She was running dreadfully late. The invitation had said 6:45 and because she’d had to wait on the babysitter, she was already 30 minutes behind schedule. As she steered her Lexus SUV along the highway, she noticed the sign announcing her exit. She was still learning her way around the cities, having just moved here from San Diego, where her husband had been stationed. She had never been to this part of town before, but her co-worker Janice seemed like a nice enough lady, so she figured her neighborhood was probably alright.
After she exited the highway, she stopped at the red light and made a quick right turn onto Williams Blvd. There was very little traffic, so she slowed briefly and looked down at the invitation she held in her right hand. “You’re invited to celebrate the retirement of Janice Wheatley: 4518 Watkins Rd”.
“Oh, shoot! Watkins road,” she said. “I must have exited too soon. Good work, Sarah.” She noticed that she had driven up alongside a public park. She could see that what little grass there was had been worn down to the dirt and there was only one crooked swing on the rusty-looking swing set, where it appeared there had been three. Empty soda cans and other bits of trash lay discarded here and there. Sitting on a picnic bench with his legs straddled open, and drinking something out of wrinkled paper bag, was a young man wearing a tank top t-shirt and baggy pants. His hair was in cornrows. He noticed her watching him and lifted his head in greeting.
Sarah snapped her head back to the road. Suddenly, she was uncomfortable. On the opposite side of the street from the park, she started noticing torn down businesses, some boarded up and some just left to circumstance, shattered window panes gaping at her. She needed to get back on the highway. That much she knew, so at her next opportunity, she made a quick u-turn, making a mental effort to restrain herself from gunning it. She drove casually back towards the highway and cast a cursory glance at the man on the bench. He was watching her now with a look of amusement on his face.
“You can't go back that way!” he yelled, cupping his hands to his face.
“What?”Sarah mumbled to herself. “What is he talking about?” She nervously pushed a button, raising the SUV’s window. She continued down toward the freeway, ignoring the young man. When she had gone the short distance to the stoplight, she realized that there was no entry to the on ramp. Ahead of her the street became a one way, so she couldn't go forward, and if she were to go right, it looked to only have her circling around back to the street she was on.
She thought it was weird that there was no traffic, but she pulled over to the side of the road to think. She was so deep in thought about what to do, she almost hit the top of the SUV when the young man suddenly appeared at her window, as if out of thin air.
“Hey, mama, you lost?” he asked.
“Um, well, it would appear that I am,” she said, manufacturing the best smile she could.
“Well, what's a nice looking young lady like yourself doing in my neck of the woods, hunh?”
Sarah surreptitiously looked down to see if her doors were locked. “ I -, I-, I was just looking for, for .....”
“Come on, mama, spit it out. I ain't gone bite cha.” he said. His breath smelled an awful lot like her husband's when he came home from a night out with the boys. She noticed he had a cigarette tucked behind his right ear.
“Well, I sincerely wouldn't expect you to,” she answered, taking a deep breath. “I was only looking for Watkins, Watkins road.” She kept her hands on the steering wheel and looked straight ahead.
“Here's what’s up, lil’ lady. My friends call me Tony, so I'd like it very much if you would do me that honor. These streets around here can be a little dangerous at night, so you know what you do?”
“Um, I really have no idea. I thought I was just going to get back on the highway here, but - “
“Well, actually, all you have to do is turn around right here. Go back up to the next light. That'll be Jackson. Take a left and go down two stop lights and you'll run right into Williams. Cool?”
“Er, cool,” she said, subconsciously sweeping her hair behind her ear. “ I really appreciate it, uhm, Tony.”
“Hey, no sweat, ok?”
“Right. No sweat,” she said, with a big sigh of relief.
She looked at him as he strutted back over to the crumbling bench, and thought how nice it was of him to help her. She looked into her rearview mirror and quickly manuevered a u-turn. As she pulled off down the street, she looked back and saw Tony with his hand in the air, saying goodbye. She beeped her horn twice, and road off into the twilight.
Saturday, October 25, 2008
Wednesday, October 22, 2008
Week Nine - Them's Fighting Words
Week Nine – Journal Two
Them's Fighting Words
“Who was she?!”
“Dammit, it's none of your business who she was?”
“Oh,no?”
“NO. Why do you think you need know everything?”
“I'm gonna ask you one more time, Leonard. Who was that whore you were traipsing around in front of my son?”
“Oh, and he's not my son?”
“Leonard, I swear I will call my lawyer and have your rights terminated.”
“What?! Are you out of your mind? You must be! Well, you go ahead. You go right on ahead and we'll see who's rights gets terminated”.
“Hmph. What are you talking about?”
“Oh, come on, don't play dumb with me.”
“Leonard, you sound so stupid trying to threaten me. I'm calling Bryan's office right now.”
“Fine. I'd like to talk him also.....about your good friend, Stanley Kirkland.”
“What? Um, what do you know about Stanley?”
“Loretta, I'd advise you to hang up that phone....now”.
Them's Fighting Words
“Who was she?!”
“Dammit, it's none of your business who she was?”
“Oh,no?”
“NO. Why do you think you need know everything?”
“I'm gonna ask you one more time, Leonard. Who was that whore you were traipsing around in front of my son?”
“Oh, and he's not my son?”
“Leonard, I swear I will call my lawyer and have your rights terminated.”
“What?! Are you out of your mind? You must be! Well, you go ahead. You go right on ahead and we'll see who's rights gets terminated”.
“Hmph. What are you talking about?”
“Oh, come on, don't play dumb with me.”
“Leonard, you sound so stupid trying to threaten me. I'm calling Bryan's office right now.”
“Fine. I'd like to talk him also.....about your good friend, Stanley Kirkland.”
“What? Um, what do you know about Stanley?”
“Loretta, I'd advise you to hang up that phone....now”.
