Two Knockouts
Wednesday is about books, and reading. And writing. Today, two finished drafts of the same short story. Two versions, the first significant version, and the most recent update.
Earlier this year, I wrote a short story called Knockout. It flowed through me in one very quick burst. I was sitting in a bar waiting for a band to come on. I had my iPad with me. I watched a couple of guys interacting at a table nearby. I couldn’t hear what they were saying, but they appeared to be getting on well enough, but also they seemed like they weren’t really mates — or that maybe someone that was normally ‘the glue’ between them was missing. Maybe that person was getting a drink, or parking the car, or taking a piss. I don’t know. Maybe that person was running late, or had booked off crook that day.
It got me thinking about that dynamic.
I love the episode of Seinfeld where George and Elaine try to hang out with Jerry, without Kramer — just the two of them, not as part of the gang. And it’s weird. And awkward. I love that dynamic.
So I wanted that in there. I knew that was going to be in the story — maybe directly. It was going to be a line in there to describe the scenario.
What came out was a lot darker than I had at first expected. I was open to go with it — and I wrote a story that somewhat shocked me, I guess. But I saw potential in it. I workshopped it with my class — got the feeling they hated it. Felt okay about that though. That’s a response.
I liked the visceral charge of the story enough to stick with it.
But I needed to work on it more, to bring some extra back-story. There had to be a reason for this guy to be on edge, and wound up. There were some other details that needed to change too.
I had one character using the word ‘sexualise’. People told me that character probably wouldn’t use that word. So I took that out. The age of the daughter was a problem. It was going to be a problem, no matter what — that was part of the awkwardness and brutality of the story. This was taboo shit.
Recently, I wrote about Happiness — the movie, not the concept. That movie has been huge in my life.
“I’m Writing Towards…” # 3 — Happiness…the movie, not the concept!
This year I wrote a lot of short stories that not only felt awkward, or delved into awkwardness as a concept, they sat there, they played there; oddly comfortable with and in their own awkwardness.
I thought of Happiness when I was writing this story. That ‘taboo’ quality that Todd Solondz does so well; a little too well…
Anyway, the updates to the story make it better, I think. But it could still be a work in progress. There could be another version. This second version isn’t just take 2, it’s more like Take 18. Bit by bit, I removed and put things back in. I changed the intro, then the outro, then changed them back, I reordered things, then set them back. I changed names, then changed them back. I added. Subtracted. Added back. Etc.
But they do read differently — and feel differently.
And I wanted to serve them both up. As examples of the process. And for opinions on if they work, and if a particular one works best.
So, trigger warning — this is a tough story, or stories. It features violence, misogyny and some inappropriate ‘sexualisation’ dialogue. This is fiction. These characters are flawed. And there’s something dark here. And something deep behind it.
I’d love you to read on if you’re ready and up for it. I’ll understand it you don’t. And I’m interested to whether you think a particular version works at all, or if one works better than the other.
Here in the order I wrote them, are the two Knockouts.
Knockout — Take 1
To begin with, I felt really good about hitting someone, although only when truly successful, which was on the third or fourth punch. That’s when granddad started helping me too, I guess. The ring I would sometimes wear on my index finger arguably did the work, not me. A giant jewel that was grotesque for what it symbolised. His Masonic Lodge ring. I only wore it because I knew I shouldn’t. People say it’s not allowed unless you’re in the fold. There’s some suggestion it can carry a curse. But look, it split the cunt’s head right open. And that was no curse. Caught his eyebrow, right on the corner. And if I’d really struggled with the first couple of hits, now I was just starting to feel right at home. I mean, I was at home. But you know, actually just laying right into this piece of shit like I was meant to, hitting him with the rage that had sat in my chest for years too. Me and grandad, working as a team. I had every reason to destroy this motherfucker, but I had other reasons that weren’t entirely relevant to this beating, and they seemed to really come forth and into play when the blood started to flow. It does a man good sometimes to just, fully, finally…let go.
Jay was a mate. Well, friend of a friend. But enough of a mate to be in my house as a guest, without the mutual connection that introduced us. So, yeah, a mate. But I said ‘was’ right?
We used to go out drinking a lot when Gaz was in town. Gaz is my mate from school. He’d worked with Jay over in Sydney at some point, and we’d all gone out together once, years ago— and then again several times since, largely on account of the fact that we had one major thing in common: Whenever all three of us were near a drink there had better be six drinks, the first three never stood a chance. The next three bars never stood much of a chance after we’d downed those first couple of pints each. We all had the thirst. None of us had much of a problem. We just liked the taste.
