Writer's Corner

Inspired by a recent thread by @John McClane...
https://www.movieforums.com/communit...ad.php?t=60073

I thought I'd start a thread to submit writing.

I've been toying with a short story and thought maybe I'd write it here (in increments).
I'm doing it this way because maybe it will motivate me to actually finish it.

One of my biggest problems with writing is I'm too verbose and my short stories turn into long ones.

Don't want to say too much about what it's about or what it might turn into (stories often tend to take on a life of their own and even sometimes turn into something you had no idea would happen), but I have an idea in my head as to how it ends up.

So, I just typed out a couple short chapters. Feedback is welcome. Let me know if you want to read more or if I'd be better off just keeping it to myself (or submitting in complete form it once it's done - if it gets "done"!)

I don't even have a title for it yet so...

Untitled Short Story:

Chapter 1:

Ol’ Dodger rubbed the side of his face against the woodwork surrounding the doorway to apartment 4G.

His face hurt as he marked the doorway with half-dried blood. He had a large gash at the side of his mouth that ran all the way up to his eye and half his left ear was now gone, leaving the jagged shape of a bite that almost matched the feint remnants of what could have been a scar on his right side, but then most tom cats aren’t still fighting nightly at the age of 26 years old.

Dodger looked for the saucer of milk that was usually placed in the hallway by his old friend but it was not there. He rubbed his hind quarters against the doorway and purred loudly despite his pain, but nonetheless, his friend didn’t appear from behind the closed door.

Apartment 4G was the home of David Reardon, probably Dodger’s favorite tenant as David would put the saucer of milk outside his door almost religiously and would pet Dodger’s head every morning before he went off to work, leaving Dodger feeling better after his long nights of claiming territory and trying to establish dominance over the other local stray males.

Ol’ Dodger ended his purring with a long guttural sigh, somehow instinctively knowing his pain would be with him a long time this time around. He limped begrudgingly down the stairs to see if Mrs. Fisher, the landlady, had left anything out for him.

Chapter 2:

Three months earlier:
David Reardon hurried to collect his brief case and umbrella as he donned his overcoat. He expelled air out of his puffed cheeks in relief that the day’s drudgery was once again at an end. He said goodnight to the other bookkeepers as he passed their desks. He was rushing to get to a meeting with his mother’s accountant. At least it was something different after work for a change instead of heading home to his one bedroom apartment.

His mother had asked him to meet with Mr. Bannister to go over some details of her estate. It seemed David had to tend to all his mother’s affairs these days as she became more immobile each month.

As the meeting wrapped up, Mr. Bannister said, “Well, you can’t pay too much attention to these things, especially at your mother’s age. It’s best to get things in order now than… in more trying times. And it’s so good she has you to help her. Rest assured, Mr. Reardon, should the time come, everything will be in order and you’ll have very little difficulty with all the details – and as you well know, these days, the state doesn’t make it easy.”

“I can’t thank you enough, Mr. Bannister.” David said as he shook Bannister’s hand.

Bannister winced slightly as he reflexively pulled his hand away.

“Oh! I’m sorry, sir! Did I hurt you?” David asked in surprise, after all David was only a slight man and not very strong, especially not in his grip.

“On no, Mr. Reardon, it’s quite all right, I assure you… it’s just that I injured my hand many years ago… got it caught in a press machine of all things. I guess it never healed quite properly and it gives me a bit of trouble. Plus, the weather doesn’t help – arthritis you know. Been a damned nuisance ever since, so much so that I had to teach myself to write with my left hand.”

“Oh my! How awful.” David said, “Looks like you’ll have to shake hands with the left then as well?”

“Yes, I’ve tried that, but gentlemen don’t often take well to left-handed handshakes. But thank you for your concern. Please give my best to your mother.” Bannister rubbed his right hand with his left as he watched David Reardon depart, smiling quietly as the pain between the bones in his hand was quickly subsiding.

I think it's good, though I found the first chapter more interesting than the second. Nice way to reveal Dodger is an animal! I don't get on here too much lately so don't feel put off if I don't comment on later installments.

SPOILER TAGS?!!?!

lol

__________________
"My Dionne Warwick understanding of your dream indicates that you are ambivalent on how you want life to eventually screw you." - Joel

"Ever try to forcibly pin down a house cat? It's not easy." - Captain Steel

"I just can't get pass sticking a finger up a dog's butt." - John Dumbear

Very good idea. And I agree that it may help with motivation. Posting those drawings a while back really kept me active in a weird sense of responsibility. I hope you continue to write this. I've enjoyed reading what you have up and look forward to more.

Good thread. Good idea. Good writing.

Chapter 3:

The next morning David opened his apartment door and there sat Ol’ Dodger on the stained mat in the hall (stained dark brown mostly from years of Dodger’s blood).

Dodger sat still, but on his stomach with his front paws stretched out and his head held up. Fresh gouges were on his face and his tail was matted down in several spots with bite marks made visible by the hardened saliva of his adversaries. He shook slightly as he tried to inhale, even breathing was difficult this morning.

