Guest Writer – Samantha’s Novel

 

Today’s guest writer is my wife, Samantha. Sam is a wonderful writer and she has some of the most beautiful prose I’ve ever read. The first short story I ever read from her was titled Four Little Words and it can be found in the Writerscafe.org 2006 Anthology. The following is an excerpt from a novel that she has been working on. I post this for a multitude of reasons: 1) It’s really, really good. 2) Other people should see it. 3) Sam has a way of seamlessly incorporating pop culture into her writing and it makes me jealous.

I’ll stop gushing and let you read.

————–

“So with the angst of a teenage band
Here’s another song about a gender I’ll never understand
~
This is no Bridget Jones”

Kill the director – The Wombats 

Sunday

“Where the hell is my other shoe?”

I heard it.  I must have left my TV on overnight.  Ignoring the morning as long as I can, I pull the covers tight over my head.

“Seriously.  I wore two of them yesterday and now there is just the one.”

The covers were not enough to block out the noise and I had to resort to the rolling over and pulling the pillow over my head as I went.  Smashed under the pillow and the covers,  I come to the distinct realization that I smell horrible.  This clarity fills my mouth as well.  The strong stale taste of my previous night sends my stomach hurling forward.

“No I will not keep it down!  What the fuck, man.”

I fling the covers back and I realize first I am not wearing any clothes.  Now some more things are starting to make sense, like the fact that I am not even in my room.  This isn’t really the first time I drank too much and woke up in a strange apartment.  It usually just takes a day to put together some missing pieces and then I will remember everything just fine.  This kind of thing would have bothered me more when I was in college.

“There is no fucking way there is a chick in your room dude.  I thought you were gay or something.”

My jeans and my shirt are folded neatly on the floor by the bed, which was weird as hell.   I got dressed hastily.   It isn’t easy to keep your balance when you are still a little drunk.

“No Doran, you are such a liar.”

The door swung open almost instantly at if was trigger loaded and I just barely got my clothes on before the sound and instant light caught me totally by surprise.

“Shit. Sorry.”

The blonde guy with the mega man t-shirt stood shaking his head at what I could only assume was me.  Then I realized it wasn’t at me, there was someone else out there.  He stepped in the room and the night became a little clearer.  Just his presence in the room made my pulse quicken.   He closed the door behind him. It was just the two of us in the room and it was like all of the air in the room was suddenly sucked out of this dim space.

“Ya. Sorry about Craig.  He can be…kind of a douche.  I didn’t think you would be awake this early.”

I couldn’t see him well enough to read his posture or if he was as nervous as I was.  I couldn’t even really see his face, just his slender outline leaning against his door.

“I don’t know what time it is.  So I am not really sure how early it is.”

He took a few steps to the side and turned on a desk lamp and the room was partially illuminated.  He pulled a pocket watch out of the front of his jeans and pressed the little button that popped the door open.

“8:30”

He smiled at me and I honestly felt a knot in my chest.

“Yeah, that is early.  I don’t think I have even seen 8:30 since I was a freshman in college.  Even then it was rare.”

I looked around and started to absorb my surroundings.  I saw the guitar and amp in the corner. The amp had a picture of Einstein with a Mohawk on it. There was a poster for a movie called Tron above the bed and by his computer another one that said “Darren Arronofsky’s ¶”.  There were some band flyers for groups I had never heard of that I was sure I was going to have to Google when I got home.  The only names that I could really read from here were “Futuristic Sex Robotz” opening for “Optimus Rhyme”.  There were also flyers for a group called “Harry and the Potters” which didn’t really sound like a band.

There were these action figures on the wall and they seemed to be still in their packages.  I stood up and walked over to them.  I was no longer worried about him watching me.  I was now mesmerized by my surroundings.  I was in a completely new environment.  The things on the wall were Simpsons toys.   I wasn’t really sure what to make of it all.  I had never seen anyone with dolls stuck to their wall. The knot in my chest was starting to loosen and my view cleared up a bit.

