The Sixth Revision (with Author's Notes)

Ellie hadn’t expected to recognize her mother. Years—decades—had passed since she was the young Gena in pictures Ellie would dig out of the box in her dad’s closet, so when envisioning their first meeting Gena was always crooked-backed and gray. Sunken. A remnant of a life, even though Ellie would have known to answer, if asked, that her mother was only fifty-two. But when her mother had finally emerged from the old Toyota she’d parked against the funeral home’s curb, Ellie had known her—her face, anyway—immediately. Even under the maple’s shade with her details hidden from the sun, Gena could have climbed out of any of Ellie’s dad’s old prints.

A familiar discomfort surfaced behind her ribs as she watched her mother gather herself outside her car. She’d known the feeling as a teen, had felt it any time she’d thought she caught a glimpse of her mother walking away in the distance or slipping around a corner. It wasn’t excitement. She didn’t know what it was.

Her mother looked at her briefly over the sunroof before saying, loud enough for Ellie to hear, “Oh,” and ducking back inside her car. She moved with ease. She could have been Ellie’s age, the way her silhouette leaned and reached through the seats.

Ellie needed water. She cleared her throat, still raw from—

She cleared it again, more aggressively. “That was an ‘ahem,’” she says. “To you.”

*Not responding. Happened once before, and engaging was a terrible idea. Can’t be distracted from nearly-finished project. No idea if she can sense/see me looking out skylight as if oblivious.

“Excuse me.”

*Skylight reflection of pic on shelf of Christopher and SIL. Remember to add pic to box of things Christopher didn’t take when he left.

“Excuse me. Excuse me. Excuse me. Excuse me. Excuse me. Excuse me.”

Yes!

“Can we go back, please, and have me take my water out here with me?”

*Impossible to ignore and consequences of ignoring unknown, so will keep short. How handle issue of water intentionally left inside under chair?

“If it helps,” she says, “I think you’re overdoing it by having me clear my throat like that. If you want me to look nervous, I’m sure you can make my physical clues or cues or whatevers more unique to me. But my throat really is raw. Like you described.”

It’s too late. That section has now been through six revisions. It’s done.

“But it’s just one sentence. Look: ‘She picked her water bottle up and carried it in the crook of her arm until she got outside to the stairs,’ or something.”

You can’t carry a water bottle in the crook of your arm without it alluding to something, like wanting to be a mother. Details need reasons, and that one wouldn’t be relevant to the story.

She shifts one of her feet, thinking. “Then I’ll dangle it.”

*Technically fine. Works with state of mind. Supply other dangle sugg.

No, too casual.

“The point is my throat could be made to not hurt and you’re making it hurt. And all for some cliché throat-clearing, which she might overhear and actually think has something to do with her.”

*Also opposed to cliché throat-clearing and understand objection. Any other time, would be hard to defend w/o revealing role in driving Ellie’s behavior thru story, something E can’t know til end; thankfully E gifted mention of secondary function.

Giving you the water bottle to soothe your throat would mean omitting a moment that illustrates the complexity and depth of the awkwardness between you and your mother.

“I don’t see how.”

*Explain same way as to former news ed. confused about early mention in dead boy’s tribute that he carried orange in pocket. Is it patience? attn span? figure out how to always provide entire story in first para.

You have to keep going. It will make sense.

Ellie cleared her throat again. It sounded loud to her in the quiet outdoors. There were no distant sounds of cars or other machinery, not even a breeze making noise with the leaves. If her mother had heard her, she might think Ellie was anxious to meet her. Or that she was impatient—when her mother had pulled up to the funeral home she must have noticed the many parked cars along the curb and that no one but Ellie was outside. She had to know she was the last one to arrive. But Ellie wasn’t impatient, and if she had any anxiety, it wasn’t something her mother had the right to sense or suspect.

Her mother’s head popped up again and she locked and slammed the car door. Her rapid steps on the uneven walkway made the bottoms of her wide black slacks meet, tussle, and release, the sound thin like polyester. She was shorter than Ellie had thought she would be, and her hands looked small curled around the sides of a covered shoebox. A key ring dangled from her left pinkie.

Would one of the hands let go of the box and pull Ellie to her, making contact for the first time since Ellie had exited her body? Did Ellie want that, or would she push her away? She pictured her mother falling backward, hitting her head on the concrete, the box flying and spilling…spilling what? She didn’t know.

I wish the circumstances were anything but this, her mother might say instead of trying to touch her.

I wish I had been there for both of you.

It was impossible for me to come until now.

Her mother squinted against the seasonally low sun and gently said Ellie’s name like a question—“Ellie?”—her low, thick heels clop-clopping ever closer on the path.

No, Ellie considered. Ellie’s inside. I’m someone else.

A few more steps and her mother was in front of her, presenting the shoebox, the V of her green shirt’s top two open buttons revealing the subtle looseness of middle-aged skin.

“I don’t see the point,” Ellie says.

Sorry?

“Why the open buttons? Why the ‘middle-aged skin’? I don’t want to notice these things. It makes me seem weird.”