“Hello, Ol’ Dodge!” David said to the cat as he squatted down.

Dodger just shivered and looked straight ahead. “Looks like they got the better of you last night, and I know you were having at it! I heard you and your mates going at it – your yowling kept me up half the night. You and the other toms need to stop fighting over them birds.”

David began to pet Dodger’s head and the old cat immediately began to purr. Soon Dodger stood up to stretch, arching his back with his tail straight in the air while David scratched him behind the ears and stroked him from his scruff to the base of his tail. This made Dodger quiver until he fell over sideways, purring loudly in what appeared to be a state of total bliss. With his eyes half closed now and a fang protruding out each side of his mouth, David would almost swear the cat was smiling at him.

David thought back – he’d known Ol’ Dodger since he first moved into this tenement, and that was 18 years ago. Could Ol’ Dodger really be that old? And he wasn’t even a kitten when David moved in either.

“At least eighteen years-old,” David muttered, “and still scrappin’ every night? Can that be right? My! You are a good old boy, aintcha’ Ol’ Dodge?”

David stared at Dodger’s happy face, the cat seemed to answer by licking David’s hand.

“Ah! You must be hungry after your night of debauchery… that is if you haven’t begged at every other door in the place yet before working your way up here. I’ll fetch you some milk.”

After placing the saucer of milk in its usual spot in the hallway, and with Ol’ Dodger now lapping away like a hungry newborn, David gathered his belongings and took a deep breath as if to muster the fortitude it would take to get through the coming day. He would first go to market and then on to Mother’s, after all, it was Saturday and time to engage in his unofficial career of dutiful son.

I like cats. I like this cat. I like this story about the cat. So I know you have to follow your own Muse, Cap, and you can call me biased - but I'd like this story to he mostly about the cat .

Thanks! That's funny! Here's why (inside notes):

It's indicative how stories take on a life of their own...

Dodger was inserted as a last minute afterthought. I only came up with him about 2 days ago, but I can see he's becoming the star of the story and readers will want it to be about him!

He was a plot device - I intended him as an intro (where a few hints could be dropped) and an epilogue. I thought him up to introduce the story as something that might grab interest (most people like reading about animals).

Now, I'm starting to like him myself (maybe too much because making him the center of the story would change the plot) and with reader feedback (here) I made the story longer to include him - chapter 3 was never intended as part of the story - it was a complete add-on just to have more of Dodger in the story.

Ol' Dodger was inspired by the Artful Dodger from Oliver. If people haven't sensed it yet, there is a British vibe in the story (although I have no intention of naming the country where it is set) and... just to avoid confusion, when David talks about the tom cats fighting over "birds" in chapter 3, he's using the British colloquialism where "birds" is a word for female (not fowl with wings)!

Chapter 4:

“Hello, Mother!” David exclaimed as cheerfully as he could, which by most standards would be one step above an unspoken cry of despair.

“Did you meet with Bannister? I expected you’d come here after the meeting, but you never showed up,” his mother offered as her greeting.

“Yes, Mother… ah… I meant to come here, but it was a trying day… but Bannister said…”

“Too tired from that job of yours? Seriously, David, I wish you’d find something else, you look dreadful all the time and you know you could do so much better… you’re not stupid, you know. Lord knows I could use help with the medical bills.”

“Yes, Mother, thank you for the compliment, I do know. I haven’t been sleeping well lately because…”

“That run down hovel you live in, no doubt. Drunks & drifters yelling in the street and stray cats fighting in the alley at all hours of the night as you’ve told me! Awful! What kind of neighborhood is that to live in? My son living like some kind of gutter snipe. I don’t know why you don’t move back here with me! So much for your theory that children who don’t live with their aging parents are doing them a favor by allowing them to fend for themselves in their old age – that being on their own keeps them in better shape! Hah! A lot of good it’s done me!”

“Mother, you hardly fend for yourself. You’ve had your nurse here at night for years and Mr. Boynton brings you all your meals,” David rationalized to his mother.

“Ah, Boynton… such a lovely soul. It was a blessing for me when his wife passed away, otherwise I probably wouldn’t have him! It’s a blessing to have a neighbor like him, someone who checks on me EVERY day, unlike my son.”

“I do all your shopping, I take you to all your doctor’s appointments, I handle your finances, I come to check on you every evening after work…”

“You didn’t come last night!”

David sighed and stared at his shoes, “How are you feeling today, Mother?”

“Horrid. Simply horrid.”

“I brought your groceries, your personal items I put in the bathroom, and here are your medicines. What are you up to, about 20 pills a day now?” David asked, trying to resist sounding sarcastic.

“Thirteen! Not that they do any good, just make me sick to my stomach! Just like the doctors, I don’t know why I bother. I’d give anything just for some relief, just someone, anyone who could help me.”

