Short story Lizzy Wright
interior monologue stream of consciousness perspective female point of view
Its a short story about the after-effects of travelling all around the world and at the end of that being hopelessly lost. The feeling of disorientation is told by a female personage Lizzy. she is lost in the world, confused, has been dumped by her lover Mister Yawn, as she is calling him. being dumped of course has upset her, not knowing what her destination in far future is. She is walking somewhere on a deserted highway in America.
The Great American author Ken Kalfus (Googke knows) read the story And he reacted with the following literary compliment.
‘It’s funny, it’s interesting. It took me a while, however, to understand that it was an interior monologue. As a miniature portrait of a troubled young woman, the story works. And for a Dutch author it is well told.’
Lizzy Wright and Mister Yawn
Look at the sky over there, just like in Africa! ‘Okay, let’s live it up,’ he said. ‘Let’s go to Tokyo, Brazil, California, New York, Moscow. No, forget Russia. Let’s do Europe, France, Italy, Spain, Amsterdam. Have you seen the real Van Goghs? Come on Liz, let’s go, right now, why not? Wherever you want to go, Liz. Do you like kangaroos? I’ve got friends in Australia. Listen Liz, anywhere in the world you know. I’ll go anywhere with you. Come on, Lizzy baby. Let’s go!’
“Yeah, why not, I said, not knowing what I was saying, not paying any attention to his yawning.”
Lizzy Wright is talking to herself as she walks along a lonely highway. She’s upset and confused, although she thinks she’s collected and together. She’s on the run.
“It’s time to get my own life back on the rails. God, I’ve got completely lost. Don’t ask the name of this place because I’m trying to forget it, you know, still trying to get out! Of course I regretted it from day one. How could I be that fucking stupid? You stupid little twit! What a mess!”
This self-criticism hurts, unexpectedly. Although not that badly, she does not easily break down and weep – she’s tough!
“‘You’re acting like you missed out on a party,’ he said. “Are you upset, Liz?’
“I had a lot of things on my mind at that time. He smiled in a real mean way, with no pleasure, had a mean glint in his normally blurry, empty eyes; it seemed he was making fun of me. When he smiled like that I knew problems were coming. Always when he smiled like that it was like he was getting even. Getting even with what exactly? Don’t ask me. I’m not a counselor. But he needs a shrink. That’s for sure. I told him. Get therapy! Get real. Work it out yourself. I’m leaving! For me, this is the end. Goodbye Mister Yawn. I’m sick of him, his tantrums, his stick, his faking, his lies, his secrets, his yawning, and all his bullshit! But, you know, things are never as black as they seem. So far I’m doing okay, I found a way out, I shook off all his bodyguards, his bloodhounds will never find me here! Taxi! Taxi!”
She waves to the cars, but the cars pass by without reducing speed, people inside the cars are not at all curious, as if she was invisible or worse: a piece of junk.
“He will be surprised not ever seeing me again, no way! Over my dead body! You see, I’m related to the Wright brothers!”
Lizzy is a distant relative of the famous Wright brothers: Wilbur and Orville, pioneers of American aviation, inventors of the world’s first aircraft. Beginning of the 20th century. Lizzy is very proud of her background.
“Flying is in my bones. You have underestimated me, Mister Yawn, you wanted to put salt on my tail, forget it! This bird is flying, baby, your cage is empty! Stick that up your nose. Tell that to your mob friends! How’s Lizzy? Lizzy is out! Yes, I’m out!”
Lizzy sings part of the Dylan song Jimmy Hendrix covered so brilliantly: “Let’s get out of here, said the joker to the thief, there’s too much confusion, I can’t get no relief.”
The night falls. Lizzy lights up a cigarette, she keeps on walking, walking clears her head, and she relaxes, but can’t stop the flow of memories.
“He took me to this hotel close to the zoo in Amsterdam. Name? Is the name of the hotel important?”
