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The Coffee Shop


I have made a few changes based on some commentary on this board and from another reader. I pasted the original story in the comments below. All the changes I made were to the first part of the story.

The Coffee Shop

The car idled just across the street from Stella’s office building. As she ventured out into the late November afternoon, the thick clouds seemed to push down on her head. She slouched a little, battling the oppression of it all. She quick-stepped across the street. Her long hair whipped her face as she turned to look for oncoming traffic.

Inside, she tossed her computer bag into the back seat and faced her husband. He showed the tips of his teeth in a smile, of sorts, and leaned over to peck her on the lips. He pulled away. From her and from the curb.

She said, “So glad to be out of there, even though I could have worked another 4 hours.”

They had agreed that only a true emergency would keep them from their weekly appointment with Maud, their marriage therapist. They had been seeing her religiously for 16 months. Stella loved her humor and honesty, and the fact that she asked the tough questions.

The last time they’d been there, Philip said, to Maud and Stella, “Sometimes when we’re here, I just feel attacked.” That had started a fruitful tangent and Stella let Maud handle that one, in her usual gentle yet no-!@#$-allowed way.

Why does Philip hold so tight to his idea of things? For him, everything seemed to be off limits. “Do we have to talk about that?” was one of his refrains.

“Obviously,” Maud would say. “Especially since you don’t want to.”

But he kept going back. His loyalty to the process made Stella feel safe.

They drove in silence for a while, then Stella said, “Was today better?”

She never knew if he was going to want to talk about his inevitably shitty day, or if he’d react with humid silence. This time he spoke: “It’s so demoralizing,” he began.

“What happened today?” Stella dreaded these conversations but she knew he had to vent. It’s just that nothing ever seemed to change.

“Same old !@#$. I have no idea why they moved me to marketing. I am so out of my depth. It’s embarrassing. For everyone.”

Stella knew Philip had a lot to offer in his new position but telling him that only made him mad. “Honey, it will get better. I am so sure of that.”

“Doubtful,” he said, rolling down his window an inch or two. She yanked his down jacket from the backseat and put it across her chest. It was a raw day and she was exhausted and chilled. She closed her eyes.

A minute or ten later, she jerked awake. Philip had put the radio on. The Black Keys. She said, “Sorry, I drifted off.”

“You can sleep. I don’t care.”

She drifted in and out. He sang along to “Ripple.” She had never liked the Grateful Dead but that song was pretty good. At a stoplight she saw he was on his phone. Texting. He did that a lot more lately. Finally getting tech savvy.

They stalled in traffic. She lifted her head. “Can we stop at Starbucks?”

“Oh, we passed it.”

“We usually stop at Starbucks.”

“I forgot.”

Stella felt herself sigh.

“Yeah. There you go. Yes. I heard the sigh. Thank you. Okay. I fucked up.”

Stella lay back and turned her head to the window. Closed her eyes against the strange white glare of afternoons in early winter. She knew it was an “intentional sigh” as he once called it. Not very subtly passive-aggressive. She felt ashamed. Then she heard him mutter, “No matter what I do, it’s always wrong.” If he wanted a reaction from her, she did not oblige. Maybe this would be the thing they could talk about today with Maud.

A few minutes later, she felt the shifting and pulling of the car parallel parking. It was a funny equilibrium thing with her eyes closed. Her body did not know which way its weight wanted to shift. She opened her eyes. They were a few blocks from Maud, at a different coffee shop on a busy street. They rarely stopped here as parking was iffy and it took much longer than the Starbucks drive-through. She could not hold her eyes open. They fell shut as Philip pulled out his phone again.

Stella cracked her eyes: Philip was reaching into the back seat for his wallet in his coat pocket, only to realize the coat was in the front seat, on top of Stella. She lay there, eyes gritty slits, realizing this was classic Philip. Not to have noticed she was using his coat. She lifted it off her and handed it to him. “Can you take the wallet and leave me the coat?”

“No, it’s really cold today. I think I’ll put it on.” He got out of the car and looked up and down the street. “It might snow later,” he said.

Stella let her eyes drift shut again. “You never wear your coat. But you’re right. Stay warm.” As he shrugged the bulky down thing onto his tall frame she murmured, “Decaf latte for me, k?”

