Steve checked over his equipment meticulously as the large aircraft rose into the bright blue sky. He hummed to himself, the sound indecipherable beneath the roar of the engines, as he strapped his pack into place. Steve snapped the harness into place and tugged on the straps to tighten it in place.
He glanced at his watch, reaffirming the time and took a deep breath as he stepped to the bay door. The wind snatched at his clothes, ghostly fingers plucking at his jumpsuit, as he stood on the thin metal surface beneath him.
Steve felt his watch vibrate. He slid his goggles into place and his eyes slid closed as he stepped out into nothing.
Steve knew by instinct when he should open his eyes to watch the ground approaching. He felt a release inside him that only a free fall could give him. A sense of absolute freedom even as he felt the ground rushing towards him.
Steve opened his eyes and positioned his body. He pulled on the rip chord that would activate his chute and slow his decent. Steve idly watched the ground drift towards him, bracing himself for touchdown. He pulled on the chords that would flair his chute and he met the ground as gently as if a feather was falling.
Saturday, September 12, 2009
Friday, September 11, 2009
Mothers and Daughters
“Hold still, Robert,” Dinah said.
Bob sighed but obediently stopped squirming. “Mom, I wanna go play catch with Scotty and Clay.”
“You promised.” Dinah separated the lock of hair into three sections and set about braiding it carefully.
“I’m gonna look like a girl,” Bob said.
Dinah dropped a section, and the entire braid unraveled. She had to bite back a curse. “Come on, sweetie. I don’t have any daughters whose hair I can play with, and you have such long hair...”
“I could cut my hair and look like Clay.” Bob drummed a fast roll on his knees, impatient.
“You want to rob your mama of some innocent fun?” Dinah cooed.
“Mom...”
Carolyn poked her head into the bus. “Hi, Mrs. Summers. Robbie - Scotty and Danny want a third baseman.”
Bob perked up, and Dinah lost control of his hair again. “We have enough for a full game?”
“Yeah. Our team is fielding.”
Bob wriggled free of his mother’s grip and turned. “Can’t I go play, Mama? Please?”
Dinah sighed and threw her hands up. “Go on, child.”
Bob pecked a kiss on her check and darted past Carolyn, off of the bus. Dinah stared at her hands for a moment, then said,
“You don’t have any dolls do you, Carolyn?”
It was a fruitless question. Dinah didn’t spend nearly as much time on the road with her sons as she’d like, but she’d been with them long enough to know that the boys thought of Carolyn as the fifth brother they’d always wanted.
Carolyn blinked at her, then said, “If you want, you can braid my hair. Can you do French braids?”
Dinah shook her head. “Never learned. Never had daughters.”
Carolyn climbed into the bus and sat down at Dinah’s feet. She tugged her hair out of its messy ponytail and reached up, parted her hair neatly down the middle. “It looks good with pigtails if you do it like this.”
Dinah watched, intrigued, and Carolyn tied up her own hair. “Where’d you learn how to do this, honey?”
Carolyn cast a cryptic smile over her shoulder. “You don’t think John braids hair, do you?”
That made Dinah laugh. “You got a point there, sugar. So, show me how to do that.”
Carolyn turned around. “Start up near my hair-line. Tell me to tip my head back if you need to. Separate it into three sections like an ordinary braid.”
Dinah nodded. “All right. Let me get a comb, though. I should comb your hair.”
“Good idea. It feels nice when someone combs my hair.” Carolyn settled back against Dinah’s knees, and Dinah felt something in her chest tighten. Every now and again, she forgot that Carolyn had no mother.
“Here, child. I’ve got a comb.”
(460 words)
Bob sighed but obediently stopped squirming. “Mom, I wanna go play catch with Scotty and Clay.”
“You promised.” Dinah separated the lock of hair into three sections and set about braiding it carefully.
“I’m gonna look like a girl,” Bob said.
Dinah dropped a section, and the entire braid unraveled. She had to bite back a curse. “Come on, sweetie. I don’t have any daughters whose hair I can play with, and you have such long hair...”
“I could cut my hair and look like Clay.” Bob drummed a fast roll on his knees, impatient.
“You want to rob your mama of some innocent fun?” Dinah cooed.
“Mom...”
Carolyn poked her head into the bus. “Hi, Mrs. Summers. Robbie - Scotty and Danny want a third baseman.”
Bob perked up, and Dinah lost control of his hair again. “We have enough for a full game?”
“Yeah. Our team is fielding.”
Bob wriggled free of his mother’s grip and turned. “Can’t I go play, Mama? Please?”
Dinah sighed and threw her hands up. “Go on, child.”
Bob pecked a kiss on her check and darted past Carolyn, off of the bus. Dinah stared at her hands for a moment, then said,
“You don’t have any dolls do you, Carolyn?”
It was a fruitless question. Dinah didn’t spend nearly as much time on the road with her sons as she’d like, but she’d been with them long enough to know that the boys thought of Carolyn as the fifth brother they’d always wanted.
Carolyn blinked at her, then said, “If you want, you can braid my hair. Can you do French braids?”
Dinah shook her head. “Never learned. Never had daughters.”
Carolyn climbed into the bus and sat down at Dinah’s feet. She tugged her hair out of its messy ponytail and reached up, parted her hair neatly down the middle. “It looks good with pigtails if you do it like this.”
Dinah watched, intrigued, and Carolyn tied up her own hair. “Where’d you learn how to do this, honey?”
Carolyn cast a cryptic smile over her shoulder. “You don’t think John braids hair, do you?”
That made Dinah laugh. “You got a point there, sugar. So, show me how to do that.”
Carolyn turned around. “Start up near my hair-line. Tell me to tip my head back if you need to. Separate it into three sections like an ordinary braid.”
Dinah nodded. “All right. Let me get a comb, though. I should comb your hair.”
“Good idea. It feels nice when someone combs my hair.” Carolyn settled back against Dinah’s knees, and Dinah felt something in her chest tighten. Every now and again, she forgot that Carolyn had no mother.
“Here, child. I’ve got a comb.”
(460 words)
Thursday, September 10, 2009
Stars
Ariana adjusted the eyepiece, bringing the fuzzy stars into focus and again gazed through the telescope. She glanced briefly down at her notebook, which glowed faintly in the dim red light that she had brought with her, to quickly jot down a bit of information and returned to her observation of the Orion Nebula. She had always found it fascinating how nebula could form, how they were each unique and absolutely breathtaking.
Ariana jumped, disturbing the telescopes angle when she felt a pair of lips on her neck.
"David," she said in exasperation.
"What," he asked innocently.
"Can't you wait until I'm done?" she asked as she kissed him briefly.
