Saturday, November 3, 2012

Day 2 and 3 of My November Novel

College promised to be the promised land of opportunity. All the movies displayed the copious amounts of interaction and sex that was guaranteed to lead to the commitment of a longterm relationship. For me the promise of the party held true without the ending of a desire fulfilled. Much like high school, the need to display a sense of masculinity took president and hoped to attract a mate through shear force. In college the sporting arena was replaced by the garage, rundown house or basement of the college party. Within these confines, card games provided the window for uncontrolled consumption. Nights became filled with noise. The other sex was viewed in glances of absence from falling clothing and the occasional saliva filled grope session. When reality returned from these booze soaked evenings, rejection through indifference usually followed.

For some college served as the proving ground. High school relationship were put to the test of distance and the numbing sensations of drugs and alcohol. Since I had no relationship to evaluate, I made only brief attempts to impress my objects of high school attention and/or try to lure the feminine half away from her suitor. For me, the break though of a kiss after much build up would lead not the onslaught of passion that I expected but rather a quick retreat of shame. Left on the many outdoor stairways, porches or stoops, beer and future vomit would be my solis.

Needless to say, I lived my life to the fullest but out the fulfillment of the relationship that absorbed many others. It was not that I was not looking but that I had not found. Reasoning and logic had defied all of my attempts to justify one girl over another and simply left me.

When I finished my degree in accounting, I headed south from my university town of Madison to the big city of Chicago. That is where I was when I saw my fixation for the first time. The small coffee shop was a often frequented out of pure connivence. Despite my dislike of the chain, it was hard to avoid a caffeine fix located in the bottom of my apartment building.

Lately, the coffee shop had become a place to escape. It was as if the walls of the apartment would shrink in the few waking hours that I would spend in the place that I was supposed to call home. Each morning, I would awake to her appearance. Despondent and devoid of the signs of life, Kristen would sleep on as I prepared and departed for my office job. In the evening, I would return to the minimal acknowledgment from her silhouette against the light of the lap top screen. Dinner was prepared and eaten in relative silence. Time on the internet or reading concluded the day.

It was the vacancy of passion that would drive us downstairs into the coffee shop. In this well lit and uniformly trendy designed environment at least life existed. Even if it was contained outside of the bubble that contained Kristen and myself. I would slowly sip my chai and watch the others from the outside.

For me the entertainment that I derived from watching others could be isolated to the analysis of the relationships that were shared. Why is she with him? Whoa! Look at the pomposity of that man-child and the self delusion that he must suffer from. She is so unattractive but it must work for him. All blanket judgements, I know. I find this to be my search for truth rather than judgement. When my peering eyes have left their world, it is they who return to each other arms and leave me stranded.

With a particularly happy couple who painlessly flaunt their pleasure, my focus becomes two part. First, I focus on their faces. I notice the joy and warmth that is conveyed solely with expression. A smile is all it takes to inspire a laugh. Eyebrows lift in anticipation. Little insignificant details in speech inspire such anticipation.

After my brief facial examination, my focus returns to the face of my companion. Brow furrowed with intensity. A scowl begins at the crest of the upper lip and cascades forth pulling her cheeks over there protruding ridges. Her expression is not one of anger. Anger would show too much emotion and betray her indifference to the world. Under her eyes shows the dark circles that indicate a lack of sleep even though she slumbers more than she is awake.

Active and in motion, my analysis returns to the hands of the couple. The woman's dominate hand always seems to venture out but return faithfully to her face. Here it rests. Delicacy in touch highlights the angle of the chin as she brushes it softly. The motion created to flip a stray hair behind her ear continues down the side of her face. The weight is transferred to her elbow as a sigh releases her to a closer examination of her desire. His dominate hand has been placed gently between her thighs with modesty. Here it is clinched by her in a way that could only display a desire to be closer. His other hand smoothly transitions from his drink to cradle her weight bearing hand.

Kristen's hands hold action but action that is far more brisk. Quick flips of her magazine pages allow for the only revelation of skin from bundle of clothing. Her hand is withdraw just as fast as it is revealed to the world. Where her hands return to within her cloak of warmth is a mystery. I can only assume that they caress and hold those parts of her body that she longs to have held. The habit of loneliness has left her to become self-reliant when it comes to touch.

Thursday, November 1, 2012

First Entry for the November Novel

This month I will be attempting to write a 50,000 word novel. Hopefully this will spark more writing on my part. (I know that my writing has been lacking) I hope to post my writing here for your enjoyment or pain and misery. Please note that this is my first real attempt at fiction. This will be a very rough draft with lots of errors and misspellings. Proofreading is so December.

My goal is to take the basic plot structure of a short story from a Herman Melville short story called Bartleby the Scrivener and repurpose it into a modern tale of relationships. Time will determine my success at this effort. Chapters and organization will be absent. With your own desire for punishment acknowledged, read on...

