Acid Things
1. My sister's tongue
2. Lemons
3. The Bloody Mary my friend and I had at lunch today.
4. The glass I stepped on at the beach that sliced a slab of skin from my foot.
5. My husband staying out way too late.
6. My daughter's rolling eyes.
7. Unreturned phone calls.
8. Steaming water
9. The truth.
10. Father's disapproval.
11. Rejections
12. My son's nightmares.
13. The cleaners I use in the shower
14. Whatever it is I am allergic to, that is making my eyes water.
15. Rain
16. Cold cold winter air.
17. Some of my cooking.
18. The sound of the wind through windows.
19. Lies
20. My husband's undying love for all things football, and his inability to see my hatred for them, all of them!
Sunday, September 27, 2009
A Day in the Life
"Damn, Rooster!" Trudy muttered under her breath, staring out her window at the shadow of the multi feathered creature, and for a moment wondered what it would taste like, for dinner, tonight. For a moment, a smile creased the deep lines of her face and she cackled, somewhat hag like, before shuffling into the next room to gather up her wailing infant baby boy.
"Come on, Ted!" Her voice monotoned and loud and aimed at the heap of husband buried under the blankets. "Up and at um!" Trudy didn't look back, she knew that it would be at least ten more reminders before he even moved. She pulled back the curtains and opened the window, letting in the morning air, that shuddered into the room cold and smelling of rain. For a moment, while she undid the front of her thread bare night gown she wondered what it would feel like to take flight over the sweeping hills of growing corn and crooked trail of blue rivers. She closed her eyes and pretended she was weightless like dandelion wisps floating where the wind took her, away, away, anywhere but here.
It was only a moment, and then she heard Charles down the hall, moving with his stealthy stride down the creaking back stairs and out the back door. She gathered her baby to her and sat down slowly in her old rocker, that had been made for her great grandmother Edna by her great grandfather, Arthur as a betrothal gift. This rocker had rocked forty five infants and five grandparents into adulthood and oblivion, and Trudy could feel the weight of all that ancestry on her every time she sat down in its well used polished seat.
This baby was her biggest so far, weighing in at twelve pounds at birth, with a small thatch of yellow hair, rosy cheeks and deep blue eyes. Already at three months he could hold his head up and sometimes teeter back and forth on his little bottom in an almost sitting position. Trudy blamed it on all of his fat and health that oozed out of him in smiles and coos. She hadn't named him yet, fluttering back and forth between Thomas and Henry, mattering on the time of day or the way he looked at her. Ted didn't care, he was just glad that it was a boy, and healthy, unlike the prior one. The one who had been born with dark wispy hair, long lashed pale eyes and puckering blue lips that refused the breast that Trudy had offered, sobbing into the late hours of the night. The one that had lived only one day and had thrown predictable sturdy Trudy into a state of cautious restlessness for three years.
Sometimes when she watched this one, this greedy healthy one, she resented it for its own need for survival that the other one had lacked and refused. One pudgy hand curled and pink always struck her while his mouth sucked and sucked, taking its food from her elongated breast with a zest that sometimes startled her. This one, Henry now, for its hair seemed slightly red in the rising sun, reminding her of pictures of King Henry the eighth, gazed deeply at her, into her eyes as if he was aware of the resentment she felt towards him, even though she attempted to disguise it behind her high pitched words of endearment.
"What?" Ted suddenly thrust himself from the bed, eyes wide and bewildered.
"You're still asleep." Trudy turned and watched him for a moment as he stared at her, first sightlessly and then slowly recognizing himself.
"Why didn't ya wake me?" His voice sounded slurred as if he were still drunk from the night before. Without waiting for an answer he stood, scratched his head and moved towards the bathroom, closing the door with a gentle click.
Trudy let her gaze return to the window where dawn lay like a pale yellow saucer across the sky. For a long moment the only sounds were the water in the bathroom and the rhythmic sound of her son's constant sucking. She forced herself to concentrate on today's plans and lists. Starting with breakfast, eggs, ham, applesauce and oatmeal. She would have Katie gather the eggs while she started the kettle for the tea and then, then. Her thoughts stopped and passed to other things.
She remembered a time when she was able to do everything. When it wasn't such a struggle to get up, or to remember what to do or where to go. That Trudy, as she called her previous self, was someone she had loved and admired. That Trudy could do anything, quip a joke, cook for ten men without batting an eyelash with a baby slung on one hip, clean up after breakfast and do the laundry all before lunch, which was always on time, and always something different. That Trudy, could still make Ted's eyes flash and grow quiet like the earth before a storm and that Trudy, had loved that look in her husband's eyes and the dance that followed it. That Trudy was dead, and this Trudy hated her with a passion for all that she had been and all that she could have been.
"Come on, Ted!" Her voice monotoned and loud and aimed at the heap of husband buried under the blankets. "Up and at um!" Trudy didn't look back, she knew that it would be at least ten more reminders before he even moved. She pulled back the curtains and opened the window, letting in the morning air, that shuddered into the room cold and smelling of rain. For a moment, while she undid the front of her thread bare night gown she wondered what it would feel like to take flight over the sweeping hills of growing corn and crooked trail of blue rivers. She closed her eyes and pretended she was weightless like dandelion wisps floating where the wind took her, away, away, anywhere but here.
It was only a moment, and then she heard Charles down the hall, moving with his stealthy stride down the creaking back stairs and out the back door. She gathered her baby to her and sat down slowly in her old rocker, that had been made for her great grandmother Edna by her great grandfather, Arthur as a betrothal gift. This rocker had rocked forty five infants and five grandparents into adulthood and oblivion, and Trudy could feel the weight of all that ancestry on her every time she sat down in its well used polished seat.
This baby was her biggest so far, weighing in at twelve pounds at birth, with a small thatch of yellow hair, rosy cheeks and deep blue eyes. Already at three months he could hold his head up and sometimes teeter back and forth on his little bottom in an almost sitting position. Trudy blamed it on all of his fat and health that oozed out of him in smiles and coos. She hadn't named him yet, fluttering back and forth between Thomas and Henry, mattering on the time of day or the way he looked at her. Ted didn't care, he was just glad that it was a boy, and healthy, unlike the prior one. The one who had been born with dark wispy hair, long lashed pale eyes and puckering blue lips that refused the breast that Trudy had offered, sobbing into the late hours of the night. The one that had lived only one day and had thrown predictable sturdy Trudy into a state of cautious restlessness for three years.
Sometimes when she watched this one, this greedy healthy one, she resented it for its own need for survival that the other one had lacked and refused. One pudgy hand curled and pink always struck her while his mouth sucked and sucked, taking its food from her elongated breast with a zest that sometimes startled her. This one, Henry now, for its hair seemed slightly red in the rising sun, reminding her of pictures of King Henry the eighth, gazed deeply at her, into her eyes as if he was aware of the resentment she felt towards him, even though she attempted to disguise it behind her high pitched words of endearment.
"What?" Ted suddenly thrust himself from the bed, eyes wide and bewildered.
"You're still asleep." Trudy turned and watched him for a moment as he stared at her, first sightlessly and then slowly recognizing himself.
"Why didn't ya wake me?" His voice sounded slurred as if he were still drunk from the night before. Without waiting for an answer he stood, scratched his head and moved towards the bathroom, closing the door with a gentle click.
Trudy let her gaze return to the window where dawn lay like a pale yellow saucer across the sky. For a long moment the only sounds were the water in the bathroom and the rhythmic sound of her son's constant sucking. She forced herself to concentrate on today's plans and lists. Starting with breakfast, eggs, ham, applesauce and oatmeal. She would have Katie gather the eggs while she started the kettle for the tea and then, then. Her thoughts stopped and passed to other things.
She remembered a time when she was able to do everything. When it wasn't such a struggle to get up, or to remember what to do or where to go. That Trudy, as she called her previous self, was someone she had loved and admired. That Trudy could do anything, quip a joke, cook for ten men without batting an eyelash with a baby slung on one hip, clean up after breakfast and do the laundry all before lunch, which was always on time, and always something different. That Trudy, could still make Ted's eyes flash and grow quiet like the earth before a storm and that Trudy, had loved that look in her husband's eyes and the dance that followed it. That Trudy was dead, and this Trudy hated her with a passion for all that she had been and all that she could have been.
Tuesday, September 22, 2009
Story in one hour
Exercise
Part I: The Voice
C: God! I never thought it would be so hard to find a babysitter!”
R: Are you sure we can trust her? I mean she did have her nose pierced.
C: She baby-sits for the Thompson’s all the time. I guess their kids love her. My nose was pierced when we first met. You had no problems with it then.”R: That was different, it was your nose.”
C: So, what are we going to do.
R: I don’t know. What do you want to do?”
C; Seriously? You didn’t make any plans?”R: Of course, I just thought if there was something you would rather do, we could do that.
C: You’re the one who asked me out. You’re the one who told me to get the babysitter and get dressed up. What are your plans?
R: I thought we could go to Slumberland and look at that bed for Rosie, and then go by my sister’s. Or not.
C: That was your plan?
