I came across a writing contest for short stories that are 100 words or less.  I’m not sure why, but I kind of like the restraint.  It forces one to choose words wisely and elaborate where you might not have before.  I first discovered my love for these kinds of assignments in college.  I had a professor that had us write two essays.  One was to be three pages and the other was to be ten pages.  When explaining the assignments, he warned us that he didn’t mean “about” three/ten pages.  The essay would be considered incomplete if it didn’t reach the last line of the last page and any excess pages would be torn off and thrown away without being looked at.  At first, I rolled my eyes.  Why the need to be so nitpicky?  I still don’t know the reason why, but being the good little student I was, I sat down and started typing my little heart out.  I found that I actually liked moving things around, choosing different phrases, embellishing here, editing there…  It’s quite soothing, actually.  So now when I find little word challenges like the six word memoir or the 100 word story, I get a little excited and want to try my hand at it.  To keep it interesting, I’ll be using #2 from the 50 First Lines project that I mentioned in my last entry.

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The day after the universe ended, Tasha decided to go for a walk.  Go for a walk?  The whole meaning had change.  After spending her whole life trying to get somewhere, it threw Tasha into a state of shock and panic to all of a sudden have nowhere to be.  There wasn’t even a ground to stand on.  Just a vast sea of nothing and nowhere.  The rules that existed before didn’t apply.  Gravity, energy, time…things of the past.  Tasha was still here though.  So she decided to go for a walk, whatever that means for whatever it was worth.

Ya…I couldn’t even go a few weeks without breaking my book resolution.  I had a good reason though.  It was completely not my fault.  An online friend and I decided to start our own little book exchange program.  He sent me a book by an author he just knew I’d love if I gave him a chance.  So a few weeks ago, I received What You Make It by Michael Marshall Smith.  It’s a collection of short stories.  It took me a while to get through the first 10 pages of the first story.  I was worried that I might have to jump ship and a little pained to do so because with this book…feelings were at stake.  I soldiered on through though and was wow’d by the ending.  I love surprises, even if they are gruesome.  As far as I can tell, I really am going to fall in love with this book.  I now have to make a selection to send off to England soon.  I’m thinking Disco Bloodbath by James St. James.  No surprise endings here, but I love the writing style and it really does justice to the genesis of the club kid phenomena and the early stages of Electronic Dance Music as well as being the most entertaining and flashy true crime novel I’ve ever happened upon.  I do intend to get back on the wagon and finish the books that I have.  Any books that I receive from the book exchange will be my only exceptions.

In other news…my little zombie love story that could did not win the short story contest.  I do get a prize for being a runner up, but I don’t know what the prize is as it was not listed originally in the contest thread.  As I’ve said, I like surprises, so I didn’t ask.  With luck, I will get it this week.

I will write something today.  A friend of mine has a little project going called 50 First Lines.  Here…I’ll let him explain the project!

http://jramboz.wordpress.com/50-first-lines/

I might be taking a few of these, but I’ll start with the first.

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When I was your age, I was dead and spending most of my time in Poughkeepsie.  It was hard to leave.  Scary.  I wouldn’t even leave my house for the first few months.  I drowned in this pool.  No one was around.  I was bored.  I attempted a flip in the air and hit my head pretty hard on the edge on my way into the water.  That was it.  My last memory of the living world was a lound *thunk*.  There was a rush, a few minutes of silence, a jolt through my being and then I was looking at my own lifeless body.  It bobbed up and down with the gentle waves in the pool still echoing from the big splash I had made.  I stared at it, mesmerized and confused, as it floated from one spot to the next, bouncing off a wall occasionally.  It was my mother that found me hours later.  Much too late.  I don’t like to think about that moment.  We don’t need to talk about it.

After all the necessary arrangements, my family was pretty sad for a long time.  I never saw mom’s effortless smile ever again.  Her laugh never went back to normal either.  There was something different about all of them.  I just wandered around the house for the first few months, observing, wanting to participate, holding back.  It’s not like they could hear me anyways.  I would pick up things that I liked when no one was there.  I’d walk around with it, admiring and remembering.  In death, as in life, those items would never quite make it back to the places they were before, causing a ripping apart of the house every time and many accusatory discussions about organization and private space between family members.

They moved.  Nobody ever went out to the backyard.  My mother kept the windows on that side of the house closed, and the curtains drawn.  It was just too much, so they moved.  I stayed.  I didn’t think I had a choice.  Without anyone or anything I loved around anymore, I drifted further and further into melancholia until the house was so heavy, the woman that was supposed to sell it never stayed more than an hour before sunset.  She would act spry and excited about the home’s features when she was showing it to a prospective owner, but everyone could feel the darkness.  They’d ooh and aah at the selling points, and shiver on the way out.