“Yeah sure. The usual.”

“We have 5 minutes. We’ll make it,” she said as he closed the door. As if under a spell, she fell six storeys into a cellar made of sleep. Just before she hit bottom, her eyes popped open for a split second. She saw him yanking on the door of the coffee shop. Then she was gone.

*********

The first sound she heard with her wakening mind was the sloppy unzipping sound of wet tires moving through slushy snow. She listened for a minute, realizing little details, in stages. Her brain processed: It must have started snowing. Long enough for the tires to turn it to slush. After that micro-millisecond of thought, Stella opened her eyes. The car engine was still running, so as she turned her head on an aching neck she could see the green glowing numbers of the clock. The numbers popped out at her in a dark car. The windshield glowed with wet snowclumps illuminated by the headlights of cars moving up and down on the street.

Stella and Philip were two hours and 17 minutes late for their 4 o’clock appointment with Maud. Stella’s feet were cold. The heat in this car sucks. Next time we take his car, she thought. But it’s still in the shop.

We need to pick it up on the way home was Stella’s next thought which merged into where the hell is he which coexisted in her mind with we’re going to get charged for that missed session.

At that, she sat up, a surge of adrenaline crushing her windpipe and slamming like cocaine into her brain. Unable to contain the explosion of fear, she groped for the door handle. The door wouldn’t budge. Huffing – “hgughgh hgughgh hgughgh”—she pushed against the resistant door with her shoulder, then stopped. Carefully, she unclicked the lock and pushed herself out of the car, legs numb and tingling from two hours in a crumpled position. Head and neck throbbing with car-sleep aches and adrenaline and fear.

She could feel the thin cloth of her not-very-winter coat vibrating with the gigantic beats of her heart. One step towards the coffee shop, she slipped on the slick, wet-snow covered sidewalk. When she reached out and grabbed the open door of her car is when she realized she had left the door open, and the car running.

Only about a minute had passed since she had seen the clock glowing 6:17. As if someone poked a hole in her hysteria balloon, she went dead calm. She lifted her purse and scarf from the back seat, reached over the passenger seat that had so recently been her bower of unknowing, and turned off the engine. A moment later she was in the coffee shop. The two girls behind the counter, clearly students at the college half a block away, were cleaning up.

“We’re about to close,” said the one with the elegant tattoo across her clavicle. “Sorry.”

The other one said, “We can do chai! I already poured out the coffee and the espresso machine is cleaned out.”

“No.” Stella walked past them into the dim recesses of the shotgun space. She was thinking sirens would have woken me up, wouldn’t they?

“Ma’am?” one of them called out. “We’re basically closed?”

“Maybe she needs the restroom,” the other said, semi-sotto voce.

Stella stepped up the three wide steps to the main section of the tiny place. Circular micro-two-tops lined one wall and on the other side were three arm chairs, and a couch. In the back, stood a trestle table with very uncomfortable looking bentwood chairs upended on it. The freshly mopped linoleum glowed dimly in wet-dry streaks.

She stood there for long enough that one of the baristas walked up the steps to join her. “Are you okay?”

Stella turned to her. With her hand plastered to her own forehead, as if trying to keep her brains from spilling out over her eyebrows, Stella asked, squinting painfully: “Was there a man in here?”

“Uh….”

“Awhile ago,” Stella clarified.

“Uh…. Yes. Ma’am, there were men in here all day. Women too.”

Stella’s slow motion blink allowed her to formulate the following: “Yes, of course. I’m not an idiot though I probably seem like a lobotomy victim right now.”

“Why don’t you sit down over here?” The poor girl gestured to the couch. Instead, Stella turned and sat on the top step, leading back down to the front of the shop. The girl walked down the three steps and turned to face Stella, eye to eye. “Are you okay?” she said again.

“So this would be around 4 o’clock,” Stella explained, ignoring her. She had been clutching her purse against her side so tightly that her arm started to tremble. She tried to relax it. Impulsively, she thrust the bag at the girl.

The girl took the huge purse and placed it carefully on the floor beside Stella. “4 o’clock?” she prompted.

