The second thing Annie Riser did after receiving her diagnosis was to find a realtor in the Yellow Pages and put her house up for sale. It was a big house in the Connecticut suburbs with ugly casement windows that were difficult to clean, and Annie knew she wouldn't miss it. She understood that Ronald would disapprove but was ready to fight that battle too.
The first thing she did was book a flight to Colorado. It was mid-winter, and the western sunshine surprised her. In Denver she rented an all wheel drive vehicle and drove to Ouray. Her husband had died twenty years before when he got caught in a spectacular avalanche while skiing in the back country near Telluride and Annie had never been to Telluride or to Colorado. Annie chose Ouray for the big mineral springs pool, and for its proximity to the backcountry where Ronald, Sr. had met his death.
Now Annie stretches her body in the hottest section of the pool and watches the passing traffic, people who seem comically white. Steam rises from the hot water and hovers over the pool as over a tea cup, and to Annie, staring at her scissoring legs, it feels as if she is living in a cloud. But when she raises her head to see the spectacular red cliffs, and the mountains that ring the pool, bathed in late afternoon light, she sees a family of deer picking their way through the foot high snow just beyond the protective railing of the pool. The deer come at the same time each afternoon. Annie wonders where they go each night.
Her cell phone rings. Annie picks up the phone, sees who is calling, then lets the phone go to voicemail. Scrolling through the menu, she selects silent.
Annie lies in the water with her feet braced at the bottom of the pool and her arms behind her head. She pulls her upper body into a series of crunches. She doesn't feel sick. Neither had Rose at Stage 3, when both women had felt free to speak of hope. But Annie understands what is coming, what cannot be stopped, and that the third thing she did will set things in motion.
Annie is 72. She lost her youngest child three years ago to the same ravenous form of ovarian cancer. Rose struggled but succumbed at last upstairs in the rambling Connecticut house, in her girlhood bedroom. Divorced and childless, Rose had wanted to go home to her mother's house to die. Together they had made the hospice arrangements.
An enormous man enters the hot water section. His big belly overhangs his fashionable trunks. He wears a beige hat with ear flaps that reminds Annie of Lawrence of Arabia. The fat man nods at Annie and collapses into the hot water like a descending hippo, one leg at a time, his enormous head and pink nostrils disappearing into the mist.
Annie glances at her phone. It lights with a silent call. She sighs and places the cold screen to her wet ear.
“Mom, what the fuck! You put the house up for sale? Why didn't you talk to me? Where the hell are you, anyway?”
“Are you at the house now, Ronald?”
“Mom, you understand that I am a realtor, right? You do understand that, correct? What'd you do, pick this idiot out of the phone book? What were you thinking? He couldn't even get his sign into the ground straight. Where the hell are you, mother?”
Annie snaps the phone shut. The third thing she had done after getting her diagnosis was to call an auction service. She gave orders to set all her belongings on the snowy lawn of her house and to accept the highest bid. Proceeds will go to the Greenwich Ovarian Cancer Fund in Rose's name.
Annie looks at the dying light of Ouray, the last bit of sunshine on the highest peak, how many miles away? How cold would it get on that peak tonight, Annie wonders, in the harsh Colorado winter. How odd it was, to be warm in the cold, lying in the mineral springs pool. Contradictions. Like Rose, healthy and strong and dying, painlessly. Bit by bit our life slips away, Annie thinks. Better to go out strong than to fade molecule by poisoned molecule, to endure the body's cruel betrayal, or a son's disregard for his mother's wishes, his suspicion of her politics, his criticism of hospice care, his rich mirthless life in a diseased community of the living.
The phone rings again. As compassionately as she can manage she explains things to her remaining child. Ronnie, she says, about tomorrow. One more thing, she says, and pauses. She lays it out, what is coming, what cannot be stopped.
Annie places the phone in her bag. Pulling herself up by the rails she steps out of the pool, her swim suit dripping water. Looking at the darkening mountains, she climbs over the protective railing. She places her bare feet carefully in the deer tracks. She walks out into the Colorado night.
