Week Thirteen - Journal Two
Tanjee laughed to herself and turned the page in the book she was reading. Suddenly, she heard the front door slam.
“Jerry?” she called.
Silence. She listened for a second and still heard nothing.
The meeting with Mr. Brewster must not have gone well, she thought. She uncurled her legs from underneath her on the sofa and sighed. She hoped he had been direct with Mr. Brewster like she'd told him to be. He deserved that promotion.
“Jerry?” she called again. Since he hadn't come directly to the living room to tell her about the meeting, she went looking for him. He wasn't in the kitchen, nor anywhere downstairs, so he had to be in his study.
She made her way up the stairs and noticed that his door was closed, as usual. She knocked tentatively, and waited.
“Yeah?”
He didn't sound too happy. “May I come in, please?”
She thought she heard a “yes” underneath all the grumbling, so she twisted the knob and opened the door. Jerry was sitting at his desk with his head in his hands, eyes closed.
“So, I take it there is no good news.”
“He gave it to Peterson,” Jerry grumbled.
“What!? Joshua Peterson?!” Tanjee said, placing her hands on her hips.
“Yes, Tanjee, Joshua Peterson.”
“Jerry, you deserved that head coach position far more than Joshua Peterson! He can't coach shit! Did you make sure Brewster remembered all the great success you've had with the tennis team since you've been there?”
“Well, Tanjee he knows all those things, so -”
“Jerry, you should have brought all of that stuff up! I told you you had to go in there and take that job. You knew he didn't want to give it to you in the first place, even though you're by far the best candidate. Jerry, you should have been a man and claimed that job!”
Jerry looked up at Tanjee and could feel the blackness beginning to seep in. Who did she think she was to talk to him like that? He had had a bad enough evening already and she was only making it worse.
“Tanjee, could you please leave me alone?” he asked, gritting his teeth.
“No, I will not,” she said, folding her arms. “I think you should call Mr. Brewster and make him change his mind.”
“Tanjee, I really think you should leave me alone right now,” he said. He did not need her shit tonight.
Saturday, November 22, 2008
Image Into Story
Week Thirteen – Journal One
Little Abigail ran gaily around the backyard, picking flowers from her mother's garden and holding them aloft as she twirled around in her new summer dress. Her mother had told her to stay close to the house because in a little while they were going to her friend Samantha's birthday party. Samantha had just turned seven and she was going to have clowns and lots of balloons at her party.
As Abigail spun around and around, singing to herself, the little house across the field suddenly caught her attention. It was just a run-down little shack and it was empty, but Abigail thought she'd seen something moving through one of the windows. Ever since they'd moved to this new home a little while ago, she had been fascinated with it. She had asked her mother if she could use it as her play house, but her mother had strictly forbidden it. She had told her that there had been a fire in that little house a long time ago and some little girls had died in it. Although, Abigail thought that it was sad that the little girls had died, she still didn't understand why she couldn't play in it. There weren't any fires in there now and she definitely wasn't going to start one.
Abigail kept staring at the little house. The gray paint was peeling off all over it, and where there had once been windows, there were now only large, gaping holes. She looked back over her shoulder at the back door to see if her mother was watching her. When she didn't see her, she slowly started walking towards the deserted little shack, holding the flowers she'd been picking down by her side. She walked across the barren field with her eyes glued to the windows. The sun, which had been shining brightly, suddenly disappeared and a slight wind began to blow, rustling Abigail's hair and causing her little dress to float around her.
The closer Abigail got to the little house, the more she thought she could hear whispers and what seemed to be someone giggling. But how could that be? There was no one out here. Her mother had told her so. When she had gotten close to the little house, she stopped. The front door was hanging on it's hinges and partially closed, but she could see through to the empty room inside. Something kept her from going any farther.
She tilted her head, thinking she'd heard something. What was that? It sounded like someone was whispering her name.....”Aaabigaaaaaail.” It was a little girl's voice and it made Abigail feel creepy. Her heart started pounding and she slowly started backing away from the house. Because she was backing up, she didn't see the big rock on the ground and she went tumbling onto her backside. Suddenly, Abigail heard a chorus of giggling girls. She jumped up from the ground, eyes bulging out of her head, and turned and ran at full speed, arms flailing, until she got back to the main house. Her mother was going to be mad that she'd gotten her dress dirty, but probably more upset about her going out to that old house, so she wasn't going to tell her about that. Once she was brave enough, though, she had some more exploring to do out there.
Little Abigail ran gaily around the backyard, picking flowers from her mother's garden and holding them aloft as she twirled around in her new summer dress. Her mother had told her to stay close to the house because in a little while they were going to her friend Samantha's birthday party. Samantha had just turned seven and she was going to have clowns and lots of balloons at her party.