Stella looked around again as if she had never been in here before. As if she had just woken to find herself sitting on the step, talking to a stranger in a gray Coffeebuzzfeed tee-shirt and coffee stained apron.

“Yeah. He’s tall. Vaguely blond hair but mostly gray. Big hands. Green down coat. Frye boots. And he’s tall. Taller than me.”

Joined now by the other barista, concerned, the young girl in the coffee stained apron said, “Actually, yeah. Triple red eye and a non-fat iced chai. ” She glanced at her partner who said, “Philip, right?”

At that moment Stella knew she did not want to know any more.

**********

When Philip got out of the car, his heart was a loud intrusion in his own head. He could hear it, like feedback, vibrating his inner ears just a split second behind the feel of it, pounding in his chest. He looked down at Stella’s closed face, closed eyes, and felt… not that much. Later, he knew, it would hit him. The things he needed to feel. But now, nothing.

Nothing for Stella. Other than the adrenaline of needing-this-to-work, all he felt was happy.

Leaving the car running, taking coat and wallet, he entered the coffee shop. There she was, sitting at the edge of one of the armchairs, her purse clutched to her chest, her eyes wide open. When she saw him, she leaped up but waited. She glanced over his shoulder at the front door of the shop, where the bell was emitting its last jangle. Then she smiled.

Before he could think too much about anything, he took the three steps up to the seating area in one stride and pulled Jan to his chest in a crushing hug. Then he spun her around and pulled her to the back of the shop and out the service door.

His car, parked two blocks away in the lot behind the college’s art gallery, was packed with whatever he needed. Which wasn’t much. Jan and Philip said nothing on the way to the car. When they got close, Jan handed Philip his keys. He beeped it unlocked, and went to the passenger side to open the door for Jan. She looked up at him, eyes and smile wide, as she folded herself smoothly into the car. Philip occasionally let himself notice things like she is the same height as Stella or her fingers are longer than Stella’s or this is the first brunette I’ve ever loved but not now. He just looked at her and, without using his brain, felt the unreality of it all. In his gut. It was not real. I am dreaming.

*********

Stella stood up abruptly, swayed briefly, and walked to the door of the coffee shop. The two baristas watched her, struck dumb by nothing they understood. Stella turned around. “May I have some water?”

Both young women rushed behind the counter. One grabbed a cup, the other threw open the ice maker. A huge to-go cup of ice water, straw inserted, was thrust into Stella’s hands within 20 seconds. She stood there, purse hanging like a dead woodchuck from one hand, and sucked every ounce of water from the cup. She handed it back to one of the girls, who in turn threw it away.

“Who is--” the young girl began, and her co-worker slammed the back of her hand into her arm.

Stella smiled at them. Or she thought it was a smile –hoped it was. “Okay then.” And she left.






Last edited by spiralwoman, Jan/24/2015, 12:43 pm
Dec/16/2014, 12:48 pm Link to this post Email spiralwoman   PM spiralwoman Blog
 
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Re: The Coffee Shop


spiralwoman: I love this story. It kept me on the edge of my seat. When it ended I thought, "That can't be it!" More like I didn't want it to be it. You ended the story in exactly the right place to leave the reader a little haunted in the best way possible. I think I'll be thinking about this story for a while...definitely a marker of well-crafted fiction, I think! Can't wait to read more from you. Glad the board is getting re-invigorated! emoticon
Dec/16/2014, 7:00 pm Link to this post Email magyproductions   PM magyproductions Blog
 
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A wonderfully constructed story which took such an abrupt and unexpected turn--a bit of a thriller. I really had no idea what to expect as the story unfolded--also the clues along the way as in every good mystery: the texting, the car in the shop, forgetting to stop at the usual place for coffee...

If I had a nit it would be that Philip's behavior is so premeditated and cruel but there is no forewarning of cruelty in the depiction of his character. Such a crazy and extreme way to end a relationship but again, no warning that Philip is in an extreme state.

So maybe others will see what I didn't--or appreciate the surprise because it is so surprising. It's good to be surprised!

Don't know if any of this is helpful--just my
immediate thoughts. What a treat to read you again!!

