Parts

[Bmichael]

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.

[Westerly_2]

; ^ }

 

Then, on the third hand, there is my theory on Tom and Gina. Suppose Tom is Gina’s boss. He owns the electronics shop where Gina solders transistors on circuit boards for $10 an hour. Gina is married, but not so you’d notice it; her husband has left her bed and board to live a more colorful life in livelier surroundings. he has taken up the guitar and is combing his back hair over the front.  Tom says he has “an open relationship” with his smart, professional third wife. They have an “understanding.”

He drove Gina to romantic spot for lunch some weeks back, and then proceeded to a quaint motel where he had presumed to book a room in advance.

“Heart-shaped beds? I’m not going in there, Tom. What made you think…?”

“I love you, kid,” he said rather sullenly.

“I don’t love you, Tom. Not like that.

“I swear I will make you love me, kid, if you give me half a chance.” Tom sighed gloomily. “I’ll get a divorce and marry you, if that’s what it takes.”

She patted Tom’s hand. “Casual lunches in the park, that’s what I want. Conversation. A shared meal. A hand to hold.  A shoulder to cry on. I want a loving friend, Tom, someone who makes me laugh and smile.

Tom shrugged. He had to go along. What choice did he have? He hugged her like she was a life-raft, and she patted his back like he was a pining puppy.

They are at the lovely park of her choosing, my park, and he opens the box of food they are to share. “Got us a round of crusty sourdough, a chilled bottle of Gewurtztraminer, and two tins of smoked oysters. …like the poem, ‘a loaf of bread, a jug of wine and thou.’” Is that a naughty gleam in his eye?

“With an aphrodisiac thrown in, I see, just in case,” she says, with a dry smile.

 

 

 

[Marilyn]

Just checked in, to discover these three gems!

Reminds me of a similar couple my ex and I used to see when we would ride our bikes down a rails-to-trails path to Valley Forge back in the day. Like your couple, not beautiful, not glamorous. Would meet in separate cars in an outdoor parking garage-type structure and -- disappear together into one of the cars. We speculated for years about what was going on. Never occurred to me to write it all down. Maybe someday, when I stop writing for $$$$, I'll resume writing for .... me.

Thanks, Westerly! Always enjoy your contributions.

[Westerly_2]

Thank you, nice to hear. Interesting you had a similar experience.

(Now, we'll have to find out if out country drifter really did kill someone, or it's some kind of hallucination.)

[Bmichael]

Ding…ding…ding…

“Howdy! Be with ya in just a second…whoa! Charlie! Is that you? Hey…long time, no see, pal! How the heck are ya, old man?”

“Hey Bert…yep, it’s me. Been outta town for awhile – visitin’  my daughter down in Greenville.”

“Aw, that’s nice, Charlie. How is Ellie, anyway? “

“Ellie’s doin’ good…real good…she just caught the “Teacher of The Year” award, and the big, fat bonus that comes with it and…”

“No foolin’! Why, that’s just great. Ellie always was good with books and learnin’ and stuff. Can’t say I’m surprised she’s doin’ well. Give her my best next time ya’ll talk, ok?”

“Sure will, Bert, and thanks for askin’ .”

“Hmm…let’s see…didn’t she marry Lester Carlson’s boy…whatshisname…uh…Junior?...Junior Carlson?”

“Uh huh, that’s right. ‘Cept he don’t go by “Junior” no more. You have to call him Dylan now. Seems like he fancies himself some kind of artist and spends most of his time walkin’ the roadways lookin’ for scrap metal that he hammers and welds together to look like farm animals and amoebas.”

“Huh? What’s an amoeba, Charlie?”

“Damned if I know. I’m thinkin’ it’s some kind of germ thing that lives in ponds and you can only see it under a microscope.”

“No kiddin! And he sells this stuff?”

“Well, that’s just it. I can see how someone might actually mistake some of that stuff for a pig or a cow, but that damn amoeba thing  looks like a pancake that he paints happy faces and bowties on.”

“Yeah? Does he sell much of it?”

“That’s what I asked Ellie. And she just reminded me that it was a “startup” business – which I took to be a no.”

“I see. So what does he do for a living?”

“Already told ya. He makes amoebas.”

“Lordamercy! Good luck with that, friend. Well then, Charlie, what can I get for ya today?”

“Well, I came in for seeds, Bert. Winter’s not too far off – need to get some plantin’ done.”