Saturday, October 18, 2008
Week Eight - Points of View
Week Eight – Point of View
POV 1
I was a little late to get to the club that night, cause I had to get my hair done, but I came flossing on in right at around 11:30. I was just a little bit late, but I know people expect me to be fashionably late. They think it's cute. Anyway, I walked in and there Patrick was, giving some chick with long extensions “the eye”. Smiling at her like a fool. She had on a dress that was too damn tight and her boobs look like they woulda popped out if you hugged her too hard. I thought to myself, “Oh, no, he didn't!” I stood there for a second, with my hands on my hips and let him notice me noticing him. Finally, he saw me and wiped the Casanova playboy look off his face. He smiled at me and started walking over to where I had just come in by the bar. Before he got to me, though, little Miss Fake Hair sashays on up and gives him a piece of paper and whispers something in his ear and walks off. By that point, I was hot! I stood there looking at him in shock. Was he kidding? He put the piece of paper in his pocket and walked up to me, kissing me on my cheek, talking bout, “hey, baby”. I told him “I got yo' 'hey baby'!” and slapped the taste out of his mouth!
POV 2
It was 11:45 and I was getting pretty pissed cause Chantal wasn't there yet. We were supposed to be meeting at 11:00, but as usual, she was late. She pisses me off with that shit. If she is ever on time for any-damn-thing I will give her the keys to my car. So, some little honey had been checking me out, but you know, I'm with Chantal, so I wasn't getting down like that with nobody else. I mean, ole girl was hot like fire, too! She had told me she was part Indian, and she had a head full of thick black hair that looked like it was all hers. The dress she had on was hugging her curves in all the right places and the ladies was sittin' at attention quite nicely up top, if you know what I mean. She had already tried to spit game at me, but I wasn't even trippin' with her. She wasn't giving up though, so I was still kind of admiring her persistence, from afar. That's when I looked over and spotted Chantal in her “warrior stance”. I knew she was about to act a fool, so I smiled and started walking over to her. Before I knew it, Indian girl had come up to me and put her digits in my hand and told me to call her. I thought to myself “is she kidding?” Like I said, I had already told her I was with somebody, but I didn't wanna create no drama with Chantal, so I just smiled, put the phone number in my pocket and laughed it off. I walked over to Chantal and gave her my usual, sweet “hey, baby”. You know what she did? She said “I got yo' hey baby!” and slapped me, right there in the club. I knew she was gone start trippin!
POV 1
I was a little late to get to the club that night, cause I had to get my hair done, but I came flossing on in right at around 11:30. I was just a little bit late, but I know people expect me to be fashionably late. They think it's cute. Anyway, I walked in and there Patrick was, giving some chick with long extensions “the eye”. Smiling at her like a fool. She had on a dress that was too damn tight and her boobs look like they woulda popped out if you hugged her too hard. I thought to myself, “Oh, no, he didn't!” I stood there for a second, with my hands on my hips and let him notice me noticing him. Finally, he saw me and wiped the Casanova playboy look off his face. He smiled at me and started walking over to where I had just come in by the bar. Before he got to me, though, little Miss Fake Hair sashays on up and gives him a piece of paper and whispers something in his ear and walks off. By that point, I was hot! I stood there looking at him in shock. Was he kidding? He put the piece of paper in his pocket and walked up to me, kissing me on my cheek, talking bout, “hey, baby”. I told him “I got yo' 'hey baby'!” and slapped the taste out of his mouth!
POV 2
It was 11:45 and I was getting pretty pissed cause Chantal wasn't there yet. We were supposed to be meeting at 11:00, but as usual, she was late. She pisses me off with that shit. If she is ever on time for any-damn-thing I will give her the keys to my car. So, some little honey had been checking me out, but you know, I'm with Chantal, so I wasn't getting down like that with nobody else. I mean, ole girl was hot like fire, too! She had told me she was part Indian, and she had a head full of thick black hair that looked like it was all hers. The dress she had on was hugging her curves in all the right places and the ladies was sittin' at attention quite nicely up top, if you know what I mean. She had already tried to spit game at me, but I wasn't even trippin' with her. She wasn't giving up though, so I was still kind of admiring her persistence, from afar. That's when I looked over and spotted Chantal in her “warrior stance”. I knew she was about to act a fool, so I smiled and started walking over to her. Before I knew it, Indian girl had come up to me and put her digits in my hand and told me to call her. I thought to myself “is she kidding?” Like I said, I had already told her I was with somebody, but I didn't wanna create no drama with Chantal, so I just smiled, put the phone number in my pocket and laughed it off. I walked over to Chantal and gave her my usual, sweet “hey, baby”. You know what she did? She said “I got yo' hey baby!” and slapped me, right there in the club. I knew she was gone start trippin!
Week Eight - Creating A Setting
Week Eight – Journal #1
Creating A Setting
The little white Honda Civic sat in the parking lot of the “Everything's A Dollar” mini-mart. In the bright sunshine, it looked more gray, showcasing it's need for a good wash. Through the car windows, clothes could be seen in the back seat, thrown on top of boxes, into which were stuffed all manner of items; books, purses, high-heeled shoes, a small television. A pillow and folded blanket had been placed on top of one of the boxes.
The dashboard, on which sat a coffee mug and hair brush, showed that the gas tank was almost empty. In the console were a toothbrush, and a tube of toothpaste. The opened ashtray held several tubes of lipstick. Empty soda cans, and various pieces of paper were strewn across the floor on the passenger side, among them old issues of Cosmopolitan and Elle magazine and envelops which read “Important Notice Enclosed” and “Payment Past Due”.
Hanging from the bar above the passenger seat was a red uniform. The uniform consisted of a sleeveless vest and short skirt. Across the breast of the vest was stitched the words “Golden Casino”. The sun beamed through the window making the fabric shimmer and flash on a laminated picture listlessly hanging from the rearview mirror. In the picture was a woman and little boy, both with bright smiles.
Creating A Setting
The little white Honda Civic sat in the parking lot of the “Everything's A Dollar” mini-mart. In the bright sunshine, it looked more gray, showcasing it's need for a good wash. Through the car windows, clothes could be seen in the back seat, thrown on top of boxes, into which were stuffed all manner of items; books, purses, high-heeled shoes, a small television. A pillow and folded blanket had been placed on top of one of the boxes.
The dashboard, on which sat a coffee mug and hair brush, showed that the gas tank was almost empty. In the console were a toothbrush, and a tube of toothpaste. The opened ashtray held several tubes of lipstick. Empty soda cans, and various pieces of paper were strewn across the floor on the passenger side, among them old issues of Cosmopolitan and Elle magazine and envelops which read “Important Notice Enclosed” and “Payment Past Due”.