I turned and looked at the bed I had just been sitting on.  It was normal twin bed with a navy blue comforter, and the sheets have little space ships and robots on them.  Oh my god, I just woke up naked in Star Wars sheets.  Where the hell am I?   I couldn’t breathe. I didn’t really know what to think.  I looked at the guy standing at the door that I could now see in the light and he looked exactly the same as he did last night and he was even wearing the same clothes.  His tight jeans didn’t leave a lot to the imagination and his white shirt that had printed on it, “Destroy popular culture. Rebuild. Repeat.” That shirt was what caused me to strike a conversation with him in the first place.  His messy black hair fell in front of his eyes as he stared down at his Chuck Taylors and waited for me to make a move.  I could tell by the way kept fussing with his lip ring that he was nervous.

“So, are you normally up this early?  Do you have class or work or something?”  I struggled for the words, I knew I was probing but I needed to know something, anything about this situation I was in now.

“Ha. No.  I mean after a night like last night, I haven’t even really slept yet, ya know. “

He stopped looking at his feet and was looking me right in the eyes and he smiled at me and I was so confused.  I still couldn’t remember what happened last night.  I remember him. I remember his band playing and his t-shirt and the whiskey and coke (light on the coke).   I really don’t remember how I got here or any of the good parts that happened after.  I am of course assuming they were good.  He certainly looks good.  I think it is the tight pants; I make the assumption that if a guy wears pants that tight that he is going to be first-class.  Now I am thinking about having sex with him which is making me want to have sex with him after I just woke up naked in his fucking Star Wars sheets.  Shit.  I need help.

Now he is standing right in front of me in his tight pants looking less nervous and more determined, like he has been working up the nerve to say something to me.

“So.” I break the tension for him.

“Ha.  Ya.  My roommate, Craig is going to be in the living room a while. So I thought maybe if you wanted, there is a Waffle house on the corner.  A little grease might help your hangover.  If not it’s whatever.  You can go home or, you know, do what you want to do, I just figured, ya know if ya wanted.”

I am not sure that made sense.

“Breakfast, I could do breakfast. I could use some coffee”

We walked the block in what seemed like silence.  He kept seeming like he was about to say something then he would stop and look back down at his shoes and kick a rock.   I felt like out of the corner of my eye I could see him watching me. There was just some not right about all of this and I couldn’t quite put my finger on it.  What the hell was I trying to kid myself, usually at this point in an interlude with a guy  I had just met at a bar he would be showing me the door while trying to make it not seem weird that he doesn’t remember my name.  NAME.  I don’t know his name.  This should make breakfast interesting.  Well I guess you don’t have to say people’s names in normal conversation.  It isn’t like when you talk to someone you are constantly interjecting their name.  That isn’t normal.  This isn’t like an episode of Seinfeld where I am going to keep getting hints about his name and then call him the wrong thing and hilarity ensues.   This is reality and I think I can get through one breakfast with a guy I just slept with without having to know his name.

We got to the door of the yellow and black greasy spoon and he held it open for me.  I walked past him and found us a booth in the corner.  We ordered quickly and then were left with the awkward silence all over again.  I felt like since he was nice enough to invite me out I could at least try to start a conversation.

“So, are you taking any classes right now?”

College is almost always a safe conversation for 20 something people.

“Ha. Ya.  I take some.  They are almost all online right now so I don’t really have to leave my room that much.”

“That’s cool.  I was never good at the online courses.  I never remembered to do any work if I didn’t have to go to class.  Not that I really did the work for the classes I went to.  Or really went to class all that much in general.  So I guess it wouldn’t have really mattered either way.”
“Ha. Maybe not.  My major is in computer programming.  So I can do a lot of that at home and just send it in.  It is nice.  I also work from home doing web designing and consulting.”

“Seriously, like that pays you real money?”

“Real money.  Pays my rent and pays for classes.”  His sarcasm was palpable.  How was I supposed to know that though? It isn’t like I know anything about this shit.  It was just a question.

“Sorry, I just don’t know much about how that works.  I have never really been much into computers.”

This whole conversation embarrassed me.  I just wanted to push my eggs around my plate and get this all over with.

“What’s your major, Tara?”

What the hell? He knows my name?  I am sure the surprise showed on my face because it caught him off guard.

“We don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to.” He looked hurt now like a skinny sad puppy.

“No, my mind wandered off and then you surprised me.  Sorry.  Art.  My major was Art.  I graduated two years ago.”

“Art?  That’s pretty cool?  You are an artist, huh? So like what are you doing with that?”

