So the other exercise in my writing class last Thursday was to start a scene in which two characters each have a different part of an object, which can’t work without the other part (e.g. shoe and a lace), and neither one wants to give up their part. Here was my work, ‘as is’ …
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“HUH?” Don bellowed, the sound booming through the closed bathroom door into the bedroom.
“I’m not coming in there,” his wife responded, without taking her eyes off the television screen. God, how she would miss Jay Leno. Right then and there, she vowed once again to stop watching the show when that tall frightening Irish guy took over as host, conveniently forgetting how she had made a very similar promise in Carson’s final days.
“HUH?”
“I’m not coming in there,” she repeated in a quiet speaking voice, knowing full well that even in the best of circumstances he’d never hear her from that far away. With the TV on at a pretty loud level, and his hearing aid missing the battery snugly encased in her left fist, the low volume of her voice was nothing more than a way to torture poor Don. A prop in an Abbott/Costello routine.
He can wait, she thought. Why in God’s name did he need to hear anything while he was doing what he was doing. It was bad enough she could hear the grunts – and even worse, a faint whiff – emanating from his epic bathroom struggle. He should be thankful for any sensory deprivation he could get.
“Please, hon, I asked for the new hearing aid battery. I can’t hear what you’re saying.”
Oh, whatever, she groaned, and relented – as both of them knew she would (this was not the first time they had played this game). She struggled up on the bed, waiting for Leno’s monologue to end. “OK, I’m coming,” she said, and only now did she begin to raise her voice. “But for the love of God, please spray in there.”
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