Chardonnay
By clairec23 | August 6, 2008
If you haven’t been keeping up with the updates then take a look at the posts entitled Question and Stories to see what’s going on. Don’t forget to take a look at the stories that have been posted so far such as:
Our Secret
The Best Thing
Tea, Cookies and Aspirin
Night of Connections
The Great Ape
The Blood Dripping Face
The Railway Ghost
Next up we have Chardonnay by Jennifer M. Scott who runs the blog Before I am Famous amongst others. This is from the Over 18’s category.
Popularity: 16% [?]
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The Railway Ghost
By clairec23 | August 3, 2008
If you haven’t been keeping up with the updates then take a look at the posts entitled Question and Stories to see what’s going on. Don’t forget to take a look at the stories that have been posted so far such as:
Our Secret
The Best Thing
Tea, Cookies and Aspirin
Night of Connections
The Great Ape
The Blood Dripping Face
The next story comes from the over 18’s category. The Railway Ghost was written by Jenny Persson who would like you to take a look at the following: The Amateur Book Blogger and The View From Here Magazine.
“Right, I’m off.”
Rachel hurried down the cul-de-sac, doing up buttons as she went, locking out the January mizzle, which settled in a fine cobweb across the coat fibres.
Ticket in hand she sat on the bench. Five past two. Loose pages of the Herald skitted across the platform in the wind, grabbing her attention. Damp seeped through the bench slats. Crawling upward from the concrete below, trying to find a warmer place to inhabit. Rachel pulled on her gloves as she stood up. Her feet walked to keep warm. There was only one other person in sight. At the far end of the platform, a small, hunched, pale figure. She went towards him, but didn’t want to appear intrusive, so kept a discreet distance.
Surely the same trains came in and out of here every day, what would be so remarkable to spot here, in Gourock?
Taller than he seemed from a distance, he wore a white hoodie, with some logo that Rachel couldn’t identify. He was really close to the edge. He reached into his right pocket. The Glasgow train was due any minute; he’d need his binoculars to see it approach. But it wasn’t a leather case he pulled out; it was a bottle. One of those fancy things Rachel had no time for at college, which were oversweet and overpriced. Another few steps and she’d have to turn round, back into the wind. No, it wasn’t an alcopop; it was Buckfast tonic. He glanced round suddenly sensing Rachel.
“What?”
“Didn’t say anything.” Rachel felt as guilty as he looked. Better have a bit of a conversation. Make it worth his while.
“Wet again.”
“Hmpgh.”
He was less bothered by the weather than her interruption and keen for her to move on, but something held him. Had they met before? A metallic twang intervened in their awkwardness. “Passenger Announcement Platform One. Arrival of the Glasgow train is delayed due to an accident on the line. The duration of this disruption in service is currently unknown.”
“Someone’s jumped, poor beggar. On the track before Paisley. Driver didn’t have a chance.” He beamed at them in his best customer-service-smile. Appearing as if by magic, the platform cleaner had trundled past them in fluorescent orange overalls. He disappeared through a door in the building beyond. A round man with rosy cheeks and perfectly parted hair, you expected him to be wearing a bowler hat and bow tie. The most exciting thing that’s happened here all day then, thought Rachel. She turned to see the spotter, stuffing his contraband back in his pocket.
“Bit longer to wait, eh?”
Almost Benedictine-like, his eyes were closed and his shoulders sunken, as if in prayer. Rachel looked deeper into his worn lines, reddish stubble disguising his square chin. Then she looked quickly away, not to be caught staring. He suddenly turned to her, as if to hug his sweetheart, waiting patiently for him after a long absence.
“Rachel?”
The eyes were familiar, the chin, his voice. She looked again trying to place him.
“Robert Williams. Lardy. I was friends with your-”
“Jimmy.” Rachel finished for him. She gasped. “I can’t believe you recognised me, I was just a wee girl, when –”
“You were seven,” he remembered clearly. “Jimmy had a photo in his wallet. Your wee face hasn’e changed much.”
“Unbelievable. I was just thinking to go over and get a cuppa. Want to-?” Rachel asked Lardy. Jimmy’s best friend from Gosport. After all this time.
