January 19, 2015

A pebble in a pond

A Year of Writing Prompts by Brian A. Klems and Zachary Petit

January 18

“Pick and Event from your childhood that you wish would have gone differently. Write it as though it had happened ideally.”

Okay, this is going to sound so phony, but I don’t identify with this prompt. When I look back on my life there isn’t one moment I would want to change. Everything that has happened has made me the person I am. There are overall themes I wish I could change, but are too broad to pinpoint into a single scene or short story. In reality, if I changed certain moments I would have altered my fate entirely. Who knows where I would be.

This isn’t just me being lazy and not wanting to write. Nor is it that I just can’t think of anything right now. I read the prompt last night and have been thinking about it since then. There isn’t anything I would want to change. My husband though seems to think he knows what I would choose. He didn’t want to tell me just in case he was right. Boy, will he be surprised when I tell him. Unless that’s what he thought and then… Well, fuck him then.

To alter my past would destroy my present. Even the most insignificant of moments have a large impact. I love my life. The only things I want to change depend solely on my actions now.

January 18, 2015

Addicted to You

A Year of Writing Prompts by Brian A. Klems and Zachary Petit

January 17

“An Unexpected injury leads to an equally unexpected family discovery.”

The call came late in the afternoon, while Richard was settling into a lunch to entice a new client to use his company. He had been chasing them for months. Wooing them with gifts that consisted of cookies, flowers, concert tickets. Ultimately it would have put him in the back seat of a limo if he had gotten them. Unfortunately life doesn’t stop moving for anyone else either.

“Mr. Massano?” said a female voice after he had answered the phone call.

“This is he,” he said. He held up a finger, stood, and stepped away from he table. “Can I help you?”

“Mr. Massano, this is Angela calling from Southwest Medical Emergency, I’m sorry to inform you that your partner, Sean, has been injured and is currently in the ICU.”

For Richard it felt as though the floor had a trapdoor he had just triggered. His mind whirred furiously trying to find words, any sound of the English language, to speak.

“Mr. Massano, are you still there?”

“Yes,” he choked. “You said you’re from southwest?”

“I did indeed.”

“I’ll be over immediately.”

Richard faced his potential clients with a pale complexion.

“Is everything alright?” One remarked.

Richard could only shake his head, his mouth agape.

“I’m sorry, gentlemen, this meeting will have to be postponed. I apologize. A family member is in the hospital.”

The balding man, with a snowy Vandyke, held up his hands for a moment.

“We understand.”

Richard excused himself and hurried to the hospital.

Normally the trip would have taken just under forty-five minutes, but Richard managed to do it in under ten minutes. The entire journey was a haze for him. All he could think of were the horrible, graphic, scenarios that would have befallen his husband. How badly was he hurt? How did it happen? Will he be okay?

He hustled to the information desk and incquired about his husband, who the nurse explained was on the first floor at the end of the hall.

“In room number one hundred twenty-six.”

With his hands clenched into fists, he stormed through the hallway to the room, where he found his husband of three years laying in a hospital bed. His face was puffy and purple. A cut marred his face from hairline to the bottom corner of his left eye.

“Oh my god,” Richard said, “what happened?”

Sean didn’t lift his head. His eyes stayed fixed on the imperfection of his blanket. His slim fingers picked at it incessantly.

Richard walked around the end of the bed and grabbed a chair. It scraped sharply across the pristine linoleum floor.

“Seany,” Richard said, “Baby, talk to me please.”

His husband glanced at him out of the corner of his eye. His frown began to tremble as a tear jumped to the sheet.

“I don’t want to tell you.” He said.

“Why not?”

The sound of the heart monitor filled the silence between the two men.

“When did this happen? Where were you? I thought you were out of town for the day.”

Sean swallowed.

“I was cruising.”

Richard felt like he was falling again. Every muscle in his body tensed and he wanted to scream. He wanted pick the chair up and throw it at the wall.

“This guy, attacked me and stabbed me with a knife. Some kids playing at the park heard me crying for help and got their parents.”

“How could you do this,” Richard said, “Again.”

“I know,” Sean said, shutting his lids. “I deserved this. I am a horrible person. You trusted me, took me back, and all I do is break that love.”

“Yes, you do.”

Sean’s tears ran down his battered and bruised face.

“You didn’t deserve to be beaten, Sean,” Richard said. “But I don’t know how we will be after this.”

