Black Skies and Gray Matter
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University of Central Florida STARS Electronic Theses and Dissertations, 2004-2019 2015 Black Skies and Gray Matter Jacquelyn Bennett University of Central Florida Part of the Creative Writing Commons Find similar works at: https://stars.library.ucf.edu/etd University of Central Florida Libraries http://library.ucf.edu This Masters Thesis (Open Access) is brought to you for free and open access by STARS. It has been accepted for inclusion in Electronic Theses and Dissertations, 2004-2019 by an authorized administrator of STARS. For more information, please contact [email protected]. STARS Citation Bennett, Jacquelyn, "Black Skies and Gray Matter" (2015). Electronic Theses and Dissertations, 2004-2019. 1328. https://stars.library.ucf.edu/etd/1328 BLACK SKIES AND GRAY MATTER by JACQUELYN BROOK BENNETT B.A. University of Central Florida 2010 A thesis submitted in partial fulfillment of the requirements for the degree of Master of Fine Arts in the Department of English in the College of Arts and Humanities at the University of Central Florida Orlando, Florida Spring Term 2015 Major Professor: Pat Rushin © 2015 Jacquelyn Brook Bennett ii ABSTRACT Black Skies and Gray Matter is a collection of stories thematically centered on characters that are lonely or lost in the world. These stories explore the characters’ personalities through their interactions with others (strangers, family, friends, and spouses) and the difficulties they face being misunderstood. Their journeys are ones of trying to find happiness and their place in society (or rejecting it). As they face alienation, they must endure the trials of everyday life (some more extreme than others) and, at the same time, search for kindred spirits, a sense of belonging. Some stay true to themselves while others conform to social norms with various degrees of success and contentment. One trait all characters share is selfishness, but they are not aware of it, nor are they aware of how their selfishness affects others. These stories also explore the characters’ philosophies and growth (or stagnation) through how they deal with alienation, loneliness, social awkwardness, drug abuse, alcoholism, disease, death, failure, rejection, and loss. iii This work is dedicated to the memory of my mother, Ruby Ann Pallarino. She supported me financially, and encouraged me through all my creative and academic endeavors. I only wish that she could be here to see the end result. iv ACKNOWLEDGMENTS A very special thank you to my “extra eyes”: Danielle Armstrong, Judith Roney, and Jennica Broom, whose indispensable input helped me more than I could have managed alone had I all the time in the world. Thank you all. If I could credit you as coauthors, I would. v TABLE OF CONTENTS MUSTACHE ..............................................................................................................................1 A DIVE INTO THE MAELSTROM ......................................................................................... 17 JOYRIDE ................................................................................................................................. 27 A MARK UPON A STAIN ....................................................................................................... 44 FLYING OVER DRIVING ....................................................................................................... 62 LETTUCE ................................................................................................................................ 70 A DIRTY WOMAN .................................................................................................................. 87 ODDS ARE ............................................................................................................................ 103 BLACK SKIES AND GRAY MATTER ................................................................................. 115 APPENDIX: READING LIST ................................................................................................ 131 vi MUSTACHE As Shaneen’s house burned, she wondered if a strip of facial hair was really such a big deal. The fire started while she was at her monthly book club meeting, the only night she allowed herself more than one glass of wine. The fireman who was first on the scene said it seemed the fire originated in the attic. By the time she arrived, it had made its way through the second floor and was burning down the first. She heard the wires of her baby grand snap and pop. With each sharp, reverberating ping she imagined the spring steel flailing around like the arms of a sea monster. Both of her boys were safe. They were with her mother, Agnes, while she was with her book club. The four of them were now gathered with the onlookers across the street. Thurston, her oldest at eight, stared with eyes