I needed to leave.  Not everyone makes the choice.  Some are just thrust out before they’re really ready.  I just wanted to connect with something again.  I couldn’t stay where I was.  After all the old things were gone, the house held less and less appeal to me.  I went into the woods and found the creek I liked to walk along.  At first, only for short periods of time before returning home.  Every once in a while though, while I was walking the old path, retracing steps, someone else would be there.  They would turn around quickly.  “Did you hear that?” they might ask a friend, looking straight through me before writing the noises off to guilty consciences or overactive imaginations.  Then, I started staying longer and longer.  I liked the recognition, and didn’t feel as awkward as I did with the realtor.  That wasn’t the only reason though.  Every once in a while, when I was still, I’d see people walking amongst the trees.  They looked at me.  Not through me.  At me.  They could see me.  It was curiosity that drew me to the woods.

One day, I was on my path, and I sensed someone next to me.  I looked and an older man was walking with me.  I stopped to see what his next reaction would be.  He stopped too.  We faced each other in silence.

“You can see me.” I said.  Not a question.  Just a statement to break the silence.

“I’m dead.  You’re dead.  We can see each other.  Thems the rules.”  His voice came out deep and gravelly but friendly.   A hint of Southern drawl colored his speech.

“Why don’t the others talk to me?”

“Some folks like to keep to themselves.  Me, I’m a people person.  Always have been.  I can leave you alone if you’re one of them folks that like to keep to themselves, but something tells me you’re not.”

“Why haven’t I seen you around before?”

“If you could go anywhere in the world, would you really choose Poughkeepsie?”

“I don’t know.  I’ve never been anywhere else.  Why are you here now if this isn’t a dream destination?”

“It was callin’ to me.  When you have all the time in the world and no prior commitments, you tend to answer those calls.” He motioned toward the pathway.  “Shall we?”

As we started walking again, the questions kept flowing.  He answered patiently, like someone that has all the time in the world.  Eventually, I got to the one that had been especially bothersome to me in my solitude.

“Am I going to be here forever?”

“You can leave at any time.  It’s up to you.  You’re not stuck here.  If you feel like you are, it’s all in your head.  All you have to do is start walkin’.”

“Where would I go?”

“Kid, just start walkin’.  You’ll know where you’re supposed to be when you get there.”

“I guess…I just thought there was another side of things.”

“There is.  You have to be sure you want to go there first though.   Once you go to the other side, you can’t come back.  Thems the rules.”

We got to the edge of the woods, and I was confronted with the vastness of an entire universe that was truly mine for the taking.  I took one step and another.  I just started walking.  I’ve been many places.  I’ve seen many things.  Scared the shit out of a few people.  I’m not quite through yet.  I don’t know if I’ll ever truly be ready for the other side, but I just thought I’d let you in on all of your choices.  It really is up to you.  When I was your age, I was dead and spending most of my time here, but you’re not exactly dead…yet.  You can go back to your body now and join the living again, you can stay as you are, or you can cross over.  There’s no right or wrong choice, but you don’t have very long to make it.  No pressure or anything.

I think I’ve gotten a little better with updating this blog and it’s making me feel a little bit accomplished.  I have a hard time following through so I’m proud of myself for at least keeping this up.  Today, I have a book review and a favor to ask.  First with the favor.  The short story I posted a couple of months ago was chosen as a finalist in a short story contest.  I’m thrilled, but it’s only one of ten finalists.  The winner is the story with the most votes.  Click the link and vote for “My Ruby” if you liked it enough.  Give the other stories a read too.  There are some fun ones.

Zombie Nation Short Story Finalist List

Now…don’t get the idea that exciting stuff happens for me all the time.  It doesn’t.  However, when I only post something once a month, it may seem that way.  With that said, the past couple of months have been very exciting for me.  Why?  I met my literary idol.  Barbara Kingsolver came to Los Angeles to sign her new book The Lacuna.  That does NOT happen.  She rarely visits Los Angeles which makes this a real treat.  She gave a little talk about the new book and about her past work.  Afterwards, she signed any books that your brought to her.  When I finally got up to her, I was like a fan girl.  I couldn’t even speak.  What do you say to someone that completely changed the way you look at books?  I didn’t know either.  I did get a picture with her though.  She looks completely terrified in it.  I will still cherish it dearly.

