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"The Purple Sweats" by sksmith

Life is mundane, slipping away in a predictable marriage for forty-something Maggie Leinert. She knows she should be grateful for what she has, but could a voice from the past promise more?

Category: Short Story

Tags: Mainstream fiction, short story

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sk-smith@roadrunner.com

The Purple Sweats

S. K. Smith 01/06

1725 Words

I saw them in the drawer this morning, those forgiving old purple sweats, way too big now. I was wearing them that day when the first call came, nearly a year ago.

“Is this Maggie Pearson?” a dimly familiar male voice asked.

“Used to be,” I answered curiously, sort of knowing this had to be someone who knew me before I got married. “It’s Maggie Leinert now. Who is this?”

“I guess you could say I’m a voice from your past, like about thirty-five years. It’s Lyle Wencrest, just callin’ to say hi. Are you still the prettiest girl in the county?”

My mind raced. I hadn’t thought about Lyle in years. He was my first love and boy were we hot in high school.  When he enlisted in the army with a lot of promises for the future, I was devastated. “The army’ll give me an education, that’s the only way I’ll ever get it,” he said. “We’ll stay true, Maggie. It’s only for a while.” Gradually the letters dwindled off, until the last one, which told me as kindly as he could that there was someone else. It took me a year to get over it.

“Lyle Wencrest! Why, for heaven’s sake!” I felt the blood rush to my face as I ran my hand through my uncombed “morning-hair”. “How did you get my number?”

“Oh, I knew that you’d married Harve and I just took a chance at finding the right Harvey Leinert. It’s not the most common name. You guys never left St. Louis, huh? How long you been married?”

“Twenty-six years. What about you? Are you married? Where do you live?

“I was, but my wife died.”

That caught me off-guard. “Oh, I’m sorry,” I said softly, forgetting the last part of my question.

“I’ve had some friends since then, but I’m just an old bachelor for good, I guess. ‘Course, business keeps me totally busy. I travel all over the world for my company. Just got back from Hong Kong and leaving for London in a week or so.”

“Sounds important and glamorous.”

“It’s interesting, and the perks are nice. What’s Harve doin’ these days?”

“He manages a branch office for AT&T. We live about a half hour out of the city,” I said, trying to make Harve sound as important as I could, sized up against Lyle’s cosmopolitan job.

“You mind if I call you once in a while, just to chat about the old days? Maybe I can say hi to Harve sometime. When’s he home?” Lyle asked.

“Evenings and most weekends,” I answered. Harve had graduated a couple of years ahead of us.

“Well, it’s nice talkin’ to you, Maggie. “I’ve got a meeting; gotta run.”

I heard people talking in the background and imagined he was in a busy office.

“Bye Lyle. It’s nice to hear from you and I’m glad you’re doing so well.”

I don’t know why, but the call both excited and disturbed me. Sure, life had grown predictable with Harve. Steady, that’s my Harve. When I think of all those little league games he coached….. He’s the kind of guy who’ll give his company fifty years in return for security for his family. Why should it suddenly sound mundane that we live in suburbia and have a 401K we feed regularly for our retirement and look forward to bowling league on Friday nights?

What an odd thing, I thought, him calling me after all these years. But still, it lifted my day somehow. In the shower I had curious thoughts of what might have been if I’d married Lyle instead of Harve, how much more exciting his lifestyle seemed. Prettiest girl in the county! Ha!

Another call came several weeks later, on a weekday, and caught me at home alone.

“You didn’t tell me about your family,” he said. “You must have kids.”

“A daughter, Tammy, and a son, Harry. Tammy has great husband and a wonderful little boy, Sam, four years old. In fact, I’m mailing his birthday present today!” I heard him muffle the handset as he said something to someone, apparently nearby. “I told Harve you called. He was as surprised as I was. I’m sure if he were here he’d give you his best.” Am I disarming or justifying? I don’t know which.

He asked more questions each time he called and I found myself giving him bits of history of the last thirty years, things I hadn’t even thought about. His family had moved away years ago. I told him about the old neighborhood, about my mom, Bonnie, and my dad, Ed, who still lived there, and others we went to school with.

