Ariana was glad it was summer. The warm star filled night, and the long sunny afternoons suited her perfectly. It always seemed like summer would go on and on.
Ariana inhaled the air with her eyes closed, taking in all the scents around her. Smiling she poked her head out of the tent. There was a huge bonfire in the meadow clearing, wood smoke drifting lazily in blue clouds, rising on the slight breeze. Twilight was beginning to fall on their campsite, and Ariana was excited. It was the last night of their annual camping trip. Every year since she could remember her family had gone on a week long camping trips in the summer, high in the mountains where the air was still clear.
"Hey Dad! Is it time for s’ mores yet?" Ariana called, she was trying to slip her boots on while at the same time tying back her long hair.
"Almost honey, almost," her dad called back with a grin. "Get David. He won't want to miss what's next."
"Okay Dad," Ariana said as she finally managed to get her boots on. Pulling a sweater on she walked off toward the creek where David and her brother John were fishing. Her parents had relented and let her bring David as long as John and David shared a tent.
"Come on you two, it's almost time," Ariana called to them as she approached the river bank.
"All right!" John said, and began to reel in his line, "Let's go Dave!"
"Go where?" David asked in confusion as he began to roll in his line.
"To the fire," Ariana said, giving him a quick kiss, "trust me, you'll like this."
A few minutes later Ariana and David approached the fire, walking hand in hand and calling out greetings. David jumped back as a long column of flames erupted from the heart of the fire, shooting thirty feet into the air. Ariana laughed as his expression, "It's just gasoline in a bottle. Watch." Ariana grabbed a bottle that was capped and wrapped in duct tape. David could hear it sloshing with liquid. Ariana walked up to the fire and dropped the bottle into the middle of the flames as scooted away. Returning to David's side she took his hand and said, "now we wait."
It was about a minute later when the flames erupted from the fire again. David smiled and gave Ariana's hand a little squeeze. The others were gathering closer to the fire, all armed with long sticks and uncoiled coat hangers, tipped with marshmallows.
Ariana leaned over to David as he put a marshmallow on his hanger, "do you know what the best part of summer is?" she asked.
"What's that?" David asked.
"It feels like it can go on forever," she said.
Saturday, August 1, 2009
Never Really Warm
“Can you believe it? It’s our last Christmas as law students.” Melanie’s voice was always bright and bubbly, and Carolyn couldn’t help but smile.
She shivered and blew on her hands, phone cradled against her shoulder. “I know - time has gone so fast.”
“I know the break is going to go so fast, and --” Melanie broke off, and then Carolyn heard her squeal.
She hadn’t realized humans could hear that pitch.
“Are you all right?”
“Pierce, you are not going to believe this.”
“Believe what?” At least Melanie was all right. She’d submitted to self-defense lessons easily enough, but she’d never developed the necessary aggression to actually win a fight.
“Four Times Summer is getting back together for the annual CTV Christmas concert! I know you love them too, right?” School-girl giggles erupted on the other end of the line.
Carolyn sank down on the window seat, stared down at the snowy street. Her breath misted on the glass. “Yeah, I love their music a lot.”
“Oh, wow, this is like the best Christmas present ever. You have got to catch this on the Internet.”
“I will.” Carolyn felt her chest constrict, and suddenly it was hard to breathe. Then she heard the beep of a call waiting, and she stared down at her phone, at the international number. “Hey, I gotta go - my brother’s on the phone.”
“All right - enjoy your Christmas, and have fun with your family!” Melanie’s voice vanished.
Carolyn had never told Melanie that the only family she’d ever had was a motley crew of roadies, musicians, and government operatives. She switched lines, and then John said,
“You know what the worst part of winter is?”
“The Christmas cheer you so despise and the children who offer you candy canes?”
“Frickin’ Siberia.”
Carolyn could hear his teeth chattering. “What a lame place to be stationed.”
“Yeah, that’s real sympathetic from the girl who’s already retired.”
“Semi-retired,” Carolyn reminded him. “Else I wouldn’t be talking to you, would I?”
“Who else would you be talking to on Christmas Eve?”
He hadn’t meant it to be as cutting as it was, but Carolyn felt the blow land anyway. “As always, Mr. Ianevski, you make a fine point.”
“...I didn’t mean it like that.”
“I know.” Carolyn closed her eyes and rested her forehead against the icy glass. “You know what the worst part about winter is?”
“What?”
“How you can never really get warm.”
John’s breath hitched behind the chattering of his teeth. “It’s been three years. He’s forgotten all about you.”
“Merry Christmas to you, too.”
“I’ll be back in time for New Year’s, all right? We can go to the Officers’ Ball together.”
Carolyn had to smile at his enthusiasm. “Sure. I’ll dust off my dancing shoes.”
“All right, I have some double agents to kill.”
“Be careful.”
“I will. Merry Christmas.”
“Good night.”
She shivered and blew on her hands, phone cradled against her shoulder. “I know - time has gone so fast.”
“I know the break is going to go so fast, and --” Melanie broke off, and then Carolyn heard her squeal.
She hadn’t realized humans could hear that pitch.
“Are you all right?”
“Pierce, you are not going to believe this.”
“Believe what?” At least Melanie was all right. She’d submitted to self-defense lessons easily enough, but she’d never developed the necessary aggression to actually win a fight.