R: No. We can do something else. C: No. That’s fine, if that is what you want to do on our night out, go a ahead.
R: We don’t have to do that. I just thought it might be fun to go see Becca and have something to drink.
C: Let’s go! Sounds great!
R: Fine. Let’s go.
C: Do you know how long its been since we’ve had any time alone together?R: No, how long?
C: Five months! Five months and this is what you purpose we do? Can’t we forget the kids for one night? Can’t we just be a couple and go out to the movies and dinner? Why does everything always have to involve them?
R: Really? I just thought we could make a decision about the bed with out the kids jumping around, maybe even apply for some financing if that’s possible with our credit. Dinner? This is what we have. We can’t afford anything else right now, and you know that.
C: I know, I just thought you had maybe saved up some money for tonight. I thought...
R: I’m sorry that we have no money. I’m doing what I can.
C: I know. I’m just being a bitch.
R: Yeah.
C: We do have to talk though.
R: Now what?
C: Now what? Now what?
R: God, just say it. I’m listening.
C: Are you? Can you please, stop being so angry. Look at me! Lately, I have just felt that you don’t want to be with me, that the only reason we are together is because of the kids. No, wait. Hear me out. I wish you could see yourself with the kids, how happy you are. It seems like every time they are asleep or busy you just go somewhere to be by yourself, as if you don’t want anything to do with me. And tonight just proves it. I feel like you dread being alone with me and that’s why you chose to do stuff that is in public with other people.
R: I am so tired of this shit.
Part II: Your Character’s Place in the World
This conversation is taking place in a minivan, that is filled with car seats, kids toys and littered with unfinished food from fast food restaurants. The smell in the car is that of the left over food, that smells strongly of French fries and ketchup. The couple are driving around a suburban city road that is surrounded by different restaurants, grocery stores and mid sized houses. The cars that surround them are somewhat nicer then the minivan that they are driving, but not much.
The sun is setting, leaving the sky streaked with grey and pink clouds out the back window and the front of their minivan is heading into the darker night sky where the lights from the different stores shine brightly and rather obnoxiously at them.
Part III: Who are You?
1. Describe your character physically, from head to toe.
She is a pretty woman, about 31. Thin, and dressed in a cheaper version of the latest styles. She wears her dark hair lose and curling around her face that she has made up for her night out. The make up is a little bit too much for her, as it is wearing her, rather then her wearing it. It appears to be a mask rather then something to enhance her beauty. Her fingernails are bitten down the quick and her toe nails have an old coat of blue polish on them that is rough around the edges and missing entirely on some nails. Her shoes are black and rather skuffed, if one were to look closely they would see that the buckle has been sewn back on, most likely by her.
2. What relationships are important to your character? Why?
The relationships that are important to my character are her children and her husband. While the dialogue does seem to lead the reader to think she may be comparing her relationship with her husband to the one that he has with their children, it is only the part that is missing in their own relationship that she recognizes. Her relationship with her husband and children are important to her, because this is her life and she loves them more than she can express.
3. What does your character do? Profession? Pleasure?
My character’s profession is a stay at home mom. Before she had children she worked as a receptionist at a doctor’s office, but gave it up gladly when her first child was born. She loves being a stay at home mom, but feels sometimes as if she is underappreciated by others around her. She is not always the best mother or the most organized as this is part of her personality, but she feels that she makes up for that in the role she plays as a mother to her children. For pleasure, my character reads and when she can she loves to garden. Because her children are so small she finds it hard to give her full attention to anything else in her life for a long period of time, besides them.
4. What is your character most afraid of?
My character is most afraid of not being loved. She feels that she has lost something between her and her husband and while she is desperately trying to attain it, she is blinded by his attempts to rebond with her by the negatives she perceives between the two of them.
5. What does your character want?
My character wants to be happy. She wants her children and husband to be happy and she feels responsible if they are not. She is willing to fight for them to be happy, not realizing that fighting with them for it doesn’t make it a given.
Scene I—Before the Conversation
Rick stood at the door, his backpack thrown over his shoulder and his hand on the knob ready to leave when he hears her calling him. Her voice is soft as it has been for the past few days, ever since Chloe was born. She is coming to him, tears streaming down her face and he smiles, lopsided. “What is wrong?”She reaches her arms up, almost like his baby sister used to when they were kids so that he could pick her up, and coming towards him lays her head on his shoulder. “Do you have to go?”For a moment he stays in the moment, enjoying the feel of her next to him and the way she so trustingly wants him, needs him. “Someone has to pay the bills.” He says through her hair that has come undone and is floating up and into his mouth.
She pulls away and nods, looking down and then up at him her eyelashes wet with tears. “I just don’t want it to end. I wish you could stay.”
For the past four days they have been inseparable, spending every waking moment gazing at their new daughter. To them, she is the most perfect creature in the world, with downy soft hair, wide wailing mouth and all ten long fingers and slight curling toes. Nothing has brought them this close, opened up more portals of love and honesty then what they have just shared.
“I know. But I’ll be home,” he glances at his watch, “in nine hours, and I have to go, honey! I’m late.” He bends down and pecks her on the cheek, but she moves quickly into him, mouth pressed to his so that he can smell her breath which has been oddly sweet and lemony ever since Chloe was born.
She clings to him for a moment longer then she should for she can feel him pulling away and it takes all of her strength to pull her hands away and smile up at him. “Well go then!” She waves him away. “What are you waiting for?”
“Kiss Chloe for me,” he yells over his shoulder as he rushes down the hall, his backpack bumping on his back. She watches him for a long moment, feeling an ache and lump grow in her throat. By evening, this need will be gone, she will have moved on to the next stage in her life, but for now, for a brief moment she watches him with the same intensity and slight possessiveness that she had for him when they first met.
Scene 2—During the Conversation
“God! I never thought it would be so hard to find a babysitter!” Claire says, pulling down her visor and observing herself in the mirror. She turns her head back and forth, wondering why she looks like she is wearing too much makeup. She reaches into her purse and pulling out a Kleenex she starts to wipe away some of the makeup.
“Are you sure we can trust her? I mean she did have her nose pierced.” Rick glances at her sideways, one hand on the wheel.
“She baby sits for the Thompson’s all the time. I guess their kids love her.” Claire pauses, and glances at him skeptically, her lipstick poised inches from her lips. “My nose was pierced when we first met and you had no problems with it.”“That was different, it was your nose.” He reaches out and tweaks her nose as she ducks away from him, smiling.
“So, what are we going to do.” She is more serious, pressing her lips together the way she does when she is getting down to business and snaps the lid on her lipstick and tosses it into the vastness of her purse.
“I don’t know. What do you want to do?” He smiles at her. This is a joke between the two of them, where they both pretend that they don’t know what they want to do, and trade the same sentence back and forth.
Claire slants her eyes at him and doesn’t bite. “Seriously? You didn’t make any plans?”He sucks in his lips, shakes his head slightly to maintain his patience. “Of course, I just thought if there was something you would rather do, we could do that.”
Shaking her head she adjusts herself in her seat, clutching her hands together. “You’re the one who asked me out. You’re the one who told me to get the babysitter. You’re the one who told me to get dressed up.” Each statement erupts from her like a bullet shooting from a rifle and darting its way through out the confines of their minivan. “What are your plans?”
He stares at her for a moment before returning his concentration to the road in front of them. The light from the setting sun is behind them, and in front of them the lights of the fast food restaurants and grocery stores throw their obtrusive colors on Claire, bathing her in a purple red glow that makes her look younger then her 31 years. “I thought we could go to Slumber land and look at that bed for Rosie, and then go by my sister’s.” He glances at her somewhat nervously. “Or not.”
“That was your plan?” She is baiting him, her anger apparent and quick.
“No.” He pulls the minivan to a stop at a red light and rolls his window down, the cool night air immediately poured in relieving the minivan of the smell of left over French fries and ketchup that are strewed underfoot through out the back seat and in between the three car seats. “We can do something else.” “No. That’s fine.” Her voice holds a note of finality and defeat as if she has martyred herself to the night and his plans. “If that’s what you want to do on our night out, go ahead.” She looks out her window, a tear pooling and then cascading down her cheek, picking up mascara from her made up face and streaking it down her cheek.
Sighing he glances away. “We don’t have to do that. I just thought it might be fun to go see Becca and have something to drink.” He can’t keep the anger or impatience out of his voice. “You had a hard week, I thought it might be nice to unwind with some wine.”
She is silent for a long pause in which the light changes and he pulls forward, not really sure where he is driving, but refusing to stop. “Let’s go! Sounds great!” Her voice sounds muffled and strained.
“Great! Let’s go!” He glances at her, shaking his head anger sweeping through him as he steps on the gas pedal a little too quickly and the minivan spurts forward.
Her body jerks forward with the sudden sway of the minivan and she quickly snaps her seat belt on not making eye contact with him. They get on the highway and he turns the radio on, turning the music up and tapping the dashboard with the beat of the music and he feels some of his stress begin to sweep away. After a long pause in which he thinks the night can be spared her drama she suddenly turns to him sharply, her face streaked with tear marks. “Do you know how long its been since we’ve had any time alone together?”He shakes his head. “No, how long.” His voice is monotone, overwhelmed.
