i'm not a crier. ok, that's not true. but the things that bring it out of me are usually sweet, romantic moments. for this short piece to bring that burning to the surface, form that lump in my throat, is something else. i'm truly touched, jenn. of course, now i have to dig in there, dissect the thing. *sigh*

The ringtone on my cell phone set to Faith’s number changes so much that I never know who is calling when I’m half asleep in front of the TV, these hot days in summer. She’s the only one who has to call me often, so I use that to pretend that it was worth the money to get a little pink phone that functions as an mp3 player, radio, coffee maker, what have you. I’m still trying to get through the ringtones that came with the phone.

a charming opening to the story. you establish a casual, "here, let me tell you this story" tone through the main character, which works well. this story wouldn't work nearly as well as it does without that emotional intimacy from the start. using the present tense adds to that immediate "this is happening" feeling. i think this first paragraph feels a bit rambling, though...almost as if you were discovering the story for yourself as you wrote. i suspect that wasn't the case, as careful as you are with word choice and content, but the impression floats there, a bit above the writing.  i can see how you introduced time and place here, as well as implying the age of the character. so, it has purpose. part of the charm here is your relaxed, slightly goofy humor, which i boldfaced. i chuckled, reading this.

Faith’s fence has no gate in the back or the side, but through repetition I could probably crash through three backyards and nose my shoes into those little metal diamonds blindfolded and being chased by bears. At the top of the fence I can see that she is lying on the trampoline, like she said she would be. Trying to drop onto the other side I scrape half of the skin of my thigh away on a sharp, broken prong. I grit my teeth against the pain and walk to the trampoline, avoiding three baby toys, a Big Wheel, and her little sister’s pink and purple Playskool plastic slide. Two of the children in this house were born while I was friends with Faith. It’s been a long time. I am at the trampoline. I put both hands on the plastic tarp ring that protects jumpers from tearing their hair out in the springs. I remember three separate instances where this thing failed and the springs hurt Faith, me, and her little brother. I’ve never understood the draw of such a painful toy. They are nice to lay on.

here the rambling feel continues. charming as ever, but some of the descriptions are a little confusing to follow. i underlined those spots. i think i understand what you're saying, both in action and subtext (these girls and their shared history, this girl's dedication to her friend through the pain of a scraped leg (ow) and a myriad of toy obstacles), but if you could tighten this up a bit i think the image would be stronger. i boldfaced the parts i especially enjoyed--you give us details with the toy information what tell us a lot about this family in a short space. they're relaxed, not hyper-complusive about keeping everything in its place. they have kids of different ages, and enjoy playtime. they have enough income to afford a trampoline. the bear phrase is awesome, as anyone motivated by a rampaging bear is hilarious. and you keep charming us, first with your description of the scene--so relaxed, a happy childhood spent here--and then the gentle humor at the end.

Faith turns her head to look at me. She says nothing and does not smile. She lifts one hand and pats the space next to her, then turns her head back. I slip my shoes off and throw one knee onto the metal ring underneath of the tarp, pushing the rest of my body onto the trampoline, rolling into the spot next to Faith with my hair in my face and my arm stuck beneath me. I am not graceful. I pull my arm out from under me and wipe my hair out of my eyes, tucking it under my head and finally looking up, like Faith is doing. It is a spectacular sunset that I am only now noticing because it is all I can see. Next to me Faith is very still. I am very conscious of my hand at my side, very close to hers at her side.

we meet the girls, get a feel for their friendship. we're not sure if unsmiling faith is just her, or if something is up, but we're caught up. that it ends up as foreshadowing is fabulous--subtle enough not to lead us too close to the emotional truth of the story, telling enough to catch our attention. you choose short sentences, but manage somehow to keep the pace slow, almost meditative. each sentence is a small movement, a tiny gesture noticed. this has a zen feel to it, which adds a spiritual layer. i know, you're probably chortling right now, but shut up--i'm right!

this girl has trekked to visit her friend--the call for help is implied, another hint about faith and their friendship, how attuned to her needs this girl is--and knows to wait once she's there. faith will tell her in her own time. the sunset is another lovely detail. we notice the beauty around us in upsetting times, in an almost surreal way. we focus on the details to avoid thinking about the chaos. that this girl is conscious of faith's hand and hers also lets us know her feelings for her friend run deep, perhaps deeper than she's let on. subtle, true to life, and sensitive.