Sean nodded his head.

“I just don’t understand. We were doing so well together. Do you not love me? Is it that you just want to cause me more agony? Evidently it’s your goal in life to make sure I never have any happiness.”

“Rich, I promise I love you. This was,” he stumbled over hi words, “this was such a big mistake. I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I can’t stop. These places pull me. I love you. I truly, with all of my heart want to be with you. For whatever reason these urges won’t go away.”

“Am I not enough for you?”

“You are,” Sean tried to reach a hand out to him, but the IV tugged at his skin, tethered to his sick bed.

“How long has this been going on?”

Sean covered his face with his hands and sobbed.

Richard couldn’t take the emotion roiling in his chest. It pulled him toward rage. It beckoned him. But that was the last thing he wanted to do. The anger and agony were more than he could bear. The only thing he could think of was to leave, and without another word did just that.

That night his phone seemed to never stop ringing.  Eventually he broke down and just turned it off and then unplugged the land line for good measure.  The only thing he wanted to think about was his task.  He had taken it upon himself to remove every one Sean’s belongings from their marriage room into the spare room.  Before the dawn of the next day he had managed to wipe all evidence that another person had shared his room.

He took the next day off.  The weight of his pain was too great that he couldn’t get out of his bed.  All he could think about was what he didn’t know.  How many men had their been?  Every line of thinking took him to the conclusion that he was unloveable.  Worthless.  What other reason could there be?

Then words echoed across his mind.  It was what Sean had said, that he couldn’t stop. What did that even mean?  That lead him directly to the internet to do a search.  Top of the list were the tales of celebrity sex scandals.  Their reasoning, sex addiction.  He rolled his eyes at the thought.  Blaming your inability at fidelity on addiction was preposterous.  But for humors sake he found medical journals that published extensive data and research.  There was even a book written by a one Doctor Patrick Carnes.  He himself suffered from the same mental obsession.

All he could do now was to read the book and attempt to understand.

The following day, Richard dressed in his best jeans and t-shirt, the ones Sean had bought him for his last birthday, and took a trip to the hospital.  With a bouquet of his favorite flowers, lilies, he entered his husbands room.

“Hi.” He said.

January 17, 2015

To my grandmother…

A Year of Writing Prompts by Brian A. Klems and Zachary Petit

January 16

“You are given the opportunity to talk to one dead person and tell him/her one thing that you didn’t get to before they passed away. Who would you pick and what would you tell him/her?”

I have to say that I am blessed. Death is something I am not familiar with. At least, not when it comes to someone that is close to me. Sure, I have had the distant relative that I saw on an occasional Christmas or family reunion pass, but no one that was part of my every day. That being said my pool to pull from is rather small. Yet it doesn’t diminish the weight of my choice. If I wanted, I could choose from a dead celebrity who affected my life in a way that they will never understand, but has deep emotional meaning for me. (I’m thinking of C.S. Lewis by the way. If you were wondering.)

If I could talk to one person that has died it would be my grandmother. She lived with my parents and me for a good portion of my life. As I got older I started to be very disrespectful. My parents were good parents but a little lax and my grandmother would step in to take up the slack. She was never one for sitting idle. She bustled around the house, cleaning my clothes, and reminding me to do my homework.  We both shared a love of the TV show The Golden Girls and every time I watch it I think of her.

It’s strange the things one remembers.  For instance, the last thing you ever say to someone will live with you forever.  (So make it good. ) I deeply loathe the last thing I ever said to my grandmother. “Do you want the TV on or off?” It was so cold.  So empty.  Absolutely worthless words.  What’s worse is, she hadn’t been feeling well ever since her surgery, and instead of asking how she felt or spend any time with her I went to bed after my question.

At the time I had been working nightshifts at Best Buy, helping with the store remodel. It was good in the sense that I made a ton of money, but it destroyed any kind of living.  I was awake long enough to work and when I got home I slept the entire day. It was a temporary thing, but horrible while it lasted.

On the last night of my over-night shifts my grandmother died. My mother had telephoned while I was working and left me a vague voicemail.  It’s still a mystery to me why I never called her back, instead of just rushing to the house. Instead I did 65 on city streets until I pulled into the driveway. I’m certain that, in my heart, I already knew what had happened. Come to think of it, I had started to cry before I even knew for sure.