They sat at Rachel’s favourite table. Lardy looked down at the chequered tablecloth, finding a worn patch to focus on.
“I’m glad you were there”.
“On the platform?”
“Yes, but, more-,” twiddling his fingers round the handle of the cup. “It’s my birthday,” he mumbled to the table, ” and I wasn’t planning on having another.” He didn’t look up.
“Och, you can drink whatever you want. Doesn’t have to be your birthday. No need to be…” Then Rachel realised, it wasn’t the bottle he meant.
“Some beggar got in before me at Paisley. Trust me. I couldn’t even be on time to -.” He cursed and mumbled through his fingers. Rachel saw a lone tear fall onto the tablecloth. She placed a hand on his shoulder, softly letting him know she was still there.
“You picked a good time,” she whispered.
Two teas, four sugars and a wagon-wheel later, he’d warmed up. He’d been on the platform a while. Thinking it over. Blanking it out. Rachel assured him she really didn’t need to go to Glasgow. Anyway, who was to know if there would be a train at all?
“Jimmy loved showing off his pretty wee sister to the older lads who had kids. The last time I saw him, was before we were sent out. The lads from down South thought we were all coming up here when we got orders, ye ken? Seventeen…when was it I saw- ”
“You came to our house on leave. Weren’t you up at Faslane …”
“Just after the Royal wedding wasn’t it? I remember your Mum had the nice mugs with them on; yer Dad wouldn’e drink out of it ‘cos he only liked his tea in a cup.”
Rachel smiled. “Yes, Dad liked his cups.”
Lardy caught the expression in her face. “He’s –”
“Few years back. S’ok, he’d been ill.”
“Sorry. How’s Jimmy? I’m only just back. Girlfriend left and I wasn’t sure what to do next so just…” he tailed off.
Rachel wasn’t sure how to tell a suicidal man she barely knew about her Dad’s death; or that his childhood friend; her brother, had been dead for nearly a quarter century; but she could hardly invent a whole happy life for him.
“There was an accident. Back in ‘83. I’m sorry you didn’t know.”
“What happened?” Lardy asked blankly.
He looked directly into her eyes. She sensed his loss was deeper than hers. She could see his wasted adult life, his lost friendships, drowned casualties of the drink, just below the surface behind his deep-set eyes. What had he seen that had destroyed his dreams? What was he haunted by? Would she have seen that in Jimmy if he had stayed?
“Och, I was only eight. He drowned diving in the Loch; off duty, Mum said. Not so bad, doing what he loved. I found some stuff of his when Dad passed away. Maybe, could you tell me more…?”
“The best in our year,” Lardy said decisively. “Knew his equipment even before they taught him a thing. An accident?” He hit the table and sighed. “Only once we managed to get leave together. He invited me up. Time I came to tea, ye ken? After the action down South we lost touch. I was -, sorry. You don’t want to hear –”
“Go on. I don’t know much about Jimmy. As his best mate, maybe…” she looked sheepish, “maybe he sent you along to tell me.”
“Maybe he sent you along to stop me?” Lardy countered.
“Share some sarnies?” Rachel deflected his question.
Lardy, contrary to his nickname suggested, was not a big eater. His cheekbones stood out high on his face.
“It doesn’t seem that long ago, but twenty-five years go by awful fast when you’re not paying attention. Exercise off Gibraltar. Exotic it was, compared with being here in March. Like I said, we all thought we were off home. Then some clever clogs in Engineering told us we were off near Argentina. Where? Won the ‘78 World Cup someone said. Off to some piddling islands miles from anywhere.”
He leaned back, exposing his Adam’s apple, took a breath, half yawned. Rachel could see his belt pulled tight, in the very last hole. How long since he had had something more nutritious than 5% tonic wine?
