Short Story / Same Old Song
The air was stale in the hospital waiting room, the tension dancing, twirling around the room, taking its toll on each person who nervously occupied one of the uncomfortable cushioned chairs. Garrett Johnson’s hands shook, causing the coffee in his Styrofoam cup to crash back and forth against the sides. His back ached as he sat forward in his chair, his once clean sky blue button up shirt sitting next to him, stained now forever. He could feel twinges of pain on his forehead under the bandages where the stitches had been applied less than an hour ago. A woman sitting across from him was staring at Garrett, perhaps fearful that the pale man whose brown hair was sticking up in all directions, disheveled, was going to parish any second, right before her eyes. Garrett didn’t notice though, nor did he notice the liquid in his cup beginning to spill onto the floor as his shaking became more violent.
He wasn’t there now; he wasn’t in the waiting room. In his mind Garrett was still on the dark highway somewhere, his body feeling as if it had been thrown into a washing machine. He remembered everything that had happened minutes before. The song playing on the radio had been one from the big band era, slow and long. Mostly he remembered the trumpet player’s solo, the car had begun to lift off the ground when it began, forcing the fall from the road to the bottom of the wooded area seem like it had lasted a thousand years, as the car moved on, lost somewhere in the rhythmic melody of the slow, sweet song.
The first thing Garrett saw when his eyes were lifted from the black dream of unconsciousness was the bright familiar moon staring at him through the large branches of the trees that had caught his vehicle. A warm feeling came from the right corner of his forehead and somewhere in his mind he knew he was bleeding. For a moment he wasn’t sure where he was; he thought maybe he was out on his deck at home, looking up at the moon as he sometimes had. The warmth on his head, he thought, was nothing more than the warmth from his wife’s hand, as she was accustomed to lie next to him on a vacant deck chair.
He nodded off a little until he heard the sounds of anguish coming from the passenger side of the dilapidated vehicle, sounds that snapped him back to Earth like the force of a rubber band. He woke up, stumbling out of a dream to a new and concentrated horror. His wife was somewhere beside him, though he couldn’t see her in the darkness. Garret couldn’t make out what she was saying. She was whispering something, and as he strained to hear her his thoughts were turned to the backseat of the car where minutes before his child, four year old Alexander had been sleeping peacefully in his car seat. Garrett had sat listening for a few moments, half trying to hear the unsure whispers of his wife, half waiting for a shrill cry, a cough, any response from the back of the overturned vehicle.
After moments of hearing nothing from the back and unable to make out his wife, he unbuckled his seatbelt, which had somehow managed to stay clasped even in the force of the rolling. He landed on his back with a thud, though he had braced himself for the fall he knew the pain would later reveal itself.
“Let me help you sir,” a young nurse said in a sweet and piteous voice as she pulled a towel out of the pocket of her baggy blue uniform, snapping him out of his memory. Her voice reminded him of his mothers when she had to tell him one of his pets had died. She knelt down and began to clean up the coffee; her bleached yellow hair was blocking his view from the coffee stains as he stared down in the direction of the floor.
She had taken the cup from him when she walked over, but his hand stayed in position as if it were still grasping it. The pretty nurse smiled pleasantly and bent down slowly reaching for Garret’s hand. She pulled his still cupped fingers into a fist, prolonging the gesture a few minutes so she could hold his hand. After she had finished she stood up and put her hands on her tiny waist, studying him. The nurse reminded him of the character Olive Oil from Popeye cartoons, only with a dye job. She was wearing a Lilac scented perfume, he could tell because it wafted away with her as she walked to the nurse’s station, making the waiting room once again reek of sterile bed covers and nervousness.
A woman in a white coat with a blue stethoscope around her neck walked up to Garrett and suggested that he go to the restroom and clean himself up. He assumed this woman was a doctor; the Olive Oil nurse had probably called her. Guided by the hand of the doctor, he walked, dazed to the restroom marked GENTLEMEN. When he reached the porcelain sink he mechanically turned the knob for the cold water to its highest pressure. He looked at the water running down the drain, both hands gripping either side of the sink so he now hovered above it.
