Thirty Three Days Chapter 3

30 Days

My clock was still running askew but I had held sleep off until almost nine the night before. I slept through until around six; midway through Phil’s morning ritual. I don’t know how he did it, got things done in the morning, always had and probably always will. I guess that was the difference between us two, Phil was a morning person; I wasn’t.

I rolled back over trying to pinch a little more sleep when my Phone crooned and Coach Smiths name appeared on the screen.
“Rocky, Paul Smith here.” I had experienced Coach Smith’s professional veneer for six years now. I’d also seen it only once or twice break down, his temper slept like a midwinter grizzly.
“Yeah Morning coach.”
“Did I wake you Rocky? We can talk later.”
“No its fine, I heard you’re running try outs this season?”
“Yeah that’s right Rocky. Not my idea though. I’m handing over the reins, the club has outsourced a new coach. I’ve been offered a minor position coaching with the ‘Leaves so I will be leaving before the preseason. The try outs are for the benefit of the new coach he wants to see what talent he has to draw from and also give some of the younger players a chance to make the senior team.”
“That’s fine coach, I guess I better get down to the ice to shape up. When is the try out?”
“It’s a week from Monday so you only have about ten days. No one’s expecting anyone to be fully fit. We will sort that out in Training camp.”
“Yeah not a problem Coach I will see you there.”
“Alright I’ll let you get back to sleep Rocky.” I already could feel something welling up in my stomach; It wasn’t about the tryouts but just to get back onto the ice and the season ahead. I smiled. Something took over when I stepped out there. I ruled the team, made the plays; it was my creative output.

I showered, ate breakfast, then sat on the sofa and pressed my palm into my forehead. I had something to do, I didn’t want to do it but Phil wanted me to so I had no choice. Ah well better face the music. I opened my laptop and the screen instantly lit up. I plugged my head set in and let the mouse idly wonder over my father’s contact before finally I clicked.

I steadied my breathing. Skype rung, once, twice. I reviewed my image in the video feed as the phone continued to ring. There was no answer so I decided to try the land line. This time I dialled from my mobile, the home number he had made me recite over and again at age 5, was still etched somewhere in the depths of my psyche.

“Hello… hell-” The recognisable tone of the answer machine cut me short. Oh well can’t say I didn’t try. Off the hook, I decided I had better get back to Kate.

I reread her message and again felt a sharp guilt. Why does she bring this up again? I started tapping the keys at first a little gingerly.



I sent the message and sat for a moment. I quickly reread it, then again. My gut fell through the floor. My eyes squeezed tightly closed. Every time I reread it, a little more weight fell down my chest into my gut. I was honest; I was too honest. I hoped this ended it, I hoped this was the last I heard of it and we went back to normal. I went out for a stroll; I had to clear my head.

I got back as the streetlights flashed on and the afternoon traffic-horns blared. As I went to slip the key card in I could hear something on the other side. I urgently ripped the key card and pushed through the door.

“Hello… hello?” The video flashed on and lagged one frame a few seconds of an old man. I could hear his voice but he was frozen. His white hair was combed back, his trade mark thick dark moustache was neatly combed and parted at the middle.
“ Dad?”
“Son,” He pulled a handkerchief up to his mouth, let out a few wet chesty hoops. “This damn cough will be the end of me.” He deposited his handkerchief in his sleeve and ran his fingers from his forehead over his crown.
“Le’me get a look at you boy,” he studied the screen, “You got the lights on I can barely see you?”
“Yeah I’ll turn them on.”
When I sat back down he was scowling at the screen.
“That’s better, gee you’ve got some colour boy, you look like one o’dem Hispanics.” I couldn’t help it, I let out a smile.
“That’s what Phil said. How are you Dad?”
“I’m good. Where did you disappear? Phillip said you were down ‘ere in the pacific?”
“Yeah I travelled through Asia with Kate, remember Kate from grade school?”
“Yeah sure, Tom Little’s daughter, they’re still in that cottage on Sunnex Road. I play golf with Tom, good man. So what are you going to do now?” I knew where this was heading. It seemed normal, friendly almost, but Dad was dad and I didn’t want to get sucked in.

“I’m going back to work, Dad,” I paused waiting for a response but all I received was a grimace, “for Bob.”
He sighed almost as though he forgot his webcam was on. He subtly shook his head from side to side – but then Dad was smarter than that, he knew what he was doing.

“And what about your hockey? You going to play another season?” Dad seemed to acknowledge I was bothered so he humoured me with hockey talk.
“Yeah I’m playing for the Huskies season starts September.”
“And you’re going back to work, lifting peoples shit in and out of a truck? You’ll wreck your back again,” Fangs exposed for a moment before he swallowed his snarl and forced a smile. “I’m just saying son it’s not too late to look at other options” There it was, smug bastard.

“I’m not lifting peoples shit, I’m driving trucks,” I had nothing left to say, but I pushed on nonetheless,
“How’s the practice father?”
“It’s going well son, it’s well” this was the furthest we had got in a while. Once his tongue would lash like the tail of a frenzied python but now his false grace was finely tuned, temper stifled. He grinned as he spoke and his skin stretched over his gaunt cheek bones and tightened as though he was physically biting down to keep his tongue in check.
“ So when are you going to come out to visit? Bring your brother with you to. Or are you going to make your old man come all the way into the city?”
“ I’ll talk to Phil about it and we will find a time.” I didn’t mind sounding cold. I wanted to get at him.
“Nice to hear from you son.”
“Good bye.”

