‘Twas a Good Run

You may have noticed a slight change in these pages this week. I resolved on Sunday that I was going to write something new – actual creative writing, not just posting my jumbled thoughts – each day for the coming workweek. The urge arose because, well, because I haven’t written squat in about, oh…three years. And in recent weeks since landing here in Annapolis, I’ve been encouraging a couple of new friends to write THEIR stories and projects (both of which I believe are really good ideas). I had become the living embodiment of “do as I say, not as I do.” So I figured just making myself write SOMETHING would help.

And it has. No, nothing I’ve written this week is any good but that wasn’t the point. It was more an exercise to get my writing muscles going again. So on Monday, I sat down at the local coffee shop and whipped out that hockey scene. Some of you probably have heard that the described scene is actually my vision for what heaven (if heaven were to exist) would be. And since I had skated Sunday night, hockey was front of mind and I jotted it down.

Tuesday’s story arose when I got to reminiscing about a fond memory. I took the kernel of an evening in San Diego, layered on memories from other times and places, and cranked that out. Again, it was an attempt to use long-dormant writing muscles, this time to evoke a scene and an emotion that might resonate with others if I could paint the scene properly.

Yesterday’s scene was an attempt to present dialogue. It was prompted by a friend who’d contacted me to say there was a preponderance of death in my recent posts and wondered if I was all right. I started with her inquiry, combined several different people and places and times in my life to form the two characters, and dropped them into the coffee shop where I sat each morning this week.

And that’s where I sit now, unable to make it four days in a row. Hence, this apologetic and explanatory post. But I’m not really sorry or upset. After too long a time being inactive, these baby steps have been a good way to get rolling again. I wasn’t going to go from zero to novel or screenplay in one fell swoop. I’ll work up to that. And as Hemingway taught, I’ll leave off each day knowing what is to happen when I pick up the story the next morning so I won’t draw a blank – like I am today.

Now I need to do the same thing for the muscles in my scrawny arms and legs, and ample gut. And as with this week, I’ll start with baby steps. I’m not going to jump right into running a marathon or doing some crazy-@$$ed Crossfit workout. Not right away, at least. Those will come hand-in-hand with that Great American Novel that will be in the works. Soon. 😉

Practice

Coffee Break

“There’s just been a whole lot of dying lately,” Angela said between sips of her large green tea with three ice cubes added (so she could drink it today, she’d told the barista adding, you know how HOT that water is).
“How do you mean,” David asked. He was drinking a large Americano. He didn’t care for this brand of coffee shop but Angela had made the suggestion. “I mean, Anne, sure. That was a shock. That one hit hard. But what do you mean a whole lot?”
“What about Pete?”
“Well, yeah. But he died, what? Four years ago?”
She blew over her top of her tea trying to cool it further. “Has it been four years already? Wow.”
They sat in adjoining arm chairs made from brown faux leather, two of four that were arranged around a gas-fired fireplace. The fake logs were silent behind the glass pane and brass-colored vents. A square metal end table sat between them and held their cups in between gulps. It was late April in suburban Long Island.
“And don’t forget Jim,” Angela added.
“How could I forget Jim? We were roommates for a couple of years back in Boston after school.” David turned his head left to look out the window into the strip-mall parking lot. “He was a good guy. Poor guy. Had a lot of problems. He was already drinking too much back then.” He sipped. “Just so sad.”
“How did he die?” Angela’s eyes followed David’s out to the parking lot. Looking past David’s ear she could see her Volvo wagon sitting in front of the coffee shop. David’s Lexus sedan was farther out in the lot.
“Just, you know, too much. Didn’t wake up one day. He was trying to clean up but I guess it was just too much for too long. His body said enough.” David sipped again. “Poor guy.”
Angela turned back toward the dormant fireplace and crossed her legs the other way. Left over right. “Anyway. Just seems like a lot of our friends, people our age, have been dying. I wonder how our class stacks up to other classes at this point in life. Seems like we’ve had a lot of deaths.”
“Could be.” Dave’s gaze returned indoors as well. He looked up toward the spotlights on the ceiling, to the right toward the coffee bar, beyond to where the hallway led back to the restrooms. “I don’t know.”
“What’s Diane doing today,” Angela asked.
“She’s in the city having lunch with Quinn.” David’s eyes laughed toward Angela. “She’s having a tough time now that he’s a senior.”
“What’s he majoring in?”
“Politics.”
“She gonna be all right when you two are empty-nesters?”
“It’s gonna be interesting.”
“What about Thomas? He’s still in Boston, right?”
“Yeah. Living with a bunch of guys in Medford. I guess it’s kinda the hip place nowadays. Who the hell saw that coming? When we were in school, Medford” — David pronounced it “Meh-fuh” — “was a shithole, remember?”
Angela threw her head back and laughed. It was a mostly quiet laugh, but her eyes squinted and her mouth was open in a wide grin.
“Oh yeah. In our day, leaving Cambridge was not something done lightly. How old is Thomas now? Twenty-four?
“Twenty-five. Just turned.” David shook his head.
“How can that be since you and Diane are both twenty-seven,” Angela mocked.
David turned to her and held up his coffee. “Cheers.”
They clinked cups and took a drink.
“What about you, Ang? What’s new with you? Seeing anyone?”
She raised her eyebrows. It was a gesture of hers he’d known for going on thirty years. “Oh, you know.”
“Yeah. Don’t let no moss grow on your stone.” David emphasized the no. “I just want you to be happy.” After a pause, “Whatever happened with that musician? Andy…Angus? What was his name?”
“Close. Andrew. He’s doing well, last I heard. Living in L.A., working for a nonprofit. I don’t know if he’s still playing or not. Every now and then I’ll hear a song of his on the one college station in Baltimore.”
“I liked him.”
“So did I. I still do. Love him. We just…you know.” Angela looked left and saw David was looking outside. “To be honest, I don’t know what it was, maybe it was the songwriter in him or what, but he had a dark side. He could get way down and I just couldn’t afford to get sucked down there too.”
“I get it.” David tipped his head back and held his cup vertically above him. When he returned to level. “I hear ya. Still.” The one word trailed off.
“Yeah.”
David turned and found Angela looking at him. She had a slight smile on her face and he returned her look with his broad smile beneath his bright eyes. His cheeks shaded a hint of red.
“It’s good to see you, Ang. I miss you. Diane does too.”
“I miss you guys, too.”
“I’m bummed Phil couldn’t make it. He and Deb are celebrating their anniversary. They’re on their way out to Montauk. They go out there this weekend every year.”
Angela nodded, still looking at David. “Yeah, we traded emails. Next time.”
She put her arms on the chair and pushed, rising to her feet. She turned back for her cup on the table and reached for David’s. He was rising. “I got it.”
They went to the cabinet that held cream and sugar, utensils, napkins, and dropped their cups into the circular hole that marked the trash bin. David extended his right arm toward the door and Angela nodded as she stepped past him.
David and Angela hugged as they stood beside her car. “Don’t be a stranger,” he said into her shoulder.
“You too,” she replied. “C’mon down sometime. I have a great place out on the Chesapeake. It’s awesome in the fall. The water’s warm, there’s no one around. It’s great.”
“We’d love to. Diane and I talk about it all the time. Now that we’re not going to Quinn’s games anymore, I’m sure we can get down there.”
They looked into each other’s eyes, and their smiles engulfed their entire faces and all the years they’d known each other. Their smiles, each familiar to the other and a comfort to the other, bridged the space between them.
A pause, and David took a step back. Angela opened her door and got in. She backed her Volvo out and waved to David, who had begun walking toward his own car. Angela steered toward the highway, heading west.