My top ten books is a work in progress and will probably never be set in stone, but I have a feeling that it will always include The Poisonwood Bible.   Let me give you just a little clue as to what kind of genius Mrs. Kingsolver is.  The book is narrated by the Price daughters.  The one daughter that I looked forward to hearing from the most was Ada.  She was very cerebral and didn’t say much to her family, but to the reader she comes off as brilliant.  She has a fascination with palindromes, and there are entire passages written in palindromes.  Not short sentences.  No, no.  ENTIRE PASSAGES!  These sentences aren’t random and disconnected either.  They form one complete coherent thought.  Ever since then, I’ve worshipped at the altar of Kingsolver.

Needless to say, when  I caught wind that there was to be a new novel, I was ecstatic.  All the blurbs about it were a bit misleading though.  Barbara discussed this in her talk as being an unfortunate part of marketing that she had very little to do with.  It was marketed as a book about Frida Kahlo and Lev Trotsky.  While they had significant roles in the book, it is not exactly a biography.  Not entirely anyway.  The book is about a fictional character named Harrison Shepherd.  It follows him from his boyhood growing up in Mexico to his eventual rise as a beloved American author.  He does work for Diego Rivera which leads to a lifelong friendship with Frida Kahlo and employment with Lev Trotsky which is how they ended up in the blurbs.  We do not learn about his life directly.  The book is written as journal entries, letters, and newspaper clippings with little excerpts from Shepherds assistant, Violet Brown.  The overlying theme is a question: What does it mean to be American?  Some very important events in U.S. history are touched on in this book- Japanese internment, World War II, the Red Scare.  It was a very interesting read.  As always, Barbara produces writing that is elegant, sigh inducing, thought provoking, and clever.  Pardon me while I go bow down to the altar of Kingsolver once again.

I’m now reading Bright Shiny Morning by James Frey.  I’ve had this book for a year.  I’m just now getting around to reading it because…among other resolutions…I’ve vowed to read all the books I’ve been hoarding and will not allow myself to buy anything new until then.  Follow through, bibliophile…follow through…

This year has been so up and down for me.  I’m just happy to have survived it.  Hopefully, next year will see more ups.  Dogs are the best, I’m convinced.  They give and give and give and don’t expect much except for a full bowl of food once a day, water, and a pat on the back.  Of course, mine are spoiled and get much more.  If anything can be said for this year, I’m thankful to at least have these two bitches in my life.

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Ginger:  Mommy, what does “sit” mean?

Sophie:  Sitting is this comfy little position here. *demonstrates*

Ginger:  Oooooh…THAT’S what it is!  Granny keeps telling me to do it and I have no idea what she’s talking about.

Sophie:  Does she usually have something in her hand when she says it?

Ginger:  Ya.

Sophie:   She’s training you!

Ginger:  Um.  What does that mean?

Sophie:  There comes a time in every young ladies life where the human expects certain behaviors from you.  It’s an exciting time!  You get TONS of good things.

Ginger:  Is that why I get food?

Sophie:  Yes.

Ginger:  I’m still not clear about how this works.

Sophie:  Okay…so…Mommy is gonna have something in her hand and she’s going to tell you what she wants you to do.  Right now, she’s working on “sit”.  Right after she says it, you do this.  *demonstrates*  Then, she gives you whatever is in her hand!

Ginger:  So…I’m expected to do this ALL the time?

Sophie:  Only when she has something in her hand.  If she doesn’t, I just pretend like I didn’t hear her.

Ginger:  Okay.  Sounds manageable.  Let’s practice.

Sophie:  Okay.  We’re standing….we’re standing…Ginger, sit!

Ginger:  *wags tail*

Sophie:  Ginger…sit.

Ginger:  *turns around in a circle*

Sophie:  Oh boy.  This isn’t going to go well…

First thing is first.  Chicago was a blast.  Not that I saw much of it.  My friends and I were having way too much fun in the hotel room to really go out.  I still went out to a few clubs at night and had the obligatory deep dish pizza.  Overall, I was pleased with my vacation.  When I got back to LA, we were in the throes of the Halloween season.  I’m not really a holiday person, but I am emphatically pro-Halloween.  I wish it was October all year round just for the cute decorations.  I thought I’d write a story to celebrate the season.  In true Liberry Lady fashion, it’s about a week late.  Oh well.

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“Kiss me,” Ruby whispered into the night.

I leaned forward in the darkness and found her lips.  She had on watermelon flavored chapstick.  She always tasted good, with or without artificial fruit flavors.  We got lost there for a moment before I felt her push me away.

“Ok.  I really have to go in now” she said.

“Alright.  Have a good night,” I whispered back as I smoothed her hair behind her ear.  Her face glowed in the moonlight as she looked up at me and gave me the crooked smile I had come to adore.  She disappeared into the house and I started to walk home.