"Only if you let me see too," he countered as he pressed another kiss just under her ear.
"Okay," she said and began to readjust the telescope. After a moment or two she said, "you know, I really can't concentrate when you do that." She licked her lips as David continued to drop feather light kisses all along her neck and shoulder. She could feel him smiling against her tingling skin.
"That's sort of the idea," he laughed.
Ariana playfully pushed him away, "back up, I really need to finish this and then we can play."
"But,"
"No buts David. Now back up," she said.
David grinned, "yes ma'am." He scooted far enough away that he couldn't kiss her easily, but he could still reach her.
Ariana jotted down a few more notes and then looked up at David. "Okay, now you can look," she said.
David's smile broadened as he scooted closer and peered through the telescope, bringing the nebula into focus.
"Isn't it beautiful?" Ariana asked.
David looked up at her, "not as beautiful as you," he said.
Ariana blushed and ducked her head. She felt David finger under her chin and brought up her head.
"I mean that," David said as he leaned in, brushing a gentle kiss over her lips. He was slightly surprised when Ariana responded by wrapping her arms around him and drawing him closer. All thoughts of the stars were forgotten at that point.
Ariana jumped, disturbing the telescopes angle when she felt a pair of lips on her neck.
"David," she said in exasperation.
"What," he asked innocently.
"Can't you wait until I'm done?" she asked as she kissed him briefly.
"Only if you let me see too," he countered as he pressed another kiss just under her ear.
"Okay," she said and began to readjust the telescope. After a moment or two she said, "you know, I really can't concentrate when you do that." She licked her lips as David continued to drop feather light kisses all along her neck and shoulder. She could feel him smiling against her tingling skin.
"That's sort of the idea," he laughed.
Ariana playfully pushed him away, "back up, I really need to finish this and then we can play."
"But,"
"No buts David. Now back up," she said.
David grinned, "yes ma'am." He scooted far enough away that he couldn't kiss her easily, but he could still reach her.
Ariana jotted down a few more notes and then looked up at David. "Okay, now you can look," she said.
David's smile broadened as he scooted closer and peered through the telescope, bringing the nebula into focus.
"Isn't it beautiful?" Ariana asked.
David looked up at her, "not as beautiful as you," he said.
Ariana blushed and ducked her head. She felt David finger under her chin and brought up her head.
"I mean that," David said as he leaned in, brushing a gentle kiss over her lips. He was slightly surprised when Ariana responded by wrapping her arms around him and drawing him closer. All thoughts of the stars were forgotten at that point.
Making Do
Scott stood in the doorway of the dressing room and stared. “What the hell are you two doing?”
“We’re at a concert. Wanna join us?” Carolyn looked over her shoulder and smiled at him.
Bob was still sitting solemnly in front of the tiny TV, waving a lighter back and forth in time with the music. A picnic basket was laid out on the floor next to him. Used dishes were stacked neatly in a pile, and a half-eaten pie was on top of the pile. Someone had procured a bottle of bubbly and two champagne flutes, and the golden liquid was slowly losing its sparkle.
Scott glanced over his shoulder, then at the TV screen. He didn’t recognize the band, but whoever they were, they must have been popular, because the stadium they were playing to was huge, and it was packed.
Carolyn resumed waving her lighter.
“You two had a picnic in the dressing room and now you’re watching a concert on that lousy little machine?” Scott crossed his arms over his chest, amused.
Bob rolled his eyes at his older brother’s skepticism. “It’s not like we can go out on dates in public or anything. So we’re making do. You going to join us or not?”
“I won’t be interrupting your date?” Scott asked.
“We invited Dan and Clay to join us for the concert, but they looked at us like we were crazy,” Carolyn said.
Scott stifled a smile. “I see.” He listened to the song for a bit, and it was definitely worthy of a lighter or two. He sighed, fished in his pocket for his lighter, and sat down on the checkered blanket next to Carolyn. “What’s your plan for your next date?”
“John has some old National Geographic videos about the African Savannah, so we’re going on safari,” Bob said.
Scott flicked on his lighter, raised it above his head, and began to sway to the music.
(325 words)
“We’re at a concert. Wanna join us?” Carolyn looked over her shoulder and smiled at him.
Bob was still sitting solemnly in front of the tiny TV, waving a lighter back and forth in time with the music. A picnic basket was laid out on the floor next to him. Used dishes were stacked neatly in a pile, and a half-eaten pie was on top of the pile. Someone had procured a bottle of bubbly and two champagne flutes, and the golden liquid was slowly losing its sparkle.
Scott glanced over his shoulder, then at the TV screen. He didn’t recognize the band, but whoever they were, they must have been popular, because the stadium they were playing to was huge, and it was packed.
Carolyn resumed waving her lighter.
“You two had a picnic in the dressing room and now you’re watching a concert on that lousy little machine?” Scott crossed his arms over his chest, amused.
Bob rolled his eyes at his older brother’s skepticism. “It’s not like we can go out on dates in public or anything. So we’re making do. You going to join us or not?”
“I won’t be interrupting your date?” Scott asked.
“We invited Dan and Clay to join us for the concert, but they looked at us like we were crazy,” Carolyn said.
Scott stifled a smile. “I see.” He listened to the song for a bit, and it was definitely worthy of a lighter or two. He sighed, fished in his pocket for his lighter, and sat down on the checkered blanket next to Carolyn. “What’s your plan for your next date?”
“John has some old National Geographic videos about the African Savannah, so we’re going on safari,” Bob said.
Scott flicked on his lighter, raised it above his head, and began to sway to the music.
(325 words)
Wednesday, September 9, 2009
Unlabaled CD
Bryan sighed as he walked through the front door and dropped his backpack on the floor. It had been a long day and he was looking forward to relaxing for a while. He knew that Mark would not be home for a while, but that didn't really bother him; he just wanted to be alone for a while to unwind.
Bryan shuffled to the beat up stereo against the far wall and slid in an unlabeled burned CD. He twisted the dial on the volume until it cane to a stop; pressing play, the music and the beat blared out of the speakers, making anything that was not bolted to the floor vibrate.
Bryan's head nodded to the beat. It was a big band era tune, the type he could picture mobsters dancing to. Shimmying across the floor, he pulled off his over shirt and dropped it on the pile of dirty clothes. The shimmy turned to a smooth sashay as a slow Latin song came over the speakers. Bryan moved seductively around the room, hips moving in a slow circular pattern, he kicked off his shoes and socks. Again the music changed and he began the pops and locks of break dancing. He felt at last something deep inside himself began to unclench.
When the CD stopped at last, Bryan felt like himself again.