“Four Times Summer is getting back together for the annual CTV Christmas concert! I know you love them too, right?” School-girl giggles erupted on the other end of the line.
Carolyn sank down on the window seat, stared down at the snowy street. Her breath misted on the glass. “Yeah, I love their music a lot.”
“Oh, wow, this is like the best Christmas present ever. You have got to catch this on the Internet.”
“I will.” Carolyn felt her chest constrict, and suddenly it was hard to breathe. Then she heard the beep of a call waiting, and she stared down at her phone, at the international number. “Hey, I gotta go - my brother’s on the phone.”
“All right - enjoy your Christmas, and have fun with your family!” Melanie’s voice vanished.
Carolyn had never told Melanie that the only family she’d ever had was a motley crew of roadies, musicians, and government operatives. She switched lines, and then John said,
“You know what the worst part of winter is?”
“The Christmas cheer you so despise and the children who offer you candy canes?”
“Frickin’ Siberia.”
Carolyn could hear his teeth chattering. “What a lame place to be stationed.”
“Yeah, that’s real sympathetic from the girl who’s already retired.”
“Semi-retired,” Carolyn reminded him. “Else I wouldn’t be talking to you, would I?”
“Who else would you be talking to on Christmas Eve?”
He hadn’t meant it to be as cutting as it was, but Carolyn felt the blow land anyway. “As always, Mr. Ianevski, you make a fine point.”
“...I didn’t mean it like that.”
“I know.” Carolyn closed her eyes and rested her forehead against the icy glass. “You know what the worst part about winter is?”
“What?”
“How you can never really get warm.”
John’s breath hitched behind the chattering of his teeth. “It’s been three years. He’s forgotten all about you.”
“Merry Christmas to you, too.”
“I’ll be back in time for New Year’s, all right? We can go to the Officers’ Ball together.”
Carolyn had to smile at his enthusiasm. “Sure. I’ll dust off my dancing shoes.”
“All right, I have some double agents to kill.”
“Be careful.”
“I will. Merry Christmas.”
“Good night.”
Friday, July 31, 2009
Summer and Not Summer
The others had always teased Steve that there were only two seasons in Nevada. Summer and not summer. Steve found it interesting that this mirrored his life during certain periods of time. Happy, and unhappy. Happy; long days on the road, a new book, good music, and now the team. Fighting with the men that he respected and had come to call family. Unhappy; the loss of his father, his mother, his sister going away to school. The loss of his own family. With his stoic attitude, the others never knew, they never guessed, never understood. Steve was winter and summer all in one soul.
Hot and cold, summer and winter. Changing like the seasons.
(Sorry it's short. I am trying to beat my muse into submission, but it's not working...)
Hot and cold, summer and winter. Changing like the seasons.
(Sorry it's short. I am trying to beat my muse into submission, but it's not working...)
Two Autumns Ago, to the Day
Fall in Cedarville was lovely, because the leaves on the trees actually turned colors besides green and the air first thing in the morning was crisp and cool, fresh. As Carolyn crossed campus, textbooks hugged to her chest, she enjoyed the sound of dried leaves crackling beneath her feet.
Fall on the road was Sheila fretting how much the boys had grown and marching them into town to take advantage of back-to-school sales even though the four of them weren’t going back to school. Fall at the Center was five a.m. wake-ups, wading through frigid water, and then hitting the gym for PT while still only half-conscious.
Carolyn had taken advantage of orientation to form a mental map of the law school and the surrounding buildings, and before school had started she’d accessed the city planner’s archives to study actual blueprints of the halls that would be her home for the next three years. This far into her first semester, her feet knew the path to her locker by heart. Sometimes, while she was opening the blue metal door, she was thrown back in time to fall semesters previous when her locker was lined with firearms and knives. She liked the neat stack of books in her locker now, and she occasionally she found herself smiling at them for no good reason.
She had to smile about something these days.
“Hey, Pierce, you coming to the big homecoming kick-off tonight? There’s gonna be booze and fun.” Lola smiled brightly and tossed her hair.
On the other side of her, Suzy rolled her eyes. “Oh, come on. Remember that Pierce here is a super-prodigy and is barely old enough to vote, let alone drink with us.”
Lola giggled, and her sympathy was blatantly insincere. “My bad! I forgot that while the rest of us were learning how to be human beings you were memorizing back editions of the UCC.”
Carolyn shrugged.
“It’s the first official day of autumn,” she said. “I was going to make homemade cider and listen to the game on the radio.”
Suzy scoffed. “You’re so boring.”
Carolyn shrugged again. “Maybe. I have my fun.” She had every intention of listening to the game and enjoying an autumn evening. At two a.m. Four Times Summers was playing a concert in Taipei, and if she stayed up she’d be able to stream it live on her laptop. Two autumns ago, to the day, was the first time Robert Summers kissed her. She was the only one who’d be celebrating.
(428 words)
Fall on the road was Sheila fretting how much the boys had grown and marching them into town to take advantage of back-to-school sales even though the four of them weren’t going back to school. Fall at the Center was five a.m. wake-ups, wading through frigid water, and then hitting the gym for PT while still only half-conscious.
