Herself, Alone
 

Herself, Alone

Greggie will turn six soon, but she would never send him to school. She knew of no school built for a child so small he could snuggle in the crease of her elbow. It'd have to be a tiny school, she thought, one where even the words are small.

Her name was Maybe and whenever she thought of herself, someone else was always there. Once she thought she caught a flash of herself standing behind strands of barbwire in a muddy barnyard, wearing rubber boots so tall the tops brushed her knees, but before the image fully gathered itself together an old man on an old tractor emerged and it was dry summer and the barnyard was gone. Behind her, a cotton field bloomed and she could smell the honeysuckle and she was not alone.

Greggie's eyes were bright as diamond flecks and sometimes on the hot, river-sweaty nights, she'd let him sleep on the window sill in her room. His eyes would turn into pins of blue in the half-dark when the moon was full and the light came through the screen. She'd watch them until he fell asleep and wonder if Greggie was tiny because he knew her imagination would not do what she wanted it to. If he'd decided that if he stayed tiny, it would be as though he wasn't there. Then she'd wonder if in his imagination he wanted to see himself big but could only see himself small.

Greggie had grown a few inches since he was born, but rabbits and squirrels and even smaller birds like cardinals and crows still posed a threat. She had to be on guard when they went outside. On the first day of school after the bus had gone by she placed Greggie in the old music box she had removed the lid from, and they went down to stand by the broad river. She loved the river and Greggie did, too. He sat tall in his box and clasped his hands together as they stood on the bank and breathed in the rich air. Far out over the water three pelicans soared. A double-crested cormorant she would have to keep her eye on perched on a water stump downstream. So many things at the river could be a danger to Greggie without her there to protect him, and at that moment the joy of being his mother quaked through her. What did it matter if her imagination was not hers alone when she had moments like these? There was nothing more powerful than being needed, and for now on she would welcome her visitors and try to make them feel at home. The realization gave her such deep relief she smiled down at Greggie and lifted the velvet-lined box to whisper she loved him, but before she could speak he touched her ear and said, “Go ahead, mother, pretend I'm not here.”

Hi John,
it needs polishing (I've underlined a few 'egregious' repetitions) but it's an intriguing read. For me Greggie is/was either a still-born or a miscarriage (and Maybe was young enough to still be in school when 'it' - and I'm thinking trauma - happened. Possibly that's the 'flash' in P2)

Greggie will turn six soon, but she would never send him to school. She knew of no school built for a child so small he could snuggle in the crease of her elbow. It'd have to be a tiny school, she thought, one where even the words are small.
I think you could rework this to feature her 'voice' a bit more and end with the revelation as to his size (not sure what 'crease of her elbow' means though.)

Her name was Maybe and whenever she thought of herself, someone else was always there. Once she thought she caught a flash of herself standing behind strands of barbwire in a muddy barnyard, wearing rubber boots so tall the tops brushed her knees, but before the image fully gathered itself together an old man on an old tractor emerged and it was dry summer and the barnyard was gone. Behind her, a cotton field bloomed and she could smell the honeysuckle and she was not alone.
I wonder about either beginning with this (as it sets up the final line, and perhaps changing that 'Once' to 'Often'?)

Greggie's eyes were bright as diamond flecks and sometimes on the hot, river-sweaty nights, she'd let him sleep on the window sill in her room. His eyes would turn into pins of blue in the half-dark when the moon was full and the light came through the screen. She'd watch them until he fell asleep and wonder if Greggie was tiny because he knew her imagination would not do what she wanted it to. If he'd decided that if he stayed tiny, it would be as though he wasn't there. Then she'd wonder if in his imagination he wanted to see himself big but could only see himself small.
I really like 'river-sweaty nights' and consequently would prefer it if the water (the river) in the next paragraph was a creek or something to preserve the singular use of 'river'.

