Fall 2014: Story 2.1

I decided that I liked the characters from my previous story, so I decided to throw them into a larger narrative that I've been thinking about for around a year. (This has nothing to do with the current public fear of Ebola.) I also liked the idea of forcing Jill and Vincent to see each other again. Anyway, this draft is really rough because I was up until 4:00 AM writing it. Enjoy!

Patient Zero

Just two more clients today and then I can take a bubble bath. I rap hard on the door at 126 Valglen St. Before I can finish three knocks, there is the clatter of paws on tiles and the loud barks that mean that the German Shepherd, Pepper, is bounding to see who's at the door. He stops just short of slamming face first into the frosted glass like he does every week, but that is the last bit of normal that I get all day. Instead of the usual territorial bellows Pepper usually uses to hide his big teddy bear personality from intruders and mail carriers, the sounds coming from the other side of the door are desperate. 97Lbs of dog scratches at the door and whines.

“Hello Pepper!” I said. “What's up, boy?”

I waited a few moments and rang the doorbell. There was no answer.

I dig in my jacket pocket and pull out my phone. Scrolling through the contacts, I stop at Beth's name and dial. It rings and goes to voicemail. Just for good measure, I try the door but it's locked.

Pepper curls up against the door. Something isn't right.

I look at the phone in my hand, back at Pepper, and back at the phone. Pepper lets out another long whine. I can't believe what I'm about to do. I scroll though my contacts out of the B's and into the V's.

I dial. It rings twice.

“Hello?”

“Vincent?” I wince. The universe owes me that bubble bath now. “It's Jill.”

“Oh, hi.”

“Sorry. I'm over at Beth's for Pepper's session. She's not answering the door or her phone and her dog is really upset about something. Is everything okay?”

“I haven't talked to her in a few days.”

“Okay. Well something feels very wrong here. Beth's never stood me up and I've never seen Pepper act like this. Is there anything you think I should do?”

“Wait there. I'll be right over.”

Great. “Uh huh. Thanks.”

Twenty minutes later, Vincent's beige Honda pulls up and parks behind my electric blue Toyota. He gets out and walks up to where I'm waiting by the front door. He reaches into the pocket of his khakis and pulls out a key ring.

“Shit,” he says, “It's not on this one.”

I cross my arms. “You're kidding me.” My next appointment is in under an hour now.

“There's the dog door in the back.”

“Yeah, okay.” It would be a squeeze, but Pepper fits well enough. I'm not that much bigger than Pepper anyway I guess.

Vincent opens the gate to his sister's back yard and we walk to the patio. Pepper hears our approach and bursts out of the dog door. He runs up and nearly tackles me to the ground. I bend my knees to brace and Pepper leans on them, shaking.

“Whoa,” Vincent mumbles.

“Come on, Pepper,” I start towards the dog door. “Take us to mommy.”

Pepper goes in first and I squeeze in after, thankful that I'm wearing yoga pants for training rather than a dress. Once I pull my feet inside, I stand up and unlock the door for Vincent. The alarm bleeps in warning as soon as he opens it, but Vincent turns it off.

“Beth?” I call out.

There isn't an answer, but Pepper runs partway up the stairs and barks.

“Upstairs then,” Vincent says. “I can understand dogs that much.”

As we follow Pepper, I notice that his big water dish by the base of the stairs is almost empty. It had to have been two days since someone last filled it.

Pepper leads us into a dark bedroom and jumps onto the bed. The curtains are drawn and the bed is piled with blankets. I turn on the light as Vincent walks over to the bed.

“Beth?” He almost whispers.

Beth doesn't answer. She is pale and drenched in sweat, but shivering. Her hair is disheveled and her lips are cracked. Pepper licks her cheek and whines.

“Jill, she's burning up. I think we should call an ambulance.”

“I'm on it.” I walk out of the room to let Vincent tend to his sister and dial.

“911, what's your emergency?”

“I'm need an ambulance at 126 Valglen St. Beth- the home owner- is really feverish and won't wake up.”

“I'll send a unit out. Who is calling?”

“Jill Saunders. I'm Beth's dog trainer.”