It was fantastic to be in love.  I think that’s what it was anyway.  It made my whole world different.  Ruby gave me something to look forward to every day.  She was smart and funny, she introduced me to new music and food and cultures.  She always smelled good.  When we were laying in bed, I would take in her scent.  She would always look at me like I was crazy for doing it and shake her head, but those were my favorite moments with her.  I took my time walking home that night.  I didn’t live far, but I liked replaying evenings with her over in my head.  It brought a pleasure to me that lasted long after we said our good nights.

I almost didn’t see that man walking towards me.  It seemed a little late for a guy as old as he to be out walking alone.  I certainly had never seen him before.  I wouldn’t have thought too much of it, but he seemed to be having trouble walking.  When he got a little closer, there was something different about his face- something clearly wrong.  I called out to him, “Sir, are you alright?”  He didn’t answer me.  He just kept lumbering toward me at a slow, steady pace.  Something wasn’t right.  I had to help the poor guy.  I jogged the rest of the way to him.  If he didn’t want me to call anyone, the least I could do was make sure he got to where he was going alright.  I tried getting him to speak to me again.  He didn’t answer, but he reached out for me.  I lurched forward to make sure he didn’t fall.  Before I could ask if he was okay, he bit into me.  He tore away the flesh from my shoulder.  I pushed him off, but he rebounded and came back after me.  I didn’t want to hurt him, but there was nothing else I could do.  I would push and he would just come back for more.  I took a swing at him with everything I had,  but that didn’t seem to affect him at all.  It just gave him a chance to grab onto my arm and start ripping away more flesh.  The pain was excruciating and I knew he was just too crazy to reason with.  I pushed him away and started running.  The limp that first drew me to him allowed me to get away.

I ran straight to my house, jumped in my car and headed to the nearest emergency clinic.  I started feeling sick on the way there.  I had to be losing a lot of blood.  The wounds were gaping and I could see the bone in my arm as I tried to remain calm and alert while I was steering.   I couldn’t believe what was happening to me.  I just got schooled by an old man.  What would even cause someone to act out so violently?

I finally made it to the clinic, but by then I had already broken into a cold sweat.  It was getting hard to focus.  I just had to sit still for a while.  Firefly-like lights danced around before me when I had my eyes open.  I stumbled out of the car.  I thought I would at least make it to the door, but I don’t remember that part.  I just remember the cold and the fireflies and the muffled sound of sirens growing more and more distant.

I woke up in the hospital.  It’s scary to wake up somewhere strange when you don’t know how you got there.  I expected to feel a little more pain at the site of the bite marks.  What was strange was that I didn’t feel any pain at all.  Nothing.  Nothing, except for hunger.  Pangs in my gut that were overwhelming me.  Even stranger was that I seemed to have been abandoned.  I was in the ER, but I didn’t hear any nurses or patients or any kind of human activity on the other side of the curtain.  I wasn’t attached to any machinery either.  The whole situation was weirding me out, so I got out of the bed to check what was going on outside.  It was a wobbly shuffle to the curtain, but I expected as much considering the ordeal I had just gone through.  When I drew the curtain open, I couldn’t see anyone.  I ventured further out.  The telephone rang, but no one ever came to answer it.  I knew then something major must have happened.  I made my way down the hall wondering where everyone had went.  It was unsettling.  I could tell I was a little out of it still because it was taking me forever to find the exit.

When I stepped into the open air, what I saw was pure disaster.  There was no one in the street, but smoke filled the skyline.  Cars were left in pieces up and down the boulevard.  The stillness and silence was eerie.  When I took a breath, I smelled the gasoline, the smoke, the burnt flesh, and her- my Ruby.  I had to get to her.  I had to make sure she was somewhere safe. 

I followed the sweet scent that I knew so well by now.  It led me through the city and back into the suburbs.  As I walked, I faced the true horror of whatever occurred while I was sleeping at every turn of the corner.  Bodies, or what was left them, were strewn about the streets.  I never was able to steady myself, but the carnage I was witnessing made me want to get to Ruby that much faster.  I still smelled her, and all I wanted to do was be close to her.  An urgency started to build up inside of me.

As I drew closer to Ruby, I started to notice that there were others.  There were survivors.  They walked around in a daze, wounded and groaning.  Some appeared to have gone through more trauma than others.  Looking around, I felt lucky that I was unconscious for whatever caused this mess in the first place.  It didn’t seem like it left many unaffected.  I don’t know if I could have handled that type of terror.  However, I was here now and relatively unscathed if I were to compare myself to the others I saw around me. 

