Subconscious Nervousness
1/28/2010 at 2:40 PM
I wrote the following story last year while intoxicated. I was working up to describing a dream that I had, but the unfinished product is interesting in itself, since now I am close to having a son, and I wasn't planning on it then. It's quirky as fuck, I hope you don't hold that against me.
What if I say I’m not like the others, What if I say I’m not just another one of your games, you’re the pretender, what if I say I will never surrender?
It played on the radio in Max’s old truck. The song meant nothing to either of the two people in the car, either Max and his daughter that he’d only just recently found out that he’d had.
They were on their way to a new house, one that Max had just recently started the process of buying. It was way out in the country so that he could do his writing in peace. He’d written a fairly popular book 5 years before, earning him some degree of prestige. Unfortunately he’d become lazy with his new-found fame and had basically plagiarized another work shortly after and had drawn some very critical statements from his colleagues.
They turned off the paved road into a short gravel driveway that lead to the two story house by the lake. Rachel asked Max if he was sure of where he was going. Max said reassuringly that he did. They went slower now, only about 100 bpm. He hated having to drag her along. He needed to write. He needed to get back to where he had been; that zone where he could write anything, where everything existed and critique was not a factor. He’d really only written one piece of work, and while it had not quite been a masterpiece, it had been the product of the connection to some higher knowledge, something just a bit beyond the norm. Now that he knew that he’d had a child, he wasn’t sure that he’d be getting back to that point ever again.
Chapter 2. (and page 2)
In their first night at the house everything had gone frighteningly normal. It was bland, almost too far from frightening. It had been boring. They had eaten dinner as a couple of strangers, which they were, and had gone to bed in separate rooms. Rachel’s room was on the third story at the top of the stairs.
When they ate breakfast the next morning it was equally awkward between them. Max thought that it always might be because he couldn’t come up with any sort of activities for himself in this new place, let alone a little girl; he couldn’t even be held responsible for himself, let alone another life. He asked basic questions, “How are you in school?” and “What do you like to do?” but learned nothing honest about his daughter.
He only had her here with him because her mother had been killed recently. The exact story hadn’t been relayed very well by authorities, but from what he had gathered it had had something to do with a boyfriend who had neglected her to the point of starvation. The boyfriend had left with Rachel, apparently pretending that everything was okay until the authorities found him. Max wasn’t sure if she understood what had happened, and thought that it was hardly his place to ask at this time.
Chapter 3. (and page 3)
A small girl’s scream has such a singularity of sound, and yet it inspires such a profound emotional response. Max awoke immediately with the realization that something was wrong with Rachel. He still didn’t think of her as his daughter, after all he’d only had one week of “parenthood” in their new summer house. He raced around corners and obstacles to get to the dark stairway leading to Rachel’s viewpoint room. He had some a small amount of internet research on how to be a parent; the kind of research that allowed him to scrape by without learning much of anything in college. In some article on MSN he had found that girls between ages 8 and 12 had 40%-70% more vivid nightmares than typical adults. He wasn’t all that worried.
When he got to the room he found Rachel in the corner curled into a ball and shivering. She didn’t even look at him. He started to move toward her but instinct told him to look around the room first. Everything seemed clear so he moved toward her with a comforting gesture.
My world.
11/18/2008 at 5:14 AM
It’s cold… Like a beautiful comfortable cold when things are still and dark. The fall leaves lay over everything and because it’s night the orange electric lights illuminate the way. It seems like temperature is underrated… or at least rarely talked about except in extremes. Nothing is so inspiring to me as a cold night. It makes me nostalgic, or hopeful. I’m not sure exactly what the feeling is, but it’s somewhere between good and bad and makes me wish that I was better at something. Sometimes on these nights I try to write, and occasionally I’ve been happy with the result, but usually I just keep wishing I could do things better. When I lived in Florence I’d drive to the beach and sit in my car playing along to songs on the guitar… I haven’t even played my guitar since the first couple weeks that I lived here. I do like it here, but it’s changing me. Slowly, and in ways that aren’t obvious at first. A lot of things that used to be every-day tasks are now things that I do to get away from my new grind. Grind… I used to hate that concept. It’s why I listened to metal and hard music, and why I hated everything for a time. Grinding… I remember trying to describe it to Erin once that I felt like an elephant being dragged along a road at 30 miles an hour losing skin and bone and flesh along the way. I didn’t feel in control of my life and at times the feeling would leave me with another feeling; helplessness. Once you pick apart your day into small enough segments it’s not so bad really… I have classes like I had in high school, and I do a lot of the same things from day to day here the same as I did then. The difference now is that this is new and fresh. It’s a challenge, and if I don’t focus at every step along the way I’ll lose it.
