| General Fiction posted November 12, 2017 |
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Heartless observer.
Sue
by Heather Knight
The pub was almost empty and Sue came to sit with us. She always did that when she wasn't busy behind the bar. I have to confess that sometimes it made me uncomfortable.
'Are you hungry?' she asked.
'Yeah,' my husband answered.
Sue went away and came back a few minutes later carrying a dish full of little pies that I knew she wouldn't charge us for. She was always generous like that.
'Here you are, try this. My mum made them this morning.'
We asked her about her family and she told us a few anecdotes, most of them happy. She was a natural storyteller in spite of her defective grammar.
Sue spoke non-stop and, while she spoke, she smiled. She was telling me about a TV show we both used to watch.
I looked at her and nodded. Even though I was trying to appear interested, my attention wandered after five minutes of excruciating detail.
She was sitting next to me, maybe too close. I don't like it when people invade my personal space.
I have to confess I was watching her mouth, not listening to her. I was mesmerized. She was only forty, but her top teeth were dark yellow, almost brown. Was it poor hygiene or lack of resources? I felt guilty for entertaining these thoughts, so I forced a smile, Cheshire cat style, and asked a question.
'So is there a happy ending?'
'Oh, yes, he comes back.'
We talked for half an hour or so, and in the meantime, I kept on observing her.
Sue had never lived in a big city and had never attended secondary school. Her life had been confined to her small village. Just two hundred people.
She lived with her parents and her also single brother who shared the work at the pub with her.
She always wore jeans with an old sweater and, in summer, shorts and an equally old T-shirt.
She was tall and slim and I have to say I was jealous of her great figure.
One day, I asked her where she bought her clothes, not out of spite, but because I was really curious and she told me she didn't like clothes.
'I get them all second-hand.'
And once again, without meaning to, she had made me feel guilty. I buy clothes and jewelry all the time myself, they are a part of who I am.
Sue's hair was short and untidy. Very often it was also greasy. She wore glasses that had been fashionable in the nineties or before and her face was pockmarked. Am I painting a very disagreeable picture? No, don't be misled. Her smile and friendliness made up for everything else. Almost.
There was only one thing I found disturbing about her, and it was how close she was to her brother. For some reason, watching them together, made me think of The Thorn Birds and Lolita.
I wish I knew what became of Sue and her family. I haven't been to Greenville in years as I have no business there any more.
Maybe instead of painting a picture of a character (which is what I wanted to do), I have painted a picture of myself. Of how I can dissect a human being and turn him or her into a set of words without any feeling. Guilt is not enough. If I wasn't a hardened author, I would despise myself... But I don't. After all, didn't Somerset Maugham and many others do the same?
The pub was almost empty and Sue came to sit with us. She always did that when she wasn't busy behind the bar. I have to confess that sometimes it made me uncomfortable.
'Are you hungry?' she asked.
'Yeah,' my husband answered.
Sue went away and came back a few minutes later carrying a dish full of little pies that I knew she wouldn't charge us for. She was always generous like that.
'Here you are, try this. My mum made them this morning.'
We asked her about her family and she told us a few anecdotes, most of them happy. She was a natural storyteller in spite of her defective grammar.
Sue spoke non-stop and, while she spoke, she smiled. She was telling me about a TV show we both used to watch.
I looked at her and nodded. Even though I was trying to appear interested, my attention wandered after five minutes of excruciating detail.
She was sitting next to me, maybe too close. I don't like it when people invade my personal space.
I have to confess I was watching her mouth, not listening to her. I was mesmerized. She was only forty, but her top teeth were dark yellow, almost brown. Was it poor hygiene or lack of resources? I felt guilty for entertaining these thoughts, so I forced a smile, Cheshire cat style, and asked a question.
'So is there a happy ending?'
'Oh, yes, he comes back.'
We talked for half an hour or so, and in the meantime, I kept on observing her.
Sue had never lived in a big city and had never attended secondary school. Her life had been confined to her small village. Just two hundred people.
She lived with her parents and her also single brother who shared the work at the pub with her.
She always wore jeans with an old sweater and, in summer, shorts and an equally old T-shirt.
She was tall and slim and I have to say I was jealous of her great figure.
One day, I asked her where she bought her clothes, not out of spite, but because I was really curious and she told me she didn't like clothes.
'I get them all second-hand.'
And once again, without meaning to, she had made me feel guilty. I buy clothes and jewelry all the time myself, they are a part of who I am.
Sue's hair was short and untidy. Very often it was also greasy. She wore glasses that had been fashionable in the nineties or before and her face was pockmarked. Am I painting a very disagreeable picture? No, don't be misled. Her smile and friendliness made up for everything else. Almost.
There was only one thing I found disturbing about her, and it was how close she was to her brother. For some reason, watching them together, made me think of The Thorn Birds and Lolita.
I wish I knew what became of Sue and her family. I haven't been to Greenville in years as I have no business there any more.
Maybe instead of painting a picture of a character (which is what I wanted to do), I have painted a picture of myself. Of how I can dissect a human being and turn him or her into a set of words without any feeling. Guilt is not enough. If I wasn't a hardened author, I would despise myself... But I don't. After all, didn't Somerset Maugham and many others do the same?
'Are you hungry?' she asked.
'Yeah,' my husband answered.
Sue went away and came back a few minutes later carrying a dish full of little pies that I knew she wouldn't charge us for. She was always generous like that.
'Here you are, try this. My mum made them this morning.'
We asked her about her family and she told us a few anecdotes, most of them happy. She was a natural storyteller in spite of her defective grammar.
Sue spoke non-stop and, while she spoke, she smiled. She was telling me about a TV show we both used to watch.
I looked at her and nodded. Even though I was trying to appear interested, my attention wandered after five minutes of excruciating detail.
She was sitting next to me, maybe too close. I don't like it when people invade my personal space.
I have to confess I was watching her mouth, not listening to her. I was mesmerized. She was only forty, but her top teeth were dark yellow, almost brown. Was it poor hygiene or lack of resources? I felt guilty for entertaining these thoughts, so I forced a smile, Cheshire cat style, and asked a question.
'So is there a happy ending?'
'Oh, yes, he comes back.'
We talked for half an hour or so, and in the meantime, I kept on observing her.
Sue had never lived in a big city and had never attended secondary school. Her life had been confined to her small village. Just two hundred people.
She lived with her parents and her also single brother who shared the work at the pub with her.
She always wore jeans with an old sweater and, in summer, shorts and an equally old T-shirt.
She was tall and slim and I have to say I was jealous of her great figure.
One day, I asked her where she bought her clothes, not out of spite, but because I was really curious and she told me she didn't like clothes.
'I get them all second-hand.'
And once again, without meaning to, she had made me feel guilty. I buy clothes and jewelry all the time myself, they are a part of who I am.
Sue's hair was short and untidy. Very often it was also greasy. She wore glasses that had been fashionable in the nineties or before and her face was pockmarked. Am I painting a very disagreeable picture? No, don't be misled. Her smile and friendliness made up for everything else. Almost.
There was only one thing I found disturbing about her, and it was how close she was to her brother. For some reason, watching them together, made me think of The Thorn Birds and Lolita.
I wish I knew what became of Sue and her family. I haven't been to Greenville in years as I have no business there any more.
Maybe instead of painting a picture of a character (which is what I wanted to do), I have painted a picture of myself. Of how I can dissect a human being and turn him or her into a set of words without any feeling. Guilt is not enough. If I wasn't a hardened author, I would despise myself... But I don't. After all, didn't Somerset Maugham and many others do the same?
 Recognized |
I'm not as horrible as the narrator of my story. Or so I hope...;)
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