writing snippet (James) - Taveston's

They sat across the table from each other in uncharacteristic silence. James fidgeted with his coaster, stroked the spine of the folded menu, drummed his fingers softly against the tabletop. Chayla’s arms were crossed and propped on the table and she was looking around, taking in Taveston’s familiar décor.

“So?...”

“Huh? Oh. I’m sorry – I just don’t have a lot to say today. It’s been a long day and I’m just feeling worn out, you know?”

“Well yeah, I figured that. Your job sucks, James. I don’t know how you keep going back every day.”

“Yeah…”

“But that’s why I called you. So you wouldn’t just finish work and then go home to that itty little apartment of yours and spend all your time alone on the Internet or something, and turn into one of those guys who spends all his time alone except when he’s at work.” Chayla paused a moment.

“What if you went crazy and started hallucinating or something? No one would know. You could be mauled to death by imaginary bears, and no one would pretend to know what happened.”

“Right, thank you. You came this close to saying something sweet and meaningful…and then imaginary bears happened.”

Chayla shot him a withering look and then looked around to flag down the bar man.

“Hey, Chay. What’s goin’ on, moonchild? What can I get ya?”

“Not a lot, Luke. And just the usual, please – Fat Tire and an apology from an asshole.” Luke was just weird enough for Chayla to forgive him for mostly being a stiff.

Luke gave her a slow grin and turned to James. “Little trouble in paradise, amigo?”

“Soon as I’m in paradise I’ll call the bar and let you know. And I could go for a Terrapin, I think.”

Luke bobbed his head in affirmation and shuffled off to the bar “Get those drinks right up for ya. Have to add the apology to your tab, though.”

Chayla watched him walk away, not turning back to look at James. “You’re an A-grade jerk, you know that?”

“…said the girl who used to stand outside the door with a wine bottle and swear in French whenever I tried to invite someone over,” James sighed. “Also, the topless thing.”

Chayla couldn’t keep up the act any longer. She almost snorted, broke into a grin at the memory. “You coulda done better than any three of them anyway, my darling little J-hole. So, what’s going on anyway? I know you’re usually Serious McBusinesspants right off of work, but you seem a little mopier than usual?”

“Thanks,” James nodded to Luke as he set the two beers down. “I don’t know, Chayla. I guess I’ve just been in a weird mood today. About halfway through the morning I got this picture of the mountains stuck in my mind, and after a while I just wanted to leave my desk and get in the car and go. Payday’s at the end of the week, so why not? I just got gas, so I could go a few hundred miles before I had to start walking. Go south and I might be able to get as far as Georgia. I’ve got some family down there, and I’ve always wanted to see Athens and Savannah. North and…well, I don’t know how far I could get, but as long as my car didn’t die on a turnpike I think I’d be okay. Maybe just take the tags off and abandon it when it does, and start a new life in the closest town I can walk to from there. You know? Even If I just go back to doing the same god-awful boring stuff that I’m doing now, at least I’ll know that I did something with my life for at least a few days.”

“James! Stop it.”

“Christ, what’s wrong with that?" Chayla's tone put him on the defensive. "You and I both know that I’m probably not actually going to do it. I’ve got too many responsibilities here. I’ll probably never leave this damn place.”

“No, I meant stop touching your face so much when you talk. It’s distracting.”

James stared at Chayla, expressionless for several moments, then sighed into his beer and took a long drink. This was probably why they never dated back in school.

Kid cousin - Chayla (writing excerpt)

Chayla took one last drag on the nubby Parliament clenched between her lips, then dismembered it in the cheap ashtray (stolen from the Waffle House before it closed), looked at it gloomily for a moment, then flicked it out the open window. Her kid cousin was coming by later that afternoon, and Chayla wasn't thrilling at the idea of a reunion.

She didn't have anything against the girl, personally. She had always been kind of quiet and kept to herself at the holidays, and always seemed more interested in reading than talking. Sure. Chayla could appreciate that; when Steve and Mark and the two Kathys (one of them kin by blood, the other by marriage) were all under the same roof, there was no telling what was going to happen...but it usually involved football or NASCAR, and lots of swearing. Was it two Thanksgivings ago the next door neighbors had called the police on them, reporting a domestic disturbance. The Burgens weren't their next-door neighbors any more. Even though Chayla'd had no involvement in the fight—was sometimes appalled at how her uncles had escalated the feud—it gave her a grim sort of satisfaction that her family had won. Steve had invited the whole family over for a cookout the day after the Burgens had moved out. On the front lawn of the newly-vacated house. Sometimes blood runs thicker than water, even when it shouldn't.

