Twine
by Katrina Gray
I grabbed a handful of butter and lifted the loose skin off the breast side of the chicken. I smeared the butter inside and closed the flap back down. The last thing to do was tie the chicken's legs together with kitchen twine and stick it in the oven. But I realized I didn't know where the twine was, not here anyway.
I knew right where it was in my old house. Second drawer on the right when you enter the kitchen from the dining room. I felt like I could just walk in there and grab it. It was in a familiar spot, but one that didn't exist for me anymore. It felt so close.
I thought of driving over there across town, steering with buttered hands. I thought of stepping up on the porch and knocking on the green door with my elbow and holding my hands up like I'm about to wash them, or dry them, palms facing my shoulders.
“Hey,” I would say to my ex-husband when he opens the door, “Mind if I get the kitchen twine? I'll just be a second—” I'd step in before he had time to answer, and I'd maybe even towel off my hands at the sink. Those things would be familiar too—the towels and the sink, the window facing the crepe myrtle.
I could wander over to the bar and pour myself some cheap cream sherry. I'd have to dust off the tulip-shaped glass. What if I sat down, then? I picked the couch out myself; I was entitled. I cleaned his niece's vomit off it once. I slept on it twice.
“This coffee table is a comfy place to put up your feet,” I'd tell him. I'd pat the pillow beside me, signaling to him to make himself at home. I'd grab the remote from the side table. “Did you DVR Oprah?”
Pretty soon I'd have to pee. The hall bathroom was mine, with my shampoos and my creams. I'd sit on the toilet, and even the toilet would feel like home. I would know to hold down the handle until the end of the flush.
He would be quiet the whole time. He would hope I would leave if he acted like I wasn't there.
But then I would get sleepy, and I would wander to the bedroom, beat. My side is on the left, because the alarm clock is on the right. I couldn't be trusted with the snooze button, he said. I would curl up and fall asleep by familiar streetlight. The room would smell like our two smells together, and I would be able to really smell it this time, being an outsider.
I would have forgotten about the chicken. And the twine.
“This is not what I want,” I told him when I signed the papers. I couldn't even cry anymore. I was trapped, gagged, bound.
He acted haughty: “This is what you need.”
But he has no idea what I need. Right now, I need kitchen twine, and someone to help me eat this goddamn chicken.
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Author's Note
Divorce is a bitch when you can't find your stuff.
Video at: http://www.katrinagray.com/Katrina_Gray/Blog/Entries/2009/12/21_Twine__A_Video.html
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Katrina this is so well done. I love the idea of her going back to the house, of going in, and making herself "at home." I love how the husband is throughout. It felt so real and honest.
Wonderful, telling details throughout. My only suggestion, if I may, is to tighten the beginning? It's that moment when she thinks of the twine that this story really pulled me in and I read on riveted. A wonderful, poignant close. Very nice.
This one hurts, as I'm coming to expect from your work. Also, the active verbs you use are wonderful, making the story crackle.
I did "stop" with the line "I will have forgotten..." I think all of the "I would"'s made me pause at the "I will..." Not sure it's technically wrong to use "I will" but thought I'd mention.
Really liked the vomited once/slept twice line.
Last line works on a number of levels. Wonderful.
David and Ethel--thanks so much for your comments and suggestions. Ethel--I took a hatchet to the beginning. David--I changed "will" to "would." These were both things I wondered about too, and you confirmed my suspicion that I should change them.
Steering with buttered hands. What an image!I cleaned his niece's vomit off it once.Powerful.Even the toilet would feel like home. How funny.He has no idea what I need. Perfectly executed ending.Loved it.
Thank you kindly, Darryl.
And I meant to comment on the buttered hands image. Perfect.
Yes. This one creeps up, steadily, sort of heartbreakingly, Katrina. I like what you did here. All these small, tangible losses convey so well the bigger, sadder picture. I feel as if this one could be opened up even more...
I love the slow build of tension and sorrow in this and the way the beginning and ending contain so much between. The sadness, the bitterness here, the way you convey those emotions is very well done.
I agree with Kathy and Roxane re: the lovely pace of this. And the twine, the unwinding and winding, is really, really nice.
Wow, this is really really great. I LOVE the ending, the glimpse of the husband finally, who's silent throughout, and then that bitter, sad angry line at the end, which is so perfect.
I agree that the beginning could be tightened a bit to keep us moving and in scene. "I felt like I could just walk in there and grab it." This line tripped me up just a little because technically, she can actually go in and grab it. When I read that, I wondered if the house was no longer physically there or something....anyway, I feel like you could cut that line and the ones right after that so it would go something like:
I knew right where it was in my old house. Second drawer on the right when you enter the kitchen from the dining room. I could drive over there across town, steer with buttered hands. Knock on the green door with my elbow and hold my hands up like I'm about to wash them, or dry them, palms facing my shoulders.
But of course, just a suggestion. The sense of loss and remembrance here is very very strong.
T
stings.
Nice! It really builds steam, ends on a nice sharp note. I agree with those who suggested tightening the beginning. Sounds like you've done it already.
great reading. really enjoyed it. you bring your personality to the screen...now we know you (or we think we do). marvelous, thanks.
great reading. really enjoyed it. you bring your personality to the screen...now we know you (or we think we do). marvelous, thanks.
twine cuts both ways, yes, you play out this tension well, intimacy vs. separation...loved this line: The room would smell like our two smells together, and I would be able to really smell it this time, being an outsider.
read the poem, caught the film. I love the idea of deciding such a momentous thing as which side of the bed each sleeps on by the trivial which side the alarm clock is on. This looks all the way that it will be a revenge thing (and it is on the surface) but winds up being about self-realization. Great poem and reading.
I read this a while back, when it was first published, and I keep thinking about it. Repeatedly, it pops up at unexpected moments for me. Excellent story.
this is really nice, mixing the domestic or rather making the domestic act the catalyst in the story & for some reason I love the small details, especially her drinking the cream sherry.