Fiction Factor
Fairytale Review
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Monday, December 14, 2009
Walking Alone
" I wish I could feel my toes," Addy thought to herself as she marched through the snow on Main Street. "I'm almost there, and when I get there, everything will be better. My numb toes are a small price to pay for what I am about to do."
Her mind wandered outlining the conversation she was about to have. Her heart was racing, but that could have been caused by the walking, or the cold. It was the pit in her throat that ensured her of her overwhelming anxiety that boiled as she ran over in her mind the different outcomes of the conversation she was about to have.
The street lights created a sparkle wonderland beneath her feet as she continued. She walked with her hands in her pockets, head bowed down staring at the ground just thinking.
"I could just say it, blurt it out and wait for a reaction," she thought, "that would be the easiest way, just get it over with."
That thought however, made the anxiety rise. She knew in her heart that she would be supported, but what if she wasn't? What if this would end a part of her life that has been so great? Addy's fear was justified, she knew the rules she had been raised by. This was different though, her life's lessons were contradicting themselves. No matter what she decided to do, it would be going against something that she was taught. A value that she knew was important and something she believed. If only she hadn't got herself into this situation to begin with.
Addy glanced up and saw a red pick-up outside the white house on the corner.
"He beat me here," Addy's mind was racing, "well I guess then I know what I have to do.
As she walked closer to that white house on the corner, memories of her childhood drove through her head. Swinging on the swings in the backyard as her daddy pushed her. Her mama setting a pitcher of lemonade and some cookies on the picnic table. It was a storybook childhood and she now sat in a real world situation.
Addy walked up the greyed wooded steps on her parents front porch. Before she place her hand on the door, she stopped and took a deep breath.
"You can do this Addy," she tried to convince her self. "God, please, help me do this," she prayed, hoping the next thirty seconds didn't result in her world tumbling down. For the first time in her 17 years, she was about to do the hardest thing she's ever had to do.
Addy grasped the cold bronze door knob, her hands so numb she barely felt it. As she pushed open the door, the warmth of the house greeted her face like a hug, the smell of home filled her.
She walked into the family room to find her mom, dad, and boyfriend Dan playing a rather intense game of Scrabble. They looked up and smiled.
"Hi baby," Dan said, "I got off early, so I thought I'd come hang out with your family and wait for you here."
"Yes, sweetheart," Addy's Dad interrupted, "What did you want to tell us? Everything ok with my little girl?
Addy's heart pounded so hard, her head rushed, her face flushed, it was as if her emotional volcano erupted. Her eyes, filled with tears. Her hands trembling, she slowly opened her mouth and very quietly, with a soft, trembling voice uttered the words she had rehearsed for the past 3 days over and over.
"I'm pregnant."
Her mind wandered outlining the conversation she was about to have. Her heart was racing, but that could have been caused by the walking, or the cold. It was the pit in her throat that ensured her of her overwhelming anxiety that boiled as she ran over in her mind the different outcomes of the conversation she was about to have.
The street lights created a sparkle wonderland beneath her feet as she continued. She walked with her hands in her pockets, head bowed down staring at the ground just thinking.
"I could just say it, blurt it out and wait for a reaction," she thought, "that would be the easiest way, just get it over with."
That thought however, made the anxiety rise. She knew in her heart that she would be supported, but what if she wasn't? What if this would end a part of her life that has been so great? Addy's fear was justified, she knew the rules she had been raised by. This was different though, her life's lessons were contradicting themselves. No matter what she decided to do, it would be going against something that she was taught. A value that she knew was important and something she believed. If only she hadn't got herself into this situation to begin with.
Addy glanced up and saw a red pick-up outside the white house on the corner.
"He beat me here," Addy's mind was racing, "well I guess then I know what I have to do.
As she walked closer to that white house on the corner, memories of her childhood drove through her head. Swinging on the swings in the backyard as her daddy pushed her. Her mama setting a pitcher of lemonade and some cookies on the picnic table. It was a storybook childhood and she now sat in a real world situation.
Addy walked up the greyed wooded steps on her parents front porch. Before she place her hand on the door, she stopped and took a deep breath.
"You can do this Addy," she tried to convince her self. "God, please, help me do this," she prayed, hoping the next thirty seconds didn't result in her world tumbling down. For the first time in her 17 years, she was about to do the hardest thing she's ever had to do.
Addy grasped the cold bronze door knob, her hands so numb she barely felt it. As she pushed open the door, the warmth of the house greeted her face like a hug, the smell of home filled her.
She walked into the family room to find her mom, dad, and boyfriend Dan playing a rather intense game of Scrabble. They looked up and smiled.
"Hi baby," Dan said, "I got off early, so I thought I'd come hang out with your family and wait for you here."
"Yes, sweetheart," Addy's Dad interrupted, "What did you want to tell us? Everything ok with my little girl?
Addy's heart pounded so hard, her head rushed, her face flushed, it was as if her emotional volcano erupted. Her eyes, filled with tears. Her hands trembling, she slowly opened her mouth and very quietly, with a soft, trembling voice uttered the words she had rehearsed for the past 3 days over and over.
"I'm pregnant."
Revision Excersize Notes
I had my sister cut up my story and paste it back together. It was a weird experience for me because it gave me ideas on how to spilt up my back story. I originally new that I had too much back story like we have talked about in the boards for a while, but how to split it up was hard for me the fathom. For example, one of the places in the story that was eye opening was when Paul was on the plane to Turkey. Right after he falls asleep it jumps to Jo and Paul talking for hours in the car on the ride home from school. That got me thinking that Paul could dream a back memory and split some of the back story up. I also realized that in cutting up the story there were only two sections that even mention Paul's brother, and those sections really add nothing. HE dies at the end so I figured he should probably be more developed as a character. Therefore, in my revision you'll see he has a bigger place in the story.
Tuesday, November 17, 2009
Adding Action to 21 Gun Salute
There was a loud crashing sound, matched with a high pitch screeching. The entire train was shaking. Paul turned, opened his eyes to see that it was dark outside. They were still moving along the track, but not as smoothly as before. He turned to see Doug waking as well, as confused as he was. What was going on? Paul propped himself up to see what was happening behind him. Just as he turned he saw the train car begin to bend. He could see out the window that the train was beginning to jack-knife. He literally saw a corresponding train car bending directly towards the side of the train he and Doug were seated on. Paul’s heart was racing. He grabbed Doug’s arm and pointed out the window.
“Move,” Paul shouted desperately.
Suddenly Paul felt a wave a pressure push him into Paul and against the train wall across from where they were sitting. He was thrown from that wall to the ceiling and then crashing to the floor. The car was full of screaming. Glass was breaking and you could hear metal grinding against metal. Paul didn’t know which way was up. It kept changing. He felt like a helpless rag doll being tossed around. He had pain all over, his leg especially. It felt like thousands of hammers and knives taking their turn over and over again. It was so bad he could hardly bare it. Every time he was tossed around the train car his leg would hit a seat or the floor or a loose piece of baggage and the pain would shoot up Paul’s entire body.
Suddenly the movement stopped. It was still. Paul’s leg was throbbing, he could feel, what he assumed to be blood, dripping down his face. It was warm, and mixed with tears pouring out of his eyes. He heard several women crying, men screaming in pain, and yet he could still hear the silence of the night. He knew they were in a remote area, far from nearby help. Paul attempted to call out to Doug, but he couldn’t. The pain in his body was so unbearable he couldn’t move. All he could do was lie there and listen to the others call out in pain. He briefly prayed that someone would come and find them, but as time passed and Paul grew weaker, he began to fear he’d never see his wife again. He closed his eyes and thought back to their last night on their honeymoon. Paul was so sunburn he couldn’t move. Jo wanted to feel bad for him, but it was just so funny to her. He was not the type of guy to burn, but when you fall asleep on a beach for hours, it’s bound to happen to anyone. Their last night was spent in their hotel room Paul covered in Aloe and Jo sitting far enough away not to touch and disturb the sunburn. They just looked at each other and made small talk. Jo would make fun of Paul and he would pout. It was a night that, at the time, he thought was ruined, a bad end to a good trip. However, now as he lied on the bed of this train, unable to move, filled with an indescribable pain, it was this night he thought of. He found comfort in knowing that it was never anything that he said or did for Jo that made her happy. It was just the time they spent together. He missed that time, and would do anything for even just one more minute of it.
“Move,” Paul shouted desperately.
Suddenly Paul felt a wave a pressure push him into Paul and against the train wall across from where they were sitting. He was thrown from that wall to the ceiling and then crashing to the floor. The car was full of screaming. Glass was breaking and you could hear metal grinding against metal. Paul didn’t know which way was up. It kept changing. He felt like a helpless rag doll being tossed around. He had pain all over, his leg especially. It felt like thousands of hammers and knives taking their turn over and over again. It was so bad he could hardly bare it. Every time he was tossed around the train car his leg would hit a seat or the floor or a loose piece of baggage and the pain would shoot up Paul’s entire body.
Suddenly the movement stopped. It was still. Paul’s leg was throbbing, he could feel, what he assumed to be blood, dripping down his face. It was warm, and mixed with tears pouring out of his eyes. He heard several women crying, men screaming in pain, and yet he could still hear the silence of the night. He knew they were in a remote area, far from nearby help. Paul attempted to call out to Doug, but he couldn’t. The pain in his body was so unbearable he couldn’t move. All he could do was lie there and listen to the others call out in pain. He briefly prayed that someone would come and find them, but as time passed and Paul grew weaker, he began to fear he’d never see his wife again. He closed his eyes and thought back to their last night on their honeymoon. Paul was so sunburn he couldn’t move. Jo wanted to feel bad for him, but it was just so funny to her. He was not the type of guy to burn, but when you fall asleep on a beach for hours, it’s bound to happen to anyone. Their last night was spent in their hotel room Paul covered in Aloe and Jo sitting far enough away not to touch and disturb the sunburn. They just looked at each other and made small talk. Jo would make fun of Paul and he would pout. It was a night that, at the time, he thought was ruined, a bad end to a good trip. However, now as he lied on the bed of this train, unable to move, filled with an indescribable pain, it was this night he thought of. He found comfort in knowing that it was never anything that he said or did for Jo that made her happy. It was just the time they spent together. He missed that time, and would do anything for even just one more minute of it.
