He wants to look in the mirror without wondering how the boy who vowed never to look like his father’s soft, paunchy golfing buddies has become one. He laces up the Nikes, fresh from the box.
His wife looks down at the crossword puzzle book on her lap. In the table next to her she keeps fifteen pencils sharpened to a perfect point. He bends down and touches her arm. A light touch, fingertips against soft flesh. “What does that mean?” she asks.
“Just a sign of affection,” he says. He turns and walks down the hall and out the door.
Thanks for transporting us to world of sharp pencils, soft touch, and fresh beginnings.
Thanks Hamza. Is it a fresh beginning or the beginning of the end? Jeffrey
I love it when a writer can build such an interesting scene from an innoculous moment in time. If the wife had a lit cigarette butt dangling from the corner of her mouth, you’d have a compelling Raymond Carver vignette. Well done.
I enjoyed reading this.
Did she notice he left? Did he shut the door? Interesting scene.
Has he gone off to golf? Love this!
Hello Jeffery,
Your story captures the essential component comprising most middle-aged couple’s marriages. Well done. Subtle.
Suggests to me domestic vitality, creativity, cultural stewardship. Thank you Jeff!
I like the ambiguity of the piece and the bigger story it suggests. Great how you’ve incorporated character detail into such a short story.
Great writing illustrating the power of the written word taking us down our own interpretations. I thought of his wife not remembering who he was. Felt saddened
Another really good story one that did make you think as well