Bryan shuffled to the beat up stereo against the far wall and slid in an unlabeled burned CD. He twisted the dial on the volume until it cane to a stop; pressing play, the music and the beat blared out of the speakers, making anything that was not bolted to the floor vibrate.
Bryan's head nodded to the beat. It was a big band era tune, the type he could picture mobsters dancing to. Shimmying across the floor, he pulled off his over shirt and dropped it on the pile of dirty clothes. The shimmy turned to a smooth sashay as a slow Latin song came over the speakers. Bryan moved seductively around the room, hips moving in a slow circular pattern, he kicked off his shoes and socks. Again the music changed and he began the pops and locks of break dancing. He felt at last something deep inside himself began to unclench.
When the CD stopped at last, Bryan felt like himself again.
Poetry and Lyrics
“What do you think of this?”
Carolyn looked up from where she was fiddling with a lock. “What do you mean by ‘this’?”
Scott rolled over and waved a book at her. The other three were asleep, and it was the best chance he had to talk to her without annoying Bob. After what had happened with Clay, Bob was a little leery of any of the rest of his brothers spending too much time with Carolyn. She’d grown up and grown prettier in the year since she’d been away; Scott wouldn’t deny that. But...she was Bob’s, and that was that. Clay liking her must have been some weird twin thing.
“Listen.” He cleared his throat, then began to read.
“ ‘While life endures we'll love,
and afterwards,
if what they say is true,
I'll be refused a Heaven
crammed with popes,
policemen, fundamentalists,
and burn instead,
quite happily,
with Sappho, Michelangelo
and you, my love.
I'd burn throughout eternity
with you.’”
Carolyn set down the lock, tilted her head to the side.
Scott peered at her anxiously, but she didn’t say anything, and the silence was beginning to unnerve him. “Did you like it?”
She lifted her head and smiled at him. “That was beautiful. But where did you get a copy of The Mirror of Love?”
Scott peered at the cover of the book. “Found it at a used bookstore while we were wandering around York. Why?”
“No reason. Just...don’t let your dad get ahold of it.” Carolyn rested her chin on her hands and gazed up at him, and for just one moment, Scott knew why Clay had kissed her. He couldn’t remember the last time a girl had looked at him like this, as if she could read the words printed on his soul. “I didn’t realize you liked poetry.”
Scott shrugged, a little defensively. “It’s good help for lyrics.”
“It definitely would be.” Carolyn hummed thoughtfully. “Moore’s pretty good, for a guy who usually writes comics. If you want something a little more esoteric, maybe try some Eliot.”
“Eliot who?” Scott asked. He reached for the ragged notebook that Bob usually kept in his jacket, the lyric notebook all of them shared. He was keeping a list of poems and poetry that he liked that might be useful later.
“Thomas Stearns Eliot, actually.” Carolyn tossed her head to get the hair out of her eyes. “Try this on for size:
‘For I have known them all already, known them all:
Have known the evenings, mornings, afternoons,
I have measured out my life with coffee spoons;
I know the voices dying with a dying fall
Beneath the music from a farther room.
So how should I presume?’”
Scott blinked. “You know that from memory?”
“Some poetry here and there.” Carolyn scooted up onto the couch next to him. “What else have you read?”
(478 words; first quote from Alan Moore's "Mirror of Love", second from T.S. Eliot's "Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock")
Carolyn looked up from where she was fiddling with a lock. “What do you mean by ‘this’?”
Scott rolled over and waved a book at her. The other three were asleep, and it was the best chance he had to talk to her without annoying Bob. After what had happened with Clay, Bob was a little leery of any of the rest of his brothers spending too much time with Carolyn. She’d grown up and grown prettier in the year since she’d been away; Scott wouldn’t deny that. But...she was Bob’s, and that was that. Clay liking her must have been some weird twin thing.
“Listen.” He cleared his throat, then began to read.
“ ‘While life endures we'll love,
and afterwards,
if what they say is true,
I'll be refused a Heaven
crammed with popes,
policemen, fundamentalists,
and burn instead,
quite happily,
with Sappho, Michelangelo
and you, my love.
I'd burn throughout eternity
with you.’”
Carolyn set down the lock, tilted her head to the side.
Scott peered at her anxiously, but she didn’t say anything, and the silence was beginning to unnerve him. “Did you like it?”
She lifted her head and smiled at him. “That was beautiful. But where did you get a copy of The Mirror of Love?”
Scott peered at the cover of the book. “Found it at a used bookstore while we were wandering around York. Why?”
“No reason. Just...don’t let your dad get ahold of it.” Carolyn rested her chin on her hands and gazed up at him, and for just one moment, Scott knew why Clay had kissed her. He couldn’t remember the last time a girl had looked at him like this, as if she could read the words printed on his soul. “I didn’t realize you liked poetry.”
Scott shrugged, a little defensively. “It’s good help for lyrics.”
“It definitely would be.” Carolyn hummed thoughtfully. “Moore’s pretty good, for a guy who usually writes comics. If you want something a little more esoteric, maybe try some Eliot.”
“Eliot who?” Scott asked. He reached for the ragged notebook that Bob usually kept in his jacket, the lyric notebook all of them shared. He was keeping a list of poems and poetry that he liked that might be useful later.
“Thomas Stearns Eliot, actually.” Carolyn tossed her head to get the hair out of her eyes. “Try this on for size:
‘For I have known them all already, known them all:
Have known the evenings, mornings, afternoons,
I have measured out my life with coffee spoons;
I know the voices dying with a dying fall
Beneath the music from a farther room.
So how should I presume?’”
Scott blinked. “You know that from memory?”
“Some poetry here and there.” Carolyn scooted up onto the couch next to him. “What else have you read?”
(478 words; first quote from Alan Moore's "Mirror of Love", second from T.S. Eliot's "Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock")
Tuesday, September 8, 2009
In a Hurry
David could feel the rumble of the car through his fingers, feel it in his soul. He knew every cough and hiccup that his car made, knew when it was time to make adjustments. He could tell the cars speed by the sound and the vibrations as he flew down the highway. You were more likely to find him with grease under his fingernails than the perfectly clean soldier you would expect to see.
David's probing fingers searched until he found what he wanted. He could hot wire a car in his sleep.
(Lame I know, but...)
(I loved the new Spencer piece by the way. And I do love me some Tobias!)
David's probing fingers searched until he found what he wanted. He could hot wire a car in his sleep.
(Lame I know, but...)
(I loved the new Spencer piece by the way. And I do love me some Tobias!)