“Five months.” Her voice rises. “Five months and this is what you think we should do? Can’t we forget the kids for one night? Can’t we just be a couple and go out to the movies and dinner? Why does everything always have to involve them?”
“Really?” He stares at her and then pulls over two lanes to curve off on the upcoming exit ramp. He races up the ramp and slides the car over into a Wendy’s parking lot, slamming on the brakes and jabbing the car into park. “I just thought we could make a decision about the bed with out the kids jumping around and driving us crazy. I thought maybe we could even apply for some financing if that’s possible with our credit so that we might not have to pay for it right away. I just thought we could do it first, and then do something after.”
She pulls away from him as his voice rises, and cringes in on herself backing away from him and into her door.
“Dinner?” He turns to her, pulling out his wallet and showing its meager contents to her. “This is what we have. We can’t afford anything else right now, and you know that. What do you want me to do?”
“I know, I just thought you had maybe saved up some money for tonight. I thought…” She swipes at her eyes angrily. “I just thought we could do something like we used to.”
“I’m sorry we have no money.” He covers his eyes with his hand and turns away. “I’m doing what I can. Its not easy.”
“I know.” Her voice changes, softens at his defeat. “You know me, I’m just being a bitch. I‘m sorry, honey. Honey?” He pushes his hair back from his face and looks at her, hesitantly. “I’m sorry.”
“Me too.” He turns the key in the ignition, but she puts her hand out to stop him.
“Wait, since we’re alone, I do have something I want to talk to you about.” She is turning her body towards him, flinging her hair back over her shoulder and bringing her face up as if she is gathering the strength to fight an army.
“Now what?” The words escape him, ringing all the defeated dread he feels.
“Now what?” Her eyes grow large and stormy. “Now what?”
“God, just say it. I’m listening.” He looks straight out the front window, sucking on his lower lip.
“Are you? Can you please, stop being so angry. Look at me!” Her voice is now soft and wheedling, and he turns somewhat hopeful eyes on her, but her face doesn’t match her voice. He sighs and continues to stare at her. “Lately, I have just felt that you don’t want to be with me, that the only reason we’re together is because of the kids. No, wait. Hear me out. I wish you could see yourself with the kids, how happy you are. It seems like every time they are asleep or busy you just go somewhere to be by yourself, as if you don’t want anything to do with me. And tonight just proves it. I feel like you dread being alone with me and that’s why you chose to do stuff that is in public with other people. I just need to know if you are with me because of me, or the kids.”
He starts up the car, shaking his head and begins to drive home. “I am so tired of this shit.”
Scene 3—After the Conversation
“No, Rosie! Over here!” Chloe stands with her arms wide open reaching for the ball that Rosie is holding in her two chubby little hands. Rosie looks at Chloe and throws the ball in the opposite direction. “NO! Rosie! Over here!” Chloe starts stomping her foot in anger. “Mom! Why doesn’t she ever listen to me?”
Claire smiles at her and shrugs. “She’s two, honey! What ever you say, she’s gonna do the opposite!”
Chloe stares at Claire for a moment before turning back to Rosie. “Hey Rosie!” She yells, her voice the tone of a fog horn. “Don’t throw that ball over here! Throw it over there!”
Rosie looks at her big sister and walks away, her little legs toddling as fast as they can. “Chloe, why don’t you see if Jenna wants to play dolls with you!” Claire calls to her as Rick comes outside, carrying two bottles of water.
Evening is coming quickly to the backyard, hiding the edges of the yard in dusty colors of grey purple shadows and pressing some of the oppressive heat away in its shadow. “What’s up?” Rick asks, sitting down beside her on the back steps.
“Chloe wants to rule the world, Rosie knows she’s in charge and Jenna is trying to make everyone happy!” Claire stretched her legs out, admiring her newly painted toe nails that are mostly red, along with half her toes.
“So, the usual?” Rick smiles as he watches them run to and fro in their own determined ways.
“Exactly!” She smiles up and back at him, her hair titling back and brushing the step behind her. He smiles down at her, his face framed by his dark curls and she realizes suddenly that he has aged slightly. The once firm face, now has some hints of lines around the eyes. Smile lines, her and her sisters used to call them on her parents, and she remembers how they had always wanted them so that they would always look as happy as their parents had. She reaches out her hand and cups his cheek, her thumb tracing the lines, gently. He smiles.
“Where Oh oh and e’na?” Rosie stands in front of them, her face smudged with dirt, the ball clutched in her hands. Oh oh and e’na translates into Chloe and Jenna and as the two of them glance around they realize that neither Jenna or Chloe are anywhere in sight.
They rise, Rick grabbing Rosie and tossing her onto his shoulders. “Lets go find ‘em!” He says as she crows, pulling on his hair and bopping him on the head. Claire follows behind them, her hands out just in case Rosie decides to throw herself off of Rick’s shoulders.
Their search is short and startling, as they discover the girls in the remains of the garden that Claire has just finished planting, Both girls have plastered themselves with dirt from head to toe, their eyes bright in the fading light.
“Um! Girls?” Rick can not move, he just stares.
“She made me!” Jenna yells, her voice a screech of panic and Chloe begins to violently shake her head.
“Don’t move! Any of you!” Claire says, her voice surprisingly calm. She runs around the corner and unwinds the hose, spinning the water on and runs back. “Don’t move! Or…I’ll get you!” She presses the spray nozzle down and a sheet of cold water sprays out, in between both girls. For a moment they don’t move, staring at the shadow of their mom’s face, and then Jenna squeals and begins to race away.
Back and forth across the lawn, leaving traces of water and dirt in the somewhat too long grass they chase each other. At one point Rick pulls the nozzle from Claire’s hand and cascades water over her head and screaming she runs away. By the time the girls are no longer muddy, but only wet the sun has set completely and the moon a small crescent floating in a small puddle of clouds. Claire goes into the house to find towels and returns to her back yard quietly and realizes that this is her life.
This is her moment to be a mother and a wife. The three little bodies that roam ceaselessly between her and Rick with thousands of questions and endless problems that need to be solved are her children, and she adores them. For now, in this brief fleeting moment of her life, all else can wait, these three need them to be parents, together. A couple of parents. Her and Rick had their moment of being a couple, but for now there is nothing else. Date nights will include talk of the children, plans for the children, beds for the children because they are for this time parents, needed, loved and adored. She can wait for what ever she thinks she wants, but she suddenly can’t remember what the fight was about the other night, why she had felt that she must exclude what they had created together and to limit themselves to just themselves.
Jenna races at her, screams erupting from her small frame and she leaps into her arms. “I’m so co..co..cold, mama!” She wraps her in the towel and watches Rick sweep Chloe and Rosie into his arms and run to her, smiling.
Part I: The Voice
C: God! I never thought it would be so hard to find a babysitter!”
R: Are you sure we can trust her? I mean she did have her nose pierced.
C: She baby-sits for the Thompson’s all the time. I guess their kids love her. My nose was pierced when we first met. You had no problems with it then.”R: That was different, it was your nose.”
C: So, what are we going to do.
R: I don’t know. What do you want to do?”
C; Seriously? You didn’t make any plans?”R: Of course, I just thought if there was something you would rather do, we could do that.
C: You’re the one who asked me out. You’re the one who told me to get the babysitter and get dressed up. What are your plans?
R: I thought we could go to Slumberland and look at that bed for Rosie, and then go by my sister’s. Or not.
C: That was your plan?
R: No. We can do something else. C: No. That’s fine, if that is what you want to do on our night out, go a ahead.
R: We don’t have to do that. I just thought it might be fun to go see Becca and have something to drink.
C: Let’s go! Sounds great!
R: Fine. Let’s go.
C: Do you know how long its been since we’ve had any time alone together?R: No, how long?
C: Five months! Five months and this is what you purpose we do? Can’t we forget the kids for one night? Can’t we just be a couple and go out to the movies and dinner? Why does everything always have to involve them?
R: Really? I just thought we could make a decision about the bed with out the kids jumping around, maybe even apply for some financing if that’s possible with our credit. Dinner? This is what we have. We can’t afford anything else right now, and you know that.
C: I know, I just thought you had maybe saved up some money for tonight. I thought...
R: I’m sorry that we have no money. I’m doing what I can.
C: I know. I’m just being a bitch.
R: Yeah.
C: We do have to talk though.
R: Now what?
C: Now what? Now what?
R: God, just say it. I’m listening.
C: Are you? Can you please, stop being so angry. Look at me! Lately, I have just felt that you don’t want to be with me, that the only reason we are together is because of the kids. No, wait. Hear me out. I wish you could see yourself with the kids, how happy you are. It seems like every time they are asleep or busy you just go somewhere to be by yourself, as if you don’t want anything to do with me. And tonight just proves it. I feel like you dread being alone with me and that’s why you chose to do stuff that is in public with other people.
R: I am so tired of this shit.
