of trying to write overtly literary, sprawling stories that are always bent to the tone of dark sarcasm.

So, I'm attempting to branch out. My first stop was writing in a way that is totally the opposite of my normal style, so I went minimalist. I'm going to keep trying, for a few more stories at least. And, from there, who knows.'

Anyways, I'll change the story to the final draft once I complete it and/or once some more people chime in with opinions.
 
Really appreciate the comments and opinions zombipanda. I'll be making revisions soon that I'll share with you.

And yes, Houde, that is the entire story.

My intent with this (and several others I plan on writing) is to attempt to broaden and temper my writing style. The other day I was looking through a number of pieces I've written and I came to the conclusion that I was far to hysterical for my own good. Legitimately, I've been stuck in the rut of trying to write overtly literary, sprawling stories that are always bent to the tone of dark sarcasm.

So, I'm attempting to branch out. My first stop was writing in a way that is totally the opposite of my normal style, so I went minimalist. I'm going to keep trying, for a few more stories at least. And, from there, who knows.'

Anyways, I'll change the story to the final draft once I complete it and/or once some more people chime in with opinions.

hm.... In that case, I have to ask what the intent of the story is. What are you trying to express, here?
 
hm.... In that case, I have to ask what the intent of the story is. What are you trying to express, here?

I have to agree.

The story itself, to me anyways, felt as, how can I put this....forgetful as Estelle's memory?

I think that's what I'm trying to say.

Anyways, it leaves the reader just as confused as Estelle is.
 

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