“Alright, Ms. Saunders. A team will be there in about ten minutes. Do you need me to stay on the line with you?”

“No. Thanks so much.”

“Anytime.”

I hang up and go back in the room. “The ambulance will be here in like ten minutes.”

“Great.”

“What would you like me to do?”

“Uh,” Vincent frowns. “I dunno. I guess I'll ride with her. Can you take Pepper?”

“Yeah. I guess I can do that.”

“Actually,” he pauses. There's a weird look on his face. “Maybe it'll be easier if you get the dog out of here before the paramedics arrive.” Easier for who?

“Good point.” I turn around and head back downstairs. I go to the kitchen and fill a gallon ziplock with kibble before retrieving Pepper's leash from its hook by the front door. I check the time on the microwave- I have about seven minutes.

Pepper stares at the leash in my hand when I get back upstairs, but he stays put on the bed. I walk to the side of the bed opposite Beth and hold the leash out to Pepper. He whines.

“It's okay, boy. C'mon. Want a treat?” the dog inches closer and I slip the walking collar over his head. “Good boy, Pepper! Now let's go for a walk.” I lead him down the stairs and let him into my car before stowing the bag of kibble in the trunk.

The ambulance pulls up as I'm about to get into the car. “They're upstairs,” I say and let the paramedics into the house. I go back to my car and get in the back seat to soothe Pepper. The paramedics bring Beth out on a stretcher a few minutes later and Vincent follows them into the back of the ambulance. Pepper barks as they drive off and disappear around the corner, lights flashing and siren blaring. “Shhhh,” I whisper, scratching his ears and half hugging him. Poor guy. I wonder when he's had anything to eat today.

When Pepper stops barking and lies down, I climb over the console into the driver's seat and head home. I'm supposed to be at my next client's house in half an hour. I pull over in a gas station and retrieve my phone.

“Hi Jill,” Alice answers. “What's up?”

“I'm sorry to change plans so suddenly, but I just had to have one of my other clients taken to the hospital and I was the only one who could take her dog.”

“Oh my god. What happened? Did you get hurt?”

“What? Oh no, it wasn't the dog. She was just sick.”

“Oh.”

“Well anyway, I've got her stressed German Shepherd with me and I can't leave him alone like this so I think I've gotta reschedule. Is there another time this week you'd like me to come see Buster or should I just come next week?”

“Hmmmm,” Alice pauses. “This week looks pretty packed. I think next week will work.”

“Awesome.” Alice is the best. “How's Buster doing?”

“Great. Great. He only got busted on the kitchen table twice this week.”

“Well that's progress,” I laugh. “Good job, you two!”

“Thanks. I'll see you next week then.”

We hang up and I reach back to scratch Pepper's ear again before. “Who's a good boy? Pepper's a good sweetie boy. Let's go to Auntie Jill's house.” I pull back out onto the street and head home.

I let Pepper sniff around the inside of my house on the leash before letting him loose. I open the hallway closet and grab the dog dishes I'd stowed on the top shelf 3 months ago. I fill one with water and scoop three cups of kibble into the other. Pepper stares at me and licks his lips. I look him in the face. “Sit.” He complies and I put the food down for him. He practically inhales it.

My phone starts playing the theme music from Pirates of the Caribbean and I smile. “Hello?”

“Hi there,” Ryan says. “Are we still on for tonight?”

I look at Pepper. “Well, yes and no.”

“She's a mysterious one, this Jill.”

“I'd love to see you, but I can't go out.”

“Oh really?” I can just hear his grin over the phone.

“Not like that,” I laugh. “It's just that I took a client's dog home with me 'cause she had to go to the hospital.”

“Is everyone okay?”

“Honestly, I don't know. She looked really sick and her dog was kinda freaking out.”

“That sounds horrible.”

“I don't think I can leave the dog alone.”

“Of course not. Shall I bring takeout?”

“You're the best.”

“About 7:30 work?”

“Mmm, you're perfect.”

Ryan laughs. “Now go take a bath.”

“Aye aye, sir.” We hang up. Pepper follows me upstairs and I close the bedroom door behind us. I point at the bed and the dog jumps onto it while I go fill the tub.