“Well, Mother, perhaps if you tried…”

“And YOUR nagging doesn’t help either… Oh, David, you know it’s my worrying about YOU that makes me ill! I wish you could do something with yourself. You could be doing so much better, if only you could meet someone and get married. I only want you to be happy.”

David tried to consider this statement before his Mother interrupted his thought with, “Why would you not want to live here instead of in that tenement and take care of me? Ohhh…” his mother groaned, “If only I could move my neck even a little without such pain.”

David moved behind his mother, “M-maybe, Mother, I could put some of this balm I got you on your neck… It’s the same kind Dad used to say they used in the Navy! I could rub it in for you… I could…”

“NO!” his mother screamed,”Get away! The very thought of being touched makes the pain worse. It’s intolerable! I’ve told you, but you don’t listen! You’re just like your father was!”

David wondered how his father was, he didn’t remember.

“I’m sorry, Mother. I’m only trying to help you.”

“Please, David, if you want to make me feel better, DO something about your life… perhaps a diet, you look flabby, but stay away from exercise, in your shape it could give you a heart attack… your father had a heart attack!”

After putting groceries away, greeting Mr. Boynton when he brought Mother’s lunch, cleaning up, preparing afternoon tea and disclosing the details of the meeting the previous day with Mr. Bannister, David had finally had enough of making excuses for his life and his appearance, listening to complaints while being forbidden from making suggestions, and dealing with the contradictions that made up his mother’s advice on how to improve himself.

He decided to say his goodbyes. He looked at his mother as her shaking hand attempted to raise tea to her lips apparently unable to move her neck to meet the cup. Tears began to fill his eyes in an uncharacteristic moment of sentimentality.

He leaned in and whispered, “Goodbye, Mother” as he attempted to plant a soft kiss upon her cheek.

“Oh, DAVID!” his mother shouted as she startled and reeled, dropping her tea and burning her lap, “See what your silliness has done! Oh, the pain, I’m in PAIN! When will this suffering end?”

David made up an ice bag for her lap and cleaned up the spill. He stood three feet back from her and announced, “I’m leaving now, Mother… Good bye.”

“Oh, don’t be so morose David, no use crying over spilt tea as they say! I’ll survive. With all my other pains what’s a little burned skin on my legs? Too bad it didn’t land on my knees where I need some heat! Oh, darling, you will be back tomorrow for Sunday dinner, won’t you? Mr. Boynton is making Strogonoff!”

“Yes… yes, of course, Mother,” David said sheepishly as he departed.

Chapter 5:

By the following Saturday, David’s mother was dead.

The funeral was a minimal affair: David met a couple relatives he barely remembered and a couple more he’d never met before.
His mother’s nurse came by to pay respects as did his mother’s accountant, Mr. Bannister…

“My deepest sympathies, Mr. Reardon. She was a wonderful person, just wonderful.”

“Yes… yes… I suppose…” David answered awkwardly.

Bannister grasped David’s right hand and shook it. David briefly hesitated returning the grip, something in the back of his mind about it, but he was too clouded by the overwhelmingness of all the recent events to recall. Bannister grabbed their interlocked hands enveloping them with his left hand in a show of compassion as he squeezed all the hands involved tightly.

“If you need anything… questions about the estate… anything at all, my boy, just give a call,” said Bannister before he left David’s side.


Mr. Boynton was good enough to open his home for a reception after the funeral and had even prepared a buffet of his home-cooked dishes for the handful of guests that showed up. As the solemn affair came to an end Boynton approached David and said, “Serving your mother these past years was a privilege for me, David.”

“It… it was? Well… I… I’m glad...” David stammered.

“In some way your mother helped fill the gaps after my Sara died. She gave me someone to help.”

“Yes, well… she certainly did need a lot of help, Mr. Boynton”

“Call me Ray, son,” Boynton said as he suddenly grabbed David by the shoulders, “David, time here is short for all of us and before my time comes, which will be soon as I found out I got the cancer just after Sara died and… well, before my time comes I just wanted to let you know I came to think of you almost like my own son over the years.”

With that, Mr. Boynton embraced David, who was somewhat alarmed as he’d never realized how close his mother and Mr. Boynton had become. He was taken aback by Boynton’s revelations, and by the fact that he had not been hugged by another human being, as far as he could remember, since childhood. It turned from feeling odd and somehow improprioutous to feeling warm and good.

“Yes… uh… R-Ray…” David spoke into Boynton’s ear as the two men hugged, “I… uh… I’m sorry to hear about your… uh… condition, I didn’t know. But I’m… um… glad you feel that way… a-about me, that is, and… uh… and I can’t tell you how much I appreciate all you did for Mother.”

David didn’t know what else to say, but he found his arms around Mr. Boynton and his hands firmly on Boynton’s back. The two held the embrace for quite a while as the feeling of human closeness, even if with an old man, riddled with disease, that he previously had thought of as an associate – his mother’s cook and neighbor - was something he was quite unaccustomed to, but now more than willing to accept.