So only in the last couple of months or so, Jay had taken to ringing and trying to connect with me, even though Gaz was out of town on a job for months. We’d only hung out once, just the two of us, and it was like when George and Elaine tried to spend time together without Jerry and Kramer. What seemed natural when there were three of us and a couple of drinks each, suddenly felt forced as all fuck. But Jay had kept calling, even after a disastrous hang. He said he had the thirst. Reckoned I was one of the only people around that could enable him; one of the only ones that truly knew what that meant. He wanted to come around; wanted to go to gigs. He wanted to be more than just the guy that got a call when Gaz was in town. He even fucking said that. That’s what got me feeling sorry for him I spose. That kind of vulnerability, which suckered me right in. Truly thought he was genuine.
He said, “Your daughter’s gonna be fucking hot when she’s a bit older mate.”
And I said “What?” Because, you know I didn’t quite actually believe I was hearing him. He can’t have said that. We were downstairs at the kitchen table and into our third beer. What the fuck was he even on about? I gave him the chance to admit to some sad, stupid joke. I gave him the chance to confirm my bad hearing. He didn’t take it.
He said, “Oh yeah, look I mean it as a compliment mate.”
I said, “Don’t fucking call me mate.”
He said, “Nah, shit bro, look, fuck, she obviously takes after her mother…and that’s a compliment to both of yis, not just her but to you too mate.”
And I said, “What the fuck are you trying to do here?”
He goes, “Nah, nah, dude, seriously, fuck, I’m not being a cunt, I’m not being creepy. I took a piss. And your daughter, what’s her name, Pearl, isn’t it? She walks past me…”
“Look Jay, this is your last fucking chance to not sexualise my daughter in any way. Do you even know how fucking old she is? And before you answer that, just know it wouldn’t fucking matter what age she is, except it really does matter. It fucking really matters all right.” My leg’s shaking and bumping the underneath of the table, and I’m crushing the can that I’m still drinking. My other hand is toying with forming a fist. He says that he only means it as a compliment. So I say, “Was Lolita written as a compliment?”
To which he says, “what’s that?”
I go, “Pearl is 11 years old. I don’t know if this is a joke, but you need to go. You need to just leave.”
He stands up, and I think, well fuck this has been horrible, but at least I won’t have to do this again until Gaz is in town next year sometime, and we can all forget about it.
And that’s when Jay walks up to me and shakes my hand, says “Sorry dude”, and I say that it’s okay, just weird, and let’s not get any further into it at all eh. And he says, “I mean sorry your daughter is such a slut, which is probably just from her mum and not you, but she dropped the towel mate, right in front of me.”
I hit him right as he said that, a shot to the nose and he wobbled, but did not go down. I hadn’t ever hit anyone, but now was the time to back that shit right up. The red was flashing behind my eyes as the second shot knocked him to the floor. And then I switched hands, hit him with the ring, and split him open. After that I hit his nose again. And again. And I heard it snap. Although it was more a weird hollow ‘pop’. And he started choking on the blood that was swimming in his throat. And that’s when Pearl must have heard everything, and I never saw her coming down the stairs but instantly she was there screaming at me. And yanking at my shoulders and crying out “Daddy, don’t hurt him” and Jay’s devil-laughing with blood across all his teeth and that’s when I closed my eyes and hit down as hard as I could, put my fist right into his mouth, my grandfather’s Masonic Lodge ring now lodged in his throat. He was choking in front of us both. The ring free from my finger.
And Pearl dropped down on her knees, put her face on his chest and looked up at me like I was the worst person in the entire world.
He took a huge sniff of her hair, ran his crooked fingers through it. It was my instant reflex to stomp on his hand and his face. It was everyone’s very bad luck that I did that before I could even decide not to do that.
Knockout — Take 2
It wasn’t just me hitting him. I had my Granddad helping me too. And I wasn’t just hitting him. But that only made sense after the third or fourth punch. That’s when granddad started helping too, I guess. The ring I would sometimes wear on my index finger arguably did the work, not me. A giant jewel that was grotesque for what it symbolised. Granddad’s Masonic Lodge ring, which I only wore because I knew I shouldn’t. People say it’s not allowed unless you’re in the fold. There’s some suggestion it can carry a curse. Carrie told me it was a curse. But where’s she now? And why am I only allowed our daughter every second weekend? I’m a good dad. I fucking know I am. I’m trying anyway. That’s the main thing. Fucking old ladies looking at me when I’m buying bras. I’m no creep. I’d say Carrie’s the curse, if anything. All that teasing. All that promise. And then to just walk away. Me paying for every fucking thing.
Anyway, look, this ring split the cunt’s head right open. More a blessing than a curse in this situation. Caught his eyebrow, right on the corner. And if I’d really struggled with the first couple of hits, I soon just starting to feel right at home. I mean, I was at home. But also what I mean is actually just laying right into this piece of shit like I was meant to, hitting him with the rage that had sat in my chest for years too. Me and Granddad, working as a team. I had every reason to destroy this motherfucker, but I had other reasons that weren’t entirely relevant to this beating, and they seemed to really come forth and into play when the blood started to flow. It does a man good sometimes to just, fully, finally…let go.