Greggie had grown a few inches since he was born,
Not really getting this, and if it isn't important, perhaps cut it? It does seem a bit redundant given P1
but rabbits and squirrels
Not seeing the threat here. Rabbits are herbivores and squirrels are timid (and she seems to always be with him when he's out.)
and even smaller birds like cardinals and crows still posed a threat. She had to be on guard when they went outside.
Why not start with 'She had to be on guard when' ?
On the first day of school after the bus had gone
I'm not following this given 'she would never send him to school'.
by she placed Greggie in the old music box she had removed the lid from, and they went down to stand by the broad river. She loved the river and Greggie did, too. He sat tall in his box and clasped his hands together as they stood on the bank and breathed in the rich air. Far out over the water three pelicans soared. A double-crested cormorant she would have to keep her eye on perched on a water stump downstream. So many things at the river could be a danger to Greggie
This seems to cover the opening lines about the rabbits and crows in that the concerns are the same.
without her there to protect him, and at that moment the joy of being his mother quaked through her. What did it matter if her imagination was not hers alone when she had moments like these? There was nothing more powerful than being needed, and for now on she would welcome her visitors and try to make them feel at home. The realization gave her such deep
Is there any way to write this without saying it so explicitly. It teeters on schmaltz, for me.
relief she smiled down at Greggie and lifted the velvet-lined box to whisper she loved him, but before she could speak he touched her ear and said, “Go ahead, mother, pretend I'm not here.”
The 'velvet-lined box (were music boxes velvet-lined?) seems very coffin like. Do you need the speech marks? And should mother be Mother?)


RG
.

Hi John,

I find lots to like here. I'm happy to suspend my disbelief and go with the story, and read this literally. A tiny child. Perhaps like Tom Thumb. And I like how the story takes this seriously. That said, given the title, with it's suggestion that she's alone, and the focus on her imagination, it's possible that the Greggie is only imagined. I also really liked the idea of her imagination not doing what she wanted it to, and the even more, the clarification that "her imagination was not hers alone", as if others were directing or influencing it.

Some thoughts:

but rabbits and squirrels and even smaller birds like cardinals and crows still posed a threat

I'm happy to suspend disbelief here and consider rabbits and squirrels a threat (Greggie might be taken for a nut, and carried off, I guess). However, it's hard to then see carnivorous birds as less of a threat than rabbits and squirrels, as this sentence implies with "even". Surely, they'd pose a greater threat?

I also wonder if there's a way to avoid the over-used "posed a threat" word combination. It just stuck out for me.


Far out over the water three pelicans soared. A double-crested cormorant she would have to keep her eye on perched on a water stump downstream. So many things at the river could be a danger to Greggie without her there to protect him.

Reading up to the word "cormorant" I'm already thinking that these birds are threats given what was said about the threat posed by "smaller birds" bit earlier. And the "So many things ..." sentence reiterates the threat. So, the bit I'm suggesting cutting just seems like overkill.


There was nothing more powerful than being needed, and for now on she would welcome her visitors and try to make them feel at home.

Not sure I really understand the logic of this. I guess it tells us that she hadn't previously welcomed visitors. But why not? Because of Greggie and the risk to him. Are visitors analogous to cormorants and crows: things she needs to keep an eye on, so that having visitors and the risk they pose would make her feel needed as a mother? Or was she ashamed of Greggie, but her feeling of love and power overpowers this? Or is this unrelated to Greggie, and the idea is that being a good host would make her make her feel needed by her visitors?

I wonder if there's scope for something earlier in the story that tells us that she keeps people away from him (or herself) and hints at why.


but before she could speak he touched her ear and said, “Go ahead, mother, pretend I'm not here.”

I guess the close resolves the issue of why he is small, in light of the two options the mother wonders about in the third paragraph. And what he says opposes/undermines her epiphany about being needed. Greggie doesn't seem to want to be the object of her concern. And perhaps in staying small he's protecting her, in the same way that she wants to protect him. But for some reason, I find something about it a little unsatisfactory. Maybe it a just feels a little abrupt?


best,

Matt

Thanks, Richard and Matt.

I realized there is confusion as to which animals and birds pose danger. That certainly needs clearing up as well as the other notes that I will use in revision.

I never have secret meanings or ideas of what is actually happening when I write. It's interesting that various readings can be made. Perhaps that is an indication something works. This is a story about a woman who has a tiny child and wishes she could be alone for a moment. That's all I know about it FWIW.

Thanks again for the help. Much valued.