You have a great perspective on the life of a stray cat and may want to put 'Ol Dodger into his own story, if only just a short story. He's mostly a diversion from the current one now.

You know where the story is leading and what comments and details are pertinent, so you will know whether the following suggestions are relevant. Not knowing the whole story, I feel that you might expedite things by starting with the funeral. You could use bits of the conversation with his mother as a flashback or just a recollection by the protagonist.

Also, you do a good job of describing the day to day "business" of the protagonist but should try melding those actions with the character's thoughts about his situation, the other characters, etc. Think of scenes in a movie in which a character is doing something while talking with another character. Usually, we almost don't notice what he's doing. There's just enough action so he is doing something more than just talking.

Thanks for the pointers, AJ!
I'm kind of working from a "spontaneous outline" right now. (Only one chapter and an epilogue to go if things go as planned.)

I have a few blogs.. one has poetry and short stories and the other is my own little fairytales and folklores.

Let me know if you are interested and I will post.

Chapter 6:

Two months and three weeks later…

The stairs seemed steeper than usual as Ol’ Dodger crept down them one by one, after departing from in front of apartment 4G since his old friend was apparently not at home. His left leg trailing and almost useless made his hind end flop down on each stair. He groaned slightly with each step as his desire for food now seemed secondary to his unrelieved pain and discomfort from last night’s battles.

He halted reflexively upon hearing voices in the stairwell – it was Mrs. Fisher, the landlady, talking to Mrs. Alabast on the second floor. He didn’t care for Mrs. Alabast since she’d often swatted at him with the working end of a broom!

Being a cat, Dodger did not comprehend their words, of course, but his ears swiveled (even the half chewed one that was still stinging) as he listened to see if he could glean any meaning or attitude from their tones.

“It was Mr. Reardon,” Mrs. Fisher cried.

“Was he that daft one from the fourth floor? Always leavin’ out milk to lure that filthy alley cat in here, and pettin' and talkin' to him like they was best mates?” asked Mrs. Alabast.

“Oh, you mean Ol’ Dodger?”

“Who’s that?”

“The alley cat!”

“I didn’t know it had a name!”

“Ol’ Dodger’s not that bad,” Mrs. Fisher added, “he’s been coming in and out of here must be over 20 years now.”

“Eh? Cats don’t live that long – ‘specially not no alley cat keeping me up every night fightin’ outside my window. So what happened to him?”

“To Dodger?”

“No, the daft one on the fourth floor!”

“Oh… Mr. Reardon! Poor Mr. Reardon… he was shot!”

“Shot? By who?”

“They don’t know.”

“One of them drunken drifters if you ask me. This is an awful neighborhood.”

“The police didn’t catch anyone, but it was apparently an attempted robbery and… he… he’s dead.”

“Oy…” Mrs. Alabast lowered her head and stared down at the broom she held in her hands solemnly for a moment then said, “He was a peculiar man, but he certainly didn’t deserve that. Why do you think they shot him? Couldn’t be because he fought back? He didn’t seem the type. Slight man, he was. Peculiar and slight.”

“I don’t know…” Mrs. Fisher replied, “It’s just an awful world we live in… just awful.”

Dodger raised his head and sniffed when the two women went quiet. After a log enough silence he limped past them as quickly as he could without even pausing to rub his face on Mrs. Fisher’s ankle, especially since Mrs. Alabast still had hold of her broom. He headed for the front doorway, instinctively thinking that when it comes time for a cat to die, it would be somehow improper to let it occur out in the open. So after descending the front steps, feeling their familiar coolness on pads of his feet, he turned right and went back into the alley.

Been traveling but will catch up a bit later this week. Prolly tomorrow when I'm back at work

I'm glad you've been active with this and I'm looking forward to reading the new stuff. Thanks for sharing.

Epilogue:


For the rest of his days, Mr. Bannister never once winced at a handshake. He never thought about the injury to his hand, or recalled it or mentioned it to anyone because his hand never gave him any reason to recall it had ever been injured. In fact, he never even noticed when he reverted back from writing with his left hand to writing with his right.

Mr. Raymond Boynton became an oddity of medical science; breaking all records by dying in his sleep at the age of 126 years-old, and in full remission of cancer, without a trace of illness showing up since the day of David Reardon’s mother’s funeral.

Ol’ Dodger found his weathered old cardboard box in the alley, a half box actually, about three inches tall. It was nestled back behind some old garbage cans and an unused, rusted metal bin on wheels. It had become his place, his nest, where he felt secure and hidden and safe. He crept into the damp, crumpled cardboard with his leg dragging behind him and the gouge on his face searing along its entire length from the corner of his mouth up to his eye.
He felt heavy and exhausted. He turned in circles twice following the tip of his tail, and he finally laid down, putting his chin down between his front paws. Coincidentally, his box was directly below David Reardon’s window on the fourth floor, but now, as Dodger exhaled his last labored breath he looked forward to meeting his friend again on a higher floor. As his eyes closed on the world, Dodger felt a warm hand reaching down to embrace him at the base of his neck and stroke him from his scruff to the base of his tail as his pain finally subsided and he smiled at the last sound he ever heard – his own purr.

