Brandon was nervous, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. He never did things like this. And by things I mean go on blind dates with girls he barely new. Come to think of it, Brandon had not been on a date for over two years, he hadn’t been to a bar, a club, anywhere since Laura died. And not because he didn’t want to go out, didn’t want to date, he did, desperately, but he just didn’t have the time. Ever since the accident, ever since Laura died, he had been left to take care of their son, their little boy, Jake who was diagnosed with autism at 22 months. And they survived, somehow, the three of them, even if Laura had to quite her day job to take care of him, the job she loved, that one that made her face light up every time she talked about it. But they made it through things together, until Laura died. With her gone it was like the cement of the house was gone, the glue that held every thing together was gone, and Brandon was left picking up the pieces of what his life had been. And now suddenly, he found himself sitting on the girls couch…Jane’s couch, while she was in the kitchen making tea. Was this a mistake? He thought, should I have not come up for a drink? Brandon quickly scanned through the evening in his mind. Dinner had been fine; they had gone to the small Italian restaurant around the corner, and they had a nice easy conversation about work, about the economy…but not about Laura, and defiantly not about Jake, not yet at least. He tried to remember what Jane had said… she said she had liked her job, that she was a secretary, that she got paid well… and she was a republican, and then she had asked Brandon were he stood on politics, but he had replied curtly that he was not interested in politics. It was easier that way, less painful then telling this girl his story. The story of how he had grown up in a conservative home, and never really thought about politics, he just sort of was a republican because his parents were. Until Laura, a liberal world wind marching the streets in protest in a pair of doc martens. Brandon was walking to school; he going t Columbia at the time, when he had seen her, marching with other protesters, in front of a government office. She was pale, fragile, skinny, looking at her you would never know she could get so loud, so angry. She screamed, throwing her fists in he air, and then grabbed the megaphone out of a mans hand, screaming an anti-war chant. And Brandon stood their, his polo and crew cut watching her, amazed. And by next week, he had been standing by her side; arm and arm at a similar protest screaming of government corruption… but Brandon shook that memory out of his head, and focused on the little blond in the kitchen making Coffee. Brandon considered Jane; she was sweet, and cute, and nice… but soft, breakable, nothing at all like Laura. despite her fragile appearance Brandon had only seen Laura cry once, when Jake had been diagnosed, it had been terrifying, like the sky was falling, she had broke down in his arms on the bathroom floor, she sobbed, wailed, her tiny little features becoming distorted, she cried until she fell asleep their in his arms on the bathroom tile, and Brandon sat their, holding her up, feeling like his world, no the whole world was ending, and he could only watch, powerless to stop it.
“Would you like some tea?” the girl called over her shoulder from the kitchen, breaking Brandon’s train of thought.“I would. Thank you.” He replied. “Careful. It’s hot.” She said returning with two cups of steaming tea. “I usually prefer iced tea.” Brandon admitted. Thinking of their honeymoon, thinking of Jamaican iced Tea, the one they brought a case home to the states. “Mmm. I don’t have any.”“Maybe I can put ice in this tea.” Brandon suggested hopefully. “But that’s what I’m saying—I don’t have any cubes.”
“Oh” Brandon said looking down, he meet Laura’s eyes, sweet, unbroken, she deserved someone whole, not a shell of a man, a shadow of what he used to be, of what could have been. He grabbed his Blazer and stood up. He bent down and kissed the top of the girls head. “Sorry.” He said, before leaving.
Wednesday, March 24, 2010
Tuesday, March 16, 2010
imaginary store
Ashley Siflinger
Black coffee, orange marmalade, and a jar of rain.