So tonight… because it’s a cold, foggy beautiful night I’ve walked to Weatherford hall with my laptop and started writing. I want to write fiction really badly. I want to make that world that I have invented in my head a larger place. I want to flesh it out and make it seem real. Because in my head it is real, but it’s also kind of perfect because it’s not defined in any one sense. It’s simply a collection of feelings and memories that somehow falls into place in my mind as a city. A place where the setting’s always like this night, and where small but epic dramas unfold at every corner for unique characters. The subjects are simply compilations of people that I’ve seen and observed. Some that I directly know, but I tend to avoid those; they don’t belong there. It won’t be the most exciting thing to read because the character development will be scarce if present at all, and that’s really the best part. If you’re not me, it won’t make your heart pound, and you won’t be moved. You might think it mundane or boring, but to me… it’s everything that this world can’t be for me. That’s how I get.
Alcohol.
11/18/2008 at 5:13 AM
Open. Looking down on a room with white walls and vanilla carpet. Visible is the corner of a bed with gray patterned spread and the corner of a sliding glass door. The light is natural coming in through the door. It is evening, with the sun almost down, but it is still light. Piano is in the background playing softy a reflective song.
The kitchen, small and plain but functional, white paint and appliances along with dark wood on edges of counters and cabinets. Front of fridge has an indistinct pink post-it note. Separating the kitchen and the living room is a small bar with many small lights over it.
Piano continues to play.
The living room. Small, but cozy. Gray patterned couch and matching chair huddled around a gray modern looking TV on a plain wood stand. Wires neatly arranged and coiled behind. A glass coffee table between the couch and TV stand has a tall dark colored can on it.
Shift to face the front door, piano, entrance to living room, stair banisters. There is a dark mahogany piano. No lights are on, and a young man is bent over the piano playing softly and sadly. He wears jeans with a studded belt and a dark gray sweatshirt with the hood pulled up. His hair is black and straight hanging down in a streak. The song starts to build.
Through the frosted window next to the front door you see orange lights flash in and move around, but he seems not to notice. The song continues to build.
In a moment the door clicks with the sound of keys trying to find the keyhole. He suddenly stops, cut off near presumably the end of the musical build. He is startled and looks at the door, sitting up straight. His hands are undecided; between playing position and positioning themselves to push him off the piano bench. The lock clicks. He moves away from the piano to the doorway to the living room and stands awkwardly as a girl comes in.
The girl comes into the house hurriedly and sets a bag of groceries in the doorway and turns the lights on as she takes her coat off and sets her keys on the piano.
"Hey" she says breathily. She appears to be a nurse, wearing light blue scrubs and white shoes. Her hair is dark brown and up with glossy bangs hanging down the left side of her face. She seems stressed but is relieved to be home. She moves to him and hugs him quickly. They embrace for a moment.
"Hey, how was work?" he asks as she moves back to pick up the grocery bag.
"Eh." she says, "Alright. There's this new shift manager, I think I'm going to kill her." She goes into the kitchen and starts putting the groceries away. The boy smiles widely and looks at his shoe on the floor. He follows her to the kitchen.
"Why's that?" he asks.
She is putting things in a cabinet above the counter with her back to him. He comes and puts his arms around her waist and turns his head and rests it against the top of hers.
