Contest #216 shortlist ⭐️

39 comments

Fiction Romance

Oh God, it was her. The copper curls. Unmistakeable. Oh God.

From the pavement the people inside had been nothing more than unthreatening blurs. It had reminded Eric of the time when the council had fitted one way glass in the large front window of a social services office he had worked in. In an act of miraculous incompetence they had fitted the glass the wrong way round meaning that the vulnerable people waiting for help on the horrible plastic chairs were clearly visible to anyone who happened to be passing, while the identities of judgemental and occasionally predatory public were concealed from the anxious people inside. Today a layer of steam had provided a solution that was both low tech and equitable. To anyone inside looking out he would have been a lumpy grey ghost, an urban snowman, slush built, still solid despite the low sun thanks to the air’s bite. Peering at the window he had seen only an unclean aquarium, shapes moving in the gloom, the occasional flicker of silver. It was busier than he would have liked but on a workless day, free of any other responsibilities, going in felt like something he should do. Especially if he wanted to meet someone, which also felt like something he should try to do. Although, before leaving the house he’d been trying to muster some optimism by listening to music and when Hold On had come on, Tom Waits had assured him that this was not a good place to meet nice girls.

A small dented bell clapped tunelessly as Eric heaved through the door into the room. The steam that curtained the windows leapt to his glasses and he grabbed them from his face. He was almost as blind without them as with, but now in colour. Fumbling with the buttons of his overcoat in search of fabric fine enough to wipe his lenses he made for an abstract sculpture of blurry shapes that he hoped was an empty table.  

Relieved to be seated he buffed his glasses on his shirt. The restoration of his sight reminded him of the day almost three decades past when he had put on his first pair of NHS specs. In the privacy of his bedroom he had marvelled at the clean lines of Leonardo, the crisp colours of Raphael, the surprising precision of all of the Turtles, grinning approvingly at him from his poster. There were no turtles in the aquarium today, mutant or otherwise, but a teenager was approaching him with a notepad.

“What can I get you?”

He peered at the laminated list of Italian words. He had been strictly a tea man until last summer, avoiding the stress of a choice that seemed to introduce ill-fitting sophistication into his life. He preferred it when England had only had a choice of two hot brown drinks, tea, which was generally ranked to be as necessary as socks, or oxygen, and the other one. A freeze-dried headache in a cup favoured by smokers and people who didn’t know when to go to bed. But someone went and spoiled everything by making it aspirational and, more awkwardly, tasty, hitting two of the public’s plentiful weak spots with one little black shot.

“One of those please,” he said, pointing, avoiding the pronunciation trap, “large. No, actually, regular please. Thank you.”

The air of the room was thick with breath and chair backs and tables were heaped with discarded layers. Two more locomotive pedestrians rattled the bell and made for the only remaining table. No, only one. They were not together. One of them was approaching the counter, placing an order to go. The other was unwinding a scarf and heading for the table next to Eric. And, oh God, it was her. Greta.

She had been an unmet colleague’s plus-one at the Christmas party. After the colleague managed to get himself boneless with drink he was subtracted from the equation by security. Eric had already surprised himself by talking to her before the incident, although he suspected she would have spoken to anyone to allow her to distance herself from the remains of the man she had arrived with. Talking to someone who appeared to already be attached was so much safer, so much less stressful. But when the man Eric knew only from video calls been marched to the door she’d stayed. She had continued talking to Eric who, as a man too shy to publicly declare himself an introvert, felt heroic offering himself as a social shield. By the time she was no longer someone else’s plus-one, dramatically single and ordinarily unapproachable to Eric, they were already talking and drinking together, Eric looking like James Bond compared to the ejected inebriate. 

Eric grabbed his i-safety blanket© and bothered it with his thumb, focussing on algorithm selected news and relegating Greta to the hiss and clink of his periphery. He scrolled a column of sensationalist culture war skirmishes but closed the app fearing conscription. No new emails. Unsurprising since he had checked not ten minutes ago. He checked for activity on his online short story account. The little bell icon was free of the yellow dot that indicated new activity. He refreshed. No dot. Was he getting addicted to the little mustard dot? Surely not. He refreshed. Addiction was a bit too rock and roll for Eric. His lizard brain pushed his thumb to refresh.

“Here you go.” The teenager put his order down on the table.

