Susan Shultz's Blog, page 7

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Take back this water.

Take back this weight.

Take back my disorders.

Take back this hate.

Take back my burden.

Take back these tears. —

This loneliness, certain

And these late-night fears.

Take back this anger

Take back this stress

Is it a true healing

To transfer your mess ?

I never asked

For what you have given.

You seem unwanting

So why be forgiven?

Take back this blaming.

Take back this hell.

Here, take back my shaming —

Time to take back myself.

Crushed by heel

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Why can’t I kill an ant
Without guilt? I just can’t.

It has no thought for me
A food source that’s just free

I’m glad to live and let
So each stomp I regret

But I can’t outrun numbers
Of legs and colony members

I waste more angst despairing
Than stubborn pests’ bewaring

I should protect my personal grains
Instead of surrendering my pains.

This ant has used me, free and raw
If roles reversed I’d lose the draw.

I need recall  what life reveals
Stomp on head lest crushed by heel.

 

Reset

[image error]I change my cell phone if I can

I failed a story before it ran

I stop talking if you screw me

I cut you out if you eschew me

My doctor just deflates me

and money just berates me

I sold  my soul because I’m broke

and now upon the guilt I choke

Can’t understand my choices

And then drink to drown the voices

I can’t restart this game

I can’t escape my pain

I can’t reset my shame

My self respect can’t be regained

My bleeding’s up for grabs

My spine was  sold for scabs.

Don’t criticize my punctuation

I’m struggling with inspiration.

I’m truly sorry that I hurt  you

Myself is  who I most  deserved to —

 

Superman saved my life

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This one goes out to Margot Kidder. 

Lois sat at her desk, eyeing the digital form of her new book cover critically.

She shook her scotch in the glass and finished it. The book, “Superman Saved My Life,” was due out tomorrow. It was a collection of her stories about Superman from The Daily Planet along with personal anecdotes, notes and other bonus features added from her experiences with the mysterious caped superhero.

The cover was risky for her. It was Lois, lying across a bed, with Superman’s cape draped over her tastefully, but it was obvious from the shot she wasn’t wearing anything besides the cape. Her publisher thought it was edgy. Lois, never afraid of pushing the envelope, agreed to do it — but was slightly afraid it would look like she was selling out.

“Oh well,” she sighed to herself. It was too late now. She smiled to herself thinking of Superman’s reaction to the cover. She’d asked to borrow his cape, but wouldn’t tell him why. Lois thought it would be a nice surprise. They had obvious sexual tension but nothing had ever happened between them — yet. Lois certainly wasn’t going to shy away from making her attraction obvious, though.

Suddenly, she was startled out of her reverie by a brusque knock at the door.

It was after 10. Who could that be?

Lois tightened the sash of her silk bathrobe and looked through the peephole.  She rolled her eyes and unchained the door.

“Clark! What are you doing here at this hour?” she said.

Reporter Clark Kent was looking a little worse for wear. He was bundled up due to the cold, but he looked like he hadn’t shaved in days. He had a wrapped Christmas gift in one hand, and a bottle of bourbon in the other.

A half-empty bottle of bourbon.

“Hi Lois. Can I come in?” he said.

“Clark, have you been drinking?” she asked, moving back to allow him entry.

“Yes, I have, Lois,” he said, smiling.

“But you…never drink? And I guess we’re giving up shaving for the new year?” she said.

Inside, though, which she hoped she was hiding, she liked this new version of Clark. Less uptight. More out of control. And the scratchy face looked pretty hot. Suddenly she checked herself. This is Clark! What are you thinking, girl?

“Sorry, Lois. I have something I needed to talk to you about. Something I’m a little stressed about. And I needed some liquid courage, I guess,” he said.

“Well, don’t get yourself into one of your fusses, Clark. Take your coat off, come sit down and let’s talk,” she said.

As Clark loosened his scarf and unbuttoned his coat, his eye caught the computer screen.

“Is that your book cover?” he asked.

Lois felt self-conscious suddenly. It was one thing to imagine the faceless crowd seeing her in that position. It was another to have Clark see her on that bed. With just the two of them there.

He tossed his coat on the back of the couch and moved closer to the screen. Lois felt herself blushing.

“Wow. That’s sure to sell some books, Lois,” he said.

“You think?” she said.