Practice, , ,

There Was a Time

Paul Martin’s cafe table basked in late-afternoon sunshine. He sat alone, sipping at a glass of Oregon Pinot Noir, eyes closed as he stared up into the lowering sun. A mini-Christmas tree adorned each table on the cafe’s patio, tiny LED lights barely visible in the bright sunlight. He’d been at this cafe in the neighborhood a handful of miles northeast of downtown San Diego a few years before.

Kate had been with him then. It was her neighborhood. The home she shared with her two teenagers (when they weren’t at their father’s) was walking distance from the cafe, which occupied a corner in the quaint neighborhood’s core near several restaurants, across from a small movie theater and surrounded by a handful of artsy shops. A sign comprised of white lights on green metal arched over the main road between the freeway and the lone stoplight declaring the neighborhood’s name.

It had been December then, too, and the multicolored lights draped over the sign and in many of the palm trees confused Paul’s mental calendar even though it was his second Christmas in Southern California. He wore shorts and flip-flops, but in his New England brain December meant long pants, flannel shirts and wool socks, and maybe even a hat and gloves.

Kate looked fabulous yet again, Paul thought. Her light, summery dress still managed to look Christmasy with its red and white pattern, and in her stylish sandals, blonde hair and blue eyes she looked every bit the San Diegan she’d become since leaving Long Island twenty-plus years earlier.

They each had a glass of rosé, the December evening being warm enough that anything redder seemed too heavy, and talked of things they’d always discussed: Kate’s work as a lawyer helping families and foster kids, Paul’s projects at one of the local biotech firms, politics and society, her kids, fun things they’d found to enjoy in Southern California. They laughed and bantered and worked their way through the wine before they rose and walked back to Kate’s house. Kate liked the way Paul always made sure he walked on the outside, nearer the street. And they both liked the way it felt when their fingers intertwined for the final couple of blocks.

In the kitchen, Paul opened a bottle and poured it into a decanter. Kate pulled out the lasagna she’d set to baking before they left. They ate on the back patio beneath a string of lights that ran from the house to the converted garage and on to a large tree near the back fence. After dinner, after they’d left the dishes in the sink, they settled together into each other in a lawn chair beneath the large tree. Stars peeked through the San Diego haze, the branches of the tree, and the string of white lights that ran to the fence.

That had been five years ago, Paul calculated as he took another sip of Pinot. Every so often he sought out Kate’s profile online. She looked happy in her new life in the Bay Area, the photos usually showing her with one or both of her kids, now graduated from college and on to lives of their own, or by herself on hikes in the hills of Marin County. There were also photos of her with a man. Those photos went back two years and Kate’s big smile beaming beneath her glowing blue eyes told of her happiness. There was a light in her face in those photos that he could recall, a light that shined even in the dark beneath a tree in her backyard.

The sun had set and Paul looked up to see one bright star already twinkling in the southeast. He drank the last gulp of wine, left a twenty on the table and walked to his rental car. He drove to the airport and boarded the redeye flight back to New York, where it was forecast to be cloudy with a chance of snow.

Practice, ,