Chris
Dec/18/2014, 3:15 pm Link to this post Email Christine98   PM Christine98
 
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Chris, Thank you so much for reading and commenting! I absolutely understand that hiccup. I feel you. I think that it is Philip's fear which drives him to do that awful thing -- cowardice, really. He is packed and ready to pull the trigger and does so on this day because circumstances make themselves available. However, that is not clear.... I think I'll have to work on the nuances of their exchanges in the car. Or flash back to some prior event. It is important that Stella be blindsided while he's been planning for awhile. I wanted it to be a moment -- just a believable moment, mostly for Stella -- a slice of her reality in which she is believably the way she is. But I give some space to Philip and so he needs to be believably him too.

The fact that I have to explain so much is a clear indication that the story does not yet do what it needs to do. I'm excited to go back to it.

XO SW
Dec/18/2014, 6:28 pm Link to this post Email spiralwoman   PM spiralwoman Blog
 
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Hi SW,

Stella is utterly believable and her experience
is rendered very accessible and immediate to me.
Impressive, how you do that.

Chris
Dec/19/2014, 12:53 pm Link to this post Email Christine98   PM Christine98
 
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Love from me too! I actually find Phillip quite believable, in that he doesn't like to talk about anything, a type who can be distant and hard-to-read. They seem like a couple locked into a kind of behavior, and we don't know, but don't really need, the details. The narrator, though providing more Stella than Phillip, gives, on reflection, a judgment-free approach; even the amount of point-of-view from each matches their personas and circumstances rather than a desire to sway us. (But it does set us up, like a thriller!) The subtle but key point, that his commitment to the process makes her "feel safe" is what I come back to at the end, when she moves through her shock, rather rapidly, to what seems like acceptance, even release or relief. However, I also feel as if we were being set up to make our own judgments, and then invited to look at them - that feeling from magypro that there's more to it: we're used to having things resolved more neatly. Ve-ery intaresting!
Dec/29/2014, 4:24 pm Link to this post Email bridgetpost   PM bridgetpost Blog
 
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Bridgetpost, Thank you for your thoughtful response. I am delighted that you picked up on some of the intention of the story. For me, Stella is not so much finding relief, as having an epiphany at a certain point that the truth is not something she can handle right now. As soon as she realizes she's been left, and that Philip is not dead, kidnapped, or an amnesiac wandering the streets, she shuts down and bails. That seemed real to me -- and it is a kind of acceptance as you say. An acceptance without the desire for information. I still intend to go back to it when I get a chance and see if I can tweak some moments of the car ride to eliminate some of the unresolved stuff, though I agree that I don't want it to be resolved fully as that is not the point of the tale, at least to me. I am so happy to have people visiting the board again. Let's see what happens.

Spread the word. XO
Dec/30/2014, 4:06 pm Link to this post Email spiralwoman   PM spiralwoman Blog
 
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Re: The Coffee Shop


Here is the original/unrevised story.

The car idled just across the street from Stella’s office building. As she ventured out into the late November afternoon, the thick clouds seemed to push down on her head. She slouched a little, battling the oppression of it all. She quick-stepped across the street. Her long hair whipped her face as she turned to look for oncoming traffic.

Inside, she tossed her computer bag into the back seat and faced her husband. He showed the tips of his teeth in a smile, of sorts, and leaned over to peck her on the lips. He pulled away. From her and from the curb.

She said, “So glad to be out of there, even though I could have worked another 4 hours.”

They had agreed that only a true emergency would keep them from their weekly appointment with Maud, their marriage therapist. They had been seeing her religiously for 16 months. Stella loved her humor and honesty, and the fact that she asked the tough questions.

The last time they’d been there, Philip said, to Maud and Stella, “Sometimes when we’re here, I just feel attacked.” That had started a fruitful tangent and Stella let Maud handle that one, in her usual gentle yet no-!@#$-allowed way.

Why does Philip hold so tight to his idea of things? For him, everything seemed to be off limits. “Do we have to talk about that?” was one of his refrains.

“Obviously,” Maud would say. “Especially since you don’t want to.”

But he kept going back. His loyalty to the process made Stella feel safe.

They drove in silence for awhile, then Philip started talking about his inevitably shitty day. “It’s so demoralizing,” he began.