“Uh, yeah. But I’m wondering. Are you trying to sell your book or your ass?” he said.

“Fuck you, Clark! It’s edgy,” she said, punching him in the shoulder.

Clark laughed.

“Is that what they’re calling it these days? Also, does Superman know what you did with his cape?” he said

Lois smiled in that faint mysterious way she always did when Superman came up.

It always made Clark a little jealous — oddly.

“Nope. I just borrowed it. I told him it would be a surprise,” she said.

“Well, that’s a surprise for sure,” he said.

He sat down on the couch and dried off his glasses. It had begun to snow just as he arrived at Lois’s apartment. Lois lived in a sprawling penthouse apartment left to her by her grandmother. It opened via at least three doorways to a terrace. Convenient for a journalist’s salary to have a free apartment — even a journalist of Lois’s fame couldn’t afford apartment like that.

“So, Lois, tell me. Did anything ever between you and Superman?” he asked.

Lois found herself blushing again.

“Lois Lane! You are blushing! I never thought I’d see the day. Is that a yes?” Clark said, smiling.

“No, Clark. Not that it is ANY of your business. But no, nothing ever has happened between me and Superman,” she said.

Lois grabbed her drink and sat across from Clark on the opposite couch. She pulled her silk robe over her legs in a rather uncharacteristically demure fashion.

Clark leaned toward her, resting his elbows on his knees, to look closer at her face — her eyes.

“But you wanted it to, didn’t you?” he asked, intently.

“What is this, 20 questions?” she said.

“I just want to know. I’m a reporter, remember. I ask questions. Isn’t that what you always tell me?” he said.

“Wise ass,” Lois said.

“What are you asking me, Clark? If I’m attracted to Superman? He’s gorgeous. He’s can fly. And all he wants to do is protect us. What woman isn’t?” she said.

“Aside from all that, Lois. You’re different, and you know you are, when it comes to Superman. It’s obvious he’s taken a special interest in you. I’m asking if you’ve ever wanted to… you know,” he asked.

“Aw, there’s that shy Clark I know,” Lois said, smiling.

“Are you asking if I want to sleep with him?” she said.

“Yes,” Clark said, coughing a bit and turning red.

She leaned toward Clark now, not looking away.

“Yes, Clark, I want to sleep with him. But I haven’t. And I probably never will,” she said.

“Besides, doesn’t the thought of that make you jealous?” she said, smiling.

“Why do you say that?” Clark said.

Lois gave him her trademark “Don’t bullshit me, Clark,” look.

“I guess a little. But I also worry about you, Lois. I’d like to imagine you having some fun once in a while. When was the last time you even went out on a date? Went out with some friends?” he said.

“Are you calling me a loser, Kent?” Lois snapped.

“Far from it, Lois. You know what I think of you,” he said, getting up and wandering around the apartment.

“I mean, all you do is work. You don’t even have a Christmas tree!” he said.

“Sure I do! Ha. I’ll show you. I forgot to plug it in,” she said.

Lois wandered over to the corner table and plugged something in an outlet and a tiny pre-lit Christmas tree appeared displayed on a table.

Clark laughed.

“THAT’S your Christmas tree?” he said.

“Oh Lois. What am I going to do with you,” he said.

Lois found her eyes wandering over Clark’s shoulders in his red plaid shirt. Had he always been this fit? Had she never noticed his arms so muscular? Damn it, Lois, she said to herself. Snap it out of it!

Lately she’d found herself in the uncomfortable position of being attracted to Clark. It was more than likely a by-product of not really having much other human contact. But either way, she was trying to stamp it out.

Having him show up at her apartment mildly intoxicated in his lumberjack shirt and scruffy face was not helping her cause. At all.

Clark turned to catch her eye just at that moment, and she almost felt like he caught her thoughts. She turned away quickly and broke eye contact, just missing his smile.

“So, what did you want to talk to me about, Kent. I don’t have all night,” she said, getting back to business.

“Come here and sit next to me on this couch, Lois,” he said, moving back to his spot and patting next to him.

“Are you making a pass at me, Clark?” she said.

“No. Do you want me to?” he said, smiling.

“NO! God,” she said, finding herself blushing again.

She sat next to him.

“I just want to talk to you and it’s serious,” he said.