Carolyn had taken advantage of orientation to form a mental map of the law school and the surrounding buildings, and before school had started she’d accessed the city planner’s archives to study actual blueprints of the halls that would be her home for the next three years. This far into her first semester, her feet knew the path to her locker by heart. Sometimes, while she was opening the blue metal door, she was thrown back in time to fall semesters previous when her locker was lined with firearms and knives. She liked the neat stack of books in her locker now, and she occasionally she found herself smiling at them for no good reason.
She had to smile about something these days.
“Hey, Pierce, you coming to the big homecoming kick-off tonight? There’s gonna be booze and fun.” Lola smiled brightly and tossed her hair.
On the other side of her, Suzy rolled her eyes. “Oh, come on. Remember that Pierce here is a super-prodigy and is barely old enough to vote, let alone drink with us.”
Lola giggled, and her sympathy was blatantly insincere. “My bad! I forgot that while the rest of us were learning how to be human beings you were memorizing back editions of the UCC.”
Carolyn shrugged.
“It’s the first official day of autumn,” she said. “I was going to make homemade cider and listen to the game on the radio.”
Suzy scoffed. “You’re so boring.”
Carolyn shrugged again. “Maybe. I have my fun.” She had every intention of listening to the game and enjoying an autumn evening. At two a.m. Four Times Summers was playing a concert in Taipei, and if she stayed up she’d be able to stream it live on her laptop. Two autumns ago, to the day, was the first time Robert Summers kissed her. She was the only one who’d be celebrating.
(428 words)
Thursday, July 30, 2009
Remembering Summer
Bob wasn’t quite sure why he was sitting on a beach, alone, in Thailand, in the middle of summer, other than the fact that Thailand was a country where he was pretty much guaranteed to never hear the name Carolyn again.
The last time he’d been on a beach in summer was...in Hawaii. With his brothers. Surfing during the day and staying up all night writing songs and laying down tracks.
Bob lifted the bottle of amaretto to his lips and discovered that it was half empty. He blinked but sipped some anyway, enjoyed the slow burn. He’d been the last one to take up alcohol once he and the other two had been old enough to drink, and he’d never liked the way Scott came home rip-roaring drunk, but...he understood the draw of the drink, at least.
Bob leaned back against the trunk of the palm tree and watched the white-capped waves beat a steady rhythm against the sand. He was one Moleskine notebook, shotgun, and rainstorm away from being Hemingway.
Despite the breeze, the air was still warm, so Bob shrugged out of his jacket and settled back against the tree. Halfway around the world, Clay was spending his summer on the beach, too. Bob hoped he was having fun.
Bob remembered warm summer nights in the basement in Victoria with his brothers, the four of them crammed into one bed and staring longingly out the window at the lightning bugs they were never allowed to go catch. Scott always gave in first, slid over Clay’s legs and knelt up on Dan’s ribs to open the window and hoist it open, climb out.
Summer nights on the road were a combination of exhaustion and the comforting rhythm of the blacktop rolling beneath the van. One summer night was all three triplets pawing Scott awake and demanding to crawl into bed with him so Dan could get all cried out before Dad pulled back the curtain and sat down to tell them that they wouldn’t be living with Mom anymore. Summer nights on the road were lying awake hoping Carolyn came tapping at his hotel room window and knowing that she’d completed her mission and was off to live her real life.
Summer nights were lying awake on a beach in a foreign country while a group of college kids partied heartily beside a bonfire and he lingered in the shadows.
“Hey there, handsome, should you be drinking alone?”
Bob opened his eyes. One of the college girls stood over him, weaving drunkenly.
“Probably not, but I am.”
“Mind if I join you?”
“I don’t own this beach.”
She knelt down beside him. “Hi. My name’s Carolyn.”
Bob closed his eyes, took a long pull from the bottle. “Of course it is.”
(471 words)
The last time he’d been on a beach in summer was...in Hawaii. With his brothers. Surfing during the day and staying up all night writing songs and laying down tracks.
Bob lifted the bottle of amaretto to his lips and discovered that it was half empty. He blinked but sipped some anyway, enjoyed the slow burn. He’d been the last one to take up alcohol once he and the other two had been old enough to drink, and he’d never liked the way Scott came home rip-roaring drunk, but...he understood the draw of the drink, at least.
Bob leaned back against the trunk of the palm tree and watched the white-capped waves beat a steady rhythm against the sand. He was one Moleskine notebook, shotgun, and rainstorm away from being Hemingway.
Despite the breeze, the air was still warm, so Bob shrugged out of his jacket and settled back against the tree. Halfway around the world, Clay was spending his summer on the beach, too. Bob hoped he was having fun.
Bob remembered warm summer nights in the basement in Victoria with his brothers, the four of them crammed into one bed and staring longingly out the window at the lightning bugs they were never allowed to go catch. Scott always gave in first, slid over Clay’s legs and knelt up on Dan’s ribs to open the window and hoist it open, climb out.
Summer nights on the road were a combination of exhaustion and the comforting rhythm of the blacktop rolling beneath the van. One summer night was all three triplets pawing Scott awake and demanding to crawl into bed with him so Dan could get all cried out before Dad pulled back the curtain and sat down to tell them that they wouldn’t be living with Mom anymore. Summer nights on the road were lying awake hoping Carolyn came tapping at his hotel room window and knowing that she’d completed her mission and was off to live her real life.