I was led to her house.  She didn’t have any roommates, so I knew she had to be by herself in there.  She must have been scared to have lived through this all alone.  I banged on the door.  I could hear sounds inside, but no one answered the door.  I decided to call her name.  “Ruby!”, I started to say, but it came out as a loud grunt.  I hadn’t tried speaking before this.  “Ruby…” I tried again with the same result.  I heard crying inside the house now.  A wave of panic swept over me.  I didn’t know what was happening to me or Ruby or the city but I needed to get inside this house.  I threw myself against the door.  Once, twice, three times, and on the fourth the door gave away. 

I looked around and inhaled.  Ruby was all around me now.  The scent that brought me here was overpowering and palpable.  My lips ached to be on hers, to hold her in my arms, to have her body against mine.  I started walking down the hallway.  At the end, I found the bedroom.  I could hear muffled cries coming from inside.  I tried calling her name one more time only to produce the same awkward grunts.  I knew she wouldn’t come to the door herself, so I threw myself against it.  It opened a little ways but there was something in front of it blocking my way in.  I opened the door as far as it would go to survey the room.

“Robert!” I heard her shriek.  The muffled cries grew into sobs as I spotted her huddled in the corner.  I tried speaking to her, but no words would form.  I banged against the piece of furniture until it dislodged from its post.  Ruby screamed.  She seemed scared of me.  I walked over to her.  She sunk down to the floor covering her face with her hands, now in hysterics.  I put my arms out towards her, but when I touched her she started screaming and flailing.  I didn’t understand why she didn’t want to be near me.  I steadied myself and grabbed her arms to pull her off the floor and closer to me.  I held her there for a second.  Tears were streaming down her face and she wouldn’t look at me, but she was still the most beautiful thing I had ever seen.  I buried my nose in her hair and breathed in the floral essence of the products she used to style it.  I let my nose travel down til it was right behind her ear.  Her natural scent was mesmerizing.  Without thinking about what I was doing, I sunk my teeth into that beautiful, smooth neck.  She screamed and screamed, but I couldn’t stop myself from gnawing away at her lovely, brown skin.  She always tasted so good.

I’m going to Chicago!  It’s the first of many trips that I have planned out for the next year.  It’s a vacation that I have earned.  Getting out of LA for a few days will definitely be good for me.  There was a moment where I thought I couldn’t possibly go, but I decided to just throw caution out of the window and book the trip.  The best thing is…I have no plans!  I’m waiting to see what my native Chicagoan friends will suggest, so it’s going to be a bit of an adventure.  Future travel plans include: Miami in March for the Ultra Music Conference,  Detroit in June for the U.S. Social Forum, and Washington D.C. in August to see the Smithsonian.   I promised myself I’d travel more and it has become increasingly more important to me to keep that promise. 

 I’m working on a story right now.  I’ve been working on it.  I keep on going back and changing tense and what not.  It’s half way done, but I still want to keep posting stuff here just so that I don’t go months and months without a post again.  It’s another one of those silly promises I make to myself.

 One little busy project I enjoy every once in a while is the six word memoir.  I can sit down and write those all day long, and sometimes, if things are slow or I’m especially lazy, I do. 

 Your life.  Six words.  Do it!

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Nose in book.  Furball in lap.

Whiskey kisses in dimly lit rooms.

Took time to realize my worth.

Too many hobbies to be bored.

Cold, wet noses lifted me up.

Feminist book snob adores her tattoos.

The rich life held no appeal.

Always listened to my heart speak.

Spread my wings just in time.

Surrendered to literature.  Never looked back.

Daring myself to try everything once.

Nothing I wouldn’t do for love.

Bleeding heart here, reporting for duty.

I has lulz cuz of cheezburgers!

I forgot what I was saying.

No, really.  What was I saying?

Survived life with rose colored lenses.

I’ll be there in five minutes.

Everything serendiptously works out for good.

Works well with others.  Thrives alone.

The puppies were just groomed.  The groomers always put little bows in their hair.  Is it weird that I have the same hair fashion sense as my freshly groomed doggies?  It’s normal, right?  The bows generally suit Sophie because she’s so princess-y.  Ginger has a more difficult time pulling off the look.  It all boils down to personality.

 Me: Ginger…it’s time to give up Mr. Duck.  He’s seen better days.

Ginger:  But Grannyyyyyy, I’m not finished with my reign of terrorrrrr! *stomps*

Me:  He only has one appendage left on him.

Ginger:  One too many.

Me:  *squeezes Mr. Ducks tummy*  He doesn’t even talk anymore. 

Ginger:  Maybe he’s just a really good listener.