The End.

You've written a great ending for Dodger. Perhaps he could fit into this story, as a parallel perspective on life and death.

Here's the full story in a single post for those who might prefer to read it in one shot (tried to save it as an attachment, but my computer won't let me save as a pdf file). Recommendations for a title are welcome along with questions, comments, or critiques.


Untitled Short Story:


Chapter 1:

Ol’ Dodger rubbed the side of his face against the woodwork surrounding the doorway to apartment 4G.

His face hurt as he marked the doorway with half-dried blood. He had a large gash at the side of his mouth that ran all the way up to his eye and half his left ear was now gone, leaving the jagged shape of a bite that almost matched the faint remnants of what could have been a scar on his right side, but then most tom cats aren’t still fighting nightly at the age of 26 years old.

Dodger looked for the saucer of milk that was usually placed in the hallway by his old friend but it was not there. He rubbed his hind quarters against the doorway and purred loudly despite his pain, but nonetheless, his friend didn’t appear from behind the closed door.

Apartment 4G was the home of David Reardon, probably Dodger’s favorite tenant as David would put the saucer of milk outside his door almost religiously and would pet Dodger’s head every morning before he went off to work, leaving Dodger feeling better after his long nights of claiming territory and trying to establish dominance over the other local stray males.

Ol’ Dodger ended his purring with a long guttural sigh, somehow instinctively knowing his pain would be with him a long time this time around. He limped begrudgingly down the stairs to see if Mrs. Fisher, the landlady, had left anything out for him.



Chapter 2:

Three months earlier:

David Reardon hurried to collect his brief case and umbrella as he donned his overcoat. He expelled air out of his puffed cheeks in relief that the day’s drudgery was once again at an end. He said goodnight to the other bookkeepers as he passed their desks. He was rushing to get to a meeting with his mother’s accountant. At least it was something different after work for a change instead of checking in on his mother before heading home to his one bedroom apartment.

His mother had asked him to meet with Mr. Bannister to go over some details of her estate. It seemed David had to tend to all his mother’s affairs these days as she became more immobile each month.

As the meeting wrapped up, Mr. Bannister said, “Well, you can’t pay too much attention to these things, especially at your mother’s age. It’s best to get things in order now than… in more trying times. And it’s so good she has you to help her. Rest assured, Mr. Reardon, should the time come, everything will be in order and you’ll have very little difficulty with all the details – and as you well know, these days, the state doesn’t make it easy.”

“I can’t thank you enough, Mr. Bannister.” David said as he shook Bannister’s hand.

Bannister winced slightly as he reflexively pulled his hand away.

“Oh! I’m sorry, sir! Did I hurt you?” David asked in surprise, after all David was only a slight man and not very strong, especially not in his grip.

“On no, Mr. Reardon, it’s quite all right, I assure you… it’s just that I injured my hand many years ago… got it caught in a press machine of all things. I guess it never healed quite properly and it gives me a bit of trouble. Plus, the weather doesn’t help – arthritis you know. Been a damned nuisance ever since, so much so that I had to teach myself to write with my left hand.”

“Oh my! How awful.” David said, “Looks like you’ll have to shake hands with the left then as well?”

“Yes, I’ve tried that, but gentlemen don’t often take well to left-handed handshakes. But thank you for your concern. Please give my best to your mother.” Bannister rubbed his right hand with his left as he watched David Reardon depart, smiling quietly as the pain between the bones in his hand was quickly subsiding.



Chapter 3:

The next morning David opened his apartment door and there sat Ol’ Dodger on the stained mat in the hall (stained dark brown mostly from years of Dodger’s blood).

Dodger sat still, but on his stomach with his front paws stretched out and his head held up. Fresh gouges were on his face and his tail was matted down in several spots with bite marks made visible by the hardened saliva of his adversaries. He shook slightly as he tried to inhale, even breathing was difficult this morning.

“Hello, Ol’ Dodge!” David said to the cat as he squatted down.

Dodger just shivered and looked straight ahead. “Looks like they got the better of you last night, and I know you were having at it! I heard you and your mates going at it – your yowling kept me up half the night. You and the other toms need to stop fighting over them birds.”

David began to pet Dodger’s head and the old cat immediately began to purr. Soon Dodger stood up to stretch, arching his back with his tail straight in the air while David scratched him behind the ears and stroked him from his scruff to the base of his tail. This made Dodger quiver until he fell over sideways, purring loudly in what appeared to be a state of total bliss. With his eyes half closed now and a fang protruding out each side of his mouth, David would almost swear the cat was smiling at him.

David thought back – he’d known Ol’ Dodger since he first moved into this tenement, and that was 18 years ago. Could Ol’ Dodger really be that old? And he wasn’t even a kitten when David moved in either.