She’s angry, bites her lip.
“Who cares? If you like, hang on, the name of the hotel? Yeah, I remember: Pain in the Ass! Hotels, I’ve seen too many, I hate hotels. I hate living out of a suitcase. You know the story, oh well, forget it… What was I raving about? Amsterdam? Loved it. But you know, staying in hotels all the time got on my nerves, it feels like hiding from the real world, all the people in their rooms are like mice in their tiny holes. Taxi! Fuck! Taxi?”
She’s not shouting at the top of her voice any longer, she looks without any hope at the rear of the car, an old Chevy that disappears with two little mean red eyes behind a hill in the far outstretched landscape.
“Talking of mice. I once had a dream about a mouse, he was nice, he said hello, just said hello to me, like family, with his big hairy face and then disappeared in an underground tunnel. Wonder what that was all about. I’m getting hungry. The television was still on in the hotel room number triple zero seven where we stayed. He was in the room and said hello, yawning. My God! Mister Yawn. All day long he yawned! It was his very special yawning day! Usually people open their mouth to say something, he didn’t. Once we made love, I was on top of him, almost reached the climax, opened my eyes and you know what he was doing? He was yawning! My God, sex with a yawning man. Can you believe it? Great! If I had to tell him, listen, I have bad news: your mother is dead! Even then he would yawn!”
Lizzy observes the rural setting along the highway, which is depressing, not exactly an idyllic spot, more a spooky landscape, with dead white hair, but she’s relieved to be alone, finally.
“Yeah, I had to go out, get some country air. In the distance I saw a dromedary. Really! A dromedary. Amazing, when you need a ride, there’s nobody interested. Where there are dromedaries there are Arabs, I guess. But no! Nobody. They are all chickening out on me, afraid to pick up this lady, yeah, Jesus, sure I’m fucking dangerous. I could be a murderess, ready to kill. Better watch out! Yeah, I sure could be a murderess, specifically if I see Mister Yawn show up!”
Right at that moment she hears two gunshots in the distance.
“No need to use a silencer here. Is my beloved Mister Yawn coming? I’m not afraid. Is he pissed off like hell? Or will he beg on his knees for me to come back to him, will he first rape me here on the road and kidnap me or will he just shoot me? We’ll see. “I’m a comedian,” he said. Yeah, comedian my ass! A yawning comedian, don’t make me laugh. The girl who was blowing out cigarette smoke from her ass, that was funny. He was never really funny! He was trying to be funny, you know; if you want to be funny, don’t try to be funny, you know? That’s so embarrassing. Just be funny, but don’t fake it. Only fools fake. Taxi! Taxi!”
By now Lizzy is ready for an elastic arrangement with any driver. A few cars are passing; one driver blows his horn but doesn’t stop.
“Get fucked you, you country prick! Chicken shit! Will somebody tell me why nobody stops? I don’t know. What do I know? He was an art dealer too, he said, was walking with a stick when I joined up with him in Venice. I leaned forward for him to kiss me. But he kissed the air. What was he doing? Offering condolences? In Venice he was weird, a faint resemblance to the man I knew. He had this funny way of looking at me. When I stepped out of my stilettos, with relief, he said, ‘Lizzy is stepping out of her stilettos, with relief.’ When I took a shower he said, ‘Lizzy took a shower.’ When I fell asleep, he whispered, ‘Lizzy fell asleep. Insomnia never got to her. But did she hear me saying sweetheart?’ No, fuck! Lizzy didn’t hear him saying sweetheart, Lizzy heard him yawning! Taxi! Taxi!”
She puts her hand up, waves to a car, without result. There’s a road sign. Next to the road appears a kind of art object: a laughing mirror standing on two legs with the text: You’re Entering Bad Taste Zone! Dangerous area! This is no Bad Joke! Turn Around!
Lizzy can see her face reflected in the funny mirror. Just like the face of a camel. She looks pale, despite the thick layers of make up she bought tax free in Singapore.