Me:  There’s a hole in his neck and hardly any stuffing left in his body.

Ginger:  Point?

Me:  *lifts trash can lid up*

Ginger:  omg, really?

Me:  *drops the remains inside*

Ginger:  REALLY?!?!?!

Me:  *closes lid*

Ginger:  Not cool, Granny.  Not cool.

In a sudden stroke

of long lost inspiration

I give you Haiku

 —————————————–

Tumble roll and growl

my sweet little cold nosed friends-

the smile catalysts

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Ears perk at the chime-

My darling wakens me with

sweet sweet promises

 —————————————

 Stupid inner clock!

Out of synch and can’t catch up

to the normal folk

Look at my blog!  It’s beautiful, isn’t it?  I always thought the other layout was too dark and difficult to read.  That would be fine if I didn’t particularly care if anyone read it.  I do care though.  I will probably change it again in the future to something a little more personalized.  I’m not holding my breath.

 And now, a book review:

I’m very weary of “classics”.  I don’t know how books are selected to be “classics”, but quite frankly, I often read the last page, close the book, turn it over to consider the front cover, and say, “Well then.”  It gets put away or checked in never to be thought of by me ever again.  

An example would be On The Road  by Jack Kerouac.  Oh, how that book is beloved and praised by so many.  I thought the book was pointless.  Sal Paradise accomplishes absolutely nothing in 300 pages.  He seems just as lost in the end as he does in the beginning…and middle.  If it weren’t for my obsessive compulsiveness with reading books all the way through from start to finish, I probably would have stopped reading half way through.  I have had more interesting road trips and I’m not trying to write a book about it.  The one positive is that Kerouac is, in fact, a good writer and there are some great lines.  I will probably never go back through the book to try and find them.  Then, to compare Kerouac with someone like Hunter S. Thompson who is writing about practically the same sort of thing but in a way that’s captivating and alive and FUN and…*sigh*…well then.

 However, every once in a while I will read a “classic” and immediately know and understand why it deserves to stay in our collective consciousness as a book that needs to be read over and over again.  In my opinion, a “classic” should be relevant no matter what time period it is being read in, no matter how distant that is from the original publishing date.  The amount of controversy a book stirs up can also be a factor, but it shouldn’t be the only reason. 

I’m just going to say it.  Slaughterhouse-Five by Kurt Vonnegut took my breath away.  I know I’m a little late to the party, but better late than never.  Slaughterhouse-Five is an anti-war book that follows the main character, Billy Pilgrim, as he disconnects from time and space.  Vonnegut jumps around all stages of Pilgrim’s life, the main focus being his role as a soldier in World War II and his time as a POW in Slaughterhouse-Five.  Vonnegut is just as vivid in his accounts of war as he is in his accounts of life in a zoo on the planet Tralfamadore.    It’s funny and tragic.  It’s crazy and makes all the sense in the world.

He’ll say something like, “Montana was naked, and so was Billy, of course.  He had a tremendous wang, incidentally.  You never know who’ll get one.”  It’s funny because it’s true.

 In the same book, he wrote the most beautiful passage I think I have ever read.  Context: Billy was sitting at home, a middle-aged man, watching television at night because he couldn’t sleep.  He finds a program about World War II and watches it backwards.

“The formation flew backwards over a German city that was in flames.  The bombers opened their bomb bay doors, exerted a miraculous magnetism which shrunk the fires, gathered them into cylindrical steel containers, and lifted the containers into the bellies of the planes.  The containers were stored neatly in racks.  The Germans below had miraculous divices of their own, which were long steel tubes.  They used them to suck more fragments from the crewmen and planes.  But there were still a few wounded Americans, though, and some of the bombers were in bad repair.  Over France, though, German fighters came up again, made everything and everybody as good as new.

When the bombers got back to their base, the steel cylinders were taken from the racks and shipped back to the United States of America, where factories were operating night and day, dismantling the cylinders, separating the dangerous contents into minerals.  Touchingly, it was mainly women who did this work.  The minerals were then shipped to specialists in remote areas.  It was their business to put them into the ground, to hide them cleverly, so they would never hurt anybody ever again.”

There’s so much more that Vonnegut says with this book.  It’s enough to make me wish for a backwards life.

