Alice sat down and poured herself a cup of coffee.
Challenge One
Creative Writing ENGL 3516
Professor Meyer
Thursday, June 2 2006
Prepared by Richard Birch
This work Copyright (C) 2006 Richard Birch
Alice sat down and poured herself a cup of coffee. As she wondered where her father had gone wrong, she pleasantly contemplated asking James why he was so bent on being such an emotionally stunted individual, and why he seemed so comfortable living his life with such disregard for her father’s emotions and happiness. It was never her father’s fault that the relationship imploded on itself. Her father truly tried his best to make whatever it was they had together work despite of the criticisms and judgements the rest of the family had about them. Alice wondered what her father had initially seen in James. Why was it that he was the only person who did not see the signs sprouting up everywhere signally that this guy was completely wrong for him. She saw it. Her aunt saw it. Her father’s personal assistant at the public relations firm where he worked saw it.
James was a 34-year old account executive for a large newsgroup media firm. He was born and raised in Scotland but lived in Manhattan for much of his adult life since graduating from Columbia University with a degree in communications. He made very good money. He seemed to have a new BMW every 18-months on average. Rarely did he go out of his uptown brownstone townhouse without wearing the latest Italian leather shoes. His clothes were impeccably pressed. Image was of greatest importance to James. Without image he was nothing. Without some performative element in his life, which was constantly micromanaged and polished he, would somehow in his mind, cease to exist. Everything had to be perfect. His car, his clothes, his image, and of course his boyfriend. He had always set incredibly high standards for everything in his life. Everything that could possibly touch his constantly reconstructed life was subject to the utmost of scrutiny and criticism. Alice’s father could never measure up. He could never be removed from the fact that he was 16-years his senior and would always be. He could never prevent the inevitable event that his age was pushing through the facade of sexual and social confidence that was so highly revered and structured in the Manhattan gay community. Her father would never be able to compete with the words and criticisms spoken by James’ friends who were always asking him why he was with a guy so much older than he was, poorer than he was, and who didn’t wear as nice clothing as he did. To Alice’s father, image was not the end all and be all of existence. Image was not crucial for relationships. He did not micromanage his performativity in his connection with James during the 7 years they lived together. All he tried to focus on was the connectivity he believed to be there. He focussed on was the feeling he had knowing that James was coming home to him every night. All he could focus on was that James would eventually come home late at night. All he could focus on was the affairs, the secrets, the missing money, the unfinished water bottles lying on the back seat of the BMW, the mysterious Tori Amos cd in the glove box, and the fact that everything was, performatively, signalling the end of a relationship. Alice saw the signals as well. She saw the cruelty in James’ eyes every time he would listen to her father’s naïve words.
As she poured the half-and-half into her coffee, she watched the transition from dark to light. She watched as the liquid created swirls, funnels, and clouds that mixed the harsh blackness of her father’s now broken heart, with the mesmerizing and blinding brightness of the man who changed him forever. Even though she saw a blended form in the cup, an eventual solid shade of creamy beige, she also saw that nothing has change or would ever change. Coffee is still only dark, not white. She saw how it also performs something it is not. An affair is still only ever dark. It is what it is. Thus now, as always, she begins to help her father pick up the pieces of his life.
Creative Writing ENGL 3516
Professor Meyer
Thursday, June 2 2006
Prepared by Richard Birch
This work Copyright (C) 2006 Richard Birch
Alice sat down and poured herself a cup of coffee. As she wondered where her father had gone wrong, she pleasantly contemplated asking James why he was so bent on being such an emotionally stunted individual, and why he seemed so comfortable living his life with such disregard for her father’s emotions and happiness. It was never her father’s fault that the relationship imploded on itself. Her father truly tried his best to make whatever it was they had together work despite of the criticisms and judgements the rest of the family had about them. Alice wondered what her father had initially seen in James. Why was it that he was the only person who did not see the signs sprouting up everywhere signally that this guy was completely wrong for him. She saw it. Her aunt saw it. Her father’s personal assistant at the public relations firm where he worked saw it.
James was a 34-year old account executive for a large newsgroup media firm. He was born and raised in Scotland but lived in Manhattan for much of his adult life since graduating from Columbia University with a degree in communications. He made very good money. He seemed to have a new BMW every 18-months on average. Rarely did he go out of his uptown brownstone townhouse without wearing the latest Italian leather shoes. His clothes were impeccably pressed. Image was of greatest importance to James. Without image he was nothing. Without some performative element in his life, which was constantly micromanaged and polished he, would somehow in his mind, cease to exist. Everything had to be perfect. His car, his clothes, his image, and of course his boyfriend. He had always set incredibly high standards for everything in his life. Everything that could possibly touch his constantly reconstructed life was subject to the utmost of scrutiny and criticism. Alice’s father could never measure up. He could never be removed from the fact that he was 16-years his senior and would always be. He could never prevent the inevitable event that his age was pushing through the facade of sexual and social confidence that was so highly revered and structured in the Manhattan gay community. Her father would never be able to compete with the words and criticisms spoken by James’ friends who were always asking him why he was with a guy so much older than he was, poorer than he was, and who didn’t wear as nice clothing as he did. To Alice’s father, image was not the end all and be all of existence. Image was not crucial for relationships. He did not micromanage his performativity in his connection with James during the 7 years they lived together. All he tried to focus on was the connectivity he believed to be there. He focussed on was the feeling he had knowing that James was coming home to him every night. All he could focus on was that James would eventually come home late at night. All he could focus on was the affairs, the secrets, the missing money, the unfinished water bottles lying on the back seat of the BMW, the mysterious Tori Amos cd in the glove box, and the fact that everything was, performatively, signalling the end of a relationship. Alice saw the signals as well. She saw the cruelty in James’ eyes every time he would listen to her father’s naïve words.
As she poured the half-and-half into her coffee, she watched the transition from dark to light. She watched as the liquid created swirls, funnels, and clouds that mixed the harsh blackness of her father’s now broken heart, with the mesmerizing and blinding brightness of the man who changed him forever. Even though she saw a blended form in the cup, an eventual solid shade of creamy beige, she also saw that nothing has change or would ever change. Coffee is still only dark, not white. She saw how it also performs something it is not. An affair is still only ever dark. It is what it is. Thus now, as always, she begins to help her father pick up the pieces of his life.
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