“Look at you, Liz; you’re walking here like a ghost. Get your act together, God, this is a nightmare; you will never get out of this place. All right, let me concentrate. But, what kind of road is this? My God! Soon there will be a Motel, I hope, but I’m not sure. Bad Taste Motel? What a joke! I need a drink. Desperately.”
Although tired she smiles at her distorted self image and walks on. Inside her head there’s this record playing, a classic from the sixties: “You’ve lost that loving feeling,” a soul ballad from the Righteous Brothers; the song opens with the unforgettable words: “You never close your eyes anymore, when I kiss your lips.” The sound of violins in that song brings tears to every lonely broken heart in the world. How many times has she heard that sad and touching song! “You lost that loving feeling, and now it’s gone!” One of her all time favourites.
Recently one of the Righteous Brothers died in his hotel room in Kalamazoo, Michigan. Lizzy once stayed in the same hotel.
“God my legs are killing me! Can’t walk anymore, soon I’ll be limping. Let’s try to get things in perspective, Lizzy. Maybe it’s time to call somebody. Cry out for help? No way! I can do this! I can make this work! This is my road to freedom!”
She sits down on the ground close to the highway. Her feet are burning. She leans back on her elbows and closes her eyes for a while. She almost falls asleep. About half an hour later, when she opens her eyes she feels company. There’s a dog. He sits quietly on his bum and looks at her with very sorrowful eyes and he yawns!
“What the hell, a yawning dog? My God, go away you bastard! Just what I need: a yawning filthy old straight dog! Go away or I’ll kick your ass!”
She tries to scare the dog away, but he’s indifferent to her threats. Lizzy starts to walk along the highway again. He follows her.
“All the successes in his life must have given his voice a chillingly harsh sort of matter of fact no-nonsense tone. One day he walks into the hotel room with a stick. Why the stick? I asked. “To beat you!” he said! Can you believe this kind of shitty humor? The stick had a golden lion head on top. He needed the stick for a bad leg, just got out of the hospital. I couldn’t see any injury but I noticed he was really leaning on the stick. When I saw that stick I smelled trouble. There was no turning back. I was trapped. That’s right. Anyway, his proposal to travel around the world was so fucking alluring – of course I said okay. A world trip! So I kissed his ass!”
Lizzy opens her bag and wipes her mouth with a tissue. She’s standing still, looks over her shoulder; the straight dog stands still, he waits, looking at her. She shouts at him.
“Yes, I kissed his poisoned ass! So what? Are you deaf? Listen to me: go away, you hothead. Fleabag!”
The dog doesn’t respond.
“O, my God, I believe he’s really deaf. Stone-deaf. Poor thing breaks my heart. Don’t you die on me here, old straight dog! Hold on! You got to hold on!”
She walks up to him and caresses his scruff and his head; all over his body his fur is moth-eaten and dirty. The dog lowers his head and closes his eyes like a beggar, concentrating on probably the last touch of plain sympathy.
“There’s nothing I can do for you. Go and chase a rabbit. Be a good boy! Go on, gorgeous!”
Gorgeous, that sounds like sarcasm, it’s hard to imagine that this dog could outrun a rabbit, but she didn’t mean it that way. Lizzy continues her walk. The dog follows her slowly, not in any hurry.
“He had left his wife he said. Sure baby. One wife? Two wives? Three? He is one of those losers, you know, sitting on top of the world losers, member of the royal club of yawning men – The Yawn Club. Very exclusive club only accessible to everybody who’s unbelievably fucking rich and very exclusively bored with life. Losers who yawn all the time and they all have the same obsession: making more money! More! More! And more! That’s what they all want: more, more! He surprised me with golden toenails. Just for fun. Can you believe it? Golden toenails! What a screamer! Crazy. ‘As long you don’t chop off my toes,’ he said. He wanted me to have nails like that too. I refused. Ridiculous!”