I suppose that is really the question of the decade.  That was my dad’s question when I declared my major 7 years ago and here I am sitting in a waffle house being asked by a skinny puppy what I am doing with my degree.

“Nothing.  That is what you do with an Art degree.  I emphasized in Painting and Illustration it isn’t like it is super practical.  I don’t do a whole lot of it though because it gets expensive.  Buying art supplies and all that shit is hard to keep up with. I work at a record store though.  The same one I have worked at since my freshman year of college.  I like music and I like people so it is a good fit for me.  My boss hangs up some of my stuff there which is cool.  But anyways you do nothing with a degree an Art.”

“Ha.  Yeah I kinda already knew you worked at Off The Record.  I have been going there since I was a kid.  Once I saw you tackle a shoplifter and I remember thinking oh man she is so, so hot. “

Wait. What?  Did I hear that right?

“Wait, did I just say that out loud” His embarrassment was noticeable but my mind was already too busy in memory mode to process his adorableness.

“Yes. You did.  I remember that kid.  He was like 12 or something and he was trying to run out of the store with a bunch of ICP CDs shoved down his pants.  My boss was all worried he was going to pull a knife on me or something, but he was just a stupid kid.  You saw that?  That is funny and a little weird”

How do I not remember ever meeting him before?  I am usually better with faces.

The more we talk the more images from the night before start to pop into my head.  I remember him at the bar sitting next to me but he was wearing glasses.  He wore thick black framed glasses and I thought they were cute.   They looked like the ones I wear.

“Weren’t you wearing glasses last night?”

“Ha. Ya.  The whole band does.  It’s like a gimmick thing we do.  Ya know, because of the music we play.  They aren’t real prescription or anything.  I think it was the keyboard players idea.”

“I tried hard to remember what he meant by the music they played.  I could still remember them on stage but that was the extent of that memory.    I could remember him saying the name of the band.

“Pythagorean Theorem.  That’s the name of your band.  I think I meant to ask you about that.”

He gave me this sheepish grin and pushed his empty plate away from him.

“It is the one that says the sum of the squares of the legs of a right triangle is equal to the square of the hypotenuse.  We couldn’t come up with a cool name and our drummer, Jon was tutoring a girl in geometry so it sounded good at the time.  Since we are all math geeks as it is we kind of rallied around the name.  Most of the lyrics of our songs are about stupid shit like that.  Math, computer games, Saturday morning cartoons, or Star Trek; the stuff we like to talk about.”

“So you don’t sing about girls, sex, or parties?  Normal shit?

“Uh no.  I think we prefer to write about stuff we actually know about.  That kind of thing isn’t our style.

He wouldn’t make eye contact with me and I could feel the tension in the air shifting to an uncomfortable place.  I wanted to ease it back in to place.

So I laughed, probably not the best idea.

“That obviously can’t be true.  I am here aren’t I?”

His face went red then white and for a brief moment I wasn’t sure if he was going to cry or throw up.

“And you don’t really know me at all.” He grabbed the check off the table and walked to the register and paid.  Alright so that didn’t go the way I intended it.

I sucked down the last of my coffee, took a deep breath and headed for the door.

He stood by the exit and waited for me to walk over to him and then he held it open for me again.

“Thanks for breakfast.”

“Ha. Ya.  I can walk you to your place if you want.”

“Um okay. Cool thanks.

I live in a loft downtown, which is a brisk twenty minute walk from the Waffle House.  We walked together and did our best to ignore the awkward moment inside.

“Have you always been into computers and stuff?”

“Ya, I guess.  My dad was always one of those people that had to have the newest and best things.  So we were always getting new computers at home and he would let me keep the older ones and I would rebuild them, hack the operating system, and create new programs.  I enjoyed the challenge.”

“I don’t know what any of that meant, but I am sure it was all impressive.  So I am putting on my impressed face for you”

I smiled at him and he smiled back.  This was nice.

“So how do you do it? You said you do that web designing stuff and you take your classes online. You are also in a band.  From what I remember about last night I think you guys were pretty good. “

The nice moment was over again and the awkwardness creeped back up on us.

“That was a joke you know. I was making fun of me…not you.  I drank a lot…obviously.  We are allowed to make fun of me.”

He looked up from his shoes and I realized it wasn’t awkwardness in his eyes; it was sadness.  He tried to hide it with a smile but it was still there in his eyes.