“Ah, thank you. Thanks. Could I have…”

The teenager was already at the next table talking to Greta. Eric’s eyes followed her there and glanced at Greta while she gave her order. She saw him looking. He dropped his eyes to the nutty-smelling fern in front of him and his hand fell to his phone. No emails. No dot.

He’d already done the hard bit. A man’s alcohol abuse, a slo-mo yuletide suicide had already got Eric’s foot in the door. She wasn’t a stranger; he was Bond the last time they spoke. He’d made a joke of mild wit about the world’s most famous Greta. They’d talked music; the reliable popularity of David Bowie had helped him out a lot. They’d read a few of the same books. She’d kissed him on the cheek when she left. She was reading now. Folds of wool hugging the table, chin in hand under a copper curtain, pages pinned by painted nails.  

The teenager was back with Greta’s order. She looked up from her book to say thank you and caught Eric looking again. He gave her the type of smile that might open a conversation with a policeman, and a half nod that bordered on a bow. He was trapped. Talking to her was now the less-weird thing to do. Thank God he had left his coat on, there would be sweat patches like dinner plates. He cupped the warm fern to steady his hands.

“Hello.” It was a breathless effort. “Hi!” he said, a little too loudly.

“Oh, hello,” she said.

“How’re you doing?”

“Fine thanks.”

“Reading?”

“Yeah.”

“Well, yeah, obviously, sorry. Sorry.” Bond, Eric Bond. “What are you reading these days?”

“Lessons, Ian McEwan’s newest.”

“Any good?”

“Brilliant.”

“I’m a Chesil Beach man myself.”

“That’s where you’re from?”

“No. I mean that’s what I’m like. No. I mean that’s what I like. That’s one of his I’ve read.”

“He’s very good. One of my favourites.”

“Me too. Him and Bowie.”

“Oh, yeah. Bowie’s great.” Back to Lessons. Copper curtain closed.

“I’ll have to check that one out. Lessons.”

“Sorry, do I know you?”

“Oh, well, sort of. We met. At Christmas. Oh God, sorry. It was at a party. Sorry, didn’t mean to be weird.”

“No problem. Busy time of year, so many chats at so many parties.”

“And the drinks don’t help the memory. I bet that sloppy fella you came with doesn’t remember it.”

“Pardon me?”

“Oh God, I mean, he might be your husband for all I know.”

“Can I get you anything else?” The teenager was between them, asking both of them.

“Oh, not for me thanks,” said Eric, “Greta?”

“It’s Grazie,” said Greta.

“What?”

“Thank you is Grazie, not Greta.”

“Ha! No, I meant you, Greta. I’m fine, but do you want anything else?”

“My name’s not Greta.”

“Oh God.”

The teenager was loving it. This was like a live-action TikTok reaction video.

“We’re fine thanks,” said Greta dismissing the young voyeur with a smile.

“I’m so sorry. I thought you were…”

“It’s fine.”

“Well at least that means I wasn’t slagging off your husband.”

“No. I’m not called Greta and I haven’t got a husband. It’s fine.”

“Sorry.”

“It’s fine. How’s your drink?”

“What are you called?”

“Neive.”

“Hello, Neive. I’m Eric.”

“And you like David Bowie and Ian McEwan, and this place.”

“Well, I’m more of a tea man really.”

“Well in that case you do look a little bit weird then don’t you?”

“Yeah, usually.”

“So, Eric, who’s this Greta you’ve been chatting up?”

“Oh God, no. It wasn’t like that. She was just this beautiful woman with amazing copper coloured hair who I ended up talking to by accident. She liked books and David Bowie…”

“She sounds great.”

“Yeah, well…” Eric stared at his wilting fern. “Did you know, David Bowie didn’t like tea?”

“No?”

“One of the most important British artists ever, and he did not like tea. He went on a boat trip with his parents when he was only small and there was a tea urn with this sludge in it that had been stewing since the blitz. Put him off for life.”

“It would.”

“Yeah, ha. So, have you got a loyalty card for this place?”

“Ha! Smooth. Yes, I have actually.” She hooked a twist of copper behind her ear.

“Oh! That’s not what I, er… Can I get you a drink?”

“I’ve got one,” she whispered with a nod at her own undisturbed fern.

“Oh, God, yes of course. Sorry. Felt like the next thing to say.”