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my ray carver tribute, i guess, though it moves off in a diff direction--
written in one sitting at the home of two friends in colorado-- denis & joann ford--thanks guys!
dedicated also to the dogs of the family, bigfoot & george! woof!
This story has no tags.
This is gorgeous. It feels like a novel. The work completely fulfills itself. I do not need to know another thing. I am there with this woman the whole way.
thanks meg--
coming from you--from one who understands flash so well, and so excellent a practitioner--i really appreciate.
this one had the feel of somethng longer right from the start, but i resisted, shrtened it, kept paring away--
i may take it down and re-write--we'll see. try a longer version.
and etc.
thx for reading and commenting!
This is a well written piece, Gary. Good story.
hey, thanks sam!
simply great, Gary P.
I like the way it moves through with 2nd thing, 1st thing, 3rd. the end surprises but after reading it feels like something that was coming, in the same way as her understanding of the diagnosis is the acceptance of something that is coming. Also like the connections to the husband and to the deer
great piece, wonderful ending. meg's right, a mini novel this is, which gathers the essential elements of existence like annie gathering her thoughts in the pool. well done.
I LOVE this, Gary. There's so much in so few words it's amazing. The structure, your word choice. The repetition of railing.
Nice nods to Carver -- and I'm glad they don't detract from the heart of yours.
The fat man as a hippo, the grotesqueness of life as she sees it - so good.
This has me thinking of my job-share partner Ann, who is 70, has had cancer twice, and is planning on selling her home and belongings and moving to the coast this fall.
You have hit on something here that isn't expressed often, if at all. Female august years alone--and being okay, being strong. Because this is a form of strength, leaving to die.
Favorite para is third from the bottom: "molecule by poisoned molecule."
Oh, and nice turn on the Carver story. Mother-son still, but different circumstances, a different kind of death--planned rather than sneaky.
Wonderful, Gary. Great time, even better tone. I agree with Katrina - you have expressed the end of this woman's life marvelously.
aw, kath, thanks for reading & commenting--
morgan--thanks for seeing those connections. this was an odd kind of take on two stories by carver, one with this title, and the other, the "dummy" story (one of the stories that gordon lish edited the hell out of)--but i always liked its structure, 1,2,3. the odd sequencing builds suspense, perhaps--
thanks, finn!
sara--funny, i woundered about the railing stuff in there--but left it in. thanks for seeing that--
yes--the grotesqueness of life, the hippo-man.
i love the way you read, the way you take things in--
thanks for reading and commenting on this one, really sara--
g
People who seem comically white...living in a cloud or a Hitchcock movie..collapses into the hot water like a descending hippo..how cold would it get on that peak tonight..she places her bare feet in the deer tracks. Wow! These are marvelous lines in a talented engaging piece. Go to the head of the class, young man.
katrina!--i wondered about changing the title from the carver story but decided to leave it as is---no dount, someone will be bothered by the title, but what the hell--it is not his story, it is mine, and titles can be multiplied, no?
and thanks for sharing that about your job share partner, ann--
sigh--
marcelle--thank you for reading this one! i appreciate your time--
darryl--what can i say? you always inspire me--
Lots of nice lines--the white people, the hippo, the deer tracks. Folks have all said it before. Quite nice.
thank you, john.
uh, jon---sorry
a nod to Carver, but man this is all you - so good, so much to admire.
thanks julie!
This is excellent. Compassionate, realistic, sad, and that darn consciousness of what we will all need to bravely deal with at some point.
thank you, beate,--
Great.
Lot of hurt people in my life and this this somehow helps.
Succor from the skilled and caring performance of language.