Part II: Your Character’s Place in the World
This conversation is taking place in a minivan, that is filled with car seats, kids toys and littered with unfinished food from fast food restaurants. The smell in the car is that of the left over food, that smells strongly of French fries and ketchup. The couple are driving around a suburban city road that is surrounded by different restaurants, grocery stores and mid sized houses. The cars that surround them are somewhat nicer then the minivan that they are driving, but not much.
The sun is setting, leaving the sky streaked with grey and pink clouds out the back window and the front of their minivan is heading into the darker night sky where the lights from the different stores shine brightly and rather obnoxiously at them.
Part III: Who are You?
1. Describe your character physically, from head to toe.
She is a pretty woman, about 31. Thin, and dressed in a cheaper version of the latest styles. She wears her dark hair lose and curling around her face that she has made up for her night out. The make up is a little bit too much for her, as it is wearing her, rather then her wearing it. It appears to be a mask rather then something to enhance her beauty. Her fingernails are bitten down the quick and her toe nails have an old coat of blue polish on them that is rough around the edges and missing entirely on some nails. Her shoes are black and rather skuffed, if one were to look closely they would see that the buckle has been sewn back on, most likely by her.
2. What relationships are important to your character? Why?
The relationships that are important to my character are her children and her husband. While the dialogue does seem to lead the reader to think she may be comparing her relationship with her husband to the one that he has with their children, it is only the part that is missing in their own relationship that she recognizes. Her relationship with her husband and children are important to her, because this is her life and she loves them more than she can express.
3. What does your character do? Profession? Pleasure?
My character’s profession is a stay at home mom. Before she had children she worked as a receptionist at a doctor’s office, but gave it up gladly when her first child was born. She loves being a stay at home mom, but feels sometimes as if she is underappreciated by others around her. She is not always the best mother or the most organized as this is part of her personality, but she feels that she makes up for that in the role she plays as a mother to her children. For pleasure, my character reads and when she can she loves to garden. Because her children are so small she finds it hard to give her full attention to anything else in her life for a long period of time, besides them.
4. What is your character most afraid of?
My character is most afraid of not being loved. She feels that she has lost something between her and her husband and while she is desperately trying to attain it, she is blinded by his attempts to rebond with her by the negatives she perceives between the two of them.
5. What does your character want?
My character wants to be happy. She wants her children and husband to be happy and she feels responsible if they are not. She is willing to fight for them to be happy, not realizing that fighting with them for it doesn’t make it a given.
Scene I—Before the Conversation
Rick stood at the door, his backpack thrown over his shoulder and his hand on the knob ready to leave when he hears her calling him. Her voice is soft as it has been for the past few days, ever since Chloe was born. She is coming to him, tears streaming down her face and he smiles, lopsided. “What is wrong?”She reaches her arms up, almost like his baby sister used to when they were kids so that he could pick her up, and coming towards him lays her head on his shoulder. “Do you have to go?”For a moment he stays in the moment, enjoying the feel of her next to him and the way she so trustingly wants him, needs him. “Someone has to pay the bills.” He says through her hair that has come undone and is floating up and into his mouth.
She pulls away and nods, looking down and then up at him her eyelashes wet with tears. “I just don’t want it to end. I wish you could stay.”
For the past four days they have been inseparable, spending every waking moment gazing at their new daughter. To them, she is the most perfect creature in the world, with downy soft hair, wide wailing mouth and all ten long fingers and slight curling toes. Nothing has brought them this close, opened up more portals of love and honesty then what they have just shared.
“I know. But I’ll be home,” he glances at his watch, “in nine hours, and I have to go, honey! I’m late.” He bends down and pecks her on the cheek, but she moves quickly into him, mouth pressed to his so that he can smell her breath which has been oddly sweet and lemony ever since Chloe was born.
She clings to him for a moment longer then she should for she can feel him pulling away and it takes all of her strength to pull her hands away and smile up at him. “Well go then!” She waves him away. “What are you waiting for?”
“Kiss Chloe for me,” he yells over his shoulder as he rushes down the hall, his backpack bumping on his back. She watches him for a long moment, feeling an ache and lump grow in her throat. By evening, this need will be gone, she will have moved on to the next stage in her life, but for now, for a brief moment she watches him with the same intensity and slight possessiveness that she had for him when they first met.
Scene 2—During the Conversation
“God! I never thought it would be so hard to find a babysitter!” Claire says, pulling down her visor and observing herself in the mirror. She turns her head back and forth, wondering why she looks like she is wearing too much makeup. She reaches into her purse and pulling out a Kleenex she starts to wipe away some of the makeup.
“Are you sure we can trust her? I mean she did have her nose pierced.” Rick glances at her sideways, one hand on the wheel.
“She baby sits for the Thompson’s all the time. I guess their kids love her.” Claire pauses, and glances at him skeptically, her lipstick poised inches from her lips. “My nose was pierced when we first met and you had no problems with it.”“That was different, it was your nose.” He reaches out and tweaks her nose as she ducks away from him, smiling.
“So, what are we going to do.” She is more serious, pressing her lips together the way she does when she is getting down to business and snaps the lid on her lipstick and tosses it into the vastness of her purse.
“I don’t know. What do you want to do?” He smiles at her. This is a joke between the two of them, where they both pretend that they don’t know what they want to do, and trade the same sentence back and forth.
Claire slants her eyes at him and doesn’t bite. “Seriously? You didn’t make any plans?”He sucks in his lips, shakes his head slightly to maintain his patience. “Of course, I just thought if there was something you would rather do, we could do that.”
Shaking her head she adjusts herself in her seat, clutching her hands together. “You’re the one who asked me out. You’re the one who told me to get the babysitter. You’re the one who told me to get dressed up.” Each statement erupts from her like a bullet shooting from a rifle and darting its way through out the confines of their minivan. “What are your plans?”
He stares at her for a moment before returning his concentration to the road in front of them. The light from the setting sun is behind them, and in front of them the lights of the fast food restaurants and grocery stores throw their obtrusive colors on Claire, bathing her in a purple red glow that makes her look younger then her 31 years. “I thought we could go to Slumber land and look at that bed for Rosie, and then go by my sister’s.” He glances at her somewhat nervously. “Or not.”
“That was your plan?” She is baiting him, her anger apparent and quick.
“No.” He pulls the minivan to a stop at a red light and rolls his window down, the cool night air immediately poured in relieving the minivan of the smell of left over French fries and ketchup that are strewed underfoot through out the back seat and in between the three car seats. “We can do something else.” “No. That’s fine.” Her voice holds a note of finality and defeat as if she has martyred herself to the night and his plans. “If that’s what you want to do on our night out, go ahead.” She looks out her window, a tear pooling and then cascading down her cheek, picking up mascara from her made up face and streaking it down her cheek.
Sighing he glances away. “We don’t have to do that. I just thought it might be fun to go see Becca and have something to drink.” He can’t keep the anger or impatience out of his voice. “You had a hard week, I thought it might be nice to unwind with some wine.”
She is silent for a long pause in which the light changes and he pulls forward, not really sure where he is driving, but refusing to stop. “Let’s go! Sounds great!” Her voice sounds muffled and strained.
“Great! Let’s go!” He glances at her, shaking his head anger sweeping through him as he steps on the gas pedal a little too quickly and the minivan spurts forward.
Her body jerks forward with the sudden sway of the minivan and she quickly snaps her seat belt on not making eye contact with him. They get on the highway and he turns the radio on, turning the music up and tapping the dashboard with the beat of the music and he feels some of his stress begin to sweep away. After a long pause in which he thinks the night can be spared her drama she suddenly turns to him sharply, her face streaked with tear marks. “Do you know how long its been since we’ve had any time alone together?”He shakes his head. “No, how long.” His voice is monotone, overwhelmed.
“Five months.” Her voice rises. “Five months and this is what you think we should do? Can’t we forget the kids for one night? Can’t we just be a couple and go out to the movies and dinner? Why does everything always have to involve them?”
“Really?” He stares at her and then pulls over two lanes to curve off on the upcoming exit ramp. He races up the ramp and slides the car over into a Wendy’s parking lot, slamming on the brakes and jabbing the car into park. “I just thought we could make a decision about the bed with out the kids jumping around and driving us crazy. I thought maybe we could even apply for some financing if that’s possible with our credit so that we might not have to pay for it right away. I just thought we could do it first, and then do something after.”
She pulls away from him as his voice rises, and cringes in on herself backing away from him and into her door.
“Dinner?” He turns to her, pulling out his wallet and showing its meager contents to her. “This is what we have. We can’t afford anything else right now, and you know that. What do you want me to do?”
“I know, I just thought you had maybe saved up some money for tonight. I thought…” She swipes at her eyes angrily. “I just thought we could do something like we used to.”
“I’m sorry we have no money.” He covers his eyes with his hand and turns away. “I’m doing what I can. Its not easy.”
“I know.” Her voice changes, softens at his defeat. “You know me, I’m just being a bitch. I‘m sorry, honey. Honey?” He pushes his hair back from his face and looks at her, hesitantly. “I’m sorry.”
