Well, I didn’t quite make my goal of 300, words. I pared it from 450 to 350 and I think if I deleted any more it would be a different story. Maybe it already is. What do you think? Is it better or worse for the editing? The original is back on the 1/31/07 post. If nothing else, it was a good exercise. Truly amazing what uselessness you find when you’re word counting. Here’s the revised version…
Change of Heart
The air outside smelled of daffodils and dandelions pushing up through the dirt, so strong with spring you could get drunk from one deep breath. I came outside to shake the scent of dust and bat shit out of my hair. I took deep breath and started laughing—I was crying, cheeks cramped, before I could get control of myself again.
Jaime pulled up in his driveway. Behind the stack of Thai take-out he still wore a scowl from the fight we’d been having. He walked around the hedge that separated his driveway from where I stood: back porch of the dead neighbor with no living relatives. One offer to mow the lawn, turned friendship, turned certified letter bequeathing the entire contents of his house to Jaime. It had taken us three days to sift through the rambler and conclude that the Salvation Army was going to score. All we had left was the attic, but of all the crammed-full-of-crap corners it was by far the worst: tax returns from the sixties and twenty boxes of Christmas decorations—not the porcelain nativity type, but the tinsel variety. I was beginning to reconsider my resolution to give Jaime and me one more chance.
What a difference a bag of cash can make.
I didn’t feel great about the fact that it took finding the old man’s stash of money to make me realize I should admire Jaime’s effort in memory of a man he’d barely known. He was going to come out of it on top by about 30-grand—proof enough for me that the universe approved of his efforts.
From the back porch I heard Jaime call my name then clomp up the pull-down ladder. The duffel bag was back where I’d found it, on top of the last stack of boxes, so he could experience the rush of finding it himself.
I waited a few minutes and made my way back to the attic. Jaime was in the corner. The duffel bag was lying, deflated on top of the “toss’ mound.
“Looks like we’re just about finished,” he said.
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About Me
- Brigette Pugh
- I'm a mom, writer, grad-student, writing teacher, yoga instructor and some-time mountain biker. When I'm not doing one of the above I post here.
4 comments:
I dont know how you can economize on words so well. Great job. I like the new look. I will go back and read the other story but what a great ending. So real!
I didn't know I could until I tried; I'm not known for my economic word usage, if you know what I mean. = ) I'm sure Jeremy wishes I'd apply the exerrcise in real life.
You know I quite like the brevity of words. I have read both again and I think the words you chose to take out were perfect. It must have been very difficult but it does seem in retrospect that some of the words tossed out were unneeded. Anyway, one question....why doesn't he tell her? It is like a book I just read Tess de'Uberville or something like that (Thomas Hardy). The whole thing is riddled with the characters not communicating in a timly matter? So frustrating!
Well, one reason he doesn't tell her is because of the word limit. We know what happened, she knows what happened, and Jaime knows his side of what happened, so there's no need to use any words.
From another perspective, looking at the characters' arc, I liked the contradictory note the story ends on; she's had this change in perspective (superficial as it may be) and Jaime gets to show some signs of having more dimensions than simply "saint." Thank God, because saint can be boring, right?
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