the underlined spot i thought was another moment of unnecessarily convoluted description. i think your deliberate pacing has been beautifully done, and that detail of movement as this girl climbs to meet her friend fits the tone well. but the awkward imagery distracts from the feel a bit. i can remember (vaguely) climbing up onto a trampoline, and hooking my knee on the protected spring to squeeze up through...i can remember other ways of getting up there, too. i'm not sure this bit needs to be so delicate in delivery. i do love the fact this girl is not graceful--she feels real, and endearing. maybe you could bring that to life while streamlining the action here. that might be at cross-purposes to the style, but well, i dunno. it just seems off. (talk about rambling...can i ramble or what?)

 “What did you want to tell me?” I turn my head to look at her. She does not do the same. She keeps looking at the sky. I can sort of see it reflected in her eyes. All orange and red. She takes a long time to answer. It is irritating and always has been, but looking at her in this light at this angle makes my stomach flip in such a way that it is very easy to ignore my irritation. There is always a reason to excuse how much she annoys me.

            She finally decides to talk. “Jake’s going to Iraq.”
 

this first paragraph here is magical. my second-favorite of the piece. poetic and heartfelt, and we discover what we suspected--this girl has been quietly in love with her friend for a long time. you tell us without saying it, and you carry it off with sensitivity. your images here, the colors and insignificant but telling details are beautiful to read. you're not afraid to take your time and give us the story as you want to--you know we'll stick around to find out what happens. we're in there.

and then the news about jake. we're thinking this is a story of unrequited love between friends, a coming of age threshold we all have to hurdle at some point...but no. this story is one of growing up to the world, but of another kind of disillusionment. i can't believe you pull this stuff out and do it in 1000 words.

Jake is twenty three. Her brother. He keeps his uniform on the back of his door so he can see it almost constantly. I didn’t think he knew I existed until the hug he gave me before he left for basic training. It was a nice hug. I think it might be the only hug I’ve ever actually remembered. He seemed to really mean it. When he came back, he was the same as he used to be, but I think about that hug sometimes, and I wonder what he meant.

I am surprised.
 

            “Iraq?”

            “Yeah.” 

            “When?”           

            “Few days.” It is sometimes hard to get more than two words out of her.

we learn about jake here--his pride in his uniform, his acknowledgement he's faced the upcoming possibility of his mortality, his reaching out for connection. i love that this girl can't possibly understand from her perspective what he's experiencing, but that she wonders. she knows there's more going on that he doesn't show, but doesn't have a way to empathize. another strong paragraph. you give us so much to chew on.

 I shift and put my arms under my head. My tank top is skewed on my chest and stomach and bunched at my back and uncomfortable, but I don’t feel like fixing it. I am trying to process how I feel about Jake going to Iraq. He is not my brother, nor someone who I’ve really gotten to know very well. He likes his room and his car. He took us to dance class sometimes. He reads spy novels. I can’t decide. I turn my head.

             “How do you feel about it?”

             She is quiet for a moment, then she says, “I don’t know.” We are in the same boat. “I knew he was going to go somewhere eventually. I had just hoped, not the Middle East.” She stops. “He’s excited. Mom and Dad are trying.” 

            Her parents are the type who ask you to call them by their first name even though they know you never will. They’re nice; detached, but nice. We have a tenuous relationship. They probably think that I am into hard drugs or something. I’m not. 

we can feel the tension holding. something's building, faith is so contained, so still. not at peace, but careful. controlled. 