Since I’m not going anywhere for at least another couple of months, I decided to take my books out of the box they were in and started in on the Gotham Writers’ Workshop book again.  I skipped a couple of assignments because I’m a rebel.  Instead, I’m going with a prompt that’s not even a prompt, again, because I’m a rebel.  I messed around with past and present tense.  I don’t know if it worked. *shrugs*

—————————————————————————————-

            The bus screeched to a halt in front of its stop.  Shannon hadn’t seen it coming.  She lifted her head from her hands when she heard the crash of the door opening to let her in.  The driver leaned forward to see if she would make a move.  Shannon held out her hand and waved to let the driver know that she wasn’t getting on.  The driver shrugged and another crash and a roar let her know the bus was pulling away.  She put her head back in her hands and bit her lip to hold back another wave of tears.

            Shannon is a stunning girl on a good day.  While she always makes it a point to look feminine and made up, she can’t stand fussing with herself.  She makes one good effort in the morning to put herself together and it has to last for the rest of the day.  Today, long, dark curls cascaded down to the middle of her back while a flower held them back from her face.  A thick line of black framed her eyes and her lips were glossed with a berry shade.  The dark hair and make up contrasted becomingly with her pale skin.  A black tank top, a pair of jeans, and red patent leather platform shoes completed her look.  She would have looked very pretty if her liner weren’t smeared from her wiping her eyes, if her brow weren’t furrowed, if the corners of her lips weren’t turned down.

            I was making my way toward my apartment on my hard-earned day of rest, cup of coffee and new book in hand.  Only a couple of blocks away, a red lounge chair with dents in all the right places was waiting for me to settle in for the evening.  It was a day of no complaints.  I woke up later than the time I would usually wake if I were going to work, but still reasonable enough that the whole day wasn’t lost to slumber and laziness.  Every person I encountered was polite, the weather permitted a pleasant walk around town and I had to commend my local barista for producing an excellent mocha latte.  Okay, I might have narrowly escaped death when I was stepping down from the curb and a car with a driver that was overly eager to get somewhere came barreling around the corner.  It wouldn’t be LA if we weren’t in constant danger of injury or death by vehicle, though.  It comes with the territory.  When you live here and love it, you learn to make excuses like that.  I quickly put the incident in the back of my mind and started thinking about that lounge chair again.

I was jaunting (yes, jaunting) along the side of the street my apartment was on when I happened to observe the afore described scene.  I knew that girl.  Shannon is the kind of person that one could tell right away is genuinely nice.  She can’t be anything else.  That’s just who she is.  In a town like this, that quality is refreshing.  It’s a wonder how the city hasn’t swallowed a girl like her up yet.  Maybe it’s in the process, taking its time.  However, I didn’t know her that well.  I briefly considered walking past her, pretending I didn’t notice her, to avoid marring what was turning out to be an exceptional day.  Who would’ve known?  Me.  I would’ve.  And it would’ve eaten me up later if I didn’t at least attempt to ask her if she was alright. 

I sighed and walked over to the front of the bench.  Bent over, still clutching on to my coffee and book, I tried to get her attention.  She still had her hands covering her face.

“Shannon?” I said gingerly, not wanting to scare her.

She looked up.  She seemed to recognize me, but I could tell she wasn’t quite sure how she knew me. 

“Uh…Keith,” I said to help jog her memory.  “Rod’s friend?  We’ve been to a couple of the same parties.”

She looked into my face for a second, quickly processing it’s features.  She did remember me after all.

“Oh, Keith!”  She passed her fingers under eyes and down her cheeks, trying to wipe away evidence.  A bit flustered, but she seemed to be pulling herself together.  “How’s it going?”  She half smiled, but something inside her seemed to be working against it.

I sat down next to her.  Not too close.  I still wasn’t entirely sure she was comfortable with me being there.  “Oh, you know, it’s my day off.  Thought I’d get out and breathe some fresh smog.”

Shannon inhaled deeply.  “Mmmm…smog.”

The gesture made me smirk a little.  “What are you doing out here?”

She stopped to take in her surroundings.  “Um…I don’t really know, actually.  I just started walking.  Had to sit down for a while.”  She held out one of her legs parallel to the street, twisting her foot left and right.  “Unfortunate wardrobe decision,” she explained.

“Ah,” I nodded, acknowledging the predicament.  “Hey, if you can manage a few more steps, I know a place where you can get pretty much the best cup of coffee ever,” I tempted her, waving my own cup in the air.  “My treat?”

Shannon seemed to be assembling a pros and cons list in her head.  She pursed her lips.  After a moment, she answered, “Yeah.  I think I can manage.”

“Good,” I jumped up, and offered my hand out to her.  She didn’t take it.  Instead she planted both hands on her knees, and straightened out in a graceful motion.  She took the sunglasses that were sitting beside her and put them on.  She looked up at me now, waiting for me to lead her to the promised best cup of coffee ever. 

