I read this short story--very short story, really--by Raymond Carver yesterday, and now I can't get it out of my head. It is quintessentially minimalist, and yet it managed to grab me at a gut level with its raw emotion. The story is called "Little Things" (read it now!!). It is getting dark outside, and inside, too--where a couple fights as he packs his bags. He wants to take the baby. She refuses him. They struggle physically, pulling at the baby, trying to pry the child from one another's arms. The story ends ambiguously: "But he would not let go. He felt the baby slipping out of his hands and he pulled back very hard. In this manner, the issue was decided." As I read, Carver managed to make me feel for this couple, even though I've no idea what "little thing" has caused them to be so furious with one another. And I felt for this little thing--this child caught in the middle, pulled two directions, somehow certainly harmed by the actions of these two wounded people.
I guess I am reminded that there are little things that, over time, become--or will become--big things.
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