“What happened today?” Stella dreaded these conversations but she knew he had to vent. It’s just that nothing ever seemed to change.

“Same old !@#$. I have no idea why they moved me to marketing. I am so out of my depth. It’s embarrassing. For everyone.”

Stella knew Philip had a lot to offer in his new position but telling him that only made him mad. “Honey, it will get better. I am so sure of that.”

“I guess so,” he said, rolling down his window an inch or two. She yanked his down jacket from the backseat and put it across her chest. It was a raw day and she was exhausted and chilled. She closed her eyes.

A minute or ten later, she jerked awake. Philip had put the radio on. The Black Keys. She said, “Sorry, I drifted off.”

“You can sleep. It’s fine.”

She drifted in and out. He sang along to Ripple. She had never liked the Grateful Dead but that song was pretty good. At a stoplight she saw he was on his phone. Texting. He did that a lot more lately. Finally getting tech savvy.

They stalled in traffic. She lifted her head. “Can we stop at Starbucks?”

“Oh, we passed it.”

“We usually stop at Starbucks.”

“I forgot.”

Stella felt herself sigh. Loudly.

“Yeah. There you go. Yes. I heard the sigh. Thank you. Okay. I fucked up.”

Stella lay back and turned her head to the window. Closed her eyes against the strange white glare of afternoons in early winter. A few minutes later, she felt the shifting and pulling of the car parallel parking. It was a funny equilibrium thing with her eyes closed. Her body did not know which way its weight wanted to shift. She opened her eyes. They were a few blocks from Maud, at a different coffee shop on a busy street. They rarely stopped here as parking was iffy and it took much longer than the Starbucks drive-through.

Philip was reaching into the back seat for his wallet in his coat pocket, only to realize the coat was in the front seat, on top of Stella. She lay there, eyes half closed, realizing this was classic Philip. Not to have noticed she was using his coat. She lifted it off her and handed it to him. “Can you take the wallet and leave me the coat?”

“No, it’s really cold today. I think I’ll put it on.” He got out of the car and looked up and down the street. “It might snow later,” he said.

Stella let her eyes drift shut again. “You never wear your coat. But you’re right. Stay warm.” As he shrugged the bulky down thing onto his tall frame she murmured, “Decaf latte for me, k?”

“Yeah sure. The usual.”

“We have 5 minutes. We’ll make it,” she said as he closed the door. As if under a spell, she fell six storeys into a cellar made of sleep. Just before she hit bottom, her eyes popped open for a split second. She saw him yanking on the door of the coffee shop. Then she was gone.

*********

The first sound she heard with her wakening mind was the sloppy unzipping sound of wet tires moving through slushy snow. She listened for a minute, realizing little details, in stages. Her brain processed: It must have started snowing. Long enough for the tires to turn it to slush. After that micro-millisecond of thought, Stella opened her eyes. The car engine was still running, so as she turned her head on an aching neck she could see the green glowing numbers of the clock. The numbers popped out at her in a dark car. The windshield glowed with wet snowclumps illuminated by the headlights of cars moving up and down on the street.

Stella and Philip were two hours and 17 minutes late for their 4 o’clock appointment with Maud. Stella’s feet were cold. The heat in this car sucks. Next time we take his car, she thought. But it’s still in the shop.

We need to pick it up on the way home was Stella’s next thought which merged into where the hell is he which coexisted in her mind with we’re going to get charged for that missed session.

At that, she sat up, a surge of adrenaline crushing her windpipe and slamming like cocaine into her brain. Unable to contain the explosion of fear, she groped for the door handle. The door wouldn’t budge. Huffing – “hgughgh hgughgh hgughgh”—she pushed against the resistant door with her shoulder, then stopped. Carefully, she unclicked the lock and pushed herself out of the car, legs numb and tingling from two hours in a crumpled position. Head and neck throbbing with car-sleep aches and adrenaline and fear.

She could feel the thin cloth of her not-very-winter coat vibrating with the gigantic beats of her heart. One step towards the coffee shop, she slipped on the slick, wet-snow covered sidewalk. When she reached out and grabbed the open door of her car is when she realized she had left the door open, and the car running.

