An interesting Short StoryInteresting short story
"Interesting things about S and A": a new short story by Helen Oyeyemi
Last evening my best mate.... didn't exactly win an accolade. I stopped for a while and every goddamn moment someone congratulates my best buddy, I started again. It' childishness to have a "best friend," I know. "The one who loved the most lost, and all that," said my best mate.
I had a post card that I sent her 25 years ago from Kyoto, a post card on which I had put my skull on. but my best mate got me to give the cash back. So many other wins my best mate had banned, and she had forgotten them all.
When my best girlfriend in the mid-1930s went from a melancholy look at other people's small kids to her own kids, I wondered if this wasn't a hidden asbestos. S and A are mail my best mate found in a post. My best girlfriend would be angry if she knew that I had been writing so much about it - and that's very much B of her.
This narrative's letters and outlines are my boyfriend - the best I have at my fingertips, as brontë teachers are a stormy crowd and any express connection I make could lead us into a vendetta for which we have no ressources....... I' m talking about a note in an archives not far from St. Michael's Mount; a few years ago my best girlfriend shaken some twigs of her pedigree and some words came down.
Parsed propositions, only intermittent reading, since the piece of writing on the piece of writing had been ripped and reassembled much later. and A...... A Haworth lady wrote the note to her sis at Penzance; the carbon-checked date of the note and all human and place readings indicate that its writer was a contemporaries of these three Yorkshire nuns whose stories have influenced and broken the British fantasy for hundreds of years.
. Interesting about S and A.... We' re calling her Aunt B, just like these three writers when they write in a hurry. Anything Aunt B. asks about S and A, her question isn't pressing. Why does such a girl move? from Cornwall to Haworth when her older brother died of womb cancers.
She had six to look after, the oldest at the age of seven, and even when Aunt B. tasted and scolded, she would write and often talk about returning to Penzance. Aunt B was needed there in Haworth for the remainder of her childhood.
If Aunt B. spoke of the two youngest members of this group? She ignored you when you wanted to educate her, but at other moments you looked up from your own work and saw her thinking about you.
It was as simple and succinct as any aunt who needed help could wish for, but it was like a magnetic attraction for eagle fern, slimy paw prints, canary birds and wounded moor dwellers who nevertheless made crafty efforts to transfer the place of their recovery to the parsonage canteen. Little sis A, two years younger than S, was the image of calm.
Her older brothers and sisters took a loving look around and wrote letters to away mates. It was good - all the more for Aunt B. and for the kids' dad, who has so much fun that he giggles and hits his knees over and over again. Had Aunt B. been able to, she might have wanted more gigs and less of the disarray with which she and A were approaching intellect.
Everything a character is writing while her older sibling hangs on the back of her stool is inevitably complete absurd. Yeah, A' and E' s siblings would be amazed one of these days if they had a free time. If A had said that, she would have spoken of the affirmations that were available to her sisters C, so on.
Once her older Sr C indicated that a story of A had actually been spelled or imitated by A ('there was a ruthlessness or despair about it, something that did not match A's usual behavior), and A made the deal of soft contradictions, but R made all this short by opening an eyeball - everyone had thought she was sleeping - and explained that A's story was, unmistakeably A's, a fact that C's jealousy could not change.
On another occasion A and A's older brothers B grinned about some of A' s phraseologies, and A put together a defense, but A also made it a short work, saying simply: "You're wrong" when she smiles a clearly disturbing grin; E's phrases could sometimes be so descriptive.....
What I mean is, I know what I find interesting about D and A myself - the exceptional happiness of being so well grasped or valued (whichever is the most realistic), the conditions that stain that happiness, the anger, the sympathy and love that tests anger when you keep drawing that comprehension from the only spring that it will ever come out of.... these are the assumptions that interest me, but Aunt B, Aunt B shakes her skull.
The story of Aunt B. is also a story of brothers and sisters. So Aunt B couldn't remember the great affection she gave birth to her deceased sis? Auntie B still shakes her head: What if Aunt B. is the "interesting thing" about her and A, that they used Aunt B as mom and not as a mom like their older family?
He and A's older brothers took his scolding with courteous distance and then ran short for hors. She and A's older sisters were panicking as she shouted; she was never quite sure Aunt B would still forgive them. However, they could not remember any other maternal cross than Aunt B's, so they hugged her instead of run away, where A had the audacity to kisses Aunt B's grooved forehead and to honor the folds she herself had put there by doing things such as returning home in lilac-colored clothes when she was sent to the Marines.
Auntie B. no longer shakes her mind; this could mean that she agrees or gives up. In Penzance there is a rock district, the Merry Maidens. At about seventeen years old when A' and E' s mom were not yet E' and A' s mom, she had a picnic there with Sunday schoolmates, right in the middle of the group.
At the end, most of the other picnic people remained outside the center, as they did not like it so much, but not only the little one who was to become A' s mom sent off her part of the party with appetizing appetites, she also ran the Maiden Run. About the maiden voyage, asked the lady who was to become Aunt B. The maiden who was to become A' s mothers, she vowed to keep it a secret before she told her, since it had to do with one of those stories that, although innocuous, also fell into the class of prophecy.....
Do not try to predict the forthcoming, but rely on God to arrange your day, said the Lady who was to become Aunt B immediately. Instructors did not know that walking had a particular significance, and when a young man who was in the picture stumbled and half-way around the rock circuit, he clothed his darkness with a sad grin.
Hmmm, said the lady who was to become Aunt B, and how often did you orbit those rocks, M. Six time. Sext time?! She was so far from athletics that she must have had either a great longing for offspring or these seven bricks really had the might of sons.
Sixty. Twenty-four years old, the lady who was to become Aunt B. and tried not to be afraid of the view of staying virgin for the remainder of her day, took a group of female co-usins to a pick nick near the same rock district as soon as it seemed.
Thought she was in fights as she hung her coats around her knuckles and ran from brick to brick, the palms of her hands along every raw area and tried to number. Aunt B. ran on and the breeze was kissing her - kissing her colder, longer lasting kissing that broke the flesh on her mouth.