Once again he was back on the road. Garrett couldn’t be sure exactly when he had dozed off, when his hands had slipped off the wheel. His large blue eyes had begun to get smaller as he drove, fatigue setting in. His wife had suggested before the trip that he stop at a hotel if he got tired, but he was sure he could manage. Feeling his eyes getting heavier, he had cracked his window to make the cool night air blow in on him in hopes that it might keep his eyes open. In his rearview mirror he had seen his son stirring due to the new shock of the coldness, and, since there was nothing for his son to cover up with, he hurriedly rolled his window back up. That was when he had decided to turn the music on; it was the first station that came, and this cruel twist of fate made Garrett’s mind seethe with fury. Any other station would have caused him to stay awake, but at that moment, the moment he heard those long and airy sounds tugging at his already tired mind, there was no hope. The lids of his eyes collapsed over his pupils, and he could feel his hands slipping off the wheel and the car began to turn sideways as the lone trumpet of the orchestra began to play.
Before he could feel the car lift off the ground again, he heard the bathroom door bust open, pulling him back to his savage reflection in the bathroom mirror. A rough looking man with a dirty t-shirt and dark hair that went down to his waist walked into the bathroom, pulling Garrett from his line of memory.
Again, Garrett sat in the waiting room, hands clasped together now, head hanging down, looking at the floor. It was likely three hours before the doctor who had been working on his wife and child came out from behind the doors of the emergency unit, the doors of an earth-bound purgatory. He proceeded to tell Garrett the thing that had made him shake the entire time. His wife and child were gone. Garrett stood there a few minutes, unsure of what to do. Then he began to walk slowly, aimlessly down the hallway.
Seconds later he yelled out with a force that came from somewhere outside himself, like he had gained the life force of all those who had ever been lost in the hospital before.
“These hands!” he cried, his face pointing downward, looking at his guilty hands, the hands that had caused the only people he loved to perish. Walking in a daze down the hall the wide eyes of the hospital staff were frozen by this broken man, as if Death or God itself were walking on the gray tinted white tiles of the Emergency Room floor.
“These hands!” he shouted again, turning them over to the palm, the treacherous section of the hand that had lost hold of the wheel,
“These hands! These hands! These hands!” he moaned and collapsed in a heap of pitiful, broken, sorrow.
You need to log in to urbis or create an urbis account to review this writing.
Reviews
Sort Reviews by Newest | Oldest | Highest Quality | Lowest Quality | Newest Comments |
This was a pretty solid story.
You got a good idea here and I liked how you tied the accident to the song he was listening to, like it was the song’s fault.
I noticed in the beginning you wrote “was going to parish any second,” where it should say “perish” instead of “parish”.
The only thing I really wanted to see was more action at the end showing us his wife and child are gone, rather than telling us. I felt the story could be much more effective that way.
But this was some nice work.
- add/view comments (0)
A short piece, capturing something that has been covered before. Therefore, you must not only make it your own but also pretty perfect.
You’ve nearly succeeded, but I found a few things cumbersome, so some suggestions;
“the tension dancing,” – ‘dancing’ has connotations of happiness, try another word.
“cup to crash back” that would require something more violent than shaking.
“parish” – “perish”
I’d split this sentence, “A woman sitting..before her eyes.”
Try “One woman, sitting across from him, was staring. Perhaps she was fearful that the pale man, with the disheveled brown hair sticking up in all directions, was going to perish right before her eyes.”
I’d reword this “He wasn’t there …washing machine. ”
-> “In his mind, Garrett wasn’t there, not in the waiting room. He was still on the dark highway somewhere, his body bruised and crushed as though just ejected from some crushing machine.” (Washing machine, water, not a relevant analogy).
Again, this section would improve with re-phrasing “Mostly he remembered ..sweet song.” ->
“Mostly he remembered that, at the start of the trumpet player’s solo, the car had begun to lift off the ground. The forced fall from the road to the bottom of the wooded area seem like it had lasted a thousand years. As the car tumbled, everything seemed lost somewhere in the rhythmic melody of the slow, sweet song.”
And this one “The first thing …caught his vehicle.” ->
“The first thing Garrett saw as he opened his eyes again after the black dream of unconsciousness, the bright familiar moon staring at him through branches and leaves. The car hung suspended where the tree had stopped it’s fall, and now it hung suspended in high above the ground”
This sentence, ” For a moment he wasn’t sure where he was;” doesn’t fit, as you have already described the car hanging in the tree. Try ” For a moment he couldn’t reconcile what he was seeing with his dreams of being at home on the deck.”
“He woke up, stumbling out of a dream” -> “He woke up, stumbling out of the dream again”
“seatbelt, which had somehow managed to stay clasped even in the force of the rolling.” This is what they are designed to do. I’d just delete this.
“The nurse reminded him of the character Olive Oil from Popeye cartoons, only with a dye job. ” This sounds almost comedic, out of place. I’d just describe her without the cartoon reference.
