Gloves Off: Round XXX

Making good use of your objects

Today we’ll take a longer look at the story You and I by Wil Dalton

To read the story as originally published, please click here.

You and I

Heavy thunderstorms in Dallas delayed my parents’ flight by a day, so after telling him I couldn’t attend at the office, I end up at Tommy’s birthday party after all. Most of the eighth floor is there and friends of Tommy’s from his AmeriCorps days. Hendricks brought his kid. I bring him a pint and ask about Amanda. 

“Home. Headache,” he says. “Thanks. Next one’s on me.”

My Comments: A clear opening, but not very much of a hook. A lot of proper nouns to keep track of, and no physical verbs except for bring. If the kid is a baby that might create some tension and physical sensation. A crying baby.

I tell him not to worry. O’Halloran’s serves half-price pints until the streetlights come on, so I’m drinking double my usual already. Plus, the platter of birthday shots keeps coming around. My cheeks tingle. I see concrete below me, but my feet move like treading through sand. Hendricks offers me his game tokens to hold his kid.

“No way,” I say.

My Comments: Rather than resolve this tension—will you hold my kid?—why not sustain it? Describe the kid for a beat. Assess the situation. Then reject the kid. The way the narrator perceives the kid will tell us so much about the narrator.

Cheers erupt across the bar as a bachelorette party enters. Hendricks gives me his tokens anyway. They are smooth, shiny, and cold with a star design on both sides. I order another pint and score the best skee-ball game in my life. I win a coupon for a free appetizer and order some fries and a water. I’m beginning to feel like there is a little me inside my head controlling the bigger me everyone is waving at and talking to. O’Halloran’s mixes the cakes for Tommy and Vanessa - the bride-to-be, so our parties end up together in the same area of the bar. 

My Comments: Are the tokens metal or plastic? They’re your key object. And consider not mentioning the star on both sides. That might make the reveal stronger.

I sit down. I eat. I look up and see my future-wife sitting down across from me. She smiles. 

I snap back, fully behind my eyes. 

She hasn’t addressed me yet, but my hearing rushes forward, like when you pop your ears as the airplane descends. I haven’t said hello yet, but she looks entertained, like I’m the most interesting man in the world. My lips quiver as I consider the best greeting. I can’t look away from her eyes. It’s like jumping into a cold plunge pool after a long workout and sauna. All my senses buzz high alert. She waves. I notice her rings and bracelets, reflecting the red and greens of the neon beer signs behind the bar. I could win a hundred yard sprint. I could spar politics with my uncle and bully him speechless. 

My Comments: To submerge the “I” more can you describe the fries? Later you mention them being too hot, and that can start there.

Every event that led me to this seat at this table at this bar across from this girl feels destined. There is nowhere else I could have been. There is nothing else I could have been doing. 

My future-wife starts to speak. 

“Hi, I’m…” and the band begins to play, drowning out her words.

High hats and bass drum and pre-set organ keyboards. Horns and backing vocals, fat low-end electric bass and reggae guitar downstroked on the off-beat. 

My Comments: This part works, but consider that the concept of pre-destiny allows you to revisit earlier elements: the thunderstorm in Dallas, the mixed-up cakes, not taking the kid. The narrator’s body of knowledge seems to be music, it’s the only place were he demonstrates authority. Can you do that more?

My future-wife laughs. It is the prettiest sound I have ever not been able to hear. 

I grab one of the short trivia-night pencils in the container by the salt and pepper and flip over my paper table-mat. 

I write, “Hi! I’m Mark.”

My Comments: This writing sequence is very well done. But be careful. Even writing can be too tennis-matchy. And it can demonstrate character; for instance, she might correct his spelling or critique his handwriting. That would help build her character.

And I’m still looking for tension. Can she salt the fries, heavily? Without asking? You’ve already mentioned the salt shaker. Is the pencil feeling greasy from his having touched the fries? What about the glass of water?

She takes the pencil from my hand and rotates the paper to read. My fingers throb electric from her fingers nearly touching them. 

She smiles.

She writes, “Hi Mark. I’m Alyssa. Cousin of the bride-to-be.”

She writes, “Can I have a fry?”

I nod. I charade that she should blow on them before biting.