You’re a younger woman inspecting the older woman who gave birth to you, and who you don’t know anything about. Her open buttons say something about her. Her aged skin is a physical sign of the years that have passed without her in your life.

“Can you at least give her a necklace so I have a reason to stare?”

You’re not staring. You noticed the buttons, as all people do, and flesh is visible in the exact same area. She doesn’t need a necklace.

“I’d like there to be one, please. If she were anyone but my mother, it would be fine.”

Is she really your mother?

“Har har, biological, yes, and that’s enough in this case.”

Okay. What kind of necklace?

“I don’t know. A cross.”

She’s not religious.

“A little gold circle, then.”

Symbolizing what?

“Why does it have to symbolize anything?”

Because it would have to be worth mentioning if I’m going to mention it. We can do the opened buttons or a necklace, but we can’t do both, and there’s not going to be a necklace.

“So let me notice her old face.”

*Progress since previous incident re: arguing. “It’s not ‘old,’” I stop myself from saying.

It’s less intimate.

“Intimate? She left my dad and me for no reason as soon as she could walk after giving birth. My dad loved her so much he never had a single girlfriend, and then he died. And now that he’s gone, this selfish piece of sh—”

Uh-uh. There’s no reason for that.

*Unsure, double-check. Yes, I’m correct.

“I don’t WANT to be INTIMATE.”

“Ellie?” her mother said again, the shoebox now so close to touching Ellie’s stomach that she was forced to take it.

Ellie said, “And you are?”

Her mother must not have heard it—maybe Ellie had whispered, if she’d said anything at all—because she only checked the opening of her shirt and buttoned the lower open button while saying, “I do want to talk to you, and we will, but I’m so late, I really am so sorry,” before brushing past her and pushing through the wide wooden door. She left it open behind her, its shadow stopping just short of her glinting keyring in the grass.

*Urge to throw something at tree to take E’s attn. or yell she should check Gena’s tires or make sure cars on street legally parked, anything to keep her from seeing last-page keys G never dropped in prev. revisions. Am stuck, paralyzed, b/c know from last time I can’t get their attn. Only works other way.

*Movement of sun sliding shadow toward keys! But slow.

Ellie lifted the top off the box. Pictures of her dad sat on top. She moved them around to see what was underneath. More of her dad, all of them taken when he was around nineteen or twenty, back when he’d known her mother. And then there was one, but just one, with more people in it, including her dad. It had been taken from across a country highway over the double yellow lines while they were having what looked like a picnic on the shoulder. Her dad, crouched with his elbows resting on his thighs, was looking at her mother from under shaggy long bangs. Her mother, beside him, was sticking out her tongue at the camera. The third person, in jeans and a black t-shirt and sitting with his back against the car’s front bumper, was using a lighter to work the cap off a beer bottle. His face was angled slightly toward the photographer, a half smi—

At a vibration in her pocket, Ellie returned the top to the box and—

“No.” She coughs.

Oh, good. I wanted to ask—will you please check your mother’s car to make sure her doors are locked?

*Shadow progress good but not fully there.

“I saw her do it,” she says, sitting on the top step. She rests the box on her lap.

She may have missed one. This area isn’t as safe as it looks.

“Take the top back off.” She coughs again, a little harder. “You can do it, or I will.”

*Important for latr: How?? How they know is worst kind of destruction for them to make changes? (Note: Learned after telling first one go ahead, buy nicer RV. One autonomous move from him & novel forever changed.)

*Must weigh what E wants—more time right now w/picture—with potential consequences—remembering things too soon. Already starting. In none of prev. revisions has picture alone brought coughing. Coughing, to this point, only connected to dream (or whatever called) she has in sleep before related choking/coughing wakes her. Picture on other hand prompts waking dreaming (or whatever called) as E gradually—over course of entire book—solves pic., past, etc.

*Been thinking and thinking, but she’s going to study pic either way AND AH! she was already going to! Story: phone vibrates, boyfriend Christopher (note: change name) texts where r u, and after joining him and friend inside, E inspects pic during svc. Idiot me, so panicked by potential sabotage of last writing attempt lost own plot! Can’t walk back new coughing problem, but isn’t irreversible ruin if next look at pic is in funeral home.

*Keys in shade. Be reassuring/persuasive to get E back in line w/story.

Ellie. Ellie? You’ve always opened that box again. You’ll look at the picture—pictures—as soon as you take your seat.

*Typing for calm. Do not destroy the keyboard. Do not destroy the keyboard. It is not the keyboard’s fault you committed a typo slip and have stupidly confirmed the importance of the picture. Close your eyes. Breathe. Maybe she didn't

“Hm.” She shakes the box.

They’re waiting for you, Ellie.

“Which picture?”

I’m sorry? I don’t understand.

“The one you said I look at when I’m in there.”

*Lower jaw pain. Clenching again. Before leaving Christopher said invest in mouthguard. Did not do.

All of them, of course.

“No, you said ‘picture.’”

Yes. I misspoke.

“You can’t lie to me.”