As Abigail spun around and around, singing to herself, the little house across the field suddenly caught her attention. It was just a run-down little shack and it was empty, but Abigail thought she'd seen something moving through one of the windows. Ever since they'd moved to this new home a little while ago, she had been fascinated with it. She had asked her mother if she could use it as her play house, but her mother had strictly forbidden it. She had told her that there had been a fire in that little house a long time ago and some little girls had died in it. Although, Abigail thought that it was sad that the little girls had died, she still didn't understand why she couldn't play in it. There weren't any fires in there now and she definitely wasn't going to start one.
Abigail kept staring at the little house. The gray paint was peeling off all over it, and where there had once been windows, there were now only large, gaping holes. She looked back over her shoulder at the back door to see if her mother was watching her. When she didn't see her, she slowly started walking towards the deserted little shack, holding the flowers she'd been picking down by her side. She walked across the barren field with her eyes glued to the windows. The sun, which had been shining brightly, suddenly disappeared and a slight wind began to blow, rustling Abigail's hair and causing her little dress to float around her.
The closer Abigail got to the little house, the more she thought she could hear whispers and what seemed to be someone giggling. But how could that be? There was no one out here. Her mother had told her so. When she had gotten close to the little house, she stopped. The front door was hanging on it's hinges and partially closed, but she could see through to the empty room inside. Something kept her from going any farther.
She tilted her head, thinking she'd heard something. What was that? It sounded like someone was whispering her name.....”Aaabigaaaaaail.” It was a little girl's voice and it made Abigail feel creepy. Her heart started pounding and she slowly started backing away from the house. Because she was backing up, she didn't see the big rock on the ground and she went tumbling onto her backside. Suddenly, Abigail heard a chorus of giggling girls. She jumped up from the ground, eyes bulging out of her head, and turned and ran at full speed, arms flailing, until she got back to the main house. Her mother was going to be mad that she'd gotten her dress dirty, but probably more upset about her going out to that old house, so she wasn't going to tell her about that. Once she was brave enough, though, she had some more exploring to do out there.
Sunday, November 16, 2008
Week Twelve - Using Fear To Your Advantage
Journal Two
Nude Beach
I hope we're not gonna be here all day. I just agreed to do this because I didn't want to be the only loser afraid to go to a nude beach. Hell, I'm just as bold as the next guy, so why not, right? Well, it's summer time, and I can't stand the sun. That's one reason. What can I say? I burn easily.
Well, the guys have all started taking their clothes off, so now what do I do? I'm a little insecure about my nether regions, if you catch my drift, so I shuffle around a bit until Frank points at me and asks me what I'm waiting for, an open invitation or something. Well, of course, he says that cause look at him. He's hung like a horse. The guys chuckle and continue to take off their surf shorts and tee shirts. I look around and see all the old wrinkly people walking by naked as jaybirds, not a care in the world, but all I wanna do is curl up like one of those doodybugs and get locked up inside myself.
My head is already starting to burn from the sun, but I suck it up and take off my t-shirt. Gotta start somewhere, right? Carl makes a smart-ass comment about me being whiter than Snow White, and yeah, that makes me feel a whole helluva lot better. So, now everybody's naked except me, and of course, that makes me feel worse, cause now I'm the primary focus and everybody's waiting for me to drop trow. I finally get up the nerve when I notice that Pete's not working with much down in the old meat section, so I peel off my trunks and toss them aside. Lemme tell ya, nothing is as reassuring as the sound of five of your best buddies laughing at you simultaneously.
When Frank looks down at me and says it must be nice to still be in the third grade, I tell him I'm a grower, not a shower, and he laughs and claps me on the back. It's gonna be a long day. Dang, it's hot! I feel the sun continue to burn my scalp and I realize I'm gonna be burnt to a crisp when I get home. Ugh. How do I get talked into these things?
Nude Beach
I hope we're not gonna be here all day. I just agreed to do this because I didn't want to be the only loser afraid to go to a nude beach. Hell, I'm just as bold as the next guy, so why not, right? Well, it's summer time, and I can't stand the sun. That's one reason. What can I say? I burn easily.
Well, the guys have all started taking their clothes off, so now what do I do? I'm a little insecure about my nether regions, if you catch my drift, so I shuffle around a bit until Frank points at me and asks me what I'm waiting for, an open invitation or something. Well, of course, he says that cause look at him. He's hung like a horse. The guys chuckle and continue to take off their surf shorts and tee shirts. I look around and see all the old wrinkly people walking by naked as jaybirds, not a care in the world, but all I wanna do is curl up like one of those doodybugs and get locked up inside myself.