The girl, though, had come from a slightly saner side of the family. She read books and didn't talk much. Didn't seem interested in cars or sports. The had probably been in girl scouts. She probably went to church on more than just Easter, and didn't feel like a guilt-ridden whore afterward. She probably volunteered at the local retirement hom oon Saturday mornings, and did her homework on time, and got straight A's (except maybe in gym class). She probably played clarinet or flute in marching band. She probably knew how to make a fucking diorama. Actually, that's why she was coming by. Not the diorama, but because she was touring Trinity, the little private college on the other side of town. Chayla had never looked into it, but she suspected they had a literature program. She sneered a little, and reached for the cigarette pack again. Damn, empty. She fidgeted with the carton, tearing it into little pieces.

No, the reason she wasn't fond of the girl were extremely simple. They didn't have anything to do with convoluted family politics, or academic rivalry (Chayla had finally made it out of high school years earlier, and was content to put that part of her life well behind her), or even honest and true bullyish rancor (although she would have been a positively brilliant target for it). It was because she was tall, she was skinny, she was blond, and she was totally oblivious. As far as Chayla knew she hadn't ever even been kissed, and here she was getting ready to graduate. And what's worse, she didn't seem to care about all that. It was little putting a hologram of a sandwich in front of a hungry man. Or describing a waterfall to someone who really had to pee. Infuriating!

Well, maybe it wasn't really that bad. After all, there was way more to life that sex. It's just that it was such a fun diversion. And it was maddening to see someone with all that potential so obviously wasting it. Aside from that, she really was a pretty alright kid. A little geeky, but, eh...what can you do about family?

The knock came on the door. Chayla dropped the mutilated cigarette carton and sidled downstairs to answer it. "Hey kiddo. how's it going? Come on in! How was Trinity?"

A bright smile flashed across Rose's face as she stepped into the duplex, then shrugged as she kicked off her shoes. "It was alright, I guess. Just another college I guess, you know? I don't think we could afford for me to go if I don't get scholarships or anything."

Which you will, Chayla snarked silently.

"But I guess it's a pretty good school, and the campus is pretty. The journalism and the American lit programs both sound kind of interesting."

Called it. Chayla chuckled. "Oh yeah? You'll have to tell me more about it. You want a drink? Got some PBR in the fridge."

Rose made a disgusted face, but there was a twinkle in her eye that made Chayla uncertain if she was serious or joking. "No thanks. I'm fine right now. Oh, but that reminds me. Mom gave me some money to order a pizza or treat you to supper or something, since you were nice enough to let me hang out for a while and take me home this evening."

Chayla tensed at the fridge, grappling the can in her hand. No one had said anything to her about taking Rose home. I guess she didn't have a choice, though. There was no way in hell the kid was going to stay here tonight, that was for sure. "You sure? No water or nothing?"

"No, I'm fine! I guess the tour was alright, but it was kind of boring and the tour guide was this junior, except it was just me and one other student and that student's mom so it was a small group, and the tour guide was just acting really weird and it was awkward and he wouldn't make eye contact and...I don't know. I just think he wasn't very good at it."

Chayla kept her thought to herself and dropped onto the other side of the ancient sofa, leaning against the armrest and crossing her legs. "Uh-huh?"

"That's...there's not a lot else, I guess."

Several moments passed, punctuated only by the sound of Chayla drinking.

"...I met a boy."

"At Trinity?"

"No. At the arcade."

"There's an arcade where you live? I thought the nearest one was in Madison."

"Well, there's not. Not really, at least. It's abandoned. Downtown. It closed down in the 70s. Seventy-eight, I think. I looked it up once."

"Huh. So, what's he deal and can you get me a discount?"

"Oh, shut up! Now you're making fun of me!" Chayla wasn't sure she'd ever seen someone smirk and glare at the same time before. Rose was an amusing mark.

"Well, okay. Maybe a little bit. But seriously, why were you hanging out in abandoned buildings? We haven't won you over to the dark side, have we?" Chayla mimed lighting a cigarette.

Rose made another face. "I found a pinball machine there. It still works, and I love it. I had never played pinball before. That's actually how we met. I was playing the machine, and I was really into it, and then when I lost I looked up and he was just there staring at me like he couldn't figure out why I was there."

"I bet it's because he couldn't figure out why you were there."

"You're doing it again. Making fun of me."

"Sure am." Chayla leaned precariously and set the half-empty beer can on the floor beside her. "But, for the sake of argument, let's assume this guy isn't a rapist or drug dealer, and I suspect you're going to tell me he's not homeless either, right? Because that's the other reason I can think of for someone to just hang out in abandoned buildings. And I can't help but think you're doing your damnedest to prove me wrong?"

"He's not homeless. I saw him a couple times at work before I ever met him. He wears some sort of uniform. He probably works at a restaurant or a store."

"You don't know?"

"We don't really talk about work."

