My writing has been stagnant lately; hard and immovable like dried BBQ sauce on a kitchen countertop. Perhaps it was the vacation I just enjoyed on the Caribbean Coast. Perhaps it's the stress of money troubles (so why was I on vacation?...) or the learning process of my new job. Or perhaps it's just me. My brain sticks to the side of my head like that dried BBQ sauce.
Justin, my best friend and co-protagonist in my article "A Long Goodbye", is also having trouble as of late. Perhaps he too has been enjoying too much sun. Perhaps he's overwhelmed with the duties of a seemingly meaningless temp job in the Hollywood Hills. Maybe the plastic people are suffocating his true creative soul. Maybe he's just drained.
When one has writer's block the only solution is to keep writing, no matter how dry and sticky one's mind has become. We started writing five sentences twice a week based on a topic of the partner's choice. I've decided to share our meaningless jumbles as a way to distract from the fact that I've got nothing else.
These stories are very real and very much made up. For extra fun, I will not tell you the author of each paragraph. Read on, reader.
POWDER
I'd forgotten I'd put powder in my shoes until I saw the traces of my bare feet on the wooden paneling. I knelt and looked at the blank space between my toes and the sole, the curve to the heel, there on the floor. Just ahead, another foot, and then another - pale, vague reminders that I'd already been through here. Unmoving, I followed one print to the next, across the room, through the balconied daylight, until they disappeared down the shadowed middle hall.
I'd forgotten I'd put powder in my shoes until I saw the traces of my bare feet on the wooden paneling. I knelt and looked at the blank space between my toes and the sole, the curve to the heel, there on the floor. Just ahead, another foot, and then another - pale, vague reminders that I'd already been through here. Unmoving, I followed one print to the next, across the room, through the balconied daylight, until they disappeared down the shadowed middle hall.
FEAR
I wake promptly at 6:28am, just before my alarm is set to desecrate the early morning silence. My lids flutter to cloudy alertness and I inhale; the breath stretches vertically from my chest to my back. There is no heaviness of commitment, no panic of promise. The fear that once controlled me has been left in the dry, unyeilding soil of The States. There is just me now.
I wake promptly at 6:28am, just before my alarm is set to desecrate the early morning silence. My lids flutter to cloudy alertness and I inhale; the breath stretches vertically from my chest to my back. There is no heaviness of commitment, no panic of promise. The fear that once controlled me has been left in the dry, unyeilding soil of The States. There is just me now.
WEATHER
They say people who live here get tired of the sun, grow weary from the brightness, ask for clouds, pray for rain. I haven't found myself doing any of that - but the HEAT; my god, the heat. "At least it's not humid," my mom says, but when it's 105 degrees for a week straight humidity's about as consequential as a bible at a gay bar. I want the sun, but can leave the heat; I may have backed myself into a corner.
They say people who live here get tired of the sun, grow weary from the brightness, ask for clouds, pray for rain. I haven't found myself doing any of that - but the HEAT; my god, the heat. "At least it's not humid," my mom says, but when it's 105 degrees for a week straight humidity's about as consequential as a bible at a gay bar. I want the sun, but can leave the heat; I may have backed myself into a corner.
BOWL
He insists on ordering our drinks in Spanish but butchers each word, the sounds splattering like a dirty chop job, despite his Colombian background. He thinks louder is better and tries to hold my hand. My cheeks flush with anger and embarrassment as he stares expectantly, smiling proudly. I avert his gaze and instead turn my focus to the stale popcorn in the center of the table. "Anywhere is better than here with him," I think as I submerge my hand into the bowl of cardboard corn.
He insists on ordering our drinks in Spanish but butchers each word, the sounds splattering like a dirty chop job, despite his Colombian background. He thinks louder is better and tries to hold my hand. My cheeks flush with anger and embarrassment as he stares expectantly, smiling proudly. I avert his gaze and instead turn my focus to the stale popcorn in the center of the table. "Anywhere is better than here with him," I think as I submerge my hand into the bowl of cardboard corn.
LOCK
I left him, unslaked and naked, and walked to the door. I threw the top dead bolt back, made for the next one. "...that one's not locked," he said from the bed, and I glanced at him, hardly able to. I opened the door, took four steps outside, and lifted my face to the Yucca Valley sun - hot and dry at 9am; it alone in the sky, me alone in the hotel parking lot - and breathed, and breathed.
I left him, unslaked and naked, and walked to the door. I threw the top dead bolt back, made for the next one. "...that one's not locked," he said from the bed, and I glanced at him, hardly able to. I opened the door, took four steps outside, and lifted my face to the Yucca Valley sun - hot and dry at 9am; it alone in the sky, me alone in the hotel parking lot - and breathed, and breathed.
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