Fiction Friday:Kind of.

It's 12:38am on Saturday. The day got away from me with work til 7pm and just being plain tired. A friend texted to remind me of the lack of a Fiction Friday post, and gave me the word Chevron. Here's the story.

Chevron
by This Girl

The crisp fall weather and barren trees were a sharp contrast to the vibrant colors of the coats and scarves worn by the screaming second grade class as they recessed. Children swinging, skipping and reveling in a break from the tedium of reading, writing and rithmitic behaved like tiny maniacs in a ward filled with jungle gyms and see-saws.

I sat on the step to the main building, staring into the distance. My mind was on the cigarette I was wishing was in my hand and a plot to grab another cup of coffee before beginning the next lesson was formulating in my head. Caffeine and nicotine. A way to get through the morning hours til lunch, then the afternoon til recess, and finally til the children went away. An almost circadian rhythm of teaching elementary school for the 10th year. Starting out, it had been a crusade to educate and illuminate the life of a child with the glow of knowledge and curiosity.

Now, it was just a job. I cared for the kids, but as soon as that bell rang, I was gone.

Herding the children back into the construction paper bedecked halls of the school, we finished the day with art projects that were Pollock inspired not by intent, but by pure lack of imagination and motor skills. Hanging each piece to dry on a clothesline with various multi colored clothespins, I barely gave the images a second thought as I quickly turned out the lights, locked the door, and headed for my car that I could barely afford.

It was getting colder out as the day waned, and my breath puffed out in front of me as I unlocked the door. Out of the corner of my eye I spotted one of my students standing by herself, neck craned to spot a car heading to pick her up. She was small for her age, with long ashy hair and a sweet face stuck behind a bright pink scarf. She was one of the quiet ones, and never gave me trouble so I'd never really paid her any mind. My phone twirped, and looking down I saw a text from a girlfriend asking me to meet her for much needed drinks. As I pulled away, a beat up Subaru pulled up and the anxious expression on the little girls face disappeared.

The next morning dawned cold and hungover. Caffeine and nicotine and aspirin. Entering the room, I started pulling down paintings that had improved little after drying and began placing them accordingly on each students desk. Timmy painted a lion. I think. Lilly painted a flower with a smiley face. Barf. Rachel painted a tree with a racoons face peeking from a hole in the trunk. Not bad.

The next page was from the little girl standing outside by herself the previous afternoon. It depicted a gas station with a man standing in front of it. The man was wearing a white blob which could have been a robe, and had a yellow circle above his head, a childish interpretation of a halo. I had no idea what it was meant to depict, but with my pounding head and the countdown to the arrival of my students, I gave it little thought.

As the kids filed in noisily, I loudly announced the schedule for the day that I had meticulously written on the board. Addition, subtraction, telling time...lunch came and went, and then recess. The kids all screamed out the door, save the little girl. She slowly came towards the front of the classroom, where I was putting on my coat.

"Ms. Leehman?" she asked, quietly getting permission from me for her to speak. I looked down at her and was about to urge her to get her coat as well when I noticed the dried tears on her round chipmunk cheeks. Something inside of me shifted. I forgot the headache and the fuzziness behind my eyes, and finally looked at this hurting little person who was now looking at me with fresh tears welling up in her eyes. I was seeing her, my student, for what seemed like the first time. I was feeling it again, the fire that urged me to protect this little girl and to make everything okay for her.

Holding my finger up to her to wait, I called to one of the teachers in the hallway to cover my recess shift. I gestured for her to join me in the reading circle, and when we had both settled into our bean bag chairs, she told me. About how her dad had two jobs, and worked nights at a gas station to keep a roof over their heads. How some man had killed him for the money in his cash drawer and snacks from the front counter. How now it was just her and a littler sister with their mom, all scared, all lost, and all mourning. She explained it as a child would, with an adult tone creeping into her words that broke my heart. Tears flowed, from both of us, and though I was told to never show affection to the kids, I grabbed this little girl and hugged her until all her tears had gone. And I started to talk.