Hanging from the bar above the passenger seat was a red uniform. The uniform consisted of a sleeveless vest and short skirt. Across the breast of the vest was stitched the words “Golden Casino”. The sun beamed through the window making the fabric shimmer and flash on a laminated picture listlessly hanging from the rearview mirror. In the picture was a woman and little boy, both with bright smiles.
Saturday, October 11, 2008
Week Seven - Another's Perspective
I was very picky with meeting men, so it had been hard for me to find someone I was really interested in. My friends kept harassing me to go to Yahoo Personals and set up an ad, saying I was bound to meet some decent guys there. But I wasn't looking for decent. I was looking for great. I'm a single, attractive white guy and why should I settle for less?
Well, the first guy I went out on a date with was just not the one. For some reason, I've always been attracted to black guys, so when I saw in this one black guy's ad that he was intelligent, forty and was going to school to get his degree, I thought “cool, a guy going to get another degree”. Little did I know, it was his first degree. The guy had never graduated college! At 40 years old!
Well, I found that out over dinner. We had agreed to meet at The Cheesecake Factory, so I drove up and parked my Mercedes in the valet area and waited patiently for him, checking out my appearance in the glass revolving doors at the entrance. The black Armani blazer I had on fit perfectly and I was ready for a nice evening. My workout at the gym had left me feeling exhilarated.
Finally, he drove up in an older model Toyota 4Runner, which looked as if it had seen better days. It had to have been at least ten years old. That did not look too promising. Once he got out and walked over to me, I noticed he was tall, which the ad had promised, and relatively good looking. He was wearing jeans and a blue polo shirt and looked a little too casual for my taste. The sneakers he was wearing looked far from new and were a bit, shall I say, “run down”. I almost made up an excuse right then and there to leave, but I had promised my friends that I would at least give it a shot.
Once we were seated, I ordered a nice, healthy salad and a Perrier. He, of course, ordered what seemed like a whole side of beef and a beer. I rarely eat meat and I don't drink, so this was definitely not a good sign. By the time he was on his third bottle of beer, I knew this was not going to work. I didn't really understand his sense of humor and when he talked, something kept drawing my eyes to that gap he had between his top two front teeth. I instantly appreciated the years I spent wearing braces.
I didn't find his conversation all that great either. When I mentioned how I thought Britney Spears was a joke and should be mentally institutionalized, he said that he felt sorry for her and wished people would just leave her alone. Ugh.
I did like the fact that he seemed very comfortable with himself, but whatever the cologne was that he was wearing smelled like it cost less than the meals we were eating. At some point, I blatantly kept looking at my watch, and he asked, jokingly I would surmise, if there was somewhere I needed to be. I quickly jumped on the opportunity to escape and explained that I had just remembered I needed to go pick up a new suit I had been having tailored. The way he smiled and looked at me, saying “OK, cool,” let me know that he really didn't believe a word I was saying. But, I didn't care. I wanted out of there. I hadn't paid $150.00 for a haircut to be sitting here with some guy who laughed at his own “jokes”, called himself “silly” and never even finished college.
After we split the check and were out standing in front of the restaurant, I plastered a smile on my face and reached out to shake his hand. He chuckled as if he had just heard something funny, shook my hand, and said “It was nice to meet you.” I said the feeling was mutual. He turned, shaking his head, and said “You take care,” and walked off. The nerve of some people!
Well, the first guy I went out on a date with was just not the one. For some reason, I've always been attracted to black guys, so when I saw in this one black guy's ad that he was intelligent, forty and was going to school to get his degree, I thought “cool, a guy going to get another degree”. Little did I know, it was his first degree. The guy had never graduated college! At 40 years old!
Well, I found that out over dinner. We had agreed to meet at The Cheesecake Factory, so I drove up and parked my Mercedes in the valet area and waited patiently for him, checking out my appearance in the glass revolving doors at the entrance. The black Armani blazer I had on fit perfectly and I was ready for a nice evening. My workout at the gym had left me feeling exhilarated.
Finally, he drove up in an older model Toyota 4Runner, which looked as if it had seen better days. It had to have been at least ten years old. That did not look too promising. Once he got out and walked over to me, I noticed he was tall, which the ad had promised, and relatively good looking. He was wearing jeans and a blue polo shirt and looked a little too casual for my taste. The sneakers he was wearing looked far from new and were a bit, shall I say, “run down”. I almost made up an excuse right then and there to leave, but I had promised my friends that I would at least give it a shot.
Once we were seated, I ordered a nice, healthy salad and a Perrier. He, of course, ordered what seemed like a whole side of beef and a beer. I rarely eat meat and I don't drink, so this was definitely not a good sign. By the time he was on his third bottle of beer, I knew this was not going to work. I didn't really understand his sense of humor and when he talked, something kept drawing my eyes to that gap he had between his top two front teeth. I instantly appreciated the years I spent wearing braces.
I didn't find his conversation all that great either. When I mentioned how I thought Britney Spears was a joke and should be mentally institutionalized, he said that he felt sorry for her and wished people would just leave her alone. Ugh.
I did like the fact that he seemed very comfortable with himself, but whatever the cologne was that he was wearing smelled like it cost less than the meals we were eating. At some point, I blatantly kept looking at my watch, and he asked, jokingly I would surmise, if there was somewhere I needed to be. I quickly jumped on the opportunity to escape and explained that I had just remembered I needed to go pick up a new suit I had been having tailored. The way he smiled and looked at me, saying “OK, cool,” let me know that he really didn't believe a word I was saying. But, I didn't care. I wanted out of there. I hadn't paid $150.00 for a haircut to be sitting here with some guy who laughed at his own “jokes”, called himself “silly” and never even finished college.
After we split the check and were out standing in front of the restaurant, I plastered a smile on my face and reached out to shake his hand. He chuckled as if he had just heard something funny, shook my hand, and said “It was nice to meet you.” I said the feeling was mutual. He turned, shaking his head, and said “You take care,” and walked off. The nerve of some people!