“I was off duty in my bunk when the missile hit us. A big noise, something that didn’e belong. Smoke poured in and we were running. We knew it, an Exocet. First it looked OK. The hole was above the water and it hadn’e gone off. Then they brought up the three who were burned an’ we started to chuck stuff overboard for the fire risk. Torpedoes, depth charges - all went overboard. Smithy said to me, ‘I hope these hit some Argie sub’, but we knew it was just a waste. An’ after five hours, we were told to get off. We stopped what we were doing, except Smithy. He just kept going down for more crates and tipping them out. ‘And they can just put these up their hatches an’ all.’ He gave these rockets a massive great throw and shouted something indecent, spun round mad-like. I looked away from him into the sun and all I could see for a minute, was the imprint of his soot-blackened face and red eyes, burned into my view. Then he was throwing up over the side, crying. He’d not been able to get his best mate out of the smoke in time. I took ‘is arm and we both got over the line to HMS Arrow. Just two minutes. I should’ve been where the missile hit, but I was late. I’d been sleeping. I’d let them get us. And it got them three others instead.” Lardy picked at the toughened skin around his yellowed fingernails chewed back to stubs.
“I’ll go out and get a fag, eh?”
Rachel sipped her coffee. “U-huh.”
He scraped back his chair, one leg screeching sharply on the tiles. He paused, embarrassed.
“Coming back was the worst. All these people waiting for us; the Sheffield heroes. We just felt like we’d had our teeth kicked in and spat on. We’d lost our ship, one of our crew.” He pulled out a black leather wallet with greying corners. He flipped it open and a mousy face peered out defiantly from a huge head of piggyback-permed curls. An old print which had been in his wallet a while. “She said she couldn’e marry a haunted man.”
I’m sorry didn’t seem very satisfactory, so Rachel said nothing as he walked outside. She looked over towards the platform. There was still no train in sight.
Popularity: 14% [?]
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The Blood Dripping Face
By clairec23 | July 31, 2008
If you haven’t been keeping up with the updates then take a look at the posts entitled Question and Stories to see what’s going on. Don’t forget to take a look at the stories that have been posted so far such as:
Our Secret
The Best Thing
Tea, Cookies and Aspirin
Night of Connections
The Great Ape
Our next story comes from the under 18’s category. The Blood Dripping Face was sent to me by 12 year old Meghna who currently runs two blogs entitled Delve Into the Mind of a Budding Blogger and The Writing Pages (by the way Meghna, your blogs look great since you changed them.)
Grrr….a loud discordant sound was made when Joel kicked opened the door. This sounded even more loud and daunting in the serene night atmosphere! But what was even more frightening was that this was the entrance to an unknown room……..
Joel Agnes was a bold and upright 13 year old who had recently shifted into an ancient yet majestic looking old house. The house was an old building with almost tumbling walls on the outside. But inside, it was surprisingly large, strong and cozy! But Joel had an eerie feeling as soon as he entered his new abode!
Joel was a curious guy. He was excited to make new friends in this unknown neighborhood and interact with new people. The easy-going, fun-loving boy had made up a firm decision to begin a new and happy life at 18-Durham Street!
That night, sleep did not knock at the door of his eyes as easily as it did usually. Tossing and turning in bed, Joel saw the last light in his parent’s room flickering and fading away to deep darkness. The house was silent with the chirping of crickets. He could see some bats outside the window too. All this gave him a creepy feeling…..
Nonetheless, Joel got up from bed and slipped on his nightgown.
“This is the right time for me to explore this house!” he decided.
Joel left his room with excitement to explore this mansion. As he slid through the stairs…he noticed a small door on the 2nd floor. The door was hidden behind the enormous clutter of his things which had not yet been shifted to the right places. The door was a small, dark black one. There was dust on it which meant that it had been untouched for a long time. The door’s hinges were rusty and probably in their last years. A loud grating sound Grr…. was created when Joel pushed the door to the unknown room.
Apprehensive about waking up the others in the house, Joel slid in as stealthily as a black shadow, through the gap he had created. Once inside, Joel found himself in complete chilling darkness. Finally his keen eyes located a small window in the room. With little strength he was able to push it open. The room was flooded with shimmering moonlight which made the objects in the room visible. Joel understood that this was an old attic. All objects were layered with a thick layer of dust. Just like the door, this room looked old and abandoned since a couple of years!