The Rookie
Jimmy was filled with emotion. Did that all really just happen? Just months ago he was a chemistry teacher and a high school baseball coach, now he just pitched in a Major League game. His hear was racing after that final strikeout. As he ran off the field he saw his friend Brooks, who had been called up with him, standing their waiting to congratulate him.
"Awesome work man," Brooks shouted over the sound of the crowd.
"Thanks," Jimmy responded.
As the team entered the tunnel and headed toward the clubhouse, Jimmy could feel his heart racing. He had wanted this since he was a little boy. His dad's military assignments forced him to move around a lot and it wasn't until he was nearly 14 that he got to play consistently on one baseball team for an entire summer. Of all places, in the football state of Texas. Jimmy had many cards against him, but he still did it. He made it to the majors, against all odds and his Dad's unsupportive attitude. He made it.
As Jimmy exited the clubhouse after the game, he was swarmed by reporters.
"How does it feel," one shouted.
"What pitches did you throw," another reporter followed.
"I, um, I feel great. It's a dream come true. Fastballs, I threw fastballs," Jimmy was overwhelmed.
As the questions kept coming, Jimmy saw a familiar face at the back of the player entrance. It was his father.
"Excuse me," Jimmy said to the reporters, "I'll be right back."
Jimmy walked to his father and asked him what he was doing there.
"I wasn't going to miss this one," Jimmy's dad said softly. Jimmy's dad referring to all the baseball game of Jimmy's he had missed in the past.
"I'm proud of you son," he continued holding back his tears.
Jimmy smiled a little, unsure what to do. His dad turned and began to walk away.
"Dad," Jimmy stopped his dad from walking away. "I'd like you to have this," Jimmy said while pulling a baseball out of his pocket. Jimmy was giving his dad the baseball from his first Major League start. He realized that despite the man his dad was, he was trying to make up for it now. His dad knew that Jimmy loved baseball and that this is where his dreams came true.
His dad smiled, turned, and walked away, tossing the ball in his hand. Jimmy felt a calm within him that he hadn't felt in years. Like he had finally settled his differences with his dad.
Jimmy then turned to see his loving wife waiting for him, tears in her eyes at what she just witnessed.
"Awesome work man," Brooks shouted over the sound of the crowd.
"Thanks," Jimmy responded.
As the team entered the tunnel and headed toward the clubhouse, Jimmy could feel his heart racing. He had wanted this since he was a little boy. His dad's military assignments forced him to move around a lot and it wasn't until he was nearly 14 that he got to play consistently on one baseball team for an entire summer. Of all places, in the football state of Texas. Jimmy had many cards against him, but he still did it. He made it to the majors, against all odds and his Dad's unsupportive attitude. He made it.
As Jimmy exited the clubhouse after the game, he was swarmed by reporters.
"How does it feel," one shouted.
"What pitches did you throw," another reporter followed.
"I, um, I feel great. It's a dream come true. Fastballs, I threw fastballs," Jimmy was overwhelmed.
As the questions kept coming, Jimmy saw a familiar face at the back of the player entrance. It was his father.
"Excuse me," Jimmy said to the reporters, "I'll be right back."
Jimmy walked to his father and asked him what he was doing there.
"I wasn't going to miss this one," Jimmy's dad said softly. Jimmy's dad referring to all the baseball game of Jimmy's he had missed in the past.
"I'm proud of you son," he continued holding back his tears.
Jimmy smiled a little, unsure what to do. His dad turned and began to walk away.
"Dad," Jimmy stopped his dad from walking away. "I'd like you to have this," Jimmy said while pulling a baseball out of his pocket. Jimmy was giving his dad the baseball from his first Major League start. He realized that despite the man his dad was, he was trying to make up for it now. His dad knew that Jimmy loved baseball and that this is where his dreams came true.
His dad smiled, turned, and walked away, tossing the ball in his hand. Jimmy felt a calm within him that he hadn't felt in years. Like he had finally settled his differences with his dad.
Jimmy then turned to see his loving wife waiting for him, tears in her eyes at what she just witnessed.
Bad Date Good Date?
Yesssss! I finally have a date. Haha. I knew the picture of my neighbor at the beach would draw some lucky lady to want to meet me. Yea so I'm not the "best looking" guy in the world, but everybody has their issues. For some, it may be a faded tan, or a bad hair day. For me? We who needs all their teeth anyway. I'm so excited, only 12 minutes until I get to meet her.
We are meeting in a centralized location. I chose the Mall of America. She gets the idea that we are going to hit up one of the ritzy restaurants. I'll buy a dinner with all that money I claim I have. But oh no, don't worry. I have a plan. We'll end up in the food court, I'll make her buy her own food and she'll see just how humble I really am. I know a woman can pay for her own food. I know a woman doesn't need an expensive meal or a dressed up guy. I am going to wow her with a food court dinner and my rockin' Star Trek t-shirt. I can not wait!
Standing in the rotunda, waiting to meet her. I remember her picture vividly. I keep looking for her. My heart is fluttering with excitement. I've never really had a date before. What is it like? Do you think I'll get to hold her hand?
There she is! I see her. In the blue scarf like she said she's be wearing. Wow, she's pretty, and really dressed up. Hmmm. Maybe a little too dressed up for the food court. I wonder if I should have prefaced my plan with some instruction? Oh well. McDonald's here we come. I'm waving now, I told her I'd have a yellow rose in my hand. She clearly sees me. I'm waving the rose and delicately yelling her name.
"Ashley! Ashley! Over here!" I yell jumping up and down.
She keeps walking though, faster it appears than she was before she saw me. As I walk towards her, to try and keep up, she ducks into a woman's bathroom. Of course, she is just being polite and using the facilities now, as to not take away time from our date. I politely wait out side, sitting on the bench awaiting her exit from the restroom.
As I wait I picture her reaction when she see what our after dinner activity will be. We will take the lightrail to the downtown area, where I will show humility once again as I pretend to "forget" my wallet as we order our drinks, forcing her to pay. This will surely so her how willing I am to never forget how important of a person she is.
It's been a while, I wonder if she's ok? Maybe it was a bad burrito or something at lunch, but she's been in there for like 20 minutes. Hmmm. Nobody has really come out, I should ask someone for help.
"Excuse me, Ma'am," I say to the classy janitor lady, "My date went in there about 24 minutes ago and has not exited yet."
"I'm sorry sir, but the bathroom is empty," she politely answered as she mopped the floor in front of the Dairy Queen.
"That's impossible," I exclaim determined. "I've been watching the door the entire time."
"Hmmm," the lady sounds as she drains the muck water off her mop, "I don't know how to tell you this but that's the entrance to the bathroom sir. The exit is to the left about 20 feet."
Could it be true? Did she really stand me up? Impossible. I picked the perfect picture, I bought the yellow rose, I wore my best Star Trek T-shirt. Why wouldn't she want to date me? She would. Of course she would. It must have been the bad burrito. She was too embarrassed to see me. Of course that's what it is. I'm going to go home right now and send her a Get Well E-Card so she knows it's ok. What a perfect end to a well, kind of evening.
We are meeting in a centralized location. I chose the Mall of America. She gets the idea that we are going to hit up one of the ritzy restaurants. I'll buy a dinner with all that money I claim I have. But oh no, don't worry. I have a plan. We'll end up in the food court, I'll make her buy her own food and she'll see just how humble I really am. I know a woman can pay for her own food. I know a woman doesn't need an expensive meal or a dressed up guy. I am going to wow her with a food court dinner and my rockin' Star Trek t-shirt. I can not wait!
Standing in the rotunda, waiting to meet her. I remember her picture vividly. I keep looking for her. My heart is fluttering with excitement. I've never really had a date before. What is it like? Do you think I'll get to hold her hand?
There she is! I see her. In the blue scarf like she said she's be wearing. Wow, she's pretty, and really dressed up. Hmmm. Maybe a little too dressed up for the food court. I wonder if I should have prefaced my plan with some instruction? Oh well. McDonald's here we come. I'm waving now, I told her I'd have a yellow rose in my hand. She clearly sees me. I'm waving the rose and delicately yelling her name.
"Ashley! Ashley! Over here!" I yell jumping up and down.
She keeps walking though, faster it appears than she was before she saw me. As I walk towards her, to try and keep up, she ducks into a woman's bathroom. Of course, she is just being polite and using the facilities now, as to not take away time from our date. I politely wait out side, sitting on the bench awaiting her exit from the restroom.
As I wait I picture her reaction when she see what our after dinner activity will be. We will take the lightrail to the downtown area, where I will show humility once again as I pretend to "forget" my wallet as we order our drinks, forcing her to pay. This will surely so her how willing I am to never forget how important of a person she is.
It's been a while, I wonder if she's ok? Maybe it was a bad burrito or something at lunch, but she's been in there for like 20 minutes. Hmmm. Nobody has really come out, I should ask someone for help.
"Excuse me, Ma'am," I say to the classy janitor lady, "My date went in there about 24 minutes ago and has not exited yet."
"I'm sorry sir, but the bathroom is empty," she politely answered as she mopped the floor in front of the Dairy Queen.
"That's impossible," I exclaim determined. "I've been watching the door the entire time."
"Hmmm," the lady sounds as she drains the muck water off her mop, "I don't know how to tell you this but that's the entrance to the bathroom sir. The exit is to the left about 20 feet."
Could it be true? Did she really stand me up? Impossible. I picked the perfect picture, I bought the yellow rose, I wore my best Star Trek T-shirt. Why wouldn't she want to date me? She would. Of course she would. It must have been the bad burrito. She was too embarrassed to see me. Of course that's what it is. I'm going to go home right now and send her a Get Well E-Card so she knows it's ok. What a perfect end to a well, kind of evening.
Saturday, October 24, 2009
Here's Johnny!
Meet Johnny, or as beach goers call him, "man who sleeps on beach talking in his sleep." Typically you'll find him where the sand and water meet. Sun or rain, light or dark, he's relaxing and wondering from beach to beach living what he refers to as "the life." When I met him, he was face down on a red and yellow striped beach towel. His back was the color of the red stripes on his towel caused by an over exposed kiss from the sun. As I walked by him, he grunted, and muffled some words.
"Are you ok sir?" I ask hesitantly, I didn't want to wake a sleeping giant.