BTW-You got a deal with Ann names? Some grad student can write thesis on Percesepe and doomed Anns, Annies, Annas.
jim,
laughing my ass off--
you called ann or one of ann-derivatives in any of my stories you sure as hell doomed, eh?
i felt weird about that too until i read elif batuman's "the possessed" who pointed out the multiple annas in tolstoy and the russians(not suggesting a comparison, believe you me), and then i didn't feel as bad. what can i say? i gave her a cool last name--riser? hope, arising? like, somewhere? lol
The specifics of her preparation give this so much energy. The last bits of the mundane...the cell phone light from a silent call, Annie soaking as if to dissolve...This line regarding the deer, beautiful and resonant for what awaits: Annie wonders where they go each night.
for this careful reading, doug, i thank you--
Stunning. I also love that you used deer... my mythical animal
thanks very much susan, for reading & commenting--
i think my spirit animal is wolf, lol
this is beautiful. i love the way you share a lifetime in less than a thousand words. very moving.
I've been away too long. It's a simple thing, but I'm saying it a lot these days--what a powerful thing it is for a character to make choices.
laura ellen: welcome back.
and you're right, of course--
yes.
thanks v v much, emily. so pleased that you stopped by to give this a read--
Nice Gary. I like strong women in stories (as I do IRL). I also like how this story is just told, without the need to impress through stylistic fireworks.
Inspiring
jonas & derek, i thank you--
How did I miss this one? Asleep at the switch, I guess. Great story. I admire the deft handling of the narrative. This is really something!
thanks v much,jack--
Shorter, but right up there with Jim Harrison's Woman Lit by Fireflies. Tight. Very smooth read. Nicely done.
high praise larry (geez)
but thanks.
--g
Strong stuff, Gary
A few things ...
(1) "She understands also that it is the third thing she did after receiving her diagnosis that will set things in motion."
I couldn't/can't seem to wrap my arms around this sentence. Maybe it's just the "it is" and "she did after receiving" that keep tripping me up.
(2) "Annie snaps the phone off." I think, technically, it should be - "Annie snaps the phone shut." I have cheap cell phones, granted, but I don't think they snap off...still need to click the power button.
(3) the son character is just so fucking evil; can't help but wonder if he can be any softer to give him a shred of decency. i know he's calling b/c he's been "wronged" and humiliated by not even getting to sell his mom's house but still this guy's awfulness just comes on so strong that maybe in another edit you can consider making him a bit "softer" (i know there are sons out there who abuse their parents and make fun of their politics but they don't make very interesting characters to me). His character has one great line, about the crooked sign...right there the son came alive to me and i'm thinking maybe that's it...he can be a cantankerous dick but at least he seems "real" and wounded and annoyed and pissed at her but not just some asshole i'd like to slap (unless that is what you're going for)
(4) these comments notwithstanding, the story is wonderful and the images of her stepping carefully into the deer tracks and this image - "like a descending hippo, one leg at a time, his enormous head and pink nostrils disappearing into the mist" - is one of the best things i've read in a while. i can see that image so well right now.
i like LES's comment...the choices the narrator makes drive this thing fast and true
a great piece, gary
david:
v grateful for your helpful suggestions--made a few edits, hope it is stronger.
indebted--thanks
g
Like the changes, Gary, glad to assist such a strong piece.
I wonder if you could show a response from Ronnie at the end, when he hears her plan. As it stands now, I only imagine him yelling "Mother, have you lost your mind?" I guess that's where I'm coming from about his character. The story would be more painful (exquisitely so) at the end if I empathized with "Ronnie," imagined him listening to his mom's plan w/o being able to do anything. Right now, all I can think is GOOD FOR YOU, ANNIE, DON'T DIE AROUND THIS DOUCHEBAG.
Keep in mind I was up most of last night working on a story so I could just be cranky and projecting on Ronnie, but maybe even the following change would be all the softening needed: instead of "or ((a son's callous disregard for his mother's wishes,)) HER RONNIE'S INABILITY TO GRANT HER WISHES, HIS "JOKES" ABOUT her politics, his criticism of hospice care, his rich mirthless life in a diseased community of the living."