The girl in the pastel colored dress, with blond waves, reaching her back, and dark circle under her eyes, from reading comes into the store, in a hollowed out tree, she carried under her arm a red book, and other the other arm she carried a beaver. Their at the small wooden table lance Armstrong sits at the window with the view of the world. A French woman rides in on a bicycle, her long dark hair tied to one side, she is wearing a red beret, and her bicycle is built for two she is carrying a large French beget, she walks up to the shelf and grapes a jar of marmalade, then lance gets up and pours himself a cup of black coffee And lastly, the tiered, sad girl walks to the shelf and she grabs herself a jar of rain. And there is a sun shower, in the jar, and there is a lightning storm, and there are big drops of lazy rain, and there is humid rain….
Black coffee, orange marmalade, and a jar of rain.
The girl in the pastel colored dress, with blond waves, reaching her back, and dark circle under her eyes, from reading comes into the store, in a hollowed out tree, she carried under her arm a red book, and other the other arm she carried a beaver. Their at the small wooden table lance Armstrong sits at the window with the view of the world. A French woman rides in on a bicycle, her long dark hair tied to one side, she is wearing a red beret, and her bicycle is built for two she is carrying a large French beget, she walks up to the shelf and grapes a jar of marmalade, then lance gets up and pours himself a cup of black coffee And lastly, the tiered, sad girl walks to the shelf and she grabs herself a jar of rain. And there is a sun shower, in the jar, and there is a lightning storm, and there are big drops of lazy rain, and there is humid rain….
dialoge starter
Ashley Siflinger 3/9/10
Brandon was nervous; he never did things like this. And by things I mean he never went on a blind date with some girl his co-workers had set him up with. In fact he almost never dated, period, it had been hard for him to get out since Laura died three yeas ago leaving him to raise an autistic son, Jake. And don’t get me wrong, he loved Jake, loved him more than anything, and he didn’t mind taking care of him, even if it meant sacrificing all of his time apart from work. But taking care of a son with autism has taken a toll, and Brandon hadn’t been to dinner with a girl in three years, let alone up to her apartment for a drink afterwards. And its not because he didn’t want to, he did, desperately, but something change after Laura died. He was no longer the fun loving guy, who could drink anyone under the table, or the guy you turned to to be your wing man when you were at a club. No, after Jake was born, and especially after Laura died, Brandon had stopped going out, having fun. And now, despite what his friends thought, he didn’t need just another one-night stand, he needed a wife, someone to share a life with, someone who was caring and gentle, and most of all, willing to help take care of Jake. But here he was, at this girls apartment, sitting on her couch, and he didn’t even feel anything, all he kept thinking was Would she make a good mother, and Could this girl really take care of Jake.
“Would you like some tea?” the girl called over her shoulder from the kitchen, breaking Brandons train of thought.“I would. Thank you.” He replied.“Careful. It’s hot.” She said returning with two cups of steaming tea.“I usually prefer iced tea.” Brandon admitted.“Mmm. I don’t have any.”“Maybe I can put ice in this tea.” Brandon suggested hopefully.“But that’s what I’m saying—I don’t have any cubes.”“Sorry.”
Brandon was nervous; he never did things like this. And by things I mean he never went on a blind date with some girl his co-workers had set him up with. In fact he almost never dated, period, it had been hard for him to get out since Laura died three yeas ago leaving him to raise an autistic son, Jake. And don’t get me wrong, he loved Jake, loved him more than anything, and he didn’t mind taking care of him, even if it meant sacrificing all of his time apart from work. But taking care of a son with autism has taken a toll, and Brandon hadn’t been to dinner with a girl in three years, let alone up to her apartment for a drink afterwards. And its not because he didn’t want to, he did, desperately, but something change after Laura died. He was no longer the fun loving guy, who could drink anyone under the table, or the guy you turned to to be your wing man when you were at a club. No, after Jake was born, and especially after Laura died, Brandon had stopped going out, having fun. And now, despite what his friends thought, he didn’t need just another one-night stand, he needed a wife, someone to share a life with, someone who was caring and gentle, and most of all, willing to help take care of Jake. But here he was, at this girls apartment, sitting on her couch, and he didn’t even feel anything, all he kept thinking was Would she make a good mother, and Could this girl really take care of Jake.