Jay was a mate. Well, friend of a friend. But enough of a mate to be in my house as a guest, without the mutual connection that introduced us. So, yeah, a mate. But I said ‘was’ right? We used to go out drinking a lot when Gaz was in town. Gaz is my mate from school. He’d worked with Jay over in Sydney at some point, and we’d all gone out together once, years ago — and then again several times since, largely on account of the fact that we had one major thing in common: Whenever all three of us were near a drink there had better be six drinks, the first three never stood a chance. The next three bars never stood much of a chance after we’d downed those first couple of pints each. We all had the thirst. None of us had much of a problem. We just liked the taste.
So only in the last couple of months or so, Jay had taken to ringing and trying to connect with me, even though Gaz was out of town on a job for months. We’d only hung out once, just the two of us, and it was a bit like when George and Elaine tried to spend time together without Jerry and Kramer. What seemed natural when there were three of us and a couple of drinks each, suddenly felt forced as all fuck. But Jay had kept calling, even after a disastrous hang. He said he had the thirst. Reckoned I was one of the only people around that could enable him; one of the only ones that truly knew what that meant. Also, one of the only ones that could actually keep up. He wanted to come around; wanted to go to gigs. He wanted to be more than just the guy that got a call when Gaz was in town. He even fucking said that. That’s what got me feeling sorry for him I spose. That kind of vulnerability, which suckered me right in. Truly thought he was genuine. Carrie used to hate it when I’d have people around, but she wasn’t around anymore, so there was also that. A fuck you to her, even if it was also a fuck you to me.
We were downstairs at the kitchen table and into our third beer.
He said, “Your daughter’s gonna be fucking hot when she’s a bit older mate.”
And I said “What?” Because, you know I didn’t quite actually believe I was hearing him. He can’t have said that. What the fuck was he even on about? I gave him the chance to admit to some sad, stupid joke. I gave him the chance to confirm my bad hearing. He didn’t take it.
He said, “Oh yeah, look I mean it as a compliment mate.”
I said, “Don’t fucking call me mate.”
He said, “Nah, shit bro, look, fuck, she obviously takes after her mother…and that’s a compliment to both of yis, not just her but to you too mate. You’ve got the eye. Just like I do. Always thought she was a tasty piece.”
And I said, “Carrie’s long-gone mate, and you know that. So what the fuck are you trying to do here?”
He goes, “Nah, nah, dude, seriously, fuck, I’m not being a cunt, I’m not being creepy. I took a piss. And your daughter, what’s her name, Pearl, isn’t it? She walks past me…”
“Look Jay, this is your last fucking chance to not do this eh, to give up the joke — if that’s what you’re gonna call it. Do you even know how fucking old she is? And before you answer that, just know it wouldn’t fucking matter what age she is, except it really does matter. It fucking really matters all right.” My leg’s shaking and bumping the underneath of the table, and I’m crushing the can that I’m still drinking. My other hand is toying with forming a fist. He says that he only means it as a compliment. So I say, “Ever seen Lolita you sick cunt?”
To which he goes, “Nah, what’s that?”
I go, “Pearl is 14. I don’t know if this is you trying to be an Edge-Lord with a joke, but you need to go. You need to just leave.”
He stands up, and I think, well fuck this has been horrible, but at least I won’t have to do this again until Gaz is in town next year sometime, and we can all forget about it.
And that’s when Jay walks up to me and shakes my hand, says “Sorry dude,” and I say that it’s okay, just weird, and let’s not get any further into it at all, eh?
And he says, “I mean sorry your daughter is such a slut, which is probably just from her mum and not you, but she dropped the towel mate, right in front of me. Takes after the old girl, eh?”
I hit him right as he said that, a shot to the nose and he wobbled, but did not go down. I hadn’t ever hit anyone, but now was the time to back that shit right up. The red was flashing behind my eyes as the second shot knocked him to the floor. And then I switched hands, hit him with the ring, and split him open. After that I hit his nose again. And again. And I heard it snap. Although it was more a weird hollow ‘pop’. And he started choking on the blood that was swimming in his throat. And that’s when Pearl must have heard everything, and I never saw her coming down the stairs but instantly she was there screaming at me.
And yanking at my shoulders and crying out, “Dad, don’t hurt him” and Jay’s devil-laughing with blood across all his teeth and that’s when I closed my eyes and hit down as hard as I could, put my fist right into his mouth, Granddad’s Masonic Lodge ring now lodged in his throat. He was choking in front of us both. The ring free from my finger.
And Pearl drops down to her knees, puts her face on his chest and looks up at me. Am I the worst person in the world? I was pretty sure he was.
He takes a huge sniff of her hair, runs his crooked fingers through it. It’s my instant reflex to stomp on his hand and his face.
It’s everyone’s very bad luck that I did that before I could even decide not to do that.
Thank you for reading.