My head is already starting to burn from the sun, but I suck it up and take off my t-shirt. Gotta start somewhere, right? Carl makes a smart-ass comment about me being whiter than Snow White, and yeah, that makes me feel a whole helluva lot better. So, now everybody's naked except me, and of course, that makes me feel worse, cause now I'm the primary focus and everybody's waiting for me to drop trow. I finally get up the nerve when I notice that Pete's not working with much down in the old meat section, so I peel off my trunks and toss them aside. Lemme tell ya, nothing is as reassuring as the sound of five of your best buddies laughing at you simultaneously.
When Frank looks down at me and says it must be nice to still be in the third grade, I tell him I'm a grower, not a shower, and he laughs and claps me on the back. It's gonna be a long day. Dang, it's hot! I feel the sun continue to burn my scalp and I realize I'm gonna be burnt to a crisp when I get home. Ugh. How do I get talked into these things?
Week Twelve - Revision Journal
What Cletus Wants
I reached over JD to get the remote control and inadvertently touched his thigh. We'd been watching Star Search like we did every Saturday night, but for some reason there was some sort of tension in the air between us. Viola had given JD some liquor that night and he seemed a little friskier than he normally was. She'd since run off to the bar to raise hell with some her girlfriends, so that just left me and JD.
I was quite happy because I liked spending time with JD. There was something about him that was special to me. I couldn't quite put my finger on what it was. JD was a beautiful kid. I'd seen him grow up to be quite a handsome little devil, and something inside of me just wanted to be in his presence. I was always happy when he was with me. That is, until that night.
Like I'd said before, I had kind of touched his thigh while we were sitting on the couch. Now that I think about it, I wonder if in some way I did that on purpose. Whatever the case, I think that's what started the whole thing. JD kind of looked at me and grinned and then looked back at the television.
“Hey, Clete,” he said, after a few minutes had passed. “You know what?” he said, drunkenly.
“What's that, JD?”
“You're a sexy old man, you know that?”
I instantly started to twitch on the couch, but I held myself together and smiled at him.
“Well, that sure is nice of you to say so, JD.” At 38 years old, I didn't consider myself “old” yet, but I guess to him, I fit that bill.
He winked at me drunkenly and inched closer to me on the couch. Keeping his eyes on the small television in front of us, he suddenly placed his hand on my thigh. My breath caught in my throat and I closed my eyes. I didn't know whether to move his hand or just sit there frozen like I was. My thoughts went haywire. I wanted to control myself. I wanted to be a good friend to Viola. I couldn't do anything, though. I just sat there, frozen.
JD started rubbing his hand up and down my leg, slowly and although I tried with all my might to close my mind off, the erection that I was developing began to shift in my pants. I grabbed one of the pillows that I kept on the sofa, placed it across my lap and kept staring blankly at the television.
“Oh, she's definitely not gonna win. Did you hear that flat note she hit at the end, there?” I said, chuckling nervously.
JD didn't say anything. He just kept rubbing my leg, his body slightly swaying drunkenly. It was getting hot in there and I wanted to go turn on the fan that sat in the corner of my small living room, but I didn't want to give the state of my pants away. So, I reached over and got my glass of Jack Daniels off the table and reached inside and pulled out a cube of ice. I rubbed it across my forehead and took a deep breath, trying to get my breathing under control.
When I placed the glass back on the table, JD suddenly lunged at me. Before I knew it, his mouth was on mine and he had both his hands on my legs. His lips tasted so sweet, I hated myself for pushing him off me, but I did.
“JD! What the hell's the matter with you?”
“Aw, come on, Clete. Don't act like you don't want me. Don't you think I can see how much underneath that pillow?”
“JD, what do you know? You're seventeen years old,” I said, weakly.
“I know a lot old man. Don't you worry about that,” he said, tossing back the lock of black hair that had fallen into his face.
I didn't know what to do. I was still throbbing down there and my heart was beating out of my chest.
He leaned over towards me again, this time more slowly and kissed me softly.
“JD, Viola will kill me,” I pleaded.
“Yeah, she will kill you if she finds out you tried to rape me, Cletus. We wouldn't want her to find that out, would we?”
“You're talking crazy, son. Viola wouldn't believe that.”
“Oh, no? My momma ain't stupid, Clete. You don't think she sees the way you've been eyeballing me all this time?”
“I don't know what you're talking about.”
“Oh, no?” he said, snatching the pillow from my lap. “Well, what do you suppose this is?”
He grinned mannishly and grabbed my bulging crotch with his right hand. I groaned involuntarily and closed my eyes. Before I knew it JD was kissing me again, and I seemed to just melt away from myself. I knew there was gonna be hell to pay for this, but in that moment, I didn't care. Viola would never look at me the same way, and neither would JD, but I wasn't able to focus on any of that. In the background of my mind, I could vaguely hear the voice of Ed McMahon saying “The judges give you FOUR STARS!”, but my head was reeling. I was a mess of thoughts and all I could do was lay back on that couch and let the moment sweep me away.
