McSweeney's Writing Contest
PROMPT: Write a short scene in which one character reduces another to uncontrollable sobs without touching him or speaking.
Jimmy paced restlessly, his hands behind his back. His head was bent forward, his posture and stride aggressive. He didn't look at Erica as he talked, but rattled off his arguments in a brief staccato addressed to the air in front of him.
"Look, I knew we had problems. Everyone knew we had problems, didn't they? 'Course they did. That was one of the problems, wasn't it? The volume. The insulting obviousness of it all. No one likes having other people's private lives shoved in their faces, but that's what you did."
A brief flicker of the eyes to her face; it showed no emotion, and Jimmy swiveled on his heels and continued pacing. "What we did. It wasn't all you; I'm no saint, no paragon of virtue, not blameless here. But you! You always escalated it. Always!"
As Jimmy passed by Erica, she turned gently away from him, but swung back again to face him as he turned back for another line across the short room. His pacing was less purposeful now, more the angry but futile tread of a lion in a narrow cage. Erica turned slowly, following Jimmy's walk this time, and this action seemed to unnerve him.
"You never gave it a rest! Everything was a crime, a sin, an offense against God! And everything you did was because I was never good enough; if I was better, you wouldn't have been that way. Why'd you crash the car? You were worried about that DUI I got. Why'd you lose your job? You hadn't been able to sleep at home, wondering about when I'd get back, where I was, who I was with. Why, why, why, and it was always Jimmy, Jimmy, Jimmy!"
His rage crescendoed, and Jimmy whirled towards Erica with his fist upraised -- but she only moved slightly, to face him more fully, and it was Jimmy who flinched away. He rubbed his left eye with his left hand, while the fist slowly loosened and dropped away. He shook it briefly and stared beseechingly at Erica; his face softened and he appeared about to say something, possibly even apologize, but the moment passed and he turned away again.
The pacing resumed, slower now. This was the walk of a man condemned to life in the same cell, who knew every inch of it by heart; it was steady, but the footfalls were heavy, and it had no sense of purpose about it. Jimmy walked in silence for two or three turns, then spoke again. He still looked away from Erica as he talked, but his voice now was low and uncertain.
"It never had to be like this -- not like it was at all. We could have changed, you know? We could have worked on things, worked through things. People do it. We could have done it. We could have been there for each other." He glanced up at Erica, but she was turned away from him again, and he was spared the steady regard of her tearless eyes. "We got into a cycle, is all. She's not there for me, why should I be there for her? He won't talk to me, why should I talk to him? Either -- either one of us could have broken it, you know?"
Jimmy's voice caught in his throat, and he stopped pacing. "I wish -- I wish you'd done that, baby. Was I so bad?" He reached for Erica, took her by the waist, turned her to face him. She stared down at him; no expression crossed her face as he stared up at her, tears running freely down his face.
"Was I so impossible to talk to? Such a -- such a monster that I left you no way out? There had to have been something I could have done, something that could have prevented this!" He was begging her now, kneeling in front of her, his arms wrapped around her knees, then sliding slowly to her shins as he crumpled onto the floor. He cried there, soundlessly, his entire body shaking, as Erica spun slowly to and fro, suspended from the rafters by the noose around her neck.
Jimmy paced restlessly, his hands behind his back. His head was bent forward, his posture and stride aggressive. He didn't look at Erica as he talked, but rattled off his arguments in a brief staccato addressed to the air in front of him.
"Look, I knew we had problems. Everyone knew we had problems, didn't they? 'Course they did. That was one of the problems, wasn't it? The volume. The insulting obviousness of it all. No one likes having other people's private lives shoved in their faces, but that's what you did."
A brief flicker of the eyes to her face; it showed no emotion, and Jimmy swiveled on his heels and continued pacing. "What we did. It wasn't all you; I'm no saint, no paragon of virtue, not blameless here. But you! You always escalated it. Always!"
As Jimmy passed by Erica, she turned gently away from him, but swung back again to face him as he turned back for another line across the short room. His pacing was less purposeful now, more the angry but futile tread of a lion in a narrow cage. Erica turned slowly, following Jimmy's walk this time, and this action seemed to unnerve him.
"You never gave it a rest! Everything was a crime, a sin, an offense against God! And everything you did was because I was never good enough; if I was better, you wouldn't have been that way. Why'd you crash the car? You were worried about that DUI I got. Why'd you lose your job? You hadn't been able to sleep at home, wondering about when I'd get back, where I was, who I was with. Why, why, why, and it was always Jimmy, Jimmy, Jimmy!"
His rage crescendoed, and Jimmy whirled towards Erica with his fist upraised -- but she only moved slightly, to face him more fully, and it was Jimmy who flinched away. He rubbed his left eye with his left hand, while the fist slowly loosened and dropped away. He shook it briefly and stared beseechingly at Erica; his face softened and he appeared about to say something, possibly even apologize, but the moment passed and he turned away again.
The pacing resumed, slower now. This was the walk of a man condemned to life in the same cell, who knew every inch of it by heart; it was steady, but the footfalls were heavy, and it had no sense of purpose about it. Jimmy walked in silence for two or three turns, then spoke again. He still looked away from Erica as he talked, but his voice now was low and uncertain.
"It never had to be like this -- not like it was at all. We could have changed, you know? We could have worked on things, worked through things. People do it. We could have done it. We could have been there for each other." He glanced up at Erica, but she was turned away from him again, and he was spared the steady regard of her tearless eyes. "We got into a cycle, is all. She's not there for me, why should I be there for her? He won't talk to me, why should I talk to him? Either -- either one of us could have broken it, you know?"
Jimmy's voice caught in his throat, and he stopped pacing. "I wish -- I wish you'd done that, baby. Was I so bad?" He reached for Erica, took her by the waist, turned her to face him. She stared down at him; no expression crossed her face as he stared up at her, tears running freely down his face.
"Was I so impossible to talk to? Such a -- such a monster that I left you no way out? There had to have been something I could have done, something that could have prevented this!" He was begging her now, kneeling in front of her, his arms wrapped around her knees, then sliding slowly to her shins as he crumpled onto the floor. He cried there, soundlessly, his entire body shaking, as Erica spun slowly to and fro, suspended from the rafters by the noose around her neck.