Working Through Writing Excuses Episode 8.2

 Episode 2 is all about the Campbellian monomyth/Hero of a Thousand Faces, which is one of those things that always sounded vaguely interesting from a distance. Even just listening to the beginning of this episode, though, it's sounding so much like a prescription for a story (at least, that's how way too many people look at it or treat it), and that kind of prescription has never felt organic or, frankly, interesting to me. This is probably why I was never a huge fan of literary criticism - so much of it seems to be focusing on labeling the different pieces of a story to fit into some kind of formula, and it just takes so much joy out of the experience. No wonder I fled academia.

Writing prompt: Take Goldilocks and the Three Bears, apply the Campbellian Monomyth, and give us a short story.

Babe opened the door wearily, slumping into his home just ahead of his two brothers. All three had been pulling extra hours at the mines lately, because money was tight, and Christmas was coming. He moved toward the kitchen, dropping his thermos and lunchbox on the table as he started thinking about what to make for supper.

"What a day!" Mitch groaned as he hung up his coat. Paul grunted in response, maneuvering his big body around to the armchairs angled in front of the TV. "I swear, it feels like the days are just getting longer and longer."

Babe nodded, hardly hearing his middle brother as he stared down the half-empty shelves of the pantry and started the calculations of the cash-poor. They had enough rice to get through the week, and enough dried pasta and canned beans to bulk out at least another two days. He could have sworn there'd been another couple of cans of tuna in the cupboard early in the week, but he knew Mitch liked to have that at lunch, so that was probably where it had gone. If he used the can of tomatoes he had there and some of the pasta, there was some ground beef in the freezer-

"What the hell?" Paul's voice boomed from the living room. Babe and Mitch turned and hurried over to their older brother, who rarely spoke above a mumble. If he was shouting, something was Wrong. Neither of the brothers was particularly small, but Babe was able to move around more easily to see what had caught Paul's attention.

There, on the coffee table in front of Babe's chair (the smallest and ricketiest of the three, of course), was a plate and a half-eaten sandwich. It was a tuna melt, which Babe hated, and it smelled like it was still warm - he wasn't sure how he'd missed the smell earlier.

"Yuck! Who left a sandwich out?" Mitch yelped, looking all around the floor frantically. "That's how we ended up with ants a couple of years back, remember? I am NOT putting up with that again!"

Paul just glared at Babe, who shook his head firmly. "Not mine. You know I hate the stuff. It's still warm, anyway, and I came home with you two." Paul stared for another long moment before nodding, then narrowing his eyes. Both of the other brothers were hit by a similar thought at the same time - if it wasn't one of them, then who was it? And were they still in the house?

Babe's mind raced. "Who breaks into a house and makes a sandwich?" he said out loud as he pulled out his cell phone. He lit up the screen, then hesitated. "Paul, should we call the cops, do you think?"

Mitch inhaled sharply. "I don't know about that, brother. You know what happened last time." Babe felt his cheeks flush in embarrassment. Maybe not the cops, not yet. Paul shook his head slowly. "Not yet." His voice had dropped back down to its usual quiet volume, but Babe could tell he was still on edge.

Babe turned the flashlight on on his phone instead, and light up the area around the sandwich. He frowned, staring at the small bites taken out of the neatly cut bread and tuna, then shone the light around the windows, looking for broken glass. Nothing seemed to be smashed, so whoever broke in had done so without making a mess. However, there did look like a path through the stacks of books that filled much of the open space in the hall had been made. He gestured, and Mitch and Paul both nodded.

Babe went first, tensing as he passed each doorway that branched off the hallway. The house was small, but there were rooms enough for each brother and two bathrooms, which had never felt like so many doors before. His door and Paul's were both open, as was the main bathroom. Mitch's door, however, closed securely. "Mitch?" Babe tried to keep his voice low, to keep from surprising whoever was behind the door, if they were still there.

"Go ahead, kid," Mitch replied, only the slightest tremor giving away his nerves. Hearing his brother's voice made him more confident, but also pissed Babe off more - someone had made Mitch feel uncomfortable. Someone had messed with his family. That was not allowed. Someone was going to need to answer to him.

Babe felt the doorknob and gently turned it, grateful to discover that the handle hadn't been locked. He looked back again to his brothers, who had stayed near the living room end of the hallway, and Mitch gave him a thumb's up. Paul, he was relieved to see, had his cell phone out, camera facing the hall. Whatever happened next was being filmed, so no matter what happened to him or potentially his brothers, there would be evidence. That should have been comforting, but Babe still felt a little hollow and alone at the idea. Taking a deep breath, he turned the knob and pushed the door in dramatically, hoping to catch whoever was on the other side off guard.

It was a dramatic gesture, and completely lost on the woman lying in the center of Mitch's bed, fast asleep. Babe stayed near the door, but shining the flashlight over the bed, he could see what looked to be a young woman, fully dressed in jeans and a grey hooded sweatshirt with a yellow hood, curled in a ball on top of Mitch's blankets. She still had her shoes on, even - this wasn't someone who was sleeping because she was comfortable. She was taking a moment to rest before she had to do something else, and wanted to be ready to run at a moment's notice.