“Me too.” He turns the key in the ignition, but she puts her hand out to stop him.
“Wait, since we’re alone, I do have something I want to talk to you about.” She is turning her body towards him, flinging her hair back over her shoulder and bringing her face up as if she is gathering the strength to fight an army.
“Now what?” The words escape him, ringing all the defeated dread he feels.
“Now what?” Her eyes grow large and stormy. “Now what?”
“God, just say it. I’m listening.” He looks straight out the front window, sucking on his lower lip.
“Are you? Can you please, stop being so angry. Look at me!” Her voice is now soft and wheedling, and he turns somewhat hopeful eyes on her, but her face doesn’t match her voice. He sighs and continues to stare at her. “Lately, I have just felt that you don’t want to be with me, that the only reason we’re together is because of the kids. No, wait. Hear me out. I wish you could see yourself with the kids, how happy you are. It seems like every time they are asleep or busy you just go somewhere to be by yourself, as if you don’t want anything to do with me. And tonight just proves it. I feel like you dread being alone with me and that’s why you chose to do stuff that is in public with other people. I just need to know if you are with me because of me, or the kids.”
He starts up the car, shaking his head and begins to drive home. “I am so tired of this shit.”
Scene 3—After the Conversation
“No, Rosie! Over here!” Chloe stands with her arms wide open reaching for the ball that Rosie is holding in her two chubby little hands. Rosie looks at Chloe and throws the ball in the opposite direction. “NO! Rosie! Over here!” Chloe starts stomping her foot in anger. “Mom! Why doesn’t she ever listen to me?”
Claire smiles at her and shrugs. “She’s two, honey! What ever you say, she’s gonna do the opposite!”
Chloe stares at Claire for a moment before turning back to Rosie. “Hey Rosie!” She yells, her voice the tone of a fog horn. “Don’t throw that ball over here! Throw it over there!”
Rosie looks at her big sister and walks away, her little legs toddling as fast as they can. “Chloe, why don’t you see if Jenna wants to play dolls with you!” Claire calls to her as Rick comes outside, carrying two bottles of water.
Evening is coming quickly to the backyard, hiding the edges of the yard in dusty colors of grey purple shadows and pressing some of the oppressive heat away in its shadow. “What’s up?” Rick asks, sitting down beside her on the back steps.
“Chloe wants to rule the world, Rosie knows she’s in charge and Jenna is trying to make everyone happy!” Claire stretched her legs out, admiring her newly painted toe nails that are mostly red, along with half her toes.
“So, the usual?” Rick smiles as he watches them run to and fro in their own determined ways.
“Exactly!” She smiles up and back at him, her hair titling back and brushing the step behind her. He smiles down at her, his face framed by his dark curls and she realizes suddenly that he has aged slightly. The once firm face, now has some hints of lines around the eyes. Smile lines, her and her sisters used to call them on her parents, and she remembers how they had always wanted them so that they would always look as happy as their parents had. She reaches out her hand and cups his cheek, her thumb tracing the lines, gently. He smiles.
“Where Oh oh and e’na?” Rosie stands in front of them, her face smudged with dirt, the ball clutched in her hands. Oh oh and e’na translates into Chloe and Jenna and as the two of them glance around they realize that neither Jenna or Chloe are anywhere in sight.
They rise, Rick grabbing Rosie and tossing her onto his shoulders. “Lets go find ‘em!” He says as she crows, pulling on his hair and bopping him on the head. Claire follows behind them, her hands out just in case Rosie decides to throw herself off of Rick’s shoulders.
Their search is short and startling, as they discover the girls in the remains of the garden that Claire has just finished planting, Both girls have plastered themselves with dirt from head to toe, their eyes bright in the fading light.
“Um! Girls?” Rick can not move, he just stares.
“She made me!” Jenna yells, her voice a screech of panic and Chloe begins to violently shake her head.
“Don’t move! Any of you!” Claire says, her voice surprisingly calm. She runs around the corner and unwinds the hose, spinning the water on and runs back. “Don’t move! Or…I’ll get you!” She presses the spray nozzle down and a sheet of cold water sprays out, in between both girls. For a moment they don’t move, staring at the shadow of their mom’s face, and then Jenna squeals and begins to race away.
Back and forth across the lawn, leaving traces of water and dirt in the somewhat too long grass they chase each other. At one point Rick pulls the nozzle from Claire’s hand and cascades water over her head and screaming she runs away. By the time the girls are no longer muddy, but only wet the sun has set completely and the moon a small crescent floating in a small puddle of clouds. Claire goes into the house to find towels and returns to her back yard quietly and realizes that this is her life.
This is her moment to be a mother and a wife. The three little bodies that roam ceaselessly between her and Rick with thousands of questions and endless problems that need to be solved are her children, and she adores them. For now, in this brief fleeting moment of her life, all else can wait, these three need them to be parents, together. A couple of parents. Her and Rick had their moment of being a couple, but for now there is nothing else. Date nights will include talk of the children, plans for the children, beds for the children because they are for this time parents, needed, loved and adored. She can wait for what ever she thinks she wants, but she suddenly can’t remember what the fight was about the other night, why she had felt that she must exclude what they had created together and to limit themselves to just themselves.
Jenna races at her, screams erupting from her small frame and she leaps into her arms. “I’m so co..co..cold, mama!” She wraps her in the towel and watches Rick sweep Chloe and Rosie into his arms and run to her, smiling.
Monday, September 21, 2009
Urban Legend
The night held the creaking sounds of old tree branches leaning into each other and rubbing slowly back and forth when Sarah thought she heard the cry of a small child bleating in between the rhythmic moans. She stopped walking and breathing for a long pause, waiting to hear the sound repeat itself, but there was nothing. She walked forward a few paces when it was repeated, only this time louder and nearer. She glanced around wide eyed, seeking the shadows for a human child's shape, but saw only the pointed silhouettes of dark naked branches reaching skyward in front of darker shadows.
Sarah always walked this path home through the small woods that separated her family's farm from the S'okay Bar and Grill where she worked as a waitress and she had never felt fear or that she was being watched, until tonight. It had started earlier in the evening, right after the Wild Wolves finished their game, winning the first game of the season and bringing in most of the small town into the S'okay Bar and Grill for drinks, ice cream and dinner. The talk had been fast and furious between the players and their fans, money and words sloshing around with the drinks that seemed to be never ending coming and passing hands. It was in this rush that the hairs on the back of her neck had risen and she began to look around warily for the person who she felt was staring at her. But there hadn't been anyone accept for the patrons, who had not really made eye contact with her when they made their demands.
She had worked later than usual, her shoes biting into her feet by the end of the night and she had put her them up for twenty minutes and talked with Bertie the manager until he closed shop, and they had left at the same time, him offering her a ride as always, she declining as always.
Now, in the creaking sighing woods she regretted that decision, for the feeling of being watched pressed on her stronger and the weeping child, for it was weeping seemed to bounce around her off the trees and into the ground below her feet. Through the branches she could see the lights of her home gleaming at her, winking in a teasing fashion through the black lashed shape of trees.
Her feet seemed to be pulled down with each step, as if they were sinking into quick sand or being pulled back as if she only walked a tread mill instead of her usual nightly walk home. Pausing briefly she removed her feet from her shoes, immediately relieving them of extra weight and taking the pressure off of her newly gained blisters from a full day and night on her feet. She found it easier to walk, and with her heavy shoes no longer clomping along the forest floor she could make out the noises around her better, allowing her to hear the distinct voice of the child who was now weeping the one word, "Why? Why? Why" over and over again.
Sarah dropped her shoes and took flight, her bare feet pattering through the woods, and up the rocky terrain to her house, where she struggled momentarily with her keys, putting the wrong one in and sobbing softly in breathy rasps as she twisted and turned it back and forth before realizing it must be the front door key. Moments later, having found the right key and forcing it in to the hole and unlocking the door, she stood on the inside of her house, leaning against the locked door, relief filling her.
She forced herself from window to window, snapping shut each and every shade, turning on every single light until the safety of her own home allowed her to relax slightly and convince herself that what she had heard was the workings of her over active imagination and her sleep deprived self.
Upstairs she started the bathwater, carrying her cell phone and home phone with her. It had been three days since she had heard from Eddie, and she knew that if she didn't have the phone right beside her, it would be while she was immersed in the white noise of her running bath that he would call her. She slipped into the bath, placed a warm wash cloth over her pounding forehead and closed her eyes. It was then that the intense feeling of being watched pounded into her, so strong that she startled up as if awoken from a bad dream and knocked her home phone into the bath tub. Swearing she retrieved it quickly and started to shake the water out of it, while her eyes traveled around her small pink tiled bathroom. There was no window in this room and the door was closed and locked, there was no way anyone was watching her. She decided it must be a side effect of her head ache that was now pounding in her ears with the sound of her pulsing blood. She dried off the home phone and pressing the on button she brought it to her ear. For a moment she heard nothing and then above the sound of her pounding heartbeat she could have sworn she heard a child whisper one questioning word in her ear before the low buzz of the phone reverberated through her ear.