Summer nights were lying awake on a beach in a foreign country while a group of college kids partied heartily beside a bonfire and he lingered in the shadows.
“Hey there, handsome, should you be drinking alone?”
Bob opened his eyes. One of the college girls stood over him, weaving drunkenly.
“Probably not, but I am.”
“Mind if I join you?”
“I don’t own this beach.”
She knelt down beside him. “Hi. My name’s Carolyn.”
Bob closed his eyes, took a long pull from the bottle. “Of course it is.”
(471 words)
Wednesday, July 29, 2009
Winter in the Soul
Winters in Seattle could be harsh. Bitter winds from the north seem to pierce the body; leaving the very marrow of the bones frozen. Warm breaths puff in front of the people who brave the city streets, looking for Christmas bargains. The enticing aroma of warm hot chocolate and coffee drift from a half dozen shops on the street, beckoning cold and weary shoppers.
David didn't feel the cold. He couldn't remember the cool of spring, the heat of summer; and least of all, the seasons changing from one to the next. Autumn had passed in a hazy orange blur; and summer had been the same, only in shades of green. Nothing much registered anymore. David mechanically put food in his mouth when his body demanded it, slept when he could hardly keep from collapsing, and thought as little as possible. Thinking brought pain.
Winter is a time of hibernation, of dormancy. I think the natural world has it right. Winter is for not thinking. Just survival.
David did not realize when he stopped in the middle of the sidewalk; didn't see people shoot him dirty looks before scooting around him. David wore only a thin jacket to ward off the biting wind, and knew in the back of his mind that he was cold; probably close to hypothermia, but he couldn't muster up enough self preservation to care. I should just let the winter take me. I've heard that freezing to death is not so terrible a way to go. You just fall asleep, and that is that. No more pain, no more thought, no more memories.
"Why young man, you look chilled to the bone," a voice said from beside him.
David summoned up just enough curiosity to look around. The voice belonged to an older woman. David thought she was what a grandmother should look like; a bright smile, powdery white hair.
"Aren't you cold?" she asked, looking him up and down through dark eyes.
David shrugged, his thin shoulders rising and falling without any emotion to the gesture.
The woman pursed her lips in dissatisfaction. "Young people these days, no common sense, no thought for taking care of themselves," she muttered, peering into David's face, and drew in a sharp breath when David finally met her eye.
"Come with me boy," She ordered, taking him by the hand. David allowed himself to be lead away; he didn't care where he went, so going with her was no big deal. He let her guide him into one of the shops, let her order him something warm to drink, and let her rub and chaff feeling back into his hands and arms. David's cup rattled against the saucer as his body began to thaw out, a staccato rhythm that echoed his chattering teeth.
"Boy, you have winter in your soul," the woman said gravely, looking him up and down, 'I can see it in your eyes. You've stopped caring, and it will kill you if you let it."
"You're right, I don't care anymore," David's response was choppy from the spastic jerking of his body, responding at last to the warmth of the room.
"Well you should care. I am sure there are people who care for you," she said.
"Not the one that matters. She's gone. She can't come back. And anyway, why should you care?" David said.
"Does a person need a reason to care about another? I want to help you. Help your heart to heal and spring to come again," she said, looking him in the eye.
David blinked and looked away, sipping at his cup of hot chocolate. "You can try," He said finally.
The woman smiled, "My name is Mae."
"David."
David didn't feel the cold. He couldn't remember the cool of spring, the heat of summer; and least of all, the seasons changing from one to the next. Autumn had passed in a hazy orange blur; and summer had been the same, only in shades of green. Nothing much registered anymore. David mechanically put food in his mouth when his body demanded it, slept when he could hardly keep from collapsing, and thought as little as possible. Thinking brought pain.
Winter is a time of hibernation, of dormancy. I think the natural world has it right. Winter is for not thinking. Just survival.
David did not realize when he stopped in the middle of the sidewalk; didn't see people shoot him dirty looks before scooting around him. David wore only a thin jacket to ward off the biting wind, and knew in the back of his mind that he was cold; probably close to hypothermia, but he couldn't muster up enough self preservation to care. I should just let the winter take me. I've heard that freezing to death is not so terrible a way to go. You just fall asleep, and that is that. No more pain, no more thought, no more memories.
"Why young man, you look chilled to the bone," a voice said from beside him.
David summoned up just enough curiosity to look around. The voice belonged to an older woman. David thought she was what a grandmother should look like; a bright smile, powdery white hair.
"Aren't you cold?" she asked, looking him up and down through dark eyes.
David shrugged, his thin shoulders rising and falling without any emotion to the gesture.
The woman pursed her lips in dissatisfaction. "Young people these days, no common sense, no thought for taking care of themselves," she muttered, peering into David's face, and drew in a sharp breath when David finally met her eye.
"Come with me boy," She ordered, taking him by the hand. David allowed himself to be lead away; he didn't care where he went, so going with her was no big deal. He let her guide him into one of the shops, let her order him something warm to drink, and let her rub and chaff feeling back into his hands and arms. David's cup rattled against the saucer as his body began to thaw out, a staccato rhythm that echoed his chattering teeth.