I reached over JD to get the remote control and inadvertently touched his thigh. We'd been watching Star Search like we did every Saturday night, but for some reason there was some sort of tension in the air between us. Viola had given JD some liquor that night and he seemed a little friskier than he normally was. She'd since run off to the bar to raise hell with some her girlfriends, so that just left me and JD.
I was quite happy because I liked spending time with JD. There was something about him that was special to me. I couldn't quite put my finger on what it was. JD was a beautiful kid. I'd seen him grow up to be quite a handsome little devil, and something inside of me just wanted to be in his presence. I was always happy when he was with me. That is, until that night.
Like I'd said before, I had kind of touched his thigh while we were sitting on the couch. Now that I think about it, I wonder if in some way I did that on purpose. Whatever the case, I think that's what started the whole thing. JD kind of looked at me and grinned and then looked back at the television.
“Hey, Clete,” he said, after a few minutes had passed. “You know what?” he said, drunkenly.
“What's that, JD?”
“You're a sexy old man, you know that?”
I instantly started to twitch on the couch, but I held myself together and smiled at him.
“Well, that sure is nice of you to say so, JD.” At 38 years old, I didn't consider myself “old” yet, but I guess to him, I fit that bill.
He winked at me drunkenly and inched closer to me on the couch. Keeping his eyes on the small television in front of us, he suddenly placed his hand on my thigh. My breath caught in my throat and I closed my eyes. I didn't know whether to move his hand or just sit there frozen like I was. My thoughts went haywire. I wanted to control myself. I wanted to be a good friend to Viola. I couldn't do anything, though. I just sat there, frozen.
JD started rubbing his hand up and down my leg, slowly and although I tried with all my might to close my mind off, the erection that I was developing began to shift in my pants. I grabbed one of the pillows that I kept on the sofa, placed it across my lap and kept staring blankly at the television.
“Oh, she's definitely not gonna win. Did you hear that flat note she hit at the end, there?” I said, chuckling nervously.
JD didn't say anything. He just kept rubbing my leg, his body slightly swaying drunkenly. It was getting hot in there and I wanted to go turn on the fan that sat in the corner of my small living room, but I didn't want to give the state of my pants away. So, I reached over and got my glass of Jack Daniels off the table and reached inside and pulled out a cube of ice. I rubbed it across my forehead and took a deep breath, trying to get my breathing under control.
When I placed the glass back on the table, JD suddenly lunged at me. Before I knew it, his mouth was on mine and he had both his hands on my legs. His lips tasted so sweet, I hated myself for pushing him off me, but I did.
“JD! What the hell's the matter with you?”
“Aw, come on, Clete. Don't act like you don't want me. Don't you think I can see how much underneath that pillow?”
“JD, what do you know? You're seventeen years old,” I said, weakly.
“I know a lot old man. Don't you worry about that,” he said, tossing back the lock of black hair that had fallen into his face.
I didn't know what to do. I was still throbbing down there and my heart was beating out of my chest.
He leaned over towards me again, this time more slowly and kissed me softly.
“JD, Viola will kill me,” I pleaded.
“Yeah, she will kill you if she finds out you tried to rape me, Cletus. We wouldn't want her to find that out, would we?”
“You're talking crazy, son. Viola wouldn't believe that.”
“Oh, no? My momma ain't stupid, Clete. You don't think she sees the way you've been eyeballing me all this time?”
“I don't know what you're talking about.”
“Oh, no?” he said, snatching the pillow from my lap. “Well, what do you suppose this is?”
He grinned mannishly and grabbed my bulging crotch with his right hand. I groaned involuntarily and closed my eyes. Before I knew it JD was kissing me again, and I seemed to just melt away from myself. I knew there was gonna be hell to pay for this, but in that moment, I didn't care. Viola would never look at me the same way, and neither would JD, but I wasn't able to focus on any of that. In the background of my mind, I could vaguely hear the voice of Ed McMahon saying “The judges give you FOUR STARS!”, but my head was reeling. I was a mess of thoughts and all I could do was lay back on that couch and let the moment sweep me away.
Saturday, November 8, 2008
A Matter of Character
Week Eleven: Journal One
Name: Mildred Withers
Nickname: Millie
Sex: Female
Age: 32
Looks: Long stringy brown hair, glasses, medium build, small breasts
Education: College degree
Vocation: Clerk in Library
Status/Money: Lots of money in savings account from years of saving.
relationship: single
Family/Ethnicity: Mother and Father dead, White
Places: Apartment
Recreation/Hobbies: watching documentaries, eating pints of ice cream, logic problems
Obsessions: Her cat, Blue, solitude, puzzles, magazines
Beliefs: Believes she is very unattractive.
Politics: None
Sexual history: Never had a boyfriend, virgin
Ambitions: Secretly dreams of being glamorous and popular.