“Ha. Ya a joke.  Got it.  It isn’t hard for me to handle it all.  I don’t really do anything else.  That and I drink a lot of energy drinks.”  This made him smile a real smile.

“If you looked in our fridge I am not even sure you would find any food.  You would just find an assortment of energy drinks.  Craig is on this quest to try as many different kinds as he can.  He is always ordering them on the internet.  He wants to find the perfect combination of energy and flavor.”

“I think it is always important to have a mission.  How is his coming along?”

The conversation proceeded without any more problems for the next 30 minutes. I may have “accidentally” turned down the wrong block so that we could keep talking.  I am pretty sure by the time we reached my stoop we had burned off most of the calories we had eaten for breakfast just from talking and walking.  I was beginning to actually feel comfortable with him which is really rare for me when it comes to guys.  The closer we got to my door the more the little butterflies grew in my stomach and I felt like a teenager on a first date.  I really can’t remember a guy making me feel like this much of an idiot.  That probably has something to do with me not spending much more than one night with them…I usually miss out on this feeling.  I also miss out on the part where they break my heart so really I think it might even out in the end.

“Thanks for walking me all the way home.”

“Ya. Um. No problem.  Now I know where you live.”  He kind of half laughed and gave me what I think was supposed to be a wink.

I leaned in to him fully prepared to give him the kiss to end all kisses.  You know the kind that they always show in movies, the one that starts outside the door of the apartment and ends on the floor of the bedroom with the path of clothing in between.  My heart is pounding and my stomach is practically in my throat so I close my eyes and go in and my head hits right at his chest.

I went for the kiss and he went for the hug.  The thanks-for-being-my-grandma hug.  The I-probably- never-intend-to-see-you-naked-again hug.  He was at least a head taller than me so after he preceded to wrap his arms around me he set his head on top of my head and I was trapped in a just friend hug.  I guess it was all for the best anyways, I still couldn’t remember his name.

I pulled myself away and turned towards the door of my building.

“I need to go get ready for work.  Sundays are always long days.”

“Oh. I didn’t realize you worked to day.  How long are you guys open on Sundays?

“Noon to eight.”

“Ha.  Yeah I guess that could suck.”

“So, I guess I will see you around then.”

“Ya. Totally.”

I like to think that you could to go any city in any state and find a used music store exactly like Off the Record.  There isn’t anything unique or specific to my store.  There are always the angsty green haired 20 somethings, fresh from high school wanting their first job to be the one that defines them for the rest of their lives. The early 30s jazz lover who is only working part time because he enjoys the atmosphere and it gives him a chance to keep up with the vinyl we get in. Of course the mid 40s death metal enthusiast who is covered in tattoos and will always be ready to explain the relationship between classical music and metal.  It may not always be the exact same people but there will always be some version of each of them, as soon as someone leaves there is always a carbon copy ready to replace them.  That is how the wonderful world of retail works. We all find our common ground is that we love music and we like to help people find music.   I kind of dig that meshing.

I have worked here for seven years.  I started out that angsty green haired girl who thought listening to the Sex Pistols made you cool.  Throw a union jack on your sleeve and a couple of safety pins through your plaid skirt, and add a pair of combat boots to equal instant punk.  I had no idea what the hell I was about and I think I proved that every day.  At one point, the green rinsed out of my hair and was just the color of dead zombie flesh and I can remember looking in the mirror and thinking “What the hell is wrong with me?”  The next day I dyed it back to the natural black and I made a promise to myself not to be anything but real. I think since that time I have really only worn jeans, a solid color t-shirt, and a hoodie.  My friend Dee always complains about us wearing labels like we are walking billboards for things…so I just comply by not wearing anything or making any kind of a statement at all.

Rick beat me to work, which isn’t really that surprising; he is way more together than I will ever be. There are days when I envy that and other days it drives me nuts. I put my key in the door and shook it a little because it always sticks a little. I pushed in the open the door and the little bell over the entryway announced my entrance.

I saw Rick walk up from the back carrying the money from the safe.

“Glad to see you could make it in today.”

“Just barely, I have a feeling it is going to be a long day.”

“I wonder when the Ice Queen plans to grace us with her presence.”

“You never know when it comes to Dee.”