Babe backed away from the room, keeping his phone's light shining in her direction as he moved away. "Well?" Mitch demanded in a loud whisper. "Is there someone there?" Paul snorted and kept the camera pointed at Babe, just in case. Even if it didn't turn into some kind of murderous situation, you never knew what might turn out to be a good TikTok.

Once Babe reached his brothers, he turned fully around to face them and smacked Mitch's arm. "Did you give your new girlfriend a key or something, idiot?" He shot Paul - or rather, Paul's camera - a withering look, which Paul returned before lowering the phone. "She's curled up asleep on your bed. We talked about this, dude."

Paul turned to face Mitch, and Babe almost felt badly for his middle brother. "We did talk about this, Mitchell," Paul rumbled, and Babe winced in sympathy with Mitch. Only their mom and dad had ever used Mitch's full name, and only when he was in Deep Trouble. Mitch looked like he was shrinking in front of them, but to his credit, he held Paul's gaze.

"She doesn't have anywhere else to go, man. I told her to only use the key if things were really bad, and it was an emergency, so it must have gotten really bad. Let me go talk to her, see if there's anything she needs from us right now." Mitch pushed past Babe, who moved aside to make the way easier. Mitch entered the room and pulled the door closed most of the way, and Babe could see the light come on once the door was closed.

Paul grumbled under his breath, but moved back to the living room, picking up the remnants of the sandwich on his way. "No use letting the food go to waste," he muttered as he got settled into his recliner. "Set the table for one more, would you? And uh, did she look like she was hurt or anything?" Paul reached for the remote for the TV, but hadn't turned it on yet, waiting for Babe to respond.

"Nah. She was asleep, but she looked ready to run." Babe moved back to his spot in the house, and heard the TV turn on, the volume low. Babe knew they had enough ground beef to stretch some pasta and sauce for four people, so he might as well get that started. As far as he knew, Mitch's girlfriend didn't have any food allergies or anything, and she clearly wasn't a vegetarian if she ate tuna fish. He turned up the lights in the kitchen and started putting the water on for the pasta. He also turned on the stereo in the kitchen, getting it started with the audiobook he'd been listening to the other night. Even if there was a new person in the house, some rituals remained in place - it was the way the house worked.

By the time the beef was browned, the sauce was bubbling away, and the pasta timer was down to its last two minutes, Mitch and his girlfriend had emerged from his bedroom. All of the boys had their own distinctive footfall, and Babe could tell who was moving through which part of the house just by the series of creaks and groans from the floor. He paused the audiobook and turned the heat down on the sauce before entering the living room.

Mitch and his girlfriend were standing next to the TV, which Paul had also paused. The big floor lamp was on, letting Babe see the woman clearly for the first time that night. Her blonde curls were pulled tightly back in a ponytail, and there was a dark shadow on one cheek. She kept her eyes fixed on the ground, gripping Mitch's hand tightly as he spoke in low tones to Paul. He looked up when Babe came into the living room fully and got close enough to hear what they were saying.

"Hey, kid." Mitch gave him a tired smile. "I was just telling Paul here that Gilda was going to stay here for a bit. She, uh, she needs a better living situation than what she's got right now. That OK with you?" Mitch's tone was mild, but his eyes were pleading with Babe. Babe looked to Paul automatically, who was watching the interaction with interest but not showing much emotion.

They'd all lived together, on their own, for long enough that they were able to say a lot without words anymore. Mitch was furious at whatever had caused Gilda to be in pain, and he just wanted her to be out of harm's way. Paul didn't think it was a great idea long-term, but he didn't see a better way to handle it right then, and clearly, she needed help of some kind. He was also pretty pissed at the whole thing - all of the Bauer boys were sensitive about people beating up on people who couldn't defend themselves properly. Ultimately, though, they wanted Babe to weigh in, since he handled the food budget.

Babe looked back at Gilda, who was still watching the floor, shifting her weight from foot to foot. She was holding one arm across her stomach tightly, and the way she was standing gave Babe the impression that her face wasn't the only place that had been hit recently. "Hey. Gilda, right?" He smiled, trying to make his tone friendly, even though he felt wildly out of his depths. She looked up quickly and nodded.

Before he could say anything else, the timer for the pasta went off. All of them jumped, showing just how tense everyone had been. Babe laughed, and that seemed to lighten the mood a little. "It's just spaghetti. Why don't you come in the kitchen and help me plate up?" He nodded his head in the direction of the kitchen, then turned and started moving that way. If nothing else, he needed to turn off the damn timer - he always forgot how loud the thing was.

He drained the pasta, putting it in the sauce and giving it a stir, when Gilda came in. "So, um, where are the plates? How can I help?" Her voice was lower than Babe imagined it would be, and a little bit shaky. He pointed to the appropriate cabinet, then to the silverware drawer. "Come on. Everything's about ready. You want something to drink? I think we still have a couple of cans of soda in the fridge."

He knew it would take a little while, but Babe was pretty sure that the routines that ran the house could probably be adapted to add one more person. He'd just have to find another chair, that's all.