"Boy, you have winter in your soul," the woman said gravely, looking him up and down, 'I can see it in your eyes. You've stopped caring, and it will kill you if you let it."
"You're right, I don't care anymore," David's response was choppy from the spastic jerking of his body, responding at last to the warmth of the room.
"Well you should care. I am sure there are people who care for you," she said.
"Not the one that matters. She's gone. She can't come back. And anyway, why should you care?" David said.
"Does a person need a reason to care about another? I want to help you. Help your heart to heal and spring to come again," she said, looking him in the eye.
David blinked and looked away, sipping at his cup of hot chocolate. "You can try," He said finally.
The woman smiled, "My name is Mae."
"David."
Summer of 2005
Joe stepped out of the cool, dim building and into the bright oven that waited beyond the tinted doors. Joe glared up at the sun, irritated by the heat that was radiating both from the celestial body, and from the pavement beneath his feet, rising in shimmering waves. Joe wore the least amount of clothes that was acceptable in the world of the military. Joe slid a pair of sunglasses on and crossed the parking lot to his car, switching on the cooler to full blast as soon as he was settled. He growled under his breath, waiting for the first icy fingers to tickle the sweat rolling down his neck.
Joe hated Summer. The long hot days and muggy, bug filled nights. Hated Summer for the memories. Alec had died during the Summer of '89. Joe had spent that Summer in a daze, mindlessly walking from place to place, no brother for company; he felt hollow, incomplete without him. He caught himself turning to ask Alec a question, only to realize that he wasn't there, and never would be again.
Joe was glad that he was finally off base, he had put in for two weeks leave, and since there appeared to be no pending minor wars that his team would inevitably be shipped off to, his request was granted. Joe slipped an old CD from the visor above his head; it was faded and had many scratches. Joe slid it into the player and cranked up the volume. Music blasted into the cabin of his car, numbing his body from the vibrations, and numbing his mind, from the sheer volume. It was a CD that he and Alec had listened to, the only one he had kept.
Joe pulled onto the interstate after a brief stop at his apartment to pick up his bag, he was headed to Montana for two weeks. A place to relax, remember, and make peace with himself once again. He was heading home.
Joe hated Summer. The long hot days and muggy, bug filled nights. Hated Summer for the memories. Alec had died during the Summer of '89. Joe had spent that Summer in a daze, mindlessly walking from place to place, no brother for company; he felt hollow, incomplete without him. He caught himself turning to ask Alec a question, only to realize that he wasn't there, and never would be again.
Joe was glad that he was finally off base, he had put in for two weeks leave, and since there appeared to be no pending minor wars that his team would inevitably be shipped off to, his request was granted. Joe slipped an old CD from the visor above his head; it was faded and had many scratches. Joe slid it into the player and cranked up the volume. Music blasted into the cabin of his car, numbing his body from the vibrations, and numbing his mind, from the sheer volume. It was a CD that he and Alec had listened to, the only one he had kept.
Joe pulled onto the interstate after a brief stop at his apartment to pick up his bag, he was headed to Montana for two weeks. A place to relax, remember, and make peace with himself once again. He was heading home.
Summer Brothers
Being off road in the summer wasn't what Clay remembered, but then the last time they'd been off road in the summer he'd been – what, ten years old? And even then, they'd been in Tennessee. None of the boys had been old enough to drive the last time they were in California, so Clay really didn't know his way around. Clay was pretty sure that no one was going to recognize him since this was America, and on the off-chance someone might, it’d be difficult, given that Clay didn’t have any of his brothers with him. He didn't want to feed a cliché, but he and Bob were twins, and despite Dan being a fraternal triplet, he and Bob were Clay-and-Bob, and Clay felt a little…hollow and exposed without his other half.
That was probably how he ended up sitting alone on the edge of the sand at Venice Beach, doing his best to ignore the bikini-clad girls who zoomed by on rollerblades and the muscle-bound oafs pumping iron beneath the sun. Clay had a beat-up old guitar across his knees and was trying to figure out the chords to some of the songs he used to sing with his brothers. Music was comfortable, familiar, and if he closed his eyes while he sang, he could pretend Bob was with him.
The sun on his face was warm, tingled on his skin, and he wondered idly if he’d end up with a tan. He remembered surfing in Hawaii with his brothers while they laid down tracks for their final album, and suddenly he itched to go into the water. Summer was about laughing and dunking Dan off his board, teasing Scott while he tried to flirt with hula dancers at bonfires on the beach in the evenings, daring Bob to shin up a palm tree and bring down coconuts.
Summer was brothers.
Clay opened his eyes and fished his cell phone out of his pocket. Then he dialed.
“Hello?” Bob sounded sleepy.
“Hey, Bobby.”
“What’s up, man, are you all right?”
“Yeah. Just...wanna help me write a song?”
He could practically hear Bob’s smile. “Yeah, yeah. I’d love to.”
Summer was sitting on the beach in a circle, Bob tapping rhythms on his knees, Dan keeping the harmony, while Clay and Scott squabbled over the guitar hook.
It’s just another phase that I’ll go through. This time I’m sure I’ll lose you.