Thursday, October 9, 2008
Week Seven - Point of View
Week Seven – Journal #2
Point of View
My younger brother and I were never really close once we left home, but I still remember the days when we used to play together with reckless abandon as kids. Those days were long gone, and we were both different people. I had gone off to try my hand at college and my brother had taken a different path: one of guns and drugs. I never really knew if he was completely ok with me being gay because though he never mocked me, he never seemed proud of me either. But, I was never going to find out because my mother called me one day to tell me my brother had been killed. At 22, he'd been gunned down outside of a nightclub by some thug trying to steal his souped up Impala. I remember being stunned as I hung up the phone. I didn't cry, though. For some reason, I just didn't. By the time the “wake” came, I still hadn't. I watched my mother, go up to my brother's casket and touch his face softly, trying to be strong. My grandmother and aunt were crying pitifully in the front room of the overcrowded and hot funeral parlor and I just took deep breaths. It felt surreal as I listened to the young organist playing a somber spiritual and suddenly it was my turn to view his body. I slowly walked up to him and the minute I saw the waxen face that he would wear to his grave, I immediately was rushed with memories of running around the house with him and playing in the backyard with him and tickling him until he was crying and suddenly, I was sobbing like I never had before. Deep, ugly sounds poured out of me. I would never see him again. As he lay there in the suit that I had worn to my high school prom, I rained down tears on his body until my mother walked up and hugged me from behind, telling me everything was alright and he was now in a better place.
Darald hadn't been very surprised to get the phone call from his mother telling him that his brother, Patrone had been shot. He was, however, stunned to hear that his brother was dead. Patrone, who was only two years younger than he, had chosen to stay in the ghetto that they had both grown up in. He had considered himself a gangster, and he had guns and drugs to prove it. He wasn't afraid of anything or anyone. Darald, on the other hand had chosen to be the first person in his family to go to college, and he was proud of that. Patrone despised the fact that his brother was gay, joking about him to his friends, but for the sake of his mother, he tolerated him. The two brothers couldn't be more different. Darald didn't really make much of his reaction, or lack thereof, to the news that his brother had been slain. Though they had played happily together as kids, they had fought viciously, too. He figured that it had to happen sooner or later, and although he felt a sense of loss, no tears did he shed. While he sat in the first row at his brother's wake, he looked around solemnly at his brother's friends and their many relatives. Barbara, the boys' mother, stood silently weeping. Her arms were hugged tightly to herself as she looked down at the emaciated body in the casket. She had known this day would come. She had warned Patrone when he had been shot two years earlier that if he didn't change his life, it was going to come to an end. And here it was. The organist, who had just gotten her hair fixed especially for the occasion, couldn't help but notice how hot and sticky it was. She wanted to take out her fan just as everyone else had, but she had her hands full with playing. As Barbara made her way back to her seat, Darald slowly stood up and walked toward the casket. He looked down into his brother's face. Suddenly, he remembered the time he tickled Patrone until he had called their mother crying. He remembered the time that he and Patrone had flown their first kite and the time they had gotten their first pair of skates. Memory after memory rushed into his head and he began to weep uncontrollably. He clutched the side of the casket and leaned over it wanting to get inside with him; wanting to have one more chance to be that kid again, to make his brother laugh. He cried like that until Barbra, with fresh tears flowing down her face, came up and lovingly placed her arms around him from behind. She turned him to her and they embraced, sobbing in each other's arms.
Point of View
My younger brother and I were never really close once we left home, but I still remember the days when we used to play together with reckless abandon as kids. Those days were long gone, and we were both different people. I had gone off to try my hand at college and my brother had taken a different path: one of guns and drugs. I never really knew if he was completely ok with me being gay because though he never mocked me, he never seemed proud of me either. But, I was never going to find out because my mother called me one day to tell me my brother had been killed. At 22, he'd been gunned down outside of a nightclub by some thug trying to steal his souped up Impala. I remember being stunned as I hung up the phone. I didn't cry, though. For some reason, I just didn't. By the time the “wake” came, I still hadn't. I watched my mother, go up to my brother's casket and touch his face softly, trying to be strong. My grandmother and aunt were crying pitifully in the front room of the overcrowded and hot funeral parlor and I just took deep breaths. It felt surreal as I listened to the young organist playing a somber spiritual and suddenly it was my turn to view his body. I slowly walked up to him and the minute I saw the waxen face that he would wear to his grave, I immediately was rushed with memories of running around the house with him and playing in the backyard with him and tickling him until he was crying and suddenly, I was sobbing like I never had before. Deep, ugly sounds poured out of me. I would never see him again. As he lay there in the suit that I had worn to my high school prom, I rained down tears on his body until my mother walked up and hugged me from behind, telling me everything was alright and he was now in a better place.
Darald hadn't been very surprised to get the phone call from his mother telling him that his brother, Patrone had been shot. He was, however, stunned to hear that his brother was dead. Patrone, who was only two years younger than he, had chosen to stay in the ghetto that they had both grown up in. He had considered himself a gangster, and he had guns and drugs to prove it. He wasn't afraid of anything or anyone. Darald, on the other hand had chosen to be the first person in his family to go to college, and he was proud of that. Patrone despised the fact that his brother was gay, joking about him to his friends, but for the sake of his mother, he tolerated him. The two brothers couldn't be more different. Darald didn't really make much of his reaction, or lack thereof, to the news that his brother had been slain. Though they had played happily together as kids, they had fought viciously, too. He figured that it had to happen sooner or later, and although he felt a sense of loss, no tears did he shed. While he sat in the first row at his brother's wake, he looked around solemnly at his brother's friends and their many relatives. Barbara, the boys' mother, stood silently weeping. Her arms were hugged tightly to herself as she looked down at the emaciated body in the casket. She had known this day would come. She had warned Patrone when he had been shot two years earlier that if he didn't change his life, it was going to come to an end. And here it was. The organist, who had just gotten her hair fixed especially for the occasion, couldn't help but notice how hot and sticky it was. She wanted to take out her fan just as everyone else had, but she had her hands full with playing. As Barbara made her way back to her seat, Darald slowly stood up and walked toward the casket. He looked down into his brother's face. Suddenly, he remembered the time he tickled Patrone until he had called their mother crying. He remembered the time that he and Patrone had flown their first kite and the time they had gotten their first pair of skates. Memory after memory rushed into his head and he began to weep uncontrollably. He clutched the side of the casket and leaned over it wanting to get inside with him; wanting to have one more chance to be that kid again, to make his brother laugh. He cried like that until Barbra, with fresh tears flowing down her face, came up and lovingly placed her arms around him from behind. She turned him to her and they embraced, sobbing in each other's arms.
