Read Online The More You Ignore Me by Travis Nichols - Free Book Online
Authors: Travis Nichols
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allowed near Charli?
It pains me generally but also specifically in my heartâs leftmost chamber to know he could succeed in his campaign to destroy what could conceivably be a fruitful union.
What concerns me terribly is that Charli has become so acclimated to corruption through our âsocietyâ that she would allow Chris to ravish her under the guise of some sort of âopen marriageâ while Nico fiddles unaware.
The whole thing must be stopped, but I can see that we will allow this âbest manâ into the wedding, that no one will stop him.
And, most importantly, I will remain excluded, so the event will proceed.
Is it difficult to continue to imagine what might happen even though we have been banned?
No.
We need merely apply the force of our imaginations to the information already gained from Charlico.com /blog.
We know there will be a âfamily luncheonâ and a âbachelor/ette partyâ at the Inn, so we know the best man will stroll into what the Inn calls its âopen-air ballroomâ at the tail end of this very luncheon.
We know from viewing the online floor plan that this room at the Clark House Inn is more of a functional storage space than a âballroom,â but why quibble with novice architectural terms?
The space has the requisite ten thousand square feet of hardwood to hold the bar carts, the sushi âstations,â and the 107 guests in town for the free drinks, the louche party, the chance to spy some young bridesmaid in a drunken sprawl.
And, of course, the wedding itself.
What a disaster!
When I take time to breathe, to practice my ritual cleansing (I imagine my inhalation bringing the good forces of the outside world into my body through my nostrils, and then I imagine the good forces of my interior world exiting my body through my nostrils upon exhale), I canvividly see in my mindâs eye how the wedding will proceed, how Chris will slither his way through the family, partaking in the occasional frottage until he is there by the brideâs side as some sort of dance circle forms.
Music from Pink, Beck, Sting, or some other one-named hack will blare. You can hear it, Iâm sure.
But can we imagine a proper ending to this scene? Can we imagine one where a certain friend of your narrator finally delivers on a long-ago debt? Letâs call him HORACE , and letâs open our minds to the possibilities.
EXT. CLARK HOUSE INN. NIGHT.
[ HORACE , in a trench coat, stands in the shadows at the edge of the ballroom. In a flash, HORACE raises a rifle from inside his coat and aims first at NICO , then at CHARLI . No one notices. The blissful couple remains unaware, watching in wonder as SOME CHUBBY KID dances in abandon to a gay torch song. The rifleâs site first frames CHARLI . Beautiful, she casts her gorgeous hair first in one direction, then the other. The site moves on to NICO â nervous, breathing through his mouth, balling his hands into fists. Then, finally, CHRIS , in contrapposto pose, his arm secretly sneaking around CHARLI â S waist, his mouth twisted into a smirk. HORACE steadies the barrel with his left hand. HORACE breathes in.]
HORACE
(quietly to himself)
This one is for you, friend.
[ HORACE fires. Outside of the Inn, crows alight from the trees at the sound, which echoes across the valley. CHARLI sees the flash first in her peripheral vision before she feels CHRIS âs grip on her waist tighten. His greasy fingers slowly release(though not without a final, fleeting brush across her buttocks!). She looks back and sees the cretin crumpling onto the ballroom floor, his face splattered with what looks to her like clumps of mud. Blood begins to seep from the clumps. CLOSE-UP on CHARLI as she realizes, slowly, that someone has shot CHRIS in his stupid face! She inhales to scream, but before her diaphragm can squeeze out a sound . . .]
HORACE
No time to play nurse!
[ HORACE has bounded over from the
It pains me generally but also specifically in my heartâs leftmost chamber to know he could succeed in his campaign to destroy what could conceivably be a fruitful union.
What concerns me terribly is that Charli has become so acclimated to corruption through our âsocietyâ that she would allow Chris to ravish her under the guise of some sort of âopen marriageâ while Nico fiddles unaware.
The whole thing must be stopped, but I can see that we will allow this âbest manâ into the wedding, that no one will stop him.
And, most importantly, I will remain excluded, so the event will proceed.
Is it difficult to continue to imagine what might happen even though we have been banned?
No.
We need merely apply the force of our imaginations to the information already gained from Charlico.com /blog.
We know there will be a âfamily luncheonâ and a âbachelor/ette partyâ at the Inn, so we know the best man will stroll into what the Inn calls its âopen-air ballroomâ at the tail end of this very luncheon.
We know from viewing the online floor plan that this room at the Clark House Inn is more of a functional storage space than a âballroom,â but why quibble with novice architectural terms?
The space has the requisite ten thousand square feet of hardwood to hold the bar carts, the sushi âstations,â and the 107 guests in town for the free drinks, the louche party, the chance to spy some young bridesmaid in a drunken sprawl.
And, of course, the wedding itself.
What a disaster!
When I take time to breathe, to practice my ritual cleansing (I imagine my inhalation bringing the good forces of the outside world into my body through my nostrils, and then I imagine the good forces of my interior world exiting my body through my nostrils upon exhale), I canvividly see in my mindâs eye how the wedding will proceed, how Chris will slither his way through the family, partaking in the occasional frottage until he is there by the brideâs side as some sort of dance circle forms.
Music from Pink, Beck, Sting, or some other one-named hack will blare. You can hear it, Iâm sure.
But can we imagine a proper ending to this scene? Can we imagine one where a certain friend of your narrator finally delivers on a long-ago debt? Letâs call him HORACE , and letâs open our minds to the possibilities.
EXT. CLARK HOUSE INN. NIGHT.
[ HORACE , in a trench coat, stands in the shadows at the edge of the ballroom. In a flash, HORACE raises a rifle from inside his coat and aims first at NICO , then at CHARLI . No one notices. The blissful couple remains unaware, watching in wonder as SOME CHUBBY KID dances in abandon to a gay torch song. The rifleâs site first frames CHARLI . Beautiful, she casts her gorgeous hair first in one direction, then the other. The site moves on to NICO â nervous, breathing through his mouth, balling his hands into fists. Then, finally, CHRIS , in contrapposto pose, his arm secretly sneaking around CHARLI â S waist, his mouth twisted into a smirk. HORACE steadies the barrel with his left hand. HORACE breathes in.]
HORACE
(quietly to himself)
This one is for you, friend.
[ HORACE fires. Outside of the Inn, crows alight from the trees at the sound, which echoes across the valley. CHARLI sees the flash first in her peripheral vision before she feels CHRIS âs grip on her waist tighten. His greasy fingers slowly release(though not without a final, fleeting brush across her buttocks!). She looks back and sees the cretin crumpling onto the ballroom floor, his face splattered with what looks to her like clumps of mud. Blood begins to seep from the clumps. CLOSE-UP on CHARLI as she realizes, slowly, that someone has shot CHRIS in his stupid face! She inhales to scream, but before her diaphragm can squeeze out a sound . . .]
HORACE
No time to play nurse!
[ HORACE has bounded over from the
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