In Her Eyes – Part 5
by John Walker on Mar.24, 2006, under The Rest
I’d be interested to hear people’s comments on this so far, positive or negative.
In Her Eyes – Part 5
WUMP… WUMP… WUMP…
It was bigger than her.
WUMP… WUMP… WUMP…
***
She is too hot. It is stifling, and the frantic fanning of her paperback book does nothing to cool her down. Instead it merely serves to encourage the sweat from her forehead to run into the corners of her eyes. An ideal afternoon by the lake now seems less than perfect, and she wonders at her endless capacity to always want for whatever it is that she currently does not have. Throughout the damp June she had moaned for sunnier days. Here they are, and she is wishing for just a single cloud in the sky
looking up, she notices she is no longer alone on the small grassy incline. A family of three are setting up a picnic, over-organised, and the daughter, maybe seven, far too well behaved. It looks uncomfortable, so she begins to carve out a story: It is the second-to-last chance for the stability of their family. The father has slept with his wife’s friend, and while it’s something he regrets with every jagged memory, his wife has not forgiven him at all. Perhaps if they can perform this family ritual, they can once again rediscover how to be united. Their daughter, her name shall be Cassie, knows that mum and dad aren’t as happy as they used to be, but she does not
with the back of his hand. She looks up, astonished, in utter disbelief, tears stinging the corners of her eyes. Her head is flushed red, red in anger, red in horror. She can feel the heat of her burning cheek, and a hand reaches up to touch it, as if to confirm that it has really happened. Her eyes are wide open, but she wants them to be narrow, narrowed to slits that would portray her anger. But they are wide open, and all she can show is fear. He looks scared too, but behind the fear she can still see that, the thing, the thing that had been just before he struck her. It had filled his eyes a moment ago, and now it was barely there, a flicker, less than that, at the back of his stare, almost obscured. But there. She cannot decide whether to scream or to run, whether to collapse or lash out. When he takes a gentle step toward her she is frozen. He suddenly looks sad, suddenly looks as if he is about to ask
just a bit more cold water. But her mother is too angry with her, and she isn’t acting normally. The water is stinging her legs and bare backside, but they are already late and she is covered in dirt from the garden where she had been told not to go, but had gone, because she had seen a rabbit, and it was sitting really still, and she really thought it might let her touch it, and then it had hopped away, and she slipped, and then she was all muddy even though they were already late. Her right thigh was still really sore from the smack, and now the bath water was so stingy too, and the water on the smack was making her cry, but crying only seemed to be making mummy angrier. She couldn’t stop and mummy was rubbing too hard with the flannel on her arms and she cried louder and it felt like it would never end and she wished that she hadn’t seen the rabbit because then they would already be in the car and mummy wouldn’t be so angry and her legs wouldn’t hurt and it would be
***
WUMP… WUMP… WUMP…
The walls looked as though they were on fire. But it was more complicated than that. If someone outside had been looking in, they would have said that the paint must have been burned by flames. But the walls weren’t on fire. The paint wasn’t on fire. It was the colour of the paint that burned.
She had set the colour ‘Apple White’ on fire.
It was beautiful craft. A fine carpenter could work an elaborate curve into the leg of an occasional table. But of course it was only structural. The carpenter was using physical tools to make geometric shapes that were pleasing to the eye. She was merely setting light to the moments of energy released as light’s photons met with the electrons of the paint. Each quantum burst igniting. This was within her control.
***
is seventeen and James is fumbling clumsily with the clasp of her bra. He kisses her neck as he attempts to undo this most simple of devices. She is at once entertained by his struggle and trembling inside every time his lips press against her skin. She has never felt this way, never this scared before, and as she looks around she realises that everyone else’s face shares the same expression as her own. The climate control has now completely stopped working, and the horrific thunder of the turbulence is blocking out the noise of people’s frantic yelling. Terror fills her as she realises she cannot even hear her own hysterical screams. She gasps, as his tongue touches her bottom lip, and his hand slides over her belly. Her face and chest are flushed red, almost prickly. She hasn’t felt this before, this desire, this tightening, making it more than she can bear to breathe, the air seeming too thick to take into her lungs. Someone falls into the aisle, someone else trips as they try to run, they tangle, him in her arms, her in his, holding each other, the moment paused, held in perfection, smooth backs under gentle fingers. She wants this time forever, to never end, with no idea how much longer she can survive
***
WUMP… WUMP… WUMP…
More than alive! It could be as loud as it wanted, but she was more than alive now!
WUMP… WUMP… WUMP…
March 26th, 2006 on 19:31
Hang on… isn’t this about 2 years old, from back in the Big Robot days?
March 26th, 2006 on 19:32
*actually reads what you wrote before and regrets making that comment*
March 26th, 2006 on 21:00
Everyone point at Lewis.
March 27th, 2006 on 12:38
They would, if they’d not skipped this post in search of news of “teh new brian OMG!1” instead.
March 27th, 2006 on 14:13
All you hateful non-commenting meanfaces.
March 27th, 2006 on 14:49
I’m sure the reason for the non-commenting on In Her Eyes is that most people didn’t know what to make of it. That’s not to say that they didn’t understand it; I’m sure most did. It’s probably more the case that it’s the sort of piece that defies traditional comment (a more deeply unsatisfying critique you couldn’t have asked for, I know).
It certainly wasn’t rubbish; you have a nice turn of phrase and conjure up some appealing imagery. But I’m not sure that I can say I fully enjoyed it in the traditional sense either. It certainly held my attention throughout, but it was more…fascinating than pleasurable, coming across rather as a useful exercise in technique. A practise run, an experimentation.
On those terms it can be said to have been a resounding success.