Religion: None
Superstitions: thinks crossed yes are bad luck
Fears: men/people in general, heights, sardine cans,
Attitudes: Quiet, mousy, introverted
Character flaws: insecure, painfully shy
Character strengths: intelligent, caring,
Pets: Cat, Blue
Taste in books/music: Gore Vidal, John Irving, clueless to music
Journal entries: talks about her cat constantly and her boring life in the library.
Handwriting: small and tight
Astrological sign: Libra
Talents: pure, angelic voice
Friends: The head librarian where she works
Relatives: One half-brother who lives across the country
Enemies: None
As seen by others: quiet, shy, mousy, but capable and smart
Scars: One from appendectomy, cuticles badly chewed up
Tattoos, piercings: None
Salary: $30,000/yr
“Now, Blue, you get down from there,” Mildred playfully scolded the cat, picking him off the top of the refrigerator and snuggling him close to her chest. “Mommy has been looking for you.”
As she held Blue protectively in the crook of her right arm, she replaced the box of Raisin Bran that had fallen off of the refrigerator and onto the counter. She continued petting the animal gently, as she ambled from her small kitchenette to the window in the living room, which overlooked the community garden behind her building.
Mildred rarely went out. Just the thought of being around people in a social setting was enough to make her start sweating. She looked wistfully out of her window into the garden below, wishing she had the desire to go out and walk among the beautifully blooming flora. She had no foolish notion of ever blossoming in that way herself. She was just a miserable old spinster, destined to be alone for the rest of her life. At least she had Blue. He would always be here for her.
Mildred felt Blue beginning to purr in her arms and she smiled, rubbing her face against the softness of his head. She began to hum along with the cat and eventually the hum became a song. As she peered out the window, mindlessly rubbing her most beloved possession, she sang. The voice that came from this small, mousy woman was pure and crystal clear. The melodious sound of her voice traveled through her opened window down into the grounds below and more specifically through the window of a certain single gentleman who lived in the apartment directly beneath her.
Never once thinking about being overheard by anyone, Mildred continued to sing and stroke her cat simultaneously. Before long, there came a tentative knock at her door, and she instinctively jumped. Blue, startled out of his peaceful reverie, leaped out of her arms and scurried beneath the couch, nearly taking her grandmother's old antimacassar with it.
Mildred couldn't imagine who could be at her door. She smoothed her hair, adjusted her eyeglasses and tip-toed quietly to the front door. She subconsciously pulled her sweater tightly across her chest and cracked the door open.
“Yes,” she said, peering through the door, into the hallway. She found herself looking at the interestingly handsome fellow who had just moved in downstairs.
“Excuse me,” he said, clearing his throat and looking somewhat amused. “But I need to speak to the person who was just singing; the little angel has melted my soul.”
Mildred squeaked in surprise and closed the door quickly. What was she going to do now?
Name: Mildred Withers
Nickname: Millie
Sex: Female
Age: 32
Looks: Long stringy brown hair, glasses, medium build, small breasts
Education: College degree
Vocation: Clerk in Library
Status/Money: Lots of money in savings account from years of saving.
relationship: single
Family/Ethnicity: Mother and Father dead, White
Places: Apartment
Recreation/Hobbies: watching documentaries, eating pints of ice cream, logic problems
Obsessions: Her cat, Blue, solitude, puzzles, magazines
Beliefs: Believes she is very unattractive.
Politics: None
Sexual history: Never had a boyfriend, virgin
Ambitions: Secretly dreams of being glamorous and popular.
Religion: None
Superstitions: thinks crossed yes are bad luck
Fears: men/people in general, heights, sardine cans,
Attitudes: Quiet, mousy, introverted
Character flaws: insecure, painfully shy
Character strengths: intelligent, caring,
Pets: Cat, Blue
Taste in books/music: Gore Vidal, John Irving, clueless to music
Journal entries: talks about her cat constantly and her boring life in the library.
Handwriting: small and tight
Astrological sign: Libra
Talents: pure, angelic voice
Friends: The head librarian where she works
Relatives: One half-brother who lives across the country
Enemies: None
As seen by others: quiet, shy, mousy, but capable and smart
Scars: One from appendectomy, cuticles badly chewed up
Tattoos, piercings: None
Salary: $30,000/yr
“Now, Blue, you get down from there,” Mildred playfully scolded the cat, picking him off the top of the refrigerator and snuggling him close to her chest. “Mommy has been looking for you.”
As she held Blue protectively in the crook of her right arm, she replaced the box of Raisin Bran that had fallen off of the refrigerator and onto the counter. She continued petting the animal gently, as she ambled from her small kitchenette to the window in the living room, which overlooked the community garden behind her building.