  The sky is getting darker. I note that when I look back up. I got here at the very end of the orange part of the sunset. We’re at the dark blue part. It’s the kind of light that makes everything stand out really clearly. The trampoline bounces when Faith shifts next to me, and when I look I see that she’s curled on her side, her forehead almost touching my shoulder. Her back is shaking. I can’t see her face through all of her hair. The part of me that isn’t absolutely terrified of touching her finally wakes up after almost four years of red-faced pubescent back-patting and I wrap one arm around her shoulders while she reaches blindly for my other hand and finds it. We lay in the strange semidarkness with her face pressed against me and her hand a vise on mine as she says over and over, “He’ll be okay, he’ll be okay, he’ll be okay, he’ll be okay-” I know enough to say nothing.

and that tension breaks. i've read this last paragrah four times now, and i still lump up in my throat when i get to faith letting go of that tight control on her fear, allowing herself to lean on her friend (maybe for the first time, like this). powerful stuff. the whole ending is beautifully written. poignant, heartbreaking, real. each of these girls (and even the characters we don't meet) feel real, and we feel for them. a wise, intuitive, wonderful story, jenn. (i'm just gonna keep throwing adjectives at you until i run out. )

i have to mention the significance of faith's name in this story. that even in the face of dread uncertain, she finds a way to stay true to her namesake. that maybe by her willing it hard enough, she'll make it so, keep her brother safe. another layer, on another, on another. damn, girl.

one of the best i've read in a long time, anywhere. thanks so much! "powered by awesome", indeed.

Alas, wordy sentences:

The ringtone on my cell phone set to Faith’s number changes so much that I never know who is calling when I’m half asleep in front of the TV, these hot days in summer. She’s the only one who has to call me often, so I use that to pretend that it was worth the money to get a little pink phone that functions as an mp3 player, radio, coffee maker, what have you. I’m still trying to get through the ringtones that came with the phone.

"I change Faith's ring-tone on my cell phone so much that I never know who's calling me."

"She's the only one who has to call me often, so I pretend my little pink multi-function phone was worth the cost."

Those need a little work too, but they're considerably less rambly.  Additionally, the last sentence in this paragraph kind of confused me at first because it was set apart from the sentence about Faith's ring-tone changing so much.

I would suggest going back through the whole thing and cutting away all the extras.  There is a really important moment in this, but it's kind of hidden by sentences like:

Faith’s fence has no gate in the back or the side, but through repetition I could probably crash through three backyards and nose my shoes into those little metal diamonds blindfolded and being chased by bears.

Hedgehog sentences!  Blindfolded metal diamonds are being chased by bears!  "Through repetition" is a bit odd, as well.

"The fence around Faith's back yard has no gate in it, but I've done it so often I could probably crash through three backyards and climb it blindfolded."

I put both hands on the plastic tarp ring that protects jumpers from tearing their hair out in the springs.  I remember three separate instances where this thing failed and the springs hurt Faith, me, and her little brother. I’ve never understood the draw of such a painful toy. They are nice to lay on.

Some more extraneous detail that I think distracts from the important stuff.  The last two sentences seem a bit at cross purposes, too.  Technically, they are nice to "lie on", by the way.  Lay is if you're putting something down, or the past tense of lie, which is what you do when you recline.

Speaking of extraneous detail, I think what Emma said is a good point.  You could easily start the story at the point where the ambiguous narrator enters her back yard.  Actually, I think it would be better that way.  The cell phone buying thing made me think of an older narrator, which I don't think is supposed to be the case here. (though you never explicitly said she(?) bought it, I suppose)

“What did you want to tell me?” I turn my head to look at her. She does not do the same. She keeps looking at the sky; I can sort of see it reflected in her eyes., all orange and red. She takes a long time to answer. It's irritating and always has been, but looking at her in this light at this anglemakes my stomach flip in such a way that it is very easy to ignore my irritationlike this gives me butterflies. There's always a reason to excuse how much she annoys meignore her annoying parts.

This section has some good and some bad.

From here on out, it's smoooth sailing!  This is the meat of the story: Faith's feelings about her brother, Faith's and the narrator's awkward adolescent feelings.  Don't distract from that with extraneous rambling: it makes the piece far less effecive than it otherwise would be.

My only other comment is that you need to decide whether the tone is supposed to be formal or informal.  There's a strong informal vibe--after all, they're teenagers--but then there's lots of things like "It is" or "There is" or "Can not".  Use contractions!  They'll help to lend a much more "conversational" tone to the story, and will help readers to read the story more smoothly.

Great central premise!  Now clear up all those rambly bits and you'll be golden.

I'd like to say that I thought this story was beautiful. It was quiet and slow, with subdued, mostly under-the-surface drama. I love this story, and I think it is one of your best prose works here. So, very very well done.