I climb out of the now lukewarm and nearly suds free bath at around 6:00 and pull on my favorite jeans and a tank top with lace along the hems. The built-in support isn't much, but after the day I've had and the bath that soaked most of it away, I was not about to put on a bra. And it's not like Ryan will mind.

Pepper is curled up sleeping on my bed. I lie down next to him and stroke his fur before falling asleep myself. We don't wake up until the doorbell rings. I use my fingers to comb out my mild bedhead and trot downstairs to open the door.

Ryan grins and holds up a brown paper bag. I smell curry. Pepper strains against his collar, but I hold him steady. “Who's this?” Ryan asks.

“This is Pepper.”

“Hello Mr. Pepper.” Ryan holds a hand out palm up for sniffing and follows us into the house. It's the first time I've seen him meet a new dog and he aced it like a champ. A champ with Indian food.

“Let's get that onto some proper plates. I'm starving.”

“Yes ma'am.”

I start reaching for my casual plastic plates, but grab ceramic instead to prevent the plastic from becoming permanently curry flavored. I pull two sets of stainless steel chopsticks out of the silverware drawer and bring them to the table. Ryan has already gotten the wine glasses. I pull a bottle of Riesling out of the fridge while he gets a couple of napkins and sets the table.

I pour the wine. “So how was your shift?”

“Oh, it was fine.” He starts serving up the curry. “Uneventful. Nobody's gonna come back to the restaurant tomorrow just to give me their number.”

“My word,” I tease. “Who would do such a thing?”

“Well there was this one woman.” His blue eyes sparkle; I could go for a swim in them. “She had silver hair down to the chair and the straightest teeth I've ever seen. I could tell 'cause they sat right next to her plate the whole meal.”

I nearly choke on my wine.

“How's the curry?”

“Spicy.”

“Too much?”

“Don't think you're gonna eat it all that easy.”

“Oh, the sting of accusation, how it burns.”

“Wouldn't it sting?” I smirk.

Ryan glowers dramatically. “Eat your dinner.”

I meet his eyes, brows raised. “I will.”

“Good. So shall we watch another movie from your fantastic collection after this?”

“Sure. Which one?”

“Not a clue. Surprise me?”

“Okay. But just remember you asked for it.”

We finish dinner and clean up. The plates and chopsticks go into the dishwasher, the leftovers go into the fridge, and more wine goes into the glasses. I take Pepper outside to do his business and then peruse my shelf of DVDs. I don't want anything with rampant explosions to stress out the dog, but I don't want a cheesy romcom either. It's only been a month. The Truth About Cats and Dogs can wait. I pull The Illusionist off the shelf and put it into the player.

Ryan sits on one end of the couch and I sit slightly diagonal to lean on him. He drapes an arm over my shoulder and Pepper stretches himself across the rest of the couch with his massive head in my lap. I scratch Pepper behind the ears and Ryan starts massaging my shoulders as the movie starts.

After half an hour, my phone rings. It's just out of reach on the coffee table. I pick myself up a little and lean forward to grab the phone. It's Vincent. “Just a sec.” I grab the remote and pause the movie before answering the phone. “Hello?” I go back to leaning on Ryan's chest.

“Jill?” He sounds like shit.

“What's going on? Is Beth okay?”

“She's getting worse. That's all I know. They won't even let me see her. They say it's some kine of bacterial infection, but they don't even know what kind. The lab is supposed to analyze a culture or something by next week, but...”

“Whoa, Vincent,” I say. Ryan strokes my hair reassuringly. “Slow down. Do they even have any ideas?”

“I don't know. They won't be straight with me. Wait- they're calling me. I gotta go.” The call disconnects.

“That doesn't sound good,” Ryan says.

“It really doesn't.” I sigh and pat Pepper's head.

“I'm sorry.” Ryan moves to drape his arm around my shoulder.

I guide his hand back to my hair. “Don't stop.” I turn the movie back on.