"I know it's going to hurt. And I know it's going to be hard. But you talk to me whenever you need to talk. Let me know if there's anything you need. Ever. My door is always open. And the principal and I will talk to your mom. Ok?"

She nodded. With one last squeeze, I walked her over to her coat, helped her to put it on, and walked with her to the double doors leading to outside. I sat on my step. She sat with me. We watched the other children playing in silence. I watched the kids with new, refreshed eyes and realized that the politics and the rules and the standardized testing didn't mean anything. The grading papers and the wasted weekends crafting assignments didn't mean anything. My shit didn't mean ANYTHING. These kids meant everything.

And I was going to do my best for them. And for this little girl, whose name was Sarah.

Fiction Friday. For real this time.

Someone asked me yesterday how I'm going to do this whole Fiction Friday thing. What's going to inspire it? What will it be about? And I said, Dunno.

Then I thought, I'm gonna take something I experience during the day, and take a word, feeling, or something I see, and convert it into a short piece of fiction. Today's motivation will be the word amazing, as it's amazing how many things can go wrong in one morning.

Amazing
by This Girl

It started out as an ordinary day. The sun peeked through the slats of dusty Venetian blinds, indicating to our sleeping hero that the day had begun, and that it had begun without him. Eyes gummed together with fragments from the past day, his arm shot from under the blue plaid comforter as he groped for the phone resting upon his bedside table. Shifting slightly, he raised his head and opened one eye to see the time. "SHIT, Fuck, Mother fucker!!" It was well past the time for his alarm to sound. It was well past the time he was supposed to head out the door for the job he loathed, but secretly needed more than it needed him. It was well past the time to get rid of the sleeping form lying next to him.

"Hey, " he barked, grabbing the girl by the shoulder and shaking her awake. "You gotta get out of here. I'm late for work. " He launched out of bed, grabbing underwear that were lying in a pile of shed clothing from the night before. A quick sniff test assured that they would work another day. Moving like a madman, he grabbed a clean shirt, pants, shoes, and belt in a fervor, not noticing that the lovely lady he had met in the bar last night had not moved a muscle. Pulling on his garments, he tripped as he tried to put both feet into his pants at the same time. Behind the red that was clouding his vision as he let out a stream of more obscenities, he heard a sound. A light sound, a sound filled with humor and the dredges of sleep from which the maker of the noise had just been torn. He looked over at the rumpled bed, and at the blonde woman who was laughing at him now, full out and with such delight that he caught himself smiling, just a little. His eyes followed hers down his torso to a pair of bright pink boy shorts with a rainbow emblazoned on each side.

Pants around his ankles, looking now into the eyes of a girl he barely knew whose underpants were hugging his hips, he began to chuckle. Then to laugh as the girl, breathless, uttered, "I'm going to pee myself...I can't..." He thought about the job he needed that didn't need him. He thought about the angry phone call he would surely receive from a boss who couldn't care less whether he was hurt, injured, or in trouble. He realized that he had a choice. A choice between sucking up to his boss and then working all day or staying in bed with this girl who could laugh and make everything right with the world.

He picked up his phone, sent a quick e-mail, and sat on the bed. "If you give me back my underpants, I'll get out of your hair, "she whispered as he looked into the blue eyes that he didn't remember being that blue, with the haze of alcohol and dancing blurring his vision. "I think I'll keep them. " He smiled. "What do you wanna do today, Samantha?" Surprised, she grabbed his hand and slyly said, "You remembered my name!"

"Yeah...good thing for me that it's written in your underwear."

Fiction Friday.

"Hey, you GUYS!!!"

I decided that I have spent way too much time contemplating and complaining. That doesn't do much for anyone, except me as I enjoy contemplating and complaining. So, in an effort to re-ignite my creative juices (which have seriously dried up due to lack of use and apathy) I am going to write a piece of fiction every Friday and add it to my blog.

