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The Caravan (unfinished)

by JoM 

Posted: 21 December 2006
Word Count: 1090


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She left over a period of a few months. A little at a time, her things were gradually separated from all that surrounded them and put into the caravan. It was winter and there were no plans to go anywhere in it.
Nobody noticed her things going.

Very few things were thrown out although she did try. Some envelopes of typed letters perhaps, but nothing hand-written. The batteries of her Walkman had run down so they could go but not before trying them in smaller appliances. She noticed then that she had two of various things – cameras, clock radios, torches and travel hairdryers.

She had accumulated few things of significant size. She had many books and could account for the new gaps by way of a charity shop run.
Clothes were easy. It wasn’t as if anybody particularly noticed what she wore.

As she continued to leave, her issues became less effecting. This made life at home much more pleasant. She dragged out her leaving for this very reason. It had been quite a while since she could say that life was pleasant.

Her husband said that he had noticed a difference in her, she’d lightened up. He always said that a change of attitude could make all the difference. He remained the same which was just what she wanted him to do.

Her car was never used to tow the caravan. It was too small and not powerful enough. So, one afternoon she crashed it into a tree and got a bigger one with the insurance money and a bit she had saved. She was unhurt but the shock of it took some time to wear off. It became a small smile and a barely noticeable shake of her head at times when she could see beyond her days as they were. Who would’ve thought it?

As she went along, everything was put directly into the storage space of the caravan. Sometimes after college her son went in there to have a bong. She didn’t want him to find out what she was up to. At this time, she didn’t feel sad or guilty or anything. She had too much to do, as usual. It was part of the list of chores that she made every morning amongst the breakfast paraphernalia.

Her lists were always extremely detailed as if preparing for someone to come in and take over from her. It had not escaped her notice that this had never happened even though she asked. She styled her hair using the reflection from the microwave door. The reflection was more flattering than that of a mirror.

In the drawer under the microwave were carrier bags, plastic things that keep cans together and bottle tops of all kinds. She’d been recycling but sometimes she became confused about what to do with these things. They were somehow complicated, made up of different materials so she wasn’t sure what box to put them in. She decided she might just leave them there when she left.

Whenever she made lists at the table, her husband would come into the kitchen and tell her something that he needed from the shops.
“Some chops, love and the telly book” he would say to the top of her head as he made his way to the fridge. He would eventually think back to times like that when he was just an eye-stretch away from knowing exactly what was going on.
She would try and remember these things in her head. Her lists were of more vital aspects than shopping. They were a recent idea and they kept life neatly wrapped up. Surprises were of no use to her and without the tie of these lists, she may sit down on the floor with unusually long gaps between blinks.

Her eyes were dry because of this and she would often look like she was suddenly starting to cry but it was not the case. When she did cry, she would scream as well. The floor was fake-tiled with clammy feeling plastic, brown and cream.

She had never liked the floor and had now taken to walking only on the brown squares. She did this with such confidence that it was barely picked up on by her family. If she did find herself on the cream ones, there were difficult days ahead and she would take some extra tablets in preparation.

Bill, her husband, was now satisfied that all was returning to normal and he was pleased that he no longer had to try and understand something which he didn’t like. Just as long as Edwina took her tablets, all would be well.

Her medication box, with the days divided up, was kept on top of the fridge. Her other stashes were kept:
A) In the caravan
B) Behind the dustbins
C) In her sewing box
She periodically changed these places to avoid discovery. The lists helped her keep up with details such as these. Her G.P, her support worker and her psychiatrist were unaware of the Private G.P. He had unknowingly been providing her with extra medication for the best part of six months.

All this would come out in the wash.

Whilst Edwina was in hospital, she had met some new friends and had stayed in touch with one or two of them. Today she was going to see Rachael. They were meeting in a café. They had arranged to meet several weeks ago and hadn’t spoken since as neither of them had mobiles. The landline was always clogged up with internet. Bill had taken to spending much of his spare time on the internet and parcels would sometimes arrive. Edwina had absolutely no idea what was in them.

