Need A Critique Of A Short Story

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Permalink Reply by Callie Leah on May 21, 2010 at 8:49pm

Well, when you're making a discussion, most of the time, it will have a little area down at the bottom where it says 'upload file.' If you click on the button next to it that says 'browse' you should be able to look through files on your computer. Then just click on the file, the 'open' button, then it should be here for us all to see. You can click on the 'edit discussion' button now that you've already created the page. It should have a little picture of a pencil next to it. Hope that helps!

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Permalink Reply by Aaron C. Riser on May 22, 2010 at 2:20am

Callie, thanks for the reply. What I was thinking about doing is just adding a couple of pages in the text box just so whoever is doing the critique can get the flavor of my writing. as a matter of fact, I'll add it .

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Permalink Reply by Aaron C. Riser on May 22, 2010 at 2:24am

Here Are the pages.

Just Wanted To Dance

John Salsman thought he had created the perfect life for his family. He worked hard everyday for his share of the American dream and his body bore the scars and pain of his efforts. He had molded his family in the image of the families pictured in ads in those old magazines he had read growing up; those ads where the families sat on a sun drenched porches, smiling and drinking cold lemonade. Even though he had all the trappings, house in the suburbs, a swimming pool, and two cars, he felt the relationship with his eldest son was deteriorating to the point it was tearing at the very fabric of the family, threatening to bring down all that he had worked for.

“Helen, I’m going to bed. I had a pretty hard day at the factory today. John said with fatigue dripping from every word. “Have you heard anything from Ben? Do you know when he’s coming home?” he asked.

“No John. The last letter came about a week ago. That’s when he said he might be coming home next month,” Helen said in a whisper, a voice that had been worn-down by frustration over the years. “You go on to bed and I’ll be in there as soon as I finish cleaning here in the kitchen.”

John thought about the last time his son Ben was home, they had argued fiercely that last day and parted ways on extremely bad terms. Ben was serving his second tour of duty in Iraq, but now he wrote of his longing to be back in the friendly surroundings of home. Judging from his son’s recent letters, John could see the war was starting to take its toll on him. Maybe now that Ben would be home for good, they could take the time to patch up their differences.

John was glad that the work week was over. It would be good to sleep in on Saturday, he thought as he made his way to the bathroom. He undressed and showered, as he did every night, but the smell of the factory always lingered on his body and had done so for years. After performing his bathing ritual, he slowly shuffled into the bedroom and hung his bathrobe on the closet door. Sitting on the side of the bed, he reflected on how much of a challenge it had been a raising Ben, but now that he had Ben as a role model, he felt the task would be easier with his youngest son Charles. As he sat there, John started to dose off and could feel his head dropping down to his chest. He gathered himself, turned off the light on the night stand, swung himself under the covers and drifted off.

Hearing a knock on the door, John snatched his head from the pillow. “Who’s there?” he called out reaching to turn on the light that was already on.

The voice that came from the other side of the door was crisp and distinct, “It’s me dad.” It was Ben; he was home. What a surprise.

“Come in son. Come in,” John went on barely able to contain his excitement as Ben walked through the door still dressed in his army fatigues. “How are you son? Why didn’t you let us know you were coming? We could’ve put a something together for you – something real special.”

“Well, I didn’t know I’d be coming home this soon. It happened kind of quick. It was quite a surprise to me too,” Ben said pensively as he walked into the dimly lit room and sat in a chair across from the bed.

John didn’t remember the chair being there but assumed Helen had slipped in and put it there for Ben. “Let me get my robe. We can talk in the living room,” John said trying desperately to get himself up from the bed.

“Don’t bother dad. I’m not going to keep you up. I just came to talk to you about mom and Chucky,” Ben said in a voice that was dry and devoid of feeling. John thought Ben sounded like that because he had seen too much war; war was a dirty business.

“Did you see your mother and your brother?” John said with a mix of excitement and trepidation knowing Ben was re-opening the subject they had argued violently about the last time Ben was home. “They’ve missed you a lot - and so have I.”

“I saw mom in the kitchen and I looked in on Chucky; he was sound asleep. Dad, I really need to talk to you about them,” Ben said with a seriousness building in his voice as he looked directly into his father’s eyes. “You’ve got to stop pushing them so hard. You need to ease up on them and let them live their own lives.”

“Now just a minute son. What do you mean pushing them to hard? I was hard on you and look how you turned out,” John pushed back, but somehow as odd as it seemed, he was acutely aware of the contradiction between the tension in the room and the pleasant, lazy, rhythm of the curtains blowing breeze as they that hung on the window behind Ben. “Listen, I don’t want to argue with you son. We should be celebrating your coming home. Once you get settled in and the memories of the war start to fade, everything will be fine. Things will get back to normal – you’ll see.”

“You’re not listening dad. Do you remember when I was 4 years old and I was playing in the yard with Suzy’s hula hoop, you remember, the girl who lived next door? ” Ben asked as he scooted to the edge of the chair. “Do you remember that – how you grabbed me by my hair and said you never wanted to see me play with that toy again? At the time, I didn’t know why you would do something like that to me – your son.”

“Yes I do remember it. I did it for a reason. I didn’t want you to grow up soft. I wanted you to be tough enough to be a man,” John said vigorously defending his actions without any hint of remorse. “You can’t run a business or work in a factory if you’re not tough. If you’re not willing to roll up your sleeves and get your elbows scraped up, the world will eat you alive. You’ve got to be tough.”

“But that wasn’t the only time. Do you remember when I was 8 years old and you told me you didn’t want to catch me frolicking in the yard with that girl Mary, who lived down the street?” Ben asked pointing and shaking his finger at his father – his eyes red as fire. “We were just having fun dancing. I liked dancing and I liked Mary a lot. Well, because of you, she and I were never close again. Did you know that - dad? How could you be so cruel?”

“I didn’t want you doing all that sissy stuff. I was taught the old way. I was taught that if a kid starts out wrong like that, that stuff sticks with him for the rest of your life,” John said digging in his heels as he caught himself thinking about the odor that hung in the air that wasn’t any aroma he remembered from the meal cooked for dinner. And Helen, where was Helen? With all the yelling that was going on in the room, why hadn’t she rushed in and intervened like she always did?

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