Ryan keeps stroking my hair and leans down to kiss my forehead. I hear his heart speed up for a couple beats and then slow back down. I let my eyes drift shut and let the rise and fall of Ryan's chest, his heartbeat, and his hands in my hair upstage Edward Norton. I've seen this movie before. Spoiler alert: the girl's not dead. She's actually waiting for Edward Norton at a little farmhouse in the country and he takes a train to meet her there well after her supposed death. It's really a great film.

I must have drifted off at some point because next thing I know, the credits are rolling and Ryan says, “That was a really good movie.”

“That's why I picked it. I save the bad ones for special occasions.”

The doorbell rings. I look at the clock. It's around 10:00. “Are we expecting anyone?”

“Not that I know of.” I haul myself off the couch and go to answer the door.

It's Vincent. His face is blotched red and he looks utterly disheveled. “She's gone.”

“What?”

“I didn't know what else to do. I just talked to her last week. And now she's...”

I'd just spoken to Beth three days ago. Ryan puts a hand on my shoulder. “Why don't you come in?”

“Okay.” Vincent sniffs and follows us back to the living room. Pepper bounds up to Vincent and sniffs him. He looks around for Beth and whines.

I turn off the TV.

“They said they did all they could, but they couldn't even tell me what it was.”

“I'm so sorry, Vincent.” I say.

“Would you like some curry?” Ryan asks.

“No thanks. Do you have water?” I get up and get him a glass. Pepper lies down between my chair and Vincent with a sigh. “God, what do I do with the dog? I certainly can't take him.”

“Don't worry about Pepper,” I say. “He can stay with me.”

“Are you sure?”

“Of course.” It's not how I was planning to get a new dog, but sometimes the universe takes plans into its own hands.

“I don't even know who to tell. She's the only family I had left.”

“I'm sorry. I had no idea.” I need to give my sister a call tomorrow.

Vincent grabs a napkin out of the dispenser and blows his nose. Turning to Ryan, he says, “I'm not sure we met. I'm Vincent.”

“Ryan.”

“I'm sorry if I'm interrupting something or anything.”

“Not at all.”

“I am, aren't I?”

“No, no,” I say.

Vincent grips his makeshift tissue and jumps up. “Oh god. Oh god. I gotta go.” He bolts for the door. Ryan and I hurry after him. Vincent is halfway to his car by the time we get to the front door.

“Is there anything I can do to help?” I call after him.

He gets into his car without answering.

“Vincent?”

He drives away without another word.

“Are you okay?” Ryan asks.

Beth's dead. Fuck. I turn around and bury my face in Ryan's shoulder. His arms fold around me and now the tears come. “Can you stay with Pepper and me tonight?” I ask into his shirt.

“Of course.”

Fall 2014: Story 1.1

Dichotomy

I dreamed that the world was ending, and it was beautiful. It wasn't the Sun burning the planet to a crisp like scientists like to say. The temperature was actually quite pleasant, even though the Sun had led the way into a black hole.

Half of the sky was the kind of dark that could only exist when something ceaselessly hungry is sucking up the light. The rest seemed to brighten in protest. It was mostly filled by the moon and Saturn, which were both drawn so close to the Earth that they would have probably crashed into one another if all weren't being drawn in another direction. About half of Saturn was already slipping into the dark. An aurora tinted all of it- the last gift the dying sun had to give.

The gravity was a bit off. I stayed on the ground just fine, but snow crystals drifted upward at the slightest breeze. All of the lights made the snow glitter in the air...

I check the clock: 6:45. Fifteen minutes until Vincent picks me up. I wander to the closet and grab two pairs of flats. Standing in front of the mirror, I hold each pair next to my knit floral print dress. The black ones definitely look better, but they rub at the back of my heels and the skin would be raw within an hour. But then again, the brown ones are starting to show wear. I frown at the mirror. Style or comfort? I roll my eyes and pull on the brown shoes.

I open up my purse to make sure nothing's missing. Wallet. Keys. Phone. Lipstick case- with the wrong color inside. I swap the red out for the light sandy shade I'd put on. Mints. Bobby pins. Aspirin. Everything's in place and I still have ten minutes.