Saturday, October 4, 2008
Week Six - Complication vs. Situation
Week 6 – Journal #1
Complication versus Situation
Marcus hadn't been this excited in a long time. He was finally going to be able to marry Carl, his long time partner of 10 years. They had stayed together against all odds; through all the arguments, all the fights and all the lovemaking in between. Finally, it was legal to get married in the state of California.
Marcus hurried across the busy city street, proudly holding the tuxedo he had just picked up from the cleaner's. Carl was going to be so impressed when he saw it. He had gotten special stitching done to the right lapel, combining the initials of both their first names. He was almost glowing as he made his way up the stairs of their brownstone apartment, his tall figure exuding happiness and confidence.
At the front door, he threw the plastic-sheathed tuxedo over his left arm and dug out his key with the other. Carl was going to be so surprised that he'd gotten home early. He wanted to take him out for a picnic in the park before their relatives started arriving that evening. Carl had taken the day off to get the place ready for their guests.
Marcus opened the door, and bent down to grab the mail that had been shoved through the mail slot beside the door. As he stood, he cocked his ear. What was that sound? Probably Carl was upstairs cleaning things up. He quickly went through the mail; a bill from the caterer, a bill from the florist, a letter from his grandmother, probably saying she wouldn't be able to make it to the wedding, and the latest People magazine.
Marcus laid the mail on the table beside the door, and started taking the stairs in front of him two at a time. He slowed, however, when he heard what sounded like moaning coming from the bedroom, and stopped altogether at the top of the landing when he heard the bedsprings creaking. What the - ?
He was frozen in place. Suddenly he felt as if the blood had drained from his entire body.
He slowly started walking toward the bedroom. The tuxedo and the keys that he had been holding dropped to the floor, the sound upsetting the stillness in the hallway.
The moaning stopped all at once and Marcus placed his hand on the doorknob. Did he really want to turn it? Nothing could be happening on the other side of this door, right? He was just hearing things.
Marcus slowly turned the knob, and pushed. As the door swung open, the door to the bathroom inside slammed shut. Carl jumped out of the bed, wrapping his well-toned, caramel-colored body hastily in the comforter.
“Ah, hey, honey,” he started. “What - ?”
“Carl,” Marcus said, trying to catch his breath, which suddenly seemed very short. “Carl, what the hell's going on?”
“Marcus, baby, nothing's going on,” he said, smiling freakishly.
“Carl, you promised,” Marcus said dully.
“Baby, let's go downstairs and talk. You look like you need to sit down,” Carl said, stumbling over the comforter towards Marcus and the bedroom door.
“What - is - going - on?”
“Baby, calm down. You're overreacting,” said Carl, putting his hand on Marcus' shoulder.
Marcus looked hard at Carl, not believing that they could be going through this again. Carl had promised that he wouldn't cheat on him again. Well, it looked like once a cheat, always a cheat. Marcus ripped Carl's hand away from his shoulder and walked straight to the bathroom door.
“Whoever is in there, you can come out now!,” he shouted, pounding his fist into the door.
“Marcus! Come on, man. Calm down. Let's go downstairs.”
“COME OUT NOW!” Marcus said.
After a minute, the door slowly opened and Marcus felt like his entire body had just been shocked with a zillion jolts of electricity. His brother, Marlon, stood before him looking up into his eyes and didn't say a word. He stood there in Carl's bathrobe, looking like a little boy who'd just gotten caught by his father wearing his mother's dress. Marlon, who he'd taken care of and protected when they were kids; taught him how to ride his bike, tie his shoes, hold his fork.
Behind him, Marcus could hear Carl mumbling something, but his head was filled with such a mass rushing of thoughts that all he could focus on was his brother's eyes. “I can't....I...I can't believe it.” He slowly backed away, finally coming into contact with the bed and sitting clumsily.
“Marcus,” Marlon finally spoke. “Dude, I'm so sorry. I mean, I know it's no excuse but ....”
Marcus turned to look at Carl, who was standing sheepishly looking out into the hallway, as if wanting to make a mad dash for it.
“Carl, I don't get it, and I guess I never will.” Marcus sat for a minute, looking from Carl to Marlon and back again. Nobody said a word.
Marcus eventually pulled himself off of the bed. He looked at Marlon from head to toe, and turned toward Carl. Pulling the ring that Carl had just given him the night before from his finger, he walked toward him slowly. In one snake-like movement, Marcus's hand was across Carl's face. The crack echoed through the silent room, and then all was still again.
Marcus tossed the ring onto the bed and walked out of the room, down the stairs and out the front door.
Complication versus Situation
Marcus hadn't been this excited in a long time. He was finally going to be able to marry Carl, his long time partner of 10 years. They had stayed together against all odds; through all the arguments, all the fights and all the lovemaking in between. Finally, it was legal to get married in the state of California.
Marcus hurried across the busy city street, proudly holding the tuxedo he had just picked up from the cleaner's. Carl was going to be so impressed when he saw it. He had gotten special stitching done to the right lapel, combining the initials of both their first names. He was almost glowing as he made his way up the stairs of their brownstone apartment, his tall figure exuding happiness and confidence.
At the front door, he threw the plastic-sheathed tuxedo over his left arm and dug out his key with the other. Carl was going to be so surprised that he'd gotten home early. He wanted to take him out for a picnic in the park before their relatives started arriving that evening. Carl had taken the day off to get the place ready for their guests.
Marcus opened the door, and bent down to grab the mail that had been shoved through the mail slot beside the door. As he stood, he cocked his ear. What was that sound? Probably Carl was upstairs cleaning things up. He quickly went through the mail; a bill from the caterer, a bill from the florist, a letter from his grandmother, probably saying she wouldn't be able to make it to the wedding, and the latest People magazine.
Marcus laid the mail on the table beside the door, and started taking the stairs in front of him two at a time. He slowed, however, when he heard what sounded like moaning coming from the bedroom, and stopped altogether at the top of the landing when he heard the bedsprings creaking. What the - ?
He was frozen in place. Suddenly he felt as if the blood had drained from his entire body.
