Different P.O.V. for Fiction Story

“Keep that barrel pointed towards the ground!”  Uncle D commanded.  “And pick it up!  I don’t want to be trekking out here all day just trying to get to the stand.”

I nodded my head, vigorously, not wanting to speak and spook any deer that might be hiding in the bushes.  He’d warned me on the drive here that if I talked too much, he’d leave me in the middle of the woods, squawking my head off.  I believed him.

My cousin, Jared, laughed heartily from a few steps behind me.  “Dad, she’s already skittish as a squirrel!  You keep on like this and she’s liable to shoot at anything.”

I would not!  I silently defended myself.  Ooo, sometimes, I just want smack that cousin of mine, he’s so cocky!  Then again, he’s probably just trying to get his dad to go easy on me—I never know with Jared, just like I never know with Uncle D.

“Oh, hush!” Uncle D. chided, interrupting my thoughts.  “And step quiet now!  Do you want to scare all the bucks away from this place?”

We continued silently up the path until we reached the field where Uncle D. and Jared had set up some tree stands a couple of days ago.  It was the same field where Grandpa had taught Uncle D. to hunt.  I was so excited I nearly climbed up the wrong tree.

“Hold it there!”  Uncle place a hand to prevent me from following Jared up the trunk.  “We set up a stand just for you on the other side.  See that little house there?”

I glanced at the green shed nailed to the side of an oak with a ladder leading up to the door.  “Um, yeah.”

“Well, that’s just for you.  It’s got a space heater and everything.”  Uncle D. climbed up to take the perch next to his son, leaving me on the ground gazing up after him.  “Don’t want a girl falling out of a tree on my watch.” 

I was about to argue against the arrangement, then thought better of it.  The situation was settled in Uncle’s D.’s mind.  Reluctantly, I turned to take my position on the other side of the field.

Character Bio for Dave

William David Schuler Junior is fifty-seven years old.  He was born the youngest of three children (two sisters) and raised in Gallatin, Mo August 3^rd 1954.  In high school, he became a year-round athlete who excelled in football, basketball, and track.  He graduated with honors in 1973 and joined the military where he quickly excelled to Naval Officer.  In October of 1975, a year after his wife’s first fiancé died shortly after high school graduation in a car accident, he contacted via post card to ask if she would like to go on a date next time he was home on leave.  Six months later, they were married.  In 1979 his son, Jared, was born and in 1983 his daughter, Cassie.  In 1994, he settled his family permanently in Gallatin to be closer to the folks and started working local reserve.  Fall of 2001, his father, Bill, was diagnosed with cancer and in Summer of 2003 he died.  Now in 2005 he takes care of his mother for anything she needs, as well as whatever requests his eldest sister Barbra (Gabby’s mother) might have. 

He does not get along with Barbra.  She is a single mom who always seems to be in need of something (his truck, plumbing services, moving services, etc).  Even when they were young he found himself ‘looking out for’ his older sister, who was shy and not very popular back in school.  She talks so much that it makes him want to lose his temper.  Dave likes quiet, likes order, likes hunting and being alone with his son or his friend Rick discussing important things like politics or the weather.  He loves his wife, but women in general just need so much all the time.  Even his daughter (quiet as she was) got herself pregnant at a young age.  Girls to him are cute when their little but trouble later.

Hunting and guy time has a special meaning to Dave.  Growing up in a household with three women, hunting was his time to be alone with his father.  He learned a lot during those seasons.  Part of the reason he came back to Gallatin was so he could hunt every season with his dad and take Jason out to their favorite spots.  The year before his dad got sick was when he and his father saw the big deer for the first time.  Out of respect, they let it walk on, hoping perhaps to take it next season.  After his father was diagnosed, Dave spent his hunting seasons mostly alone.  Every time he spotted the deer, he would hold off for another year, hoping the old man would get better and they would collect it on their next hunt together.  He’d always tell him each time he saw it.  It gave them something to hope for even when he took a turn for the worst.  This is Dave’s first hunting season since his father’s death.