“I don’t normally line my drinks up.”

“No, lining drinks up is a sure way to end up like that messy drunk who may or may not be Greta’s husband. But definitely isn't yours, because you haven't got one.”

“One of these is probably enough.” She sipped at her fern and turned to Eric, Lessons forgotten, lost under draped wool.

“Yeah, probably. Never mind.”

“We could go somewhere else though?”

September 17, 2023 17:18

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39 comments

Story Time
17:18 Oct 04, 2023

I agree with Jonathan that it's very Nick Hornsby, and I thought you maneuvered the prompt deftly. Just super clever with great dialogue. Well done.

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Chris Miller
17:24 Oct 04, 2023

Thanks very much, Kevin. Pleased you enjoyed it.

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Marty B
04:28 Mar 17, 2024

Great dialogue !! I liked the awkwardness and that in Eric's internal world he is super cool Bond ' as a man too shy to publicly declare himself an introvert, felt heroic offering himself as a social shield.' A good networking trick, pretend to yourself you already know someone, and then talking to them is easier. Grazie! I love this! 'i-safety blanket©'

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Chris Miller
09:21 Mar 18, 2024

Thanks Marty. Glad you enjoyed it.

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Amanda Lieser
21:07 Nov 11, 2023

Hi Chris! Oh my gosh, I could feel the awkward moments and I could absolutely identify with each interaction. I also really liked the way that you touched on so many points about a culture. Of course there is so much that goes around coffee or tea, and I chuckled a bit at the “pronunciation trap” bit since we have all been there. I was utterly relieved at the end of the piece when the opportunity to start over was presented. Congratulations on the shortlist!!

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Chris Miller
21:11 Nov 11, 2023

Thank you ver much, Amanda. Very pleased you enjoyed it. Thanks for taking the time to leave such a lovely comment.

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Avery L
18:07 Oct 25, 2023

This is a great story. Your use of words really brought this story to life. And overall this was a very well written and interesting prompt. Congrats!

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Chris Miller
18:24 Oct 25, 2023

Thanks very much, Avery. Pleased you enjoyed it.

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Philip Ebuluofor
18:28 Oct 01, 2023

Congrats. Fine work that holds interest.

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Chris Miller
19:48 Oct 01, 2023

Thank you, Philip.

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Philip Ebuluofor
20:38 Oct 05, 2023

Welcome

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Jonathan Page
23:39 Sep 30, 2023

Great writing Chris!! Very funny stuff. Kind of had a Nick Hornby vibe at points. The dialogue was spot on for an awkward conversation that I think many of us have been on one or the other side of more than once. Really spot on. The internal dialogue and the protagonist's thoughts made it a very fast-moving and fun story. Great work and congrats!

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Chris Miller
07:10 Oct 01, 2023

Thank you very much, Jonathan. I have done decades of research on awkward conversations. Thanks for reading.

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Audrey Knox
18:45 Sep 29, 2023

I absolutely adore the wry understatement with which you describe the situation of the drunk colleague at the Christmas party. And I really enjoyed the way you seemed to take the prompt and used it as a challenge to consider what other things you could describe without naming (like the iPhone with its relatable scrolling distraction, which was brilliant yet painfully accurate). The only thing I would suggest is that the ending feels a bit flat/unearned. I love when he's failing, and I think once you drag him down to the structurally low all...

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Chris Miller
19:16 Sep 29, 2023

Thanks Audrey. I really appreciate the constructive feedback. I did have my own doubts about the ending. It's left in a place where we think 'it could happen!', but without really saying why. I think if I redrafted I might put in a bit of a story from Neive to show that she's a bit vulnerable too, and not actually as unobtainable as Eric might think, making their getting together more likely. Thanks for reading and taking the time to leave such considered feedback.

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Audrey Knox
20:37 Sep 29, 2023

I was happy for him when I thought "it could happen!" I agree that maybe lining up the reasons they might have potential would make it even stronger.

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Robin Honigsberg
19:14 Sep 28, 2023

Loved all the little details that brought the story to life.

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Chris Miller
19:43 Sep 28, 2023

Thank you, Robin.

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Joan Wright
17:35 Sep 25, 2023

I loved this story. Your use of words and phrasing perfectly showed awkwardness. I loved he was too shy to publicly announce he was an introvert. Your character was true to that awkwardness throughout. Amazing use of phrasing. Thanks for sharing.