"Murahndamo," Johnny grunted, "Wha? Oh, um, hello Miss." Johnny stands up looking slightly embarrassed for his sleep talk...well sleep grunting.
His skin was a color of it's own, like it couldn't decide if it wanted to be tan or sun burnt. His sandy blond bangs brushed his aging face. You could see years of experience in his eyes. You could see that for every grey speck with in his ice blue iris' there was a story to tell. Johnny brushed off his chest of the sand he had been sleeping in. His hands were naked, no rings or watches. In fact other than his aging straw hat and a tearing pair of blue plaid shorts, Johnny's body was naked.
"May I help you miss?" Johnny interjects my study of his persona. I shrug and pretend like I don't know. Johnny smiles and bends over to pick up his towel. He began walking away as I stood there still curious to who this man was. What did he do? Where did he live? What was his story?
"Wait!" I yelled to him suddenly, I didn't know what came over me. I wanted to know his story. I wanted to meet Johnny, and hear those stories you could see in his eyes. I took of my sandals and began running up to him. I was going to spend the rest of my afternoon in the most relaxing place, learning about a man named Johnny. He lived every day like his last. Stress was a foreign word, the beach was his home, and most importantly, anyone and everyone was his friend.
"Are you ok sir?" I ask hesitantly, I didn't want to wake a sleeping giant.
"Murahndamo," Johnny grunted, "Wha? Oh, um, hello Miss." Johnny stands up looking slightly embarrassed for his sleep talk...well sleep grunting.
His skin was a color of it's own, like it couldn't decide if it wanted to be tan or sun burnt. His sandy blond bangs brushed his aging face. You could see years of experience in his eyes. You could see that for every grey speck with in his ice blue iris' there was a story to tell. Johnny brushed off his chest of the sand he had been sleeping in. His hands were naked, no rings or watches. In fact other than his aging straw hat and a tearing pair of blue plaid shorts, Johnny's body was naked.
"May I help you miss?" Johnny interjects my study of his persona. I shrug and pretend like I don't know. Johnny smiles and bends over to pick up his towel. He began walking away as I stood there still curious to who this man was. What did he do? Where did he live? What was his story?
"Wait!" I yelled to him suddenly, I didn't know what came over me. I wanted to know his story. I wanted to meet Johnny, and hear those stories you could see in his eyes. I took of my sandals and began running up to him. I was going to spend the rest of my afternoon in the most relaxing place, learning about a man named Johnny. He lived every day like his last. Stress was a foreign word, the beach was his home, and most importantly, anyone and everyone was his friend.
Saturday, October 10, 2009
Who's That Tappin On My Window?
"What was that?" Johnny whispered breaking the silence of the night.
"You heard it to?" Johnny's little brother Gary replied.
"There it was again, what is it? I think it's coming from the outside," Johnny said, his voice now shaking. Sounds like someones tapping on the window."
"You think it could be..." Gary started to say.
"No way, Dad just said that to scare us," Johnny said cutting off his brother before he could finish his sentence. "It's just a scary story to tell us little kids."
"I heard it again, just then, right there," Gary snapped back at his brother, unconvinced that his dad just made the story up. "How do you know Johnny? How do you know it's not true. You sound pretty freaked out yourself over there."
"It just scared me a little, it's probably just a tree branch blowing in the wind," Johnny fired back trying to sound confident, his voice still shaky though. He continued, "Dad would never have let us sleep out here in the loft if it wasn't safe."
"But what if Johnny, what if Dad was right? He's right about a lot of other stuff you know," Gary plead with his brother, "Can we call him, can we go back inside?"
"Fine," Johnny replied trying to sound inconvenienced, but truly relieved. "I'll call him and ask if he can come get us and bring us inside," he continued while dialing his dad's cell, who was across the field sleeping in the house.
"Johnny listen," Gary said quietly, gesturing to his brother to put down the phone. "Do you hear a phone ringing outside?"
"You heard it to?" Johnny's little brother Gary replied.
"There it was again, what is it? I think it's coming from the outside," Johnny said, his voice now shaking. Sounds like someones tapping on the window."
"You think it could be..." Gary started to say.
"No way, Dad just said that to scare us," Johnny said cutting off his brother before he could finish his sentence. "It's just a scary story to tell us little kids."
"I heard it again, just then, right there," Gary snapped back at his brother, unconvinced that his dad just made the story up. "How do you know Johnny? How do you know it's not true. You sound pretty freaked out yourself over there."
"It just scared me a little, it's probably just a tree branch blowing in the wind," Johnny fired back trying to sound confident, his voice still shaky though. He continued, "Dad would never have let us sleep out here in the loft if it wasn't safe."
"But what if Johnny, what if Dad was right? He's right about a lot of other stuff you know," Gary plead with his brother, "Can we call him, can we go back inside?"
"Fine," Johnny replied trying to sound inconvenienced, but truly relieved. "I'll call him and ask if he can come get us and bring us inside," he continued while dialing his dad's cell, who was across the field sleeping in the house.
"Johnny listen," Gary said quietly, gesturing to his brother to put down the phone. "Do you hear a phone ringing outside?"
Monday, October 5, 2009
Suspense in the Bar
The floor creeked sharply as he walked in, he wonderd if anyone heard. He glanced across the room and quickly hid behind a table. The chairs had been put upside down on top to free the floor to be swept. As he waited, he tried to control his breathing. He needed to calm down. Looking across the room, there was no one there. Empty bottles and peanut shells lined the tables, and there were puddles of miscellanious liquids on the floor everywhere. "Calm down," he tries to convince himself. Instead the silence is broken by the beating of his own heart. Something just doesn't feel right. The clock shows 3:30am. He stands again, moving slowly across the room, this time avoiding the glass shards and loose floor boards that would give away his position. As he approached the backroom, he saw the door. Just like described, a cracked wooden door with a red light glowing from the space between the door and the floor. As he caught his composure, he could feel the sweat dripping down his face. He knew what he had to do, but didn't know if he could go through with it. He knew this one act would change his life forever.
Saturday, October 3, 2009
Lunch on the Near Side of the Moon
Freezing fingers and toes, an afternoon like this was colder than normal. The moon was beautiful this time of year. I mean aside from the deathly frigid temperatures, but even that was okay, because you didn't need a cooler for a mid-afternoon picnic. I was running late. I had a date on the south side of the Mere Frigoris. I loved it there. The white powder of the Moon's surface was so smooth, I could bathe in it. The edges of the crater were sharp and deep. It was a clear night and the glimmer of Earth lit up the Moon's sky. A beautiful afternoon, stars shining like the twinkle in a new love's eye.
The natural light of the day made scaling the edge of the bluff into the crater an easier feat than normal. As my hands gripped the hand divots in the side of the moon bluff wall. It was a cold sensation against my pale skin. As I gripped my way down, the light of the Earth dimmed. It was darker and even colder as I climbed deeper and deeper into the abyss. At least my beer was still cold. I got to the bottom and jumped into the shallow white powder. A subtle white cloud of dust gathered around my feet. I walked to the picnic sight and set down my cooler. I laid down my blanket and fell back. I sunk into the ground like on abed of feathers. It was so soft and relaxing. I found myself getting lost in the stars. So close and so bright. It was a beautiful day. The sound of my heart beating, the small puffs of steam coming from my nose and mouth. The artificial atmosphere made it a breathable air, but it was like nothing you have ever inhaled before. I sharp, crisp air. Like an aerosol spray into your lungs every time you took a breath. It was an indescribable refreshment. This was my paradise. Not warm and sunny, but dark and cold. Stars shining bright, the soft moon surface under my head. I couldn't ask for a better setting.
Sunday, September 27, 2009
21 Gun Salute
The second round of gunshots made Jo jump even more than before, and she knew these ones were coming. Seconds later, the third and final round of shots fired and the tears poured down her face like a fountain had just been released. She thought to herself that he was too young to die. All she could do is cry, as the echoes from that ceremonious 21 gun salute reflected through the air.
“Jo,” Paul yelled up the stairs, “where are my boots?” “On the patio,” Jo responded. She knew her husband was in a hurry. He was lucky enough to be granted leave for their wedding much less a two week honeymoon. Now, however, the honeymoon was over and Paul was to report to the Georgia Army based he had been stationed at for the past four years in just three hours. Granted Paul and Jo only lived a few hours south of there, but still, she knew three hours from now her new husband would be gone, and she wouldn’t get any free time with him for at least a month.
Paul was an intelligence officer in the US Army. His current assignment was to be stationed at Fort Gordon Army Base just outside Augusta, Georgia. He was fortunate enough that his active duty assignment was to be a training officer to new recruits. He was the top of his class at West Point and considered one of the best intelligence officers the Army had stateside. This gave Paul a great assignment that the furthest he’s ever had to be from his new wife would be the three hour drive from their home. He would spend his days training new officers on intelligence lingo. How to read and retract information from gathered information. It was his job to prepare these officers to go overseas and decipher information as well as handle what messages would come out after they deciphered them. Paul’s job was a challenging and demanding one. Not on the body, but on the mind and emotions.
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Back home, Jo was unpacking from a honeymoon that seemed to be over before it began. Paul had only been gone a day and she already missed him so much it hurt. They had only been married for three weeks, but they had been together for ten years. Jo met Paul during her freshman year of high school. She was only fifteen. He was a cocky, popular junior whose looks were clearly better than his grades. He had flowing blonde hair and ice blue eyes that pierced directly to her heart when she looked into them. The day the calculus teacher from Athens High asked an over achieving, top of her class, Jo to tutor a promising football quarterback would turn out to be one of the best days of her life.
Paul walked into the tutor center that first day, and sat down across the table from the short, skinny brunette tutor he had been assigned. She had fair skin with faded freckles. Specked green eyes outlined by thin wispy eyebrows. Her hair grazing the left side of her face, shiny and smooth, Paul wondered if this tutor was as equally smart as she was beautiful. He had dated a majority of the girls in his grade, as well as the seniors above him. This freshman tutor, however, was like no one he had seen in the school before.
Paul had a date with Jo secured by the end of the first week she tutored him. He came to see that she was smart, but she was also interesting, enlightening and funny. Jo would wait for Paul after football practice and he would drive her home every day. The five minute drive would last hours as they sat in her driveway and talked, learning more and more how perfect for each other they were. Joe found out soon that this boy who she once thought was a dumb, pretty football star was actually quite brilliant. He just needed the right motivation to get there. She took extra time to help Paul discover his hardships in studying which would eventually lead to an increase in his grades which got him into West Point, well that and a promise to play football.
