Merriam and Ernest...Revised

I'm in a creative writing class this semester again. I'm not sure if I've mentioned that already but if not, there you are. I've learned a whole heck of a lot about writing just in the half of a semester I've been in it. One of our textbooks is "Writing Fiction" by Janet Burroway and I highly recommend it if you're thinking about writing. It's got some really good stuff. Anywho, I wrote in an earlier post a segment from a story I wrote called Merriam and Ernest. I wrote it over a year ago, I think, and reading back over it this semester I kind of hated the way it was written. So I revised it. Obviously it's still a work in progress but I think it's come a long way from the first draft. I talked to my professor about it and he's told me the main thing I need to fix, which I agree with and I'll probably get around to it eventually. Maybe not for another year! I'm such a procrastinator. All pacing issues aside, here is the revised first half of Merriam and Ernest:


My name is Merriam Entwistle and I am going to die.
I’m standing at the door of Death’s cab and all I need to do is pull the handle… I can’t quite bring myself to do it yet, but it’s only a matter of time. What brought me to this point? Sure, I’ll tell you. I won’t tell you all of it; I’ll spare you the gory details; no one should have to carry that on their shoulders. You see where it’s gotten me? You see how it’s pushed me to the brink of destruction? I broke people that I couldn’t put back together, myself included. All the king’s horses and all the king’s men-- you know? I’ve never appreciated that story quite like I do now. Death is waiting in the taxi for me but I think he’ll have to wait. Someone needs to know.

Fall.

The year is 2010. Merriam is 22 years old and she has never been in love. Vulnerability is not in her vocabulary. She triumphs in breaking hearts and has never been ashamed of that fact. She has decided that she is the epitome of sovereignty. The balmy sunshine reflects off of her skin as she lies in the courtyard of her musty 2 bedroom flat. The last breeze of summer blows her hair all around her face like tentacles and she closes her eyes. Winter will be an awful juxtaposition after such a lovely season. She thinks only of the sun on her skin; feels it in every molecule of her soul, throughout every bone, vein and muscle. She imagines the color yellow slowly soaking through her body. It starts in her heart and flows like an ethereal liquid through her arms, legs, fingers, toes, covering her in a blanket of bullion. She is a golden statue.

Suddenly, a weight hits her leg. It is not a heavy weight, but the surprise catches her off guard and the magic yellow rushes out of her all at once. Her eyes open to see a plastic disk, scratched and encrusted with dirt, on the ground a few inches to the right of her leg. She looks around to find the culprit and her eyes find another pair: cool, spring green.

“Hey,” A boy, at least he looks young enough to be a boy, jogs over to her and she watches him as he stoops to grab the Frisbee. “Sorry about that…Did you, uh, wanna play?” He flicks the flaxen hair out of his eyes and gives her a toothy grin. Suddenly the color floods back into her body, only this time it is green.

Winter.

Merriam pulls her coat down over her hands to protect them from the biting cold and puffs warm air into the end of each sleeve. Ernest trots along beside her like an eager puppy. They have been inseparable since the very first moment their eyes met. They were Bonnie and Clyde, Batman and Robin, Johnny and June. They gossip, they laugh, they whisper; ‘inseparable’ never had meaning to her before now. They are an endless ring of eternity, forever and always.

Their shoes tap the sidewalk with every step. Ti-tap ti-tap, ti-tap ti-tap. She asks about the best Christmas gift he’s ever gotten and he tells her about the time his parents gave him a fake lottery ticket.

“I really thought it was real,” he says “I almost started crying. That’s how excited I was.”

“That’s horrible!” Merriam shivers as she wipes laughter from her eyes with her sleeve.

“What about yours?” Ernest meets her eyes and her cheeks bloom.

“I can’t remember my last real Christmas. After my mother died, Dad just stays in his room all day. Sometimes even for Boxing Day.”

Ernest grabs her sleeve-covered hand and gives it a gentle squeeze. “We’ll have one this year.” His smile is warm and pink.

