TBD on Ning
Parts
This thread is for those parts of tales we’ve written – inspired beginnings (or middles and endings) and flashes of brilliance that came out of nowhere – only to mysteriously disappear as quickly as they came- leaving us stranded at our keyboards.
Good writing, but orphaned without a “rest of the story”.
Check your files…show off some of that stuff. Who knows? Maybe now is the right time to complete it.
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Replies to This Discussion
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Permalink Reply by Bmichael on
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"the expansive grin of the happily buzzed"...terrific!
Good stuff, Westerly!
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Permalink Reply by Westerly_2 on
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Thanks. Did I put this on here, before? I don't remember.
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There is more to come.
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Here is Felicia's angle:
Coming in from the evening light, the drop-down apartment looked darker than usual, the ground-in carpet stains socked in there for all time. Needed a whole new carpet, no question, but it was just a bargain rental. Forget that.
Things did not go as Felicia had hoped. One year gone, and no glimmer of a clue on his passive face, no sunny grin, no smiling eyes. No memory. No feeling. No care there. Felicia sighed and poured an iced tea from the pitcher, squirted some juice from the plastic lemon, punched up her friend’s number.
She had known Jenna since college, and though she had moved a state over years ago, she was easier to talk to than the people she saw every day. She just picked up where she left off.
“He never guessed the date,” she said. “His face looked like someone had asked him to spell a word he had never heard of before. Blank wall.”
“Move on, ‘Lissa, like I have told you before. Don’t waste your time on a guy who’s not that into you. There’s more out there.”
“Don’t say that. That’s spooky.”
“What? More out there?”
“Never mind. It’s all about some capricious fortune cookie.”
There was a pause. “I know better than to ask.”
She suddenly remembered. “Ooh, ooh, here is something else.” Felicia laughed out loud. “Last week we were watching TV at my place? I was knitting squares for the afghan I’m doing for my mom? Well, his eyes popped out at me and he was breathing fast around his gulps of beer, like something was after him. Like my knitting was a punch in the gut or something.
“Know what I think? Like, remember those old comedies where the lady was knitting booties and that’s how he found out she was pregnant? You know those old-time movies?” Felicia shrieked and slapped her hand over her mouth. “He must think I’m pregnant.”
“’Lissa, keep it up. Keep knitting little things while rubbing your belly. Be fun to mess with his head.”
Felicia laughed her tea into the sink. “I just can’t be that mean,” she said.
No, it hadn’t gone as she had planned, and it wouldn’t go either. No moves in the direction of joining hands. No moving in, and really, she wasn’t even sure she even wanted that. She had met his mom, nice enough, if off to herself. There had been no special announcements around the introductions. She hadn’t been asked to Thanksgiving, Christmas, Memorial Day cook-out either, just this year. She was just Skip’s friend. One of them.
That artists’ studio of his, halfway to the stars…. But he was no artist. He was a roofer, working for someone else. How much longer could he keep that up? Pumping those bum knees up a ladder day after day? Sweating yourself up was a young man’s trade. And neither one of them would see thirty again. Maybe if he had his own company…. But that wasn’t Skip. Keeping books, cutting checks, figuring taxes….. Take too much out of him, thinking ahead like that. Too many bucks stopping right where he was at.
Felicia was no longer enjoying living single. And, yes, maybe she did want to be pregnant at some point. Before it was too late. Why not? But there was no future with Skip. Skip, the very name…. Think about it. Skip away, skip away, like a peacock feather in the wind. His mother had called him Tad, or Taddy, not any more weighty. Maybe he was a Thomas. Doubting Thomas. There were far better places to meet people than in bars. There were PTA meetings, poetry reading; she used to love those, the social hour after church. She could donate time at the Goodwill collection center, the after-school programt. There were lots of single fathers raising kids would love a nice companion.
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he-he, me too.
Next, Skip has the last word. Full circle
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ESPN had crashed. No sports. Skip was watching some show on WWII warplanes when he felt the clutch on his left side. What the hell! Couldn’t be happening. Had to be the Chinese food. His left arm felt numb, his chest heavy, and Skip remembered the advice to chew an aspirin, but crap! He was too young for that. Thirty-six and still rapping out nails at a fast clip. The other guys on the crew were much younger, but soft and lazy. Skip was the “old man” and proud of it. Been at it longer, knew more than these sorry fetuses. And there was that word. Fetus. Damn! An unborn child. His? Everything inside him cried out NO! He had made it clear, he thought.
Skip chewed up a whole aspirin, clutching his chest. Took an antacid too, and an anti-gas tablet. Who knew? Too much hot sauce, he hoped. Get another beer. Yeah, that would help. Slow down the blood rush, he figured. He thought about calling an ambulance. Driving was out of the question. He hated hospitals. He would rather die.
Some part of his mind was speeding up time, standing in some small delivery room wearing scrubs, witnessing the expelling of a slippery creature into the world. And it had his name and all his passed-on stuff. Wasn’t that crazy? The next link in the chain waiting its turn…. He massaged his arm, and nothing worse happened. In fact, the pressure and pain had trailed off. What was that? Man, that damned aspirin was magic. It was probably nothing but heartburn. And tomorrow was the lake with Felicia. Another day. Maybe she would cast her own line out this time. Maybe they’d both score big.
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No, not yet. What do you suggest?
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ReallY? I'll think about it.
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