Paul’s dad, granddad, and four uncles were all West Point Alum, as well as Paul’s brother being a current cadet in his first year. Paul knew if he could graduate in the top fourth of his class and keep his body healthy and in shape, he would be guaranteed admission. This guarantee is what led him to slack for a while because he knew it would be easier coming from a West Point family to get in. Lucky for him, Jo entered his life and helped him realize his academic potential. Paul graduated in the top 20th percentile in his class, with full admission acceptance into West Point Academy and a starting spot on their football team. Just two years after meeting the love of his life, he was ready to embark on a dream he was raised to fulfill. Jo would finish high school and attend NYU to pursue a teaching degree. This put them in the same state which was close enough for them to endure time apart. Every leave Paul got, every break Jo could find, they would find away to see each other. This kept their relationship alive throughout the six years they were forced to be apart.
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A loud knock on the door to Paul’s office startled him. He was so divulged in writing his training report; he had put himself in a sort of trance. That knock on his door pulled him out of that state and he jumped up to attention. When he answered the door he saw a husky, talk, solid man standing before him. Like one of those army plastic men you played with as a child had come to life. This man, Paul knew however, this was his base commander. “New orders just came down Paul, may I come in?” The commander said as he let himself in, Paul getting out of the way knowing him asking was only a courtesy, and an answer wasn’t necessary. As Paul sat down across from his commander he had an idea of what this conversation was going to be about. It had been a great run, and he had been lucky, but with the fall in intelligence recruits, he knew this time was going to come. “We leave at 0900 day after tomorrow,” the commander continued. He had been explaining to Paul that with the decline in intelligence recruits he was needed overseas. He would be stationed at a US Embassy somewhere in the Middle East working intelligence and briefing battalion commanders. Paul’s heart raced, not because he had to ship out in less than 48 hours, but because he was going to tell Jo that she would see her husband for not a month now, but twelve. This was going to suck he thought.
When the phone rang, and Jo saw it was Paul on the caller ID, her heart leapt. She couldn’t wait to hear his voice. Minutes into the phone call however, there was a different feeling in her heart. Now there was a feeling of pain and deep worry. “It’s just Embassy work,” he assured her, “I’ll be behind Marine Guard around the clock.” Paul and Jo both new despite what Paul said that working in the Embassy overseas wasn’t nearly as safe as he wanted it to sound. There had been several bombings of US Embassies over the past several years Paul had been on active duty. Many of the recruits he sent had been injured in them. Fortunately, though, no one that Paul and Jo knew had perished…yet.
“When do you leave?” Jo cried. “Morning, day after tomorrow,” Paul responded holding back his own tears. “I can’t come home, but I want you to come here,” he said to his distraught wife. So Jo did. She packed an overnight bag and started on the three hour drive to Fort Gordon. She knew it would be the last time she’s see her husband in over a year.
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The flight was bumpy, loud, and cold. The impromptu deployment of Paul and the three other intelligence officers didn’t allow time for commercial transportation. Instead they were put into a military supply transport. These planes were loud and very uncomfortable. Paul had more detail about where he was going. His deployment was at the US Embassy in Istanbul, Turkey. This brought the young officer a small amount of comfort because he knew the chief intelligence officer at the embassy. A man two years ahead of him at West Point, a man to whom Paul had known all his life. Paul closed his eyes and tried to drown out the sound of the turbine engine and rattling cargo with the memory of the words his wife left him with the previous evening. As Jo and Paul said their goodbyes, she told him she loved him, and that she was proud to be his wife. She told him that no matter what happened, she would always be proud. This warmed Paul’s body, and he drifted into a calm and pleasant sleep.
The plane hit the tarmac so hard it pulled Paul out of his slumber like a bullet out of a gun. As he wiped his eyes and shook his head to wake himself up, he looked around to see his comrades had had similar reactions to the bumpy cargo transport landing. The plane slowed to a halt and as the back door opened, the Istanbul heat hit Paul like a wall. The hot, dry air felt like a thousand degree change from the cold plane he had spent the last nine hours on. The sun beat down on his face directly above him. Scorching his pale skin, he wasn’t ready for this heat to hit him like this. The tarmac around him was pretty empty. A few military escort vehicles and a black Hummer awaited him and his three fellow officers. Out of the Hummer stepped a man who stood about six feet tall. Buzzed blond hair and a distinct tan line out lining where his sunglasses would go. The man approached Paul and yelled for him to stand at attention. Paul chuckled and hugged his brother. The chief intelligence officer at the Embassy was Paul’s older brother Doug. He had been stationed in Istanbul for the past nine months and when he found out Paul was on orders to be deployed, pulled a few strings to get him at the same embassy he was stationed at. This was comforting when Paul was notified, but even more so when he told Jo. Jo felt so much better about Paul being stationed with his brother. They could look after each other, she would tell herself, and that brought a calming relaxation to her.
When they got to the Embassy, the new officers were shown to their living quarters and then given a set of orders that covered their next week. As Paul looked over it, he knew he was no longer the guy in charge, the man who knew what was going on. He was the new recruit, the one who needed the training, and it would be at least a week before he would be able to actually do what he was deployed for. The scope of work on his orders included intelligence briefings, policy seminars, and safety drills—one thing Paul was sure to pay attention to. He was going to do anything and everything to get back to Jo safe. His nights were essentially free over this briefing period. He thought how great it would be to have that time to adapt, get to know Istanbul, and most importantly spend time with his brother. Paul could tell Doug was equally happy to have him around. They had been inseparable growing up, and it would be nice to have someone around to provide that comforting reminder of home.
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The house felt emptier to Jo than it normally did. A feeling she found confusing because Paul was rarely there, he was always stationed on base. Now, however, she knew he wasn’t hundreds of miles away; he was thousands of miles away. Jo kept busy as much as she could. Her teaching occupied a majority of her time and between grading finals and preparing for the holidays, she found it easier to forget about Paul overseas. She was comforted knowing he was with Doug who had the experience, not to mention she had just spoken with Paul over a choppy web-cam feed, and to all appearances, he looked good. She was looking forward to the upcoming holiday. Paul and Doug were getting a three day leave and were going to travel to Rome to view a Christmas mass with the Pope. Jo was excited for the pictures Paul was going to get of all the Italian architecture. He said he was going to scope out all the great cafes and museums. He was going to plan out a second honeymoon when returned from deployment. Jo was happy Paul was doing well, and she appreciated his optimism and promise of coming home. It made her life so much easier at home.
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Jo jumped out of bed startled at the phone ringing. She made out the time on the alarm clock though her foggy half-asleep eyes. “2:00” it read. Confused by the early morning phone call, she picked up the phone. “Mrs. Halloway?” the voice on the phone asked. “Yes, who is this?” Jo answered. “Ma’am, there will be a military escort at your house shortly. I need you to go with them, it’s your husband.” Jo dropped the phone and her heart sunk. She couldn’t breathe; every breath was a battle to get air into her lungs. She sat there, a distant voice from the phone, now on the ground, calling out to see if she was still on the line. Tears began to flow down her face, no sobbing or cries, just lonesome tears flowing down her fair-skinned cheeks. Her mind surging with thoughts: What could have happened? What was she to do? She assumed the worst, although battled with herself to hope for the best. It could be anything right? They’d call for anything, don’t assume the worst Jo. Don’t.
The military escort vehicle was a black Lincoln. It was very inconspicuous and nongovernment looking. The driver was instructed to do just that, drive. He sat in the front seat while a young, quiet, and timid looking Private sat with Jo in the back. Jo was terrified; all she knew is that they were driving to meet the base commander. She knew her husband was alive, but to what extent she did not. The three hour drive seemed like an eternity. When the car pulled into the base, it was met by the base commander standing with the Fort Gordon chaplain. “What happened to Paul?” Jo cried out, now sobbing in fear of the thoughts of her ailing husband thousands of miles away. The base commander grabbed Jo by the hand and sat her down on the curb. He explained that there was a train accident. While Paul and Doug were on their holiday leave, the train they were taking to Rome derailed. There were many casualties; Paul was in a military hospital in Italy in an unknown condition. Jo broke down; she wanted to jump on the next plane to Italy to be by her husband’s side. Her heart ached in fear, she collapsed into the shoulder of the once tough military commander in front of her, now showing his own pain for is friend in his eyes. Jo wouldn’t make a flight to Italy; she would receive a phone call that would change her life only an hour later.
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The second round of gunshots made Jo jump even more than before, and she knew these ones were coming. Seconds later, the third and final round of shots fired and the tears poured down her face like a fountain had just been released. She thought to herself that he was too young to die. All she could do is cry, as the echoes from that ceremonious 21 gun salute reflected through the air. She looked up at the crying soldier standing next to her, and grabbed his hand tightly. His leg in a cast, a crutch under his opposite arm, Paul was standing there grasping his wife’s arm, mourning the loss of his brother. The train accident left him with nothing more than a broken leg and a few dislocated fingers, his brother Doug on the other hand, lost his life. It wasn’t fair to Paul, his brother was so young. Only thirty, never married, spent the last twelve years serving his country, and this favor is returned by God in the form of a train accident that ultimately took his life. Paul was angry and Paul was sad. He didn’t deserve to come home alone; he deserved to come home with his brother. Jo was full of mixed emotion. She was eternally thankful that God had spared her husband’s life. She was terribly saddened by the loss of her brother-in-law. However she was mostly worried about the state of her husband now. This death had hit him hard. He had barely spoken a word since he returned home only a week ago escorting his brother’s body. She knew it would be a long road of recovery for Paul in the upcoming months, perhaps even years. All she could do now, was hold his hand, cry with him, and mourn with him—the loss of a soldier, a friend, a brother, and an American hero.
“Jo,” Paul yelled up the stairs, “where are my boots?” “On the patio,” Jo responded. She knew her husband was in a hurry. He was lucky enough to be granted leave for their wedding much less a two week honeymoon. Now, however, the honeymoon was over and Paul was to report to the Georgia Army based he had been stationed at for the past four years in just three hours. Granted Paul and Jo only lived a few hours south of there, but still, she knew three hours from now her new husband would be gone, and she wouldn’t get any free time with him for at least a month.