“At least eighteen years-old,” David muttered, “and still scrappin’ every night? Can that be right? My! You are a good old boy, aintcha’ Ol’ Dodge?”

David stared at Dodger’s happy face, the cat seemed to answer by licking David’s hand.

“Ah! You must be hungry after your night of debauchery… that is if you haven’t begged at every other door in the place yet before working your way up here. I’ll fetch you some milk.”

After placing the saucer of milk in its usual spot in the hallway, and with Ol’ Dodger now lapping away like a hungry newborn, David gathered his belongings and took a deep breath as if to muster the fortitude it would take to get through the coming day. He would first go to market and then on to Mother’s, after all, it was Saturday and time to engage in his unofficial career of dutiful son.



Chapter 4:

“Hello, Mother!” David exclaimed as cheerfully as he could, which by most standards would be one step above an unspoken cry of despair.

“Did you meet with Bannister? I expected you’d come here after the meeting, but you never showed up,” his mother offered as her greeting.

“Yes, Mother… ah… I meant to come here, but it was a trying day… but Bannister said…”

“Too tired from that job of yours? Seriously, David, I wish you’d find something else, you look dreadful all the time and you know you could do so much better… you’re not stupid, you know. Lord knows I could use help with the medical bills.”

“Yes, Mother, thank you for the compliment, I do know. I haven’t been sleeping well lately because…”

“That run down hovel you live in, no doubt. Drunks & drifters yelling in the street and stray cats fighting in the alley at all hours of the night as you’ve told me! Awful! What kind of neighborhood is that to live in? My son living like some kind of gutter snipe. I don’t know why you don’t move back here with me! So much for your theory that children who don’t live with their aging parents are doing them a favor by allowing them to fend for themselves in their old age... that being on their own keeps them in better shape! Hah! A lot of good it’s done me!”

“Mother, you hardly fend for yourself. You’ve had your nurse here at night for years and Mr. Boynton brings you all your meals,” David rationalized to his mother.

“Ah, Boynton… such a lovely soul. It was a blessing for me when his wife passed away, otherwise I probably wouldn’t have him! It’s a blessing to have a neighbor like him, someone who checks on me EVERY day, unlike my son.”

“I do all your shopping, I take you to all your doctor’s appointments, I handle your finances, I come to check on you every evening after work…”

“You didn’t come last night!”

David sighed and stared at his shoes, “How are you feeling today, Mother?”

“Horrid. Simply horrid.”

“I brought your groceries, your personal items I put in the bathroom, and here are your medicines. What are you up to, about 20 pills a day now?” David asked, trying to resist sounding sarcastic.

“Thirteen! Not that they do any good, just make me sick to my stomach! Just like the doctors, I don’t know why I bother. I’d give anything just for some relief, just someone, anyone who could help me.”

“Well, Mother, perhaps if you tried…”

“And YOUR nagging doesn’t help either… Oh, David, you know it’s my worrying about YOU that makes me ill! I wish you could do something with yourself. You could be doing so much better, if only you could meet someone and get married. I only want you to be happy.”

David tried to consider this statement before his Mother interrupted his thought with, “Why would you not want to live here instead of in that tenement and take care of me? Ohhh…” his mother groaned, “If only I could move my neck even a little without such pain.”

David moved behind his mother, “M-maybe, Mother, I could put some of this balm I got you on your neck… It’s the same kind Dad used to say they used in the Navy! I could rub it in for you… I could…”

“NO!” his mother screamed,”Get away! The very thought of being touched makes the pain worse. It’s intolerable! I’ve told you, but you don’t listen! You’re just like your father was!”

David wondered how his father was, he didn’t remember.

“I’m sorry, Mother. I’m only trying to help you.”

“Please, David, if you want to make me feel better, DO something about your life… perhaps a diet, you look flabby, but stay away from exercise, in your shape it could give you a heart attack… your father had a heart attack!”

After putting groceries away, David greeted Mr. Boynton when he brought Mother’s lunch. Then, after cleaning up the luncheon tray & the dishes, preparing afternoon tea, and disclosing the details of the meeting the previous day with Mr. Bannister, David had finally had enough of making excuses for his life and his appearance... enough of listening to complaints while being forbidden from making suggestions... enough of dealing with the contradictions that made up his mother’s advice on how to improve himself.

He decided to say his goodbyes. He looked at his mother as her shaking hand attempted to raise tea to her lips apparently unable to move her neck to meet the cup. Tears began to fill his eyes in an uncharacteristic moment of sentimentality.

He leaned in and whispered, “Goodbye, Mother” as he attempted to plant a soft kiss upon her cheek.

“Oh, DAVID!” his mother shouted as she startled and reeled, dropping her tea and burning her lap, “See what your silliness has done! Oh, the pain, I’m in PAIN! When will this suffering end?”

David made up an ice bag for her lap and cleaned up the spill. He stood three feet back from her and announced, “I’m leaving now, Mother… Good bye.”

