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.

Assertiveness rears its awesome head.

Lately, I've been overwhelmed by stress due to a day job that I'm not sure has ever completely fit me. Acquiring two new job titles with no more money has added to that stress. I've lived at home for almost a year and a half, and I have no vision of where I want to go or what I want to do. And I used to just do whatever anyone needed me to do, without question or protest, regardless of how swamped I was. In my personal life, I tried to make everyone happy, and ended up pretty much a drained husk of a person in my down time.

But yesterday, for the first time in a long time, I felt confident. Cool. Collected. And during a mostly male dominated stand up class, I was attempting to make a point about my routine when another comic interrupted me with his own opinion. Any other day, I would cede to that person and let them speak over me, and try to move back to my own point at a later juncture. But on this day, I was not having it. "Wait a second, let me tell you WHY I chose to do it that way instead of the way you're about to tell me to do it," I said, somewhat taken aback by the words that were coming out of my mouth and the vehemence that backed them. The funny boys surrounding me all lapsed into silence and stared, some with respect in their eyes, most with "What a bitch" written on their faces. Afterward, one of my pals in the class told me it was his favorite part of the whole class.

I don't want to be a bitch. I don't want to be a doormat either. I've spent a good portion of my adult life as just that. I'm gonna try to find the middle ground, and do for me what I should have done years ago-make sure that while I try to care for people I love, that I ensure that I am cared for as well. I will assert myself, more than I have in the past. And I will singe the eyebrows off of the next guy who tries to tell me what to do, who to be, or where I should direct myself in my life.

Maybe my time alone in New York helped me to realize that I am a strong, independent woman who can handle anything on her own. Maybe delving into the super masculine world of stand-up has finally allowed me to reach a new confidence level. Maybe adding responsibilities at work have created a new, super Lauren that will be able to conquer life with more vim and vigor.

And maybe I'm just a bitch. And maybe I'm ok with that.

Other New York Song Lyric Here.

After spending two hours at the Empire State Building, complete with solo elevator ride and kitschy souvenirs for the family, I stopped at a Starbucks to warm up, pee, and get some hot chocolate. Considering my next move, I remembered sage Tony telling me where everything was located on the grid that is NYC, so I just started walking. Bryant Park was directly ahead of me, so I hoofed it and bought a hat in the adorable kiosks they had set up surrounding the park. I sat watching the ice skaters, in warm sunshine, but realized that sitting on my laurels was not going to get sights seen. Right next door was the New York Public Library, so I swooped in and was able to enjoy an exhibit dedicated to the use of the written word throughout history. Score.

From there, I made my way to Grand Central Station. I've always seen it in films and thought that it would be so so in real life. It wasn't. The hustle and bustle of people running to actually catch trains, combined with the massive amount of tourists made this girl seek a restaurant with peace, quiet and great food...after a number of photos of the beautiful ceiling and the purchase of a book from the Grand Central book store. I headed out the front doors, and immediately recognized Pershing Square from a number of NY based films (I watch a lot of movies) and decided to head into the lush, wood paneled restaurant with brass fixtures. My book and I settled into a table for two, and I ended up ordering a chicken pot pie. A delicious hour later, I was sufficiently full and ready for more walking.

I thought that I was heading in the direction of Central Park, and only realized my folly when the street I was on dead ended into water. To my left, I saw a giant glass building with flags on the outside. Disappointed in myself and my lack of navigation skills, I pulled out my trusty iPhone and got directions to Central Park-about 20 blocks away. As I turned, I heard Tony's voice in my head, talking about the UN building THAT WAS RIGHT IN FRONT OF ME. COOL!

Turning around, I continued my walk back towards Grand Central, turning onto 5th and heading for the Park. I passed tourists, business men, kids, old people...people watching at it's height. I was walking with purpose, and almost passed a walkway cutting between two buildings that looked interesting to me...so, I crossed the street to check it out. I was at Rockefeller Center! WOW! I'm way better than I thought.

Continuing on, I gandered at St. Patrick's Cathedral, Trump Tower, and all sorts of amazing architecture on my way to the Park. I finally found my way to Central Park and headed in, not knowing where I was, where I was going, or what lay ahead of me.

I happened upon a visitor center and purchased a map of the Park. On my list of things to see were the Alice in Wonderland Statue and the Belvedere Castle. Again, I trusted my ability to read a map. I shouldn't have. After walking in circles for about an hour, I stopped at a coffee shop in the center of Central Park and asked directions, cause I'm a girl and I know when I'm defeated. He pointed me in the general direction, saying it was right next to the duck pond. There was a pond...with no ducks. But there was a Hans Christian Andersen statue, with an Ugly Duckling that was so adorable my face almost cracked from smiling at it for so long. And just up the way...Alice.