She puts her arms over his and relaxes, putting her head back against the left side of his chest. "She's just a bitch. She changed the schedule and put me on for next Sunday, but we'll be gone then so I went and told her that and she was like 'Well you need to file a request form'... I don't know, she's just a pain in the ass. She's been there two weeks and thinks she owns us all." She squirms to turn around and brings his head in closer and kisses him.
"Mm... poor you." He says poutily. She breaks away and makes her way upstairs to the bedroom. "Hey, do you want to go out tonight? For dinner? I was thinking we could go to that place with the movie projector on the roof." he says loudly while looking around in the fridge.
Muffled you hear her say "Hold on a minute." She comes back through the living room with a black t-shirt and jeans on. She thinks as she walks around to find something in the living room. "Um... yeah" she says with a small smile looking up at him from behind the small bar that separates the living room from the kitchen. She bends down to pick something up from next to the chair and holds up a cell phone. "Smile!" she says as she takes his picture.
He flexes with his arms up, fists next to his head and smiles.
The scene fades and reopens on an old apartment building that's been converted into a hotel/restaurant. It's dark now on the street, but warm, inviting light spills out from inside the old building. A yellow cab pulls up in front of place and pauses for a second before the couple gets out. The boy holds the door for the girl and she laughs and walks in.
They walk past the lobby and ground-floor restaurant to the back behind a large black wood stairway. They get into the elevator and push the top button. The boy puts his right arm around her, pulling her close as they anxiously wait for the door to open. After a few seconds it does, and they walk out. They move through a small corridor onto the roof. The place is clean, with small tables for two people to sit next to each other. The tables all face the south edge, which has a large projector screen with a colorful movie already in progress. Closer to the screen there are some couches and love seats that are mismatched, but all dark colors. The rooftop restaurant is dimly but pleasantly lit by paper lanterns and candles at each table. On the street below you can see a few other places that are still open with neon lights. Soft orange street lights reflect off of the street and cars a few stories below. The couple survey the seats and walk up to the counter that holds a classic wood sign reading "Please wait to be seated." A few of the tables are open, but most of the ones closer to the edges are already occupied.
"Hello, can I help you?" A well-dressed waiter asks from behind the counter.
"Er, yeah. Um... two? How long has the movie been going?" asks the young man.
"This one's almost over, there will be one more showing tonight though as soon as it is. Right this way."
They follow the waiter to the table and sit down. The movie ends and It's Been A While by Staind carries the end credits. The couple studies the menu for a minute. The waiter comes and takes their drink orders. He orders a beer which comes with a beer glass emblazoned with an elaborate "M". She gets a mixed drink. The mood is very relaxed and the couple laughs and smiles. They move up to one of the love seats when they're done eating. They laugh and joke and he reclines back, letting her lay against his chest. He puts his arm around her and strokes her arm idly.
The movie ends again and they get up to leave. He sings "It's been a while" jokingly. "...since I got drunk and passed out on the lawn." They both laugh and she punches him in the arm. He pretends to be hurt and they go up to pay their tab. The same waiter that seated them takes their cash, and tells them to have a "fantastic night." They ask to use a phone to call a cab and he complies, giving them a wireless with glowing green buttons. The man calls the cab service and gives them the address. The woman leaves his side and goes to the corridor and the elevator.
The guy continues his conversation. "Yeah, we're at McMinneman's, just two people. Okay. We'll be in the lobby. Thanks."
He walks into the corridor where the woman is waiting for the elevator. "I think I heard something... Like maybe somebody yell or something... I couldn't quite tell, it was indistinct, but it was just before the door closed so I couldn't see if everyone was alright. I hope that old lady that was sitting behind us didn't trip and break her hip or something."
"Oh come on." He said "You're imagining things. It was probably somebody having sex in the rooms below." He tries to hug her close, but she stays rigid and nervous.
"It was weird though. I'm pretty sure I heard something."
The elevator bell dings and the doors open. A young girl in a black dress is inside on the floor, a blood streak is on the wall next to her head and her hair is matted. She is very pale, and her eyes are closed. Mascara is running down her cheeks. Her neck is bruised and red from being wrung.
"Oh my god."