wide as pancakes. Gordon, age five, had his face hidden in his grandmother’s belly. Marcus, her husband and main suspect, was MIA. “You just had to push him, didn’t you?” her mother asked. “Couldn’t just let it go, eh? Couldn’t just let this little crisis pan out? If you had just let it go, things would have gone back to normal eventually.” “Shut up, Mother.” Shaneen looked away from the house long enough to see Agnes’s eyes shrink. “I know this is a stressful moment, honey, but you will not speak to me that way.” “Just take the boys home with you, OK? I’ll come get them later.” “Come get them? Won’t you be staying with us?” Shaneen faced the burning house again, just in time to see the fire burst through the front bay window. Gordon screamed. Through all of this, he was the one she felt for the most, her fragile little boy. There was only numbness for her lost possessions, her failed marriage, and 1 even Thurston. The pity she felt for Gordon was so deep, she didn’t flinch as her pink hydrangeas dissolved into smoke and ash. Gordon had started kindergarten a few months ago and returned traumatized. He seemed to get worse every day. She waited with him at the bus stop the first day, but didn’t realize until it was too late that he’d sat in an ant pile. She swiped at his shorts and, since he didn’t itch, assumed he hadn’t been bitten. As she ushered him to the bus, she had a good feeling he would be fine because he didn’t fuss or cling. She took his photo beside the open door of the bus, his hair parted to the left, lunch box held in front of him. He came home that afternoon, face flooded with tears and snot. He begged her not to make him go back. She tried the go-to remedy for any mother comforting a six-year-old—a sit-down in front of the TV with a bowl of ice cream. “Sweetie, you have to go to school. Everyone has to go to school,” she told him and brushed the hair from his forehead. “I can’t go back. They called me Brownfinger. I told them to stop, but they wouldn’t stop saying it. I hate them and I’m not going anymore.” He wiped his nose with the back of his arm and kicked at his chair. “Who’s Brownfinger? What does that mean?” She rubbed his back and he shrugged her off. “I’m Brownfinger! Because the teacher made us get in a circle by ourself and tell everybody stuff like our name and different stuff like if we have a pet or what kind of food we like. It was so stupid.” “Well, I know you’re shy, but that doesn’t sound so bad, and it will help you make new friends.” 2 He started to cry again. “No. I got in the circle and I got scared. I got sweaty and my butt started to itch because the ants bit me there. I scratched my butt in the circle and now they won’t stop calling me Brownfinger. I hate them.” She tried to be gentle and encouraged him by putting extra treats in his lunch, but every day was a struggle that left her angry and exhausted. Here, illuminated by the fire and flashing lights, she looked at him with his face buried in the ripples of Agnes’s dress and knew she had to get him out of there before he broke down. “No, Ma. We’ll get a hotel room once I find Marcus. The boys always have fun in hotels,” Shaneen said, and stroked Gordon’s hair. “Marcus will be staying in the slammer,” Agnes said, low enough so the boys wouldn’t hear. “First you yell at me for not letting his behavior go, and now you want him in jail?” “I never said I wanted him there, but he did commit a crime. There’s no way around it.” “The fireman only said where it probably started. He didn’t say it was arson.” “If he isn’t guilty, then why isn’t he here?” Shaneen resented her mother’s accusation, but couldn’t help thinking that maybe Marcus was responsible. His behavior had been so erratic, there was no telling what he would do if provoked. Whatever the case, she wasn’t going to allow her mother the satisfaction of letting her believe she considered it a possibility. The gray nimbus of smoke shifted with the breeze and rose higher into black night sky. “He’s probably drunk, Ma. I don’t know where he is on any other night. Just because the house is on fire doesn’t make tonight any different.” 3 Agnes said, “If you could have just let all this blow over, maybe he wouldn’t have taken to the drink so bad. To keep a man happy—” “Just take the boys and go, Mother, please!” The neighbors gathered around them stopped talking. Even Thurston broke his gaze from the house to look at her. “Boys, go with Grandma now and I’ll come for you soon.” “No way,” Thurston said. “This is awesome.” Shaneen grabbed him by the elbow and steered him to Agnes’s 1958 Edsel Villager Wagon, a car Agnes bought twenty years before Shaneen was born—a gas-thirsty blight on the American landscape. She knew her mother didn’t love the car more than her, but it didn’t stop her from hating the hunk of shit. When she was a kid, all of her mother’s extra cash went into that car, to keep it in mint condition.