“I have to run now,” he said. Got to catch a plane. I really enjoy talking to you, Maggie.”

So that’s what the background noise was; he was in an airport. I wonder if I’ll see Lyle at some point, if he might stop through here for a visit. St. Louis is kind of a ‘hub’.

I dug out the old yearbook and looked up our high school pictures. He was a handsome kid, dark hair and flashing brown eyes, a little on the wild side. I wondered how he might look now… Of course his hair would be short. Would he be clean-shaven or wear a mustache? I imagined him to have distinguished-looking gray at the temples, or maybe silver throughout a full head of hair. It made me feel good that Lyle was interested in me. I decided not to mention the call to Harve. After all, I can’t help who calls. I don’t even have his phone number or know where he lives.

The next call came in another month, again when Harve was at work. I was ready to leave for a haircut appointment. What the heck, so I’ll be a few minutes late…..

It was the usual, talking mostly about my life, which I thought sounded embarrassingly plain. “Where to you call home base?” I asked.

“San Francisco,” he said, “but I don’t spend a lot of time here. I am looking forward to my next trip, though. I’ll be going to Hawaii and I’m gonna try to extend an extra three days just to enjoy the islands.”

“When I hear you say these things, it makes me feel like my life is really dull,” I commented.

“Oh, it’s not all that wonderful when you’re alone,” he answered.

When I looked into the mirror after that call, front and profile, I resolved to lose twenty pounds and quit wearing these baggy purple sweats around the house. At the beauty shop that day I got my hair dyed back to its natural light brown.

“Your hair looks great,” Harve said. “What made you decide to do that?”

“Just needed a change. Do you think it makes me look younger?” I asked.

Harve raised his eyebrows. “Well…. Yes, but I thought your hair was pretty the way it was. What do you s’pose we can we do about this?” he laughed, brushing his hand across his balding head.

I joined a spa in April, started working out and walking three or four times a week. No more fast foods for me! I tucked the purple sweats in the bottom of the dresser drawer and bought new workout clothes. Over the summer and fall, my secret world of fancy grew. I told no one about Lyle, but fantasized about an exciting life with this adventurous man, being in beautiful places, eating exotic foods, walking on sunny beaches, tanning our svelte bodies in the islands of Tahiti and Bora Bora. I imagined his home in San Francisco as an elaborate condo overlooking the bay and Golden Gate Bridge. I wondered what kind of a lover he might be. I no longer had depressing days. When I did feel down, I would just retreat into my forbidden dreams.

And so the calls went on, always about 4 or 5 weeks apart, and sometimes Lyle would call from Paris or other exotic cities. Once, in August, he called from Alaska and described the natural beauty of it. “I wish you could see this, Maggie.”

I wished so too. I had lost sixteen pounds and treated myself to new clothes.

Another time I asked him, “Did you marry the girl you left me for?”

“Yes, but we were young. It was never good, you know what I mean, being in the service and all? Later, I wished I’d done things differently. I just wanted you to know that.

I blushed, not knowing how to answer that. “What about the war? Did that have anything to do with things?”

“Nam messed me up, Maggie. It’s something I never talk about with anyone.”

No call came in November and I was disappointed, even wishing I had Lyle’s phone number.

One Sunday morning in early December as the cold, dark sky hung like gray fog over the trees, Harve was in the family room adjacent to the kitchen having his third cup of coffee in his easy chair by a warm fire, reading the Sunday paper…. Same, same, same-old. I was doing the dishes in the kitchen, dressed in a new, size small, navy-blue velour jogging suit, the smell of Harve’s pancakes and sausage still in the air.

“Hey Mag,” he called from the open space of the family room. “You’ll be surprised at this. It’s just a small article on the inside page. Who’d a thunk it? The caption reads….

Inmate killed at San Quentin, Investigation Scheduled.