“Uh oh. Are you dying of cancer or something?” Lois said.

“No jokes, Lois. Just listen for minute,” he said.

He looked into her eyes.

“When we go back to work after Christmas, I’m resigning from The Daily Planet,” he said.

She kept his stare for a minute, then laughed.

“Nice try, Clark! You had me going there for a second,” she said.

“I’m serious, Lois,” he said, no hint of smile in his eyes, and took her hand.

“Clark! Why?” she said, quietly. She found herself suddenly fighting back tears. What the fuck was wrong with her?

Clark reached for his Christmas gift and handed it to her.

“This might explain it,” he said.

Lois took the gift from him and slowly unwrapped it. She shook the box open.

Inside it was Superman’s cape.

She held it in her hands.

“Clark, I don’t understand. Where did you get this?” she said.

Clark took off his glasses and put them on the table.

“It’s mine, Lois,” he said, quietly.

“No it isn’t…it’s Super…,” Lois stopped, looking Clark in the eyes.

“What are you saying, Clark?” she whispered.

Clark closed his eyes. He’d been preparing for this moment for so long and still, on the threshold of it, he was terrified of losing everything.

“I’m Superman, Lois,” he said.

“What? How much of that bourbon did you drink, Clark,” she said.

“You know I’m telling the truth, Lois,” he said, looking in her eyes.

Lois kept his stare, letting it sink in. Clark, her closest companion. Her confidant, the one she’d shared everything with. Lois didn’t do dishonesty, even when it was to her benefit.

And she was slowly realizing that the two people she cared about most in her life had been lying to her all this time. For years.

The level of betrayal was too deep to comprehend.

Lois dropped the box on the floor and stood up, letting the cape fall from her hands.

“Clark,” she said quietly.

“Get the fuck out of my house,” she said.

He had expected this reaction. Clark stood up too.

“Lois, wait. Please let me explain…,” he said.

“Explain!???” she yelled.

“You’re telling me I’m about to release a book about my inside scoop on Superman, and I’ve been working alongside him for five years without realizing it? What a fucking sham!” Lois laughed bitterly. She shoved the computer screen still showing her book cover off the desk, destroying it.

Clark tried to hold her arms.

“Lois!” he started.

“DON’T touch me,” she hissed at him.

He backed off.

“Do you know what an idiot I feel like? I’m supposed to be a reporter and my instincts never let me know the two men I spend most of my time with are the same person?” she said.

“I should resign along with you. I don’t deserve the job,” Lois said wearily.

“Lois, I did this to protect you,” Clark said quietly.

“Protect me? How?” she said.

“I got the job at the Planet to be able to be incognito while finding out news when it happens. Everyone knows that you are my weakness,” Clark said, looking away.

Lois listened, but her anger thawed a little.

“You’d never be able to hide knowing who I was if someone asked. You just aren’t dishonest. You can’t hide your feelings. If someone asked you what else you knew about me — my enemies — you could honestly tell them you didn’t know,” Clark said.

“Plus, don’t blame yourself — I helped you be blind to this. I can get in your head, read, lead your mind a little,” Clark said, looking down.

“What did you say?” Lois said.

“I don’t do it all the time. I swear — only when I have to,” he said.

Lois had never felt less sure of herself, more vulnerable, or more embarrassed.

“Clark, I don’t know what to say. I’m not sure I want anything to do with either one of you anymore. I feel like my entire life’s belief system has been turned upside down,” she said.

Clark took a drink from his bottle of bourbon.

“That’s why I’m resigning, Lois,” he said.

She took the bottle from him and drank some also.

“Clark…can I still call you Clark?” she said.

“Of course you can. It’s my name,” he said, moving next to her on the couch.

“Clark, why now? Why are you telling me this now?” she asked.

Clark stood up and walked to one of the French doors that opened to the terrace to look at the sky, hands in his pockets.

“I’m not sure, Lois. Part of it is because your book is about to come out, and I felt like it wasn’t fair to not tell you before that. But …there’s more,” he said.

Lois walked to the doors and stood next to him.

“What more?” she said.

He turned to her, his face partially lit by the moonlight, and Lois saw it truly for the first time — Superman.

He took her hands in his.

“Lois, how do you feel about me?” he asked.

“I…I don’t know,” Lois said.