Goals for Fiction Story

The goal for my current short story is to create a working piece of adult fiction, something that a reader won’t have to stumble all over in order to understand.  The short short (outside of my preferred realm of children’s literature and poetry) is very difficult for me to approach.  I would like there to be a feeling of mystery for the components that aren’t fully explained, but I would like to provide everything people need in order to make sense of the story as a whole.  I want to hold up an example of a round, dynamic character, with a coarse exterior hiding many of the problems going on beneath (loss of his father, overwhelming responsibility to family, guilt etc.).  He should be a character that readers first flinch or laugh at for his gruff humor, but in time they should come to understand and pity him.  I would prefer the language to be economical, yet descriptive, bringing perceptions of situations to the reader that they may not have experience or thought of in that way before.  If readers of my story could enjoy the words as much as the plot, this would be an accomplishment.  All that I can expect of the reader is a little patience considering this is not my primary realm of creative writing and to enjoy.

Chacter Bio for Luke Goodall

            Luke Goodall is twenty-four years old and in his senior year at Northwest as a Music Performance Major.  He has been in show choir, tower choir, and has functioned as an accompanist for the university for five years now.  He and his friend Bobby Charmichael are like two peas in a pod—they came in to the music department together and rushed Phi Mu Alpha at the same time.  As two participants in the same men’s quartet, they tend to make their music where-ever they are, whether it’s during a practice for a performance or simply waiting in a lunch line.  Hence, they tend to burst out into song (literally) quite often.  It is a colorful life for Luke, the fourth generation in a long line of hawkeyed lawyers from Iowa, but his older brother Robert has taken up the family tradition, so as far as he’s concerned, his life is a mountain of possibilities.  He hopes to take his talent on the road with a musical theatre troupe, or perhaps even on the water by way of one of the summer cruise ships that are always looking for young performing interns fresh from the graduation gown.  Last year, he went to Italy on a show choir tour for thirty-six days, but the performances scheduled by their group’s instructor left little time for a cultural experience.  He wishes to return to Italy someday for a more relaxed view of the world.  Red-headed women fascinate Luke and despite his efforts to make a series of relationships work with his ex-girlfriends (all of which were either brunettes or blondes), he has always secretly wanted to date a red-headed girl.  His favorite meal is late night macaroni and cheese with ketchup and his favorite desert is a chocolate-strawberry micro-blast.  His favorite song is “Luck be a Lady Tonight” from the musical Guys and Dolls.

Luke and Laima

            Two guys are chatting on their way to music class at the Fine Arts.  They have gel-styled hair and are wearing dress-shirts, ties, black pants, and shiny black shoes.  They periodically burst into little bits of song duets and stuttered dance steps as they walk down the flag path.  A girl with red, wavy hair, wearing black leggings, a pair of black flat suede boots, a navy blue and white striped shirt-dress, and a thin strap black shiny purse crosses their path whilst making a video with a pocket digital camera.  One of the guys stops and watches her with fascination.  She points the camera at herself and speaks something very fast in a chatty sort of tone that it is hard to make out.  During her speedy dialogue, she points the camera up at the second to last flag for a while, then back at herself, then at the clock memorial pausing for a close-up of the clocks for Maryville and Turkey.  She points the camera back at herself, her tone of voice obviously brining the presentation to a close, and with a smile, shuts it off.  The young man approaches her while she is busy stashing the camera in her purse.

                “Wow, what were you doing just now?”

                “I was making a video from my camera for my friends and family back home.”

                “I see, where is home?”

                “Lithuania.”

                “Ah, where is that?”

                “In Europe.  That over there is my country’s flag and then I came over here to show the time difference between Maryville and Istanbul since Istanbul is close to Lithuania.”

                “That’s great.  How did you end up here in the Midwest?”

                “I was studying in a college in Denmark, then I decided to come to America—so I guess I’m studying abroad…not abroad but abroad-abroad.”  She giggles.  “Northwest was my second of three choices.”

                “Wow, that’s really cool.  By the way, I’m Luke.”  He shakes her hand.

                “Hi Luke, I’m Laima.  What were you doing?”

                “OH, I was just…walking to class and I saw you talking and I was like, that’s interesting and it doesn’t sound like English so I wondered if you were an international student which I guess you are.  I like your hair.”

                “Thanks.  Are you going to study abroad?”

                “I did already; I went to Italy summer before last.  I really enjoyed it.  Are you enjoying yourself here at Northwest?”

                “Yes, very much!  It’s so great that people stop to talk to international students here.  Everyone seems very nice.”

                “Yeah, I guess they are.  Well, good luck with your video for your family and have a nice semester.”