Joel then diverted his attention towards the window. The scene outside was an eerie sight. There was only bone-chilling darkness but the moon hung in the velvety sky as if on an invisible thread and brought little comfort to the intimidating atmosphere. He diverted his attention towards the windowsill where an unusually large black widow spider was walking. As he came forward…Joel heard a blood-curdling scream in the ambiance. Joel was suddenly taken aback! Out of the blue, the spider started growing. In a second or two it was as enormous as the room itself..
Then as suddenly this had happened, a face appeared on the spider. The face of a young girl. She had long, sharp teeth. Her long hair blew on her face which was bespattered with blood. There was a red glint in her eyes. The girl then screeched with menacing laughter. Joel turned back…terrified. But he could only see her face on all four sides. Joel screamed with terror and broke into a blind run towards the door. But when he reached the door…it closed with a bang..all by itself.. Joel was trapped. There was no other exit! He fainted with fear and in the dark room… sweat drops glistened on his face as bright as the blood drops on the girl’s face and as bright as the shimmering moon outside which had now been covered with a dark cloud! The only thing which brought light was the red glint in the girl’s eyes, her sharp red teeth and the fresh blood drops which had appeared near her lips…….
Joel felt as if he was burning …he opened his eyes and looked around. He was in his own room…he felt the warm hands of his mother caressing his forehead! He sat up with little difficulty and stared at his mother’s face with questioning eyes!
“What happened, ma?” Joel murmured.
“You are all right, dear? Don’t worry!” His mother answered.
“But…but…what happened?” he asked with a confused tinge in his voice!
“It was late last night when we heard you scream. Your father checked in your room but could not find you there. We heard your voice again…but this time it came from somewhere on the second floor. Your father found the old attic door opened and there you lay. You had fainted and were looking ill. You were bathed with sweat so we brought you back to your room. You have been sleeping for a couple of hours since then!”, his mother explained
Suddenly the dreaded memory flooded back to his mind …the girl..the blood..the spider….ahhhh! His mother soon left him alone in the room and did not ask him any questions keeping in mind that he was unwell.
Joel tried hard to forget that horrifying incident. He told himself that it was all a bad nightmare. However, the harder he tried to forget, the more he remembered the incident. He decided that it was best for him to go outside and take some fresh air. He dressed himself and went for a walk.
Joel walked alone…lost in thought with no idea of the place, time or hour. It was an abandoned street with no other soul in sight. Suddenly, he saw a girl coming from the opposite direction. At first sight, Joel didn’t see anything special but as she came nearer……
Joel found her with a striking resemblance to someone…someone…. All of a sudden, the memories rushed back to his mind! The girl…the stranger’s face was exactly like the girl’s face he had seen last night. Except that she was better looking with no blood drops or sharp teeth. But her brown eyes..yes..she was that girl!
As she came nearer..he shrieked in terror and ran away……..
Madeline was surprised! She had never seen such an eccentric before. Was he crazy? Or did she do something? Curiosity led her to follow the boy. She saw him reach an abandoned garden. He cautiously looked around himself and then quietly sat down on the bench, lost in thought. Madeline stealthily crept in front of him. Before he could utter a word, Madeline said hi and introduced herself.
Joel was surprised to see the girl smiling at him! He remembered how hard he was trying since morning to forget that dream; but now that girl was talking to him and trying to be his friend. However, he consented! Both friends sat down on the bench and started talking. Soon they discovered that they both were neighbors. With a promise to meet Madeline again the next day, Joel went back to his home!
In bed, Joel could not sleep. No way! Those horrifying images crept into his mind as soon as he closed his eyes and then the next minute..Madeline’s smiling face flashed before him. The whole night, Joel was in a fix.
Finally as the dawn arrived, Joel decided to visit Madeline and tell let her into this terrifying secret. He had a hasty breakfast and then broke into a run towards Madeline’s house. He was nervous when his shaking hands pressed the bell…tringgggggg
Madeline opened the door. She was as surprised as Joel was nervous. She invited him inside. When Joel was comfortably seated in the living room, Madeline noticed that he was sweating.