On to business.

You open with an observation, which is good for a story told in the first person. It tells us something about the character. In the first two paragraphs, we learn a bit of who she is: a young girl, school-age, not technologically or materially obsessed, with a witty and dry sense of humor, but obviously devoted to this friend Faith. Some of the sentences, as other have mentioned, tend to run on a bit and get too wordy. It may sound great in your head and you may feel that you need to explain much, but sometimes less is more. You demonstrate this with the rest of the story.

Your attention to detail in the effort to create a mood is breathtaking. For instance,

I grit my teeth against the pain and walk to the trampoline, avoiding three baby toys, a Big Wheel, and her little sister’s pink and purple Playskool plastic slide.

I may be speaking only for myself, but this calls to mind the awkward (presumable) age of the narrator, hovering between childhood and adulthood, where these things sitting out become obstacles instead of objects cherished. It is difficult to explain the significance of this line, but it is the one that reigned me in and had me reading the story for its meaning.

Your use of short, direct sentences call to my mind the work of Hemingway, of which I am very fond. I particularly liked

I’ve never understood the draw of such a painful toy. They are nice to lay on.

Faith turns her head to look at me. She says nothing and does not smile.

The way you make these thoughts separate forces the reader to read slowly, patiently, with pauses. I think Laurie Paulsen is very apt when she says this work is Zen. The pacing and phrasing is hypnotic. You know how to manipulate an audience, and I can imagine how you wrote this: you hypnotised yourself in the process. This is impressive, and makes this work all the more immersive.

The observations of the character, when also short and pointed, were delightful.

I am not graceful.

I am very conscious of my hand at my side, very close to hers at her side.

Also, the way you forgo contractions in these direct observations adds to the Zen state of the reader. Contractions are completely legal in first-person work, and tend to add a more personal touch to the story, but you did well to avoid them here. Well done, knowing when and where to use them.

It is irritating and always has been, but looking at her in this light at this angle makes my stomach flip in such a way that it is very easy to ignore my irritation.

I can't decide on this sentence. Part of me understands what you were trying to accomplish here, but the other begs for you to make it simpler, like the other observtions. It feels cluttered when compared to those quoted above. Compounding this sentence may speak to the narrator's discomfort with voicing this thought. However, it was nearly lost to me, as the most important words have been the simplest so far, and the action has been the most wordy. You never want to drown the most important thought in an ocean of words, especially in the middle of a paragraph. I am torn. Take from that what you will.

I'm not going to quote them, but your incomplete sentences are stylistically lovely and add much to this story.

The extremely simple description of the brother from this unrelated girl's point of view is very intriguing . The hug, while not so simple, caught my interest as a reader, also her reflection on its meaning.

I think it might be the only hug I’ve ever actually remembered.

This is the sentence that made me understand this character completely. It reveals so much about her, in less than fifteen words. The fact that she is not sure whether its the only hug she remembers reveals that she is not intospective, she is not self-analysing, however self-aware she may be. This ties in beautifully with her simple observations of her grace and other exterior, visible attributes. Also, with her prosaic observations of her own emotions.  This is what she thinks when she thinks of herself, I am not graceful, I am surprised ect.

I shift and put my arms under my head. My tank top is skewed on my chest and stomach and bunched at my back and uncomfortable, but I don’t feel like fixing it.

Once again, beautiful attention to detail in sustaining the mood.

The continued simple description of the brother and Faith's/her own feelings about the situation are touching to me.

... He reads spy novels. I can’t decide.

We are in the same boat.

“He’s excited. Mom and Dad are trying.” 

I found this to be a very mature observation for Faith to make, also it relates her to the narrator very closely, because they have a similar pattern of speech/thought.

The part of me that isn’t absolutely terrified of touching her finally wakes up after almost four years of red-faced pubescent back-patting and I wrap one arm around her shoulders while she reaches blindly for my other hand and finds it.

Once again, torn! I love this sentence, it expresses the moment well. We can see she is stepping outside of her comfort zone, and perhaps this is the occasion where no sentence can be simple enough to express the emotion/action. I do not recommend hacking this thought and action apart to fix it, the relation between them is too important. They need to be the same sentence. It could not work otherwise. So, I commend you for finding the best way you could have written this: as simple as it could have been. Good for you for realizing that simple sentences are not always the simplest ways to express what needs to be expressed.