Paul was an intelligence officer in the US Army. His current assignment was to be stationed at Fort Gordon Army Base just outside Augusta, Georgia. He was fortunate enough that his active duty assignment was to be a training officer to new recruits. He was the top of his class at West Point and considered one of the best intelligence officers the Army had stateside. This gave Paul a great assignment that the furthest he’s ever had to be from his new wife would be the three hour drive from their home. He would spend his days training new officers on intelligence lingo. How to read and retract information from gathered information. It was his job to prepare these officers to go overseas and decipher information as well as handle what messages would come out after they deciphered them. Paul’s job was a challenging and demanding one. Not on the body, but on the mind and emotions.
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Back home, Jo was unpacking from a honeymoon that seemed to be over before it began. Paul had only been gone a day and she already missed him so much it hurt. They had only been married for three weeks, but they had been together for ten years. Jo met Paul during her freshman year of high school. She was only fifteen. He was a cocky, popular junior whose looks were clearly better than his grades. He had flowing blonde hair and ice blue eyes that pierced directly to her heart when she looked into them. The day the calculus teacher from Athens High asked an over achieving, top of her class, Jo to tutor a promising football quarterback would turn out to be one of the best days of her life.
Paul walked into the tutor center that first day, and sat down across the table from the short, skinny brunette tutor he had been assigned. She had fair skin with faded freckles. Specked green eyes outlined by thin wispy eyebrows. Her hair grazing the left side of her face, shiny and smooth, Paul wondered if this tutor was as equally smart as she was beautiful. He had dated a majority of the girls in his grade, as well as the seniors above him. This freshman tutor, however, was like no one he had seen in the school before.
Paul had a date with Jo secured by the end of the first week she tutored him. He came to see that she was smart, but she was also interesting, enlightening and funny. Jo would wait for Paul after football practice and he would drive her home every day. The five minute drive would last hours as they sat in her driveway and talked, learning more and more how perfect for each other they were. Joe found out soon that this boy who she once thought was a dumb, pretty football star was actually quite brilliant. He just needed the right motivation to get there. She took extra time to help Paul discover his hardships in studying which would eventually lead to an increase in his grades which got him into West Point, well that and a promise to play football.
Paul’s dad, granddad, and four uncles were all West Point Alum, as well as Paul’s brother being a current cadet in his first year. Paul knew if he could graduate in the top fourth of his class and keep his body healthy and in shape, he would be guaranteed admission. This guarantee is what led him to slack for a while because he knew it would be easier coming from a West Point family to get in. Lucky for him, Jo entered his life and helped him realize his academic potential. Paul graduated in the top 20th percentile in his class, with full admission acceptance into West Point Academy and a starting spot on their football team. Just two years after meeting the love of his life, he was ready to embark on a dream he was raised to fulfill. Jo would finish high school and attend NYU to pursue a teaching degree. This put them in the same state which was close enough for them to endure time apart. Every leave Paul got, every break Jo could find, they would find away to see each other. This kept their relationship alive throughout the six years they were forced to be apart.
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A loud knock on the door to Paul’s office startled him. He was so divulged in writing his training report; he had put himself in a sort of trance. That knock on his door pulled him out of that state and he jumped up to attention. When he answered the door he saw a husky, talk, solid man standing before him. Like one of those army plastic men you played with as a child had come to life. This man, Paul knew however, this was his base commander. “New orders just came down Paul, may I come in?” The commander said as he let himself in, Paul getting out of the way knowing him asking was only a courtesy, and an answer wasn’t necessary. As Paul sat down across from his commander he had an idea of what this conversation was going to be about. It had been a great run, and he had been lucky, but with the fall in intelligence recruits, he knew this time was going to come. “We leave at 0900 day after tomorrow,” the commander continued. He had been explaining to Paul that with the decline in intelligence recruits he was needed overseas. He would be stationed at a US Embassy somewhere in the Middle East working intelligence and briefing battalion commanders. Paul’s heart raced, not because he had to ship out in less than 48 hours, but because he was going to tell Jo that she would see her husband for not a month now, but twelve. This was going to suck he thought.
When the phone rang, and Jo saw it was Paul on the caller ID, her heart leapt. She couldn’t wait to hear his voice. Minutes into the phone call however, there was a different feeling in her heart. Now there was a feeling of pain and deep worry. “It’s just Embassy work,” he assured her, “I’ll be behind Marine Guard around the clock.” Paul and Jo both new despite what Paul said that working in the Embassy overseas wasn’t nearly as safe as he wanted it to sound. There had been several bombings of US Embassies over the past several years Paul had been on active duty. Many of the recruits he sent had been injured in them. Fortunately, though, no one that Paul and Jo knew had perished…yet.
“When do you leave?” Jo cried. “Morning, day after tomorrow,” Paul responded holding back his own tears. “I can’t come home, but I want you to come here,” he said to his distraught wife. So Jo did. She packed an overnight bag and started on the three hour drive to Fort Gordon. She knew it would be the last time she’s see her husband in over a year.
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The flight was bumpy, loud, and cold. The impromptu deployment of Paul and the three other intelligence officers didn’t allow time for commercial transportation. Instead they were put into a military supply transport. These planes were loud and very uncomfortable. Paul had more detail about where he was going. His deployment was at the US Embassy in Istanbul, Turkey. This brought the young officer a small amount of comfort because he knew the chief intelligence officer at the embassy. A man two years ahead of him at West Point, a man to whom Paul had known all his life. Paul closed his eyes and tried to drown out the sound of the turbine engine and rattling cargo with the memory of the words his wife left him with the previous evening. As Jo and Paul said their goodbyes, she told him she loved him, and that she was proud to be his wife. She told him that no matter what happened, she would always be proud. This warmed Paul’s body, and he drifted into a calm and pleasant sleep.
The plane hit the tarmac so hard it pulled Paul out of his slumber like a bullet out of a gun. As he wiped his eyes and shook his head to wake himself up, he looked around to see his comrades had had similar reactions to the bumpy cargo transport landing. The plane slowed to a halt and as the back door opened, the Istanbul heat hit Paul like a wall. The hot, dry air felt like a thousand degree change from the cold plane he had spent the last nine hours on. The sun beat down on his face directly above him. Scorching his pale skin, he wasn’t ready for this heat to hit him like this. The tarmac around him was pretty empty. A few military escort vehicles and a black Hummer awaited him and his three fellow officers. Out of the Hummer stepped a man who stood about six feet tall. Buzzed blond hair and a distinct tan line out lining where his sunglasses would go. The man approached Paul and yelled for him to stand at attention. Paul chuckled and hugged his brother. The chief intelligence officer at the Embassy was Paul’s older brother Doug. He had been stationed in Istanbul for the past nine months and when he found out Paul was on orders to be deployed, pulled a few strings to get him at the same embassy he was stationed at. This was comforting when Paul was notified, but even more so when he told Jo. Jo felt so much better about Paul being stationed with his brother. They could look after each other, she would tell herself, and that brought a calming relaxation to her.
When they got to the Embassy, the new officers were shown to their living quarters and then given a set of orders that covered their next week. As Paul looked over it, he knew he was no longer the guy in charge, the man who knew what was going on. He was the new recruit, the one who needed the training, and it would be at least a week before he would be able to actually do what he was deployed for. The scope of work on his orders included intelligence briefings, policy seminars, and safety drills—one thing Paul was sure to pay attention to. He was going to do anything and everything to get back to Jo safe. His nights were essentially free over this briefing period. He thought how great it would be to have that time to adapt, get to know Istanbul, and most importantly spend time with his brother. Paul could tell Doug was equally happy to have him around. They had been inseparable growing up, and it would be nice to have someone around to provide that comforting reminder of home.
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The house felt emptier to Jo than it normally did. A feeling she found confusing because Paul was rarely there, he was always stationed on base. Now, however, she knew he wasn’t hundreds of miles away; he was thousands of miles away. Jo kept busy as much as she could. Her teaching occupied a majority of her time and between grading finals and preparing for the holidays, she found it easier to forget about Paul overseas. She was comforted knowing he was with Doug who had the experience, not to mention she had just spoken with Paul over a choppy web-cam feed, and to all appearances, he looked good. She was looking forward to the upcoming holiday. Paul and Doug were getting a three day leave and were going to travel to Rome to view a Christmas mass with the Pope. Jo was excited for the pictures Paul was going to get of all the Italian architecture. He said he was going to scope out all the great cafes and museums. He was going to plan out a second honeymoon when returned from deployment. Jo was happy Paul was doing well, and she appreciated his optimism and promise of coming home. It made her life so much easier at home.
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Jo jumped out of bed startled at the phone ringing. She made out the time on the alarm clock though her foggy half-asleep eyes. “2:00” it read. Confused by the early morning phone call, she picked up the phone. “Mrs. Halloway?” the voice on the phone asked. “Yes, who is this?” Jo answered. “Ma’am, there will be a military escort at your house shortly. I need you to go with them, it’s your husband.” Jo dropped the phone and her heart sunk. She couldn’t breathe; every breath was a battle to get air into her lungs. She sat there, a distant voice from the phone, now on the ground, calling out to see if she was still on the line. Tears began to flow down her face, no sobbing or cries, just lonesome tears flowing down her fair-skinned cheeks. Her mind surging with thoughts: What could have happened? What was she to do? She assumed the worst, although battled with herself to hope for the best. It could be anything right? They’d call for anything, don’t assume the worst Jo. Don’t.
The military escort vehicle was a black Lincoln. It was very inconspicuous and nongovernment looking. The driver was instructed to do just that, drive. He sat in the front seat while a young, quiet, and timid looking Private sat with Jo in the back. Jo was terrified; all she knew is that they were driving to meet the base commander. She knew her husband was alive, but to what extent she did not. The three hour drive seemed like an eternity. When the car pulled into the base, it was met by the base commander standing with the Fort Gordon chaplain. “What happened to Paul?” Jo cried out, now sobbing in fear of the thoughts of her ailing husband thousands of miles away. The base commander grabbed Jo by the hand and sat her down on the curb. He explained that there was a train accident. While Paul and Doug were on their holiday leave, the train they were taking to Rome derailed. There were many casualties; Paul was in a military hospital in Italy in an unknown condition. Jo broke down; she wanted to jump on the next plane to Italy to be by her husband’s side. Her heart ached in fear, she collapsed into the shoulder of the once tough military commander in front of her, now showing his own pain for is friend in his eyes. Jo wouldn’t make a flight to Italy; she would receive a phone call that would change her life only an hour later.