There’s a spider trying to cross the road. Lizzy crushes the insect and imitates W.C. Fields: ‘Have you seen the spiders? Yeah, they are everywhere. Spiders!’
“Of course I had no problem using his credit cards. In the beginning I spent like crazy. I bought a dress, lovely red silk you know, it made me look like a million bucks and I flew from Kennedy airport to Bombay to buy some Indian stuff, jewellery, whatever. India here I am. Am I happening or not! I was so fucking attractive, unbelievable! Men were dazzled when I passed by. Of course I never walked the streets of Bombay alone when I went out shopping. Had a private driver who escorted me and shook off all the beggars. Did he spy for Mister Yawn? Wouldn’t surprise me. From Bombay I flew to the Taj Mahal. It was quite a hassle to get there. But I had to see the temple. The marble was pleasantly cool to walk on. Lots of tourists wearing shorts – Aussies from Down Under. In the hotel lobby I met, guess who? The look-alike of the film idol Sashia Kapoor. And guess what, straight dog! He was yawning!”
Lizzy laughs. It’s getting darker; the white stripes on the road reflect a faint glimpse of the moon. For a considerable time the highway is completely empty.
“Where was I? Ah, the streets of Rome. The cat calls after midnight. The heat in August, in spite of that the longing I had for chocolate, but I won’t go into that. Anyway, one day I was drinking tea in The Castle Sant’ Angelo with Renaissance porcelain covered sugar bowls. This friend of Mister Yawn, he comes on to me. I smelled his essence: terrible! Really. He smiled and asked: “Would you like to come with us?” To his boat on the coast close to Rome. I hate boats. What was the name of his boat? Madonna? Anyway, I stayed there a few days. The swimming was okay and his staff was nice to me. Later when I left, guess what this Italian jerk said to me? ‘I didn’t expect you to feel anything.'”
Lizzy imitates his slimy diction and Italian accent and repeats the sentence: ‘I didn’t expect you to feel anything.’
“That’s right. I don’t feel anything for little bad smelling creeps, especially not for the friends of Mister Yawn. I piss on them. Back in Rome I cried in my hotel room. Loneliness. What else is new? A car bomb exploded that evening, just next to my hotel, newspapers published photographs of the bombing, front page, many people were injured in the blast.”
Lizzy walks over another hill, leaving her adventure in Italy behind.
“When I asked Mister Yawn what that car bombing was about in Rome, he said, ‘You are a darling, you know nothing, okay?’ Okay. I said. I know nothing. ‘Is that a promise?’ Yes that’s a promise! I know nothing. He took me to Paris, spread out a Mexican cotton rug on the ground. It was his favourite picnic spot, under the Eiffel Tower. Breakfast from the hotel, the eggs were just fine; the orange juice could have been more juicier, but mixed with the champagne it was okay. I got drunk that day. Can’t remember the conversations. Who cares? All the French speak through their garlic loving nose anyway.”
Lizzy walks on, she didn’t want to look back to see if the straight dog was following, it felt like the dog had stepped into the wild, had left her alone.
“Okay, so what was the most thrilling experience I had during this so-called world trip? Africa? There was this strange curious silence in Zanzibar, or – hang on – was it Tanzania? Yeah, I remember: it was the slaughter of the pig. I tell you I was so excited sitting in the smoke of that roasted pig. That is the best thing I remember, besides that I can hardly remember Africa, the faces, places and all of that. Africa was just one vague dream. We travelled like what? Like six weeks? Wild monkeys jumping about, sunsets, bright skies, non-stop singing birds. Yeah, what else? Elephants and sleepy lions – lazybones. Yeah, lazybones, just like you, straight dog! Do you hear me? Maybe you’re just pretending to be deaf! Trying to fool me?”
Now she looks back. The dog is still following her, slowly, step by step, but he’s not responding. It looks like he’s in a dream state, absent minded as only dogs can be, somehow totally living in a different world wondering what they are doing on planet earth. He’s following Lizzy with his sorrowful eyes focused on her heels.