With a change like that, Ronnie wouldn't be such a dick and it would make the ending phone call that much more painful to bear for the reader.
david--how generous of you to give your time to this story--i do appreciate--
pondering....
Sure thing, G, that's all I got on this one. The story resonates so strongly with me that I can't help butting in. Obviously you'll figure out what's what and how to proceed but certainly happy to throw in my 10 (48?) cents. The story is amazing as is, and others may think the son is a perfect character right now. I sometimes get hung up on things like that. I remember watching a Sayles movie about the "evil" coal company versus the trapped coal miners. In my screenwriting course, I kept arguing that it was too "easy" to make the coal mining company execs all evil. After class, my screenwriting prof asked me what they were teaching me in my journalism classes (I was majoring in JO) b/c didn't I realize most corporate execs were villianous? I laughed and said that may be true but in a story I want to see more than that...otherwise it's a straw man argument. The only time against that teacher (who also taught my fiction courses) he acknowledged I had a point ha ha. But, yeah, maybe I'm focusing too much on the son, who really is, in some ways, an incidental character here. I just know that for me the ending would even be stronger if I cared, just a little, about him too.
david: i just struck the word 'callous' in that 'graf--i had struck it in an earlier edit, but somehow neglected to strike it on the fn page.
stil pondering--and thanks for the fave!
hey, feel free to edit the other stories up here! i thought maybe "beautiful girls" might be to your liking, lol
I just wanted to be the twentieth person to fave this. You nailed it from beginning to end.
(sheepish) thanks, neil--
ha, you know "fn" is a pretty funny abbreviation to say out loud
heh, maybe i'll look at some more of your pieces, gary
reading it now w/o "callous" makes a big difference to me. i think that word was sticking in my craw
i'll get some sleep tonight, of that i'm sure
been fun, gary, always nice to have these sorts of "real time" interactions, especially on such a great piece
i'd love to get my hands on this piece for jmww...if you want to submit lemme know. i am fairly sure our head editor would really like it, too
oh and final thing...two of my favorite SS's all time are "cathedral" and "a small, good thing"
i love so much of RC's work but those two left such an impression on me
david: laughing on the fn thing--yeah
carver learned so much from chekov, especially what you and are are interacting about on this here story--the importance of doing justice--being fair--to each of your characters
for me, i guess, i am focused more on annie in this story--the fact that she tries, still, to deal compassionately with her son, to lay it out for him in a way he can comprehend--but in so doing, i may have given short shrift to this character--
geez, where is morgan when i need her? lol--she always fixes my stuff better than i do!
changed 'taunting' to suspicion of her politics--
nice, gary, i like the suspicion of her politics line
and, man, this interaction is amazing for me. i definitely get the focus on annie and to me there is something really great about her calling him ronald and then ronnie at the end. i don't know what about that crooked sign line got me good...but it made me think of him as having potential to be such a funny character. as it's currently written the guy is just a lot of yelling at his sick, dying mom, which turns me off. my mom had cancer when i was in high schoool...and i thought she was going to die. i remember being so careful around her, even though i was a typical teen-ager and miserable about everything
i get that he's not the main story here but the switch from ronald to ronnie would be really better (for me) and more meaningful if i felt something for the guy
okay, i'm blabbing even more
love the story, obviously
Gary, this is excellent in this form. The story is chock full of great details and lines and it just moves effortlessly.
christian: i thank you.
Gary,
This is a wonderful story. The first, second and third things she did form an armature for a very vivid and complete narrative. Great work!
thanks, bobbi--
i borrowed that structure from carver, of course. i wanted to see if it could work in a much smaller story, etc--
thanks for reading--
Pwerful and brave. Those of us who have gone thru it, are still here. I wish it is fiction.
oh, estelle--
i lost a sister to cancer (ovarian).
i miss her every day.
for the brave....
Literary fiction at its best! Loved it. Fav
I DID read your stuff before. Just catching up now...
hey bob, thanks, man