We didn’t pretend to get on. I hated him but I couldn’t; I didn’t want to. I found something in everyone but his smug little comments, his disapproval of my every turn. She didn’t have anything to do with it. I still sat staring at the screen. My mind trolled over the conversation. I laid back and stretched my arms, crossed my fingers behind my head and heaved out a deep sigh. My conscience drifted somewhere between Kate and Dad and work and hockey. I thought about the email, and then Dad’s grin, then about something Phil had said. Something I had carried despite how far off the mark he was it still stuck with me.

In his most serious mood, Phil had once declared his theory on the rift. The night I moved out I was seventeen and he was twenty-three and proudly wore the cologne of arrogance that came with six years in college – thankfully, the scent has since faded. It was disgusting how proud Dad was of him that night; like a pooch with a sappy grin proudly eying the biggest bone he ever found. Phil had followed me from the dinner table after a particularly vicious argument. I was in my room, packing, with each winding snatch, I fisted handfuls of clothes into my suitcase. He offered to take me in. He had ‘a study’ in the apartment he had just put down a deposit for. I hugged him, he came awkwardly with his arms still by his side but I gripped him and we talked. Eventually the explanation, as though an economics degree qualified him as a psychologist. He placed the origin off the rift to an event early in our lives. Not her, some people happened to share blood, we don’t need to be close, not her-

My thoughts crashed to a halt as Phil marched in. He dropped his keys on the bench and pulled a Bud light from the fridge. He sat on the couch beside me and swallowed a gob full of beer. Eyeing my laptop with the receipt of the afternoons call he smiled. He hadn’t asked how it went he just sat with a silly smile.
“Good to hear Rocky, that’s progress.”
“He wants to see us for dinner.”
Phil’s eyes suddenly grew wide, feigning shock. “Are you sure you called the right Steve Buchannan? The old man wants to host us out there?”

When I sat back down he was scowling at the screen.

Yup, I couldn't continue reading from there onwards. Your writing is very smooth and clear. the grammar and writing style is well done and all but it's a bit boring for some reason you don't sound very either into your story or in any way excited about it. You describe feelings very well but not the physical surrounding. And you should to help your reader visualize things better. hope this review hepls.

I will extract what I can from your comment. However, I must remind you that this isn't a standalone piece. If you read something that ends in 'chapter 5' or so on, you can fairly assume it belongs to a greater body of work. So if I don't cater for readers who haven't cared to read any of the other chapters, its not because I don't care about my story, it's because I can't rewrite the setting, characters and past plot into each chapter from scratch, that would be a boring story, in my opinion. When you critique, if you are unwilling to commit to the entire story, which is understandable, at least have the courtesy to still scour over the entire work for errors, with the intention of providing feedback to the author.

At least strive to find away your words can be beneficial to the author, I know you bored of it, but I would bore of almost any story I started at chapter 3 or 4. So I'm not sure if I have a boring story or not, because you really haven't given me anything, other than what I would call a typical reception to starting a story mid way through.

I don't mean to be harsh, don't get me wrong. I appreciate all feedback, it just doesn't appear to bear any relevance.
Anyway now I am just critiquing your critique, which is a little backwards. Thanks in any case.

Why hello there, I guess if I'm here that means it's time for another review

My clock was still running askew [This is a strange choice of wording. Your MC doesn't seem the type of person to use askew. He's too casual and not really outwardly bright in that until now his language has always been very straight forward and even in this same paragraph he's using idioms and a bit of slang.] but I had held sleep off until almost nine the night before. I slept through until around six; midway through Phil’s morning ritual. I don’t know how he did it, got things done in the morning, always had and probably always will. I guess that was the difference between us two, Phil was a morning person; I wasn’t.

I rolled back over trying to pinch a little more sleep when my Phone crooned and Coach Smith's name appeared on the screen.

“Rocky, Paul Smith here.” I had experienced Coach Smith’s professional veneer for six years now. I’d also seen it only once or twice break down, [Needs to be a dash or semi colon.] his temper slept like a midwinter grizzly.

“Yeah Morning [Why is this capitalised?] coach.”

I showered, ate breakfast, then sat on the sofa and pressed my palm into my forehead. I had something to do, I didn’t want to do it but Phil wanted me to so I had no choice. Ah well better face the music. I opened my laptop and the screen instantly lit up. I plugged my head set in and let the mouse idly wonder wander over my father’s contact before finally I clicked.

Grammar

I didn't pick it out all the time but in that skype convo especially there's a lot of missed apostrophes and full stops. You really need to give this a thorough read through. It's just typos and stuff like to instead of too but it can make all the difference as it's off putting to read a manuscript filled with mistakes.

General

I didn't really like this chapter to be honest. The beginning was slow going, then it picked up a little when you got to the dialogue but it dropped again at the end. There's a nice little intrigue about this 'her' which I'm presuming is the absent mother figure. You need to introduce it more smoothly though. At the beginning I was really confused and thought it was a typo or that he somehow meant Kate. You need to slot it in a little more carefully and give it some full attention instead of brushing over it so quickly. If it's important, you need to treat it that way.

Like I said though, not your best chapter. There's not enough going on. I know it's just his life and stuff but there needs to be more excitement or you need to make these events seem more interesting. Part of the problem is that I don't care what happens to your MC. There's no bond with him. I should really care that this guy will be dead in 30 days. I should feel like it's an awful shame that his life will be missing from the world. But I don't. He's just a guy and not a particularly great one at that.

So work on making Rocky a bit more likeable and exciting. Give him an actual name for one thing. Rocky just isn't personal enough, not on its own. We need to know who he really is too.

Hopefully this will help a little!

Heather xxx