Only about a minute had passed since she had seen the clock glowing 6:17. As if someone poked a hole in her hysteria balloon, she went dead calm. She lifted her purse and scarf from the back seat, reached over the passenger seat that had so recently been her bower of unknowing, and turned off the engine. A moment later she was in the coffee shop. The two girls behind the counter, clearly students at the college half a block away, were cleaning up.

“We’re about to close,” said the one with the elegant tattoo across her clavicle. “Sorry.”

The other one said, “We can do chai! I already poured out the coffee and the espresso machine is cleaned out.”

“No.” Stella walked past them into the dim recesses of the shotgun space. She was thinking sirens would have woken me up, wouldn’t they?

“Ma’am?” one of them called out. “We’re basically closed?”

“Maybe she needs the restroom,” the other said, semi-sotto voce.

Stella stepped up the three wide steps to the main section of the tiny place. Circular micro-two-tops lined one wall and on the other side were three arm chairs, and a couch. In the back, stood a trestle table with very uncomfortable looking bentwood chairs upended on it. The freshly mopped linoleum glowed dimly in wet-dry streaks.

She stood there for long enough that one of the baristas walked up the steps to join her. “Are you okay?”

Stella turned to her. With her hand plastered to her own forehead, as if trying to keep her brains from spilling out over her eyebrows, Stella asked, squinting painfully: “Was there a man in here?”

“Uh….”

“Awhile ago,” Stella clarified.

“Uh…. Yes. Ma’am, there were men in here all day. Women too.”

Stella’s slow motion blink allowed her to formulate the following: “Yes, of course. I’m not an idiot though I probably seem like a lobotomy victim right now.”

“Why don’t you sit down over here?” The poor girl gestured to the couch. Instead, Stella turned and sat on the top step, leading back down to the front of the shop. The girl walked down the three steps and turned to face Stella, eye to eye. “Are you okay?” she said again.

“So this would be around 4 o’clock,” Stella explained, ignoring her. She had been clutching her purse against her side so tightly that her arm started to tremble. She tried to relax it. Impulsively, she thrust the bag at the girl.

The girl took the huge purse and placed it carefully on the floor beside Stella. “4 o’clock?” she prompted.

Stella looked around again as if she had never been in here before. As if she had just woken to find herself sitting on the step, talking to a stranger in a gray Coffeebuzzfeed tee-shirt and coffee stained apron.

“Yeah. He’s tall. Vaguely blond hair but mostly gray. Big hands. Green down coat. Frye boots. And he’s tall. Taller than me.”

Joined now by the other barista, concerned, the young girl in the coffee stained apron said, “Actually, yeah. Triple red eye and a non-fat iced chai. ” She glanced at her partner who said, “Philip, right?”

At that moment Stella knew she did not want to know any more.

**********

When Philip got out of the car, his heart was a loud intrusion in his own head. He could hear it, like feedback, vibrating his inner ears just a split second behind the feel of it, pounding in his chest. He looked down at Stella’s closed face, closed eyes, and felt… not that much. Later, he knew, it would hit him. The things he needed to feel. But now, nothing.

Nothing for Stella. Other than the adrenaline of needing-this-to-work, all he felt was happy.

Leaving the car running, taking coat and wallet, he entered the coffee shop. There she was, sitting at the edge of one of the armchairs, her purse clutched to her chest, her eyes wide open. When she saw him, she leaped up but waited. She glanced over his shoulder at the front door of the shop, where the bell was emitting its last jangle. Then she smiled.

Before he could think too much about anything, he took the three steps up to the seating area in one stride and pulled Jan to his chest in a crushing hug. Then he spun her around and pulled her to the back of the shop and out the service door.

His car, parked two blocks away in the lot behind the college’s art gallery, was packed with whatever he needed. Which wasn’t much. Jan and Philip said nothing on the way to the car. When they got close, Jan handed Philip his keys. He beeped it unlocked, and went to the passenger side to open the door for Jan. She looked up at him, eyes and smile wide, as she folded herself smoothly into the car. Philip occasionally let himself notice things like she is the same height as Stella or her fingers are longer than Stella’s or this is the first brunette I’ve ever loved but not now. He just looked at her and, without using his brain, felt the unreality of it all. In his gut. It was not real. I am dreaming.