Chayla's brow furrowed, partly out of curiosity, and partly because she was becoming increasingly confused. "I feel like I'm going to regret this, but what do you do?"

Who had replaced her stupid kid cousin with this person who, while obviously still stupid, was teetering precariously close to being an adult? Chayla wasn't sure how she felt about having to get used to talking to Rose like she was a real person now.

Dialogical graffiti

Bathroom stall graffiti is something we're all aware of, but doesn't come up in conversation too terribly often. Normally I wouldn't bring it up either, but there's some textual vandalism in a stall at one of my jobs that's actually kind of fascinating. It takes the form of dialogical comments (which in and of itself isn't terribly uncommon, I suppose), but instead of libeling people's sexual proclivities or dipping into the well of juvenile offensiveness, it's a semi-intellectual discourse about the contentious relationship between the science and religion.

The first comment seems to be a sharpie-based statement that reads "Biology certifies my belief that there is no God." The immediate response appears to be another brief (perhaps tongue-in-cheek) comment that reads "Theology proves my belief...that there is no me", and a third (which I assume is the most recent) simply reads "Jesus Christ, the cornerstone". Scattered around these core statements are other pen-, pencil-, and crayon(???)-scrawled comments that say things like "too direct", "smart person", and "like" (because Facebook is just too dang ubiquitous, y'all!).

I know better to contribute to the vandalism (because even though it's interesting, I'd still be engaging in defacing public property), but if that weren't a concern, I think it'd be fun to add some comments of my own to the dialogue. My favorite idea so far is "Positivism enforces my experience that only that which is observable is true. I have observed neither God nor evolution, but I exist. Therefore, I must have created myself. CONGRATULATIONS YOU GUYS. YOU JUST MADE ME A SOLIPSIST. D:"

writing snippet - becoming the game (unrevised)

Buzzers and chimes formed a raucus chorus and small lights blinked smugly as the pinball fell into the gutter. Again. Angel's look of concentration warped into an expression that was equal parts grin and grimace. "Rats. I'm out of quarters. Do you have any more?"

"No, I don't. I only brought enough for a couple games and I went before you, remember?"

Angel sighed and wistfully flipped the flippers one more time before coming over to sit next to me. "I know, but I wanted to ask anyway. Who ever knows when quarters will magically appear out of nowhere?"

"And maybe someday I'll be the queen of France," I teased, and hugged her shoulders.

Angel rested her head on my shoulder. "That would be horrible. You'd look funny without a head."

"So, um, I was just wondering... Why do you always go straight for the pinball machine when we're here? Please please please don't take this the wrong way, but you're not very good at it..." I tensed up, worried she was going to be mad at me for saying it.

She looked up at me.

"Look, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said that. That was really stupid of me. Awful. I mean..."

"Stop talking."

My voice quit. I was shocked; I'd never heard her use a sharp tone like that before. Oh boy. I must have messed up bad.

Angel looked at me with a smirk, and then her smirk broke into a wide grin. "I always wanted to try that on someone. Don't worry, I'm not mad."

I took a deep breath of relief. "Bene Gesserit witch."

"Enormous dork."

"I thought you were really mad at me for a second there. I was about prepared for emergency last rites."

"No, it's okay. It's a fair question. But I need you to promise you aren't going to think I'm weird or anything, okay?"

"Promise."

"Well...I'm becoming the game."

"Huh."

Angel's normal playful smirk clouded over as she searched for the words to express herself. "I mean, think about it. Pinball is a game that you can't win, right? Like, unless you wanted to play forever, you can't win. It's a game that's all about losing, right? Except...except it's not just about losing, it's about losing in the best possible way. But that's still about losing, if that makes sense. So, it's like you've got to learn the game, become one with it or something. Because it's a game about losing, and there are a million different ways to do that. So then you've got to become the game, so that there's no difference between you and the machine. And then losing doesn't bother you any more, because it's what's supposed to happen. And when it doesn't bother you any more, you can do what really needs to be done. So I don't keep losing because I want to or anything. I'd love to be able to top the high score list. Maybe some day I will, but I'm not going to do it by trying to cheat the game. I'll manage it by doing exactly what I'm supposed to do, by being the game. Does that make sense? Maybe? Sort of?"

"I think so. You're saying that if you learn all the ways you can lose, eventually you'll know exactly how to win, right?"

"No, that's not it at all." Angel frowned, the first time I'd ever seen her do that, and then sighed. "Maybe I'll be able to put it in better words someday. But until then, you'll just have to believe me, okay?"

I looked her straight in the eye. "You have it on my honor that I will take you at your word."

"Thanks." She rested her head on my shoulder again, and looked up at me with another playful grin spreading across her face. "Now are you SURE you don't have any more quarters?"

