Novel: "Touch"
Dec. 19th, 2012 11:17 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
violetcheetahThe intro to a YA novel I haven't worked on since 2002. Apparently I only wrote half this one scene at the time, then kinda dropped it.
-----
Trudy knew the knock was coming; she heard the footsteps stop outside her door. But long seconds passed with no sound, except the beeping of an empty IV pump down the hall, and now she wasn't sure anyone was at the door at all. She finally barked "What?" just at the instant of the first tap, and she turned toward the noise, as if that would help her see it.
"It's me, honey." Lydia. Trudy was sure she was blond, dyed blond. A nice size ten who probably wore size eight and thought it made her look thinner. "There's someone to see you."
Trudy's heart twitched, hot, like she'd grabbed a power cord with a short in it. "Who?"
A man's voice answered. "Gertrude, I'm Adam; I'll be your case worker." The voice made her think of a creek, low and calm and a little burbly; a warm smile in that voice. She didn't like him.
She held out her right hand. "Put 'er there, Adam."
He shook her hand briefly, one and a half pumps, firm but not clasping. "Good forced joviality. Very convincing, except for the sarcasm dripping like pancake syrup."
"Nice use of simile. You sure you're not an English teacher?"
The cushion of the chair across from her sighed as he sat down. "No, just a bad poet. If I was a good poet, I'd have come up with something less obvious, like... sarcasm dripping like..."
"Like blood from a ripped-out heart being squeezed by the fist of the killer."
"Mmm." It sounded suspiciously like an approval. "You must do great in English."
"I do great in everything. I'm a nerd."
"Yes, the ideal student, according to your school. Real renaissance woman."
"My mother must be so proud."
"You are just a font of sarcasm." His voice was quiet, but there was no pity, no virtual pat on the head. "Your mother wants to come visit you, you know."
"Isn't that nice."
"Yeah, I thought you'd be dying to see her."
"I'm dying to see anything."
"Mmm. Touché. So, is there anyone you do want to see? Other family?" She shook her head. "Friends?"
"I don't have friends."
"Of course not. Friends are for wimps."
"Now who's dripping with irony?"
"Like an ice cream cone in August."
"Like a three-year-old's nose."
"Ohh." He said it with a mixture of admiration and repulsion. Then there was silence, except for his shifting chair cushion. "In case there's any doubt, you're mother is not, in fact, allowed to see you, not until the court date."
"Which is when?"
"Next Thursday, assuming your doctor discharges you by then. In court, you'll be on the opposite side of the room as your mother, at a table with me and your lawyer."
"Jesus, I'm not afraid of her doing something in court."
"No, she's not stupid."
"I wish she would pull something in public. But no, she'll be all sweetness and light and tears and crap, and..." Her throat closed, and she shook her head and pushed a huff of air out.
"Well, that crap doesn't fly far in front of a judge who's seen it a couple of thousand times."
"We'll see."
"So to speak?"
She pursed back a smile. "That's pretty cold."
"I'm learning from a master."
"Touché."
-----
Trudy knew the knock was coming; she heard the footsteps stop outside her door. But long seconds passed with no sound, except the beeping of an empty IV pump down the hall, and now she wasn't sure anyone was at the door at all. She finally barked "What?" just at the instant of the first tap, and she turned toward the noise, as if that would help her see it.
"It's me, honey." Lydia. Trudy was sure she was blond, dyed blond. A nice size ten who probably wore size eight and thought it made her look thinner. "There's someone to see you."
Trudy's heart twitched, hot, like she'd grabbed a power cord with a short in it. "Who?"
A man's voice answered. "Gertrude, I'm Adam; I'll be your case worker." The voice made her think of a creek, low and calm and a little burbly; a warm smile in that voice. She didn't like him.
She held out her right hand. "Put 'er there, Adam."
He shook her hand briefly, one and a half pumps, firm but not clasping. "Good forced joviality. Very convincing, except for the sarcasm dripping like pancake syrup."
"Nice use of simile. You sure you're not an English teacher?"
The cushion of the chair across from her sighed as he sat down. "No, just a bad poet. If I was a good poet, I'd have come up with something less obvious, like... sarcasm dripping like..."
"Like blood from a ripped-out heart being squeezed by the fist of the killer."
"Mmm." It sounded suspiciously like an approval. "You must do great in English."
"I do great in everything. I'm a nerd."
"Yes, the ideal student, according to your school. Real renaissance woman."
"My mother must be so proud."
"You are just a font of sarcasm." His voice was quiet, but there was no pity, no virtual pat on the head. "Your mother wants to come visit you, you know."
"Isn't that nice."
"Yeah, I thought you'd be dying to see her."
"I'm dying to see anything."
"Mmm. Touché. So, is there anyone you do want to see? Other family?" She shook her head. "Friends?"
"I don't have friends."
"Of course not. Friends are for wimps."
"Now who's dripping with irony?"
"Like an ice cream cone in August."
"Like a three-year-old's nose."
"Ohh." He said it with a mixture of admiration and repulsion. Then there was silence, except for his shifting chair cushion. "In case there's any doubt, you're mother is not, in fact, allowed to see you, not until the court date."
"Which is when?"
"Next Thursday, assuming your doctor discharges you by then. In court, you'll be on the opposite side of the room as your mother, at a table with me and your lawyer."
"Jesus, I'm not afraid of her doing something in court."
"No, she's not stupid."
"I wish she would pull something in public. But no, she'll be all sweetness and light and tears and crap, and..." Her throat closed, and she shook her head and pushed a huff of air out.
"Well, that crap doesn't fly far in front of a judge who's seen it a couple of thousand times."
"We'll see."
"So to speak?"
She pursed back a smile. "That's pretty cold."
"I'm learning from a master."
"Touché."