The Thin Veil (A STORY WTF)

[MalReynolds]

One that doesn't rely on a gimmick or a twist at the end... So... This is a foray into something I've never done before.

Enjoy?

-

He was fifteen, but in the dreary southern town of Maxwell Georgia, he might as well have been twenty and still living with his mother. He watched people get old and die on his street, down the block and into the commerce zone of his town that was obscured by time. They had done nothing with their lives, telling tales of segregation to those who would listen, the mischievous spark of youth rekindled. That was the worst, seeing them feel alive again and then watching the ember slowly burn away, back to the dormant bag of cells sitting on a park bench or porch.

Milton wanted to be a doctor but hadn’t really thought too much on the subject yet. All he could think about was getting out of the town when he was eighteen. The local fabric store would hire you at fourteen, if you so desired, but Milton had avoided that. He was looking for a job that was temporary, in and out, something that wouldn’t hold him to the spot that he reviled so much.

He had a mother and a father, but they were ghosts, driving into the city and staying through the week, coming home for the weekend but not for him. For each other, and that was the way he liked it. The less familiarity, the better. Sometimes Milton wondered if they even knew they had a kid, or if they were just too busy trying to make another one to really care.

His friends at school were tolerable, but he was so much smarter than them that he had to stoop down to their level to engage in any conversation, usually about a television show that Milton had never seen, but had put together all the twists (past, present and future) and knew the plot of. He had done in fifteen minutes what took his friends twenty hours a year in viewing and even more in speculation. They all worked at the fabric store.

It was pure happenstance that forced him into the old house. The game had been baseball in the street, discarded traffic cones making up the bases. Milton had been up to bat, Red pitching. He threw overhand like a girl, so Milton insisted that he throw underhand today in the hopes that perhaps hitting the ball would be a challenge.

It wasn’t. The ball flew through the air and over a broken down wooden fence. Red’s feet murdered the pavement as he ran away from the sound of the falling glass. The rest of the players, save for Milton, followed suit.

“I got myself into this,� Milton said, opening the gate and stepping onto the pebbled driveway, “I have to be a man about it.� He walked, kicking the small stones, noting that no car had ever been in the driveway.

The knocker felt heavy in his hand and he slowly raised it, letting it fall against the door which swung open. The latch was broken.

“Hello?� Milton called out.

There was no response.

“Hello?� He called, louder. Nothing.

The door creaked as he pushed his way inside. There had been a chair propped against the door to keep it closed despite the broken latch, but the baseball and forced the chair backwards. The house smelled of wood varnish and old socks, the foyer a tidy mess. The mail had poured through the mail slot into a haphazard pile, large and unruly.

“Who is it? Who’s there?!� The tiny voice cried from the second floor.

Milton froze. “I broke your window!� He blurted, covering his face.

“What was that? Come upstairs. I can’t hear you!�

His first instinct was to take the baseball, go out the door, report a case of anonymous vandalism to the police and never go back. Milton grabbed the ball and turned to the door.

“Hello?� The voice was frail, weak, and guilt inducing. Milton felt a pressure on his spine, the same pressure felt when your parents tell you they’re not mad, they’re “disappointed� in you. He grabbed the banister, the oily feeling sending a chill up his back.

“I’m at the end of the hall.�

Milton pushed the door open, his eyes closed, hoping against hope that there wasn’t a monster behind the door ready to devour him. His body was tense as he waited. Nothing happened.

“Step into my room, please,� the voice called. Milton complied, setting the ball down on a chair in the hallway.

The voice was coming from a small figure on the bed, curled and crying. The comforter fell around the small shape, a single foot sticking out from beside the bed, almost skeletal. The shape’s head rested on a small pillow, a thin crimson veil obscuring the face, but moving with its breath.

“I broke your window with the baseball,� he paused. “I’m sorry.�

The figure on the bed tried to move, but the weak motions went fruitlessly.

“Could you put my leg back under the comforter? I could catch the death, a chill like this coming through the house.� Milton stepped forward, reluctantly grabbing her leg, pushing it under the cover.

“Help me onto my back?�

“I think I should leave, I-“

“It’s the least you could do after breaking my window like that.�

Milton sighed. “Alright.� He leaned over the bed, realizing there was nothing to be afraid of. It was just an old woman, bedridden and sick. He pressed down on her shoulders and rolled her onto her back, straightening her legs.