“Would you like some tea?” the girl called over her shoulder from the kitchen, breaking Brandons train of thought.“I would. Thank you.” He replied.“Careful. It’s hot.” She said returning with two cups of steaming tea.“I usually prefer iced tea.” Brandon admitted.“Mmm. I don’t have any.”“Maybe I can put ice in this tea.” Brandon suggested hopefully.“But that’s what I’m saying—I don’t have any cubes.”“Sorry.”
Friday, March 5, 2010
I liked the story how to become a writer by Lorie Moore. I liked the somewhat dry sense of humor, and as someone who likes to consider themselves as a writer, i felt as if i could relate to what the character went through. But reading about all the trials, and the character trining to philosophise, and even when she reached "her dark place" where she felt hopeless, it was funny, in an endearing kind of way, like watching a younger sibling....and then you realize that when you went through some of these "dark times" it didn't seem so funny
But what i really loved, was how bits of the characters experiences, made there way into the story, i love how it was heavy, in a way. I i found myself relly touched by the hiden almost insight, about her losing her virginity, and her parents divorce, and how she made sence of it all in her writing. And how she couldnt make sence of what happened to her brother, she cant come to terms with a tragity of such magnitude.
"In thee years there have been three things: you lost your virginity; your parents got divorced; and your brother came home from a forest 10 miles from the Cambodian border with only half a thigh, a permanent smirk nestled into one corner of his mouth.About the first you write: ''It created a new space, which hurt and cried in a voice that wasn't mine, 'I'm not the same anymore, but I'll be O.K.' ''About the second you write an elaborate story of an old married couple who stumble upon an unknown land mine in their kitchen and accidentally blow themselves up. You call it: ''For Better or for Liverwurst.''About the last you write nothing. There are no words for this. Your typewriter hums. You can find no words."
And she even asks, in such an under stated way such a powerful question "If there's a God, then why is my brother now a cripple?"
But what i really loved, was how bits of the characters experiences, made there way into the story, i love how it was heavy, in a way. I i found myself relly touched by the hiden almost insight, about her losing her virginity, and her parents divorce, and how she made sence of it all in her writing. And how she couldnt make sence of what happened to her brother, she cant come to terms with a tragity of such magnitude.
"In thee years there have been three things: you lost your virginity; your parents got divorced; and your brother came home from a forest 10 miles from the Cambodian border with only half a thigh, a permanent smirk nestled into one corner of his mouth.About the first you write: ''It created a new space, which hurt and cried in a voice that wasn't mine, 'I'm not the same anymore, but I'll be O.K.' ''About the second you write an elaborate story of an old married couple who stumble upon an unknown land mine in their kitchen and accidentally blow themselves up. You call it: ''For Better or for Liverwurst.''About the last you write nothing. There are no words for this. Your typewriter hums. You can find no words."
And she even asks, in such an under stated way such a powerful question "If there's a God, then why is my brother now a cripple?"
Wednesday, March 3, 2010
Valentines Day story
2/24/10
The inside of the coffee shop was colorful, vibrant; inside people are coming and going with their daily routines. Behind the counter an older Mexican man in a green employee’s apron is running around making coffee, which he finishes and hands to a small woman. A tall thirty- something approaches the counter.
“Hey Chris, the usual eh?” said the man behind the counter his lips pulling back into a wide easy grin.
“You know it buddy” Chris said as he reached into his wallet. Smiling, the man went to the coffee maker.
“You know man, one day I know you’re gonna come in here and order something different,” said the man, returning with the coffee.
“I don’t know Eddie maybe”
“Well, come on man, what about today. Can I interest you in something sweet to brighten up your Valentine’s day?” said Eddie playfully gesturing to the case, displacing, pink frosted cupcakes and red, heart-shaped cookies.
“Tempting, but my Valentines Day doesn’t need any brightening,”
“Now why don’t I believe you?”
“Its’ true man, I might be getting that promotion today.”
“Don’t you like, already own the company?”
