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.
No comments:
Post a Comment