My Comments: All good. Don’t overlook the option of drawing pictures. She might draw a bride, then point an arrow at it with the words My Cousin. If Mark only used words, and she drew pictures (and a few words) that would help create tension because the pictures might be harder to interpret. It would add a Pictionary element.

What she draws can be ambiguous. She draws what could be a witch or a pig, then points across the room at the bride-to-be. She draws an arrow to her picture and writes ‘My Cousin.’ His pretending to understand her drawings will add tension.

She grins and writes, “Thanks. You’re the best.” either a happy face or a clown.

Her index finger touches my thumb when she returns the short pencil. My heart does a set of jumping jacks. 

I write, “I’m with the birthday party.” 

She nods, takes another fry, and gives me a thumbs-up.

We write back and forth until we empty the basket. 

I write, “Should I order more fries?”

My Comments: Now, if Alyssa wrote, The guy with the kid. Is that your husband? It could be funny and create tension. I’d like to see more disconnection. It’s still great that they can’t talk, but if Alyssa then wrote, Is he married? as if she were scoping out Hendricks, that would create tension.

“No,” she writes. 

“Should we step outside?” I write.

She points to herself and then to her cousin’s bridesmaids and friends and pantomimes a big hug.

“It’s a nice night,” I write. “We could walk through the park.”

“You want me to leave my cousin?” she writes and underlines it three times. 

My Comments: Nice. It would be nice to see earlier elements stay present: the tray of shots, the cakes, the music.

Her eyes widen in playful shock.

I have one game token left. I pull it out of my pocket and show her one side. 

I write, “Let’s flip a coin. If it lands on star, we leave.”

She bites her lower lip, hesitates, then writes, “Okay.” nods.

I flip the token. It lands star-side up. She smiles. She shrugs. She stands. She waves good-bye to her cousin. She picks up the token and when she gives it back to me, she holds tight onto my hand and pulls me after her.

My Comments: All good. I marked out a couple bits because they’re more effective if you show the action.

We thread through a crowd of people near the door and exit. After passing through the huddle of smokers by the entrance, the night air hits me and I hear her voice for the first time.

“I want you to know that I knew that token had a star on both sides,” she says and squeezes my hand.

My Comments: You’ve mentioned ears popping, and it was a good bit of on-the-body. Here as they emerge from the bar, can his ears be ringing from the din? And the reveal about the star on the token is nice—even done in dialog—but can you save it for the button on this scene? You might even have her keep the token and eventually give it back to him as the closing gesture of the scene, while she says the line.

My delighted grin widens and hand in hand, we cross the street and walk towards the park. The music fades. A car horn honks. Someone yells. But in this moment, all I want to hear is whatever Alyssa wants to say. 

Above the streetlights and the tree line, I see the stars, happy and full of hope, smiling brightly in the night sky.

* * *

My Comments: The line all I want to hear is whatever Alyssa wants to say is wonderful! But I still suggest you close with returning the token and saying the line about it having stars on both sides.

Yeah, I get that the token has a star, and that you button each scene with the stars, but that’s a little obvious. I’ll suggest options that might be stronger.

Tommy and Clarissa share a smoke under the pavilion in front of the Bow Bridge. Two mallards swim past. Tommy gives Clarissa the cigarette and pops up when he sees me. 

“Mark,” he says. “I’m ready. You ready?”

“I left my metro card on my dresser. Should have missed the train, but this old man swiped me in. Had an extra card, he said. Found it this morning and held onto it because something told him it’d be needed. Then walking here? Every crosswalk turned green right as I reached the street.”

My Comments: Important, really important, attribution needed. The reader doesn’t know if we continue with the same narrator after the space break. We’ve only seen the name “Mark” once, so if the reader didn’t retain that, this preceding long quote will be confusing.

Tommy rolls his eyes. In the ship of life, Tommy’s always preferred the role of captain to stowaway. He supports me, always, but thinks I talk too much about fate and good omens. 

“Love is a choice, “ he says. “Love takes effort. Hard work.”

Love is a mystery. The solution is find your soul-mate. Like I found Alyssa. 

My Comments: You’re stealing your own thunder if you mention Alyssa by name. Make us wait a beat longer before we sense Mark’s intentions.