Scared and shaking she tossed the home phone from her and on to her pile of towels. She stood, water streaking off her body and down into the bath, the bottom of her hair dark and wet clinging to her shoulders as she began to shake in fear. The bath grew cold around her feet before she became aware of herself again, and she stepped methodically out of the water, picking up the towels and wrapping her hair and body in them, letting the home phone roll on to the floor without touching it. She had just placed her hand on the door knob when she heard the small ting of her cell phone coming from behind her. "Eddie!" She thought, relief filling her and she picked it up quickly and froze staring at the caller I.D. box that said simply, "Home." Slumping down on to her knees, she raised the phone to her ear, as she opened it. "Why?" it whispered at her before she slid into oblivion.
Sarah always walked this path home through the small woods that separated her family's farm from the S'okay Bar and Grill where she worked as a waitress and she had never felt fear or that she was being watched, until tonight. It had started earlier in the evening, right after the Wild Wolves finished their game, winning the first game of the season and bringing in most of the small town into the S'okay Bar and Grill for drinks, ice cream and dinner. The talk had been fast and furious between the players and their fans, money and words sloshing around with the drinks that seemed to be never ending coming and passing hands. It was in this rush that the hairs on the back of her neck had risen and she began to look around warily for the person who she felt was staring at her. But there hadn't been anyone accept for the patrons, who had not really made eye contact with her when they made their demands.
She had worked later than usual, her shoes biting into her feet by the end of the night and she had put her them up for twenty minutes and talked with Bertie the manager until he closed shop, and they had left at the same time, him offering her a ride as always, she declining as always.
Now, in the creaking sighing woods she regretted that decision, for the feeling of being watched pressed on her stronger and the weeping child, for it was weeping seemed to bounce around her off the trees and into the ground below her feet. Through the branches she could see the lights of her home gleaming at her, winking in a teasing fashion through the black lashed shape of trees.
Her feet seemed to be pulled down with each step, as if they were sinking into quick sand or being pulled back as if she only walked a tread mill instead of her usual nightly walk home. Pausing briefly she removed her feet from her shoes, immediately relieving them of extra weight and taking the pressure off of her newly gained blisters from a full day and night on her feet. She found it easier to walk, and with her heavy shoes no longer clomping along the forest floor she could make out the noises around her better, allowing her to hear the distinct voice of the child who was now weeping the one word, "Why? Why? Why" over and over again.
Sarah dropped her shoes and took flight, her bare feet pattering through the woods, and up the rocky terrain to her house, where she struggled momentarily with her keys, putting the wrong one in and sobbing softly in breathy rasps as she twisted and turned it back and forth before realizing it must be the front door key. Moments later, having found the right key and forcing it in to the hole and unlocking the door, she stood on the inside of her house, leaning against the locked door, relief filling her.
She forced herself from window to window, snapping shut each and every shade, turning on every single light until the safety of her own home allowed her to relax slightly and convince herself that what she had heard was the workings of her over active imagination and her sleep deprived self.
Upstairs she started the bathwater, carrying her cell phone and home phone with her. It had been three days since she had heard from Eddie, and she knew that if she didn't have the phone right beside her, it would be while she was immersed in the white noise of her running bath that he would call her. She slipped into the bath, placed a warm wash cloth over her pounding forehead and closed her eyes. It was then that the intense feeling of being watched pounded into her, so strong that she startled up as if awoken from a bad dream and knocked her home phone into the bath tub. Swearing she retrieved it quickly and started to shake the water out of it, while her eyes traveled around her small pink tiled bathroom. There was no window in this room and the door was closed and locked, there was no way anyone was watching her. She decided it must be a side effect of her head ache that was now pounding in her ears with the sound of her pulsing blood. She dried off the home phone and pressing the on button she brought it to her ear. For a moment she heard nothing and then above the sound of her pounding heartbeat she could have sworn she heard a child whisper one questioning word in her ear before the low buzz of the phone reverberated through her ear.
Scared and shaking she tossed the home phone from her and on to her pile of towels. She stood, water streaking off her body and down into the bath, the bottom of her hair dark and wet clinging to her shoulders as she began to shake in fear. The bath grew cold around her feet before she became aware of herself again, and she stepped methodically out of the water, picking up the towels and wrapping her hair and body in them, letting the home phone roll on to the floor without touching it. She had just placed her hand on the door knob when she heard the small ting of her cell phone coming from behind her. "Eddie!" She thought, relief filling her and she picked it up quickly and froze staring at the caller I.D. box that said simply, "Home." Slumping down on to her knees, she raised the phone to her ear, as she opened it. "Why?" it whispered at her before she slid into oblivion.
Little Mermaid Today
When Suzanne fell in love with Peter, she didn't know what to do. She had thought she was in love before, many times. The names would roll off her tongue at the speed of thought, each capturing an image that she held in her mind's eye for a moment, before she tossed it out, with a list of his flaws. Each time she had "fallen in love" her recovery had been met with the "falling in love," with someone new, and it had happened instantly. Therefore, she was confused as to what she felt for Peter.
Peter, tall and fair, with eyes that smiled at what ever she said, for she found that her sense of humor carried him to her and kept him near her, did not love her. He loved Bella, as beautiful as her name, with hair cut short and sharp around her pixie face, eyes large and staring almost ethereal in their ability to mirror ones' image back at them. Bella who had little to say with her mouth, but could say mountains with her face and body, was not threatened by Suzanne, who carried a mountain of flesh upon her frame and peered at the world through her thick tresses of dusty hair.
Suzanne caught in a pool of confusion confessed one night to her Aunt Anne what she felt. It was her Aunt, who told her that she was in love with Peter, not the puppy dog love that she had felt for the twenty other boys that she had hardly known, but the true love one feels for another when it is born out of knowledge and friendship. Suzanne caught off guard dropped into a puddle of tears, the truth of what her aunt told her, sunk into her deep and for the first time in her life, she realized true loss.
For one week Suzanne did not leave the house, or even her bed. She lay staring at the ceiling or drenched in sleep consumed with a loss of something she had never had. The phone rang, unanswered and the mail grew large by the front door, until it was knocked down in a flurry of advertisements and bills by Aunt Anne breaking in to find out what was wrong.
The house was dark with the odor of sweat and must when she charged in, her purse slung over her shoulder, her designer clothes slashing past her swift high heeled shoes as she clipped into Suzanne's room pulling back the curtains with a snapping motion.
Suzanne startled by the noise and swiftness pulled herself up, one hand blocking her eyes from the sudden sunlight. Her Aunt Anne stood staring at her, arms crossed and one foot tapping impatiently waiting for an explanation.
In stuttering words, Suzanne who could flash out jokes and clips of humor with little thought, attempted to describe what she felt. By the time she had finished her Aunt Anne held her in her arms crooning words of knowledge and pity for her.
"What should I do? What can I do?" Suzanne whimpered into her Aunt's shoulder. Aunt Anne, tentatively patted the back of her head, sweeping her hand down the long expanse of Suzanne's hair.
"We need to make him want you!" She said after a long pause that was filled with the gulping croak of Suzanne's sobs.
"But how? He loves her!" Suzanne sat back, pushing her hair out of her face and staring hopefully up at her Aunt.
Anne staring at her niece knew what had to be done and she gently took her hand and led her to the mirror. "We need to change this." She said, sweeping her hand at the reflection of her niece. Suzanne stared at herself for a long moment before nodding.
It took five months for Anne to complete her job of changing Suzanne. Anne took it seriously, just like she did everything else in her life, and she left no part of Suzanne unchanged and Suzanne hopeful with innocence did as she was told and emerged, Anne's butterfly. The once heavy girl, had been sculpted and starved into a curvaceous woman, dressed to please others with her appearance. She wore shoes with heels and skirts that edged on the border of appropriateness. Her blouses were form fitting with plunging necklines and bright colors. Her hair, that had once swept the bottom of her back was gone, cut short and sharp revealing her long neck, and dyed a reddish blond to accentuate her eyes, that had lost their brownness behind bright blue contacts. Aunt Anne had taught her how to change her rather plain face to one of mystery and contrast with twice weekly tanning, charcoal eyeliner and bright pink lipstick. This was her new daily uniform, her new face for facing the world.
Anne had not stopped just on personal appearance, she had also delved into Suzanne's personality, picking through what she knew to find what would most attract another to her. She had found Suzanne somewhat lacking in small talk which Suzanne had mostly filled with jokes and funny stories, now Anne had convinced her to speak only if necessary. "Your body and face will speak for you!" She said, putting the finishing touch ups on her niece. With these words she had decided to put Suzanne into dance classes to learn grace and movement and surprisingly Suzanne and taken to it, like a fish to water.
Suzanne returned to the world the week before Fourth of July a new woman. Her sisters hardly recognized her, and while Suzanne had thought they would be more open and accepting to her she found that it was almost the opposite. They were skittish and reckless, attempting conversation and then discomforted their eyes shifting they would leave her side. Her Aunt Anne, simply placed a hand on her shoulder and told her they were jealous.
