Storm at the door

This story is based on a poem by Raymond Carver called 'Stupid'. I have written the story from the point of view of a friend of the protagonist from 'Stupid'.

It was evening. My TV was going about its usual business and I was too lazy to go about mine. I lay sideways on my broken sofa, with the material slowly branding my cheek as one that belonged to a procrastinator. My eyes took in bits and pieces of the cooking program I was watching. Or was it a reality show?  Some cheap filler the broadcasters were feeding to the unemployed, the intoxicated and the people too lazy to find the remote, or get up. 

I was just fading out of consciousness when the telephone prodded me awake. I rolled off the sofa and collected it from the kitchen counter.

“Hello?” I croaked, sitting back on the sofa.

“Oh hey Ray, did I wake you?” It was Mullen, a guy I’d known since the start of college, my best friend and fellow unemployed writer with a useless degree. He lived five minutes down the road from me and we’d often meet up to share work and hang out.

“Yeah just a little bit, it’s cool though. So what’s up?”

“Oh y’know just seeing how you are” 

“Oh right. Well uh, yeah I’m fine.” I said, “and you?”

“Yeah, yeah I’m OK”. M's voice was shaky and his speech seemed hurried. A short silence followed in which I debated asking him if he was really OK. “Man this storm’s heavy”, he said. Storm? I looked outside. The sky seemed too indifferent to be blue or grey, but instead settled on an unbroken mass of white cloud. Certainly nothing that could be described as a storm, or a “heavy” one at that.

“What do you mean “storm”?

“Oh, never mind” he said in the same hurried tone. “So how’s the writing going? Any ideas?” I paused for a second.

“Oh y’know, lots of ideas, none of ‘em really worth doing anything about."

“Yeah I know what you mean,” He snapped, it sounded like he shocked himself with the speed of his reply, but he quickly continued “I was thinking earlier about writing a children’s story, or maybe like, an adventure novel, or something. Maybe a play for two female characters. I mean most of my characters are male. Maybe I could make one of them blind! Can you imagine writing from the point of view of a blind woman?” His voice had become a babble, as if he was frantically trying to prevent the inevitable silence which left unfed, would create a vacuum and suck out an explanation as to why he really called me.

“Josh! What’s up with you?”

“Woah! Wouldn’t that be weird?” He continued jabbering as if I hadn’t said a word. “Must be the Weed talking. I always get these weird ideas when…”

“Josh!” I said, stopping him mid-sentence. “What’s wrong?” There was a silence. A long silence. A silence which occasionally framed the spectre of some semi-automatic respiration from Josh’s end of the phone line.

“Yeah…Yeah I’m not doing too good. I’m really not that stable financially at the moment and my family need money again and I can’t really say no, can I? I mean. They’re family.” He stopped, sighed and paused for a second. “I wish this f*****g storm would stop, it’s way too heavy now.”

I was Stunned. Josh’s revelation had vaporized any decent advice I had to offer. I knew that he sometimes sent money to his mother and father; I also knew that they were both raging alcoholics, but I always thought he did it out of charity, not duty. The best I could do was, “Josh come on man. It’s not that bad”.

“Yeah it is. I’ve been chasing this stupid dream for six years now and where has it got me? I can’t even support my folks. They’re ill Ray! And because of my delusions I can’t help them. What kind of son does that make me? You’ve gotta look after your family Ray.” I could hear his voice cracking as he spoke. He paused again. More sporadic breaths. “You know Ray. My uncle Bo stayed married to my aunt Ruby for forty-seven years. Forty seven! Then he hung himself. I used to hate him for abandoning her, but now I think I see his point of view.” 

“Josh! Don’t do anything stupid alright”

“Stupid!? I’ve already done something stupid. I’ve let a fantasy get in the way of real life and I’m not going to stay around to watch it drag my family down.”

“What the f**k does that mean!?” 

“This storm has to end Ray! It’ll be quick, an extension lead, an old radio and the bath tub.” I felt sick, rattled by the quickly mutating situation.

“Josh! Don’t f*****g do this man! Cos if you do, your abandoning your parents! Don’t abandon your parents Josh! They don’t need your money. They don’t OK... They need you. Anyway. Your parents are adults. They have been much longer than you have. They need to learn to stand on their own two feet and you’re not helping them do that by sending them all that money. So let’s just take a step back and think about this clearly.” Silence again. Had he done it? Had my voice just been a soundtrack to some savage mistake?

“Yeah. Yeah that’s true I guess” Oh thank god, I thought.

After a few hours of amateur psychotherapy, he'd cooled down and the surreal sense of danger had shrunk to nothing, but there was still one thing I didn't understand.“Hey Josh?”

“Yeah”

“What was all that about a storm?”

“Oh that. Nevermind, I think it’s stopping”