Mildred rarely went out. Just the thought of being around people in a social setting was enough to make her start sweating. She looked wistfully out of her window into the garden below, wishing she had the desire to go out and walk among the beautifully blooming flora. She had no foolish notion of ever blossoming in that way herself. She was just a miserable old spinster, destined to be alone for the rest of her life. At least she had Blue. He would always be here for her.
Mildred felt Blue beginning to purr in her arms and she smiled, rubbing her face against the softness of his head. She began to hum along with the cat and eventually the hum became a song. As she peered out the window, mindlessly rubbing her most beloved possession, she sang. The voice that came from this small, mousy woman was pure and crystal clear. The melodious sound of her voice traveled through her opened window down into the grounds below and more specifically through the window of a certain single gentleman who lived in the apartment directly beneath her.
Never once thinking about being overheard by anyone, Mildred continued to sing and stroke her cat simultaneously. Before long, there came a tentative knock at her door, and she instinctively jumped. Blue, startled out of his peaceful reverie, leaped out of her arms and scurried beneath the couch, nearly taking her grandmother's old antimacassar with it.
Mildred couldn't imagine who could be at her door. She smoothed her hair, adjusted her eyeglasses and tip-toed quietly to the front door. She subconsciously pulled her sweater tightly across her chest and cracked the door open.
“Yes,” she said, peering through the door, into the hallway. She found herself looking at the interestingly handsome fellow who had just moved in downstairs.
“Excuse me,” he said, clearing his throat and looking somewhat amused. “But I need to speak to the person who was just singing; the little angel has melted my soul.”
Mildred squeaked in surprise and closed the door quickly. What was she going to do now?
Thursday, November 6, 2008
Week Eleven - 7 or 8 Things
Week Eleven – Journal 2
7 or 8 Things I Know about Him – A Stolen Biography
His Wife's Scars
After his death, his wife found that she had become less ashamed of the scars that he had awarded her in the lottery that was her life. She began to count them nightly before bed; the one across her forehead from the butt of his pistol, the one just above her right eye from the the glass ashtray that he'd clipped her with, and the long thin one that went from the her left temple down to her chin. She seemed to wear them almost with a sense of pride; pride in the fact that she was still here, wearing those scars and he was not.
The Dog
He was always running around as a child and throwing things and teasing people. One sunny day as he ran around in the front yard with his cut-off shorts and dingy white t-shirt both caked with dirt, his father sitting up on the porch with a beer in his hand, he spotted a pitiful looking dog limping across the street. He picked up a rock and threw it, hitting the dog in his hindquarters. When he heard his father laugh, it seemed to spur him on. He ran over to the dog, lifted his ashy little leg and kicked him as hard as he could in his belly. The dog gave a horrible yelp and fell over. He ran back over to his father, laughing like he had just heard the funniest joke in the world. The next day the dog was found dead in the exact same spot.
The Sneakers
Gambling was something that he couldn't give up, but he had been horrible at it. His friends knew that when they saw him coming, they should just go ahead and pull out the dice because it was time to start shooting craps. His reputation as a sore loser was notorious. He would be quick to threaten one of them if they so much as accused him of taking too long to roll. Once he lost and wouldn't pay up, and he wouldn't pay up because he'd been gambling with his mother's money and he had no intention of getting put out. He didn't think it was right to have to walk the streets, especially with his brand new sneakers on. He broke a bottle over one of the guys' heads and they all jumped him. When he finally made it home a little later that evening, bloody-nosed and bruised, he wouldn't answer his mother's question about why he was barefoot.
First Criticism
He is about 4 years old and is standing against the wall, banging his head into the sheet rock over and over again. He's been at his mother's apartment, which she shares with a female friend, for four hours now, and he's already ready to get back to his father. The G.I. Joe figure his mother gave him is broken into three pieces at angry little feet. The young women are taking turns puffing from a marijuana cigarette, sitting on the couch and watching him. The mother's friend looks at her, shakes her head and says “Girl, that boy gone be trouble. He is so bad!”
Listening In
This is overheard while he is in the bathroom getting ready to go out to a bar: “Damn, you's a pretty nigga!”
Self-Criticism
“Hell, I guess I must have been as dumb as my momma kept saying I was. I couldn't never hold a decent conversation with a woman. They was always laughing at me or talking about they was “busy” whenever I called or came around. I was so dumb, it took me a little while to realize I could get what I wanted if I took it.”
Fantasies
Recurring fantasy: To have four voluptuous women, 2 white, 1 black and 1 mexican, all trying their best to fulfill his every desire while he sits like a king in the middle of his bed and throws hundred dollar bills in the air around them.
7 or 8 Things I Know about Him – A Stolen Biography
His Wife's Scars
After his death, his wife found that she had become less ashamed of the scars that he had awarded her in the lottery that was her life. She began to count them nightly before bed; the one across her forehead from the butt of his pistol, the one just above her right eye from the the glass ashtray that he'd clipped her with, and the long thin one that went from the her left temple down to her chin. She seemed to wear them almost with a sense of pride; pride in the fact that she was still here, wearing those scars and he was not.
