1. Where does it seem the story is going?
2. Who is the woman?
3. What is going on?
4. Where is the geographical setting?
This isn't a test--I just want to make sure that some stuff is coming through and that other stuff isn't.
I really need your opinions.
She could never sleep if all her children were not at home, safely in their beds. She sat on her sofa, in her home on a side-street of Tultitlan, flipping channels endlessly. She heard the rain falling against the metal roof, reminding her of her days working for Fierro Carril. She remembered hearing the distant sound of the train whistles, growing nearer with each second, vibrating her desk. She thought back to all those years before, when her children were still small and she was alone in caring for them. Her husband had died when her middle child, Pablo, was small, only four years old. She had, since that time, refused to accept help from others. Her sisters had wanted to take her youngest child to raise, saying that it would be impossible for a single mother with three children to earn an honest living. But she had done it. She had started at the bottom, and while she never rose to the top, she did rise. She rose and she was good at what she did, a woman in a man's world. That's where she met her current--well, she didn't know what to call him. She had had affairs since her husband died; they had both been so young when it had happened that one hardly expects that she should become a nun as a result. One of those affairs (a word she detested--it sounded so illicit, so sordid, as if she was doing something wrong in feeling) had resulted in the birth of her youngest son, Israel. But it hadn't lasted, and the father hadn't wanted the complication. A one-time cash payment resolved any lingering feelings of duty. The money was safely in the bank, awaiting her youngest son's entrance into the University. A loud bang brought her attention back to the television. She angrily flipped it off for disturbing her reverie.
She was in such a mood tonight. She didn't know where all this history was coming from, all this remembering. She didn't like to do it, remember. It was such a dangerous thing to do--to go back to a place in time where you don't belong anymore. She lifted herself off of the couch and crossed to the sink. Through the window above the sink she saw the drops hit the dirt in the backyard, turning her garden into a sopping mess. Where is he? she thought to herself. What is he doing now? Sighing heavily, she reached to turn of the lamp that hovered above the oven. Alone, finally, in the dark, she felt the weight of her life descend upon her, making her acutely more aware of the empty bed upstairs. She sank back down to the couch to wait out the rain and time, to pray for sleep and peace and understanding. She could not sleep when they were not with her.
it's a lot shorter like this. hmmm.
i'ma say it again: i know this has lots of problems and is really short, but I have to get this first part exactly right.