This morning, my horoscope read, “Do not be afraid to make a big change in your life.” Her horoscope read, “Say yes to a stranger’s request and discover adventure.” To be fair, I’m definitely not a stranger to Alyssa, but you know, the spirit of the text always shines brighter than its literal meaning. 

I’m nervous. I got Elvis legs. My fingers waver. 

Alyssa and me, we’ve talked about marriage. She wants to live in the city. I want to live in the city. We listen to the same music. We both avoid factory meat. We each detest IPAs. We each prefer the evening service at Redeemer when they play the hymns on jazz instruments. We volunteer. She wants three cats. I want her happy. 

My Comments: Always try to avoid naming an emotional state. Instead, going on-the-body works better. For example: My legs go knock-kneed, Elvis legs. Dry mouth and sweaty palms.

“Shouldn’t she be here already?” Tommy asks.

I stretch out my fingers and then press the tips of them against the palms of my hands. I repeat. 

Before she met me, Alyssa said she planned to never marry. Her mom married too often. She doubted love endured. Then she met me. Now, she says God designed us for one another. Now, she says the universe conspired to bring us together. Alyssa focuses on details; I see the big picture. She worries about what could go wrong; I assume everything will work out.

My Comments: It would be nice if Clarissa asked, Shouldn’t she be… because it would keep her in the scene. Use the cigarette for something. If it’s dropped and stomped out, that could undercut a line like I’ve never known two people…

“I’ve never known two people so destined for each other,” Clarissa says, reading my mind.

“Don’t stress him out,” Tommy says.

“Oh look,” Clarissa says.

But I already saw her walking on the other side of the water. In this park of thousands enjoying the yellowing and reddening of leaves, we always find each other. I rush to catch Alyssa at the center of the bridge.

“Hey,” I say.

“Hey,” she says.

“You look amazing.”

“Are we shooting a movie?” she asks and flicks something off my shoulder.

Couples row by beneath us. The lamplights flicker on. In the distance, a park performer strums his guitar and sings a love song.

“We should,” I say and kiss her. 

She squeezes me tight and runs her hand up the back of my head and into my hair. I lose focus whenever she does that. I feel weightless, like I’m floating in space. She releases me and I steady myself on the wood beams of the bridge. I look into her expectant eyes. I stare into a million happy mornings, a billion ecstatic nights.

“Hey, you two,” Tommy says, beside us.

“Adorable,” he says and pulling out his phone, “Smile.” 

My Comments: I’d still like to see tension building. Anything that he can be ignoring. Maybe Tommy doesn’t like Alyssa and does subtle things to express that dislike.

Also, rethink your names. Alyssa and Clarissa are pretty close.

Clarissa rests her head on his shoulder and squeezes his arm.

Alyssa points her chin at Tommy’s phone and grins, squeezing me.

Tommy takes the shot and like we planned, says, “One more.”

Alyssa adjusts her angles and smiles. This shot is video. 

I look at her face and push a lock of hair behind her ear. I pull a shiny, silver coin out of my pocket.

“Remember this,” I say, conspiratorially.

My Comments: Here the coin should change hands. She should get it back.

Alyssa’s eyes narrow. Then she recognizes the coin as the token from the night we met. She gasps.

“I love you,” I say. “There is no one else in the world I could ever love as much as I love you.”

I close my fingers around the coin.

“Everything about you is magic. You know how much I love magic,” I say and rotate my fist and hold it out to her so she sees my fingers pressed against my palm.

“I want it to last forever,” I say and open my hand so Alyssa sees the ring in my palm.

My Comments: It would’ve been good to see Mark do a magic trick earlier. Then he might seemingly pull the coin from her ear or hair.

She laughs and looks up from where the coin should be into my eyes. Before I can say, “Marry me,” Alyssa puts her finger against my opening lips and tracing slowly, soft and warm and big so I cannot mistake a single letter, under my nose, touching my cheeks, touching my chin, she writes, “Y-E-S.”

Above the lake, past the penthouse towers, I see the stars, planning our future, twinkling optimistically in the wide, open night sky.

* * *

My Comments: I’m not sure you need the device of the stars. Panning to the stars at the end of each sequence isn’t as strong as a gesture or reveal. The stars allow you to state emotion by projecting it, but dictating the emotion isn’t the same as tricking the reader into feeling that emotion.