Chess
“Some days, I don’t know why I bother.” John stared at the chessboard. A puzzled frown creased his brow, and he studied the pieces intently. Then he glanced at his opponent.
Clay tugged his baseball cap off his head, ran a hand through his mussed hair. “Come on - before I’m old enough to drive.”
John reached out, placed a cautious fingertip on one of his knights, eyed Clay. The kid had a dangerously good poker face. There was no choice but to bite the bullet. John slid the knight across the board. Quick as a snake striking, Clay reached out and captured the knight with a bishop.
Then he sat back, expression impassive once more. “Check. Your move.”
John sighed and studied the board once more. He wasn’t sure when it had happened, but Clay had his pieces securely pincered in one corner, and it was going to take a veritable bloodbath to get out.
“How long have you been playing chess again?”
“Captain Lyle taught me. Dad figured it’d keep me quiet and stop me from asking too many questions.”
“Too many questions?”
Clay nodded. “ ‘What if the birds in the sky suddenly started eating people?’ ‘What if the sea turned into salt and we had nothing left to drink?’”
“You think about those sorts of things often?” John arched an eyebrow.
“When I was six.”
John had to stifle the urge to laugh at Clay’s imperious air. “You’re eight.”
“Your move, sir.”
John sighed and slid a pawn forward, didn’t even flinch when Clay pounced on it with gusto. “You know,” John said, “you should play with Carolyn sometime.”
(271 words)
Clay tugged his baseball cap off his head, ran a hand through his mussed hair. “Come on - before I’m old enough to drive.”
John reached out, placed a cautious fingertip on one of his knights, eyed Clay. The kid had a dangerously good poker face. There was no choice but to bite the bullet. John slid the knight across the board. Quick as a snake striking, Clay reached out and captured the knight with a bishop.
Then he sat back, expression impassive once more. “Check. Your move.”
John sighed and studied the board once more. He wasn’t sure when it had happened, but Clay had his pieces securely pincered in one corner, and it was going to take a veritable bloodbath to get out.
“How long have you been playing chess again?”
“Captain Lyle taught me. Dad figured it’d keep me quiet and stop me from asking too many questions.”
“Too many questions?”
Clay nodded. “ ‘What if the birds in the sky suddenly started eating people?’ ‘What if the sea turned into salt and we had nothing left to drink?’”
“You think about those sorts of things often?” John arched an eyebrow.
“When I was six.”
John had to stifle the urge to laugh at Clay’s imperious air. “You’re eight.”
“Your move, sir.”
John sighed and slid a pawn forward, didn’t even flinch when Clay pounced on it with gusto. “You know,” John said, “you should play with Carolyn sometime.”
(271 words)
Monday, September 7, 2009
Quid Pro Quo
“I’ll trade you,” Dan said. He jangled a handful of coins.
The little Thai boy considered for a few moments, then reached out, snatched the quarter off of Dan’s outstretched hand. He dropped a few crumpled low-denomination Baht bills and coins into Dan’s hand and then scampered away.
Carolyn jumped down off the instrument rig. “What have you got there?”
“I’ve decided to collect money from every country we’ve been to,” Dan said. “So far I’ve got francs, pounds, lire, pesos, rupiah, ringgit, and now baht.”
“You don’t have any good old-fashioned American dollars?” Carolyn eyed his collection.
Dan arched an eyebrow; how he managed to look so imperious at thirteen, Carolyn would never know. “I have Canadian dollars.”
“True, true. You don’t have any German Deutschmarks? Or Portuguese Escudos?” Carolyn reached out and pawed through the jumbled collection of bills and coins.
“I...don’t know.” Dan joined her in the search. “I guess I don’t. Do you have any?”
Carolyn jammed her hands into her pockets, a gesture taken straight from Bob. “I might do. What have you got for me?”
“What are you looking for?”
Carolyn knew her smile was razor-sharp. “How embarrassing has the latest round of fanmail been?”
(205 words)
The little Thai boy considered for a few moments, then reached out, snatched the quarter off of Dan’s outstretched hand. He dropped a few crumpled low-denomination Baht bills and coins into Dan’s hand and then scampered away.
Carolyn jumped down off the instrument rig. “What have you got there?”
“I’ve decided to collect money from every country we’ve been to,” Dan said. “So far I’ve got francs, pounds, lire, pesos, rupiah, ringgit, and now baht.”
“You don’t have any good old-fashioned American dollars?” Carolyn eyed his collection.
Dan arched an eyebrow; how he managed to look so imperious at thirteen, Carolyn would never know. “I have Canadian dollars.”
“True, true. You don’t have any German Deutschmarks? Or Portuguese Escudos?” Carolyn reached out and pawed through the jumbled collection of bills and coins.
“I...don’t know.” Dan joined her in the search. “I guess I don’t. Do you have any?”
Carolyn jammed her hands into her pockets, a gesture taken straight from Bob. “I might do. What have you got for me?”
“What are you looking for?”
Carolyn knew her smile was razor-sharp. “How embarrassing has the latest round of fanmail been?”
(205 words)
Hitting the Target
Joe was smiling even before the faint 'thock' reached his ears from the far end of the range. He knew that he was precisely on target. He drew another arrow from the quiver that rested against his slender hip and knocked it to the string. The shaft of the arrow rested against the top of his hand as he drew back the string.
Joe took a single deep breath and held it. Slowly exhaling, he sighted on the target which rested three hundred yards away. One more slow inhale and he released the string. It made a faint snapping sound; the wood whisper quiet as it slid against his hand. He preferred to shoot off the hand, he felt more connected to the shot that way.
He swiftly knocked another arrow and let it fly. And again, and again, emptying his quiver. Joe carefully unstrung his recurve, slid it into it's leather carrying case and picked up his quiver. He walked quickly to the far end of the range, smiling in satisfaction when he saw that all his shots had pierced the target withing a quarter inch of each other. He drew the arrows from the target and placed them carefully in the quiver.
Joe whistled a short tune as he walked back to his car.
Joe took a single deep breath and held it. Slowly exhaling, he sighted on the target which rested three hundred yards away. One more slow inhale and he released the string. It made a faint snapping sound; the wood whisper quiet as it slid against his hand. He preferred to shoot off the hand, he felt more connected to the shot that way.
He swiftly knocked another arrow and let it fly. And again, and again, emptying his quiver. Joe carefully unstrung his recurve, slid it into it's leather carrying case and picked up his quiver. He walked quickly to the far end of the range, smiling in satisfaction when he saw that all his shots had pierced the target withing a quarter inch of each other. He drew the arrows from the target and placed them carefully in the quiver.
Joe whistled a short tune as he walked back to his car.