“Almost man, almost, all in good time.”
“Well when you own half of Los Angles I better get like a Christmas tip at least”
“If I get the company, ill by you a car” Chris says Chuckling.
Eddies thick eyebrows shoot up in disbelief, “Is that so” Eddie says mockingly.
“Swear on my life.” Eddie says grinnig.
“Alright, we have a deal.” Eddie says, chuckling. Chris is about to leave when Eddie grabs his arm to stop him.
“But come on you know that’s not what I mean…” Chris sighs, he’s heard this all before, from his sister, from his aunts, from his mother. Vividly, he remembers the conversation he had on the phone with his mother yesterday, and especially her response to him working late on Valentines Day.
“Why can’t you be like your cousin Joey? the boys younger than you and already married, and hes given your auntie Mae three grandbabies. Comon Chrisy When are you gonna make me a proud mamma? You find yourself a nice, decent girl, not like that tramp Candy-”
“Mom…”Chris sighs
“Ill rephrase, that Woman with promiscuous tendencies…”
“ Mom, Candy was not promiscuous…”
“Honey, who wears shorts, to Vermont in the winter? its simply not becoming..”
“Okay I get it mom but …”
“And that red dress, she almost gave your uncle Herman a stroke, Do you want to give Herman a stroke?’
“No Mom, but…”
“Then shhh… both you and I know this has nothing to do with Candy, what I’m trying to say is that you work all day and night in that office, and for what? For who? You already made your fortune, but now you have to find someone to share it with”….Shaking his head to clear the memory, Chris tells Eddie, what he couldn’t tell his mother.
“Valentines Day is just another meaningless holiday, like groundhogs day, or boxing day…. Ooooh” Chris said taking a sip of his coffee. “Now that my friend is true love, no seriously that’s good stuff, you keep making coffee like this and I might just buy you a house.” Taking another sip “mmmm. On the beach, with a view…” But Eddie was still staring at him.
“Oh common man” Chris reasoned. “Valentines Day is just a day women invented, as an excuse for men to buy them jewelry and chocolates and lingerie, so that they can convince themselves that their men are in love with them or at the very least being monogamous.”
“No, you see you got it all wrong,” Said a voice from behind Chris, who turned around to see a tall blond woman in a pencil skit snake around him and approach the counter. “Women, despite the contrary belief, are not that delusional....Ill take the usual Eddie and one of those.” She said pointing to a pink frosted cupcake in the window. Now turning back to face Chris, who stood their dumbstruck. “No, you see, Valentines Day, was invented by a bunch of men of average to less than average attractiveness, in order to get their wife’s, girlfriends or mistresses, to sleep with them.” Eddie handed the woman a small latte and her cupcake, which she accepted and the reached into her bag to pay. Over her shoulder Chris mouthed to Eddie, you know her. Eddie smiled and nodded, and then raising his brows, he gestured to Chris then the woman then back to Chris mouthing she’s single.
The woman took a sip of her latte, “The plan, of course, backfired, because as you mentioned, Valentine’s Day has become less about the bang, and more about the buck.”
“Well said” Said Chris, regaining his footing and raising his coffee in mock toast to the woman.”But it’s not every day I meet cynics eating pink cupcakes.” The woman who was beginning to walk away stops and turns back to Chris.
“I’m not a cynic, I’m a realist.”
“ Only hopeless romantics eat pink cupcakes.”
“What are you a physiatrist now?”
“Something like that” Chris says smiling and walking up to her
“Tell me Doc, how do even know the cupcakes for me?”
“Because I know you better than you think.”
“Really.” The woman said in disbelief as they began to walk to the door.
“Well, woman like you, that is, I’ve dated in the professional world for years…don’t worry I know your type.”Chris says.
“Really, and what’s my type?” The woman said, hiding how offended she was getting.”