Clark turned the knob on the French doors and led her out onto the terrace. Despite it being December, and snowy, for some reason, Lois wasn’t freezing.

“Do you remember the first time I visited you here, Lois?” Clark said.

Lois fondly remembered her first interview with Superman on that terrace. And the first time she got to fly — at least without falling out of a helicopter or off a building first.

“Of course,” she said.

Clark led her to the next French doors — that led to Lois’s bedroom.

“I stand here a lot, watching you sleep, making sure you’re safe,” Clark said.

Lois pulled her robe closer together.

“You do?” she said.

“Yes,” he said.

“Sometimes…I see…how lonely you are, Lois,” he said, turning back to her.

Lois turned red.

“Does the word ‘stalker’ mean anything to you, Kent?” she said.

He laughed.

Clark pulled her to him, arms locked at the small of her back. Lois, never one for a lot of touching, especially from Clark, realized if she’d been more apt to hug him, she’d have probably figured out the Superman connection earlier. Superman’s arms, once you were in them once, were unmistakable for anyone else’s.

“Lois, do you remember about a week ago — you had this fantasy — a new one, I haven’t sensed from you before,” he said.

Lois thought and turned red again, and looked down.

Clark reached out with his fingers and lifted her chin to look into her eyes.

“You know what I’m talking about,” he said.

And Lois did. Her fantasies when she was alone almost always involved Superman, and they were pretty straightforward. The guy was a walking fantasy waiting to happen. But last week, she added something new from her subconscious mind — it happened without her realizing it.

In the heat of the moment, she’d fantasized about both of them — with Clark and Superman.

And now, here it was — no secret at all.

“I don’t know what to say,” Lois said.

“Say you want me,” Clark said.

Lois closed her eyes.

“I can’t,” she said.

“Once I felt that from you, I knew our connection was complete. It wasn’t just Superman you wanted — the flashy guy who could fly, and save you when your car is about to dive off a bridge. You wanted Clark too. Me. That’s when I knew — I knew I had to tell you the truth,” Clark said.

His brown eyes flashed with snow and moonlight.

“Lois, I’ve been in love with you since the first time you ripped me a new asshole in the newsroom, and since the first time you asked me if I really could fly. You must know that,” Clark said.

His hands behind her back tightened together.

Her hands reached for his shoulders and met behind his neck.

“Clark….,” she whispered.

“Yes, Lois,” he answered, leaning in to her mouth, slowly.

Lois began to tremble.

“Clark, are you sure you didn’t make up this whole ‘I’m Superman’ thing to get me into the sack?” she said.

Clark’s burst of laughter interrupted the tense moment.

“Always Lois Lane, only believing what you can see, eh?” he said.

“You know it,” she said, trying to sound tough.

In a swift move, he moved his hands from her back to pull her legs to wrap around his waist.

He looked at her, winked, and said, “Hold on.”

In seconds they were flying through the air, cutting through snowflakes, Lois’s face buried in Clark’s neck, hair whipping in the wind, higher, and higher, until he rested in the air, and said “Look, Lois.”

She opened her eyes, and saw the lights of Metropolis, of the world, below her, and the moon practically in her lap.

Floating, still she never felt safer.

“Believe me now?” he said.

“I believed you before,” Lois said.

“You just got scared,” Clark said.

“Yes…how did you?…oh, yeah, never mind,” Lois said.

Her fingers dug into Clark’s shoulders, their eyes locked.

“So, are you going to kiss me, Kent, or do I have to wait for New Year’s Eve?” she said.

He laughed.

“You’re shaking, Lois,” he said. And she was.

His mouth teased hers, gently.

“Lois, this is what you wanted, isn’t it?” he whispered.

Her eyes fluttered.

“You wanted Clark and Superman. You wanted both of us….you can have both of us. We’re right here….I’m right here,” he whispered.

He gently kissed her lips and felt her breathing quickly.

Her fingers dug into his back.

“Clark… don’t,” she whispered.

“I may not have four hands, but I don’t think you’ll be disappointed,” he said, smiling into her mouth.

But just as their mouths met, their tongues met, Lois couldn’t handle. It was all too much. Too much at once.

“Stop,” she said, pushing him away.

“What’s wrong?” Clark said.

“Just take me back down, Clark. I’m just….overwhelmed,” she said.