Project Assignment # 41 - Hobbies
This week is a chance give your characters something to do. It's all about their hobbies!
Does Scott collect old bottles, does Mark race cars, or does Bob decide to pick up another instrument.
Have fun this week! I hope I get around to posting.
Does Scott collect old bottles, does Mark race cars, or does Bob decide to pick up another instrument.
Have fun this week! I hope I get around to posting.
Sunday, September 6, 2009
Overview #40: Secrets
This was a pretty fun challenge for me, seeing where I could expand on some of the other characters in my universe who don't get so much love. Given that Carolyn's a secret agent, I thought playing too much on her secrets wouldn't be as fun, so I tried to pick other secrets that would give the characters some new depth. Since I'm still trying to plot the final resolution of this storyline and I know it'll involve John, I figured I'd give him a shot. As he's an agent like Carolyn, he'd be pretty observant and know things about the boys that no one else knows, and it was fun exploring who he was, his voice and his personality. I figured Scott deserved more depth to his character than just being the loud, boisterous front man. Carolyn needed a secret, one that wasn't tied to her tenure as an agent. And I wanted to give Shelley a voice, too, since hardly anything is really written from her POV. I figured I'd also explore sections of the plot that haven't been given as much attention, like Carolyn's time in college (and Melanie's POV as her only friend there) and Bob's time in the hospital. (Also, I've been watching Blood Ties and figured I might as well publicly acknowledge my shame.) Still, learning what characters keep secret from each other and to themselves was an eye-opening experience as far as development goes, and I had a good time.
Madness, you're up this week to pick the project assignment. Jaded Chaos, tell us who our winner is!
Madness, you're up this week to pick the project assignment. Jaded Chaos, tell us who our winner is!
Saturday, September 5, 2009
Borrowed
"I know what you did last night," Mark said in a singsong voice as he stepped into the room where Bryan was working on a few sparring moves. The room was practically empty. Mark glanced around and could only see two other soldiers in the far corner.
Bryan's head snapped up, his eyes full of guilt. "I didn't do anything last night," he said. Even to his own ears, the denial was weak.
Marks laugh was low, his eyes glimmering with mirth, "don't kid yourself," he said, "you know exactly what you did."
Bryan swallowed hard, "you won't tell anyone will you?" he asked.
Mark's lips quirked into a half smile, "let's just say that I won't rat you out to the Commander. You are, after all, my brother. But if he finds out, I'm not covering for you," Mark said.
"Fair enough," Bryan said, "I don't think he will find out that I "borrowed" his car. And if he does, well lets just say that mastering this move will be the least of my problems."
Bryan's head snapped up, his eyes full of guilt. "I didn't do anything last night," he said. Even to his own ears, the denial was weak.
Marks laugh was low, his eyes glimmering with mirth, "don't kid yourself," he said, "you know exactly what you did."
Bryan swallowed hard, "you won't tell anyone will you?" he asked.
Mark's lips quirked into a half smile, "let's just say that I won't rat you out to the Commander. You are, after all, my brother. But if he finds out, I'm not covering for you," Mark said.
"Fair enough," Bryan said, "I don't think he will find out that I "borrowed" his car. And if he does, well lets just say that mastering this move will be the least of my problems."
Not So Bad
Clay checked left, then right. The coast was clear - all the nurses were busy. He kept the warm bag of McDonald’s tucked safely under his jacket and darted into the hospital room.
“Hey Bobby, I brought some --”
Bob lunged for the remote control and turned off the television. Then he pasted a bright, innocent smile on his face and sat back. “Clay. What’s up?” He spotted the bulge under Clay’s jacket, and his eyes lit up. “Did you bring it?”
Clay eyed the television warily. “What were you watching?”
Again with the wide, guileless eyes. Clay knew that expression. They’d perfected it together when they were kids for the purposes of switching identities for the day.
“Nothing,” Bob said sunnily. “Is it McDonald’s?”
Clay approached the bed cautiously, still holding his prize. “What could that show have possibly been that you turned the TV off that quickly?” His eyes narrowed. “Don’t tell me you were watching --”
“Dude, you can’t get porn on TVs in hospitals, and that’s just wrong.” Bob crossed his arms over his chest indignantly.
“I didn’t say it was porn, but since you suggested it --” Clay struck, quick as a snake, and snatched the remote up off the bed.
“Hey!” Bob scrambled after it, but he was too late. And he was brought up short by the IV in the back of his hand.
Clay hit the power button and watched the television come to life. The scene was dark, but Clay recognized the streets. It was a local show, one filmed in Canada. The characters on screen were a woman, blonde, with glasses and a night stick and a man who looked surprisingly young in comparison. Then he grinned. Long fangs. No way.
Bob turned bright red and ducked his head, an automatic gesture even though he no longer had long hair to hide behind.
An amused grin spread across Clay’s features. “Blood Ties? The one Shelley watches? Are you serious?”
Bob snatched the remote back with an indignant huff, but he didn’t turn the show off. “She started watching it with me when she comes in to visit, and...it’s not so bad.”
“It’s about vampires.”
Bob rolled his eyes. “It’s obvious I’m not in it for the vampire.”
“Is it obvious?”
“I’m not Dan.” Bob eyed the McDonald’s bag hopefully.
Clay’s expression turned calculating. “Give me one good reason why I should continue to associate with a moron who watches such low-brow --”
“The girl. The ex-cop. She kinda reminds of Caro.” Bob stared down at his hands.
Clay’s breath hitched in his chest. “Oh.”
Bob lifted his head. “I’m sorry.”
Clay shook his head, held out the bag. “No. I was just kidding about the show --”
“I’m sorry about me. And Carolyn. And how it made you feel. We both -- well. I felt horrible about it.”
“I know, dearthair. But she chose you, and not me, and you deserved to be happy. Now eat up before the nurses get back.”
“Hey Bobby, I brought some --”
Bob lunged for the remote control and turned off the television. Then he pasted a bright, innocent smile on his face and sat back. “Clay. What’s up?” He spotted the bulge under Clay’s jacket, and his eyes lit up. “Did you bring it?”
Clay eyed the television warily. “What were you watching?”
Again with the wide, guileless eyes. Clay knew that expression. They’d perfected it together when they were kids for the purposes of switching identities for the day.
“Nothing,” Bob said sunnily. “Is it McDonald’s?”
Clay approached the bed cautiously, still holding his prize. “What could that show have possibly been that you turned the TV off that quickly?” His eyes narrowed. “Don’t tell me you were watching --”
“Dude, you can’t get porn on TVs in hospitals, and that’s just wrong.” Bob crossed his arms over his chest indignantly.