“Will you make your way round to the Post Office when you’re out, Ed?”
“I’ll not be going that way”, she replied.
“Off to see your mentalist pals again. There are plenty of people you could get to know at the social club. Just leave it, woman. You’re not there anymore and neither will you be again.”

Increasingly, their lives took different turns. He used to take her ballroom dancing and she would dance around the hall on her own, sometimes, she was so happy. He would just lean back in his chair and make comments like, “She’s always been so graceful” and “My wife, y’know” to those about him. He was never quite sure what she was so happy about, though. When he asked her, she hadn’t realised that she was. Naturally happy, they presumed.

























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Comments by other Members



Dee at 14:20 on 23 December 2006  Report this post
Jo, I enjoyed this very much – the slow revelation of how her life is disintegrating. It could be tightened up a little, though:

In the first few paragraphs you repeat the word ‘things’ too many times. Either find alternative words or restructure the sentences so you don’t need them.

her son went in there to have a bong
I have no idea what this means – but my brain is going into overdrive ;)

Her lists were always extremely detailed as if preparing for someone to come in and take over from her. It had not escaped her notice that this had never happened even though she asked. She styled her hair using the reflection from the microwave door. The reflection was more flattering than that of a mirror.
I found this slightly confusing, and a bit intrusive. The two ideas don’t seem to go together and one or both of them feel as if they're in the wrong place in the story.

He would eventually think back to times like that when he was just an eye-stretch away from knowing exactly what was going on.
This is jumping out of her POV. She can't know that he’ll think this.

Bill, her husband, was now satisfied that all was returning to normal and he was pleased that he no longer had to try and understand something which he didn’t like. Just as long as Edwina took her tablets, all would be well.
Again, you’ve switched POV. Also, as this is the first time you’ve mentioned the name of your mc, I stumbled over it for a moment, wondering who Edwina was.

All this would come out in the wash.
By now you're into an omnipresent POV, and this has detached me somewhat from the character. I had been empathising with her, but now it’s beginning to feel slightly like a clinical report. (oh, almost forgot – come out in the wash is a cliché… best to avoid them)

The last couple of paragraphs didn’t seem to sit too comfortably. The sudden introduction of dialogue is a bit unbalanced, and I found the last para difficult to place in time.

Overall, however, I like the style and the pace. I’m intrigued by the gradual way she is becoming detached from reality, and will be interested to see where you take this story.

Hope this helps, and welcome to WW.

Dee


JoM at 11:19 on 01 January 2007  Report this post
thank you so much for your comments. It's nice to hear something constructive. I'm so aware that I'm learning a craft. I'm enjoying the process very much!
Happy new year!
x

JoM at 14:34 on 02 January 2007  Report this post
i'm making some changes based on what's been said so far. Sometimes, I think I get so caught up in what I'm doing, i forget that no-one else knows what's going on unless I make it clear.
POV is a subtle beast, at times.
thanks again
Jo

Dee at 20:08 on 05 January 2007  Report this post
I'll be interested to see the result of the rewrite.

Dee

JoM at 20:11 on 05 January 2007  Report this post
i'm not a full member so can't post up my edit. how frustrating!! will have to wait for payday!
thank you for your interest.
happy new year
x

JoM at 20:45 on 05 January 2007  Report this post
i've sorted out the POV issues - she says confidently!
And taken out the cliche.
A bong is a naughty smoking device.
Oh, I've replaced the common word 'things', too.
I've written some more and i'm thoroughly enjoying myself.
I'll try and post it up in the next couple of weeks.
x


Kat49 at 22:37 on 07 August 2014  Report this post
I like this, particularly the bit where it is confirmed that she has mental health issues. 'Surprises were of no use to her and without the tie of these lists, she may sit down on the floor with unusually long gaps between blinks'  I'm curious to know what will happen to her when she leaves and where she will go. You've managed to elicit my sympathy for your protagonist. 


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