*********

Stella stood up abruptly, swayed briefly, and walked to the door of the coffee shop. The two baristas watched her, struck dumb by nothing they understood. Stella turned around. “May I have some water?”

Both young women rushed behind the counter. One grabbed a cup, the other threw open the ice maker. A huge to-go cup of ice water, straw inserted, was thrust into Stella’s hands within 20 seconds. She stood there, purse hanging like a dead woodchuck from one hand, and sucked every ounce of water from the cup. She handed it back to one of the girls, who in turn threw it away.

“Who is--” the young girl began, and her co-worker slammed the back of her hand into her arm.

Stella smiled at them. Or she thought it was a smile –hoped it was. “Okay then.” And she left.
Jan/24/2015, 12:41 pm Link to this post Email spiralwoman   PM spiralwoman Blog
 
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sw--I just got a chance to read this new-and-improved version of your story. And I do think it's improved. I get that the story is supposed to be about that moment of leaving and being left, but the earlier version of the story raised too many questions that never got answered. This version provides just enough contextual clues about the state of Stella and Phillip's marriage that Phillip's leaving makes (enough) sense. Stella's disorientation and brutal moment of realization can be experienced through your wonderful writing without any niggling questions diluting it.
Jan/27/2015, 1:03 am Link to this post Email magyproductions   PM magyproductions Blog
 
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Magypro, Thank you for rereading! I am grateful. I am also pleased that you think these small tweaks work. I am hopeful that Chris, who had also chimed in earlier, will give it a gander.
Jan/27/2015, 6:46 pm Link to this post Email spiralwoman   PM spiralwoman Blog
 
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Hi SW,

Just saw the alternate version of your story.
Promise to read and comment before the weekend is over and looking forward to it,

Hope all's well,

Chris
Jan/31/2015, 4:28 pm Link to this post Email Christine98   PM Christine98
 
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Re: The Coffee Shop


Thanks Chris!

Check out weekend improv too maybe. It's had more activity than anywhere else. Admittedly mostly me.... (Shamelessly promoting the board to any and all....)

Can't wait to see your thoughts on the story. xo
Feb/1/2015, 4:04 pm Link to this post Email spiralwoman   PM spiralwoman Blog
 
Christine98 Profile
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Re: The Coffee Shop


Hi SW,

Sorry it took an extra day to comment. On second read, I find I'm more interested/focused on Stella's response to what happened, less on hints from Philip.

So maybe this wants to be a more Stella-centered story. More about her inability/difficulty acknowledging the loss of the relationship--why does she need to keep it a secret from herself? Does she know on some level that Philip is going to leave?

So this is a whole different take from the first, feel free to ignore me emoticon

best,

Chris
Feb/2/2015, 3:08 pm Link to this post Email Christine98   PM Christine98
 
spiralwoman Profile
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Re: The Coffee Shop


Chris, Thanks for reading a second time! I think her inability to face the fact that he left her for another (chai-drinking) woman is just more than she can process? Something I just thought of -- if he's been planning this for a long time, she must have been a bit in denial if she thought everything was going well while he was champing at the bit to be through with her.

Not sure what your specific suggestion is except maybe to delve into Stella's story at greater length, complete with aftermath and background, but I hesitate to do that as I had a specific thing I wanted to try. To capture that moment with realism and empathy. But it just may not work in the end....

Not sure Stella and Philip are enough for anything longer or more in depth really....

Thank you again for reading. I love your insights.
SW
Feb/2/2015, 4:48 pm Link to this post Email spiralwoman   PM spiralwoman Blog
 
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Re: The Coffee Shop


Hi SW,

"to capture the moment with realism and empathy"

Of course it works! It doesn't need to do more than that. The fact that it leaves me wondering is a positive thing.

cheers,

Chris
Feb/3/2015, 10:37 am Link to this post Email Christine98   PM Christine98
 
bridgetpost Profile
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Re: The Coffee Shop