“You’re in luck. I got all the seeds in town, right now. Ferlin Meadow ran out quicklike and can’t get no more on account of his credit…besides he was sellin’ last year’s stock anyway. Watchya need?”

“Got any Kale?”

“The best.”

“Awright, gimmee some kale, then, ‘an how about some collards?”

“Better’n the best. Want some?”

“Yep.”

“You got it. What else?”

“How ‘bout Doubt?”

“Yeah, I got doubt. It’s from a new supplier – sellin’ like hotcakes. Not one complaint.”

“Ok…seeds of Doubt…one or two?”

“One, I think.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah, one’s good.”

“Gotcha. What else?”

“What about Despair?”

“Listen, buddy. I got Despair, and plenty of it…but that’s for the general public. For you, I’ve got a hybrid…new strain of Despair with Hopelessness and extra added Fear. This is top secret…hush-hush…hasn’t even been approved yet…I gotta be careful here…”

“I’ll take it.”

“You the man, Chuck! “

“Thanks, Bert. That’s all, for now. I appreciate…”

“You sure? How are you fixed for mistrust?”

“Good to go.”

“Envy?”

“My cup runneth over.”

“Suspicion?”

“Maxed out.”

“Beer?”

“Got the Blue Lady?”

“Of course.”

“Go for it!”

“Debit or credit?”

“Your choice.”

[Marilyn]

Was loving the diaglogue (man, that dude Bmichael shore do know how folks talk 'round here) but honestly didn't expect the seeds of Doubt, etc. that followed. Good stuff!

[Westerly_2]

This is so good. Loved how Ellie "caught" that award, like she baited her hook or used a net. Planting those bad-news seeds was a real mind-grabber. Nice touch.

[Bmichael]

Thanks!

I’ve always been interested in speech patterns and how we use them to influence others.

For example, when I was a kid, the neighbor lady spoke normal English, but when she got upset with her kids, she affected an almost British accent “ Bradley! Come HEAH – NOW!”

I also noticed that lots of folks (myself included) often forget how to pronounce the letter “T” in everyday speech. For example, I pronounce the word “center” as “cenner”. And if it’s at the end of a word, “cart becomes a muted cross between a ‘d’ and a ‘t’. And when speaking casually the letter “g” nearly disappears – “doin’, goin’ watchin’, …

And of course this type of speech, I think is usually not very noticeable until you write it. Then all sorts of images about the speaker appear – Southern, Hillbilly, Latino, and others.

In the drifter story, in addition to the missing g’s , that boy often spoke in a style that is decidedly regional or ethnic. An example would be in  Lyle Lovett’s “I’ve Been to  Memphis”:

I've been to Memphis
And Muscle Shoals
And I love a woman
What I don't know

Makes sense, but it ain’t good English.

In the seeds story, I didn’t really have a place in mind – just two guys ‘talkin’ normal’.

Cheers!

[Bmichael]

I went walking today at the nearby Baseball Park – thirty acres surrounded by trees and walking paths. And in the middle are the ball fields, extending out from a center hub like a wheel.

I spend a lot of time walking and taking photographs here and sometimes stop to watch the games.

This being early November and cool (47 degrees with a breeze), I was surprised to see there were games going on. It had to be the last tournament of the season.

Walking the path, I passed three games, but what caught my attention was the age of the players. They were young girls – tiny things – couldn’t be more than eight or nine years old – decked out in colorful uniforms, ponytails sticking through the holes in the back of their caps, and bouncing around the field like ping pong balls.

In the dugouts, baby voices screamed encouragement and sang cheers to their teammates on the field. (Guys, of course, don’t do this)

I’ve seen many games here over the years, but I don’t recall such enthusiasm. These kids don’t trot out onto the field, they run. Stopping on a dime, they assume their stance, and immediately start yelling. I had no idea what they’re saying because they’re all doing it. When I played, we used say things like “Hum babe…Hum babe...C’mon Bruce” but only after the coach growled about more chatter.

Usually these games are exhibitions of poorly hit or missed ground balls, wildly overthrown tosses to first base, and outfielders falling down as the ball sails over their heads. (Followed by at least four relays back to infield – five minutes later.)

But not today. These girlchiks were ready…fired up.  They worked the opposing pitcher – taking long leads…pretending to steal. And when the coach spoke, they listened.

“Lisa! Back up…you’re on!”