Putting his hands up in mock surrender Chris says “let’s just say that that cupcake is for you…” Snaking around the woman and blocking the exit, Chris says “But tell me Miss Cynic, who’s the lip gloss for?” A faint blush appeared across the woman’s cheek, she sidestepped the man, almost at the door when he reached out her grabbed her arm, leaning down, he whispered in her ear,” Don’t worry Miss Cynic, you secrets safe with me.” The woman was half-way out the door when she turned back around
“What was her name…” she asked
“Who?”
“The one…you know the one who made you like this.”
“I…”
The woman was still halfway out the door she held open, sunlight streaming down on her hair, yellow hair, pulled back tight. She nodded to herself.
“Mine was Greg, Gregory.” She smiled an ancient smile, one of picnics, and sunsets and lighter days. “He died” she said looking down at her cupcake “a year ago in a car accident.” She looked back up at Chris, the smile gone now, she continued to stare at him, she looked down again and then back up at him, her mask firmly in place now, she turned on her heal and was about to walk out the door when she heard Chris faintly from behind her.
“Gloria.” He cleared his throat. “Her name was Gloria.”
The woman turned around to face Chris the ghost of the ancient smile dancing somewhere behind her eyes as she slowly turned her back on the man and walked out of the little coffee shop and back into the crowded street of L.A. And she didn’t know it, but that day, everyone on the sidewalk and everyone on sidewalks and coffee shops around the world will think about their long lost Gregory, or their long lost Gloria, and they will smile an ancient smile of picnics, of long walks, of rock concerts, of stolen hours, of whispered promises, and of sunsets. They will smile a smile of lighter days.
The inside of the coffee shop was colorful, vibrant; inside people are coming and going with their daily routines. Behind the counter an older Mexican man in a green employee’s apron is running around making coffee, which he finishes and hands to a small woman. A tall thirty- something approaches the counter.
“Hey Chris, the usual eh?” said the man behind the counter his lips pulling back into a wide easy grin.
“You know it buddy” Chris said as he reached into his wallet. Smiling, the man went to the coffee maker.
“You know man, one day I know you’re gonna come in here and order something different,” said the man, returning with the coffee.
“I don’t know Eddie maybe”
“Well, come on man, what about today. Can I interest you in something sweet to brighten up your Valentine’s day?” said Eddie playfully gesturing to the case, displacing, pink frosted cupcakes and red, heart-shaped cookies.
“Tempting, but my Valentines Day doesn’t need any brightening,”
“Now why don’t I believe you?”
“Its’ true man, I might be getting that promotion today.”
“Don’t you like, already own the company?”
“Almost man, almost, all in good time.”
“Well when you own half of Los Angles I better get like a Christmas tip at least”
“If I get the company, ill by you a car” Chris says Chuckling.
Eddies thick eyebrows shoot up in disbelief, “Is that so” Eddie says mockingly.
“Swear on my life.” Eddie says grinnig.
“Alright, we have a deal.” Eddie says, chuckling. Chris is about to leave when Eddie grabs his arm to stop him.
“But come on you know that’s not what I mean…” Chris sighs, he’s heard this all before, from his sister, from his aunts, from his mother. Vividly, he remembers the conversation he had on the phone with his mother yesterday, and especially her response to him working late on Valentines Day.
“Why can’t you be like your cousin Joey? the boys younger than you and already married, and hes given your auntie Mae three grandbabies. Comon Chrisy When are you gonna make me a proud mamma? You find yourself a nice, decent girl, not like that tramp Candy-”
“Mom…”Chris sighs
“Ill rephrase, that Woman with promiscuous tendencies…”
“ Mom, Candy was not promiscuous…”
“Honey, who wears shorts, to Vermont in the winter? its simply not becoming..”
“Okay I get it mom but …”
“And that red dress, she almost gave your uncle Herman a stroke, Do you want to give Herman a stroke?’
“No Mom, but…”
“Then shhh… both you and I know this has nothing to do with Candy, what I’m trying to say is that you work all day and night in that office, and for what? For who? You already made your fortune, but now you have to find someone to share it with”….Shaking his head to clear the memory, Chris tells Eddie, what he couldn’t tell his mother.