I know you're probably thinking, "But Lauren, we love your anecdotes about why you hate everyone and everything and how you want to kill people with spoons." Well, I'm sorry, dear reader (and yes, I know there is only ONE of you.) But I sorely need to spread my wings and prepare to fly. In my blog life and indeed, in my REAL life, as I do kinda have one of those. And you're probably also thinking to yourself, "But someone may see her wonderful piece of fiction and steal it and claim it as their own, make millions of dollars and laugh at her while she continues wasting away at her stinking day job." All I have to say to that is, "Yeah. Right."

So. Stay tuned tomorrow for my first stab at a Fiction Friday. Until then, enjoy this tasty little story about a date I went on recently. It's pretty silly and full of hi-jinks (or low jinks as you are about to read.)

I ran into a friend of mine from middle school at a stand up show recently. She was with a group of friends, but I was tired, cranky, and a little drunk so I made a little small talk and vamoosed. We friended each other on the Facebook, and on an evening where I was feeling a)vulnerable and b) exhausted, I agreed to go on a date with one of the gentlemen that was there that evening. I gave her my number, and immediately got a text from the guy, which lead to back and forth texting until the day of our scheduled date, a Friday night. He proposed that we go and watch The Goonies in the park after getting some dinner downtown. I swooned a little, as this seemed like a date made in heaven for nerdbag me.

Friday came and I was swamped at work. A needy bride and her teary mother held my attention until 5:45, with our scheduled meet time of 6:30. I ran home, bathed and primped, and headed out the door by ten til meet time. I texted that I would be late, and he responded that it was no big deal as I should hear what happened to him on Wednesday. I brushed this off as I searched for a parking spot and headed to our allocated meet up spot, near a fountain in downtown West Palm Beach. Assuming that my date was not the homeless man with dreadlocks sleeping on a bench, I inquired as to where he was via text message. He responded that he was down the ways a bit, so I started walking, a bit put off that he wasn't in the exact spot that we had agreed upon, but acknowledging that I was late and should suck it up.

As I approached the intersection he had mentioned, I texted again to inquire as to where I could locate him, as I couldn't see anyone matching the Facebook profile pictures I had seen whilst gently stalking him prior to the date. No response. Waiting. What seems like forever later, I get a message that says, "I'm the tiny guy in the brown shirt sitting on a post." I look across the street and there he is, in all his tiny glory. We awkwardly say hello, and he tells me we should have dinner at a sushi restaurant, though Happy Hour is almost over.

I'm gonna give highlights from now on, as I could tell the whole tale, but you'd probably be snoring by the end.

a) we order food and I'm too nervous to tell him I'm allergic to soy, so eat around the edamame on our appetizer. He eats three of 4 scallops.

b) First anecdote out of the gate is about how he went on a date on the Wednesday before (two days ago at this juncture) and the girl was so awkward and wouldn't talk and he had a horrible time. Leads to me overly trying to be delightful and entertaining.

c) He jokingly, yet vehemently, calls the waitress a bitch for being slow in bringing the check.

d) He goes to the bathroom as THE CHECK IS BEING BROUGHT TO THE TABLE.

e) I pay as we have 5 minutes until the movie starts. When he comes back, he congratulates me on being "Progressive" and slowly offers me cash. I deny it as don't want to be non-progressive.

f) Movie is fine. Til halfway through when he disappears and reappears with Skittles, a Snickers bar, a coke and a sprite. Not sure which one he got for me, I eat the Skittles as they won't make me die and refuse to select a beverage.

g) He thinks the addition of Sloth to the film is too much. Sloth is my favorite part.

h) We head to World of Beer, where he hems and haws about ordering a dark beer. Asks the waitress what her opinion is, and takes her advice. Upon taking the first sip, he calls her a bitch for telling him to get the wrong beer.

i) He gets drunk on one beer. I am not drunk enough for this.

j) We part ways. He keeps calling. I keep making up excuses for no next date, though I should just ball up and say I had fun but not interested. Maybe he'll see this blog. Maybe not.

Another one bites the dust.