Once again, I love this story, and look forward to reading the rest and writing more reveiws for you. You make it so simple.

Ah! Circus I'm so sorry.  I read this and critiqued it in my head and then totally forgot that none of that brilliance was ever written down.  So I'm coming back to this now, a the last minute.  I hope this critique will be as good as I think the one in my head was.  Here we go:

I agree with everyone who said the pace and inner story really makes this piece.  What you have chosen to do here you do very well.  I believe the relationships and I believe the situations.  Lying on a trampoline, what a perfect expression of adolescent indolence.  The toys scattered about really sell the coming-of-age themes as well.  A lot of what is brilliant here was rightfully pointed out in the previous critiques.

Overall, my only problem with it was the distance that the narrator is from the emotion of the story.  The critical incident that ignites the story  is the best friend's brother shipping off to Iraq.  We the audience don't really get to feel his reaction or his sister's but instead her somewhat detached best friend's.  It works in it's own way, but I just thought you spent much more time dwelling on the details of the relationships that were beyond the narrator's scope.  There's also the conflict of the underlying love between the friends.  This I think was handled much better and could serve as the primary conflict (and therefore get more text).  I don't know if changing any of this is possible without changing the story, but I just felt it odd to be so distant from the emotion while still in the head of the narrator.

Here's a rundown of my thoughts as I read:

The ringtone on my cell phone set to Faith’s number changes so much that I never know who is calling when I’m half asleep in front of the TV, these hot days in summer. She’s the only one who has to call me often, so I use that to pretend that it was worth the money to get a little pink phone that functions as an mp3 player, radio, coffee maker, what have you. I’m still trying to get through the ringtones that came with the phone.

Very confusing opening.  It has some great energy, but might serve better later in the story.  The first sentence in particular is overly wordy and lost me right away.

Faith’s fence has no gate in the back or the side, but through repetition I could probably crash through three backyards and nose my shoes into those little metal diamonds blindfolded and being chased by bears. At the top of the fence I can see that she is lying on the trampoline, like she said she would be. Trying to drop onto the other side I scrape half of the skin of my thigh away on a sharp, broken prong. I grit my teeth against the pain and walk to the trampoline, avoiding three baby toys, a Big Wheel, and her little sister’s pink and purple Playskool plastic slide. Two of the children in this house were born while I was friends with Faith. It’s been a long time. I am at the trampoline. I put both hands on the plastic tarp ring that protects jumpers from tearing their hair out in the springs. I remember three separate instances where this thing failed and the springs hurt Faith, me, and her little brother. I’ve never understood the draw of such a painful toy. They are nice to lay on.

This section as well suffers from some really long sentences that could be chopped up and made more comprehensible.  The writing is again top notch, but varying your sentence length keeps it readable.  You actually start to improve near the end there.

“What did you want to tell me?” I turn my head to look at her. She does not do the same. She keeps looking at the sky. I can sort of see it reflected in her eyes. All orange and red. She takes a long time to answer. It is irritating and always has been, but looking at her in this light at this angle makes my stomach flip in such a way that it is very easy to ignore my irritation. There is always a reason to excuse how much she annoys me.

I find it interesting that here and just before this you describe Faith's actions as typical, yet she is going through amazing stress.  Clearly, the narrator knows that something is wrong, but apparently Faith is acting her usual self. Perhaps the narrator should note how odd it is for her to be her usual self in such an unusual situation.

“What did you want to tell me?” I turn my head to look at her. She does not do the same. She keeps looking at the sky. I can sort of see it reflected in her eyes. All orange and red. She takes a long time to answer. It is irritating and always has been, but looking at her in this light at this angle makes my stomach flip in such a way that it is very easy to ignore my irritation. There is always a reason to excuse how much she annoys me.

I shift and put my arms under my head. My tank top is skewed on my chest and stomach and bunched at my back and uncomfortable, but I don’t feel like fixing it. I am trying to process how I feel about Jake going to Iraq. He is not my brother, nor someone who I’ve really gotten to know very well. He likes his room and his car. He took us to

These are both beautiful pieces of writing, very nicely done.