*Last one thought same til we both learned different when he drove luxe RV off cliff after novel unrecoverable.

That’s correct. I can’t.

“In order for something to be mentioned,” she says slowly, “it has to be worth mentioning, right? No cross because she’s not religious. No water bottle in my arm because I don’t want a baby.”

M-hm. Yes.

“No picture unlike the others unless it’s there for a reason.” She teases with the box top, lifting it a fraction of an inch and seating it again. She uses her sleeve to wipe one of her eyes. “If you tell me about the picture, I swear I won’t look at it again until I’m supposed to.”

Are you crying?

“Are you telling me or not?”

What picture, Ellie?

“I guess a question can’t be a lie.” She rocks forward and back over the box, now wrapped up in her arms.

*No use. Give something. Admit-ish E right re: pic importance?

It’s best that your mother tells you. And she will. Let things follow their written course.

“No.” She removes the shoebox cover and brings out the picture of the roadside picnic. “This one. Right?” She starts coughing lightly, and then with an intensity that increases until she’s gasping.

*Ellie could choke to death. And she would, were I certain it was over, but I have put too much into this struggle, this slog, this hair-pulling ten-plus years of what Christopher once screamed was my ‘pit of creative despair’ to surrender prematurely, and so I will not. There is still a chance tha OK enough E purple.

Ellie. You have to calm yourself down. I don’t have that kind of access, that god-control, when we’re…like this.

*True. Once RV’s tires airborne, no saving him even if wanted to.

Please, Ellie, put the picture down and make yourself breathe.

Ellie doesn’t put the picture down, but she does press it to her chest where she can no longer see it. The coughing subsides and her breathing steadies.

*Why can’t G, who dropped FINAL SCENE a-ha! keys for first time in rev. six(!)., notice missing and come for them and for E? G doesn’t want secret out, either. [Check later: also 6th rev. when Dan connected w/me re: his RV?] I’m wishing, wishing hard, but no G, and E already back to looking at pic. Strange, no coughing. Just sobbing, more rocking.

Ellie holds the image close to her face and whispers, “Dave, my love.”

*ladjflaj fantastic! 2/3 plot suspense destroyed only 10 p. in. [Note: correct about 6th rev. re: Dan & RV not that it matters ;adload jgadijdfgjgkjkljkjkjkjkl]

“You’re the worst kind of sadist,” Ellie murmurs, still looking at the picture. “Only the worst kind of sadist would separate soulmates by a lifetime.”

*E sure to remember sooner than should that Dave visited 5 yo E and her dad a few years before D died and Julie (oops, last life) little E ran at him and squeezed him at knees/got to see him at least once this life. I think a comfort that could help story move? Ambiguous in all rev., though. Won’t mention in case only hurts more.

“Why would you make me just to torture me,” she moans through audibly tear-slimed lips.

*Torn. Sad for her, also rolling eyes. Jaw so sore, tempted quit now, crush burn smash laptop, but ten years ten years and no money post-divorce need novel to work. Can still maybe save using mystery of G’s absence for E to solve. E prob doesn’t yet know she’s Julie and def doesn’t know past-life rel. w/mom/Gena. Telling her G will reveal all should re-motivate and get E back on last salvageable track (untrue, tho; G won’t tell, too painful. Only memories, or whatever, give answers).

Go inside. Talk to your mother. I promise she’ll tell you all about Dave.

Ellie pulls herself up and drags toward the door. Halfway there, the toe of her boot catches on the edge of a paving slab. In steadying herself, she flings the picture in the air where it flutters, sweep the space between Ellie and the entrance, and lands beside the keys.

*eklandel;jgjnallkdeekek wrdtsgwrfgd

She falls to her hands and knees and grabs the ring, flips the car fob out of the way, and studies the single traditional key. “D+J” is crudely scratched into the metal. She plops cross-legged and strokes the teeth, staring into nothing. After some moments, she mutters, “Julie.” She turns the key in the light. “This is…It’s our apartment key.” She works it off the ring. “Why does she have…”

*Lost lttr that coms aftr d whn I tor it out & thrw it across th room but it didn’t g-t (ah! b-tt-r) rid of h-r. Had to mak- not- to -xplain any futur- not-s. Anyway kn-w it was don-, ov-r b-for- sh- confirm-d it h-rs-lf with fr-sh wailing, this ind-scribably sorrowful sound from som- oth-r plac-…had to m-ntion, so aff-cting

“She killed me,” she moans. “My own mother killed me.”

*-lli- so v-ry d-vastat-d. Disapp-aring on h-r own. As fast as it’s all coming to h-r, mayb- not long b-fore sh- l-arns by h-rs-lf sh- was BFF w/G in past lif- and G only l-ft b/c aft-r J drown-d whil- l-ft alon- in wat-r, G blam-d s-lf and guilt mad- h-r afraid of happin-ss, all that. Could wait, allow to play out, think about n-xt proj-ct (STOP AT R-VISION 5), but what if m-mory tak-s too long, if -lli- sorrows h-rs-lf into full disint-gration? How crumpl-d can a charact-r actuall

Oh, fine.