“either side of the sink so he now hovered above it. ” – > “either side of the sink and as he hovered above it.”
“that it might keep his eyes open.” Third use of ‘eyes’ in quick succession, “that it might keep them open.”
” In his rearview mirror…his window back up.” Similarly, three ‘his’. -> “In his rear..the window back up.”
“Before he could feel..pulling him back ” – >”Before he could relive the car lift off the ground again, the bathroom door bust open, the sound pulling him back”
“Again, Garrett sat in the waiting room,” Best if you move him there -> “Garrett returned to the waiting room…”
“It was likely three hours before the doctor..” -> “Probably at least three hours passed, he couldn’t tell, before the doctor…”
“He proceeded to tell Garrett the thing that had made him shake the entire time. ” – > “He proceeded to talk to Garrett, confirming his worst fears, making him shake in anguish.”
“like he had gained ” -> “as though he had gained “
Sorry to sound critical, but with improvements this will be very good.
Well since you asked for constructive critism…
“The air was stale in the hospital waiting room, the tension dancing, twirling around the room, taking its toll on each person who nervously occupied one of the uncomfortable cushioned chairs.”- This opening line could be broken up into two or three sentences.
“The song playing on the radio had been one from the big band era, slow and long.”- As most people on here will say… (and I loathe the fact that I’m about to.) ‘Show don’t tell.’ What exactly was the song that was playing on the radio? Was it Benny Goodman? Billie Holliday? Miles Davis (who is a trumpet player.)? It’ll add depth to this beginning.
There are alot more like this peppered through out your piece. Watch it. Don’t let your descriptions get in the way of the story. If you play poker; a good analogy would be- ‘Don’t over play the pair.’ You do have a talent worth shaping, but simplify things with more specific description. Try a couple short five/six paragraph stories but focus on the charcater and all the intrisic occurrences around him…
”...sink so he now hovered above it.” – On this line to show you what I mean. Hovering above the sink with a white knuckled grip upon the porcelain, his eyes lost focus in the running water.
Good Luck! and remember, we’re here because we want to get better.
Wow! You had me on the edge of my seat from the beginning of the story. I like the way you unveiled plot development (why the car accident happened, if the wife and child were alive). It maintined a feeling of suspense through the whole story. I can’t think of a single thing that needs to be changed in this. Fantastic job!
Good concise story. Seems well thought out. Outside of sp in first paragraph parish s/b perish, which I’m sure was a typo, English usage is also very good. Keep up the good work
I like it with the exception of the continuous “these hands” part at the end. Make sure you spellcheck. Where are you going from here. I would like to read more.
olive oil misspelled. parish should be perish.
“These hands. They look like good strong hands, don’t they?” – Rockbiter, from “The Neverending Story.”
OVerall, a good car accident story. I liked how you went back forth between the present in the hospital and the car crash. I think i want the transitioned changed a bit. I either want everything to flow as one, where the reader gets no immediate indication that a time shift is taking place or B) more distinct separators showing us when the shift is happening. Right now, i think the narrative is in-between the two… telling us time is shifting, but doing so a bit clumsily.
Also, since you end with the otherworldly screaming, the narrator staring at his hands, i’d like some kind of hand imagery beforehand. You could have him holding his kid, caressing his wife, his wife could be playing with his thumb, i dont know precisely, but give us a reason why he blames his hands and not his overall driving ability or his lack of caffeine.
Keep working, this is a great start.
James
For a short story, this was very powerfull. Every line held me gripped waiting for the end I had suspected would come. Your descriptions of Garrets person-I had a face in my head. I wanted to read more, but the end had come. You definatly have talent. Each sentance was so defined and radiated with realism. The end- I saw Garret, looking down at his hands seeing blood driping. I don’t know what else to say. I wish it were longer. Your style is great!
that was a really emotional piece,.,. i pity the man,.,. losing the people he loved,.,. well,.,. i didnt see any grammatical error,.,. but in page one,.,. there’s a wrong spelling,.., (‘parish’ should have been ‘perish’ right???)
well,.,. that’s all i noticed,.,. i guess it’s because i was too hooked on the story,.,. it was good!!! :) specially at the end when he felt so guilty,.,. it was ironic,.,. how he fell asleep because of the music when his intention for turning the radio on was too be kept awake,.,. :(
Showing 1 - 9 of 9
Review item
Add to faves
GENERAL
REVIEW QUEUE
Ratings & Rankings