The first thing that I noticed was the lively tap of her toe against the coffee house table. It was a tap that betrayed the rest of the image that she was attempting to project. Jumping from one side to the next, her oversized boot indicated a liveliness and energy that the rest of her posture tried to place under a veil of nonchalance.

Following the motion northward. She wore European style tights that pulled close to her legs and moved the eyes further. The tights allowed her to wear a shorter but not over revealing skirt that defied the cold snap that had landed over the city of Chicago early in November. She wore a plain white V-neck T-shirt over a half buttoned sweater. Her glasses were thick framed to match the trend but still cut in a unique fashion. Red hair fell softly from back point of control in front of her face. Large headphones provided her the halo that would highlight her beauty.

As she embraced her drink in a manner that gathered its warmth and displayed a sense of endearment, she focused solely on a small paperback. All around her motion and noise attempted but could not penetrate her focus. I remember feeling a sense of jealously towards the written characters that could capture the attention of someone who seemed so interesting.

What!

"Have you not been listening to me?"

Ah ya, I'm listening. You were talking about visiting your parents.

"Like I was saying..."

Oh I forgot. I should tell you that even though my attention is sitting at the table with my new found fixation, I am sitting a few feet away. Here I sit captured with my current live in companion. She may have been the exact opposite of my fixation. Her name is Kristen. Although I am focused a little more to her story, my eyes still betray my attempts to focus. I seek the respite of my new interest but force myself into an understanding nod.

Kristen speaks in a low, monotone voice that openly displays a lack of commitment or energy. As she drones on, her gaze slowly looks up and to the left while her face still projects my direction. As she speaks, the fingers of her left hand slowly pulse up and down on the table.

This cold snap has taken its toll on Kristen. Even though she is always cold, the winters of the midwest ensure that she wears a collection of layers that transform her slender body into a shapeless collection of gentle sloping cloth ridges. Her body crosses itself in as many places as possible to seal in the little warmth that her body produces.

Before I enter into this tale of attempted love, I should tell you a little about myself. First and most importantly, I am no expert in relationships. I am like all of you out there. I am seeking the one word that seems to allude most of us, happiness. It is not that I am unhappy but that I feel that I would be betraying you if I said that I was happy.

I grew up in the Midwest with the typical working class family. I lived most of my life in a small former industrial town of 10,000 people. Traditional sports controlled my youth. Late nights under the diamond lights soaked up my summer vacations first as a spectator and then as a mediocre catcher. The crisp fall weather brought the aggression of the football field and the eventual pursuits of the middle linebacker. When the snow began to fall, I would teach myself to jump once again and pound the basketball court. Spring brought the only sporting respite as I was always to big and slow for track and too uncoordinated to hurl the shot or disc.

My parents always had a loving marriage that could only be acted upon in the cracks of the Midwestern work ethic. They sacrificed everything for me and my brother to be able to pursue whatever venture we sought out. In exchange for this sacrifice, we would embark on week long summer vacations that consisted of painfully local museums to satisfy my Dad and shopping to satisfy my Mom. It never felt like we had money but we also never struggled. Sure we were always unable to compete with that one kid that has everything but creative work arounds usually brought satisfaction.

Through life in a male dominated family and sports, the opposite sex was something that was considered but never the fixation. Adult friends could always predict that I never had a sister from the hidden mannerisms I wold regularly display. I had my middle school flings. Holding of hands and phone calls about nothing always lead to little more than nerves and embarrassment. Misunderstanding is the word that would best describe my understanding of the desires of the girl.

High school provided new display techniques of masculinity through sports as an attempt of attracting attention and betraying this misunderstanding. Playful violence against other males and to a lesser degree to females drew notice but not a mate. This was the first of the periods of life that leads to coupling that passed me by. Most waited until legality endorsed their union but a few children ensured a relationship status and a healthy dose of Midwestern shame. This was multiplied if another race was involved and betrayed the values that were intended to be held above the feelings of desire.

I followed the traditions of the typical high school student. Plenty of sweat accumulated on my palms as I participated in the rites of passage. Organized dances defined and redefined the thin veil between friendship and a relationship. Nights were covered with stupid humor and movies as an attempt to conceal the desire to grope and be groped. No one ever wanted to admit anything that could possibly be interpreted as reality. If you displayed actual feeling, you would be held to that position and more than likely ridiculed.

I lost my virginity on a dirt road outside of a cheese factory. Returning from a date with the girl from the next town over, I had stopped for an innocent viewing of the stars. This stop held a different meaning for her. Innocence faded quickly and with more confusion than pleasure. Reality had betrayed the plots of movies with uncontrollable movement and passion. Instinct replaced sentimentality and lead to a silent drive to her house. Just as quickly, I was replaced by another with more confidence and skill.

College promised to be the promised land of opportunity.