I go downstairs and turn on the TV. After flipping through a commercial for Alpo dog chow, a rerun of The Bachelor, some news program, and an ad for Viagra, I settle on a fight scene in Pirates of the Caribbean. I've seen it before and I don't particularly fancy Johnny Depp with that much eye liner, but the one-liners and the swords clashing to the time of John Williams is a perfectly adequate way to pass the time spent waiting for something to happen.

At precisely 7:00, there is a ring at the bell. I can see the shape of a figure through the frosted glass. I guess that would be Vincent. I shoulder my purse and open the door. The man on my front step is of medium height and average build with brown eyes and brown hair. He is wearing a pale yellow button-down shirt with dark jeans and sneakers. “Vincent?” I ask.

“Yeah,” he says. “Jill?”

“Uh huh,” I say.

Vincent smiles. “Shall we?”

I smile back and lock the door behind me. Vincent leads me to a beige Honda and opens the passenger door. I get in and buckle up. The interior of the car is clean. The seats are upholstered in gray fabric.

Vincent gets in the driver's seat. “So how was your day?”

“It was fine, thanks,” I say. “And yours?”

“Good,” he says, starting the car. “Yeah. It was pretty good.”

“Well that's good.”

“Yup.”

There's a silence and I fiddle with the hem of my dress. We pull out of my neighborhood and stop at a red light. “So what do you do, Vince?”

“It's Vincent,” he says. “and I'm an accountant.”

Oh boy. An accountant. I've always wanted to meet an accountant. How exciting!

“What do you do?” Vincent asks.

“I train people's dogs,” I say. “Beth didn't tell you?”

“I guess not. Do you have a dog?” he asks.

I look down at my shed-free lap. “Not right now.”

“Oh.” The light turns green. “Not a bad subject, is it?”

“It's fine,” I say and start fiddling with my hem again. “It's been a while now.”

“Are you going to get another one?”

“Eventually.”

“Well that's good,” Vincent says.

There's silence again.

We pull up to an Italian restaurant and get out of the car. Vincent walks to the host stand and says, “Vincent Brown. Party of two.”

The host looks up and smiles. “Okay. Your table is ready. Right this way.” Vincent and I follow the host to a table in the middle of the restaurant. I take the seat facing the kitchen doors and he sits across from me. The host continues, “Ryan will be right with you.”

“So what do you do for fun, Vincent?” I ask.

“I like to read mostly, but I also enjoy a game of Pente.”

“What's that?”

“It's kind of similar to Go,” Vincent says.

“Still lost,” I reply.

“It's a game played on a grid with stones,” Vincent says. “It's hard to explain without showing you.”

“Okay,” I say.

The waiter arrives. He's tall and lean with dark hair and blue eyes. Crap. The waiter shouldn't be hotter than my date. This isn't fair.

“Hi,” he says. “I'm Ryan. Can I get you something to drink?”

I order a glass of Chardonnay and Vincent orders tonic water with lime. Ryan turns to walk back to the kitchen and I focus on Vincent to avoid staring at our waiter's-- Shoulders. Yeah. Shoulders.

“So what do you read?” I ask.

“Nonfiction mostly,” Vincent says. “Economics books, sometimes statistics.”

Oh my. I wonder how this guy manages to stay awake all day. “Interesting,” I say...

In my dream, the people weren't panicking. They weren't running around screaming or breaking windows or looting the fleeting world's material treasures. Nobody was crashing cars into department store windows or driving at all. In fact, nobody was going anywhere.

Everyone had found a place to lay down on the grass and stare at the sky in wonder. Everyone was silent, and they almost seemed to be aware of the great speed at which they were hurdling through space upon the chunk of rock we call home. And that impossible sky made glittering reflections in everyone's eyes.

It seemed everyone knew they were all going to die and they had decided to enjoy their last moments in quiet serenity rather than fear. The inevitability of the Earth's plunge into darkness made any effort seem pointless.

I was the only person who stirred, and I was running...

“And what do you like to do?” Vincent asks.

“Well,” I say. “I like all sorts of things.” I unfold my napkin and place it in my lap. “I like traveling. And I draw.”

“Neat,” Vincent says.

“What do you draw?” Ryan says, placing our drinks in front of us.

“landscapes and animals mostly.”

“Awesome,” Ryan says. “I'm working my way through art school myself.” He smiles.