                “Thanks, you too!”

                Luke walks up the steps to the Fine Arts, then stops and turns back to look, but Laima is already halfway to Colden Hall, strolling lightly across the grass beside the pond. 

Dark Circumstances

     Young Officer Rays was oblivious to so many details that night—things hidden by darkness and circumstance.  His mind registered that the building he was standing in front of at the time was made out of brick; however, he didn’t remember the number or the fact that there were actually two kinds of brick to be seen.  There was the rough, brilliantly red façade that covered the majority of the building, giving it a new, edgy feel that greatly attracted college kids, whose temporary existence in such a small town required little more than a stylish apartment.  Behind the untrimmed hedges lay the history of the building, its 100 year history told in ten registers of the foundation, each dusky-colored brick smoothed under the stripes of rain-worn paths.


     All of this poetic, soul-riveting experience was lost upon the twenty-eight year-old that night.  He was unmindful of the cracks in the walls, the pealing of white paint, the mismatched species of untrimmed hedges.  He remembered his senses, exposed to the chill and excitement of the night air, were unfamiliar to him.  So was the lingering feeling of soft skin under his hands.  It—she had escaped from his car only moments before, laughing,  his LED flashlight in hand, and a mop of brown hair bouncing behind her.
     
     With slow, deliberate footfalls, Officer Rays made his way after her, up the wide concrete steps, tracing his hand along the coolness of the black iron railing. He paused at the screen door to sigh and hang his head in mock frustration before pulling it open and pushing past the old glass door to the stairwell beyond.
    
     The smell of beef stew and brownies lingered in the air.  To the left there were four, open-top mailboxes with names scribbled upon them.  Officer Rays reached beyond the old push-button door buzzers for the light switch.  A beam of light from a street lamp caught the glint of a ring on his finger.  He paused, wondering if a flashlight was worth the trouble he was libel to get into.


     The officer was startled from his thoughts by a giggle and the creak of a door closing at the top of the steps.  He smiled slyly in the shadows, and began feeling his way up the steps like a kid sneaking up on one of his playmates in a game of Hide and Seek.  The stairs creaked, complaining that his tall but nimble frame was asking too much of them at one o’clock in the morning, but he continued noisily up to the top of the steps until he arrived at the old wooden door with a brass number four tacked onto it.


     “I really shouldn’t be here,” he murmured to himself.  Then he smiled at his own boldness.  “But then again, I guess Marcy was right about me playing with hand cuffs leading to all kinds of trouble...”


     With that, he slipped into the apartment and gently shut the door, disappearing into the dark circumstances behind it.

Of Justice and Jackrabbits

           When I was 17 years old I was called upon by woman to answer a question that shamed me to answer and brought her a great deal of pain.  The answer caused her and the man she was living with to quarrel and eventually separate.  I remember being afraid of what would happen to me—after all guy was a con man of sorts and had been in prison before. There was no telling what he might do.  Even the woman was not entirely to be trusted—she received a restraining order from the man’s new girlfriend a few months later.

For years, I could not return to my home without remembering the situation because the woman’s house could easily be seen from both my mother’s living room and her back porch.  Then I learned that the con man was living half a block away from us with friends from our home-town church.

At first, I was very ill at ease.  Should I say something?  Should I let it go?  The people that the con man lived with were sweet and elderly.

I would hate to see them get taken advantage of.

On the other hand, the con man was going to church.  He’d been down to the prayer bench to ask forgiveness for his sins.  He was working a steady job.  Maybe this was the break he needed to turn his life around.  I kept my silence.  I cannot judge for myself, I thought.  Leave it in God’s hands, See what comes of it…

                Last year I visited my grandmother.  She talked of the many changes in the church since I was away.  When the conversation turned to the con-man, I kept my mouth shut and listened.  She said he’d been arrested for stealing from the place where he worked.

                “That man,” she said.  “He never was very sincere.  Sure, he went down to the prayer bench that one time.  But then he kept going down there.  That’s a sure sign that either someone’s not sincere about their prayer, or else they’re just doing it for show.”

                I didn’t know if he was sincere or not, but there for a while my heart had hoped that he was.  In a way, I still hope.  I’d like to believe that none of us alive are past the point of receiving grace.  In the place of insincerity though, it’s nice to know that justice can be a jackrabbit.