“Why did you straighten my legs like that?�

“If they’re bent for too long, you could get an infraction. A clot in your leg. That could kill you, easy.�

“I’m not afraid of things that can kill me anymore.�

Milton frowned. There was a soft spot in his heart for a few things; old people were among them. Especially the sick.

“Can you get up?�

“No, I really can’t. My help was supposed to come today, but they never showed up. I think it’s good that you broke my window like that. My help might not have… I could have been left, rotten away forever.�

“That’s a shame. Who was supposed to be taking care of you?�

“I… I can’t remember. Would you take care of me… What is your name?�

“Milton. My name is Milton.�

He could see her smile behind the red veil. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Milton. My name is Mildred. Our names are so similar, Milton. I’d shake your hand, but I’m afraid I can’t move it much anymore.�

“Miss Mildred, I should be leaving. My parents don’t know where I am, and-“

“Do you think they would mind if you helped an old woman like me? I don’t think they’d mind.�

Milton thought of the half empty bottle of tequila he had seen in the morning, now finished. He closed his eyes, trying to explain the situation to people that weren’t there.

“They wouldn’t mind.�

As if she read his mind, the next words out of her mouth were, “Of course, you’ll be paid. I can’t ask someone for help without a reward, can I? It’s not like I’m going to be spending it anyways,� she wryly chuckled.

“Well, what do you need me to do?�

“Fix me some soup and bring it up. Don’t worry about carrying it up the stairs; there’s a dumbwaiter in the kitchen that leads to my room. Just bring a tray with you. There should be some canned soup in the kitchen, just heat it up.�

Milton nodded and headed down the stairs, thinking to himself how to nobly reject the money while still forcing her hand to pay him. Thoughts like that plagued his existence. He didn’t like having them, but he needed the money.

In two weeks, he had accumulated two hundred dollars and a new friendship with someone that could carry on a conversation with as much aptitude as he could. The money was good but the company was better.

“Milton, at the end of this week, I’m going to the hospital so they can take care of me. The visiting hours are strict, but don’t worry. You’ll still get to see me as much as you see your other friends. And I’ll still pay you if you come to visit me, Milton.�

He could feel the tears welling in his eyes. The connection with this woman was stronger than he would ever know. The woman in the bed, covered with the thick comforter and thin veil was his grandmother. It was coincidence that brought them together and strange genetics that made them so similar. It was a secret that she would take to the grave with her, unknowingly. The dynamic of their friendship would have surely changed had they known.

And so it was, on Monday that Milton began his duties around her house with a heavy heart. Tuesday sank his expectations for the rest of the week to a new low. It came to a point on Wednesday, that he could not even enter the house without his eyes welling with tears. She was dying. He knew that, but there was nothing you could or can do to prepare yourself for such a feeling.

“They’re coming to take me tomorrow, Milton. I’m sorry.�

Milton nodded, a tear sliding down his face. They sat in silence, Milton on the rickety chair that he had claimed the first day, sitting next to the bed and watching out the window as the sun began to fall.

“Milton, there’s one last thing I need for you to do.�

Milton looked over at the old woman in the bed, the once lively soul that played baseball in the street outside, that had aspirations of leaving the town until she met someone. How similar they were and how little they knew.

“Take the veil from my face. I want to see the sun set before they take me.�

His hand crossed over his face, removing the clasp on one side. Deep in the back of his mind, he knew what he was doing. He would leave the final step for her. The veil draped over her face, unclasped, no longer restricting her.

“You can take it off, now.�

Her old hand rose and grabbed the red cloth, pulling it from her face. Her pupils dilated as they caught the sun. Her hand fell to the side of the bed, the thin red veil sliding from her form and onto the floor.

Milton held her hand and cried tirelessly until the sun disappeared behind the hill, the darkness taking the room, covering Mildred’s face, a new veil to take the place of the old. He called an ambulance later that night. It was over.

-

Mal

[esupin]

I didn't really like how Milton and Mildred were related. It seems strange that he doesn't know he has a grandmother living down the street from him, but for the sake of the story it works.

She doesn't remember the 'help' that was supposed to come, so perhaps her children just left her to die? That's not really important.

It seems like the story was cut short, though. He liked Mildred's companionship, but we don't really see how/if Milton has changed as a result. Sure, he's sad, but will it affect his life in any way? Will he leave before he turns 18? Will he give up his dream of being a doctor? Or has nothing changed?

I liked the tone of the story, though.

[Reach]

Yea it wasn't bad. Seemed like a short story. I would say build more into getting to feel for the characters. I was unable to feel anything for the two. I was more or less untouched, though that seemed like the point XD