“I didn’t say it was porn, but since you suggested it --” Clay struck, quick as a snake, and snatched the remote up off the bed.
“Hey!” Bob scrambled after it, but he was too late. And he was brought up short by the IV in the back of his hand.
Clay hit the power button and watched the television come to life. The scene was dark, but Clay recognized the streets. It was a local show, one filmed in Canada. The characters on screen were a woman, blonde, with glasses and a night stick and a man who looked surprisingly young in comparison. Then he grinned. Long fangs. No way.
Bob turned bright red and ducked his head, an automatic gesture even though he no longer had long hair to hide behind.
An amused grin spread across Clay’s features. “Blood Ties? The one Shelley watches? Are you serious?”
Bob snatched the remote back with an indignant huff, but he didn’t turn the show off. “She started watching it with me when she comes in to visit, and...it’s not so bad.”
“It’s about vampires.”
Bob rolled his eyes. “It’s obvious I’m not in it for the vampire.”
“Is it obvious?”
“I’m not Dan.” Bob eyed the McDonald’s bag hopefully.
Clay’s expression turned calculating. “Give me one good reason why I should continue to associate with a moron who watches such low-brow --”
“The girl. The ex-cop. She kinda reminds of Caro.” Bob stared down at his hands.
Clay’s breath hitched in his chest. “Oh.”
Bob lifted his head. “I’m sorry.”
Clay shook his head, held out the bag. “No. I was just kidding about the show --”
“I’m sorry about me. And Carolyn. And how it made you feel. We both -- well. I felt horrible about it.”
“I know, dearthair. But she chose you, and not me, and you deserved to be happy. Now eat up before the nurses get back.”
Friday, September 4, 2009
It all started
Joe walked down the hallway with a barely perceptible limp, eyes downcast with dark circles under them. Hidden beneath his shirt were dark purple bruises, a few, a pale sick looking green, and others only a faint trace. Another bruise ran from his hip to thigh.
Joe ducked into the bathroom and quickly checked all the stalls to make sure that he was alone. Joe lifted up the hem of his shirt and examined the freshly marred skin. He gently prodded one and winced at the sharp pain that radiated from the light touch.
Joe looked into the mirror, his hand gripping the sink tightly as the other one held up his shirt. It had gotten worse since Alec had died. The foster couple who "cared" for him blamed him for Alec's death. With Alec gone, they were down five hundred dollars a month from the government, and the creep was sure to take it out of Joe's hide. It usually was not a bad beating, but on the day of the month when the checks came, Eddie would get all liquored up and come looking for Joe. That was when it was really bad.
Joe was to far lost in his own thoughts to be aware of someone coming into the bathroom, until he heard someone swear under their breath.
Joe's head snapped up, quickly pulling his shirt down. He glared at the student, recognizing a face, but not able to come up with a name.
"Man, what happened?" Tim asked.
"Nothing," Joe lied.
"Doesn't look like nothing," Tim said with raised eyebrows.
Joe narrowed his eyes, "I said it's nothing, and none of your business even if it was anything," he said.
Tim eyed Joe, "you want someone to talk to?" he asked.
Joe snorted, "how could you help."
"I'm not saying I can help, I'm saying I can listen," Tim said.
"Don't you have class to be in or something?" Joe asked a little belligerently.
"None that can't be put off for a while," Tim said as he leaned against the sink next to Joe.
Joe hesitated for a moment, but the need to unburden himself was to strong, "it all started when my brother died," Joe began.
Joe ducked into the bathroom and quickly checked all the stalls to make sure that he was alone. Joe lifted up the hem of his shirt and examined the freshly marred skin. He gently prodded one and winced at the sharp pain that radiated from the light touch.
Joe looked into the mirror, his hand gripping the sink tightly as the other one held up his shirt. It had gotten worse since Alec had died. The foster couple who "cared" for him blamed him for Alec's death. With Alec gone, they were down five hundred dollars a month from the government, and the creep was sure to take it out of Joe's hide. It usually was not a bad beating, but on the day of the month when the checks came, Eddie would get all liquored up and come looking for Joe. That was when it was really bad.
Joe was to far lost in his own thoughts to be aware of someone coming into the bathroom, until he heard someone swear under their breath.
Joe's head snapped up, quickly pulling his shirt down. He glared at the student, recognizing a face, but not able to come up with a name.
"Man, what happened?" Tim asked.
"Nothing," Joe lied.
"Doesn't look like nothing," Tim said with raised eyebrows.
Joe narrowed his eyes, "I said it's nothing, and none of your business even if it was anything," he said.
Tim eyed Joe, "you want someone to talk to?" he asked.
Joe snorted, "how could you help."
"I'm not saying I can help, I'm saying I can listen," Tim said.
"Don't you have class to be in or something?" Joe asked a little belligerently.
"None that can't be put off for a while," Tim said as he leaned against the sink next to Joe.
Joe hesitated for a moment, but the need to unburden himself was to strong, "it all started when my brother died," Joe began.
What He'd Seen
Sometimes Shelley was starkly aware that she wasn’t the boys’ mother. Something was going on between Bob and Clay, and the other two had taken sides. Now they were practically at war, and Shelley didn’t know what to do. The boys wouldn’t talk to her, and Kevin was too busy with the new label rep to realize what was going on. The boys had hissed twin-speak arguments between takes and avoided each other the rest of the time.
Shelley sat in the corner with a stack of magazines, wishing she could be more useful. On the road she could dig in with the crew and help get the show on its feet. Here she wasn’t mother or musician or anything remotely useful, and for one moment she wished she was one of those wives who was content to spend a day at the mall with her husband’s credit card.
She wished the boys trusted her with something more than checking their homework.
The engineer called Dan in to lay down vocals, and Shelley checked her watch. She’d been sitting in the same corner for two hours straight. No good. She stood up, taking the time to indulge in a yawn and a stretch. That was when she noticed that Bob and Clay were missing.
“Scott,” she said. He was sulking over his guitar. “Where are your brothers?”
He muttered, “NÃl fhios agam.”
“English, Scott.”
He lifted his head. “Oh, sorry Shelley.” He glanced at the beanbags where the matching set had been also sulking, and he shrugged. “I don’t know.”
She smiled tightly. “Thanks.” Time to hunt, then. They knew better than to wander off. She ducked out of the room and into a hallway. On the way in she’d spotted a couple of vending machines, and she wouldn’t put it past a couple of hungry teenage boys to go in search of junk food despite their fathers’ orders against it. Given how they were feuding, however, she doubted that they’d gone searching together.