She buried her face in his neck as they slowly descended back to earth, reality and Lois’s apartment.

Feet back on the ground, Lois walked into her room.

“Lois?” Clark called after her, gently.

“I…just need some time, Clark,” she said, not turning around.

“It’s a lot for me to process,” she said, knowing she was closing off to avoid the rush of emotions overwhelming her. Knowing she was about to make a huge mistake but unable to get out of her own way.

“Maybe you’re right about resigning. This is never going to work. I don’t want you to leave, but maybe is for the best,” she said.

Clark stood there quietly for the moment, hurt and confused, but not surprised. He suspected this was going to be the most likely outcome. He knew Lois better than anyone. But fuck it, he had to try anyway.

He gambled and lost.

Clark went into the living room and grabbed his cape. He moved behind Lois quietly.

She had wrapped her arms together around herself. Her head was down.

He gently draped the cape around her shoulders.

“I want you to keep this, Lois. It has always been yours,” he said, squeezing her shoulders.

Lois could feel the tears in her eyes.

“Thank you. Now if you can please go? I’m….sorry…I just need to be alone for a while,” she said softly.

“Kiss me goodbye, Lois,” he said.

“I…can’t Clark,” her voice finally broke. “Just GO!”

“Lois, for what it’s worth, I’m sorry,” he said.

“I’m sorry too,” she whispered.

Clark grabbed his jacket and headed to the door. He turned once more  to look at her shadowed silhouette through her room door.  He saw her start to tremble and wanted to turn back, but knowing Lois — instead he left her in peace.

Lois heard the door close.

The tears rolled down her cheeks silently. Silence. That was all Lois heard. She used the cape to dry her tears but they wouldn’t stop.

The silence. The quiet. No other heartbeat. No other voice. Day after day. This was what Lois could expect. Not even Clark anymore. She scanned her empty apartment.

One of the light bulbs on her tiny Christmas tree went out.

Lois stood up.

“Fuck this,” she said.

“Lane, you’re being a complete fucking idiot right now. And I know you’re no fucking idiot,” she said out loud. She thought quickly. Ran to the terrace.

She scanned the street and saw him.

“Clark! Clark!,” she said.

Clark stopped below, and turned to look up.

Their eyes locked for a second.

Clark smiled.

And then, Lois jumped.

The End

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Related

InkIn “Creative writing”

“Isn’t it pretty to think so?” The Sun Also Rises, by Ernest HemingwayIn “Reading List Revisted”

WheelsIn “Creative writing”

 Creative writing
CLARK KENT, COMICS, HEROES, JOURNALISM, JOURNALISTS, LOIS LANE, ROMANCE, SUPERHEROES, SUPERMAN


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← ‘So we beat on, boats against the current, borne endlessly into the past’ — “The Great Gatsby”- F. Scott Fitzgerald
“He lives down in a ribcage in the leaves of a heart”- The Silence of the Lambs →



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The moonchild

[image error]Cradled in the softest shades

Of blackness liesa my moon.

Vividness that never fades

Drifts all around my room.

The shadows that

She finds me in

Are quickly chased away.

The glow that I am drenched in

Mocks even the light of day.

A child of her cooling beauty

Soothed by evening skies –

Reflect the flower of her center

Deep within my nightlike eyes.

When the heat of desperation

Finally sets with brother sun –

Feel the freedom of the moonchild.

We, in darkness,

dance as one,

The Hangover

 

[image error]The dark dancing man

Is spinning in my eyes

In black and white

The dark monster man

Is dancing in my head

In black and red

 

“Come on,” he said

“Get of bed.

There’s lots to do.

A drink for me.

A drink for you.

Or maybe two?”

 

As he poked through

The times I’ve bled

Kept in my head.

 

He shook my brain

Till every pain

 

So neatly bound

So tightly wound

 

Came tumbling free —

He clapped with glee

“What’s this?” Said he

“It’s ecstasy!

 

A drink for me

A drink for you

Or maybe three.”

 

He splashed in pools

Of ancient tears

He laughed at buried

Childhood fears

 

He pulled each stitch and nail and knot

Until my heart

Was pulled apart

 

And when his fun

Was finally done

Gave me a wink

“How bout a drink?

What’s one more?

Or is it four?”

 

And in the morning sun

My eyes are red and white

 

The room spins —

 

The dark man laughs —

 

And lies in wait for night.