He slowly started walking toward the bedroom. The tuxedo and the keys that he had been holding dropped to the floor, the sound upsetting the stillness in the hallway.
The moaning stopped all at once and Marcus placed his hand on the doorknob. Did he really want to turn it? Nothing could be happening on the other side of this door, right? He was just hearing things.
Marcus slowly turned the knob, and pushed. As the door swung open, the door to the bathroom inside slammed shut. Carl jumped out of the bed, wrapping his well-toned, caramel-colored body hastily in the comforter.
“Ah, hey, honey,” he started. “What - ?”
“Carl,” Marcus said, trying to catch his breath, which suddenly seemed very short. “Carl, what the hell's going on?”
“Marcus, baby, nothing's going on,” he said, smiling freakishly.
“Carl, you promised,” Marcus said dully.
“Baby, let's go downstairs and talk. You look like you need to sit down,” Carl said, stumbling over the comforter towards Marcus and the bedroom door.
“What - is - going - on?”
“Baby, calm down. You're overreacting,” said Carl, putting his hand on Marcus' shoulder.
Marcus looked hard at Carl, not believing that they could be going through this again. Carl had promised that he wouldn't cheat on him again. Well, it looked like once a cheat, always a cheat. Marcus ripped Carl's hand away from his shoulder and walked straight to the bathroom door.
“Whoever is in there, you can come out now!,” he shouted, pounding his fist into the door.
“Marcus! Come on, man. Calm down. Let's go downstairs.”
“COME OUT NOW!” Marcus said.
After a minute, the door slowly opened and Marcus felt like his entire body had just been shocked with a zillion jolts of electricity. His brother, Marlon, stood before him looking up into his eyes and didn't say a word. He stood there in Carl's bathrobe, looking like a little boy who'd just gotten caught by his father wearing his mother's dress. Marlon, who he'd taken care of and protected when they were kids; taught him how to ride his bike, tie his shoes, hold his fork.
Behind him, Marcus could hear Carl mumbling something, but his head was filled with such a mass rushing of thoughts that all he could focus on was his brother's eyes. “I can't....I...I can't believe it.” He slowly backed away, finally coming into contact with the bed and sitting clumsily.
“Marcus,” Marlon finally spoke. “Dude, I'm so sorry. I mean, I know it's no excuse but ....”
Marcus turned to look at Carl, who was standing sheepishly looking out into the hallway, as if wanting to make a mad dash for it.
“Carl, I don't get it, and I guess I never will.” Marcus sat for a minute, looking from Carl to Marlon and back again. Nobody said a word.
Marcus eventually pulled himself off of the bed. He looked at Marlon from head to toe, and turned toward Carl. Pulling the ring that Carl had just given him the night before from his finger, he walked toward him slowly. In one snake-like movement, Marcus's hand was across Carl's face. The crack echoed through the silent room, and then all was still again.
Marcus tossed the ring onto the bed and walked out of the room, down the stairs and out the front door.
Week Six - Tell Me A Story
Week 6 – Journal #2
Tell Me A Story
Original Version:
One day when I was in high school, I took it upon myself to be a thief. My Major Works English class was just ending for the day and Jessica Evans, who sat in the desk directly in front of me, had gotten up and left her purse sitting open beside her desk. In it, sitting exposed on top, was a smaller coin purse. While no one was looking, I grabbed it. Inside there was a $10.00 bill. I snitched it and threw the purse back in, surreptitiously scanning the room. No one had seen me. Needless to say, after Jessica found out her purse was missing, she went to the principal and reported it. Eventually, I was called into the principal's office and she drilled me with questions to the point that I broke down and confessed that it indeed had been me who'd purloined the purse. She told me that I was going to return the purse and when I got home I was going to call Jessica and apologize to her for taking it. I thought to myself that this was not something that I was going to do at all. But that evening when I got home, I couldn't help but think about it. I finally got up the nerve to call Jessica. She was so nice about it and I was so proud of myself for having the courage to call her up, after hanging up the phone I felt like some part of me had grown up a little.
Showing and Telling Version:
Kelly fidgeted in his seat, waiting for the school bell to ring, putting an end to that day's second period English class. It was the advanced Major works level, and only the smartest students were allowed to take this particular course. As Kelly sat listening to the teacher give out that night's homework assignment, he glanced down and noticed Jessica Evans' purse sitting beside her desk in front of him. Suddenly, his heart started to beat a little faster. He couldn't believe the opportunity that had presented itself. He'd never done anything like this before, but something was propelling him, urging him to take it. He nervously looked around the classroom, gauging his surroundings. The bell rang and while some students jumped up, anxious to get to their next class, others meandered about, collecting books and chatting happily as they slowly made their way out.
Jessica got up and made her way up to Mrs. Levonsky's desk. Kelly sat at his desk, pretending to organize his books while surreptitiously eying the purse, which lay open before him. On top, exposing itself to him, was a little coin purse. It was just screaming at him to be snatched. He gave a quick look around to see who was there. All of the students had made their way toward the front of the class. Seeing his opportunity, Kelly swiftly grabbed the little leather coin purse and twisted the clasp. He grabbed what was inside, keeping his eyes on Mrs. Levonsky and Jessica the entire time, and stealthily replaced it.
“Bye, Mrs. Levonky,” he said, after he'd gathered his belongings and made his way to the front of the class. “Bye, Jessica.”
“See you tomorrow, Kelly. Very good reading today,” Mrs. Levonky replied.
“Thank you,” Kelly said.
“Bye,” Jessica said.
As Kelly left the classroom, he heard Jessica saying that she'd be sure to turn in her book report the next day. As he rounded the corner, he dug the cash that he'd stolen from the purse out of his pocket. It was a crisp $10.00 bill. He couldn't believe he had just stolen $10.00 from Jessica Evans. His heart raced and his mind was going a million different directions at once.
Later that day, while he was in his fifth period Biology class, Kelly was called to the principal's office. He knew that this was not going to be good. As he made his way slowly down the hall, his heart about to beat out of his chest and his feet huge stones that were almost impossible to move, he tried to think of what he could say. He would just flat out deny it, he told himself. And that would be that.
Too soon, he arrived at the administration office. Mrs. Trimmer was waiting patiently behind her desk when Kelly was ushered in by the secretary. She was known to be a stern principal, and one who didn't mess around. She was a large imposing figure and moved with an authority that was obvious. To cross Mrs. Trimmer was to pay the price. At that moment, however, Mrs. Trimmer simply looked concerned.