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The second round of gunshots made Jo jump even more than before, and she knew these ones were coming. Seconds later, the third and final round of shots fired and the tears poured down her face like a fountain had just been released. She thought to herself that he was too young to die. All she could do is cry, as the echoes from that ceremonious 21 gun salute reflected through the air. She looked up at the crying soldier standing next to her, and grabbed his hand tightly. His leg in a cast, a crutch under his opposite arm, Paul was standing there grasping his wife’s arm, mourning the loss of his brother. The train accident left him with nothing more than a broken leg and a few dislocated fingers, his brother Doug on the other hand, lost his life. It wasn’t fair to Paul, his brother was so young. Only thirty, never married, spent the last twelve years serving his country, and this favor is returned by God in the form of a train accident that ultimately took his life. Paul was angry and Paul was sad. He didn’t deserve to come home alone; he deserved to come home with his brother. Jo was full of mixed emotion. She was eternally thankful that God had spared her husband’s life. She was terribly saddened by the loss of her brother-in-law. However she was mostly worried about the state of her husband now. This death had hit him hard. He had barely spoken a word since he returned home only a week ago escorting his brother’s body. She knew it would be a long road of recovery for Paul in the upcoming months, perhaps even years. All she could do now, was hold his hand, cry with him, and mourn with him—the loss of a soldier, a friend, a brother, and an American hero.
Questions to Ask Yourself, Questions to Provoke Great Writing
What do you fear most?
What drives you?
What causes you to hate?
What causes you to love?
How do you survive a broken heart?
Where do you feel safe?
Why are you who you are?
What do you most regreat?
What is your darkest secret?
What could you never tell anybody?
What drives you?
What causes you to hate?
What causes you to love?
How do you survive a broken heart?
Where do you feel safe?
Why are you who you are?
What do you most regreat?
What is your darkest secret?
What could you never tell anybody?
A Day in the Life
Coming into my kitchen early before the restaurant opens. Preparing the days ingredients. Slowly turning the knob of the double oven where all my masterpieces blend together in to the lush tasted and addicting smells that draw followers in to try the delicacies that only I can create. My inspiration is the taste bud. What new surprise I can provide, what unknown valley I can send a knew flavor down? Its more than cooking to me it is a passion and an adventure. Everyone knows peas and carrots go together, but what doesn't everyone know? That's my mission. I love the feeling of cutting chopped vegetables. The crunch when the knife hits the fresh skin. The rhythmic motion of whipping fresh egg whites is therapy on a bad day. The sound of the mix on a frying pan is music to my ears, flipping it over seeing my masterpiece come together. Most people would look and see that it's just breakfast coming together, to me it's the start of my day, the first painting on my canvas, the beginning of my daily portfolio. I do what I do for the love of what I do.
Sunday, September 13, 2009
What Now?
"Strike three." That was it, the game is over. We lost the championship. I don't even know what to do or where to go. The other team is rushing onto the field. They are celebrating. I can hear the crowd cheering, why wouldn't they? We are the visiting team. My heart sinks, and then I look up to see all the reporters rushing to me. Questions spitting out from every direction. "How do you feel?" "Where does the team go now?" Where does the team go now, that's right. We already belong to a city that doesn't much appreciate their professional baseball team sucking ass every year. We are a joke. As manager, of course I have to field this question. What should I say? My starting pitcher is out for the next season recovering from elbow surgery. My top three hitters are all making under the table deals to get to a better team before they get sent to some God awful city to lose yet another season. Hell, even making it to the championship game this year was a fluke. It wasn't even a close game, we were blown out. So now, I'm stuck with a team of injured players and the healthy one's don't want to be here. I'll be luck to even have a job. What am I going to do? I have kids in college. The reporters get bored with me, I've got nothing valuable to share with anyone. I've got all these things, and no clear idea of what path to take. All I can think is "What now?" Like I don’t already have enough on my plate, when I get to the club house, the owner is in my office. What does he want? I take the long walk from one end of the clubhouse to where my office is and my boss is waiting to fire me I’m sure. Each player stares at me as I walk by, some in disgust, others with pity in their eyes. I am pathetic. Once such a great player, now I’m nothing but a loser. There is so much rushing through my head now, I can organize it at all. My thoughts are cycling through one after another. I feel my mind is in several places at once. I look up, my boss now staring directly at me, I feel the sweat dripping down my face. I can hear the tomorrows ESPN anchors in my head telling my sad story to millions of viewers. As I get into my office, I see there is another person in there with the owner of the team. It’s a police officer. “What now,” I think to myself. “What in the hell now?”
Skeeter in Search of a Friend
Skeeter was an interesting lad, an avererage sized body he had. Well almost I guess would be the fair thing to say, for his arms were so long he could never come out to play. Boys and girls alike would point and make fun, all Skeeter wanted to do was laugh, play, and run. At first he was normal his eyes ocean blue. His dimples and freckles, new kids didn't have a clue. But when Skeeter would reach out to shake the hand of his new friend, they'd look down in disgust and Skeeter new that was the end. The new boy or girl would run away without fright, Skeeter was then alone again, not a single friend in sight. Finally one day Skeeter vowed to change his unfortunate days, he would find himself a friend who could look beyond his uncontrollable ways. So Skeeter woke up the next morning and kissed his Mom goodbye, he was going to find himself a friend no matter how hard he had to try. His mom hugged him hard and gave him a kiss on his cheek. She told Skeeter she'd miss him but hoped he could find what he was out to seek. And on the journey, Skeeter then went, not knowing how much time would need to be spent. Skeeter however, did not care how long it would take, because in the end, Skeeter knew that a friend he would make!
Sunday, September 6, 2009
I Started Writing and This is What Happened
My legs were burning, heart pounding out of my chest, and I could barely breathe, but I couldn't stop running; the only thing racing through my head was how I got into this mess to begin with.
I woke up that day like I did every day. My dated alarm clock's buzzer sounded like it should have been thrown away years ago, but it still sounded its dreadful alarm every morning at seven-thirty. I pulled myself out of bed and hopped in the shower. The water was constant refreshing splash of cold water. I had become accustom to cold showers, it started with a broken water heater and now was an easy way to go from half asleep to wide awake in thirty seconds flat. It takes me all of an hour to go from alarm clock to out the door putting me on my way to school at eight thirty sharp every morning. I was your model sixteen year old.
It was lunch before I realized that day was going to be a memorable one. There was a new student in home room today. He was from North Dakota. He was home schooled and grew up on a soy bean farm. Apparently he had the intellect to graduate but his parents made him transfer to an actual school to gain social skills. You could say Gary was different. Gary, that was his name. I would never forget that.
He walked into the cafeteria and sat down across from me at my typical lunch table. I looked at him puzzled, like expecting that he knew proper high school lunch room etiquette. I gave him a half smile and stared down at my half-eaten grilled cheese. "What you doing tonight," he asked out of the blue. I looked again with the puzzled look I'd given him a few minutes before. "Umm, I've got plans with some friends," I answered hesitantly. Gary just smirked and said, "Cancel them and meet me outside around ten tonight. I've got a fun place we can take that truck of yours, oh and you can bring your friends too if you want." I was speechless. Who was this new guy, who came and sat at my lunch table and is telling me to cancel my plans with my friends, so we can go drive my truck to God knows where? "Thanks, but I'm good," I said as I Brushed off the idea of spending a perfectly good Thursday night with some punk loaner from North Dakota, who before now probably only had human contact when visiting his local farmers' market. "Whatever, you'll be there. It'll be worth your time I guarantee it." Gary said that, and then got up and left as the rest of my friends sat down. They were all curious to what the new mysterious boy had to say and the second I told them the story, they were all about finding out what Gary had in store. That was it, the jury had reached a verdict and my fate for that Friday night was set.
Gary was in my final class that day. It happened to be History with the most boring, elderly man in the existence of education. The only thing that made him a decent teacher is that he lived through most of the historic events he taught. As I sat down Gary dropped a note on my desk as he walked buy. "Be prepared for some wicked shit tonight." I looked back at him and he winked at me and went back to reading the chapter on the Great Depression. What did I get myself into?
Ten o'clock couldn't come fast enough and when I showed up in the parking lot of the school that night with my two best friends and my truck, Gary was nowhere to be seen. We sat there until damn near eleven before we saw this dirty, red neck looking kid come strolling out from under the bleachers on the football field. Gary was right behind him. "It's about time," I yelled at him, already frustrated that I had to be here to begin with. "I had to take care of some things, forgive me," he said as he climbed in the back of my pick-up.
I drove south for about an hour. The night was clear, the moon was full. The moon was so bright in fact; I probably could have driven without my headlights on. Not me, though, I was the perfect sixteen year old remember? It was a little damp, enough to cause a barely visible mist in the air. I heard Gary from the back yell, “Take your next exit and pull over at the second stop light." I did as told wondering what the hell we were doing. I was in an area I didn't know with a two guys I didn't know. My two best friends my only back-up and they were all giddy like it was a fun adventure from some romantic comedy out in theaters. I felt like I was in a horror movie. Things just didn't feel right.
We got to the second light and I pulled over. We all got out of the truck and Gary pointed to an abandon looking farm house with acres of land surrounding it. "From the tree line on the left all the way to highway on the right, it' all belongs to my old man.” Now I was mad, fuming to say the least. I drove our asses all the way out to this unknown town to see where he lived. "You live here? You took us to your damn house?" I yelled at Gary. My two friends just laughed, as did the random red-neck kid, who had now taken the pack of cigarette out of the sleeve of is raggedy white t-shirt and lit it. "No, I said it's my old man's house, I live with my ma," Gary said as he started walking up the drive way to this old run-down house. The red neck followed by my two friends went up after him. I hesitated until the two girls yelled back. What the hell, I was already this far, I might as well see what else was in store.