“Oh, don’t be so morose David, no use crying over spilt tea as they say! I’ll survive. With all my other pains what’s a little burned skin on my legs? Too bad it didn’t land on my knees where I need some heat! Oh, darling, you will be back tomorrow for Sunday dinner, won’t you? Mr. Boynton is making Strogonoff!”

“Yes… yes, of course, Mother,” David said sheepishly as he departed.



Chapter 5:

By the following Saturday, David’s mother was dead.

The funeral was a minimal affair: David met a couple relatives he barely remembered and a couple more he’d never met before.
His mother’s nurse came by to pay respects as did his mother’s accountant, Mr. Bannister…

“My deepest sympathies, Mr. Reardon. She was a wonderful person, just wonderful.”

“Yes… yes… I suppose…” David answered awkwardly.

Bannister grasped David’s right hand and shook it. David briefly hesitated returning the grip, something in the back of his mind about it, but he was too clouded by the overwhelmingness of all the recent events to recall. Bannister grabbed their interlocked hands enveloping them with his left hand in a show of compassion as he squeezed all the hands involved tightly.

“If you need anything… questions about the estate… anything at all, my boy, just give a call,” said Bannister before he left David’s side.


Mr. Boynton was good enough to open his home for a reception after the funeral and had even prepared a buffet of his home-cooked dishes for the handful of guests that showed up. As the solemn affair came to an end Boynton approached David and said, “Serving your mother these past years was a privilege for me, David.”

“It… it was? Well… I… I’m glad...” David stammered.

“In some way your mother helped fill the gaps after my Sara died. She gave me someone to help.”

“Yes, well… she certainly did need a lot of help, Mr. Boynton”

“Call me Ray, son,” Boynton said as he suddenly grabbed David by the shoulders, “David, time here is short for all of us and before my time comes, which will be soon as I found out I got the cancer just after Sara died and… well, before my time comes I just wanted to let you know I came to think of you almost like my own son over the years.”

With that, Mr. Boynton embraced David, who was somewhat alarmed as he’d never realized how close his mother and Mr. Boynton had become. He was taken aback by Boynton’s revelations, and by the fact that he had not been hugged by another human being, as far as he could remember, since childhood. It turned from feeling odd and somehow improprioutous to feeling warm and good.

“Yes… uh… R-Ray…” David spoke into Boynton’s ear as the two men hugged, “I… uh… I’m sorry to hear about your… uh… condition, I didn’t know. But I’m… um… glad you feel that way… a-about me, that is, and… uh… and I can’t tell you how much I appreciate all you did for Mother.”

David didn’t know what else to say, but he found his arms around Mr. Boynton and his hands firmly on Boynton’s back. The two held the embrace for quite a while as the feeling of human closeness, even if with an old man, riddled with disease, that he previously had thought of as an associate – his mother’s cook and neighbor - was something he was quite unaccustomed to, but now more than willing to accept.



Chapter 6:

Two months and three weeks later…

The stairs seemed steeper than usual as Ol’ Dodger crept down them one by one, after departing from in front of apartment 4G since his old friend was apparently not at home. His left leg trailing and almost useless made his hind end flop down on each stair. He groaned slightly with each step as his desire for food now seemed secondary to his unrelieved pain and discomfort from last night’s battles.

He halted reflexively upon hearing voices in the stairwell – it was Mrs. Fisher, the landlady, talking to Mrs. Alabast on the second floor. He didn’t care for Mrs. Alabast since she’d often swatted at him with the working end of a broom!

Being a cat, Dodger did not comprehend their words, of course, but his ears swiveled (even the half chewed one that was still stinging) as he listened to see if he could glean any meaning or attitude from their tones.

“It was Mr. Reardon,” Mrs. Fisher cried.

“Was he that daft one from the fourth floor? Always leavin’ out milk to lure that filthy alley cat in here, and pettin' and talkin' to him like they was best mates?” asked Mrs. Alabast.

“Oh, you mean Ol’ Dodger?”

“Who’s that?”

“The alley cat!”

“I didn’t know it had a name!”

“Ol’ Dodger’s not that bad,” Mrs. Fisher added, “he’s been coming in and out of here must be over 20 years now.”

“Eh? Cats don’t live that long – ‘specially not no alley cat keeping me up every night fightin’ outside my window. So what happened to him?”

“To Dodger?”

“No, the daft one on the fourth floor!”

“Oh… Mr. Reardon! Poor Mr. Reardon… he was shot!”

“Shot? By who?”

“They don’t know.”

“One of them drunken drifters if you ask me. This is an awful neighborhood.”

“The police didn’t catch anyone, but it was apparently an attempted robbery and… he… he’s dead.”

“Oy…” Mrs. Alabast lowered her head and stared down at the broom she held in her hands solemnly for a moment then said, “He was a peculiar man, but he certainly didn’t deserve that. Why do you think they shot him? Couldn’t be because he fought back? He didn’t seem the type. Slight man, he was. Peculiar and slight.”