(410 words - lyrics a blatant snatch from "Submodalities")
That was probably how he ended up sitting alone on the edge of the sand at Venice Beach, doing his best to ignore the bikini-clad girls who zoomed by on rollerblades and the muscle-bound oafs pumping iron beneath the sun. Clay had a beat-up old guitar across his knees and was trying to figure out the chords to some of the songs he used to sing with his brothers. Music was comfortable, familiar, and if he closed his eyes while he sang, he could pretend Bob was with him.
The sun on his face was warm, tingled on his skin, and he wondered idly if he’d end up with a tan. He remembered surfing in Hawaii with his brothers while they laid down tracks for their final album, and suddenly he itched to go into the water. Summer was about laughing and dunking Dan off his board, teasing Scott while he tried to flirt with hula dancers at bonfires on the beach in the evenings, daring Bob to shin up a palm tree and bring down coconuts.
Summer was brothers.
Clay opened his eyes and fished his cell phone out of his pocket. Then he dialed.
“Hello?” Bob sounded sleepy.
“Hey, Bobby.”
“What’s up, man, are you all right?”
“Yeah. Just...wanna help me write a song?”
He could practically hear Bob’s smile. “Yeah, yeah. I’d love to.”
Summer was sitting on the beach in a circle, Bob tapping rhythms on his knees, Dan keeping the harmony, while Clay and Scott squabbled over the guitar hook.
It’s just another phase that I’ll go through. This time I’m sure I’ll lose you.
(410 words - lyrics a blatant snatch from "Submodalities")
Tuesday, July 28, 2009
Autumn Pleasures
Mark zipped up his jacket against the chill air as he stepped outside the apartment he shared with his twin. The air smelled crisp, as if you could bite into it like a perfectly ripe apple. There was a clean quality to the light, as if undiffused by any atmosphere. The leaves on the old maple in the yard were turning red, and others along the street were various shades of orange and yellow. At the end of the block, the street dead-ended into a corn field, half of the stalks still stood tall, burdened with the heavy ears, the other half of the field was stubble, large machined rumbling up and down the rows, sheering off the corn at the base.
Mark whistled random tunes as he walked down the street, heading toward the military base. It was a good five miles away, but he didn't mind. Autumn was the perfect time of year, and he was going to enjoy every second he could.
Mark whistled random tunes as he walked down the street, heading toward the military base. It was a good five miles away, but he didn't mind. Autumn was the perfect time of year, and he was going to enjoy every second he could.
Springtime in Calgary
Springtime in Calgary was sharply cold first thing in the morning, and Dan could see puffs of his own breath in the air as he jogged down the icy sidewalk. The snow melted periodically, and then refroze into its own deathtrap, the last vestiges of winter clinging to the ankles of humanity and trying to throw people into the gutter.
Dan tilted his head up as he jogged and smiled when he saw new small green leaves slowly uncurling on the boughs overhead. He couldn’t wait until the blossoms arrived, because then he could pause by the wayside and gather wildflowers to take home to Joey. Joey, who was still asleep, curled around Dan’s pillow and snoring like a freight train.
These days Dan liked to get up early and run, get his homework done before he headed down to the police station for his shift as morning dispatcher. Joey preferred the laziness of summer, but somehow Dan had grown into the chipperness of spring, and besides, this spring meant spring semester, his final one before he was a proud purveyor of a criminal justice degree and could apply at the police academy.
Dan hummed along to the tune of a bird’s song, automatically kicking his voice into a harmony as he headed toward the end of the block. Scott, drunk off his rocker, had laughed himself senseless when Dan called to tell him of his master plan to become a police officer, to protect and serve, but Bob, winter-pale and frail in his hospital bed had been smiling and supportive of, well, everything.
Dan paused at the corner to wait for the light to change and tipped his head back, felt the first real warmth of the spring sun on his face. He liked spring because everything was new, and this year, he was going to be a new man. On campus, no one looked twice at him anymore, and in his spiffy dispatcher’s uniform no one thought he might be the keyboard player from Four Times Summer. He was just Dan Summers, student and part-time dispatcher, and he loved it.
(354 words - I've actually never been to Calgary and have no idea what it's like in spring, but in my head, Canada is abominably cold compared to where I've lived in the States)
Dan tilted his head up as he jogged and smiled when he saw new small green leaves slowly uncurling on the boughs overhead. He couldn’t wait until the blossoms arrived, because then he could pause by the wayside and gather wildflowers to take home to Joey. Joey, who was still asleep, curled around Dan’s pillow and snoring like a freight train.
These days Dan liked to get up early and run, get his homework done before he headed down to the police station for his shift as morning dispatcher. Joey preferred the laziness of summer, but somehow Dan had grown into the chipperness of spring, and besides, this spring meant spring semester, his final one before he was a proud purveyor of a criminal justice degree and could apply at the police academy.
Dan hummed along to the tune of a bird’s song, automatically kicking his voice into a harmony as he headed toward the end of the block. Scott, drunk off his rocker, had laughed himself senseless when Dan called to tell him of his master plan to become a police officer, to protect and serve, but Bob, winter-pale and frail in his hospital bed had been smiling and supportive of, well, everything.
Dan paused at the corner to wait for the light to change and tipped his head back, felt the first real warmth of the spring sun on his face. He liked spring because everything was new, and this year, he was going to be a new man. On campus, no one looked twice at him anymore, and in his spiffy dispatcher’s uniform no one thought he might be the keyboard player from Four Times Summer. He was just Dan Summers, student and part-time dispatcher, and he loved it.