The house was barely held together. It had white chipping paint on rotting wood separated by the occasional window that was so dirty, it looked solid brown. I made a joke to break the silent tension but was shushed by the red neck as he flicked his cigarette butt to the gravel drive way. When we got to the porch, Gary knocked on the door. Nobody answered, so Gary knocked again. Finally, after a few silent, uncomfortable moments, a man answered the door. He looked strikingly like the red-neck boy, but had a familiar look on his face. His eyes looked exactly like Gary's did this morning when he sat down at my table for lunch. I had realized that this was Gary's dad, and that the red-neck was his brother. "I'm here to talk," Gary said. His dad didn't say anything, just opened the door as to signal that he was allowed to come in. "Stay here with the girls," Gary said to his brother. With a grunt, his brother acknowledged and Gary went in the house. I was so confused. What the hell were we doing here? How did an invite to go joy riding in my truck turn into some weird family confrontation? What was my role in this? We sat there for a few minutes and then I heard yelling. It was coming from Gary and his Dad. Profanity, random sentences, something about a woman who was apparently unhappy, his mom perhaps, or a sister we didn't know about yet. Just then my thoughts were broken buy a loud noise. Like a crash or a condensed firework explosion. Gary flew open the door, and ran past us. "Run you idiots!" The second I heard him yell that I took off. We were all running up the driveway we had so calmly strolled down a half hour earlier. My legs were burning, heart pounding out of my chest, and I could barely breathe, but I couldn't stop running; the only thing racing through my head was how I got into this mess to begin with. That didn't matter though. What mattered was getting back to my truck and getting the hell out of there. I didn't know what happened but whatever it was it couldn't have been good. I got to the truck and Gary was in the driver's seat. "Throw me the keys," he yelled. "Not a chance," I said barely breathing. "We have no time," he insisted. I threw him the keys and hopped in the bed of my truck. What the hell was I doing?
The tires screeched and we pulled out of there and we were speeding down the road. Gary was in his own world, staring straight at the road. When we hit the highway, I thought for sure I was safe. It was weird, but it would be over. We were ok. Just as I settled down in the back of the pickup bed, my two best friends beside me, Gary and his red neck brother in the front I looked beside me and saw a garbage bag I didn't remember seeing before. I looked inside and saw what looked to be several thousand dollars in cash. I yelled up to Gary and asked, "What the hell is all this money doing in the back of my truck!" Gary looked back and saw that we had found the bag he had run out of his dad's house with. He slammed on the breaks, and opened the door. "Get out. Get out all of you," he yelled at my two friends and me. "Screw you, this is my truck. What the hell is all this money from?" As I finished my sentence I say Gary's brother grab my two friends and throw them out of the truck. Then Gary grabbed my wrist and pulled me out. I felt a sharp pain as I hit the ground. What was going on? I stood up in time to see him race away in my truck.
With my two friends crying and tears running down my own face I pulled my phone out of my pocket and dialed my brother. My brother James was two years older than me, and well, the only one other than my dad I could call when I got into trouble. I wasn't about to call my dad, so I dialed James. It took all my effort to prevent myself from breaking down talking to him on the phone. I told him I was stranded on the side of the highway a few miles south of town and I needed him to pick us up. We sat back in the grass and waited. Thank God the moon was so bright that night. It provided us with a natural almost night light to prevent us from being even more freaked out than we already were.
James got there fifteen minutes later, and as we drove back into town he asked what had happened. I made up a story. One of the girls' boyfriends played a joke on us. Stranded us on the side of the road and took my truck. We didn't feel like waiting so we called him instead. I don't know if James believed us or not, but he left me alone for the rest of the ride. We dropped the two girls off that night and then James and I went home. I fell into my bed and passed out.
That annoying tone came again at its punctual seven thirty time slot. As I opened my eyes, I wondered if what I went through last night was merely a dumb dream I had had. As I stepped in to my ritual cold shower I realize it wasn't. My left shoulder was black and blue and I had scrapes all down that side of my body. What happened is all I could think to myself as I got dressed. It took me an hour and fifteen minutes today. Getting dressed was too painful with my shoulder. I got a ride to school from James that morning, and when we pulled up my truck was in the parking lot. I got to my truck and the keys were lying in the bed. I grabbed them, locked it up and ran to class. I was running late today.
I met my two friends in our first period homeroom like every other day. We spent the hour trying to figure out what happened last night. Gary hadn't shown up, so I went up to ask our home room teacher if she had any news on why he wasn't there. She knew nothing of a Gary in this class, and didn't remember him from yesterday. I insisted and she told me to sit down and stop with the games, it was too early for her to deal with teenaged bullshit today.
I went through the whole day asking the same question, "Where's Gary?" And with the exception of my two friends, no one knew who he was. After school, I drove my truck home. As I was getting my garage door opener out of the glove box, an envelope fell out. Inside was a note. It read, "I'm sorry for putting you through that, but I needed wheels. I don't expect you to understand but I hope this make us for it a little. Folded in the letter was a pile of cash, two grand to be exact. I shoved it in my purse and went straight inside to my room. I was so confused and afraid of what was going on and what happened last night that I put the cash in a shoe box with the note and shoved it in the back of my closet.
A few weeks later my shoulder was almost back to normal and my friends and I had attributed the entire Gary situation to a weird stroke of unluckiness. That was until I was eating my breakfast and the local news came on interviewing a girl from a town a few miles north. She said a new student at her school had convinced her and some friends to go joy riding. She was taken to a strange house. As I listened to this interview, her story was as exactly as mine was. Different town, different car, but the story was the same. I dropped my glass, it shattered. My dad looked at me like I was a child; I apologized, cleaned it up, and ran off to school. Getting in my truck that day and driving to school, I was terrified. Who was this guy? Was he coming back? Am I okay? I didn't know what was in store. I did know that it wasn't coincidence that night. What my friends and I went through was real. What I didn't know is that Gary would be back, and there would be another night like the one a few short weeks ago, only then there would be more than money and my truck involved; someone wouldn't survive.
I woke up that day like I did every day. My dated alarm clock's buzzer sounded like it should have been thrown away years ago, but it still sounded its dreadful alarm every morning at seven-thirty. I pulled myself out of bed and hopped in the shower. The water was constant refreshing splash of cold water. I had become accustom to cold showers, it started with a broken water heater and now was an easy way to go from half asleep to wide awake in thirty seconds flat. It takes me all of an hour to go from alarm clock to out the door putting me on my way to school at eight thirty sharp every morning. I was your model sixteen year old.
It was lunch before I realized that day was going to be a memorable one. There was a new student in home room today. He was from North Dakota. He was home schooled and grew up on a soy bean farm. Apparently he had the intellect to graduate but his parents made him transfer to an actual school to gain social skills. You could say Gary was different. Gary, that was his name. I would never forget that.
He walked into the cafeteria and sat down across from me at my typical lunch table. I looked at him puzzled, like expecting that he knew proper high school lunch room etiquette. I gave him a half smile and stared down at my half-eaten grilled cheese. "What you doing tonight," he asked out of the blue. I looked again with the puzzled look I'd given him a few minutes before. "Umm, I've got plans with some friends," I answered hesitantly. Gary just smirked and said, "Cancel them and meet me outside around ten tonight. I've got a fun place we can take that truck of yours, oh and you can bring your friends too if you want." I was speechless. Who was this new guy, who came and sat at my lunch table and is telling me to cancel my plans with my friends, so we can go drive my truck to God knows where? "Thanks, but I'm good," I said as I Brushed off the idea of spending a perfectly good Thursday night with some punk loaner from North Dakota, who before now probably only had human contact when visiting his local farmers' market. "Whatever, you'll be there. It'll be worth your time I guarantee it." Gary said that, and then got up and left as the rest of my friends sat down. They were all curious to what the new mysterious boy had to say and the second I told them the story, they were all about finding out what Gary had in store. That was it, the jury had reached a verdict and my fate for that Friday night was set.
Gary was in my final class that day. It happened to be History with the most boring, elderly man in the existence of education. The only thing that made him a decent teacher is that he lived through most of the historic events he taught. As I sat down Gary dropped a note on my desk as he walked buy. "Be prepared for some wicked shit tonight." I looked back at him and he winked at me and went back to reading the chapter on the Great Depression. What did I get myself into?
Ten o'clock couldn't come fast enough and when I showed up in the parking lot of the school that night with my two best friends and my truck, Gary was nowhere to be seen. We sat there until damn near eleven before we saw this dirty, red neck looking kid come strolling out from under the bleachers on the football field. Gary was right behind him. "It's about time," I yelled at him, already frustrated that I had to be here to begin with. "I had to take care of some things, forgive me," he said as he climbed in the back of my pick-up.
I drove south for about an hour. The night was clear, the moon was full. The moon was so bright in fact; I probably could have driven without my headlights on. Not me, though, I was the perfect sixteen year old remember? It was a little damp, enough to cause a barely visible mist in the air. I heard Gary from the back yell, “Take your next exit and pull over at the second stop light." I did as told wondering what the hell we were doing. I was in an area I didn't know with a two guys I didn't know. My two best friends my only back-up and they were all giddy like it was a fun adventure from some romantic comedy out in theaters. I felt like I was in a horror movie. Things just didn't feel right.
We got to the second light and I pulled over. We all got out of the truck and Gary pointed to an abandon looking farm house with acres of land surrounding it. "From the tree line on the left all the way to highway on the right, it' all belongs to my old man.” Now I was mad, fuming to say the least. I drove our asses all the way out to this unknown town to see where he lived. "You live here? You took us to your damn house?" I yelled at Gary. My two friends just laughed, as did the random red-neck kid, who had now taken the pack of cigarette out of the sleeve of is raggedy white t-shirt and lit it. "No, I said it's my old man's house, I live with my ma," Gary said as he started walking up the drive way to this old run-down house. The red neck followed by my two friends went up after him. I hesitated until the two girls yelled back. What the hell, I was already this far, I might as well see what else was in store.
