Narrative Technique | Multi-POV Study
This piece explores a single experience through shifting perspectives—second and third person—highlighting how voice and point of view shape perception, tone, and meaning.
The View From the Inside
(Second Person)
Rule Number One of a good marriage. If your wife who normally drives everywhere because driving is the only way her mind will slow down tells you, as you pack the Jeep for a twelve hour drive to a naval base to marry your two best army buddies (who were never supposed to be a couple anyway by the way, but that’s another story), that she has to work all night while you drive because she’s a week behind after her surgery, I strongly suggest you give her the option to stay home. It’s possible she doesn’t really want to go.
Women like to nest so it’s important that the first thing a young man with a marriage-material mate does is get out on his own and out from underneath his mama’s roof – that young man’s mama can’t nest like she wants to with a grown son living in her house and crowding up her space with his mate, double the shoes kicked off and laying cockeyed in the middle of the floor, socks dangling from toes all crossed up where they fell asleep tangled up can’t tell who’s who on the couch with a movie watching them.
That mama’s just being nice but deep down she wants him to go so she can enjoy her time now and that girlfriend don’t like waking up to that mama fussing about this or that carrying on about the shoes and throw pillows and things and opening up the blinds and letting the light all in when it ought to be clear that that girl prefers darkness and wants to sleep late and keep tangling up with that mama’s man-boy.
Women are just that way son. Take it from me.
That whole drive down to Jacksonville your mama made me a nervous damn wreck -over there in that seat flipping and flopping and carrying on like she’s having one seizure after another. It hurt me to be that mad at her on the inside, even though on the outside, I didn’t dare say a word – just gripped the wheel tight so when she started slapping her legs and grunting I wouldn’t jerk into another vehicle on the interstate.
Sad to say, but I was mad at her for the first ten hours. Then in the eleventh hour, I realized I never even asked her what she wanted and all of a sudden I was mad at myself. Always ask the lady son – might save yourself a lot of trouble.
If you forget and find yourself in a similar situation, see page 42 for more marriage advice.
The View from the Inside
(First Person POV)
How am I going to get the quarterly report done? The wedding is in thirty days. The wedding shower in 23; still no confirmed guest list; no registry. College graduation two months away – what about Jamaica in spring? Why won’t she apply for the damn passport already – told her to a year ago.
They’re so inconsiderate. Why does this shit itch so bad oh my god it itches all the way into my bone marrow – is this what heroin addicts go through?
I can’t get shit done because I can’t stop turning.
“Oh God ppllleeeeaasse HELP ME, it hurts, it hurts, it freaking hurts – and why do you keep jerking the wheel all over the place?”
“Well, this jeep’s a little different than the other one – a bit more touchy.”
“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry. I just can’t… the incision – and what’s with this headrest? Why is it pushing my head forward? How in the world am I going to get this quarterly done and my data entry and my paper and the social media posts and all this … if I can’t…just forget it.”
“Honey, be careful now – slam it hard enough and you know we’ll be stopping somewhere to get a new laptop and then you’ll really be –”
“I’m done. I can’t go to sleep though – I’ve had too much coffee because I prepared to stay up all night, but I can’t get my work done if I can’t be still! I give up.”
“What are you going to do?”
“Lay this seat back and see if that helps. I can at least get the posts done on my phone. Gotta figure out a way to hang my laptop from the ceiling since the only way I can find relief from the itching and the soreness is to actually lay on it.”
Relief comes almost instantly. I settle in to make thirteen social media posts promoting our thirteen new community project partners. Silence settles over the jeep.
“Honey, I’m just making socials – you can turn up the news if you want.”
“No, it’s ok,” my husband says, “you can’t think with talk radio going.”
I don’t disagree. But in the silence, with nothing but the roar of the highway rocking me to sleep, I start misspelling words and have to proofread a post ten times to get through it. I’ve only been up 22 hours – two good all-nighters with round the clock working would pull me out of the weeds… Then I could get to that SF424 form Jim keeps asking me about for the Department of Justice grant, create the community event flyer…
I slap my legs hard when the sleep tries to steal me. It’s extra loud on my slick and thin LuLulemons and it scares me awake – for one whole minute I’m terrified. Was it really that loud – I had to be dreaming. Did he jerk the wheel again? This is not like him – he’s always the safest driver thanks to the U.S. military. He’s too sleepy – I should be driving. Can’t focus anyway. I WILL get this done – quarterly report is due in a few hours – I’m on page 3 of 25. No way out or around it – gotta go through it.
I clap my hands loud on purpose – four fingers to dead-center palm ten times. The Jeep jerks again and hot pain shoots through me. Instinctively, I jerk to scratch the most impossible itch and I hear myself growl and I want to scream because I hate myself for sounding old.
I flip around in my seat – well a slow and pained roll, rather – then take my seatbelt off, turn my back around to the dash and lay my computer on the laid back seatback that now stretches out in front of me and fold my legs Indian style. I’m dying to stretch out on its length.
I ache for home as I scroll to page four out of 25, hunched over the blue light, white lines running, running, running back toward home in my peripheral.