I am looking for feedback on how coherent this story is (in areas of grammar and if it is easy to understand.) Any tips/feedback is welcome
Mrs. Telephone wrung out the rag and stepped over to the counter, flinging the cloth gently onto it. Muffled, warm voices from her receiver softly echoed off the walls and pictures. Hearing a car door slam, she shifted to view out the window to see the brown car pull in. Letting out a quiet, crackling sigh, she leaned back over the counter and began to wipe at some sticky substance that had apparently been collecting dust.
The doorknob suddenly clattered, and she heard a dull thud outside the door. A final loud clank was followed by the creaking hinges. It swung open, a warm breeze shooting through the kitchen. Mr. TV walked in, the handle rattling on the old, dented tin.
Mrs. Telephone twitched her head in a small, yet exasperated, nod, “Good evening, dear.” She greeted him, the words muffled by the aged handset. Faint voices from old conversations filled in Mr. TV’s silence. She tilted her head to face her husband, who’s back was turned to her as he slipped off his trenchcoat.
“Evening, love.” He crackled out with a warm tone, laying his coat over his chair, “How was today?” his screen was filled with dim static that looked like solid gray.
Mrs. Telephone gave a slow headshake and returned to scraping the old substance off the counter, “Just fine. Cleaned out more of that old storage closet. I found some old stuff of your parents’. Toys, table-top decorations, some old books. Also, I talked to Mr. Screw today.”
Mr. TV’s head fell back, “Oh yeah? What did he have to say?” he ran his hand along the backing of his head, bringing the cord over his shoulder to fidget with it.
“Said his son met up with that girl from ‘round the corner. Went on a date with her.” Mrs. Telephone waved one hand while scrubbing the counter with the other.
“That’s nice.” He droned, peering down at the plug on the cord.
“You know, Tee,” She leaned on the countertop, shifting her weight to one leg. The cord connected to her headset gently swung.
“Oh god, Teph, what idea do you have now?” Mr. TV leaned over and brought a hand to his screen, tracing the corner of it.
“Do you pay attention to anything I say?” She set the rag down and made her way into the living room, fixing the coiled cord on her hip.
“Well, I certainly can’t help but pay attention to the endless conversations that you’ve had over the past week.” He bobbed his head, turning to face his wife, who had her knuckles on her hip within the loop of coiled phone cord. He gestured his fingers at her head, “Constant mumbling of everything I never wanted to know.”
“Oh, it’s not that bad.” Mrs. Telephone tossed her hand up, making an open hand movement at her head.
“Right, to know the goings on of all my neighbors isn’t that bad?” he leaned forward and onto his knees.
“And to see your endless glowing, that fake silence?” she barked, her audio cracking. She tossed her hand at him as he brought both his hands to his screen and rubbed it. The static from him grew louder and his screen began to flash colored blocks.
“Look, Teph, the talking, the noise, all of it, its just… Its just too much.” Mr. TV’s voice grew clearer, enunciating every word as if trying to sell to his wife something, then crackling out at the end.
“And your silence! You have two volumes Tee, static and salesman, and I hear too much of each! What about your voice for me? The gentleman, where did that go?” Mrs. Telephone’s voice muted out with her shouts. She faced him and crossed her arms. Mr. TV’s screen lit up and glared off the scratches on his wife’s handset.
“I’m sorry Teph.” His static returned, but a darker shade of gray now. His tone was soft but detached. He reclined back into his chair, acknowledging the disapproving glare from Mrs. Telephone.
“Are you?” she unfolded her arms and paced to the kitchen. Snatching the rag from the counter, she shuffled down the hallway, tossing the towel into a basket.
After hearing a door slam, Mr. TV slumped his head back, “I don’t know if this is going to work. Maybe I can’t handle hearing her voice all the time.”