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Chris Miller
17:50 Sep 25, 2023

Thank you very much, Joan. I am pleased that you enjoyed it.

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16:37 Sep 25, 2023

Charming and lovely and more than a little relatable (talking about the refreshing for yellow dots not the complete nervous socially awkwardness of the MC of course,no idea what that must be like 🙄) A great and joyful tale Chris

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Chris Miller
16:59 Sep 25, 2023

Thank you Derrick. The exercise was 'show don't tell' but they usually say 'write what you know' too... Thanks for reading and taking the time to leave such encouraging comments.

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Stevie Burges
04:31 Sep 25, 2023

I think this is the first story of yours I've read. Thought it was lovely - so you might be able to thank me for the yellow dots going forward.

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Chris Miller
07:16 Sep 25, 2023

Thank you very much, Stevie. Pleased you enjoyed it.

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Nina H
21:08 Sep 24, 2023

You had me cheering for Eric from start to finish, hoping his wilted fern wouldn’t just up and die there on the table 😂 Great characters, and I just love the way you play with language and imagery. You have a gift with it. It never seems forced, just flows. Oh that little gold bell 🔔!! I laughed at that one! (Refreshes page…refreshes again…) 😂

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Chris Miller
21:44 Sep 24, 2023

Thank you so much, Nina. I hoped a few people would understand the problem of resisting that pull from the activity bell notification! Really pleased you enjoyed it. Thanks for reading.

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Helen A Smith
14:24 Sep 24, 2023

You show an awkward but charming character who has a habit of delivering hit and miss chat up lines. However, good taste in music and authors prevail so maybe all is forgiven. I like it when the MC buffs up his glasses and is reminded of his NHS specs of his past. I can also relate to the mustard dot email addiction. I thought that was funny and accurate. I enjoyed your story and was glad Neive was wise enough to look beyond the surface.

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Chris Miller
17:03 Sep 24, 2023

Thank you, Helen. Yeah, the relatable bit about the dot was a cheap shot but hopefully it got a nod from a few readers. Really pleased you enjoyed it. Thanks for reading.

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Helen A Smith
17:22 Sep 24, 2023

The mustard dot must light up the reward part of the brain 🧠

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19:09 Sep 23, 2023

Oh, he’s adorkable! I’m such a fan of your phrasing. « grabbed his i-safety blanket© and bothered it with his thumb, focussing on algorithm selected news » is so real and so at home among so many other lovely ways of saying things.

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Chris Miller
19:46 Sep 23, 2023

Hi Anne. Thanks very much. I like 'Adorkable' and it definitely fits. I need to use 'dork' more. Thanks for reading.

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Joe Smallwood
16:09 Sep 22, 2023

It was fun to read about the "mustard spot." I kind of got lost in the dialog, that piece where there is a page of back and forth between two characters. I don't see that much and I got interested to see if it worked, wondering if I might try it myself one day. If you see it in my writing, you'll know where it came from! Cheers!

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Chris Miller
16:29 Sep 22, 2023

Thank you, Joe. I like trying to write dialogue that works without much attribution or scaffolding. Hoping that it takes the reader into it. Thanks for reading.

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Michał Przywara
21:04 Sep 21, 2023

Heh :) Funny and suitably awkward, but also sweet. And a great recovery for a case of mistaken identity. The aquarium metaphor is a neat one, not just because of the visuals of fogged glass, but also that line about "plenty of fish in the sea". Eric missed out on Greta, but when he cast his net he didn't come up empty handed. "the clean lines of Leonardo, the crisp colours of Raphael, the surprising precision of all of the Turtles" :D "He refreshed. No dot." Yeah, that yellow dot fever gets around :) A fun and funny story - thanks for...

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Chris Miller
21:38 Sep 21, 2023

Thanks for reading, Michal. I didn't even think about the "plenty of fish" line, but that is a good idea. I will pretend that I meant it.

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Michał Przywara
21:40 Sep 29, 2023

Congratulations on the shortlist!

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Chris Miller
22:10 Sep 29, 2023

Cheers, Michal!

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Mary Bendickson
04:05 Sep 18, 2023

Awkward score? Congrats on the shortlist.🥳🎉

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Chris Miller
06:40 Sep 18, 2023

Off the charts.

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