Excerpt: Reading at Night

I flipped through the folded pages slowly. I was trying as hard as I could to stay focused on the words in front of me, but I always had trouble reading for someone when they were with me. It was easily three times more difficult tonight because I was reading it for her, and double that because she was sitting right next to me. Maybe I was imagining it, but every word on those pages was contending for my attention against the warmth coming off her skin, every soft whisper of her breath. It was short—only three pages—but it might as well have been in Latin, as long as it was taking me to read it.

"Well, what do you think?"

I responded slowly, trying desperately to remember what I'd just read. "It's good. I, I definitely liked it."

Her lips smiled, her eyes gleamed with a knowing smirk that would cause me to stammer like an idiot and blush if I looked into them any longer.

If anyone else had given me that kind of I-told-you-so stare, I would have just gotten up and walked away. "Well, okay. I guess I have some questions..."

"Sure! what's up?"

"Well, you've asked me to read a couple other things and I don't think they're related, but some of the same names come up over and over again. Is it the same characters in all the stories?"

Angel played with her collar thoughtfully. "You know, I'd never really thought about it before. I guess they sort of are, except...not really? Like, the names represent a specific archetype or something in my head, so if there's a story with James in it, for example, he'll be similar to any other James, but not necessarily the same one? So, like, Lord James will be similar to James Jameson, P.I., but it won't be the same guy who's like 600 years old now. Even though I haven't ever actually written anything Medieval or a detective story..."

"That makes sense, I think. I guess the other thing I wondered about it why it's always raining. Isn't that a sign that something bad is happening when it rains? None of your stuff I've read is particularly sad."

I was staring at the empty space somewhere between the pages in my hand and her jean-clad knee when she stretched out, leaning back on her elbows, but I didn't have to see her face to imagine the smirk she was wearing. "They say you're supposed to write what you know. And it rains here. All. The. Time."

And like a switch had been turned on I started to notice the thickness in the air and the touch of chill, the dull hiss of rain against pavement seeping in through one of the cracked windows, the slowly fading dampness of my own jeans that made them cling to my knees uncomfortably. Damn, she was right. It had started raining this afternoon. It had rained two days ago. It had probably rained here every few days for as far back as I could remember, if I tried to remember.

"Anything else?"

"Huh? Oh, no. I think that's it. I'm sorry. I got distracted listening to the rain outside."

"It's alright. Just don't get too distracted. Rain makes people sleepy, and you're a lot more fun to talk to when you're awake." She leaned over take the folded pages from my hand, rested her head on my shoulder for a moment before she stood up and stretched her arms toward the ceiling. "I really do like it here, but it's always so dark when it rains. I mean, it's dark at night anyway, but with all the clouds there's no moon or anything. If it wasn't for us bringing it with us, there might not be any light at all. If this place could talk, I bet it would thank us."

I nodded dumbly, as though struck by the most profound thought that had ever come to mind.

Between Friends - dialogue sketch

Isabelle pouted playfully, looking up at Will over her glasses. "Why do you always make fun of me like that? Is it because you don't like me?"

Will dropped the goofy grin he'd been sporting. "Actually, it's because I'm completely, one-hundred percent infatuated with you."

"See? That's what I'm talking about - you're doing it again!"

"No, I'm serious. I never planned to tell you but I guess I just boned that up pretty bad... 'Cause, well, y'know, you're in a relationship, and I have a strict policy about being a homewrecker. 'Don't do it,' actually. That's my policy."

"Oh, wow. I had no idea."

"Really? I'm kind of surprised. Subtlety ain't exactly my string suit."

"I know, I know. I guess I didn't notice because of all my stress from school and practice and no sleep. But, wow...you really like me?"

"Mmhmm. I mean, I wasn't going to tell you or anything." Will pointed toward his eyes, and then his glasses. "I may be mostly blind, but I've got four eyes and sometimes even I catch on about stuff. Like how it's a generally bad idea to hit on someone who's already in a relationship. Besides, there's already a waiting list."

"What do you mean?"

"You know what I mean."

"Yeah, I do..." Isabelle threw her arms around Will, hugging him fiercely. "I'm so sorry, darlin'. I wish this situation was different."

"I dunno. If it was different, you might be having this conversation with me instead of the other way around. And I don't think I would wish that on you. And you've got enough going on."

"Meh."

They both stood in silence for a few moments.

"Well...it's late. I need to be going. I have work in the morning. I can walk you back before I go, if you want. Unless you're going over to his place. Then it probably wouldn't be a great idea. Could be funny, though." A wry smile touched his lips.

"Yeah, no... probably not. I'll see you soon, though?"

"Not sure. I don't have another day off until Sunday. Call me if you need anything, though. And good luck with stuff. I hope you get some sleep."