Donte sat in the living room with the Senora. They were watching NASCAR on television. The Senora deeply enjoyed motorcar racing and she chain-smoked whenever a big race was on.
The engines revved in the TV speakers. The living room was full of these sounds and the Senora and Donte sat at the edge of the couch.
“Where’s Lethe?” The Senora asked.
“Not sure, I think he’s in his bedroom.” Donte answered.
“Tell him he should come in here and watch the races with us. This is the best series . . . he should watch it.”
“But I don’t think Lethe likes racing, Senora.” Donte stood up, hesitantly.
“Please, go find Lethe and tell him to come. It’s important.”
Donte walked to the end of the hallway. He heard a noise like a thump.
Standing before the door, he listened for a moment and then knocked.
“I’m busy–”
“Maria Angeles wants you to watch motorcar racing.” Donte leaned against the door.
“I hate NASCAR. Leave me alone.”
Donte was taken aback by Lethe’s angry response. “I don’t want to interrupt you or anything–”
“Then go away.”
Now the noises in Lethe’s bedroom were loud and clunky, like he was moving furniture. Donte was about to give up when he heard another thump.
“What’s going on in there Lethe? Are you moving your bed around?”
“Aggghhh . . . that’s none of your business, Donte. Beat it.”
“I’m going to have to tell the Senora about this . . .”
“Go ahead tell the damn town. See if I care. Just leave me alone.”
“Lethe?”
“What!?!”
“Are you on drugs?”
“No, I’m not on drugs.” Then the door opened slightly and Lethe jammed his body in the crack. “I tried to hang myself tonight. I hung the sheets on the ceiling fan and moved the desk to get up there.”
Donte looked at Lethe in disapproval. “I don’t believe you.” He stepped forward into Lethe’s room. “What’s this? Have you lost your mind?”
A bed sheet was tied loosely to the ceiling fan, hanging down to the floor. There were some pieces of stucco from the ceiling scattered on the floor.
“Relax, it didn’t work anyways. The fan almost came out of the ceiling. I’m worthless. I can’t even kill myself properly.”
Suicidal and incompetent about it. That must really be really depressing.
You’re cracking me up here, Chris. So true, so true.
Chris,
The picture you painted here is desperate, but funny.
“”This isn’t real, is it?”“It was until you came in.”“You’re not going to kill yourself, Lethe. Are you?”“Kill myself? It wouldn’t work anyways. The fan almost came out of the ceiling. It wouldn’t hold.”“Come into the living room. We’re watching NASCAR.”“I hate NASCAR.”“Watch it with us anyways. The Senora’s smoking. You can smoke with her.”
On a more serious note, one of my daughter’s best friends who lived just a block away from us hung himelf to death. I was deeply affected by his death because a couple of days before he died, my daughter asked if he could come to live with us. (He was a foster child.) My husband and I said, “sure, if he likes to come live with us.” So I thought for sure he was going to move in with us soon and was truly looking forward to the day, but then he killed himself. Marshall was a really nice kid who just happened to have some psychological issues. If he had moved in with us and then killed himself, I think that I would be in a mental hospital right now.
Tasha
Wow, Tasha,
That’s quite a story. Where do you live again?
The scene is intended to be comic. But when it was happening to me it was tragic–like everything in my life until I wrote it down–a Greek Tragedy.
The humor bubbles up when we’re able to look at ourselves and see that life isn’t so serious after all. Like that Alan Watt’s clip we talked about.
Suicide has been called a permanent solution for a temporary problem. I think that sums it up. What seems to be the end of the world turns out, in my case, to be difficult period of adolescence.
Chris
[...] setting the table with a calm, benevolent expression on his face. Ever since Lethe’s histrionic suicide attempt, the Cuban was acting like a Jesuit priest and treating him like an anguished mental patient. Lethe [...]
[...] fell down to his knees and began crying. He never cried, not even when he was trying to kill himself. It was all because of his new Senora. She inspired these tears in him, a woman he would never [...]
Keep working. You have some talent, but your writing is wordy, self conscious and overly descriptive. Don’t try so hard to seem creative; just write – get it down cleanly and refine it…and try to remove as much of the “thatch” as possible.
Thanks, I appreciate the feedback. Always welcome to have it.
Chris
Very sad to think Lethe wanted to kill himself. Relieved to find he couldn’t. Found it more poignant than funny.
I disagree with Duncan Moon about your writing being wordy and overly descriptive. Find it very refreshing instead! Very unlike current American literature which seems so stark by contrast. But then what do I know?
Also enjoy being a “Metaphor Detective”. Found at least one metaphorical use in your graphic novel “Lethe in Vegas” as well!
Crumbs..Is Nascar that bad?! The bits of stucco – hilarious…So glad it didn’t work..Duncan Moon is wrong, what he refers to as ‘thatch’ for me,evokes the slowed tempo of a version of Spain/Continental Europe. Your attention to description accurately portrays how some Spanish/Europeans view people,situations, life…They seem unafraid to stare and so do you…Loving your work