Rick is one of those guys you either love or hate.  I like him just fine.  He is really tall and probably about as big around as my wrist. He also has an opinion on every topic ever…and he will gladly share it with you whether you ask him to or not.  He likes to be the center of attention at all times and the fountain of knowledge of all topics.  I personally don’t care because I don’t like to be the center of attention and don’t pretend to know anything.  He likes being around me because I don’t compete with him in any way so he throws compliments at like they are going out of style.  I just let Rick be Rick and he makes me feel better about myself, in the end it is a win-win situation.

We busied ourselves getting the store ready to open.  Rick put away the money and I straightened the vinyl racks and it wasn’t too long before there came a rather abrupt smacking on the window in front of me.  I looked up and Dee had a big smile on her face as she waved and pointed to the door.  I walked over and unlocked the door for her.  She pushed passed me so she could make her big entrance as she was usually known to do.  Rick did his best to ignore her and it drove her crazy.

“You are twenty minutes late, Dee.”

“Well, you are a lonely, sad, pathetic, asshole, Rick. We don’t hold that against you, do we?”

Rick and Dee hate each other.  I don’t know why.  I am not even sure there is a reason for it, like I said before some people just hate Rick.  In the back of my mind, I have made up a story where the two of them hooked up and Dee would never in a million years admit to that, but the idea still makes me laugh.

“Guys, stop it. I am not even in the mood for this today.”  Not that I was ever in the mood to listen to them go at it.

Dee sauntered over to me with that a mischievous glint in her smile.  I really don’t like it when she gets like this.  She is always a leaning a little on the manic side so when she gets where she wants to dig her heals into something he can be a little scary.

“So I lost you after The Library last night.”   She had that look in her eye like she knew something I didn’t know.

“Yeah.  My night is a little fuzzy.    Jack makes the drinks a little strong.”

Jack is Dee’s fiancé. He is also the bartender at The Library, the one and only music venue in town.  Dee and I can almost certainly be found there four nights a week.  It would be more but they are closed the other three.

“Jack said he saw you chatting with one of the matheletes at the bar.” She said this suspiciously loud drawing Rick into the conversation.

“Matheletes?  What the hell, Dee?”  I was shaking my head at her but something, but all pieces of my morning were clicking into place in a way I didn’t want them to.

Rick was standing next to me now; he had put on his serious face.  The one he reserves for when he needs to lecture me on my life choices.

“Wait, you mean those high school kids that come in here in their shirt and ties that buy the Ska CDs?  You are kidding me?  Tell me you didn’t fuck the mathelete, Tara?”  His voice was slow and edging with anger.

I felt like I had been punched in the stomach.   I can remember being punched in the stomach before and I am almost positive this is a similar feeling to it.  I stumbled over a few feet to the counter and leaned against it.  The cool of the wood paneling calmed me just a little.

“He was the lead singer of that band from last night.”  I took a breath before I finished.  I knew how it was going to sound before I finished it.

“Remember, Dee.  The one with the glasses. “

“Pythagorean Theorem?”  Rick looked that showed he was processing things as much as I was.

“I thought they were all Straight edge.  Like no drugs no, no booze, no sex.  That’s why they always talk about math or some shit.”

That was what he was trying to tell me this morning with all that stuff about writing what you know and it not being his style.  I am such an idiot sometimes.

Dee was still shaking her head at me.

“Hasn’t Doran been coming here since he was like 13?  When he was all covered in acne and had braces.  Seriously, Tara!  What the hell is wrong with you?”

I slid down to the floor and hugged my knees.  How could I let this happen?  How could I be so irresponsible?  I am so fucking stupid.  He is really just a kid.  What the hell am I supposed to do now?

Rick bent down in front of me and wrapped his lanky arms around my head.  His head was next to mine and I could smell his cologne.  It was reassuring.  I fingered one of the pearl snaps his shirt.  I let the warmth of Rick’s friendship comfort me.

“Hey, I know what will make it better.  I will pick an album to take your mind off it.” He whispered into my ear, gave me a very plutonic kiss on the top of the head and helped me to my feet.

The next 20 minutes consisted of my sitting on a stool behind the register staring out at the store while Rick and Dee bickered over the best listening choice.

“I think we should listen to Uncle Tupelo- No Depression.”