“Have a seat, Kelly,” she said with a slight smile.
Kelly nervously took the seat in front of the principal's desk, keeping his eyes on the floor.
“Kelly, Jessica Evans came to me and said that somebody had stolen her money out of her purse today,” Mrs. Trimmer began, sitting patiently behind her desk with her hands clasped together in front of her. “Do you know anything about that?”
“No, ma'am,” Kelly said, never once looking directly into Mrs. Trimmer's eyes.
“Kelly, are you sure?”
“Yes, ma'am.”
“Well, the fact remains that someone stole Jessica's money,” Mrs. Trimmer said. Her voice had taken on a stern tone. “Do you know of anyone who would have taken Jessica's money?”
Kelly was quiet for just a moment before blurting out, “Sonya Marshall probably took it!”
“Why would you say that, Kelly?” Mrs. Trimmer asked, eyebrows furrowed.
“Because she sits right in front of her,” Kelly answered, noticing how terribly his hands were shaking.
“Kelly, so you're telling me Sonya Marshall stole Jessica's money?” Mrs. Trimmer asked.
“I guess so,” Kelly answered.
“You guess so? Kelly, why won't you look me in the eyes? Are you afraid of something?”
“No, ma'am,” he said. He was thinking that now this interrogation should be over, shouldn't it? He had given up the culprit. It was Sonya Marshall. Wasn't that all she wanted?
“Kelly, I'm going to ask you again,” Mrs. Trimmer continued. “Did you take that money?”
Kelly was almost on the verge of tears, but he looked up and shook his head, “No ma'am.”
“Kelly, you know what guilty people do when questioned about something? They blame somebody else. They always point the finger at another to take the focus off of themselves. I know you're a good student and probably didn't mean to steal that money, but Kelly, if you did it, you need to admit it. I won't punish you, but if you keep lying and saying you didn't take the money, I will have to.”
Kelly felt small enough to fit in that coin purse at that moment. He was so ashamed of himself, he didn't know how to act or what to do. This lying was becoming too much for him. He felt trapped. He looked up at Mrs. Trimmer's face and a tear rolled down his cheek. “I didn't mean to take it. I don't know why I did,” he confessed, his bottom lip trembling. “I'm sorry.”
“I know it, son,” said Mrs. Trimmer. “Kelly, you just can't go around taking people's things. Where is the money?
”
He dug the pocket of his Blue Devil jeans and offered the bill. Mrs. Trimmer looked at him for a few minutes before speaking.
“That was very brave of you to admit you stole this money, but you're going to need to be braver now. I want you to call Jessica tonight and apologize to her for taking that money.”
Kelly nodded his head pitifully. Things had just gone from bad to worse.
“I think you learned your lesson today, but I want to be sure you did. You call her tonight and apologize and all is forgiven.”
“Yes, ma'am”.
“Now, get back to class and I don't want to see you in my office again,” she said.
Kelly walked back to class and for the rest of the day his mind was consumed with having stolen that money and having to call Jessica and admit that he had done so. By the time he got home, it had chewed away at him like a buzzard gnawing away at rotting flesh.
When he couldn't stand to be alone in his room with his thoughts any longer, he picked up the piece of paper with the phone number that Mrs. Trimmer had given him. Slowly he began to dial the number, but hung up twice before he finally built up enough courage to complete the call.
An older woman answered.
“May I speak to Jessica, please?” he began.
“One minute,” the voice replied.
A few brief seconds later, Jessica was on the phone. “Hello.”
Kelly took a deep breath and started, “Hi, Jessica, this is Kelly....from school. Uhm, I just wanted to say that I'm real sorry that I took your money today. I didn't mean to make you upset and I promise that I won't ever steal anything from you again....so...that's all. I'm sorry.”
Jessica paused and said “That's OK, Kelly. I just didn't have any lunch money today, but Sonya paid for my lunch, so I was ok. Don't worry about it, alright? You gave it back, so that's all that counts.”
“Thanks, Jessica,” Kelly said, feeling all the stress that he had been threatening to crush him begin to ease away. “I appreciate it. And again I'm sorry. See ya tomorrow?”
“See ya tomorrow,” Jessica said and hung up.
Kelly replaced the phone, and sat in silence for a moment. He turned and jumped when he saw his mother standing in his bedroom doorway. "I'm so proud of you, son," is all she said before turning and walking out of the room. He breathed deeply, smiled to himself and went to go make himself a peanut butter and jelly sandwich.
Tell Me A Story
Original Version:
One day when I was in high school, I took it upon myself to be a thief. My Major Works English class was just ending for the day and Jessica Evans, who sat in the desk directly in front of me, had gotten up and left her purse sitting open beside her desk. In it, sitting exposed on top, was a smaller coin purse. While no one was looking, I grabbed it. Inside there was a $10.00 bill. I snitched it and threw the purse back in, surreptitiously scanning the room. No one had seen me. Needless to say, after Jessica found out her purse was missing, she went to the principal and reported it. Eventually, I was called into the principal's office and she drilled me with questions to the point that I broke down and confessed that it indeed had been me who'd purloined the purse. She told me that I was going to return the purse and when I got home I was going to call Jessica and apologize to her for taking it. I thought to myself that this was not something that I was going to do at all. But that evening when I got home, I couldn't help but think about it. I finally got up the nerve to call Jessica. She was so nice about it and I was so proud of myself for having the courage to call her up, after hanging up the phone I felt like some part of me had grown up a little.
Showing and Telling Version:
Kelly fidgeted in his seat, waiting for the school bell to ring, putting an end to that day's second period English class. It was the advanced Major works level, and only the smartest students were allowed to take this particular course. As Kelly sat listening to the teacher give out that night's homework assignment, he glanced down and noticed Jessica Evans' purse sitting beside her desk in front of him. Suddenly, his heart started to beat a little faster. He couldn't believe the opportunity that had presented itself. He'd never done anything like this before, but something was propelling him, urging him to take it. He nervously looked around the classroom, gauging his surroundings. The bell rang and while some students jumped up, anxious to get to their next class, others meandered about, collecting books and chatting happily as they slowly made their way out.