Lyle Richard Wencrest, 47, sentenced in 1975 to life imprisonment without parole, was found stabbed to death in the exercise yard of San Quentin State Prison near San Francisco last Friday. Wencrest, a dishonorably discharged Vietnam veteran, was convicted on circumstantial evidence of second-degree murder of his wife and 3-year-old daughter. The bodies of the two victims were never found. “Wencrest always maintained his innocence,” stated Warden Frank Buscott, “but was often punished for violent behavior and was in ongoing treatment for bipolar disorder.”

“Good God! When he called here that time, he must have been calling from prison. Sure lucky we didn’t hear from him again.”

“What?” I said, incredulously, as Harve’s soapy breakfast plate slipped from my hand and shattered in the sink.

The end


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Category Name: My Thoughts

I did not enjoy this story. I am not even sure what problem the protagonist faced. This story was okay. The story would have been better if the author had introduced the problem differently and made it feel more pressing. I really enjoyed this story. The author did a good job pulling me into the story by introducing an immediate and important problem for the protagonist.

This section is for overall comments and general ideas. The score should reflect how much you enjoyed the story.

Category Name: Character Development

The characters were not dynamic, credible, interesting, memorable or unique. I don’t care about or understand the characters because they were poorly developed. The characters were somewhat dynamic, credible, interesting, memorable and unique. I partially understood the thoughts, feelings, and actions of the characters. I somewhat connected with and care about the characters. The characters were very dynamic, credible, interesting, memorable and unique. I thoroughly understood their thoughts, feelings and actions. I felt connected with and cared about the characters.

This is act of bringing a character to life on the page. It is a combination of the author’s description of the character and the character’s dialog, action, and thoughts. Though all characters should be believable, the protagonist and antagonist are usually the most developed characters.

Category Name: Plot

I finished reading the story so the plot must have unfolded, but I am not sure what the plot was. The characters did not achieve or grow by solving the problems they faced in this story. There were definite wrinkles in the way the plot unfolded leading to the final conflict. The plot was loosely tied to the achievement and growth of the characters. The way the protagonist overcame some of the problems flowed unnaturally with the story. I could see the plot unfolding through a series of escalating problems that lead to the final conflict. The plot helped me understand the achievements and growth of the characters. The way the protagonist overcame the problems flowed naturally with the st

In fiction a plot is all the events in a story, particularly rendered towards the achievement of some particular artistic or emotional effect. In other words it's what mostly happened in the story. The plot draws the reader into the character's lives and helps the reader understand the choices that the characters make.

Category Name: Dialog

The dialog seemed like cold words on paper. I had a hard time following it. I didn’t learn very much about the characters through the dialog. Through the dialog I could sometimes see the characters learn and grow while occasionally discovering new facets of their personalities. The dialog was generally consistent with the character. Through the dialog I could see the characters learn and grow while simultaneously discovering new facets of their personalities. The dialog was true to the character and it helped me understand the characters emotions.

Category Name: Setting

The setting created a haze in my mind that detracted from the story. I am lost in time and space because I don’t know when or where this story takes place. The setting was described adequately, but not well enough to bring it to life in my mind. The setting did not add to or detract from the story. I am pretty sure I know when and where the story takes place. The author engaged all of my senses while vividly describing the setting. The setting helped me better understand the setting and plot. I know when and where this story takes place.

The setting is where a story takes place. The choice of setting and its description helps the story come alive in the mind of the reader. Appropriate setting contributes to the plot and mood of the story.

Category Name: Mechanics

The story contained so many mechanical errors that it was hard to follow the plot or understand certain sentences or paragraphs. Occasional mechanical errors were distracting, but these errors did not inhibit me from being able to understand the plot or connect with characters in the story. I rarely if ever noticed mechanical errors. As far as I could tell, the writing was clear and correct.

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1. sk-smith@roadrunner.com

2. The Purple Sweats

3. S. K. Smith 01/06

4. 1725 Words

5. I saw them in the drawer this morning, those forgiving old purple sweats, way too big now. I was wearing them that day when the first call came, nearly a year ago.

6. “Is this Maggie Pearson?” a dimly familiar male voice asked.

7. “Used to be,” I answered curiously, sort of knowing this had to be someone who knew me before I got married. “It’s Maggie Leinert now. Who is this?”