The Dog
He was always running around as a child and throwing things and teasing people. One sunny day as he ran around in the front yard with his cut-off shorts and dingy white t-shirt both caked with dirt, his father sitting up on the porch with a beer in his hand, he spotted a pitiful looking dog limping across the street. He picked up a rock and threw it, hitting the dog in his hindquarters. When he heard his father laugh, it seemed to spur him on. He ran over to the dog, lifted his ashy little leg and kicked him as hard as he could in his belly. The dog gave a horrible yelp and fell over. He ran back over to his father, laughing like he had just heard the funniest joke in the world. The next day the dog was found dead in the exact same spot.
The Sneakers
Gambling was something that he couldn't give up, but he had been horrible at it. His friends knew that when they saw him coming, they should just go ahead and pull out the dice because it was time to start shooting craps. His reputation as a sore loser was notorious. He would be quick to threaten one of them if they so much as accused him of taking too long to roll. Once he lost and wouldn't pay up, and he wouldn't pay up because he'd been gambling with his mother's money and he had no intention of getting put out. He didn't think it was right to have to walk the streets, especially with his brand new sneakers on. He broke a bottle over one of the guys' heads and they all jumped him. When he finally made it home a little later that evening, bloody-nosed and bruised, he wouldn't answer his mother's question about why he was barefoot.
First Criticism
He is about 4 years old and is standing against the wall, banging his head into the sheet rock over and over again. He's been at his mother's apartment, which she shares with a female friend, for four hours now, and he's already ready to get back to his father. The G.I. Joe figure his mother gave him is broken into three pieces at angry little feet. The young women are taking turns puffing from a marijuana cigarette, sitting on the couch and watching him. The mother's friend looks at her, shakes her head and says “Girl, that boy gone be trouble. He is so bad!”
Listening In
This is overheard while he is in the bathroom getting ready to go out to a bar: “Damn, you's a pretty nigga!”
Self-Criticism
“Hell, I guess I must have been as dumb as my momma kept saying I was. I couldn't never hold a decent conversation with a woman. They was always laughing at me or talking about they was “busy” whenever I called or came around. I was so dumb, it took me a little while to realize I could get what I wanted if I took it.”
Fantasies
Recurring fantasy: To have four voluptuous women, 2 white, 1 black and 1 mexican, all trying their best to fulfill his every desire while he sits like a king in the middle of his bed and throws hundred dollar bills in the air around them.
Sunday, November 2, 2008
Week Ten - "Battle for Positions"
Week 10, Journal 1
In the dark room, Adele sat in the chair by the window, staring into the night. The only light came from the streetlight. She'd been sitting in the same spot for hours, thinking, not knowing what to do. She couldn't believe what she'd seen earlier that day – him with another woman. And he'd looked right into her eyes, caught red-handed.
He'd pulled into the garage a few minutes before and she heard the front door close and knew he was on his way up the stairs.
As he opened the door, she said in a dull monotone, “Don't turn on the light.”
“Honey,” he asked, concerned. “Are you OK?”
“Richard, please don't,” she said.
“Adele, look, I just want to make sure you're -”
“Like you really give a shit! I've been sitting here for 8 hours now, Richard. Don't pretend you're all concerned about how I'm feeling.”
Richard took a deep breath and said “Adele, I don't know what to say.”
“How long?”
“Sweetheart, why are you sitting here in the dark? Let me turn the lights on.”
“HOW LONG!?”
The room was suddenly very quiet. Richard said nothing. He slowly walked across the room to the bedside lamp and turned it on. Sitting down on the bed, he turned towards Adele at the window. “Four months.”
“You've been fucking her for four months?”
“Sweetheart, listen -”
Adele sat frozen for a moment, and then she raised her hands to her face. “Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God...........”
“Honey, it meant nothing.”
She looked at him incredulously. “Nothing?! Nothing? You have no idea. This means everything!”
“Please calm down, Adele.”
“I will not calm down,” she said, finally standing up and walking over to him. “You know? I thought I knew you. I thought we had a happy little life in our happy little home and that everything was hunky-dory in our happy little world. I guess I was living in a fairy tale, hunh? And the sad part about it is I was so in love with you that I couldn’t see how big an asshole you were!”
“Honey, listen to me,” Richard said.
“Oh, Richard, please! Save it!”
“Sweetheart, please listen to me.”
“STOP TELLING ME TO LISTEN TO YOU!! I don’t want to hear a word you have to say! Not one word! I’ve been listening to you lie to me all this time…listening to you say, “I love you”, listening to you say, “You’re the best little wife in the world”….listening to lie after lie after lie. And all the while you're lying, you're out sleeping with that whore! Well, I’m done listening!” she says, staring directly into his face. “And to think, I almost brought another life into this house of lies.”