Alyssa loads the dishwasher. I scrape nibbled chicken nuggets, fries, and snap-pea shells into the trash. The kids sleep upstairs, showered and story told. The air conditioning kicks on, its blowing hum a small comfort after the chaos of dinner.

Scrolling on her phone, Alyssa asks, “You’ll talk to Nick’s teacher?”

I nod. 

“Yes?” she says. “You have more free time in the day.”

“Yes,” I say. 

“I got a work thing Thursday.”

My Comments: Again, attribution. If Alyssa is keyboarding on her phone as she says the preceding line, it will continue the horse/theme of writing.

Thursday is Tommy’s game night. The Lonely Hearts Club. Ever since Clarissa left him, he’s held a weekly get together for the guys. Only half are single. I suspect the other half aren’t any less lonely.

“How long is it?” I ask. “Tommy’s thing is at eight.”

Alyssa groans. 

“Still?” she asks. “Do you even like Tommy’s friends?”

She wipes down the counter and tosses the cloth at the wash machine. She misses and hits the wall. The cloth falls behind the machine. 

My Comments: Finally, some tension! Hurray!

“Fuck my life,” she says and walks to the bedroom. 

As she passes, I stare at the wall. I feel her hand cut through the room, nowhere near my own. I stand in the kitchen and listen. I hear her toss her work clothes into the hamper, pull on pajamas, and settle onto our bed. Pages turn. She sighs. Her phone dings. Her book hits the dresser.  She laughs. To the whooshing sound of her reply, I walk to the laundry room. 

I tug the wash machine away from the wall. The washcloth lies folded over on the floor, covered in lint and grey fuzz. Beside it, a toy xylophone stick pokes out from under the machine. I pull it out and a shiny, silver coin slides across the dust-covered gap. I pick up the cold token and feel the smooth star shape on either side.

My Comments: This is why the coin needed to pass to Alyssa in the park. He would’ve kept better track of it.

I snap a picture of the coin in my fingers and text it to Tommy. 

He replies immediately, “LOL! Deep cut.”

He texts, “Told you, man. The universe loves you most.”

He texts, ‘What’d Alyssa say when she saw it?”

I roll the coin over the middle of each of my fingers before closing my hand to make it disappear. In my open palm, nothing. Then, relaxing my ring and middle finger, I drop the coin back onto the floor. It clinks and I push the washing machine back over it. I throw the washcloth into the machine and return to the kitchen.

My Comments: You mention the trash earlier. Would you consider putting the coin in the trash with the pea pods?

I take a beer out of the refrigerator. Anymore, if Alyssa is home, I prefer to pre-drowse myself before getting ready for bed. I tilt the chalice to reduce its foam. After a few sips, I look back at the washing machine. I pour my beer down the drain and toss the glass into the trash.

The sound of shattering prompts Alyssa to shout my name from our bedroom in the same tone she uses to curse. “What’d you break this time?”

I don’t answer.

My Comments: Now, here’s your stronger end. By cutting to the stars you lose tension. I bumped the quote up next to the word curse because, you know, attribution.

Through the small window by the table, I see the stars resent their promise to twinkle, up high past the tree line, trapped in the dark, quiet sky. 

My Comments: It would be nice if Tommy texted back the bridge photo. Or—since we didn’t see the video—we could see an aspect of the video that flashes back to a previously not recognized aspect of the bridge scene. Some quirk or detail about Alyssa that Mark has always overlooked.

Also, a story: A friend of mine was a server in New York and served lunch to Heath Ledger and his small daughter a day or two before his death. Ledger and his daughter used crayons to draw on the butcher paper that covered their table, and my friend kept the paper after they’d left. At Ledger’s death, she tried to contact his surviving family to give them the crayon drawings.

With that in mind, can Tommy present the happy couple with their paper place mat? Their first words and pictures and french fry grease. He or Clarissa could do it at the park, and that might be a bit of the video we only see near the end. At that point, some bit of writing could jump out as a payoff. Again, this is always about keeping your objects reappearing but with new meaning each time.

Also, at the very, very end, consider that the weather in Texas is the only reason Mark met his wife. Can you revisit that? He seems like such a pattern-watcher, he’d keep track of these omens and symbols that have shifted from being blessings to being curses.

Beyond that, great job. And thank you!