I blush.

“Are you two ready to order or do you need a few more minutes with the menu?”

“A few more minutes, please,” Vincent says.

Ryan smiles again. “Alrighty. I'll be right back.”

Vincent and I disappear behind our menus. I figure out what I want pretty quickly and place my closed menu back on the table. Vincent is still hidden behind his. Is he reading the whole thing through?

I look around the restaurant. The lighting is bright enough to feel warm and dim enough that the darkness outside is still apparent. The walls are adorned with maps and pictures of Italy and paintings of tomatoes. Most of the tables are occupied by couples and families with kids. Ryan is kneeling at one table, writing down an order. When he finishes, he stands back up and goes to enter it into a touch pad computer screen.

Vincent turns the page in his menu. This is the last time I will let a client set me up with their brother.

I sip my wine. Ryan glances our way, notices Vincent still reading, and disappears into the kitchen. My stomach threatens to growl. And a minute later, Ryan returns with a bread and two little plates.

“Thank you, Ryan,” I say and reach for the bottle of olive oil sitting on the table.

“Enjoy,” he replies. “Do you need help with the menu, sir?” he asks Vincent.

“No thanks. I'm almost ready.”

“Okay. I'll be right back.”

I pour some olive oil onto my appetizer plate, grind some pepper into it, and sprinkle some Parmesan and basil on top. I use a piece of bread to stir the mixture and then eat the bread. It's sourdough. Fluffy on the inside with a strong crust. It's delicious.

I'm on my second piece of bread when Vincent closes his menu and notices it. He takes a slice and eats it plain. “So what kinds of landscapes and animals?” he asks.

“What?”

“You said you draw them.”

“Oh right, yeah,” I say as Ryan makes his way back to our table. “I like mountain and forest settings and my favorite animals are carnivores. Dogs, wolves, big cats, and the like.”

“That's an interesting contrast,” Ryan says. “Why those?”

“Mountains and forests have slow power and hunters have fast power,” I reply.

Ryan nods. “I like that. Anyway, can I take your order?”

“Yeah,” Vincent says. “Can I have the spaghetti with marinara please?”

“Absolutely,” Ryan says. “And would you like any meatballs on that?”

“No thanks.”

I blink. He read the menu all the way through and then got spaghetti with marinara? What was he doing? Looking for tomorrows stock numbers in the entree prices?

“And what can I get for you, ma’am?”

“Can I please have the linguine with asparagus and white wine sauce?” I say.

“Sure thing. And would you like me to put any chicken on there for you?”

Considering the relative prices of what we'd each ordered, I declined.

“Alright,” Ryan gave us each a smile. “I'll get that going. Can I get anything else for you?”

Sure. You can take a seat and hand your apron off to Vincent here. “Just some water, please,” I say.

“Certainly.” Ryan gets up and goes to enter our order.

I take another sip of my wine. Vincent places his own napkin in his lap.

“So,” I say. “How's Beth?” Stupid question. I just saw her and Pepper yesterday.

“She's good,” Vincent says. “Do you have siblings?”

“A half sister,” I say, “but we aren't close. We certainly don't set each other up on dates.”

“Oh, that's a shame.”

“Not really,” I say. “She's married, so I couldn't set her up with anyone anyway.”

“I can see how that would be unwelcome,” Vince says, “but I just meant that it's a shame that you two aren't close.”

“I guess,” I say. “She's five years older, so we never had much in common. And we were each mostly raised by our own moms. They don't like each other.”

“Gee, I wonder why...” Vincent says.

“Yeah.” I smile a little...

I wasn't just running- I was sprinting, and the milder gravity lengthened my strides into enormous bounds. I ignored the magnificent sky in favor of scanning the grassy hills. I was looking around desperately for someone I knew would be able to help. He had to be somewhere. But all I saw were the rolling hills with their eerily weightless grasses waving at the slightest breeze and sedate people mesmerized by the sight of their impending demise.

Where was he?

I ran to the top of a hill and turned in a circle, looking for anyone moving at all. There was no sign of him. It occurred to me that someone might have seen where he went. I started walking down the hill towards the row and stopped at the first person I see.