8. “I guess you could say I’m a voice from your past, like about thirty-five years. It’s Lyle Wencrest, just callin’ to say hi. Are you still the prettiest girl in the county?”

9. My mind raced. I hadn’t thought about Lyle in years. He was my first love and boy were we hot in high school.  When he enlisted in the army with a lot of promises for the future, I was devastated. “The army’ll give me an education, that’s the only way I’ll ever get it,” he said. “We’ll stay true, Maggie. It’s only for a while.” Gradually the letters dwindled off, until the last one, which told me as kindly as he could that there was someone else. It took me a year to get over it.

10. “Lyle Wencrest! Why, for heaven’s sake!” I felt the blood rush to my face as I ran my hand through my uncombed “morning-hair”. “How did you get my number?”

11. “Oh, I knew that you’d married Harve and I just took a chance at finding the right Harvey Leinert. It’s not the most common name. You guys never left St. Louis, huh? How long you been married?”

12. “Twenty-six years. What about you? Are you married? Where do you live?

13. “I was, but my wife died.”

14. That caught me off-guard. “Oh, I’m sorry,” I said softly, forgetting the last part of my question.

15. “I’ve had some friends since then, but I’m just an old bachelor for good, I guess. ‘Course, business keeps me totally busy. I travel all over the world for my company. Just got back from Hong Kong and leaving for London in a week or so.”

16. “Sounds important and glamorous.”

17. “It’s interesting, and the perks are nice. What’s Harve doin’ these days?”

18. “He manages a branch office for AT&T. We live about a half hour out of the city,” I said, trying to make Harve sound as important as I could, sized up against Lyle’s cosmopolitan job.

19. “You mind if I call you once in a while, just to chat about the old days? Maybe I can say hi to Harve sometime. When’s he home?” Lyle asked.

20. “Evenings and most weekends,” I answered. Harve had graduated a couple of years ahead of us.

21. “Well, it’s nice talkin’ to you, Maggie. “I’ve got a meeting; gotta run.”

22. I heard people talking in the background and imagined he was in a busy office.

23. “Bye Lyle. It’s nice to hear from you and I’m glad you’re doing so well.”

24. I don’t know why, but the call both excited and disturbed me. Sure, life had grown predictable with Harve. Steady, that’s my Harve. When I think of all those little league games he coached….. He’s the kind of guy who’ll give his company fifty years in return for security for his family. Why should it suddenly sound mundane that we live in suburbia and have a 401K we feed regularly for our retirement and look forward to bowling league on Friday nights?

25. What an odd thing, I thought, him calling me after all these years. But still, it lifted my day somehow. In the shower I had curious thoughts of what might have been if I’d married Lyle instead of Harve, how much more exciting his lifestyle seemed. Prettiest girl in the county! Ha!

26. Another call came several weeks later, on a weekday, and caught me at home alone.

27. “You didn’t tell me about your family,” he said. “You must have kids.”

28. “A daughter, Tammy, and a son, Harry. Tammy has great husband and a wonderful little boy, Sam, four years old. In fact, I’m mailing his birthday present today!” I heard him muffle the handset as he said something to someone, apparently nearby. “I told Harve you called. He was as surprised as I was. I’m sure if he were here he’d give you his best.” Am I disarming or justifying? I don’t know which.

29. He asked more questions each time he called and I found myself giving him bits of history of the last thirty years, things I hadn’t even thought about. His family had moved away years ago. I told him about the old neighborhood, about my mom, Bonnie, and my dad, Ed, who still lived there, and others we went to school with.

30. “I have to run now,” he said. Got to catch a plane. I really enjoy talking to you, Maggie.”

31. So that’s what the background noise was; he was in an airport. I wonder if I’ll see Lyle at some point, if he might stop through here for a visit. St. Louis is kind of a ‘hub’.

32. I dug out the old yearbook and looked up our high school pictures. He was a handsome kid, dark hair and flashing brown eyes, a little on the wild side. I wondered how he might look now… Of course his hair would be short. Would he be clean-shaven or wear a mustache? I imagined him to have distinguished-looking gray at the temples, or maybe silver throughout a full head of hair. It made me feel good that Lyle was interested in me. I decided not to mention the call to Harve. After all, I can’t help who calls. I don’t even have his phone number or know where he lives.