Hey, SW. I'm sorry that you felt this story wasn't worth coming back to - and that I'm putting in such late extra 2 cents - but I think it's got too much to quit, and I think I may see the problem...? Phillip's behavior and the way he's actually shown to be feeling later don't quite work. Rather, the behavior. The conversation they have. It could be equally misleading, and not give anything away, and even increase our later realization of her blindness. It just doesn't seem believable. You guys tell me if I'm wrong. He'd be slightly on edge - very, inside, of course. Because this isn't just planned, his woman is waiting. He planned to do what he does - in one door and straight out the other. Her falling asleep is both convenient and perfect, representative. Anyway. It's a grand story.
Feb/19/2016, 5:11 pm Link to this post Email bridgetpost   PM bridgetpost Blog
 
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Re: The Coffee Shop


Hey BP -- For some reason I'm not getting email notifications any more when people respond, so I came on to find all three of your beauteous comments!

For this one though I don't think I understand yet what you mean -- the conversation between the two of them does not match the events as they unfold later? Is that what you mean? Or match the planning he did?

YES that her sleeping is super convenient, but he could have gone in for coffee (even if she were awake) and carried out his plan. I think her falling asleep just makes her an even more sympathetic character, at least for awhile. Let me know if I got that right--that his behavior is mostly from in the car in his interactions with Stella? Getting that right is so hard. I kind of imagined that he is all about keeping her from suspicion, which he's obviously done well for a long time by now, and that his machinations are so great (we later realize) that everything in the car was just a big fat acting job.... Is that a good thing or not? You see him as tense? I admit I must reread as it has been awhile since I wrote this one-- about a year, and I have not looked at it really since.

THANK YOU for all your time and effort in reading and commenting and helping!
xo
Feb/21/2016, 6:25 pm Link to this post Email spiralwoman   PM spiralwoman Blog
 
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Re: The Coffee Shop


The problem may be that all your sympathy is with her, and you may need to get to know him a little better. Her falling asleep isn't necessarily sympathy-inducing for all readers; it could be, and was for me, a major metaphor and like a shift of magic (sleeping beauty has, in fact, been dreaming all along), as well as a powerful transition for all of us. There are almost mythic qualities to the very prosaic tale: The Trickster sneaks around us while we sleep...or are we tricking ourselves? It makes the whole story more largely metaphorical. BUT...Philip, like our Sleeping Beauty, is also human. You need to crawl inside his head a little. He must have been feeling trapped, has been trapped for years. Imagine him as female, perhaps. Reverse them. Reserve is not the exclusive preserve of men, and can lead to deception. The whole beginning of the story seems to be smugly judging him. Starting with: "He pulled away. From her and the curb." Perhaps it's this continuous insertion of Stella that makes his shift not entirely believable. And would he kiss her at all? OK, automatically; tight smile, quick peck, pull away.

I think everything he does at the start would be quick, half-inattentive, automatic. The work complaint might be more clipped, yes? That's the part that's somehow off. She, and we, could still be none the wiser.

So, I love her falling asleep. Our jump into his perspective as he pulls off his great escape is a powerful shift - don't loose that. It's like we, reading, have also been half-asleep til then. Marvelous. Sudden speed. Or slap awake. But it doesn't quite scan with him previously.

May I ask why you can't just swear? I do relate to having schmeggin inarticulate inbursts of smoo, but, a little bullshit goes a long way.

Having had the temerity, I now most humbly thank you for your great work, which I do not and cannot do.
Feb/23/2016, 2:23 pm Link to this post Email bridgetpost   PM bridgetpost Blog
 
spiralwoman Profile
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Re: The Coffee Shop


I will ponder all this soon--this weekend I hope. Quick thing-- it was a big decision to go into his world at all, but I wanted the reader to know what happened. But the intent of the story was to be in HER moment at that moment. I have to see how to reconcile. I don't want to spend more time with him or make it a bigger story. I want it to be short and immediate. I also don't want our sympathies to go to him or her necessarily. I mean we feel for her, but she is such a creature of denial it's not as if she's flawless hero.

More thinking to be done.

About the swearing? I say !@#$ and !@#$ I'm sure in that story. And I can see them when I post into the board. I think if you can't see them you need to adjust your settings but I am not sure how to do that? I will ask Chris or Kat.
Feb/23/2016, 4:32 pm Link to this post Email spiralwoman   PM spiralwoman Blog
 


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