It was a blondish guy with greyish eyes and a white cotton shirt. He was lying on his back in the grass like everyone else, staring at the sky, his mouth agape and his pupils dilated.

I stooped next to him. “Hello?”

The guy didn't twitch.

I shifted so that my face blocked his view of the sky. “Hey, so have you seen anyone other than me run past?” I asked.

The guy grunted slightly and tried to push me out of his view.

“Please, just focus for a moment,” I said.

“What for?” the guy mumbled as if speech itself was a monumental task.

“I think I might know someone who can help.”

“It's a black hole,” the guy said.

“I know. Humor me. Please.”

The guy tried again to push me away. He wouldn't even look at me properly.

I squeezed his hand. “Please.”

The guy aimed our joined hands off to the west and said, “The caves I think.”

“Thank you!” I said and started to get up. Thinking better of it, I knelt back down long enough to run my other hand through his hair and kiss him briefly before running west...

Vincent finishes his first slice of sourdough and takes a second. I take another sip of Chardonnay and put the glass down so it can wait for the meal.

“So what does your sister do?” Vincent asks.

“Everything,” I say. “She's a chef, teacher, and janitor rolled into one.”

Vincent frowns. “Small school?”

“She's a mom.”

“Oh,” the frown subsides. “Funny.”

I take my third slice of bread and use it to soak up the last of the olive oil on my plate. But then I still have bread in my hand and nothing to dip it in, so I pour more onto the plate.

“How many nieces and nephews do you have?” Vincent asks.

“Three,” I say. “Twin boys and a girl. Do you and Beth have any other siblings?”

“No,” Vincent says. “It's just us. Well, she has Bill and German Shepherd.”

“Pepper, yeah,” I say. “I work with her. She's great.”

“I suppose she is now,” Vincent says. “I suppose I should thank you for the end of her biting habit?

“It's never all me,” I say, “but you're welcome.”

“How do you mean?”

“Well Pepper only sees me once a week.” I finish the piece of bread, but there is now oil left on the plate, so I take another. “Training doesn't stick if I'm the only one involved in the process. It's less about me teaching Pepper and more about guiding the relationship between her and her humans. If Beth and Bill didn't stay consistent with her, Pepper wouldn't have learned anything.”

A waiter that wasn't Ryan set a tray next to our table. “Okay, I have a linguine with asparagus.” I raised my hand slightly and the waiter put the dish in front of me. “And a spaghetti marinara for the gentleman,” the waiter continued, placing Vincent's food in front of him.

“This looks wonderful, thank you,” I say. I scoop up a piece of asparagus with my spoon and use it to anchor the noodles I'm twirling on my fork. It really is excellent. “How's yours, Vincent?”

“It's good,” he says between bites and then takes his first sip of his tonic water. It must be going flat by now.

Ryan walks up to our table and asks, “How's everything tasting tonight?”

“It's perfect,” I say.

Vincent nods.

“Excellent,” Ryan says and rushes back to the kitchen...

I ran over the hills and a barren cliff face loomed over me in the quick sort of transition that makes perfect sense in a dream. The ground turned from soft grass to stone in an instant as I made a beeline for a wide crack in the cliff face. I hardly cared about the rough terrain or loose rocks. As soon as I got to the opening of the cave, I took one last look at the bizarre sky and scrabbled inside.

The cave wasn't much darker on the inside than it had been in the hills. The walls, ceiling, and floor had green crystals jutting out of them, and the light seemed to bounce through them all over the cavern.

It was enough light to see that I was definitely alone. There was nobody here to help me figure out how the crystals figured in to saving the planet. I had to figure it out all on my own and I had absolutely no idea what to do...

I continue eating my dinner, glad for an excuse not to keep fumbling around for something to talk about. Vincent seems utterly engrossed in his spaghetti, so I savor the way that my wine and the food complement each other. As I keep eating, I try to figure out by tasting how they had made the dish so I could duplicate it at home. The linguine and asparagus are obvious enough ingredients. And white wine sauce was mentioned on the menu. But it is creamy. How did they make a creamy sauce with wine without curdling the cream? I guess they must cook out the alcohol before adding the cream. That would make sense. Herbs in it too of course. And I'd probably add spinach and some squash at home too. And maybe salmon. Yeah. That would be amazing.