33. The next call came in another month, again when Harve was at work. I was ready to leave for a haircut appointment. What the heck, so I’ll be a few minutes late…..

34. It was the usual, talking mostly about my life, which I thought sounded embarrassingly plain. “Where to you call home base?” I asked.

35. “San Francisco,” he said, “but I don’t spend a lot of time here. I am looking forward to my next trip, though. I’ll be going to Hawaii and I’m gonna try to extend an extra three days just to enjoy the islands.”

36. “When I hear you say these things, it makes me feel like my life is really dull,” I commented.

37. “Oh, it’s not all that wonderful when you’re alone,” he answered.

38. When I looked into the mirror after that call, front and profile, I resolved to lose twenty pounds and quit wearing these baggy purple sweats around the house. At the beauty shop that day I got my hair dyed back to its natural light brown.

39. “Your hair looks great,” Harve said. “What made you decide to do that?”

40. “Just needed a change. Do you think it makes me look younger?” I asked.

41. Harve raised his eyebrows. “Well…. Yes, but I thought your hair was pretty the way it was. What do you s’pose we can we do about this?” he laughed, brushing his hand across his balding head.

42. I joined a spa in April, started working out and walking three or four times a week. No more fast foods for me! I tucked the purple sweats in the bottom of the dresser drawer and bought new workout clothes. Over the summer and fall, my secret world of fancy grew. I told no one about Lyle, but fantasized about an exciting life with this adventurous man, being in beautiful places, eating exotic foods, walking on sunny beaches, tanning our svelte bodies in the islands of Tahiti and Bora Bora. I imagined his home in San Francisco as an elaborate condo overlooking the bay and Golden Gate Bridge. I wondered what kind of a lover he might be. I no longer had depressing days. When I did feel down, I would just retreat into my forbidden dreams.

43. And so the calls went on, always about 4 or 5 weeks apart, and sometimes Lyle would call from Paris or other exotic cities. Once, in August, he called from Alaska and described the natural beauty of it. “I wish you could see this, Maggie.”

44. I wished so too. I had lost sixteen pounds and treated myself to new clothes.

45. Another time I asked him, “Did you marry the girl you left me for?”

46. “Yes, but we were young. It was never good, you know what I mean, being in the service and all? Later, I wished I’d done things differently. I just wanted you to know that.

47. I blushed, not knowing how to answer that. “What about the war? Did that have anything to do with things?”

48. “Nam messed me up, Maggie. It’s something I never talk about with anyone.”

49. No call came in November and I was disappointed, even wishing I had Lyle’s phone number.

50. One Sunday morning in early December as the cold, dark sky hung like gray fog over the trees, Harve was in the family room adjacent to the kitchen having his third cup of coffee in his easy chair by a warm fire, reading the Sunday paper…. Same, same, same-old. I was doing the dishes in the kitchen, dressed in a new, size small, navy-blue velour jogging suit, the smell of Harve’s pancakes and sausage still in the air.

51. “Hey Mag,” he called from the open space of the family room. “You’ll be surprised at this. It’s just a small article on the inside page. Who’d a thunk it? The caption reads….

52. Inmate killed at San Quentin, Investigation Scheduled.

53. Lyle Richard Wencrest, 47, sentenced in 1975 to life imprisonment without parole, was found stabbed to death in the exercise yard of San Quentin State Prison near San Francisco last Friday. Wencrest, a dishonorably discharged Vietnam veteran, was convicted on circumstantial evidence of second-degree murder of his wife and 3-year-old daughter. The bodies of the two victims were never found. “Wencrest always maintained his innocence,” stated Warden Frank Buscott, “but was often punished for violent behavior and was in ongoing treatment for bipolar disorder.”

54. “Good God! When he called here that time, he must have been calling from prison. Sure lucky we didn’t hear from him again.”

55. “What?” I said, incredulously, as Harve’s soapy breakfast plate slipped from my hand and shattered in the sink.

56. The end

57.

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