“I don’t know…” Mrs. Fisher replied, “It’s just an awful world we live in… just awful.”

Dodger raised his head and sniffed when the two women went quiet. After a log enough silence he limped past them as quickly as he could without even pausing to rub his face on Mrs. Fisher’s ankle, especially since Mrs. Alabast still had hold of her broom. He headed for the front doorway, instinctively thinking that when it comes time for a cat to die, it would be somehow improper to let it occur out in the open. So after descending the front steps, feeling their familiar coolness on pads of his feet, he turned right and went back into the alley.



Epilogue:

For the rest of his days, Mr. Bannister never once winced at a handshake. He never thought about the injury to his hand, or recalled it or mentioned it to anyone because his hand never gave him any reason to recall it had ever been injured. In fact, he never even noticed when he reverted back from writing with his left hand to writing with his right.

Mr. Raymond Boynton became an oddity of medical science; breaking all records by dying in his sleep at the age of 126 years-old, and in full remission of cancer, without a trace of illness showing up since the day of David Reardon’s mother’s funeral.

Ol’ Dodger found his weathered old cardboard box in the alley, a half box actually, about three inches tall. It was nestled back behind some old garbage cans and an unused, rusted metal bin on wheels. It had become his place, his nest, where he felt secure and hidden and safe. He crept into the damp, crumpled cardboard with his leg dragging behind him and the gouge on his face searing along its entire length from the corner of his mouth up to his eye.
He felt heavy and exhausted. He turned in circles twice following the tip of his tail, and he finally laid down, putting his chin down between his front paws. Coincidentally, his box was directly below David Reardon’s window on the fourth floor, but now, as Dodger exhaled his last labored breath he looked forward to meeting his friend again on a higher floor. As his eyes closed on the world, Dodger felt a warm hand reaching down to embrace him at the base of his neck and stroke him from his scruff to the base of his tail as his pain finally subsided and he smiled at the last sound he ever heard – his own purr.

The End.

OK. Catching up now.

Damn. I'm balling now.
Chapter 4 felt very familiar. Nagging mothers are only truly happy when listing all of their world's complaints! I would like to read one more chapter! First, I like how Dodger is in and out with his own story line. That provides a nice scene change I think. I think that would be a good motif to explore more, as a beat from the main story to help us keep pace with what else is going on. A breather during a nice run, if you will. One more chapter could give you more time to his observations. I think what you set up in 6 was great.

I'd like to read more between chapters 4 and 5. That first line in chapter 5 floored me! That might give you space to play with David's own peculiarities or even to introduce slightly the risk that is to come. That might add more weight to hearing of David's fate 2nd hand. It was shocking to read that (in a good way, I mean). And tragic, in a sense, that Dodger was learning of this news as we were, but he would not understand its meaning or its affect on him. That was very sad for me to run that possibility of an old, lonely and wounded cat returning to a door expecting affection and food to have no understanding of why neither exist anymore. That alone could be an interesting perspective---a cat observing these tragic events, some affecting him, some not, but all observed in some way by Dodger experiencing human nature, life, death, hope, tragedy, to then end precisely how you ended it.

I really enjoyed this And the epilogue was a sweet end cap.

*EDIT*
Originally typed between chapters 3 and 4. Corrected to be 4 and 5.

Thanks, @ynwtf, I really appreciate that!

SPOILERS:
The story was inspired by a few things... first I wanted it to have a slight Twilight Zone type of feel as the story kind of deals with something that may be beyond the natural. I've always wondered about healing (and the legends of those who allegedly had that power) and how ironic it would be if someone could heal, but had no idea they had the power and no opportunities to realize it.

The movie Brazil (1985) was kind of how I imagined the setting (kind of a timeless antique feel, yet in a dystopian England) especially for the scene with his mother echoing similar scenes in the movie.

The biggest inspiration was the song "A Most Peculiar Man" by Simon & Garfunkel. Paul Simon wrote it while in England after he read an obituary. My first introduction to the song was the Cowsills version...



Initially I was going to follow the song more directly and have David possibly commit suicide as the man in the song may have done (with the supreme irony of David never realizing he had the power to heal). But the story moved in a different direction - the man in the song "wasn't friendly and he didn't care" (which is why he died friendless and alone) - but David had an abundance of compassion, but no outlet for it.

So I didn't stick with the song and went with a different outcome. (The introduction of Boynton was at first just an explanation of how Mother got by while David was working, but he turned into the reason for David not to kill himself. I wonder, though, if Boynton's outcome in the epilogue hits the reader over the head by driving home David's unrealized potential since the only original indicators were to be Bannister's hand and Dodger?)

This is where it gets personal - unrealized potential and my frustration with trying to help my own relatives - I feel like I could have helped some of them more if only they had let me. I've had various family members say they'd give anything or do anything for relief of their conditions, but then reject any suggestions or offers to help, especially if they came from me.

Note: "Mother" in the story is not my mother, but rather an amalgam of various relatives.