“Valentines Day is just another meaningless holiday, like groundhogs day, or boxing day…. Ooooh” Chris said taking a sip of his coffee. “Now that my friend is true love, no seriously that’s good stuff, you keep making coffee like this and I might just buy you a house.” Taking another sip “mmmm. On the beach, with a view…” But Eddie was still staring at him.
“Oh common man” Chris reasoned. “Valentines Day is just a day women invented, as an excuse for men to buy them jewelry and chocolates and lingerie, so that they can convince themselves that their men are in love with them or at the very least being monogamous.”
“No, you see you got it all wrong,” Said a voice from behind Chris, who turned around to see a tall blond woman in a pencil skit snake around him and approach the counter. “Women, despite the contrary belief, are not that delusional....Ill take the usual Eddie and one of those.” She said pointing to a pink frosted cupcake in the window. Now turning back to face Chris, who stood their dumbstruck. “No, you see, Valentines Day, was invented by a bunch of men of average to less than average attractiveness, in order to get their wife’s, girlfriends or mistresses, to sleep with them.” Eddie handed the woman a small latte and her cupcake, which she accepted and the reached into her bag to pay. Over her shoulder Chris mouthed to Eddie, you know her. Eddie smiled and nodded, and then raising his brows, he gestured to Chris then the woman then back to Chris mouthing she’s single.
The woman took a sip of her latte, “The plan, of course, backfired, because as you mentioned, Valentine’s Day has become less about the bang, and more about the buck.”
“Well said” Said Chris, regaining his footing and raising his coffee in mock toast to the woman.”But it’s not every day I meet cynics eating pink cupcakes.” The woman who was beginning to walk away stops and turns back to Chris.
“I’m not a cynic, I’m a realist.”
“ Only hopeless romantics eat pink cupcakes.”
“What are you a physiatrist now?”
“Something like that” Chris says smiling and walking up to her
“Tell me Doc, how do even know the cupcakes for me?”
“Because I know you better than you think.”
“Really.” The woman said in disbelief as they began to walk to the door.
“Well, woman like you, that is, I’ve dated in the professional world for years…don’t worry I know your type.”Chris says.
“Really, and what’s my type?” The woman said, hiding how offended she was getting.”
Putting his hands up in mock surrender Chris says “let’s just say that that cupcake is for you…” Snaking around the woman and blocking the exit, Chris says “But tell me Miss Cynic, who’s the lip gloss for?” A faint blush appeared across the woman’s cheek, she sidestepped the man, almost at the door when he reached out her grabbed her arm, leaning down, he whispered in her ear,” Don’t worry Miss Cynic, you secrets safe with me.” The woman was half-way out the door when she turned back around
“What was her name…” she asked
“Who?”
“The one…you know the one who made you like this.”
“I…”
The woman was still halfway out the door she held open, sunlight streaming down on her hair, yellow hair, pulled back tight. She nodded to herself.
“Mine was Greg, Gregory.” She smiled an ancient smile, one of picnics, and sunsets and lighter days. “He died” she said looking down at her cupcake “a year ago in a car accident.” She looked back up at Chris, the smile gone now, she continued to stare at him, she looked down again and then back up at him, her mask firmly in place now, she turned on her heal and was about to walk out the door when she heard Chris faintly from behind her.
“Gloria.” He cleared his throat. “Her name was Gloria.”
The woman turned around to face Chris the ghost of the ancient smile dancing somewhere behind her eyes as she slowly turned her back on the man and walked out of the little coffee shop and back into the crowded street of L.A. And she didn’t know it, but that day, everyone on the sidewalk and everyone on sidewalks and coffee shops around the world will think about their long lost Gregory, or their long lost Gloria, and they will smile an ancient smile of picnics, of long walks, of rock concerts, of stolen hours, of whispered promises, and of sunsets. They will smile a smile of lighter days.
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