(354 words - I've actually never been to Calgary and have no idea what it's like in spring, but in my head, Canada is abominably cold compared to where I've lived in the States)
Monday, July 27, 2009
Spring Run
Bryan like spring the best. All through the Winter he always felt lethargic. He knew it was jut in his mind, but when the days started getting longer, he couldn't help feeling lighter, more active.
Bryan stepped outside, it was early morning, a chill nip in the air lingering until the sun came fully over the horizon. Yawning, he rubbed his arms briskly, and started stretching. Left, right, forward, he limbered up his limbs, shaking the fatigue from his body. Popping his neck and swinging his arms in front of him, Bryan began to jog down the street, setting a steady pace, breathing slow and constant, heart pumping out a regular rhythm.
Bryan's shoes echoed softly, the quiet thump-thump-thump of his pace almost drowned out by the call of the morning birds, the gentle warming breeze rustling the trees.
The air was saturated with the smell of tulips and other spring time flowers as Bryan slowed, cresting a hill. Looking down into a softly sloping valley Bryan could see the new growth on the trees, it was one of his favorite spots.
Bryan walked slowly down the hill, enjoying everything and welcoming life back to the world.
Bryan stepped outside, it was early morning, a chill nip in the air lingering until the sun came fully over the horizon. Yawning, he rubbed his arms briskly, and started stretching. Left, right, forward, he limbered up his limbs, shaking the fatigue from his body. Popping his neck and swinging his arms in front of him, Bryan began to jog down the street, setting a steady pace, breathing slow and constant, heart pumping out a regular rhythm.
Bryan's shoes echoed softly, the quiet thump-thump-thump of his pace almost drowned out by the call of the morning birds, the gentle warming breeze rustling the trees.
The air was saturated with the smell of tulips and other spring time flowers as Bryan slowed, cresting a hill. Looking down into a softly sloping valley Bryan could see the new growth on the trees, it was one of his favorite spots.
Bryan walked slowly down the hill, enjoying everything and welcoming life back to the world.
Winterscape
It hadn’t been an easy decision to call it quits. Scott could still see Dan’s broken-hearted expression whenever he closed his eyes, but it had to be done. Dad still wasn’t talking to Dan, and Clay was helping Dan sneak his stuff out in the middle of the night so Dan could move in with Joey.
The answer was to escape. Escape long and hard. White Horse was the obvious answer, an endless winterscape where he could hide from the sun. Scott moved out just after Christmas - which hadn’t been much of a Christmas, with Bob in the hospital and half of the family not talking to each other.
Scott couldn’t remember White Horse at all, just knew that he’d been born there. He had a plan, and it was a solid one, and it involved being as drunk as possible for as long as possible. A season - he’d give himself one season, and then it would be done.
The house was small and ramshackle and in desperate need of fixing up, but Scott didn’t care. He had a week’s worth of clothes and a lumpy old mattress and his guitar, and he surfaced one day a week to do laundry and clean while he was hung over. Sometimes there were girls, sometimes the girls were just in his dreams.
He woke up half-frozen on the porch more than a couple of times, tear-tracks frozen on his skin and his vodka pleasantly icy.
After the first month he started finding scraps of paper and bottle labels with lyrics and chords scribbled on them, songs he didn’t remember but that resonated pleasantly in the back of his skull when he tried them out.
By the second month he was sober during what few daylight hours glinted off the pale snow, writing feverishly. He cobbled together an old laptop and some recording equipment. A message posted on a board online netted him sound samples and random instruments, but he still spent his moonlight hours wasted, in the arms of the green fairy.
By the end of the third month, the days were getting longer, and his hangovers were jump-started by the cheerful chirping of a bird.
His season was up.
The answer was to escape. Escape long and hard. White Horse was the obvious answer, an endless winterscape where he could hide from the sun. Scott moved out just after Christmas - which hadn’t been much of a Christmas, with Bob in the hospital and half of the family not talking to each other.
Scott couldn’t remember White Horse at all, just knew that he’d been born there. He had a plan, and it was a solid one, and it involved being as drunk as possible for as long as possible. A season - he’d give himself one season, and then it would be done.
The house was small and ramshackle and in desperate need of fixing up, but Scott didn’t care. He had a week’s worth of clothes and a lumpy old mattress and his guitar, and he surfaced one day a week to do laundry and clean while he was hung over. Sometimes there were girls, sometimes the girls were just in his dreams.
He woke up half-frozen on the porch more than a couple of times, tear-tracks frozen on his skin and his vodka pleasantly icy.
After the first month he started finding scraps of paper and bottle labels with lyrics and chords scribbled on them, songs he didn’t remember but that resonated pleasantly in the back of his skull when he tried them out.
By the second month he was sober during what few daylight hours glinted off the pale snow, writing feverishly. He cobbled together an old laptop and some recording equipment. A message posted on a board online netted him sound samples and random instruments, but he still spent his moonlight hours wasted, in the arms of the green fairy.
By the end of the third month, the days were getting longer, and his hangovers were jump-started by the cheerful chirping of a bird.
His season was up.