After taking pictures of this beautiful sculpture from every angle, I made my way to the Belvedere Castle. Footsore and chilled at this juncture, I decided to await Tiffany's arrival home at Little Brown, a chocolate themed coffee shop where I purchased a salted caramel hot chocolate that made my evening. My book and I waited patiently, and Tiff picked me up so that we could order some dinner in before I was to catch a cab to La Guardia. Deciding to nix dinner as I was full and slightly ill from 3 hot chocolates in one day, so we watched Party Down until I had to leave.

I walked a block from her apartment after our goodbyes, hailed a cab and had the cab ride from hell. The driver did not believe in staying in a lane for more than 5 seconds. At the tollbooth, he screamed at me in broken English for $6, when at the outset I told him I only had a credit card with which to pay for my fare. Speeding, he hauled it to the airport, jumped out, and threw my luggage out while my head was still spinning and my stomach churning from the toll road action. Checking in, I headed to security, where they picked the woman in front of me (with way too much perfume on for someone about to be trapped in tight confines with others) and myself for a random security check. We were forced into a clear booth with a lock on one end while our belongings lounged on the conveyor belt. I repeatedly saw my backpack and jacket get smashed between bins and other people's belongings as person after person passed by me. 10 minutes later, a security guard noticed me still in the plastic box of frustration, and swabbed my hands before telling me to leave.

WHAT THE EFF, LA GUARDIA?

Hungry now and thinking some sort of sustenance would keep me from barfing all over everyone. I settled into a barstool at the NY Sports Bar, and awaited service. 10 minutes later, the staff had still not looked at me, nor approached me for any kind of greeting, beverage, or even a go fuck yourself. Not feeling too wonderful and being a bit cranky, I grabbed my belongings and stormed out. Luckily, I was saved by a panini vendor, and ended up dining on an Italian panini, POP chips, and Sour Patch Kids. Not exactly the dinner of champions, but it kept me from killing everyone in my path.

I boarded the plane quickly, as it was not a full flight, and ended up seated on the aisle with a lovely elderly woman at the window of a three seat row. To my left was the woman with too much perfume. Nauseated again, I closed my eyes and counted. Moments later, the annoying allergy attack on legs complained to the stewardess that her light was not working, and was moved 5 rows ahead to a seat that worked. I breathed a perfume free sigh of relief, and grabbed my book out of my backpack to hopefully finish it by the end of the flight. The elderly lady had a small notepad out, and as I watched her she skillfully sketched the profile of a Hacidic man in the row parallel to us. It was beautiful to watch, and I mentally thanked this woman for bringing me back from the brink of animosity and hatred of my fellow man.

New York, New York!

Day three was a major sleep in day for me. Tiffany was up and at em at 7:30am, and I slept right through her preparations for the day and her slipping out of the apartment. At around 10:30, I roused myself, and not finding Tiffany, I decided to get ready for the day at my own pace. A text messag told me she was at the diner down the street, and that I should meet her whenever I was ready. Starved, I met her (sans shower and wearing my Batman tee) and imbibed coffee like it was my job, and ate enough for 4. With no real plans, we wandered over to Urban Outfitters, as I had a gift certificate I had yet to use that I'd had since June. After a long shopping expedition and a visit to the grocery, we headed back to her apartment. And napped.

For 5 hours.

Bleary eyed, we roused ourselves and headed for the showers, as we were supposed to meet her friend, Alex, for dinner at Smith and Wollensky's. Tiffany's phone rang, and it was Alex, cancelling due to a family situation. As she chatted with him, he let her know that dinner was still on, for us at least, and that we should head to the restaurant for a 7:30 reservation. Upon arrival, we were told that everything was already taken care of and that we should order whatever we wanted.

"WHAT IS HAPPENING?" my mind screamed, unused to this kind of treatment. But we were there, all dressed up with a fantastic menu in front of us, so we took advantage. Soup, wine, filet mignon, and dessert filled us to brimming when Tiffany got a message letting her know that a car would be picking us up in 15 minutes. We stood by the bar, chatting with a couple of older gentlemen before a white gypsy cab pulled up to the curb outside. Dropping us off and telling us that the tab was "all taken care of" we headed into the house, changed into pajamas and watched Party Down for a little while before going to bed.