Jessica got up and made her way up to Mrs. Levonsky's desk. Kelly sat at his desk, pretending to organize his books while surreptitiously eying the purse, which lay open before him. On top, exposing itself to him, was a little coin purse. It was just screaming at him to be snatched. He gave a quick look around to see who was there. All of the students had made their way toward the front of the class. Seeing his opportunity, Kelly swiftly grabbed the little leather coin purse and twisted the clasp. He grabbed what was inside, keeping his eyes on Mrs. Levonsky and Jessica the entire time, and stealthily replaced it.
“Bye, Mrs. Levonky,” he said, after he'd gathered his belongings and made his way to the front of the class. “Bye, Jessica.”
“See you tomorrow, Kelly. Very good reading today,” Mrs. Levonky replied.
“Thank you,” Kelly said.
“Bye,” Jessica said.
As Kelly left the classroom, he heard Jessica saying that she'd be sure to turn in her book report the next day. As he rounded the corner, he dug the cash that he'd stolen from the purse out of his pocket. It was a crisp $10.00 bill. He couldn't believe he had just stolen $10.00 from Jessica Evans. His heart raced and his mind was going a million different directions at once.
Later that day, while he was in his fifth period Biology class, Kelly was called to the principal's office. He knew that this was not going to be good. As he made his way slowly down the hall, his heart about to beat out of his chest and his feet huge stones that were almost impossible to move, he tried to think of what he could say. He would just flat out deny it, he told himself. And that would be that.
Too soon, he arrived at the administration office. Mrs. Trimmer was waiting patiently behind her desk when Kelly was ushered in by the secretary. She was known to be a stern principal, and one who didn't mess around. She was a large imposing figure and moved with an authority that was obvious. To cross Mrs. Trimmer was to pay the price. At that moment, however, Mrs. Trimmer simply looked concerned.
“Have a seat, Kelly,” she said with a slight smile.
Kelly nervously took the seat in front of the principal's desk, keeping his eyes on the floor.
“Kelly, Jessica Evans came to me and said that somebody had stolen her money out of her purse today,” Mrs. Trimmer began, sitting patiently behind her desk with her hands clasped together in front of her. “Do you know anything about that?”
“No, ma'am,” Kelly said, never once looking directly into Mrs. Trimmer's eyes.
“Kelly, are you sure?”
“Yes, ma'am.”
“Well, the fact remains that someone stole Jessica's money,” Mrs. Trimmer said. Her voice had taken on a stern tone. “Do you know of anyone who would have taken Jessica's money?”
Kelly was quiet for just a moment before blurting out, “Sonya Marshall probably took it!”
“Why would you say that, Kelly?” Mrs. Trimmer asked, eyebrows furrowed.
“Because she sits right in front of her,” Kelly answered, noticing how terribly his hands were shaking.
“Kelly, so you're telling me Sonya Marshall stole Jessica's money?” Mrs. Trimmer asked.
“I guess so,” Kelly answered.
“You guess so? Kelly, why won't you look me in the eyes? Are you afraid of something?”
“No, ma'am,” he said. He was thinking that now this interrogation should be over, shouldn't it? He had given up the culprit. It was Sonya Marshall. Wasn't that all she wanted?
“Kelly, I'm going to ask you again,” Mrs. Trimmer continued. “Did you take that money?”
Kelly was almost on the verge of tears, but he looked up and shook his head, “No ma'am.”
“Kelly, you know what guilty people do when questioned about something? They blame somebody else. They always point the finger at another to take the focus off of themselves. I know you're a good student and probably didn't mean to steal that money, but Kelly, if you did it, you need to admit it. I won't punish you, but if you keep lying and saying you didn't take the money, I will have to.”
Kelly felt small enough to fit in that coin purse at that moment. He was so ashamed of himself, he didn't know how to act or what to do. This lying was becoming too much for him. He felt trapped. He looked up at Mrs. Trimmer's face and a tear rolled down his cheek. “I didn't mean to take it. I don't know why I did,” he confessed, his bottom lip trembling. “I'm sorry.”
“I know it, son,” said Mrs. Trimmer. “Kelly, you just can't go around taking people's things. Where is the money?
”
He dug the pocket of his Blue Devil jeans and offered the bill. Mrs. Trimmer looked at him for a few minutes before speaking.
“That was very brave of you to admit you stole this money, but you're going to need to be braver now. I want you to call Jessica tonight and apologize to her for taking that money.”
Kelly nodded his head pitifully. Things had just gone from bad to worse.
“I think you learned your lesson today, but I want to be sure you did. You call her tonight and apologize and all is forgiven.”
“Yes, ma'am”.
“Now, get back to class and I don't want to see you in my office again,” she said.
Kelly walked back to class and for the rest of the day his mind was consumed with having stolen that money and having to call Jessica and admit that he had done so. By the time he got home, it had chewed away at him like a buzzard gnawing away at rotting flesh.
When he couldn't stand to be alone in his room with his thoughts any longer, he picked up the piece of paper with the phone number that Mrs. Trimmer had given him. Slowly he began to dial the number, but hung up twice before he finally built up enough courage to complete the call.
An older woman answered.
“May I speak to Jessica, please?” he began.
“One minute,” the voice replied.
A few brief seconds later, Jessica was on the phone. “Hello.”
Kelly took a deep breath and started, “Hi, Jessica, this is Kelly....from school. Uhm, I just wanted to say that I'm real sorry that I took your money today. I didn't mean to make you upset and I promise that I won't ever steal anything from you again....so...that's all. I'm sorry.”
Jessica paused and said “That's OK, Kelly. I just didn't have any lunch money today, but Sonya paid for my lunch, so I was ok. Don't worry about it, alright? You gave it back, so that's all that counts.”
“Thanks, Jessica,” Kelly said, feeling all the stress that he had been threatening to crush him begin to ease away. “I appreciate it. And again I'm sorry. See ya tomorrow?”
“See ya tomorrow,” Jessica said and hung up.
Kelly replaced the phone, and sat in silence for a moment. He turned and jumped when he saw his mother standing in his bedroom doorway. "I'm so proud of you, son," is all she said before turning and walking out of the room. He breathed deeply, smiled to himself and went to go make himself a peanut butter and jelly sandwich.
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