Lisa moved before he got all the words out.

One child was injured while running to first and went down. After a few minutes, the coach picked her up and carried her off the field while everyone on the opposing team took a knee. (Guys don’t do this – at least we didn’t)

So, it was bases loaded. The coach hollered that the play was at home. Everyone crouched, on their toes, bouncing in anticipation.  Ground ball up the third base line. The little blonde rocket on Third launched towards home, jumping over the ball a nanosecond before the third baseman picked it up.

The bleachers erupted. The dugouts squealed. Home plate ump re-positioned. Third base ump ran behind as backup.

Third baseman throws to home.

I’m thinking …overthrow…easy base…easy score.

Wrong .

 Good throw. On target. Catcher has the ball…but she’s behind the plate, so she charges the rocket.  I tense. There’s going to be a collision. Wrong again. The rocket blasts into warp speed …and… and… and…slides (like a pro) into home.

Whaaat???

Safe!

Shoot…just like real baseball.

Looking forward to next year.

 

[Westerly_2]

What a happy description of natural spirit. Boy, some of those over-coached, bitter-parent, sour-grapes Little league games  I used to attend for my brother...! Whoo, talk about lack of sportsmanship and soreheads.... And that was just the grownups. You'd think the strike-out by little Butchie was going to knock them down a few rungs on the status ladder. Cool that you were watching a bunch of smiling competent girlies, too. ☺  Myself, I just stunk at softball. Go, Girlchik!

[Marilyn]

Yeah, I was of the generation in which girls didn't "do sports." What a loss for us! Good writing, B -- per usual!

[Westerly_2]

(Now, aren't you sorry you asked about the weather?)

Sandbagged

The rains when they came, came hard. There was drought before, and now no defense for the dusty earth and oil-slick highways and denuded hills, blackened from fire. There were flooded roads and mudslides and cars skidding into ditches. Barb thanked Jason for doing what he did, using the deck broom to sweep the leaves and water from the down-sloping driveway, though it had soaked him to his shorts and he was none too happy about it. He was particular about those running shoes, too, and from the looks….

            “Remember that day, so long ago, your dad went to that county site and got free sandbags, remember? He was walking on his feet then. A whole truckload of sandbags. He took you with.”

            Jason flung his soggy coverall down on the hallway floor.

            “Shit,” he said.

            She turned away. Yeah, yeah, shit it was. like a lot of things. But she saw his eyes spark with the light of remembering. Sandbags piled high at the mouth of the driveway, to keep the flow coursing down the gutter to the drain, and stop it from rolling under the garage door and rusting tools and wicking up the sides of cardboard boxes holding folders and pictures and Christmas lights.

            Jason said nothing, just scowled and peeled off whatever was wet.

            “It passed, of course, as things do. And then come spring I had all these hardened sandbags to get rid of.

            Jason still said nothing, but the shine in his eyes had dulled.

            “They were heavy when wet, and then turned to stone, and nobody gave it a thought but me. I dragged them over the driveway onto that little plot over there, where there was supposed to be grass, but it was lousy grass.” A silence had descended and Barb kept filling it. “So many of them. In the way. And I never thought we needed them in the first place, that it made that much of a difference. He really got into the drama of it.”

            Jason looked unfriendly. “You saying you didn’t appreciate how he was? he was all for calling up the reserves when it came to family.”

            Barb noted the resemblance to her late husband – hooded eyes the color of a winter sky, the sharp angle of his cheeks when his jaws were clamped like that.

            “Yeah, well, sure. I remember how he put on his wading boots and ran out into the street with his big broom, trying to fix what the county didn’t get to, in common cause with all the other busy old guys, being useful and all, yeah. And then they’d stand around laughing and smoking.

            “It was a nice thing. The impulse,” she said. "Good thing I guess. Good place to put sand if you had some."

            Jason was stripped down to his boxers, throwing all his clothes into the dryer in the laundry place off the kitchen. The sneakers were thumping and bumping. No sound from him.

            “Well, thanks for your help there, son.”

            “No prob. I guess I’m a lot like my dad. And that ain’t nothin’ bad.”

            “No, no,” she said. ”Nothin’ bad. No hit on him – the sand. It’s just a heavy thing to carry  – the sand. Sitting in all weathers so long, turning crusty and set so hard. A heavy lift.

        "But I guess we all have those>"

 

 

 

[Bmichael]

Nice...good dialogue. Yep.