Post by wendyloohoo on Aug 2, 2009 22:58:00 GMT -5
Just something I've been toying with. Please read and review if you'd like me to continue. Thanks!
The Writing Instructor
Ben
“That fucking gimp gave me a goddamned C,” Jason Strickland grumbled to his friends. “How the fuck am I supposed to get into Princeton with a goddamned C in English?”
I lingered at my locker with the door open, half listening, and half trying not to be noticed. Strickland could be a pushy bastard when he wanted to be and I didn’t want to be around if he decided to take out his lousy grade on me. I closed my locker as quietly as possible and turned to head in the other direction.
“Hey McCormick!”
I had two choices here. I could turn around and take my beating like every other kid that Jason Strickland felt like bullying or I could take my chances and run. There were three of them, including Strickland. Damon Withers was mean but scrawny and I could probably hold my own if it was just him and me. Harrison Pinckney was a different story. He and Strickland were on equal footing. Both were tall, brawny and had enough arrogance to think the world owed them something and both could kick my ass from here to Sunday and back without so much as bloodying their knuckles. My only advantage was speed.
I didn’t stop walking when Strickland called my name. Maybe if I pretended that I didn’t hear him it wouldn’t come down to the face-smashing that I feared.
“What the fuck,” Strickland said. “Hey McCormick, I’m talking to you!”
I stopped, sighed and turned around. The three of them walked towards me and stood shoulder to shoulder, a wall of tan and muscle barely concealed by the navy polo and khaki’s that were our casual Friday uniform.
“What do you want, Strickland?”
“I got a fucking C on my English mid-term.” He stated, as if I were somehow responsible for this piece of bad luck.
“Yeah?” I didn’t want to say too much to provoke him.
“Yeah.”
“Well, sorry.” I turned to leave knowing that I hadn’t really been dismissed yet and I felt hands seize the back of my shirt. Pain burst through my eye and cheek when they connected with the lockers to my left.
“Sorry, huh?” Strickland said. The other two goons pulled me up by my arms. Strickland flattened his fingers and struck my face with the heel of his hand. I felt the sharp explosion centered in my nose and I heard the sickening crunch of bone. Warmth trickled over my lips and I tasted coppery blood on my tongue. “Tell that gimp of a father of yours that Strickland’s don’t make C’s. He needs to pay better attention to the grades he gives.” He reared his arm back and buried his fist in my gut, knocking the breath out of me. “See what you can do about that.”
Withers and Pinckney let me go then and I dropped to my knees, gasping for breath. The three of them strolled off laughing. It took me a few minutes to gather my wits. I picked myself up off the floor and made it to boy’s bathroom without anyone noticing me – an easy feat on a Friday after three o’clock.
I bent over the first sink and opened up the cold spigot. Forming a cup with my hands, I washed the blood from my face. A dull throb centered behind my eyes and nose. I wondered how the hell I was supposed to explain to my father what happened. There was no way I was telling him the truth about Jason Strickland and his fucking C. No way in hell.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Ellie
“There are just some things good southern girls don’t do, Eleanor.”
I listened vaguely as my mother droned on in the background. She was on a tirade about my cousin Patsy, who had shocked the family by announcing that she was a lesbian.
“They don’t chase men. They don’t give away their momma’s pound cake recipe. And they surely don’t kiss other women, unless it’s their sorority sister and then it’s only on the cheek.” She fanned herself with her hand, even though she was two decades beyond hot flashes. “It’s bad enough that I’ve got an old maid for a daughter, but Good Night Nurse, I just don’t know how Martha is going to face this down.”
I rolled my eyes but didn’t argue with her. Fifteen years ago, I would have protested vehemently and defended my cousin’s right to kiss whomever she chose. But with age comes wisdom and I had no energy for pointless arguments with my mother today.
“Well, I’m just gonna get going, Mother. I have an appointment at four o’clock.” I had only stopped by to pick up some homemade pear preserves she’d made. I should have known that the visit wouldn’t be brief and that in the end I would feel like running as fast as I could to get away.