The day she was to meet up with Peter for coffee came. She started to get ready at noon for her four o'clock meeting with him. Every inch of her must be perfect she decided and by the time her Aunt Anne showed up to inspect her at three thirty she was flawless. Aunt Anne pressed her hands to her heart and tears appeared in her eyes. "You are lovely!" She said, her voice a soft whisper and if it wouldn't have destroyed some part of her flawless perfection, Suzanne would have thrown herself into her Aunts arms. "Now remember, " her Aunt Anne reminded her as she was getting into her car, "Let your body and eyes speak for you!" She nodded and slipped gently behind the wheel.
She arrived at the coffee shop first, and chose a back table so that she could watch him come in and towards her. He was late, as always, and slightly rumpled looking as if he had just rolled out of bed, but he always looked like that. He came in and looked around, looked at her and then away. "Peter!" She called, making her voice sing song, like Aunt Anne had taught her.
He turned and stared, "Suzanne?" He walked towards her, haltingly and then realizing it was her hurried towards her. "Wow! You have changed!" She smiled, like she had been taught, her lips curling back slightly to show her white teeth but not enough so that her lipstick might come off on them.
Peter sat, almost falling into his chair, his eyes searching her present person, trying to compare it to a past memory. At first, he said little, simply staring at her and she wanted to take control of the conversation, make a joke or tell the story of what had happened to her, but she couldn't. It was not part of the role she was now playing, not part of the elaborate come hither game Aunt Anne had taught her to play.
She sat, wordlessly staring at him, her eyes gazing her complete devotion at him, and he gave into her silence by filling it with his words. He began to talk, telling her stories in a voice she had never heard before, one that seemed to toss and curl like ocean waves that held depths and mysteries she had not yet imagined. She found that her silence gave him the opportunity to speak, to fill the void she offered like an empty seashell with the music of his words. She drank him in with her eyes, as she never had when she was partaking in the dance of their conversation and she was able to see him clearer, as he was as one without a voice to interfere with the train of his thoughts.
He spoke into the evening, at one point taking her hand and leading her away from the coffee house and back to his place, up the stairs and into his kitchen, where they poured days old wine into tumblers because all the wine glasses were dirty and sat out on his deck watching the stars careen across the heavens.
To Suzanne it was work to play the role she was cast in, to give up such a piece of herself in order to be able to sit beside him and listen to him throw his words out like a hook searching for its fish. His hand on hers was hot, sweaty and clasping possessive. At first when he had reached for her, it had been dry and gentle, an invitation or question and she had slid her fingers around his, speaking her consent, but now as the night became oppressive with his words, Suzanne began to place titles upon him she had never imagined she would. Shallow, slight, possessive, demeaning. She attempted to thrust these thoughts from her mind, but the more he talked, the more they seemed to shriek the truth at her.
"Well?" She jumped slightly, realizing that Peter was looking at her, head leaning forward, his eyes questioning the lids drooping over in a somewhat hooded fashion. "Want to see my bedroom?"
The old Suzanne would have chided him, teased him for such a stupid line, but the new one was expected to be charmed and respond with all the elegance of affirmation that he sought. She could not take her eyes off of him, watching his face crease into a larger smile, that leered his teeth at her.
"Where, where is your bathroom?" She finally muttered at him, stumbling to her feet in a clumsy fashion, knocking over her tumbler on to the porch table and splattering it with the remains of her wine. He smiled up at her then, larger and covetously, as if he had sought his victim and found it. "Down there, first door on the left." She stumbled away, following the direction of his long pale finger.
In the bathroom, filled with crooked wet hanging towels, she gazed at herself in the small oval mirror and frowned. The vapid beauty who gazed back at her was not Suzanne, but some fool who would compromise herself for love. That was not her, but someone Aunt Anne felt she had to be. Aunt Anne who changed herself monthly to climb the corporate ladder of life, reaching the glass ceiling with different styles and different lovers and attempting to break it, but never quite succeeding. Suzanne knew that was not her, that she could not contain who she was within the confines of her body for even an evening to be what someone else demanded of her. Picking up one of the less dirty looking towels she doused it with water and then slashed it across her face, killing the image that stared back at her as if she had slashed it with a knife.
She knew who she was, and nothing could change that. If someone didn't want her for who she was, there was nothing there for them to have. She ran her wet hands through her perfectly coiffed hair, making it stand on end and grinned at herself. Opening the bathroom door, she made her way out to the kitchen where she retrieved her purse and with a backwards, "So Long!" to a startled Peter, she stepped out the front door and into the brisk night air.
Peter, tall and fair, with eyes that smiled at what ever she said, for she found that her sense of humor carried him to her and kept him near her, did not love her. He loved Bella, as beautiful as her name, with hair cut short and sharp around her pixie face, eyes large and staring almost ethereal in their ability to mirror ones' image back at them. Bella who had little to say with her mouth, but could say mountains with her face and body, was not threatened by Suzanne, who carried a mountain of flesh upon her frame and peered at the world through her thick tresses of dusty hair.
Suzanne caught in a pool of confusion confessed one night to her Aunt Anne what she felt. It was her Aunt, who told her that she was in love with Peter, not the puppy dog love that she had felt for the twenty other boys that she had hardly known, but the true love one feels for another when it is born out of knowledge and friendship. Suzanne caught off guard dropped into a puddle of tears, the truth of what her aunt told her, sunk into her deep and for the first time in her life, she realized true loss.
For one week Suzanne did not leave the house, or even her bed. She lay staring at the ceiling or drenched in sleep consumed with a loss of something she had never had. The phone rang, unanswered and the mail grew large by the front door, until it was knocked down in a flurry of advertisements and bills by Aunt Anne breaking in to find out what was wrong.
The house was dark with the odor of sweat and must when she charged in, her purse slung over her shoulder, her designer clothes slashing past her swift high heeled shoes as she clipped into Suzanne's room pulling back the curtains with a snapping motion.
Suzanne startled by the noise and swiftness pulled herself up, one hand blocking her eyes from the sudden sunlight. Her Aunt Anne stood staring at her, arms crossed and one foot tapping impatiently waiting for an explanation.
In stuttering words, Suzanne who could flash out jokes and clips of humor with little thought, attempted to describe what she felt. By the time she had finished her Aunt Anne held her in her arms crooning words of knowledge and pity for her.
"What should I do? What can I do?" Suzanne whimpered into her Aunt's shoulder. Aunt Anne, tentatively patted the back of her head, sweeping her hand down the long expanse of Suzanne's hair.
"We need to make him want you!" She said after a long pause that was filled with the gulping croak of Suzanne's sobs.
"But how? He loves her!" Suzanne sat back, pushing her hair out of her face and staring hopefully up at her Aunt.
Anne staring at her niece knew what had to be done and she gently took her hand and led her to the mirror. "We need to change this." She said, sweeping her hand at the reflection of her niece. Suzanne stared at herself for a long moment before nodding.
It took five months for Anne to complete her job of changing Suzanne. Anne took it seriously, just like she did everything else in her life, and she left no part of Suzanne unchanged and Suzanne hopeful with innocence did as she was told and emerged, Anne's butterfly. The once heavy girl, had been sculpted and starved into a curvaceous woman, dressed to please others with her appearance. She wore shoes with heels and skirts that edged on the border of appropriateness. Her blouses were form fitting with plunging necklines and bright colors. Her hair, that had once swept the bottom of her back was gone, cut short and sharp revealing her long neck, and dyed a reddish blond to accentuate her eyes, that had lost their brownness behind bright blue contacts. Aunt Anne had taught her how to change her rather plain face to one of mystery and contrast with twice weekly tanning, charcoal eyeliner and bright pink lipstick. This was her new daily uniform, her new face for facing the world.
Anne had not stopped just on personal appearance, she had also delved into Suzanne's personality, picking through what she knew to find what would most attract another to her. She had found Suzanne somewhat lacking in small talk which Suzanne had mostly filled with jokes and funny stories, now Anne had convinced her to speak only if necessary. "Your body and face will speak for you!" She said, putting the finishing touch ups on her niece. With these words she had decided to put Suzanne into dance classes to learn grace and movement and surprisingly Suzanne and taken to it, like a fish to water.
Suzanne returned to the world the week before Fourth of July a new woman. Her sisters hardly recognized her, and while Suzanne had thought they would be more open and accepting to her she found that it was almost the opposite. They were skittish and reckless, attempting conversation and then discomforted their eyes shifting they would leave her side. Her Aunt Anne, simply placed a hand on her shoulder and told her they were jealous.
The day she was to meet up with Peter for coffee came. She started to get ready at noon for her four o'clock meeting with him. Every inch of her must be perfect she decided and by the time her Aunt Anne showed up to inspect her at three thirty she was flawless. Aunt Anne pressed her hands to her heart and tears appeared in her eyes. "You are lovely!" She said, her voice a soft whisper and if it wouldn't have destroyed some part of her flawless perfection, Suzanne would have thrown herself into her Aunts arms. "Now remember, " her Aunt Anne reminded her as she was getting into her car, "Let your body and eyes speak for you!" She nodded and slipped gently behind the wheel.