Richard's face was suddenly a medley of emotions as he tried to figure out what she meant. “What?”
“I’m pregnant!! How’s that for a laugh? That’s the fantastic news I was running to your office to tell you when I saw you with your whore today. Yeah, I’m pregnant….but it doesn’t matter. I’ll be damned if I have this baby.”
Richard sat on the bed, stunned, as Adele turned and walked out the bedroom door, slamming it behind her.
In the dark room, Adele sat in the chair by the window, staring into the night. The only light came from the streetlight. She'd been sitting in the same spot for hours, thinking, not knowing what to do. She couldn't believe what she'd seen earlier that day – him with another woman. And he'd looked right into her eyes, caught red-handed.
He'd pulled into the garage a few minutes before and she heard the front door close and knew he was on his way up the stairs.
As he opened the door, she said in a dull monotone, “Don't turn on the light.”
“Honey,” he asked, concerned. “Are you OK?”
“Richard, please don't,” she said.
“Adele, look, I just want to make sure you're -”
“Like you really give a shit! I've been sitting here for 8 hours now, Richard. Don't pretend you're all concerned about how I'm feeling.”
Richard took a deep breath and said “Adele, I don't know what to say.”
“How long?”
“Sweetheart, why are you sitting here in the dark? Let me turn the lights on.”
“HOW LONG!?”
The room was suddenly very quiet. Richard said nothing. He slowly walked across the room to the bedside lamp and turned it on. Sitting down on the bed, he turned towards Adele at the window. “Four months.”
“You've been fucking her for four months?”
“Sweetheart, listen -”
Adele sat frozen for a moment, and then she raised her hands to her face. “Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God...........”
“Honey, it meant nothing.”
She looked at him incredulously. “Nothing?! Nothing? You have no idea. This means everything!”
“Please calm down, Adele.”
“I will not calm down,” she said, finally standing up and walking over to him. “You know? I thought I knew you. I thought we had a happy little life in our happy little home and that everything was hunky-dory in our happy little world. I guess I was living in a fairy tale, hunh? And the sad part about it is I was so in love with you that I couldn’t see how big an asshole you were!”
“Honey, listen to me,” Richard said.
“Oh, Richard, please! Save it!”
“Sweetheart, please listen to me.”
“STOP TELLING ME TO LISTEN TO YOU!! I don’t want to hear a word you have to say! Not one word! I’ve been listening to you lie to me all this time…listening to you say, “I love you”, listening to you say, “You’re the best little wife in the world”….listening to lie after lie after lie. And all the while you're lying, you're out sleeping with that whore! Well, I’m done listening!” she says, staring directly into his face. “And to think, I almost brought another life into this house of lies.”
Richard's face was suddenly a medley of emotions as he tried to figure out what she meant. “What?”
“I’m pregnant!! How’s that for a laugh? That’s the fantastic news I was running to your office to tell you when I saw you with your whore today. Yeah, I’m pregnant….but it doesn’t matter. I’ll be damned if I have this baby.”
Richard sat on the bed, stunned, as Adele turned and walked out the bedroom door, slamming it behind her.
Week Ten - "By the Time You Read This..."
“By the Time You Read This”
Week Ten, Journal Two
By the time you read this.....
*two magazines will have arrived along with various bills collecting in the mailbox.
*2 twelve-packs of beer will have been drank, the cans strewn around the living room, no one bothering to pick them up.
*20 hours worth of shows will have recorded on the DVR and gone unwatched.
*The smoke from the marijuana will have escaped underneath the door, prompting Miss Mathis to call the apartment manager.
*A female fan at the Coldplay concert, having reached the limit of her capacity for excitement, will have fainted and had to be carried out on a stretcher.
*Someone will have eaten the last piece of salami in the refrigerator, leaving it absolutely devoid of anything edible.
*Across the globe, a newly retired man will have just arrived at his hotel in Maui and been handed a Mai-tai and his itinerary for the start of the rest of his life.
Week Ten, Journal Two
By the time you read this.....
*two magazines will have arrived along with various bills collecting in the mailbox.
*2 twelve-packs of beer will have been drank, the cans strewn around the living room, no one bothering to pick them up.
*20 hours worth of shows will have recorded on the DVR and gone unwatched.
*The smoke from the marijuana will have escaped underneath the door, prompting Miss Mathis to call the apartment manager.
*A female fan at the Coldplay concert, having reached the limit of her capacity for excitement, will have fainted and had to be carried out on a stretcher.
*Someone will have eaten the last piece of salami in the refrigerator, leaving it absolutely devoid of anything edible.
*Across the globe, a newly retired man will have just arrived at his hotel in Maui and been handed a Mai-tai and his itinerary for the start of the rest of his life.
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