Preliminary
After court, the three of us skipped third period, walked down to the river and huddled under the 6th Street Bridge. From there, we could see the Red Lion Inn, the hillside it backed up to, the rocks that created slides during unusual rainstorms. John pulled a pipe and bag from under a rock. Laramie huddled close to him, smoking a cigarette. I watched a man talking on his phone on a balcony. He was staring our way, but he didn't see us.
Under the bridge was dirty and loud. The homeless had tucked blankets into corners. Traffic rattled overhead. I smelled diesel and excrement and the pungency of the weed John and Laramie were already smoking. They spoke in normal voices. I couldn't think of anything to say. The only question I wanted answered, and the only question I didn't hear, was: Is he guilty?
It was February. The river rocks were dotted with snowcaps. I couldn't stop shivering. I smoked some of John's pot and wondered if I should quit, wondered if things would ever be the same, if this was the reason they weren't.
In court, we sat opposite the victims' families, next to the defendant's parents, behind the defendant himself. His hair was greasy. Pimples flared on the back of his neck. He looked like shit, but I wouldn't tell him this later. He was, after all, our friend. The judge read the list of charges, the supporting evidence. Felony murder. Two counts.
The pot was gone now. John said he had to go. He unearthed a bigger stash from under a bigger rock and stuck it inside his coat. Laramie guessed we should head back to school, but I wasn't so sure, so we wrapped our hands around our arms, bare under our thin sweatshirts, and stood around, quietly, thinking, waiting for the man on the balcony to finish talking on the phone.
I like this a lot, yet I feel that there is so much more to tell.
Great mood you've established in this, Kelly. I also like the symbolism of the setting: under a bridge.
Like Michael, I'm dying to hear more, but then again, I start to wonder why the narrator stops when (s)he does. Perhaps the bridge, the pot, the blankets, and the snowcaps are every bit as important as the murder, and somehow there's nothing left to be said?
Thanks, Michael, Katrina, and Jurgen. I think you've hit it, Jurgen. There's nothing left to be said. At least for this narrator...
I really like this one, Kelly. And I think the ending encapsulates the narrators feeling, the "...but I wasn't so sure." This lack of knowing is what the piece is about, perhaps, and by ending it as one does, the reader needs to know the end. But is there ever one?
I like that.
Thanks, Cheryl!
Nice one, good detail. I'm curious about defendant and his relationship with the narrator, and also about the victim's family -- did they look at the narrator, does the narrator feel one way or the other about them? I liked the lack of resolution.
Hi, John,
Thank you. Re: the defendant's relationship with the narrator... "He looked like shit, but I wouldn’t tell him this later. He was, after all, our friend."
I agree with the others about the mood, the details, and really seeing this, somehow filmic, the moment suspended, a pan of the scene from beneath the bridge and a flashback between one long shot reverse shot, the man on the phone staring at them, ending with them watching him, waiting for him to get off the phone. The opening sentence of the story got my attention and establishes a lot.
I like this line: "The river rocks were dotted with snowcaps." There is something satisfying about fictional declarative sentences no matter what Paul Valery says. This reminds of the river near my house. In fact the whole thing reminded me of not having money and being cold near the river near my house. This has a great steady thing going on. I liked the concreteness of much of it but don't really feel that there is enough here to be a thing itself. "His hair was greasy. Pimples flared on the back of his neck. He looked like shit, but I wouldn’t tell him this later." This move to a future bit for instance suggests that there is more that happens. In the context and otherwise very specific detail, the "he looked like shit" is not necessary. But then it seems that this line is also means something happened next. In this same bit, then we get a flashback (forward?) and the narrator says "excrement and the pungency," which is jarring and interesting and makes me wonder why he doesn't look like pungent excrement but rather only looks like shit? In any case I like the great steady thing going on.
Just stumbled upon this now. The parallel between the defendant's larger crime and the group of friends' smaller transgressions (skipping school, pot smoking) is striking. I agree with Morgan--there's a film-like quality here that gives the scene some dynamism.