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ds_flashfiction2006-01-18 05:50 pm
mondschein1.livejournal.com) wrote in ds_flashfiction2006-01-18 05:50 pm
Entry tags:
Vecchio Challenge by Giulietta (2)
Um. I don't know exactly how well this will work, because I sort of wrote it on a whim and it's weirdly short and I lack self-esteem but I am going to stop babbling anxiously now! Really!
Vecchio/Angie, reference to Vecchio/Irene, 847 words.
[Disclaimer: Nobody here's mine. If you sue me, I will hide in a corner and cry like a small baby.]
Mediocrity
There's crowds of teary Italians to the left, a babbling priest to the right -- and at centerfield is Angie, looking nothing like she normally does. Ray's pretty sure his ma picked this dress out for her, because Angie hates lace, and she's got something against white lace in particular. And somebody's gotten her to wear her hair loose -- probably Maria -- so he can see the dark outline under the veil, falling down over her shoulders and around her face in a way it usually doesn't. Her mouth's all red with that lipstick she uses something like once every three months -- the one that tastes like wax -- so he can see her biting her bright lower lip. Her hands are hanging at her sides, like she doesn't know what else to do with them; Angie's never been good with big family gatherings, which is going to be a problem someday soon.
So they're getting married. And all Ray can think about is how Angie's not Irene.
All right, maybe there was a thought or two there about how he wishes he could hear what the priest's saying, because it's probably important; how if Angie knew where his head's at right now, she'd probably have a fit; how one of his shoes is tied tighter than the other one. But mostly he's thinking about Irene, just like he's been thinking about her ever since he proposed to Angie, even though he knows he shouldn't be. He's not getting married to Irene, and he's not going to get married to Irene -- he knows that. And he knows that it's not even just because Irene married whatsisname, or because her dad would never've let her marry him.
See, there's this thing called reality, and Ray's been trying to get cozy with it since he was sixteen. And reality, it says that him and Irene can't get married, because she was just too good. Irene, she was perfect; aside from her dancing and her screwed up family, it was like -- like she was put on this earth to be with him. Like maybe there was a God someplace up there, and He'd decided to finally cut Ray a break and give him something nice for his trouble. She was like all those crappy songs he used to play for her on the radio in his old car, out behind the school at night. 'Course, he didn't think the songs were crappy back then -- ah, hell, he wouldn't know what to do with a metaphor if it bit him on the ass. The point is, there wasn't a single thing wrong with her. Even the stuff that was wrong was right, somehow, even though that never made much sense.
But the reality is that there's something wrong with everybody. You meet somebody new, there's bound to be something about them you just can't stand, even though you don't know it yet. And if you don't know it yet, it just means you'll have to find out later, which can get very very messy. That's not the kind of thing you want to have with your wife -- so the way Ray sees it, it's a good thing that Irene married somebody else. He didn't know Irene well enough to marry her, or even know if he wanted to marry her -- which sounds off, because he's known her since they were kids. But if she was that perfect, she had to have been hiding something. That's just the way the world works.
Now Angie, she wears all her problems right out there on her sleeves. She gets these panic attacks where she's completely certain she's too fat, and then it's all "No, no cannoli, I'm on a diet," and "I'll walk to work, it'll do me good," and "Does this look a little tight to you?" And she can't drop work for a second -- God forbid they ever figure out how to bring phones out of the house, or she'll be working every minute of every day. When she's annoyed, she gets twitchy, which makes Ray twitchy, which makes her even twitchier, until somebody starts yelling. That's not even getting into her complete and total inability to recognize a bad engine when she hears it. But that's real, that's the sort of person you're supposed to marry. You're not supposed to go looking for somebody who's got stars for eyes and pearls for teeth. No, those're the people who tell you "I will always, always love you, Ray," -- those are the people you're supposed to let leave you, because it wouldn't've worked out, anyway.
Suddenly, he realizes that Angie's twitching nervously, and Father Behan's stopped talking. Everybody's staring at him. "Oh. Sorry," he says stupidly, grinning widely at Angie. "Yeah. I do." Angie's rolling her eyes, he can tell.