Shelley rounded the corner, and she saw Clay standing in the doorway of a side room, frozen. The expression on his face was faintly heartbroken, and then he wrenched himself back, eyes shut tightly as if to block out what he’d seen. After a moment, he straightened up, turned away, and marched toward the vending machine.
Something tightened in Shelley’s chest. He wasn’t her son, but she hated seeing him hurt. She crept toward the door to find out what he’d seen.
He’d seen Bob and Carolyn in each other’s arms, kissing.
(427 words)
Shelley sat in the corner with a stack of magazines, wishing she could be more useful. On the road she could dig in with the crew and help get the show on its feet. Here she wasn’t mother or musician or anything remotely useful, and for one moment she wished she was one of those wives who was content to spend a day at the mall with her husband’s credit card.
She wished the boys trusted her with something more than checking their homework.
The engineer called Dan in to lay down vocals, and Shelley checked her watch. She’d been sitting in the same corner for two hours straight. No good. She stood up, taking the time to indulge in a yawn and a stretch. That was when she noticed that Bob and Clay were missing.
“Scott,” she said. He was sulking over his guitar. “Where are your brothers?”
He muttered, “NÃl fhios agam.”
“English, Scott.”
He lifted his head. “Oh, sorry Shelley.” He glanced at the beanbags where the matching set had been also sulking, and he shrugged. “I don’t know.”
She smiled tightly. “Thanks.” Time to hunt, then. They knew better than to wander off. She ducked out of the room and into a hallway. On the way in she’d spotted a couple of vending machines, and she wouldn’t put it past a couple of hungry teenage boys to go in search of junk food despite their fathers’ orders against it. Given how they were feuding, however, she doubted that they’d gone searching together.
Shelley rounded the corner, and she saw Clay standing in the doorway of a side room, frozen. The expression on his face was faintly heartbroken, and then he wrenched himself back, eyes shut tightly as if to block out what he’d seen. After a moment, he straightened up, turned away, and marched toward the vending machine.
Something tightened in Shelley’s chest. He wasn’t her son, but she hated seeing him hurt. She crept toward the door to find out what he’d seen.
He’d seen Bob and Carolyn in each other’s arms, kissing.
(427 words)
Thursday, September 3, 2009
With You
"Tell me a secret," Ariana said. Her head was pillowed on David's chest and she could hear his heartbeat.
"Hm," his voice rumbled in his chest, "a secret. Let me think," he said.
Ariana waited, listening to his breathing, the air moving steadily in and out. She reached out and laced her fingers through his. They were laying in a sunny patch of grass. It was a rare sunny day.
"I think," David said, "that my secret is, that I want to spend the rest of my life with you."
Ariana'a head came up quickly. She quickly searched his gaze and saw nothing but truth. A smile spread across her face as she thought of what that could mean. Leaning up, she pressed a gentle kiss to his lips. "I love you David," she said and snuggled back into his arms.
"Hm," his voice rumbled in his chest, "a secret. Let me think," he said.
Ariana waited, listening to his breathing, the air moving steadily in and out. She reached out and laced her fingers through his. They were laying in a sunny patch of grass. It was a rare sunny day.
"I think," David said, "that my secret is, that I want to spend the rest of my life with you."
Ariana'a head came up quickly. She quickly searched his gaze and saw nothing but truth. A smile spread across her face as she thought of what that could mean. Leaning up, she pressed a gentle kiss to his lips. "I love you David," she said and snuggled back into his arms.
Proof
(continued from this post)
Carolyn hadn’t been lying; the picture she carried around was one anyone could find on the Internet. The picture she kept in her wallet, however, was one not even the most diehard Four Times SUmmer fan could find. Melanie was more diehard than Carolyn knew, and she’d looked.
Tucked behind a Westlaw access card, a Lexis access card, and a Federalist Society card, was a photograph of Bob Summers asleep. Melanie had studied the picture for along time - Carolyn let Melanie use her cards - and it looked like Bob was asleep in his own bed. It was definitely not the sort of picture a mere fan, no matter how diehard, would have.
Melanie knew she was one of Carolyn’s only friends at school, but she didn’t know that much about Carolyn, and Carolyn was great at talking without sharing. Melanie didn’t know how to ask about the picture without mentioning that she’d snooped through Carolyn’s wallet, and she didn’t know how to ask if Bob Summers was the reason Carolyn sometimes looked a little heartbroken. The solution, of course, was the Internet.
Several days and foreign video streaming sites later, Melanie found it, proof that Carolyn’s secret really had something to do with the brothers Summers.
The video was grainy and shot by an amateur on an old VHS handycam, but some dedicated fan had filmed her own television to record a news clip. It was less than five minutes long and the newscaster was speaking German, but it had proof. A shot of all four boys on the tour bus playing cards sealed the deal. A fifth child, a skinny moppet with green eyes and a shock of black curls, sat between Bob and Dan and plied her own hand of cards.
Melanie would know that smile anywhere. Even at seven, Carolyn’s smile was sharp, subtle, like light glinting off the blade of a knife.
The next shot featured nine-year-old Dan chattering about life on the road. “We have fun,” he said. “Sometimes people on crew bring their kids with them, so we have people to play with.”
If the picture in Carolyn’s wallet was anything to go by, she’d been on the road with the brothers Summers a lot, because the boy sleeping in that bed was at least sixteen.
Melanie backtracked through the video to watch the card game again.
The little girl slapped her cards down and cheered.
Scott groaned and shoved her in the shoulder. “No fair, Caro!”
(415 words)
Carolyn hadn’t been lying; the picture she carried around was one anyone could find on the Internet. The picture she kept in her wallet, however, was one not even the most diehard Four Times SUmmer fan could find. Melanie was more diehard than Carolyn knew, and she’d looked.
Tucked behind a Westlaw access card, a Lexis access card, and a Federalist Society card, was a photograph of Bob Summers asleep. Melanie had studied the picture for along time - Carolyn let Melanie use her cards - and it looked like Bob was asleep in his own bed. It was definitely not the sort of picture a mere fan, no matter how diehard, would have.
Melanie knew she was one of Carolyn’s only friends at school, but she didn’t know that much about Carolyn, and Carolyn was great at talking without sharing. Melanie didn’t know how to ask about the picture without mentioning that she’d snooped through Carolyn’s wallet, and she didn’t know how to ask if Bob Summers was the reason Carolyn sometimes looked a little heartbroken. The solution, of course, was the Internet.
Several days and foreign video streaming sites later, Melanie found it, proof that Carolyn’s secret really had something to do with the brothers Summers.