Day Four
Woke up at 5:45am to shower before Tiff and I headed to her morning work out at Crossfit. My intent had been to join her over the weekend to keep up with my personal fitness goals, but with the walking and walking and walking I decided to sit this one out. I headed to a local coffee shop, grabbed a latte and waited. After she picked me up, we started walking towards the subway, and quickly realized that my goal for the morning, the Empire State Building, was the opposite way. I hailed a cab (such a New Yorker!) and we zipped through the streets until the gigantic edifice was within site. Paying the cabbie and overtipping as I am wont, I headed in to the building, Express pass that I had pre-ordered clutched in my hand in anticipation of long lines.

There was no one there.

I got to skip in front of 5 people in the pre-screening line, and joined an elevator full of people after paying 8 smackers for an audio guide voiced by Tony, an older gentleman with a rich family history based in NYC. As we headed up the building, the elevator attendant asked where we all hailed from. "England,"said the family of three at the back. "Turkey,"said the handsome male duo next to me. "Denmark," from the young couple across from me. "Florida," I squeaked, shrugging my shoulders. We all laughed together, people from around the globe with one goal on this chilly Monday morning-to see the city spread out beneath us from a breathtaking height while freezing our asses off.

I spent about 2 hours at the Empire State, taking photos and learning which buildings were which from Tony. Factoids like, "Chrysler was in a battle to raise the tallest skyscraper, and hid the spire in the building until his competitor finished building" and other tidbits. He pointed out where Central Park was, and Bryant Park...and basically all the sites that I would be seeing later that day.

After photo after photo, I searched for a friendly face to take a shot of me with the amazing view behind me. In desperation, I perched the camera on a window sill, set the timer, and stepped back. Noticing a lady inside laughing at me, I looked up at her...just as the shutter clicked closed. Here's the result.Class.

I want to be a part of it....

I'm drunk.

Day 2. (I know, I can't believe that was ALL for Day 1. Insane.)

I woke up later than expected, and Tiffany and I headed to Gracie Mews, a diner a few blocks away from her house, to meet her friend Teddy for brunch. After a great meal with the worst service ever, we all walked towards the Metropolitan Museum of Art, stopping at Alice's Tea Shop for a scone for later. After paying $1 to enter the magnificent museum, we headed to the Impressionist area where I swooned over paintings by my favorite artist, Claude Monet. My nerd side delighted in the works of Vincent Van Gogh (Doctor Who, anyone?) And Tiff and I stared at a Jackson Pollack for about an hour before deciding to go back to her house for some down time before Karaoke shenanigans and Upright Citizens Brigade that evening.

Karaoke was fun, if tinged with sadness at the passing of Whitney Houston, which was sent to every single persons smart phone at the start of the evening...except mine. My phone in NYC was technically useless. Tiffany had booked a private karaoke room in a little Korean bar, where the song selection was fantastic and the service shit-tastic. Her friends and Randi all showed up for the evening. We kicked things off with a little "Wanna Dance with Somebody"(which is an eerily accurate song for how I was feeling that night.) Typical karaoke shenanigans followed. We left the bar with 15 minutes to spare before the show at Upright started, and I was supposed to meet my cousin, Joseph, and his boyfriend, Ryan, before the show. We grabbed cabs for our group of 8, and barreled through the streets to make it on time for the hour long improv show.

Seated all the way in the back row, I could not even see the stage, with the giants in front of me blocking my view. But the show that UCB put on was hilarious even without the site gags. Using a Day in the Life type format, they took the tale of a Palestinian living with an Israeli on an exchange program and turned it into an hour long story that made me fall in love with their theater. Almost every team member had a strength to contribute to the show, and laughing along with my friends (and family) made it a memorable part of the weekend. It made me want to be part of a giant improv team again.

Afterwards, we realized that NONE of us had eaten anything and it was now almost midnight. Joe and Ryan took us to a small restaurant a couple of blocks away, and we took over the whole joint, eating burritos and guac while talking about our lives and catching up. Not satisfied with ending the evening there, Joseph told us that we should go get ice cream at the Big Gay Ice Cream, a food truck turned storefront. A giant closed sign greeted us, so we headed to Ace Bar, a loud, full to teeming bar with skeeball in the back room. Heading to the bar with Joseph, he convinced me to get a Manhattan. Armed with this potent concoction, I was feeling fine. 5 games of skeeball later, it was time to call it a night. Tiff and I grabbed a Gypsy cab, and hauled our butts back to her apartment. She leaned over and whispered to me, "He said it's $25 but we're only gonna give him $20. He knows it's not that expensive to get to where we're going." Confused, I handed her a $20 bill, and we hopped out of the car as fast as we could, power walking away from the black vehicle. Slightly tipsy, I was giggling as we went to cross the road and the cabbie yelled out, "You owe me $5, baby!" as he sped past us.

Ah. New York.