When I got home there were unfamiliar cars in the driveway. My heart began to go even faster. I could just feel it. I walked into a silent house.  A small gathering of people had congregated in the family room.  Then my mother told me the news.  I wept and crumpled to the floor. It is the first and only time (so far) that I lost someone I really loved.

More than anything, if I could talk to her I would say that I’m sorry for how I treated her. Like I said, as I got older I started to rebel against her parenting. I got to be a dick and I regret that more than anything. More than our final, hallow, conversation.  I wish I had said more to her before she died. I wish I could have told her that I did love her, very much. She had such a profound impact on my life.  It’s because of her that I love to read, play cards, watch the tv show The Waltons. She was the first person to know that I wanted to be a writer. My grandmother read all of my stories and would tell me each time how good they were, even when they were most certainly not. I promised myself that if I ever had a book published I would dedicate it to her. Although, as of late, the project that has been begging to be finished (and very nearly is) would be something she would not read. I don’t think my Southern Baptist grandmother would really approve of a book about a gay boy who gets dumped and then grows wings. At least, one of the chapters she would just skip all together because of its explicit content.

I’ve heard some before me say that they wish they had told their loved one that had died who they truly were.  I never got to say it, but I’m pretty sure she had a hunch.  The woman’s room was right next to mine and I had a habit of talking late into the night to my husband on my cell phone.  It’s strange to me that my husband even got to meet her once.  He attended my high school graduation and unknowingly sat behind my parents.

My heart tells me she would have loved Charlie.  To see how my parents love him…  It shows me how powerful love is.

January 16, 2015

Ancient Letters

This story is drawn from my own experience.  Back when my husband was getting his business started I did indeed accompany him to one of his bids in Oakland at this beautiful old house.  And I did go snooping through every drawer and closet, eventually happening upon these letters in the exact spot described.  As of this moment I have not read them because they are in French and I can neither read nor speak the language.  In addition, I do not know anyone who can and even if I did I have no idea where they have been put.  I tend to do this thing of hiding certain items to “keep them safe” and in the end just keep them from myself.

A Year of Writing Prompts by Brian A. Klems and Zachary Petit

January 15

“She’d Pass him the note years ago, when he was studying abroad. He’d never had it translated. Until now.”

The house sat on the edge of a hill, built somewhere at the turn of the century, with a mission style theme. Over the years in the wet Oakland weather it slowly but surely began to sink. Many attempts were made to level it, but none were successful. Eventually it was purchased by a modern family who raised a family in it and began decorating it to change with the times. Somewhere in the 60’s dark brown wood paneling was placed over the fireplace, which had begun to crack due to sinking, and curtains were hung between rooms to give them more definition. The drapes were thick cotton, with swirling patterns embroidered from seam to seam, and dyed a wretched pea soup green.

Soon the family began to age. The boys went off to college and the husband doted ever more on his wife. She had begun to grow weak and making it up the four steps to their bedroom was becoming a bothersome chore. Before long she just slept on the couch. Her husband sitting in the chair next to her. The position kinked his back (and would be thecause of his later hunch) but he would have been nowhere else.

Finally the man and wife died only moments apart. They left the house to their sons who couldn’t find the time to go in and sort out their things. Nor could they be bothered to make the payments. The house fell into the hands of the bank, who sent in men to clean out the house. These day hires stormed every inch of the home and rid it of any sign it had ever been lived in. Once the real estate agent in charge of the property signed off on their clean-up they sent in the contractor.

“So the job is all the way in Oakland?” Josh asked.

“Yeah, both of them.”

The two men sat in the white pick-up truck, towing a trailer they had rented from U-Haul. Their two dogs, Klause and Sadie, a german shepard and a lachschund, panted excitedly in the small space behind the bench seat.

“If I get these jobs then it could open up a whole new world for Cline Home Improvement.”

Josh looked at his boyfriend, his eyes wide and his mouth stretched into an uncomfortable smile.

The two had spent the last couple years trying to get the company up off the ground. This was a whole new world. And with the pending jobs it would mean that they would be a real business.

They pulled in front of this sinking house, as the sun was setting behind it into the sea. They walked inside and Josh was taken by the view that stretched out before him.

“You can almost see San Francisco from here,” Josh exclaimed.

The dogs scurried excitedly through the house, sniffing every crevasse.

Charlie stepped next to him.

“It sure is gorgeous.” He paused. “God I’d love to live in the bay area.”

“In this house!”