It's not like he's settling for second best. This is how it's supposed to work. And as for Frannie -- well, she'll start talking to him again, someday.
--fin
Vecchio/Angie, reference to Vecchio/Irene, 847 words.
[Disclaimer: Nobody here's mine. If you sue me, I will hide in a corner and cry like a small baby.]
Mediocrity
There's crowds of teary Italians to the left, a babbling priest to the right -- and at centerfield is Angie, looking nothing like she normally does. Ray's pretty sure his ma picked this dress out for her, because Angie hates lace, and she's got something against white lace in particular. And somebody's gotten her to wear her hair loose -- probably Maria -- so he can see the dark outline under the veil, falling down over her shoulders and around her face in a way it usually doesn't. Her mouth's all red with that lipstick she uses something like once every three months -- the one that tastes like wax -- so he can see her biting her bright lower lip. Her hands are hanging at her sides, like she doesn't know what else to do with them; Angie's never been good with big family gatherings, which is going to be a problem someday soon.
So they're getting married. And all Ray can think about is how Angie's not Irene.
All right, maybe there was a thought or two there about how he wishes he could hear what the priest's saying, because it's probably important; how if Angie knew where his head's at right now, she'd probably have a fit; how one of his shoes is tied tighter than the other one. But mostly he's thinking about Irene, just like he's been thinking about her ever since he proposed to Angie, even though he knows he shouldn't be. He's not getting married to Irene, and he's not going to get married to Irene -- he knows that. And he knows that it's not even just because Irene married whatsisname, or because her dad would never've let her marry him.
See, there's this thing called reality, and Ray's been trying to get cozy with it since he was sixteen. And reality, it says that him and Irene can't get married, because she was just too good. Irene, she was perfect; aside from her dancing and her screwed up family, it was like -- like she was put on this earth to be with him. Like maybe there was a God someplace up there, and He'd decided to finally cut Ray a break and give him something nice for his trouble. She was like all those crappy songs he used to play for her on the radio in his old car, out behind the school at night. 'Course, he didn't think the songs were crappy back then -- ah, hell, he wouldn't know what to do with a metaphor if it bit him on the ass. The point is, there wasn't a single thing wrong with her. Even the stuff that was wrong was right, somehow, even though that never made much sense.
But the reality is that there's something wrong with everybody. You meet somebody new, there's bound to be something about them you just can't stand, even though you don't know it yet. And if you don't know it yet, it just means you'll have to find out later, which can get very very messy. That's not the kind of thing you want to have with your wife -- so the way Ray sees it, it's a good thing that Irene married somebody else. He didn't know Irene well enough to marry her, or even know if he wanted to marry her -- which sounds off, because he's known her since they were kids. But if she was that perfect, she had to have been hiding something. That's just the way the world works.
Now Angie, she wears all her problems right out there on her sleeves. She gets these panic attacks where she's completely certain she's too fat, and then it's all "No, no cannoli, I'm on a diet," and "I'll walk to work, it'll do me good," and "Does this look a little tight to you?" And she can't drop work for a second -- God forbid they ever figure out how to bring phones out of the house, or she'll be working every minute of every day. When she's annoyed, she gets twitchy, which makes Ray twitchy, which makes her even twitchier, until somebody starts yelling. That's not even getting into her complete and total inability to recognize a bad engine when she hears it. But that's real, that's the sort of person you're supposed to marry. You're not supposed to go looking for somebody who's got stars for eyes and pearls for teeth. No, those're the people who tell you "I will always, always love you, Ray," -- those are the people you're supposed to let leave you, because it wouldn't've worked out, anyway.
Suddenly, he realizes that Angie's twitching nervously, and Father Behan's stopped talking. Everybody's staring at him. "Oh. Sorry," he says stupidly, grinning widely at Angie. "Yeah. I do." Angie's rolling her eyes, he can tell.
It's not like he's settling for second best. This is how it's supposed to work. And as for Frannie -- well, she'll start talking to him again, someday.
--fin