The house was barely held together. It had white chipping paint on rotting wood separated by the occasional window that was so dirty, it looked solid brown. I made a joke to break the silent tension but was shushed by the red neck as he flicked his cigarette butt to the gravel drive way. When we got to the porch, Gary knocked on the door. Nobody answered, so Gary knocked again. Finally, after a few silent, uncomfortable moments, a man answered the door. He looked strikingly like the red-neck boy, but had a familiar look on his face. His eyes looked exactly like Gary's did this morning when he sat down at my table for lunch. I had realized that this was Gary's dad, and that the red-neck was his brother. "I'm here to talk," Gary said. His dad didn't say anything, just opened the door as to signal that he was allowed to come in. "Stay here with the girls," Gary said to his brother. With a grunt, his brother acknowledged and Gary went in the house. I was so confused. What the hell were we doing here? How did an invite to go joy riding in my truck turn into some weird family confrontation? What was my role in this? We sat there for a few minutes and then I heard yelling. It was coming from Gary and his Dad. Profanity, random sentences, something about a woman who was apparently unhappy, his mom perhaps, or a sister we didn't know about yet. Just then my thoughts were broken buy a loud noise. Like a crash or a condensed firework explosion. Gary flew open the door, and ran past us. "Run you idiots!" The second I heard him yell that I took off. We were all running up the driveway we had so calmly strolled down a half hour earlier. My legs were burning, heart pounding out of my chest, and I could barely breathe, but I couldn't stop running; the only thing racing through my head was how I got into this mess to begin with. That didn't matter though. What mattered was getting back to my truck and getting the hell out of there. I didn't know what happened but whatever it was it couldn't have been good. I got to the truck and Gary was in the driver's seat. "Throw me the keys," he yelled. "Not a chance," I said barely breathing. "We have no time," he insisted. I threw him the keys and hopped in the bed of my truck. What the hell was I doing?
The tires screeched and we pulled out of there and we were speeding down the road. Gary was in his own world, staring straight at the road. When we hit the highway, I thought for sure I was safe. It was weird, but it would be over. We were ok. Just as I settled down in the back of the pickup bed, my two best friends beside me, Gary and his red neck brother in the front I looked beside me and saw a garbage bag I didn't remember seeing before. I looked inside and saw what looked to be several thousand dollars in cash. I yelled up to Gary and asked, "What the hell is all this money doing in the back of my truck!" Gary looked back and saw that we had found the bag he had run out of his dad's house with. He slammed on the breaks, and opened the door. "Get out. Get out all of you," he yelled at my two friends and me. "Screw you, this is my truck. What the hell is all this money from?" As I finished my sentence I say Gary's brother grab my two friends and throw them out of the truck. Then Gary grabbed my wrist and pulled me out. I felt a sharp pain as I hit the ground. What was going on? I stood up in time to see him race away in my truck.
With my two friends crying and tears running down my own face I pulled my phone out of my pocket and dialed my brother. My brother James was two years older than me, and well, the only one other than my dad I could call when I got into trouble. I wasn't about to call my dad, so I dialed James. It took all my effort to prevent myself from breaking down talking to him on the phone. I told him I was stranded on the side of the highway a few miles south of town and I needed him to pick us up. We sat back in the grass and waited. Thank God the moon was so bright that night. It provided us with a natural almost night light to prevent us from being even more freaked out than we already were.
James got there fifteen minutes later, and as we drove back into town he asked what had happened. I made up a story. One of the girls' boyfriends played a joke on us. Stranded us on the side of the road and took my truck. We didn't feel like waiting so we called him instead. I don't know if James believed us or not, but he left me alone for the rest of the ride. We dropped the two girls off that night and then James and I went home. I fell into my bed and passed out.
That annoying tone came again at its punctual seven thirty time slot. As I opened my eyes, I wondered if what I went through last night was merely a dumb dream I had had. As I stepped in to my ritual cold shower I realize it wasn't. My left shoulder was black and blue and I had scrapes all down that side of my body. What happened is all I could think to myself as I got dressed. It took me an hour and fifteen minutes today. Getting dressed was too painful with my shoulder. I got a ride to school from James that morning, and when we pulled up my truck was in the parking lot. I got to my truck and the keys were lying in the bed. I grabbed them, locked it up and ran to class. I was running late today.
I met my two friends in our first period homeroom like every other day. We spent the hour trying to figure out what happened last night. Gary hadn't shown up, so I went up to ask our home room teacher if she had any news on why he wasn't there. She knew nothing of a Gary in this class, and didn't remember him from yesterday. I insisted and she told me to sit down and stop with the games, it was too early for her to deal with teenaged bullshit today.
I went through the whole day asking the same question, "Where's Gary?" And with the exception of my two friends, no one knew who he was. After school, I drove my truck home. As I was getting my garage door opener out of the glove box, an envelope fell out. Inside was a note. It read, "I'm sorry for putting you through that, but I needed wheels. I don't expect you to understand but I hope this make us for it a little. Folded in the letter was a pile of cash, two grand to be exact. I shoved it in my purse and went straight inside to my room. I was so confused and afraid of what was going on and what happened last night that I put the cash in a shoe box with the note and shoved it in the back of my closet.
A few weeks later my shoulder was almost back to normal and my friends and I had attributed the entire Gary situation to a weird stroke of unluckiness. That was until I was eating my breakfast and the local news came on interviewing a girl from a town a few miles north. She said a new student at her school had convinced her and some friends to go joy riding. She was taken to a strange house. As I listened to this interview, her story was as exactly as mine was. Different town, different car, but the story was the same. I dropped my glass, it shattered. My dad looked at me like I was a child; I apologized, cleaned it up, and ran off to school. Getting in my truck that day and driving to school, I was terrified. Who was this guy? Was he coming back? Am I okay? I didn't know what was in store. I did know that it wasn't coincidence that night. What my friends and I went through was real. What I didn't know is that Gary would be back, and there would be another night like the one a few short weeks ago, only then there would be more than money and my truck involved; someone wouldn't survive.
Look Up Gullable in the Dictionary...You'll See Me!
So, yeah, I took those hoax tests and I learned one very big thing. I am a sucker! I got almost every one one wrong. It's kind of ridiculous in the fact that I could really do that bad on a test like that. I tried to think of what was feasible in my mind and what wasn't, but that had no bearing on me being even remotely accurate on what was real and what was a hoax. However, it does say how wierd things can be and how some people have way too much time on their hands. I think that the people that conjure these pictures are storytellers in their own ways. Instead of words, they use images; the emotions and draw the stories bring are the same though. In fact, these pictures allow for the viewer to create their own story, this ads a level that words can not. Probably not the best thing to say in a writing class, but there is that saying that a picture is worth 1000 words. Storytellers have different sources. Some base their stories of real life experiences, some off of word of mouth and others' stories, and some off pictures. I think the strategy in which a story is created can differ with every individual but the result is the same.
Sunday, August 30, 2009
Free Writing...Or At Least a Wierd Attempt
"It was a bright cold day in April and all the clocks were striking thirteen." My neighbor Joe always muttered crazy things like that. Who knew what was going on in his head? The man had been through so much in his life. He was born back when drinking would have put you in jail, and now drinking is the one common think Joe and I share. Life is hard when you go through a war, and as crazy as it may seem, Joe is the one person that can understand what it’s like. Granted, he saw a much different war than I did, but the effects were the same.
"It was a bright cold day in April and all the clocks were striking thirteen,” he muttered again, speaking about his time stationed in Germany. Joe served in the second World War and was in Berlin after the Nazi surrender. “The Nazi surrender seemed as impossible as a 13th hour. That’s why we used that phrase,” Joe continued. “I stood beneath the grand clock in the square and I was scared. Surrounded by my rejoicing brothers, I could only feel fear for what I was going to return to when I returned home.” Joe knew that when he made it back to his North Dakota farm that the house would be empty. His wife had run off during the war, Joe finding out with the ever so familiar “Dear John” letter. He didn’t know how he was going to get through it. To him he was leaving one war to enter another. There would be a divorce to go through, papers to sign, property to split. It was almost as if he never wanted to leave that square in Berlin.
Joe did leave that square though and after a lengthy divorce he was living in a one bedroom studio apartment in a small developing downtown area named after St. Paul. He would live there for the next sixty years.
I started renting the apartment next to Joe three years ago, and although the man is pushing ninety, he is the one person in my life I can relate to. Joe knew war, as did I. Granted, he spoke about it, had stories, and could illustrate his time of American Patriotism. For me however, it was too horrific, to hard to bare. The years I spent over there where years I’m not ready to relive, if I even can ever. Listening to Joe gives me hope though, if a man like that can have a life full of joy, full of sadness, and full of well life, then what’s stopping me. My hope is when I’m ninety I will be able to return the favor that Joe does for me. His time, his friendship gets me through on days when all I can think about is that time in my life, I time I wish to forget. Yet it appears that the chances of it being forgotten are as good as the clock striking thirteen.
"It was a bright cold day in April and all the clocks were striking thirteen,” he muttered again, speaking about his time stationed in Germany. Joe served in the second World War and was in Berlin after the Nazi surrender. “The Nazi surrender seemed as impossible as a 13th hour. That’s why we used that phrase,” Joe continued. “I stood beneath the grand clock in the square and I was scared. Surrounded by my rejoicing brothers, I could only feel fear for what I was going to return to when I returned home.” Joe knew that when he made it back to his North Dakota farm that the house would be empty. His wife had run off during the war, Joe finding out with the ever so familiar “Dear John” letter. He didn’t know how he was going to get through it. To him he was leaving one war to enter another. There would be a divorce to go through, papers to sign, property to split. It was almost as if he never wanted to leave that square in Berlin.
Joe did leave that square though and after a lengthy divorce he was living in a one bedroom studio apartment in a small developing downtown area named after St. Paul. He would live there for the next sixty years.
I started renting the apartment next to Joe three years ago, and although the man is pushing ninety, he is the one person in my life I can relate to. Joe knew war, as did I. Granted, he spoke about it, had stories, and could illustrate his time of American Patriotism. For me however, it was too horrific, to hard to bare. The years I spent over there where years I’m not ready to relive, if I even can ever. Listening to Joe gives me hope though, if a man like that can have a life full of joy, full of sadness, and full of well life, then what’s stopping me. My hope is when I’m ninety I will be able to return the favor that Joe does for me. His time, his friendship gets me through on days when all I can think about is that time in my life, I time I wish to forget. Yet it appears that the chances of it being forgotten are as good as the clock striking thirteen.
Saturday, August 29, 2009
Three Bases To Home
The field was full of men who would like nothing more than to see me fail, but I was distracted by that deafening tone. It got louder as the crowd saw how fast I was rounding the corners. As my cleat grazed that third bag, my heart was racing. Could I beat that little white bullet headed in the same direction? I dove, hands stretched as far as they would go. I felt my hand brush over the smooth surface of that final base. A split second of silence was broken by a single deep bellow, “SAFE.” I made it home.
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