“Would you like a glass of water, Joel?” she asked.
“Oh yes, please!” Joel said gratefully.
As Madeline left the room to fetch water, Joel looked around. It was a cozy little room. The interior was tastefully and artistically decorated. Suddenly his eyes fell upon a well framed photograph. It was the photo of a young girl. Joel went nearer for clearer view.
He was confused and amazed at what he saw. The photo was exactly similar to Madeline though she looked younger. But the fascinating fact was that there were white flowers in front of the photo and a candle was burning. This meant that the girl in the photo was…dead…but?
Madeline entered the room with a glass of water but her smile changed into a frown when she saw Joel standing next to Valentine’s photo. Before she could speak, Joel asked,
“Who…who is she?”
Madeline had never wanted to tell this to anyone but she had no other option now!
“She is my twin sister, Valentine. Joel, we lived at your house before you came in there. My sister, my father and I lived a happy and contented life. But suddenly one day…….hell broke loose. Our dad married an old lady who now became our step-mother. She was a cruel woman who always acted benevolent in front of my father; but behind her back she would bully and threaten us.”
“She would make us work hard and toil day and night. One day, Valentine refused to follow her orders. My step-mom became irritated. She closed Valentine in the attic and left her there for the whole day. Dad returned the next day and found Valentine missing. She had been banging at the door until midnight but the next morning, when dad returned ….. all was quite. My mom led him to the attic but we were horrified at what we saw. There were spiders walking around the dead body of poor Valentine as she lay in a pool of blood. My father left the woman and since then, we’ve been living here. By the way, yesterday was her 13th birthday and her 3rd death anniversary!” Madeline replied
Joel was dumbstruck at what he heard! He hurried back home and asked his parents to take a new home. He never wanted to live in this house…
A week later when Joel was shifting away to a new home; he visited the attic for the last time. The warm rays of the sun streamed into the room enlightening him… “May Lord shower his holy blessings upon her” he murmured and left; never to return again.
The screaming echoes of poor Valentine can still be heard at 18,Durham Street……….
Popularity: 14% [?]
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The Great Ape
By clairec23 | July 29, 2008
If you haven’t been keeping up with the updates then take a look at the posts entitled Question and Stories to see what’s going on. Don’t forget to take a look at the stories that have been posted so far such as:
Our Secret
The Best Thing
Tea, Cookies and Aspirin
Night of Connections
Sorry I haven’t posted in a few days more than what I said - I’ve been ill and trying to deal with the latest installment of the saga that is my laptop charger. I’d go into details but I’d only have to swear. Moving on to happier things, our next story is an over 18’s entry entitled The Great Ape by Karl Hudson. Let him know what you think…
I was born in a north African jungle. The first child of my parents. Their names, or I should say they were called Kiki and Coco. Not by us, mind you, I called them Mom and Dad. I guess that’s where my story begins. For it is the sole fact that I called them Mom and Dad that makes me so remarkable. You see, I am the world’s first talking monkey. One of 6 billion, though, if you’re a Darwinist.
All parents are proud when they hear their children’s first words. I don’t think my parents were unless they were so proud they shit their pants, figuratively speaking while they did poo wild gorillas so rarely wear pants. And if they do they’re too pretentious to shit in them. My parents were stunned and bewildered to hear me speak. At first they tried ignoring me, denying that I was different. Then they got angry, wondering where I picked up such language. Mom gave Dad that look that said, “I bet he picked it up from that Tommy Thompson three trees down.” Dad thought differently. Right away he suspected the human who had been camping outside of our little ape housing development. Father, in this case, knows best.
Diane Fossey changed my life. I began life as an endangered African mountain gorilla, but with Diane’s influence I became a dangerous mountain gorilla, at least in my parent’s eyes. Mom and Dad decided it would be best to abandon me as their child and give me to the lady. That is something I have only recently forgiven them for doing. In the end abandoning me was probably the best thing for me. I wasn’t cut-out for the banana strewn world of the African Jungle. The Big Apple is more my taste.