I had just hoped, not the Middle East

This is nitpicky, but I have never known anyone under the age of twenty to say Middle East.  It just doesn't happen.  Saying Middle East implies an understanding of the area's history that most adolescents simply don't have.  I definitely don't think they would say it when they are with their friends.  I could most definitely be wrong on this, however.

Her parents are the type who ask you to call them by their first name even though they know you never will. They’re nice; detached, but nice.

Seems odd to bring her parents in at this point.  It needlessly complicates the story.  You have a strong triangle going on in the piece.  It might be best to stick with that.

The sky is getting darker. I note that when I look back up. I got here at the very end of the orange part of the sunset. We’re at the dark blue part. It’s the kind of light that makes everything stand out really clearly. The trampoline bounces when Faith shifts next to me, and when I look I see that she’s curled on her side, her forehead almost touching my shoulder. Her back is shaking. I can’t see her face through all of her hair. The part of me that isn’t absolutely terrified of touching her finally wakes up after almost four years of red-faced pubescent back-patting and I wrap one arm around her shoulders while she reaches blindly for my other hand and finds it. We lay in the strange semidarkness with her face pressed against me and her hand a vise on mine as she says over and over, “He’ll be okay, he’ll be okay, he’ll be okay, he’ll be okay-” I know enough to say nothing.

Very nice ending.  Touching, really touching.

Well, that's what I got for you.  I'm afraid in re-writing my unwritten critique what I lost the most of was the compliments.  I just figured that posting here you were more interested in criticism.  So let me just assure you that this is a really fine piece of writing and probably the best example of lit. fic. I've read on Scrib.  Thank you for sharing it and I look forward to next week's story.

-Ben

 I like the fact that you are tackling a reality for a lot of families, especially if their siblings are sent to Iraq.  One thing that I would suggest is to clarify the age of Faith and the friend telling the story.  What is the name of the person telling the story?  How old are they?  My 15-year-old daughter has a cell phone just like the one described so is that how old they are?

You make a lot of references to Jake, about what he is into, his hobbies.  What just might pull us into the story more and feel more for Faith is describing what relationship they have.  What does the narrator observe when it comes to Faith and Jake?  What things has Faith shared with the narrator that would even generate more empathy for Faith and what is about to happen? 

You make mention of the sunset toward the end of the story.  This might be a good metaphor to mention at the beginning so that when to talk about the sky getting dark, that could also describe what could be happening inside Faith, even referencing the conflicting emotions that I am sure she is dealing with.

You've got something good here.  Keep working at it.

Brotha

The first thing I noticed while reading this was that the sentences (and, by extension, the paragraphs) are excessively long. You give way more information than you need to, and in a disproportionate fashion that it confuses the reader. Example:

She’s the only one who has to call me often, so I use that to pretend that it was worth the money to get a little pink phone that functions as an mp3 player, radio, coffee maker, what have you.

They need to be reworked so they flow better, and aren’t as distracting or hard to follow. You just have so much in a single sentence that it makes it very hard for the reader to understand exactly what you are trying to say.

I pull my arm out from under me and wipe my hair out of my eyes, tucking it under my head and finally looking up, like Faith is doing. It is a spectacular sunset that I am only now noticing because it is all I can see.

I already mentioned the structure of sentences, but the second of the quoted sentence doesn’t work. You cannot see a sunset if you look straight up from a lying position; you can see the border colors associated with a sunset, but you can’t see the actual sunset itself.

I really liked the story, it spoke to me on a personal level, got inside of my skin. It’s very personal, gives the reader an insight to a possible thing that could happen in life, and is very descriptive. I especially like the last couple of sentences, how the main character reacted to Faith’s closeness and her state of mind. This could easily be expanded into some more in-depth look at their lives, thoughts, and feelings concerning this situation.

The one thing that I was very confused on, however, was the gender of the main character. The character is never mentioned by name, there is no pronoun of “his” or “her” used in descriptions, and the only clues as to the gender are from secondary observations, such as “pink phone” and “tank top.” Stereotypically, these give the impression of a female, but that doesn’t necessarily mean that the character is one way or the other, as I personally know some men who like pink and wear tank tops.