 

Vacation home

[image error]

Kids are your vacation home

You visit

when the weather’s sunny

You take photos

of the scenery

You maintain it in summer

Without the snow and ice

Without the storms

You pretend to forget

when the pump dies

and when

the rain pours

The stomach flu hits.

You stay home that weekend

Unless you get stuck

then you curse at your lease

that can’t be broken

at the pipes

that can’t be unfrozen.

At the grass that isn’t green

At the photo that can’t be unseen.

At the caretaker

Who can’t get it clean.

Who spares you

the sewage.

Who filters

the frustration.

Sustain sweet serenity.

Then

Check your mail.

Their postcard says

“Wish you were here.”

 

 

 

 

 

Four years later

[image error]

1990 — For Susan

Year I

i was obsessed

frantic —

trying to find

pieces of you, 

gathering them

to me

to make a whole,

i was exasperated. —

the final part evaded me.

it was myself.

Year II

i picked up

the phone

to call you today.

realized,

chastised myself,

then stopped…

because

as long  i forget

I can remember.

Year III

thought i saw you today

on a crowded street —

heard your laughter

above a group of children —

glimpsed your smile

in the mirror —

Year IV

you struggled

against the wind

strength ebbing,

pushed yourself,

until

you gave yourself to the wind —

to peace

so now i smile

when the wind blows

bringing rain.

 

“Isn’t it pretty to think so?” The Sun Also Rises, by Ernest Hemingway

I[image error]In the fall of 1988, I took a class in my freshman year at Wagner College that changed my life for a variety of reasons.

For one thing, I met a shy young lady in a Richard Marx t-shirt, who would eventually become one of the dearest friends of my life.  (Or was until she kills me for announcing she was wearing a Richard Marx t-shirt). #Donlan

[image error]

But also, before that creative class at Wagner, I really hated school – up until I graduated from high school. I was that bad combo of both shy but a wise ass. So I was self-conscious and quiet while being misunderstood and in some cases blatantly disliked by my teachers. My high school was science and math driven. Me, not so much. I started this class and met my teacher, Binnie Kirshenbaum, who also changed my life in so many ways. We bonded immediately. She encouraged and actually liked me. She was quirky and wore crazy clothes and wrote amazing fiction that included some topics, suffice to say, I’d not read much of in 12 years of Catholic school.

Check her out. Read her stuff.

She went on from Wagner to serve as the chairman of Columbia University’s writing program.

In her class I found an outlet for many emotions and feelings and a drive to create. I sat down in the first week and I wrote this – it was the first full length poem I think I had ever written. In one shot, no pun intended:

• The Race

I haven’t stopped writing poetry since. It is no exaggeration to say I have hundreds, many of which haven’t seen the light of day. Some are in boxes in the back of my closet. Some are discovered when I find an old notebook in the bottom of a purse. Some I publish on this site.

So what does this have to do with Hemingway, Susan? I thought writers and especially journalists get to the point directly vs. the long way, you say?. You are right, dear reader. Here it is. That class also changed my life because toward the end of the semester, Ms. Kirshenbaum gave us a list of books we should all read if we are to be serious about writing.

I hate to say I don’t remember most of them — but I’m sure, knowing her, I’ve read most by now. One in particular that stuck out to me was “The Sun Also Rises,” by Ernest Hemingway.

[image error]

This is painful. A stake to the heart of my book. Thanks, one of my children!

I read it because she suggested it — and that book also changed my life. I haven’t stopped reading it since. I have a variety of copies of it and in just chatting with another wonderful benefit from my time at Wagner, Kathy Dempsey, we started talking about it again. We decided to read it again. And I did so this weekend. Unfortunately I discovered that my lovely old copy of the book had some pages as destroyed as some of the steers in Pamplona.

I won’t say I’ve devoured everything every written by Hemingway in the same way. I can live without some of it. This one is different.

In looking at my book this time I noticed for the first time the intro quotes included.

“You are all a lost generation,” Gertrude Stein in conversation.

I love how he can just quote her from chatting with her.

But enough of that.