Sunday, July 26, 2009
Overview #36: On Death and Dying
This challenge was fun. And I'll admit - it was also sort of an excuse to work a decent plot-line on Bob. There were honestly a couple of different ways I could go with this, since I could've gone for grieving Carolyn, but I didn't think a break-up really warranted the stages of grief. I wasn't sure that, given how shiny and treatable leukemia is these days, Bob's situation really warranted all the stages of grief, but I also remember being a teenager and blowing things out of proportion, and also, treatable or not, there are no guarantees with something like cancer. Also, I needed a good reason for Bob to put Carolyn on the back burner despite how much he loves her.
Still, it was interesting, focusing on a specific emotion and doing what I could with it, and it gave me a chance to explore characters further, and not just Bob's.
Still, it was interesting, focusing on a specific emotion and doing what I could with it, and it gave me a chance to explore characters further, and not just Bob's.
Project # 37: Changing of the Seasons
Take your characters through a change of seasons. It could be that Bob has always loved winter because he can cuddle with Carolyn more, or Scott likes summer because he can go about without a shirt on. You can use this to represent a change in the character themselves, the changing of one season to the next. It could be simply an observed process, or maybe one of your characters has spring allergies.
Have fun.
Have fun.
Overview #36: On Death and Dying
Okay. I did get them all written this week. Most of them were weak, but I got my word count in. I figured that Joe needed some love. he kinds gets left out a lot. But when I do use him, he gets abused.
I did like Nagi's suggestion of him turning warrior to priest even though this bit takes place long before he joins the military.
I think I found it tougher to write some of the stages of grief, because I don't grieve myself in that manner. But it was a good exercise in that I had to deal with a character that would pass through those stages.
I did like Nagi's suggestion of him turning warrior to priest even though this bit takes place long before he joins the military.
I think I found it tougher to write some of the stages of grief, because I don't grieve myself in that manner. But it was a good exercise in that I had to deal with a character that would pass through those stages.
Goodbyes
"You know Alec, we always had such a great time together. I wish it could have gone on forever," Joe leaned over the edge of his brothers bed, holding his hand. "I'm not sure what I'll do without you Superman. I guess now is the time to find out. I don't know if you are still here, if you can here or understand what I am saying to you; but I don't want you chained to a body that would be dead without these machines. I guess it's time to let you go. Time to stand on my own two feet. Will you be with me Alec? Will you look after me in whatever form you are in now?" Joe ignored the people who were coming in and out of the room.
Joe stood up eventually, he had said all he needed to, given his last goodbye. He could feel Jen somewhere in the room, but ignored her as well. Joe turned one last time at the door, taking in his brother, remembering him as he really was, not swathed in medical equipment, but the free, laughing, smiling youth. The boy-man with the bright green eyes, and dark hair. The one riding down the street on his motorcycle, the one doing magic tricks, the one teaching Joe to fight.
"I love you Alec."
Joe stood up eventually, he had said all he needed to, given his last goodbye. He could feel Jen somewhere in the room, but ignored her as well. Joe turned one last time at the door, taking in his brother, remembering him as he really was, not swathed in medical equipment, but the free, laughing, smiling youth. The boy-man with the bright green eyes, and dark hair. The one riding down the street on his motorcycle, the one doing magic tricks, the one teaching Joe to fight.
"I love you Alec."
460,000
"Joseph?" came the hesitant voice of Jen from the doorway.
"Go away," Joe said. He sounded tired, miserable.
"Joe, is there anything I can do for you?" Jen asked, edging into the room. Joe was defiantly calmer than he was before.
"Not unless you can wake him up. Not unless you can undo what has been done," Joe said, not bothering to look up. He felt rather than saw her shake her head.
Joe drew in a shuddering breath, "I guess it doesn't really matter. I guess in my heart of hearts, I knew it could never last. Alec was the best brother anyone could have asked for. And he is slipping away. Nothing I can do could bring him back, so why bother. I am sure you have other patients to see to, other people you can help. It makes no sense for you to waste your time on us," Joe finished quietly. He leaned back in his chair, rubbing his eyes.
He felt Jen still hovering in the door. Watching him. "You know, I have counted four hundred and sixty thousand breaths that that machine has pumped into his body. Nothing helps. I have seen those fluid bags changed fifty times. Nothing helps," Joe said.
"Nothing."
"Go away," Joe said. He sounded tired, miserable.
"Joe, is there anything I can do for you?" Jen asked, edging into the room. Joe was defiantly calmer than he was before.
"Not unless you can wake him up. Not unless you can undo what has been done," Joe said, not bothering to look up. He felt rather than saw her shake her head.
Joe drew in a shuddering breath, "I guess it doesn't really matter. I guess in my heart of hearts, I knew it could never last. Alec was the best brother anyone could have asked for. And he is slipping away. Nothing I can do could bring him back, so why bother. I am sure you have other patients to see to, other people you can help. It makes no sense for you to waste your time on us," Joe finished quietly. He leaned back in his chair, rubbing his eyes.
He felt Jen still hovering in the door. Watching him. "You know, I have counted four hundred and sixty thousand breaths that that machine has pumped into his body. Nothing helps. I have seen those fluid bags changed fifty times. Nothing helps," Joe said.
"Nothing."
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