Diane helped a lot. She taught me how to read, write, and speak eloquently. When I decided I couldn’t go back home and I was old enough she got for me the forged birth certificate and other false documents I would need for the human world. She gave me some money to help me on my way. She arranged a job for me in the United States. She even, or some might say oddly, decided that it would be good to shave me saying I’d better look the part of a human. Diane Fossey was a Saint. I cried violently when I heard she had been murdered. The hardest thing I ever had to do was hiring her killers, but I couldn’t let the world find out my true origins. The only thing that saved my parents and village from being snuffed out was that they couldn’t talk. Early adulthood is filled with great rage.
I started my new life in the American south. It was the safest place for me. The powers that be there view anyone from Africa as basically a shaved gorilla so I didn’t set off any alarms. The job that Diane had procured for me was primate caretaker at a zoo in Atlanta, Georgia. I cleaned their pens, gave them their food, and taught them sign language. They flourished under my tutelage.
I could’ve had a great career in zoology, but the big city lights of New York were calling my name. I got a good job as an interpreter at the United Nations. Being African and working at the U.N. Brought the opportunity to have sex with a plentitude of women. They thought I must be a Nigerian prince and be hung like an elephant. As we all know mountain gorillas aren’t known for their prodigious phalli. Although, the opportunity was there I happen to not be attracted to your women. We do have much in common, about a 96 % DNA match last time I checked. When I have sexual urge I too will satisfy them by giving myself the ol’ paw job. Slapping the literal monkey. We both masturbate and we both have jerked off using the National Geographic…just different pages.
While in New York I began taking acting classes. I caught on real quick. My instructor told me that I had a great gift. It seemed I could masterfully mimic anyone I wanted. We were practicing imitation when my teacher went so far as to say loudly during class, “You are a great ape!” Now it was my turn to shit my pants. Nobody thought this was pretentious, but they were disturbed when I flung my feces at my professor. It turned out my cover was not blown he was just complimenting me. It was the last time he did that.
It was because of my success in these classes that I decided to move to L.A. and try to make it on the silver screen. And after a few minor commercial roles I got my big break. It was as a gorilla in Gorillas in the Mist. A role I was born to play not actually be. It can be said that this is exactly how Hollywood works. There are a few good actors and many more good actresses in Hollywood, but mostly the case is just what mine was an ape in an ape suit.
I played the ape in almost every movie that’s been made in the last 20 years. 20 years, that’s how long it took me to realize how despicable and ape-shit this lifestyle was. Sure, it got me all the material things I could want, but they were just things. Things I had to sell my soul to get. I played the part of the stereotypical monkey, me, the truly unique monkey. An African mountain gorilla who could talk played the part of apes that couldn’t. Well, except in Tim Burton’s Planet of the Apes, but the dialog in that was paltry and derivative.
A year ago when I first realized how screwed up my life had become I didn’t take it so well. I ended up hitting the bottle pretty hard as well as rock bottom. It took a lot of therapy for me to get all the monkeys off my back and to live a normal life again. That is why I am writing my story. It is finally come time for me to face the public.
Hi, my name is Johnny Damon and yes, I love bananas.
Popularity: 14% [?]
Topics: Uncategorized | 2 Comments »
Night of Connections
By clairec23 | July 25, 2008
If you haven’t been keeping up with the updates then take a look at the posts entitled Question and Stories to see what’s going on.
I won’t be around this weekend so the next story will probably appear on Monday, feel free to keep resending your contest entries to be included. ALL entries that are resent will be posted here. Don’t forget to take a look at the stories that have been posted so far such as:
Our Secret
The Best Thing
Tea, Cookies and Aspirin
Today’s story is from the Over 18’s category and is entitled Night of Connections or How I Learned to Just Let Go and Watch the Show. It’s by Roberto Villegas, you can find out more about Roberto by having a peek at his blog, Memoirs of an English Major.
“I think I’m gonna be sick…dude, don’t turn so fast… stop the car.
Stop the fuckin’ car…Oh shit”
Ah, the sound of half digested chips, bile, and cheap whiskey hitting
concrete at about thirty feet per second. It has just that right
amount of solid and liquid to give that distinctive wet thud, almost
like corn hitting a plate.