Thanks to his company Lizzy is talking now more or less to tell her story to somebody who – although deaf – is nevertheless listening and paying attention, that’s how she feels anyway. Talking to the deaf straight dog disburden her mind.
“Where was I? Yeah Africa. I remember a lot of yawning over there! Suddenly Mister Yawn had to go to Hong Kong for business. I said goodbye. Again. How many times did I say goodbye to him? Goodbye, Vern. Take care. I hate Hong Kong. Once I got lost there, in one of the boulevards, was it the Cadee Road? Young Mister King or Mister Kim in flashy Adidas shoes escorted me back to the hotel. Glad I didn’t end up in a brothel or sleazy opium joint. I gave him a big tip. ‘I want to be very rich,’ he said, ‘just like you!’
“I flew to London in autumn, misty weather, leaves falling from the trees. Loved it. There I met Johnny B. He was a singer. Opera stuff. In his hotel room overlooking the Thames he sang love serenades. I loved it!”
Lizzy recalls his distinctive timbre, his low register. His voice could break hearts. He cleared his throat regularly. Cigarettes and booze were destroying a brilliant man. He was going off the deep end. He was what the French would call Fragile Fatale.
“Greece was first on my list. We hit all the islands. ‘Enjoy yourself!’ he said after we’d spent a couple of weeks in Santorini. ‘Send me a postcard,’ he said. Once again he left me on my own, Mister Yawn. He went off to… Paris? The States? Rome, Tokyo? I didn’t ask. He didn’t tell. That’s what we’d agreed. I was not supposed to ask questions. Fine by me. I don’t like asking questions anyway. Asking questions is like complaining. Bye! Take care! Call!
“He called me twice every day. I didn’t mind. Later he picked me up and we travelled to Mexico. I ran through all my sleeping pills over there. All the Mexican men I met were getting pissed out of their minds on Tequila. Then they start singing about Rosita. God, where is this motel?”
It’s about midnight, stars shining brightly around the moon. Liz is exhausted, lies down and takes off her shoes and stares at the stars. She’s thirsty, she’s thinking of her visit to Niagara Falls – all that water over there!
The dog lays himself down, close to her. She can reach him if she wants, to get warm. She moves up to him, now she can see his face, his eyes even more sorrowful in the dark. Then, the dog is yawning again. Not only yawning, he’s farting too, exactly like Mister Yawn.
Lizzy has no energy left to get irritated and she whispers to him, “Is that you, Mister Yawn? Did you take the shape of an old straight dog? Is it true you love me that much?”
The dog puts his tired head on her knee. Lizzy hears an air plane flying over. She doesn’t see the plane but she greets the pilots. They could be the Wright Brothers a hundred years ago, Wilbur and Orville.
“Hello, brothers! Wilbur and Orville! I love you guys.”
Now she wants to go to sleep. She tries to forget her day. Again she’s half asleep. Then Mister Yawn himself appears in full screen in her mind. He speaks to her. “Lizzy baby…” His voice sounds less harsh than usual, but confident and persistent. “You should be happy Liz, being on holiday all the time, the world is yours.”
No, he’s not frightful; he’s nice, has a disarming smile. He clicks with he front of his tongue. Lizzy knows what that means.
“Do you want to do it to me, Vern? With your golden toenails? Come on, do it to me Vern, right here in the road!”
Mister Yawn holds both hands in the air, he’s showing good news. It seems he doesn’t need that stick any more. He blows a kiss.
Lizzy shuts her eyes, afraid that he soon will start… you know.
She whispers to the dog, looking in his somehow far away, distant eyes, making no contact: “Goodnight.” And what the dog said if he could speak is sweet and encouraging. He says no worries Lizzy, everything is going to be alright. Sleep tight. Tomorrow a new day.