“I hate to break it to you but I think she needs to forget about last night not be reminded about the Whiskey Bottle that started all of this in the first place..  I think we should instead listen to Yeah Yeah Yeahs-Fever to tell.”

“Oh yeah.  Because being reminded she is a chick is what she wants.  Just because you are all chick power doesn’t mean Tara is.”

Eventually they settled on the Flaming Lips-Yoshimi Battles the Pink Robots and we opened the store.  They didn’t mention last night again and I was able to try to push it back down for a little while longer.  This Sunday went by like all of the other Sundays; it was a blur of people trying to sell their scratched rap albums or people looking for a copy of a gospel song that the sermon in church had reminded them of.

We had our regulars come in and try to debate the best albums of the decade.  This is Rick’s favorite topic, he has prepared his thought out responses to anything anyone will bring up and why they are wrong and he is right.  It doesn’t matter what the obscure music related topic you come up with, Rick with give you an answer for it.

Top five records released in the last decade:

“5. Interpol- Turn on your Bright Lights.  4. Decemberists- Picaresque 3. Spoon- Kill the moonlight. 2. Yo la Tengo- I Am Not Afraid of You and I Will Beat Your Ass 1 Wilco-Yankee Hotel foxtrot.”

“I notice you forgot to mention Radiohead on there.”

“Radiohead hasn’t put out a decent album since OK Computer in 1997.  I am not going to put them on a list of best albums of the decade when it has been two decades since Thom Yorke was relevant to me.”

Rick really doesn’t like Radiohead.

Top five pop albums of the 80s:

“5. Eurithmics-Sweet Dreams.  4.  Madonna-Like a Virgin 3. Springsteen-  Born in the U.S. A.  2. U2- Joshua Tree. 1. Police- Synchonicity.”

“Seriously?  How do you not put Thriller on that list?  Isn’t it like one of the best selling albums of all time or some shit?

“Because an album sells well doesn’t make it good.  It is easy to pick the obvious choice, the obvious choice is the one that the media already picked for you.  I prefer to make informed decisions, you should try it sometime.”

Best Christian Albums of the 90s:

“5. Steven Curtis Chapman-Speechless. 4.  Newsboys- Step up to the Microphone. 3. Amy Grant-Heart in Motion. 2 Michael W. Smith- Live the Life 1. DC Talk- Supernatural”

“Well, Rick, I really didn’t think you would have an opinion on that.  I guess I was wrong.”

“Like I said, be an informed consumer.”

We discuss upcoming releases and things that look exciting to us and how we are surprised that some groups are still pumping out albums while others broke up far too soon.  It is the same conversations we have every Sunday, but I suppose I need that sense of normalcy is what I really need.  Before I know it we are closed and the three of us have locked everything up and are walking out the door.

Dee grabs my arm and stops me short.

“Hey don’t look now, Tara. Your boyfriend is waiting for you.  Maybe he wants to go to the soda shop and share a shake!”

I looked across the street and he was wearing a jacket now, but sure enough, he was leaning on the corner of the building as if that structure needed his help to support it.  I stared at him across the street and only hesitated long enough to let the anger spark and my feet hit the asphalt.

It seemed like it was only four steps to reach the other side of the street.  I hit the other side at full stride and honestly wasn’t so sure I knew what I was going to say.

I went with the obvious.

“Doran, how old are you?’

“19.”

“Fuck.”

I doubled over and took a deep breath released it and stood back up.

“Are you one of the matheletes? The kids, the ones with the shirts and ties that would come in the store?  The ones I always made fun of?”

“Ha. Ya. That is the band actually.  Our first idea for a band name was The Matheletes. We still might go with that.  I was never really a fan of PT, we might even wear the shirt and tie on stage too.”  He smiled at me but I wasn’t really in the mood for smiling.

“What the fuck, dude. I am like six years older than you.  This is insane.”  I couldn’t breathe again.  Like I was going to pass out kind of couldn’t breathe or tunnel vision-panic attack-turn out the lights and go home because the game is over kind of couldn’t breathe.

“It is only as insane as we make it.”  His confidence is astounding to me.

He looked into my eyes and my vision cleared back up and without realizing it, I was breathing just fine.  He brushed a piece of hair out of my eyes

“Ha. Ya.  Come on, I will walk home with you.”

“Alright. Whatever.”