“I think… I’m ok…”
Though Tim could hold his liquor most nights, tonight wasn’t one of
them. Of course, who could blame the tall, lanky son of a bitch when
he downed half a bottle of Jack.
“You sure?” I questioned, “We can wait a bit longer”
“Yeah, I don’t mind holding your hair back,” a high pitched voice
commented, “I do this all the time with my girl friends. Though
usually the hair is a bit more silky, a little fresher smelling, oh
and it doesn’t have as many split end…”
“Not helping Eria,” Tim blurted. The man stood up, took a deep
breath, and place his hair back into it usual pony tail. It’s rare the
man lets his hair down. It’s a sign he’s really sloshed. Sort of like
his version of the Asian flush.
“Let’s just get the hell out of here…”
We arrive at Tim’s house, Eria riding shotgun. God I love that girl.
I’m pretty sure everyone else knows it, except for her. It’s not like
she’s blind to it, just that I really don’t act too much on it. Some
may call it being a gentlemen, I simply look at it as being a freaking
coward. Hell, if it were any other guy, she would be his. But because
it’s cowardly, no self confidence me, I wait, lying to myself and
calling the whole act “playing it safe.” And so I waited outside.
There really wasn’t much I could do except for that. When the girl you
have to give a ride to is tending to a drunk friend, you have to wait.
Especially when it’s such lovely lady as Eria. She’s the kind of girl
that when you see her, you just melt into a smile. She’s the kind of
girl you make sure to keep talking, just to hear her voice. When
you’re with her, you’re having a good day. She’s the kind of girl that
makes you realize that the powers that be will throw you not only a
bone or two, but a steak plate, complete with two side dishes. With
her puff of black hair that has its own personality to her cute
glasses that frame her face better than she knows. When you get within
spitting distance of Eria, you know that it is something specially.
And here I was, in possibly one of the strangest situations. As she
walks out in her camo shirt, arms slowly closing the door, only one
thought came to mind.
“So, did he confess his undying love to you?” I know, cliché, but when
a guy starts off a phrase with
“I…have…something…important…to…tell…you,” only so many
things can run through a man’s mind, especially when it’s Tim drunk to
the point where his speech centers in his brain fire at least two
seconds apart.
“No, but I was afraid he was,” Eria said, trying her best to conceal a
laugh, “knowing me, I’d tell him flat out that I didn’t feel the
same.”
“Honestly, I was thinking it was going to go that way,” I responded,
laughing all the way. Eria started to get a bit more relaxed and
giggled a bit. It was good to see her smile. She really has a cute
smile. It’s Eria’s most striking feature, more striking than her
sleek, dancer body, her perfectly pert breasts, and magnitudes better
than anything else she has to offer in her thin, smooth , radiant
face. When that girl flashes those pearly whites in a smile, the world
is in cosmic harmony. Yeah, it’s that damn good.
“So, you want to get some coffee? Cause honestly, I need some after all that.”
Shuffling her pink, knee high boots, looking cute as ever with her
blank stare, numb from the situation, she came to the same conclusion.
“Yeah… I think I need some too.”
Coffee is one of the few life changing drinks in my universe.
Granted, it’s not my primary source of caffeine, but whenever I have
the brew warm, frozen, cold, whipped, or iced, it’s a special event.
It’s one of the few beverages that I can trace back to relationships,
breakups, or friendships, pinpointing what combination of creamer and
sugar, syrup or size that went into my decision or lack their of.
Coffee has strengthened enough bonds and shown me truths deeper than
what one can taste or smell. It’s my version of wine and I rarely
drink it at outings, but tonight, I needed to call upon the power of
the brew. That and what else could you get at three in the morning in
this town anyways.
Time plays a huge factor in a town that falls asleep early, and even
more so when there was only one choice for coffee at two o’clock in
the morning. It is a place one goes pretty much when nothing else is
open because you know rain, sleet, snow or government holiday, the
International House of Pancakes will be open. It’s probably in their
employee handbook or something. . Thought the service is dismal at
times, I can’t imagine a better place to be.