The video was grainy and shot by an amateur on an old VHS handycam, but some dedicated fan had filmed her own television to record a news clip. It was less than five minutes long and the newscaster was speaking German, but it had proof. A shot of all four boys on the tour bus playing cards sealed the deal. A fifth child, a skinny moppet with green eyes and a shock of black curls, sat between Bob and Dan and plied her own hand of cards.
Melanie would know that smile anywhere. Even at seven, Carolyn’s smile was sharp, subtle, like light glinting off the blade of a knife.
The next shot featured nine-year-old Dan chattering about life on the road. “We have fun,” he said. “Sometimes people on crew bring their kids with them, so we have people to play with.”
If the picture in Carolyn’s wallet was anything to go by, she’d been on the road with the brothers Summers a lot, because the boy sleeping in that bed was at least sixteen.
Melanie backtracked through the video to watch the card game again.
The little girl slapped her cards down and cheered.
Scott groaned and shoved her in the shoulder. “No fair, Caro!”
(415 words)
Wednesday, September 2, 2009
Point of the Exercise
Stars exploded behind Steve's eyes as his head snapped backwards, the force of the blow shattering his nose with a sickening crunch; the back of his head hitting the high railing on the chair he was tied to. Steve blinked, bringing his head back up. He drew a few shallow breaths, trying to keep his side from burning from the broken ribs.
"You know," the interrogator said, almost as if he were talking about the weather, "this can all end when you tell us what we want to know."
Steve shook his head, blinking back a few tears of pain.
The man sighed, "have it your way," he said. He nodded to the man next to Steve. The large and brutish man took up a large hammer and swung it at Steve. Blood began to flow freely when Steve bit clean through his lip as the man broke his arm.
"Are you ready to speak?" the more refined man asked, "what are the attack plans for your military? What weapons do they have and where will they strike from?"
Steve raised his head and smiled through the blood that was still flowing from his nose and lip. "You really want to know the secret?" Steve asked, his eyes dark and fathomless.
"Of course," the man said, "after all, that is the whole point of this exercise."
"Okay," Steve said, looking him in the eye and lowering his voice, "the secret is, that you're about to die."
The man was still laughing as the bullet entered his head.
"You know," the interrogator said, almost as if he were talking about the weather, "this can all end when you tell us what we want to know."
Steve shook his head, blinking back a few tears of pain.
The man sighed, "have it your way," he said. He nodded to the man next to Steve. The large and brutish man took up a large hammer and swung it at Steve. Blood began to flow freely when Steve bit clean through his lip as the man broke his arm.
"Are you ready to speak?" the more refined man asked, "what are the attack plans for your military? What weapons do they have and where will they strike from?"
Steve raised his head and smiled through the blood that was still flowing from his nose and lip. "You really want to know the secret?" Steve asked, his eyes dark and fathomless.
"Of course," the man said, "after all, that is the whole point of this exercise."
"Okay," Steve said, looking him in the eye and lowering his voice, "the secret is, that you're about to die."
The man was still laughing as the bullet entered his head.
More than a Dry Run
“What’s going on here?” Kevin stood on the edge of the stage, hands on his hips, expression unreadable.
Carolyn set the drum sticks down carefully, stood up. “Bob asked me to set up his drums. I was giving them a dry run.” She ducked her head, tugged self-consciously on her baseball cap.
Kevin studied her for a long moment. He hadn’t been sure what to make of the scrawny kid John asked to bring on the road with him, but for five years all Carolyn had ever shown an interest in was her stack of increasingly obscure books and karate. She’d never shown even an inkling of interest in music.
“That’s something more than a dry run,” he said finally.
Carolyn shoved her hands into her pockets and shrugged. Kevin had seen Bob with the exact same mannerism. She really had been hanging around the boys too long; she wore baggy shorts and baseball hats like Clay, t-shirts with band slogans like Dan, and slouched like Bob. Her hair was shorter than Bob’s, a shock of black curls.
“Where did you learn the play like that?”
“There’s a band I listen to. X Japan. Speed metal. Their drummer’s pretty cool, and I spent a lot of time in the rig --” back in the days before the boys liked her enough to want to spend time with her on the bus -- “listening to their songs and learning. How the beats go.”
“Does Bob know you can play like this?” Kevin had seen drummers with her speed and dexterity, sense of rhythmic complexity, but they were all studio veterans.”
Carolyn shook her head. “No. I don’t mention it.”
Kevin nodded. “I think it’d be best to keep it that way.”
“Yes sir.”
“Anything else you can do like...that?”
She shook her head. “No, sir.” Then she lifted her head and met his gaze. “Bob’s a good drummer, sir. Better than pretty much every other musician his age. He’d learn different rhythms if he played, you know, different songs.”
“I know,” Kevin said. “But the boys are good at what they play.”
Carolyn stepped out from behind the drums. As an afterthought, she dropped the hi-hat. Then, idly tapping a rhythm against her thighs, she headed for the instrument rig.
(381 words)
Carolyn set the drum sticks down carefully, stood up. “Bob asked me to set up his drums. I was giving them a dry run.” She ducked her head, tugged self-consciously on her baseball cap.
Kevin studied her for a long moment. He hadn’t been sure what to make of the scrawny kid John asked to bring on the road with him, but for five years all Carolyn had ever shown an interest in was her stack of increasingly obscure books and karate. She’d never shown even an inkling of interest in music.
“That’s something more than a dry run,” he said finally.
Carolyn shoved her hands into her pockets and shrugged. Kevin had seen Bob with the exact same mannerism. She really had been hanging around the boys too long; she wore baggy shorts and baseball hats like Clay, t-shirts with band slogans like Dan, and slouched like Bob. Her hair was shorter than Bob’s, a shock of black curls.
“Where did you learn the play like that?”
“There’s a band I listen to. X Japan. Speed metal. Their drummer’s pretty cool, and I spent a lot of time in the rig --” back in the days before the boys liked her enough to want to spend time with her on the bus -- “listening to their songs and learning. How the beats go.”
“Does Bob know you can play like this?” Kevin had seen drummers with her speed and dexterity, sense of rhythmic complexity, but they were all studio veterans.”
Carolyn shook her head. “No. I don’t mention it.”
Kevin nodded. “I think it’d be best to keep it that way.”
“Yes sir.”
“Anything else you can do like...that?”
She shook her head. “No, sir.” Then she lifted her head and met his gaze. “Bob’s a good drummer, sir. Better than pretty much every other musician his age. He’d learn different rhythms if he played, you know, different songs.”
“I know,” Kevin said. “But the boys are good at what they play.”
Carolyn stepped out from behind the drums. As an afterthought, she dropped the hi-hat. Then, idly tapping a rhythm against her thighs, she headed for the instrument rig.
(381 words)
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