“I wouldn’t go that far.”

Charlie began his inspection, making notes on a yellow legal pad. Josh on the other hand went snooping through the house for lost or forgotten treasures with the dogs.

“What’re you doing,” Charlie called, “Come here.”

Josh scrambled up the narrow staircase that lad to a room downstairs.

He emerged into the entry hallway and turned to look into the living room with the view.

“Yeah?”

“Help me remove this,” Charlie said, pointing to the wooden casing around the fire.

“Why do we need to do that?”

Josh stepped to the other side of the fireplace and waited, while charlie used a crowbar to pry it away from the wall.

“There is foundation damage and the realtor told me she thinks that it might have caused some structure damage. So I want to make sure the fireplace is okay.”

Charlie dropped the crowbar to the hardwood floor, it landed with a hallow thud.

“Just pull and lower it slowly. With me.”

The two men heaved and lowered it gently, but on the way the mirror that had been placed in it cracked.

“That’s not good,” josh said, looking at it.

“Oh well.”

Charlie examined the fireplace on either side and in the hearth. He made a note on the pad and turned to continue his inspection.

Josh on the other hand looked into the alcove that had been put above the fireplace. It was even equipped with a socket. He went up and touched the shelf and found a worn stac of letters, tied with a silk pink bow.

“Oh my god, Charlie,” Josh said, “I found some old letters.”

“Neat.”

Josh turned the bundle around to find a date. The penmanship was exquisite with sharp loops, all squashed together. Up in the right corner of one of the letters was the date written in French with the year 1920.

“You’re not going to believe how old these are.”

Josh rushed over to charlie and showed him the year.

“Wow.”

Josh ignored his lack of enthusiasm and instead focused only on the letters.

“I wonder what they say. Do we know anyone who speaks French?”

“Nope.”

Josh pulled out his phone and facebooked a status explaining his incredible find, asking for anyone that could read it. Within minutes it got four “likes,” but no offers to help.

The boy groaned and turned the letters over and over in his hand.

“I wonder why they put them here. This would make a great story.”

“Well why don’t you write it. You say you’re a writer.”

“I don’t know what I would say about it.”

Charlie finished his inspection and the two men, with their dogs, piled into their truck and headed for the next job site.

That night Josh’s cousin posted a comment on the thread with an offer to read the letters and translate. As luck would have it, she happened to live in the Bay Area.

“We have to go!” Josh said excitedly.

Leaving the dogs behind at the vacant house, the two men drove across two bridges into San Francisco to meet Josh’s cousin Alis at Vesuvio’s for a drink.

Veusvio’s was an old two-story dive. The likes of Jack Kerouac could have been found here back in the day. Some say he even wrote a few of his stories in the bar.

“Hey cousin,” Alis said, as she rushed in for a hug.

“No time to waste.” Josh said, excited. He produced the letters from the front pouch of his pull-over hoody.

“Someone’s excited,” she said.

“Are you kidding? How many times does someone find something extroadinary like this?”

Alis laughed and smacked a kiss on her cousin’s cheek, leaving a pair of ruby red lip prints.

The three climbed the narrow stairs to the second floor and took up a table by the window, above the entrance. While Alis read, her lips moving with her eyes, the two watched the people pass on the sidewalk.

“This place is great,” charlie said. “If we lived in the city would this be the place you came to write?”

Josh looked around at the growing number of hipster patrons and rolled his eyes.

“Yeah, no.”

“This is beautiful,” Alis said.

She lowered the letters to the table and pressed them flat with her hands.

“These are letters to a woman named Emily, from a man named Rene. They had met in Paris while she was travelling abroad and he was supposed to come over on the Titanic to meet her.”

“Are you kidding me?” Josh bounced in his seat.

“Yes,” Alis said.

“That’s not very nice.”

“It’s great.” Charlie said with a wicked grin.

“Really,” Josh leaned forward, “What does it say?”

Alis glanced over the letters once more.

“They’re letters from family. The woman they are addressed to is named Emily. Rene is her father, or at least that is what I gather. He is pleading with her to forgive him for what he had said in their fight.

“He begs her to come home. With each letter he pleads even more until the last one where he wishes her the best.”

“That’s fantastic!” Josh said, “Sad, but fantastic.”

“You should try and find the family that owned them.” Alis said.

“And give these up? Hell no.” josh said, “I may use them in a story one day.”