Velvet
by Tina Barry
Seven days. Dad's not coming back. Seven days of Velvet and mother, folded together, lovers. I open the door to her room, just a crack, dust motes like dirty planets whirl over their bed. They wince, startled. “Go!” she yells at me. I stare. The hair we loved to comb is a nest of snarls, her eyes belong to a sleepwalker. “Go! Go!” She reaches for the blanket, the Chihuahua, as tiny as a bonsai, curled against her stomach. I linger outside her door. “Mom,” I say, hoping she'll call me back. There's no answer.
Bloop. Velvet's paws hit the carpet. The new man of the house is on the prowl for food, a walk. Breakfast was Rice-A-Roni; for lunch I'm serving Ring Dings. Perhaps he'd like a bite? Now he's cornered: me on one side, my sister on the other. “Herrrrrre's Velvet!” I say. He's a miniature Johnny Carson. “Herrrrrre's Velvet!” my sister mimics, her voice sweeter and softer than mine. We laugh. Encouraged, Velvet emits a yelp: Oh! He's forgotten we hate him.
Beneath my arm, he's made himself as heavy as an old stump. Our neighbor waves as we rush past. Two girls and their dog. She can't see him quivering like a divining rod. Neither can the drivers who pass us with benign smiles, their thoughts on chores, dinner. We turn a corner, away from homes where housewives watch, away from traffic. There is a cement bridge no higher than my waist; below it a stream bounces over small rocks. “Look Vel,” I taunt, lifting him over the side. He's frozen, then flailing. I wish his brittle nails would tear a hole in the sky, a hole my father could walk through. “Stop!” my sister shouts. “He'll fall.” He's safe now, grateful, his silky head nuzzled beneath her neck. Our strokes are calming, gentle. We murmur “ssh,” and “now there,” and “it's okay.” Words we remember and miss.
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Author's Note
"Velvet" appeared in the summer issue of the Boston Literary Magazine. I wanted to capture a moment in a girl's life when raw emotion finds an understandable yet unfortunate outlet.
Oh my. Yeah, emotional reaction to change can do that and you've caught that moment perfectly. Very nice work here.
holy hell this is scary and so well written
i hate hate the narrator and yet feel so damn bad for her
The "He's forgotten we hate him" sets the rest up so well
well done
Thanks Susan and David. I've read some of your stories (David's on other literary web sites, as well) and you're both terrific writers. I appreciate your kind words.
Every story I read, I go back and reread. Perhaps this is the Micro writer's greatest reward. Terrific, punchy opener. For me, this sentence wraps the story up: "I wish his brittle nails would tear a hole in the sky, a hole my father could walk through." It took me right back to the second sentence. The implication brings the narrator to life -- poor kid.
I don't know if this is kosher on this site, but if constructive suggestions are allowed: Would it add drama to the closer if you'd add a line break here? . . . sister shouts. “He'll fall.” (the next sentence is a new thought)
He's safe now, grateful . . .
I consider you as Master of The Micro. Just flat-out, excellent writing -- reader involvement.
You're right, Ramon, when you say a writer's greatest reward is when someone wants to return to the story and finds pleasure in it. It's fine to offer suggestions and I will definitely consider yours. It's a good one.
This is a combination of all the best things a writer might want in one story: family's true demise, siblings who stick together through thick and thin, the action with Vel, then the longing at the end, which, of course, is never-ending. Great story, Tina! Such a brilliant writer.
This is great. I agree with Ramon -- that line got me too.
Thanks for digging up "Velvet " Jane, and for the comment. This is the first piece I posted on Fictionaut.
I like this a lot. *
Thank you for digging up "Velvet," Beate. I appreciate the comment and the star!
I've lost count of how many times I have read this story and it still seems fresh with each reading. So many excellent images and word choices: quivering like a divining rod, bloop, yelp. very nicely done.
What a great surprise to find a star for "Velvet," the first piece I posted to Fictionaut. Thank you! I'm so flattered you like the language and story works for you.