ow FINALS! why are you kicking my ass?! OW! stop! bastard! ow
who wants an excerpt from a story? no one? TOO MUTHERFUCKING BAD (that's write, i'm layin it down) ssorry if it's confusing- lost formatting:
Claire
Every morning I wake up and pop the pills my mother gives me. One brown one, two little white ones, and a green one. The brown is St. Johns Wort; the white ones are B-12 and L-Lysine. The green one we dont talk about.
Today I decided not to shower and I put on my clothes accordingly.
One standard, regulation white button up shirt. Check.
One standard, regulation, blue cardigan. Check.
One standard, not-so-regulation length plaid pleated skirt.
One standard, regulation, set of black Doc Marten knee high boots.
Mom is in her room getting ready for work. She is standing there naked with only her underwear and nylons on. She usually walks around the house like this in the morning. She is putting on mascara.
Hey mom, do you want some juice?
No, she says. I could use some coffee, though. I wish you would do something with your hair.
Downstairs, the sun is barely up. I run my fingers through my hair. Its a little greasy, but I dont really care so look out the window. The javelina are grunting at the fence around the patio so I go outside and through them some pellets. This heard has been coming here for years, since we moved here.
* * * *
Mommy look at the baby pigs!
Those arent pigs, baby. Theyre rodents, like mice.
I want one, mommy, can I have one?
* * * *
My mothers favorite coffee cup is cracked along one side but it doesnt leak when I pour the coffee in it and take it upstairs. There is a cigarette burning in the ashtray on her counter. I watch the reflection of the smoke in the mirror.
Bye mom.
By baby, Im going to be late tonight, Im going to put in some overtime.
As soon as Im out the door I light a Sherman. Its an expensive habit, but if Im going to kill myself, Im going to kill myself with the best. They are black with gold tips. I breath in and exhale sophistication.
--------
At lunch I smoke with Chris and Ned across the street from the main administration office. Neds in the alternative school because he didnt graduate with his class. He takes classes at the community college so he wont get behind. Chris always wears black and smokes cloves. Hes got steal toed boots and he kicks things and tries to act hardcore. He skips class a lot but hes smart, like fourth in our class. He doesnt really talk to anyone, except Ned and kind of but not really me. He stares at the ground and kicks the rocks. Ned is babbling some bullshit about Marxist theory and fuck The Man. I stare at Chris. He looks up at me and looks down really fast like a little boy at the fifth grade dance. I cant help thinking about what happened last weekend.
* * * *
Hey, Chris. I sit down in the lawn chair next to his on Neds front lawn. Im on my third beer. I hand him a one, too.
Hey Claire.
He out his bottle opener key chain, pops the cap and takes a drawn out drink.
This party is shit.
Not that bad. He takes another drink.
Youre so ambivalent.
Ambivalent? Well, yes and no.
He turns his head and smiles at me sideways. I kind of laugh but I have to look down.
Those are some pretty hardcore boots. He nods at my boots but hes looking at my fishnets.
Thanks.
I sit there silent feeling like I cant breathe. Oh God, hes actually checking out my legs. I dont know what it is about him, but I cant move.
Um, Claire?
Yeah?
I looked up at him but he didnt say anything.
You need another beer, Ill get you one.
Ill come with you.
I stand up and start to walk in the house but he takes my hand.
What are you doing?
I dont know. He smiles. I dont know. He pulls me toward the side of the house and closer to him but stops just when I think I can breathe again. He runs his finger down the thin side of my ear and I swear to God Im going to faint. Then he kisses my bottom lip and I feel his tongue...
* * * *
I feel like Im going to choke.
Hey guys Ive got to go to the pool.
I mean seriously choke.
Later. I didnt even hear if they said goodbye...
VIEW 25 of 36 COMMENTS
reading this reminds me of a time that I read a while back ago. I don't actually get my nose in a book very often. I mostly just read the onion and the message boards. And the occational kid's book because that forces writers to write within the confinds of a child's understanding. It's interesting to see what sinks and what swims. I also read movie theory books. but that's hardly fiction
anyway, as I was saying. I was in Borders, wondering around killing time. And I picked some book of the shelves. Some recent novel. I don't remember what accolades it had that made me pick it up, maybe oprah liked it or it was a NYTimes bestseller or it won some award or it had a glossy cover. But nevertheless it caught my eye and I sat down and began reading it.
Being as I hardly ever read books like that, espicially modern ones, I was overtaken by the style and structure of it. Like Doctor Zhivago. Ever seen that? It's like it's almost just there to show off what a brilliant filmmaker David Lean is. And the book was just there to say "look how I can write." That's not at all a bad thing.
This reminds me of the feeling I got while I was reading that. I know I could never write like this. It's not my thing. And it just gives me this undying respect for people who can write like this. It's a weird feeling and I kinda had forgetten about it. I felt the same about actors after attending a large play's rehersal.
so there it is.
and I think you used the wrong form of "write" but maybe you were being funny. Let's just pretend you were being funny.