SPOILER ALERT. Yes, I know I need to post a spoiler alert on a novel that is nearly a century old. But I will anyway. The Sun Also Rises is a novel about people doing a lot of drinking and eating. And living life in excess in Europe. That’s the stage. The players are Jake, the narrator. Jake is a newspaperman (I can relate). He says:

“It is very important to discover graceful exits like that in the newspaper business, where it is such an important part of the ethics that you should never seem to be working.”

He was “injured” in the war. And when I put that in quotes, I mean he was definitely injured. But he was injured in a way I’m guessing a dude doesn’t want to be injured, if you get me.

That is a key plot point, in my opinion.

Then we have Robert Cohn, friend of Jake’s, tennis player, writer, not much depth. Not a great guy all around. The kind of guy you’d like to punch in the face if he wasn’t a skilled boxer, which he unfortunately appears to be.

Then we have Bill, who is one of my favorite characters. Bill is also Jake’s friend. He wants to have fun. He and Jake go fishing before they go to Pamplona for the running of the bulls. He has made money off a recent published novel and he’s ready to buy a lot of stuffed dogs.

“Here’s a taxidermist’s,” Bill said. “Want to buy anything? Nice stuffed dog?”

“Come on,” I said. “You’re pie-eyed.”

“Pretty nice stuffed dogs,” Bill said. “Certainly brighten up your flat.”

“Come on.”

“Just one stuffed dog. I can take ’em or leave ’em alone. But listen Jake. Just one stuffed dog.”

“Come on.”

“Mean everything in the world to you after you bought it. Simple exchange of values. You give them money. They give you a stuffed dog.”

“We’ll get one on the way back.”

“All right. Have it your own way. Road to hell paved with unbought stuffed dogs. Not my fault.”

And of course, we have Brett, Lady Ashley. Oh Brett. How to describe you. Brett is lovely. She’s “built with the curves like the hull of a racing yacht.” I guess that is probably the highest compliment in the Hemingway galaxy. Everyone falls in love with Brett, but to be quite honest, Brett sounds like a self-centered woman with a loose grasp on her moral compass which you just know is attached to a flask.

Jake loves Brett. There’s no question.

“She was looking into my eyes with that way she had of looking that made you wonder whether she really saw out of her own eyes. They would look on and on after everyone else’s eyes stopped looking. She looked as though there was nothing on earth she would not look at like that, and really she was afraid of so many things.”

She is engaged to Mike Campbell, who also seems like a nice fella, other than being broke and having to spend most of the time we spend with him watching one guy get over Brett hooking with him and then watching Brett get over being in love with another guy. All while being engaged. Are we to deny Mike’s drunk hostility? I think not.

Poor Jake.

“Of all the ways to be wounded. I suppose it was funny.”

Luck would have it he ran into Brett while recovering from his injury in the war, a war nurse.

“I try to play it along and just not make any trouble for people. Probably I never would have had any trouble if I hadn’t run into Brett when they shipped me to England. I suppose she only wanted what she couldn’t have. Well, people are that way. To hell with people.”

As Jake ponders these thoughts during the night, of course Brett shows up with a count ready to buy a limo load of champagne. She again comes and goes out of his life. And Jake can’t sleep. For anyone who has stared at the ceiling at night, this is one of my favorite parts of the book.

“This was Brett, that I had felt like crying about. Then I thought of her walking up the street and stepping into the car, as I had last seen her, and of course in a little while I felt like hell again. It is awfully easy to be hard-boiled about everything during the day time, but at night is another thing.”

Preach, Jake Barnes.

Jake pondering watching Brett use the men in the novel like chess pieces. He wonders about paying for life’s value.

“Enjoying living was learning to get your money’s worth and knowing when you had it. You could get your money’s worth. The world was a good place to buy in.”

What’s fascinating about this whole novel is that there’s an underlying theme of Brett and Jake being the one true love story here. And it is why that makes it fascinating. In my non-professional English teacher opinion, the reason that Jake and Brett are the only relationship that seems to survive all the self-induced catastrophes of booze and food and betrayal is because of Jake’s war injury.

They can’t seal the deal. Much like a black widow, Brett seems to demolish men or be demolished when they have sex. It takes the fun out of the chase for her or it makes it too real for her when it becomes a relationship.

So she simply tortures Jake throughout the novel. She comes back to him over and over again. When the men in her life get exasperated or emotional about her shallowness or her disdain or her blatant disrespect, she tells them to go away and goes back to Jake. Always. And he takes her back.