She arrived at the coffee shop first, and chose a back table so that she could watch him come in and towards her. He was late, as always, and slightly rumpled looking as if he had just rolled out of bed, but he always looked like that. He came in and looked around, looked at her and then away. "Peter!" She called, making her voice sing song, like Aunt Anne had taught her.
He turned and stared, "Suzanne?" He walked towards her, haltingly and then realizing it was her hurried towards her. "Wow! You have changed!" She smiled, like she had been taught, her lips curling back slightly to show her white teeth but not enough so that her lipstick might come off on them.
Peter sat, almost falling into his chair, his eyes searching her present person, trying to compare it to a past memory. At first, he said little, simply staring at her and she wanted to take control of the conversation, make a joke or tell the story of what had happened to her, but she couldn't. It was not part of the role she was now playing, not part of the elaborate come hither game Aunt Anne had taught her to play.
She sat, wordlessly staring at him, her eyes gazing her complete devotion at him, and he gave into her silence by filling it with his words. He began to talk, telling her stories in a voice she had never heard before, one that seemed to toss and curl like ocean waves that held depths and mysteries she had not yet imagined. She found that her silence gave him the opportunity to speak, to fill the void she offered like an empty seashell with the music of his words. She drank him in with her eyes, as she never had when she was partaking in the dance of their conversation and she was able to see him clearer, as he was as one without a voice to interfere with the train of his thoughts.
He spoke into the evening, at one point taking her hand and leading her away from the coffee house and back to his place, up the stairs and into his kitchen, where they poured days old wine into tumblers because all the wine glasses were dirty and sat out on his deck watching the stars careen across the heavens.
To Suzanne it was work to play the role she was cast in, to give up such a piece of herself in order to be able to sit beside him and listen to him throw his words out like a hook searching for its fish. His hand on hers was hot, sweaty and clasping possessive. At first when he had reached for her, it had been dry and gentle, an invitation or question and she had slid her fingers around his, speaking her consent, but now as the night became oppressive with his words, Suzanne began to place titles upon him she had never imagined she would. Shallow, slight, possessive, demeaning. She attempted to thrust these thoughts from her mind, but the more he talked, the more they seemed to shriek the truth at her.
"Well?" She jumped slightly, realizing that Peter was looking at her, head leaning forward, his eyes questioning the lids drooping over in a somewhat hooded fashion. "Want to see my bedroom?"
The old Suzanne would have chided him, teased him for such a stupid line, but the new one was expected to be charmed and respond with all the elegance of affirmation that he sought. She could not take her eyes off of him, watching his face crease into a larger smile, that leered his teeth at her.
"Where, where is your bathroom?" She finally muttered at him, stumbling to her feet in a clumsy fashion, knocking over her tumbler on to the porch table and splattering it with the remains of her wine. He smiled up at her then, larger and covetously, as if he had sought his victim and found it. "Down there, first door on the left." She stumbled away, following the direction of his long pale finger.
In the bathroom, filled with crooked wet hanging towels, she gazed at herself in the small oval mirror and frowned. The vapid beauty who gazed back at her was not Suzanne, but some fool who would compromise herself for love. That was not her, but someone Aunt Anne felt she had to be. Aunt Anne who changed herself monthly to climb the corporate ladder of life, reaching the glass ceiling with different styles and different lovers and attempting to break it, but never quite succeeding. Suzanne knew that was not her, that she could not contain who she was within the confines of her body for even an evening to be what someone else demanded of her. Picking up one of the less dirty looking towels she doused it with water and then slashed it across her face, killing the image that stared back at her as if she had slashed it with a knife.
She knew who she was, and nothing could change that. If someone didn't want her for who she was, there was nothing there for them to have. She ran her wet hands through her perfectly coiffed hair, making it stand on end and grinned at herself. Opening the bathroom door, she made her way out to the kitchen where she retrieved her purse and with a backwards, "So Long!" to a startled Peter, she stepped out the front door and into the brisk night air.
Monday, September 14, 2009
Facade
I am so mad at Claire right now I could spit in her eye, right in it without missing, I'm that mad. Last night, she had the nerve to tell me that it was the last time she was gonna help me and Tommy out. Don't get me wrong, I know she's helped us out a lot, but she's the only friend we still have down here and we tell her over and over again, that once Tommy's business gets off its feet and starts working, we'll do whatever we can for her.
Last night, she just stared at me after she brought Tommy home. I came out to tell her thank you and to offer to make her some of my brownies that she loves, but she just stared at me with her eyes peering into me like she saw something there that she hadn't seen before.
When I asked her what was wrong she just shook her head and pointed at Tommy who was looking at me with a silly grin. "That man has some explaining to do." She said, like she was Ricky on the I Love Lucy show. Tommy shook his head at me and walked back into our bedroom, spinning his finger around his ear to let me know that Claire was off her rocker. "He wasn't on Main street this time," she said, "He was over off of Turner and 5th, where that woman lives."
That woman, that she was referring to, is Tommy's ex-girlfriend Amy Lollabe who keeps on claiming that he comes over all the time to visit and then some, but I know she's a liar. Everybody knows how much in love with Tommy, Amy still is, with her big sad eyes following him around whenever we go into the grocery store where she works. She just stands there ignoring all her customers and stares at him, admiring him from his long blond hair, down to his brand new shoes. I will say this about Tommy, he knows exactly the latest styles to wear and how to wear them. Anyways, Amy Lollabe went around telling half the town that she was pregnant with his kid about seven months ago and everyone knew she was lying cause he's been with me for the past two years and then when her stomach stayed as flat as a table top it just proved what a liar she really is.
Back to Claire who by this time was fuming smoke out of her ears and making the straggly pieces of hair that had fallen out of her night time curlers, curl. "Don't you get it?" She almost yelled, leaping towards me so that I backed away from her. "Don't you get it, you dumb little girl? He's been with her! Everybody knows it, why don't you?"
At this point, Tommy came running from the back room and stepped in front of me. For a long moment they were both really quiet, just staring at eachother. I could only see the back of Tommy's head, where the curls were all curling to one side from a sweat mark smack in the back of his head, but I could see Claire and the way she just stared at him with angry sparks flying out of her eyes that still had a little sleep crusted around them. It was a long stare that they shared and then I saw something leave Claire's face, and it kind of collapsed down into just her usual everyday expression and she shook her head. "This is the last time I am going looking for him, when you call me." She said over his shoulder to me, then she just shrugged, looked at us with this look of pity and left. Tommy laughed then, and turned towards me, kissed me and went to bed. Needless to say, I'm not gonna call her for at least three days, which actually works out great, cause Tommy is working on his boss' car, so we will be able to run all of our errands in that. So, last laughs on Claire!
Last night, she just stared at me after she brought Tommy home. I came out to tell her thank you and to offer to make her some of my brownies that she loves, but she just stared at me with her eyes peering into me like she saw something there that she hadn't seen before.
When I asked her what was wrong she just shook her head and pointed at Tommy who was looking at me with a silly grin. "That man has some explaining to do." She said, like she was Ricky on the I Love Lucy show. Tommy shook his head at me and walked back into our bedroom, spinning his finger around his ear to let me know that Claire was off her rocker. "He wasn't on Main street this time," she said, "He was over off of Turner and 5th, where that woman lives."
That woman, that she was referring to, is Tommy's ex-girlfriend Amy Lollabe who keeps on claiming that he comes over all the time to visit and then some, but I know she's a liar. Everybody knows how much in love with Tommy, Amy still is, with her big sad eyes following him around whenever we go into the grocery store where she works. She just stands there ignoring all her customers and stares at him, admiring him from his long blond hair, down to his brand new shoes. I will say this about Tommy, he knows exactly the latest styles to wear and how to wear them. Anyways, Amy Lollabe went around telling half the town that she was pregnant with his kid about seven months ago and everyone knew she was lying cause he's been with me for the past two years and then when her stomach stayed as flat as a table top it just proved what a liar she really is.
Back to Claire who by this time was fuming smoke out of her ears and making the straggly pieces of hair that had fallen out of her night time curlers, curl. "Don't you get it?" She almost yelled, leaping towards me so that I backed away from her. "Don't you get it, you dumb little girl? He's been with her! Everybody knows it, why don't you?"
At this point, Tommy came running from the back room and stepped in front of me. For a long moment they were both really quiet, just staring at eachother. I could only see the back of Tommy's head, where the curls were all curling to one side from a sweat mark smack in the back of his head, but I could see Claire and the way she just stared at him with angry sparks flying out of her eyes that still had a little sleep crusted around them. It was a long stare that they shared and then I saw something leave Claire's face, and it kind of collapsed down into just her usual everyday expression and she shook her head. "This is the last time I am going looking for him, when you call me." She said over his shoulder to me, then she just shrugged, looked at us with this look of pity and left. Tommy laughed then, and turned towards me, kissed me and went to bed. Needless to say, I'm not gonna call her for at least three days, which actually works out great, cause Tommy is working on his boss' car, so we will be able to run all of our errands in that. So, last laughs on Claire!
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