Once we arrived, took our seat, ordered our coffee and placed in a
generous amount of creamer, sweeteners and what have you, we began to
chat about everything and anything.
“So, let me guess this straight. She sprung what on Johnny?” Eria asked.
“Well,” I commented, “She’s this psycho bitch he dated once, messed
around, you know, the usual thing Elbough’s does.
“Naturally. I mean, the guy pretty much loves it when a cute girl
comes into the bookstore”
“Yeah, so anyways, after a while, he dumps her. Something about her
being to clingy or something. I can’t really remember.”
“uh huh.”
“A week rolls by after the break up. Then she springs out of the blue
with one of those home pregnancy tests.”
“You have got to be kidding.”
“Eria, even I wouldn’t kid about this. It’s a guys worst nightmare. If
a chick ever brought one of those things in my face, I wouldn’t know
what to do. I mean, rational thought goes out the window when you see
one of those things. With a clear mind, they are hard to read, never
mind when you’re in a stressed state.”
“Hell, I’m a girl and even I have a hard time reading those things,”
Eria states, sipping her coffee. “So, you were saying?”
“Right. So she says to Johnny, ‘Do you know what this means?’ And
Johnny is sweating bullets, thinking ‘Oh god, I’m gonna be with this
crazy chick forever, my life is ruined.’ And so he goes, extremely
timid I add might, ‘what?’ And you know what the crazy, twisted girl
says?”
“what?”
“‘It means I’m not pregnant”
“Oh you have got to be kidding me.”
“Nope. Crazy chick springs a fake test on the guy.”
Eria just couldn’t stop laughing. It’s funny, but even though I had
class with this girl, I only knew her for less than a year. Hell, if I
were to composite all of the time I had spent with this girl, it would
probably be only a couple of months. But that night, I felt like I
knew this girl for all my life or at least the important parts you
remeber. It was a feeling that I rarely get with people, and even
rarer with women…
“Kind of a good thing when you think about it,” Eria blurted, knocking
me out of my pensive state, missing the whole first half of what she
was talking about.
“Sorry?”
“Well, you know, the whole about people like you and I. You know, the
whole ‘large circle of friends’?”
“Oh…that. Why?
“Well, what I mean is that people like us are blessed to have that in
our lives. Most people go through life with maybe five friends at the
most. Oh sure, they’ll have tons of acquaintances, but not really
friends. But for people like us, it just comes naturally, like
breathing air. We find the right thing to say, the right joke to use,
the right thing to comment on, the right question to ask. We just have
knack for connecting with people.”
She was right, by the way. I did have a knack for making friends
quickly and frankly, I don’t know why. If you look at me, I’m a pretty
weird, quirky guy, one that you wouldn’t think to meet in a crowd.
But, ask anyone around and they would say I’ve been a true friend. I
guess it’s just my approach to people, trying to find any sort of
connection. I guess that’s why I’m so attracted to this girl. It’s her
spirit , her character that turns me on. I know what you’re all
thinking and frankly, it’s not a lie. Don’t get me wrong, she’s
beautiful beyond beauty, but I need more to a girl than just looks.
She has to have depth, a soul, and a deeper connection to me than
simply interests.
“Yeah… I guess you’re right. Just never really thought about it that way.”
“Then it’s settled,” she stated, raising her mug. “A toast to good
friends and the joys they bring us!”
“cheers,” I said. I raised my mug and together we clinked. We
continued the night chatting about our lives, she discussing her dance
class while I was chatting up my life in web development, not really
caring for the subject. We meander through conversations of
literature, old classes, and life situations. It was possibly one of
the better nights I had for conversation and I couldn’t imagine a
better end. After all was said and done, I payed for the coffee, got
into my car, and started to drop her off.
Its’ rare that a night actually goes that perfect, especially with
women and even more so with Eria. Hardly any luck in the love
department for yours truly. But tonight just clicked into the perfect
end to a crazy, messed up night. Its one of those nights you can’t get
out of your system and beg to God that you can do it again. Even
though you didn’t plan it and possibly have no clue what you did, I
thank you Tim for one of the best nights in my life.
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