“So, what are your plans on this lovely Friday evening?” She sounded nonchalant as she said the words, but everything about her off-handedness implied the question Do you have a date?
“Well, we old maids like to get together on Friday nights you know. Drink, swear, smoke and swap stories about the one that got away.” She hated sarcasm, and even now as an adult, sometimes I couldn’t help myself from rebelling against her.
“Watch your mouth, girl,” she snapped. If I’d have been closer, she probably would have smacked the back of my head. Luckily I had my preserves in one hand and my purse in the other, headed for the door.
“Mother I’m not a girl. I’m a thirty nine year-old woman.”
“Yes, don’t remind me,” she frowned. “Thank goodness your brothers all had the sense to get married, or I might never have had grandchildren.”
“Yes, let’s thank goodness for that. What the world needed was the likes of Lloyd and Tad Crouch running around.” My mother gave me an indignant frown at the mention of my two oldest nephews. I loved them, but I didn’t like them. They were both mean and over-privileged and had an air of entitlement about them that I detested.
“It’s that smart mouth of yours you know. That’s why you’re still out there all on your own. You think you’re something because you’re a writer and you’ve published a book or two but if you’d really been smart, you’d have learned to know when to shut up. May be you’d be married by now.”
“I like to think of it as having been smart enough not to be married by now, Mother. You know almost every girl I went to high school with is now divorced, right? Some are on their second divorces.”
“Yes, well, at least they can say they were married, honey. What can you say?”
With that I sighed heavily and walked out the door before she could say anything more to wound me. My relationship with my mother was the definition of insanity. I allowed myself to get pulled into the same old argument, reacting the same old way, and expecting a different outcome.
My mother’s words clung to my skin and I broke into a cold sweat as I got into my convertible Volkswagen Beetle and put the top down. I took a breath and willed myself not to cry as I popped in a CD of music that my mother would never approve of and turned it up loud enough that her neighbors could hear it and complain. Sometimes, I felt like I was thirty-nine going on fifteen.
The Writing Instructor
Ben
“That fucking gimp gave me a goddamned C,” Jason Strickland grumbled to his friends. “How the fuck am I supposed to get into Princeton with a goddamned C in English?”
I lingered at my locker with the door open, half listening, and half trying not to be noticed. Strickland could be a pushy bastard when he wanted to be and I didn’t want to be around if he decided to take out his lousy grade on me. I closed my locker as quietly as possible and turned to head in the other direction.
“Hey McCormick!”
I had two choices here. I could turn around and take my beating like every other kid that Jason Strickland felt like bullying or I could take my chances and run. There were three of them, including Strickland. Damon Withers was mean but scrawny and I could probably hold my own if it was just him and me. Harrison Pinckney was a different story. He and Strickland were on equal footing. Both were tall, brawny and had enough arrogance to think the world owed them something and both could kick my ass from here to Sunday and back without so much as bloodying their knuckles. My only advantage was speed.
I didn’t stop walking when Strickland called my name. Maybe if I pretended that I didn’t hear him it wouldn’t come down to the face-smashing that I feared.
“What the fuck,” Strickland said. “Hey McCormick, I’m talking to you!”
I stopped, sighed and turned around. The three of them walked towards me and stood shoulder to shoulder, a wall of tan and muscle barely concealed by the navy polo and khaki’s that were our casual Friday uniform.
“What do you want, Strickland?”
“I got a fucking C on my English mid-term.” He stated, as if I were somehow responsible for this piece of bad luck.
“Yeah?” I didn’t want to say too much to provoke him.
“Yeah.”
“Well, sorry.” I turned to leave knowing that I hadn’t really been dismissed yet and I felt hands seize the back of my shirt. Pain burst through my eye and cheek when they connected with the lockers to my left.