They walk in thoughtful silence around the park behind her flat. Almost every day, they walk and they talk about something new as the trees beside their path lean in to listen. When the wind blows, Merriam swears she can hear them giggling along with her. The last leaves of the season litter the ground in broken, scattered masses. There is no crunch left in them but Merriam steps on them anyway, just in case, as she looks across the desolate expanse of the park. The swings hang pathetically, wasting time until they can hear the sound of children’s laughter again. Flat, grey canvas covers up the sun and traps the frigid winter in the world below. Merriam doesn’t remember what it feels like to have thawed toes.

“Have you ever been in love?” Earnest says. He keeps his eyes on the ground.

“Nah, I haven’t. It all seems like a lot of hoopla to me. People think they’re in love and then their wives cheat on them or their husbands never come home from work.” After thirty yards of silence, Merriam knows Ernest does not share her view. “Have you?”

“Twice. Twice, I thought I was.”

“You thought?”

Ernest smiles. “I thought. Once in high school but she cheated on me with my cousin and told me she had never loved me. The second time was…” He watches the swings rock thoughtfully in the wind. “Well I guess, uh, she didn’t return my sentiments.”

“See? Hoopla.” They chuckle. Fifty yards and halfway around the park later, Merriam catches his eyes on her face. He jerks his head slightly but changes his mind a fraction of a second later and continues to watch her.

“Your lips are turning blue. Let’s get you home.”

Spring.

The weather is finally warm again. Every day after class at the community college, Merriam does homework in the courtyard on her quilt. Ernest makes her dinner every couple days after work and they laugh at Will and Grace reruns. Tonight it was shepherd’s pie.

“I’b neber had Sheberd’s Bie before!” She says a few bites into the meal.

“Do you love it?”

“Yef, I do!”

Ernest wipes his plate clean with a slice of bread and Merriam grabs the serving spoon. “Want some more?”

“Merri, what am I to you?” He abruptly takes his eyes from his plate to meet her gaze.

“Wha?” Her hand freezes on the spoon.

“What am I to you?”

“D-did you want any more pie?”

“Are we just really good friends?”

“It’s still kinda warm…it’s always better on the first day.”

“Mer?”

She looks blankly at him and her eyes flick down to her hand on the spoon. Ernest rises from his chair and closes the distance between them with one stride. His hand rests on her cheek and he coaxes her face up to look at his. His eyes dart back and forth between hers, pleading for answers. Slowly, ever so slowly, he crouches down until his lips are just a paper’s breadth from hers. Her hands tense and her brows knit together as Ernest presses them to hers. The scent of too much cologne paws at her nose. Time seems to stop, if only for those 2.9 brief seconds.

Merriam closes her eyes and her mind goes blank. Just good friends, she thought. Hadn’t she just been thinking about how platonic they were? Wasn’t she just delighted with how easy they could be? Reshape the mold of their relationship? Could she do it? Could she? Well? It all seems like a lot of hoopla to me. Her own words run through her mind. She takes his love, like a pebble, and locks it away in the back of her mind; her treasure chest. When she can’t see it, it can no longer worry her.

An emotion flickers across Ernest’s face but before she can decipher what it is, he hides it. “Goodnight Merriam.” He stops to take a last look at the back of her head before closing the door, leaving her alone in the flat.

Summer.

At first, they don’t see each other at all. Not for a couple weeks. Then they talk about the weather. Eventually she gives a sincere, hearty laugh at one of his jokes and he beams. She never does mention the kiss to him again. She wonders if he has thought about it at all. As summer progresses, the rip in the tapestry of their friendship mends. They are best friends again, on and on and on.

“Do you remember when I told you I’d been in love twice?”

“Yes?” Merriam glances sideways at him and presses her lips together.

“Did I ever tell you about the second time?”

“You said a girl in high school cheated on you and that the other girl didn’t feel the same about you.”

Ernest is silent. All but his hand, doodling absently on a napkin with her favorite blue marker, is carved from stone.

“His name was Kyle.”