I started walking back in the direction I had just come from and she followed, shortly catching up to my right side.  We walked side by side together in silence for the rest of the block.  I knew she was a quiet girl.  That left it up to me to generate the conversation.  I’m not going to lie.  I don’t bring much to the table.  Average intelligence.  Average looks.  Average points of interest.  If someone were grading my life, it’d be a strong C.  Maybe a C+, since I have the good sense to pair up with interesting friends.  It’s a bit much to ask of me to carry a conversation, but since I had already sort of made a commitment to be the entertainment here, I decided to at least give it a try.  We were at a light waiting to cross the street when I broke the silence.

“I almost died over there, you know.”

Shannon raised an eyebrow and tilted her head.  It was cute and puppy-like.  “How did you almost die?”

“Yep.  About ten minutes ago.  Almost done in by a Honda.”  I made a “splat” noise by blowing air through my teeth and lips.

She harumphed.  “LA drivers.” 

“Tell me about it.”

“Have you been by Patty’s place since the last time we were there?” she asked. 

And so it went.  Inane chit chat that I had hoped was taking her mind off whatever was bothering her before.  When we arrived at the cafe, she trusted my judgment and ordered the mocha latte.  We sat down and figured out who our mutual friends were, our common hang out spots, our shared interests.  Somewhere in there, Shannon began to smile again.  It was a pretty one.  It was easy to talk to her.  I started to wonder why we had never talked like this before.  After ordering a second round of coffee, we slipped into deeper discussions.  I think of myself as a somewhat guarded person, but even this was easy to do with her.  I was curious about how she came to be sitting on a bus bench by my apartment looking so sad.

“Are you going to tell me what was bothering you earlier?” I eyed her to see if the question would upset her.

The sun had gone down.  Shannon had set her glasses down on the table now.  Her eyes looked down as her finger felt along the rim of her coffee cup.  Her blue nail polish was chipped.

“You don’t have to answer that.  That was pretty forward.  Sorry.”  I felt a little embarrassed that I had stepped over a boundary so soon.  I have to work on my inner filter. 

“I saw Dave today.”  She looked over at me with a pained expression.  There was a meaning there I should have been able to grasp.

“Oh.  Dave Marshall?  You didn’t mention him before.  How do you know him?”  By the time the words had left my lips, I realized what the answer was and immediately regretted bringing the subject up.  Fuckin’ Dave. 

“We were dating a while back,” she said, still running her finger along the rim of the cup in a hypnotizing motion.

“The guy’s a dick,” I stated matter-of-factly.

“He really isn’t though.  That’s some of the problem.” 

She had no clue.  I don’t know how the guy did it, but all of the girls that I knew who had dated him were convinced of the same thing.  I wasn’t going to argue against it. 

“Missing him then?”

“Not really.  It’s more like…I miss having someone.  Anyone.  Lame.”  Shannon rolled her eyes at her own confession.  I knew what she meant.  The red lounge chair, while extremely comforting after a long day of work, wasn’t made for two and I spent quite a bit of time in it.  My apartment: where the magic never happens.  At any rate, the issue seemed to be making her upset, so I changed the subject and the conversation became pleasant again.

After a while, she took out her phone from her pocket.  “It’s getting a little late.  I should probably call my roommate to come and get me.  I am so far away from anywhere I’m supposed to be.” 

I have to work tomorrow, but I wasn’t too concerned about time.  I kind of wanted to keep talking.  Shannon made the phone call, and I helped her out with directions to our location.  After confirming her ride home, we made our way outside and stood on the curb to wait for her roommate.  She turned her feet inward a bit when she was standing in place.  It was cute.  She wasn’t kidding about being far away from home.  We would be waiting there for a while. 

She turned to look up at me.  “So…the day started out kind of shitty, but the part where you came in was pretty cool.  I had a good time tonight.”  A warm, grateful smile crossed her gorgeous face that was now clear of any indication of her earlier troubles.

I smiled back at her, “I did too.  You can warm up that bus bench any time.”

“I might plop myself down there on Wednesday if I were promised another best cup of coffee ever.”

“You’re in luck.  Wednesdays are when I take my best cup of coffee ever walk.”  Yeah.  I said it.  I’m lame like that.  “You actually don’t have to go to the bus stop.  I live a couple of blocks that way,” I pointed in the direction of my apartment building.  “You can just call me and let me know when you’re coming over.” 

Shannon took down my number in her phone and tucked it back into her pocket.  She crossed her arms against the slightly chilled LA night.  I didn’t have a sweatshirt to give her, so I took a chance and wrapped my arms around her.  Her head came up to my chin. 

She sighed into my chest, “Sometimes, all I really need is a hug, I think.”

I could do that.