“Sorry, huh?” Strickland said. The other two goons pulled me up by my arms. Strickland flattened his fingers and struck my face with the heel of his hand. I felt the sharp explosion centered in my nose and I heard the sickening crunch of bone. Warmth trickled over my lips and I tasted coppery blood on my tongue. “Tell that gimp of a father of yours that Strickland’s don’t make C’s. He needs to pay better attention to the grades he gives.” He reared his arm back and buried his fist in my gut, knocking the breath out of me. “See what you can do about that.”
Withers and Pinckney let me go then and I dropped to my knees, gasping for breath. The three of them strolled off laughing. It took me a few minutes to gather my wits. I picked myself up off the floor and made it to boy’s bathroom without anyone noticing me – an easy feat on a Friday after three o’clock.
I bent over the first sink and opened up the cold spigot. Forming a cup with my hands, I washed the blood from my face. A dull throb centered behind my eyes and nose. I wondered how the hell I was supposed to explain to my father what happened. There was no way I was telling him the truth about Jason Strickland and his fucking C. No way in hell.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Ellie
“There are just some things good southern girls don’t do, Eleanor.”
I listened vaguely as my mother droned on in the background. She was on a tirade about my cousin Patsy, who had shocked the family by announcing that she was a lesbian.
“They don’t chase men. They don’t give away their momma’s pound cake recipe. And they surely don’t kiss other women, unless it’s their sorority sister and then it’s only on the cheek.” She fanned herself with her hand, even though she was two decades beyond hot flashes. “It’s bad enough that I’ve got an old maid for a daughter, but Good Night Nurse, I just don’t know how Martha is going to face this down.”
I rolled my eyes but didn’t argue with her. Fifteen years ago, I would have protested vehemently and defended my cousin’s right to kiss whomever she chose. But with age comes wisdom and I had no energy for pointless arguments with my mother today.
“Well, I’m just gonna get going, Mother. I have an appointment at four o’clock.” I had only stopped by to pick up some homemade pear preserves she’d made. I should have known that the visit wouldn’t be brief and that in the end I would feel like running as fast as I could to get away.
“So, what are your plans on this lovely Friday evening?” She sounded nonchalant as she said the words, but everything about her off-handedness implied the question Do you have a date?
“Well, we old maids like to get together on Friday nights you know. Drink, swear, smoke and swap stories about the one that got away.” She hated sarcasm, and even now as an adult, sometimes I couldn’t help myself from rebelling against her.
“Watch your mouth, girl,” she snapped. If I’d have been closer, she probably would have smacked the back of my head. Luckily I had my preserves in one hand and my purse in the other, headed for the door.
“Mother I’m not a girl. I’m a thirty nine year-old woman.”
“Yes, don’t remind me,” she frowned. “Thank goodness your brothers all had the sense to get married, or I might never have had grandchildren.”
“Yes, let’s thank goodness for that. What the world needed was the likes of Lloyd and Tad Crouch running around.” My mother gave me an indignant frown at the mention of my two oldest nephews. I loved them, but I didn’t like them. They were both mean and over-privileged and had an air of entitlement about them that I detested.
“It’s that smart mouth of yours you know. That’s why you’re still out there all on your own. You think you’re something because you’re a writer and you’ve published a book or two but if you’d really been smart, you’d have learned to know when to shut up. May be you’d be married by now.”
“I like to think of it as having been smart enough not to be married by now, Mother. You know almost every girl I went to high school with is now divorced, right? Some are on their second divorces.”
“Yes, well, at least they can say they were married, honey. What can you say?”
With that I sighed heavily and walked out the door before she could say anything more to wound me. My relationship with my mother was the definition of insanity. I allowed myself to get pulled into the same old argument, reacting the same old way, and expecting a different outcome.
My mother’s words clung to my skin and I broke into a cold sweat as I got into my convertible Volkswagen Beetle and put the top down. I took a breath and willed myself not to cry as I popped in a CD of music that my mother would never approve of and turned it up loud enough that her neighbors could hear it and complain. Sometimes, I felt like I was thirty-nine going on fifteen.