The climax of the novel is when Brett falls in love with a young bullfighter, leaving the rest of her posse, as it were, to fight among themselves. Robert Cohn follows her around throughout the group’s visit to Pamplona despite being seriously irritating to everyone. (Even me, not that he realizes.)

But Jake must again endure watching the woman he loves passionately pursue a young, succesful man to both of their own detriments. In fact, he basically begs her not to.

“I’m a goner. I’m mad about the Romero boy. I’m in love with him, I think.”

“I wouldn’t be, if I were you.”

“I can’t help it. I’m a goner. It’s tearing me all up inside.

“Don’t do it.”

“I can’t help it. I’ve never been able to help anything.”

Ain’t that the truth. If she could, there wouldn’t be a The Sun Also Rises.

Needless to say, Brett and the bullfighter made as much sense and went as well as anyone would have expected them too. Reality means he is a Spanish traditionalist who wasn’t into Brett’s independence and her short trendy hair cut. Who could have foreseen that? #OtherThanEveryone.

What’s worse is that Jake had total matador cred with the bullfighting authority and Brett basically went in and ruined the new dream matador guy. She dragged him into a Lifetime movie drama in which the night before his big triumph, good old Robert Cohn, former boxer, beat the crap out of him. So he could barely stand for the fight. And Jake is off the list of “aficionados” after that.

Sidenote: I would like also to take a moment to point out that because of the various places of travel there are certainly some inappropriate cultural and racial terms in this book. Not a lot, but there are. I certainly don’t use them or approve of them, but this was the picture of the world in the mid-1920’s. This is our history. This is how people talked. Banning books isn’t going to change that, and it’s going to rob this generation of some truly incredible literature as well as an accurate picture of our country’s history. Pretending something doesn’t exist doesn’t make it go away. It is a travesty to ban To Kill a Mockingbird. A travesty.

Jake’s advice to Robert Cohn, trying to escape from his unhappiness, applies here. You can’t change reality.

“Going to another country doesn’t make any difference. I’ve tried all that. You can’t get away from yourself by moving from one place to another. There’s nothing to that.”

But still, we return to the running them of the novel by the end, making true the Bible quote that I didn’t realize inspired the novel’s name, in the intro.

“One generation passeth away, and another generation cometh, but the earth shall abideth forever. The sun also ariseth, and the sun goeth down, and hasteth to the place where he arose…” – Eccelesiastes

There’s no one left in Brett’s world but Jake. There will always be Jake, and he will always come running when she needs him.

We join the two of them in wondering if things were different, would this be the great love story that Brett pretends to believe? Maybe. Or maybe Jake is the realist who speaks for all of us. He loves Brett, despite everything (and every one. And I do mean EVERY one. I mean, lady, Robert Cohn? Come on.)

If there’s any doubt, we have the final scene, the last rescue of the book. Driving along in their hired car, looking at the world from the safe distance of a window.

“Oh Jake,” Brett said, “we could have had such a damned good time together.”

“Ahead was a mounted policeman in khaki directing traffic. He raised his baton. The car slowed, pressing Brett against me.”

“Yes,” I said. “Isn’t it pretty to think so?”

If you get a chance, read this book. Don’t read it if you are hungry or thirsty however. The food and drink is a whole other side (and blog post). Now I’ll be excusing myself to get a Pernod, some chilled champagne, and a side of absinthe along with some fresh fish and fried potatoes.

Don’t forget to stop at the taxidermist on the way home.

Fair

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It’s not fair to blame you

for me

being less than I was.

It’s my weakness

that led

to masking the void that you left —

Like duct tape

on a broken car window.

A fast fix

Ultimately useless

Air flapping, and whistling,

an echo of it’s own emptiness.

It’s not fair

that I blame you

for my self-destruction.

I choose to fight feeling.

Choices, you know,

Like yours to refute responsiblity.

It’s not fair

that I blame you.

But, then again —

you never played fair.

Never

Respected rules

Traded in trust.

Had faith in friendship.

Lived with loyalty.

Illuminated integrity.

Now —

Marvel at my monstrosity

your callousness has created —

There’s no reckoning—

because vampires that violate vitality

can’t see who they are.

The mirror is bare.

And

now you should beware —

because I —

I no longer care,

what is fair.