I take another sip of wine and contemplate the slice of garlic bread sitting on the edge of my plate. I usually avoid it on a first date to avoid garlic breath, but it looks so good. After another twirl of linguine and another sip of Chardonnay, I glance up at Vincent, who just got hit in the nose by the end of a slurped spaghetti noddle and doesn't wipe away the sauce. And then I eat my garlic bread.

Spring 2014 CWL 375 Final Project

Assignment: Write and produce a children's picture book. Provide a 5-Page paper about decisions you made in the process and why as well as how it relates to topics discussed in class.

Process Paper:

The Crafting of Loon Lake

While creating my children's story book, Loon Lake, I had to make decisions regarding the story, language, and presentation to ground the final product in a specific niche. I chose to target my book towards children who are just starting to read for themselves, so I made numerous decisions in the name of easy reading and physical familiarity in the hands of a child aged 4-6. I related my book to the course by giving it an overtly environmentalist theme.

The first decision I made was the medium and shape of the book. These decisions were made balancing my own personal convenience and the functionality of the final product. I chose to make my book on sketch paper because I already had a sketch pad that I rarely use as my usual artistic medium is paint on fabric. The feeling of holding the sketch paper is reminiscent of construction paper, but finer and smoother, giving the child holding it a sense of both familiarity and novel grandeur. I chose to fold the papers in half and bind them with staples in the middle because it reminded me of the writing journals I was given in early elementary school, which were made of colored printer paper folded “hamburger style” and stapled. This fashion of binding also allowed me to utilize smaller illustrations to good effect.

Once I knew the shape of my book, I started writing the story. I chose to relate my book to the course by making it reminiscent to both Dr. Seuss's The Lorax and the picture book we talked about in class, The Dandy Who Sat on the Toilet. I came up with the story of biodegradable soap causing an environmental problem because I used to spend all of my summers at a lake in which bathing is prohibited. Our family still took baths in the lake occasionally with biodegradable soap, and I distinctly remember my mother explaining to me why it was only okay to bend the rule on rare occasions. The central conflict in my story is pollution in a lake, much like in Dandy, and it also shares that book's reliance on a cooperative solution to fix a problem. The child who sorely misses the loons' song and the child's mother function together in the story much like the Lorax does in Seuss's book. I chose to make the story more complex by having the first solution to the environment's sadness go horribly awry because I wanted to show that humans are fallible, even when they are trying to act like a Lorax. I also wanted to introduce the idea that big problems rarely have simple solutions to the child reading the story.

I chose to make the central animal characters of the story a family of loons because I grew up listening to them all summer and have extensive experience drawing them. I also chose loons because there aren't a lot of other children's books featuring them, and the word itself is fun to say for a child. The loons also made it easy to create an ecosystem that gets believably out of balance without a large number of species needing to be described. I also liked that the fish that loons eat are easy to draw, allowing for the production of lare numbers of them on the page easily.

My loons stand apart as individualized characters only mildly. I was originally going to give the names Loona and Hullaballoon to the parents, but I couldn't think of two more loon pun names to give the chicks. I decided to give the names to the chicks instead and refer to the parents as Momma and Papa because I wanted the youngest characters in my children's book to be the ones with individual identities. In fact, the loon chicks are the only characters in the whole book with names. The lack of heavily defined human characters allows the young reader to insert themselves and their families into the story.

I was very careful with the word choice in the story. Because I was aiming for something a child would be able to read with minimal or no help from his or her parents I chose to use very simple language. This is why I used “special soap” instead of biodegradable soap and “tiny things living in the lake” instead of bacteria and other microorganisms. The absence of these difficult-to-read words also smooths out the story by getting the point across understandably without having to take a break to define challenging new words while in the middle of the challenging task of learning how to read. The most difficult word to read in the book is probably the name Hullaballoon, but the sound and shape of the word is sufficiently unique to allow most children to remember it and feel good about being able to read such a big word so easily by the end of the book.

There is a great deal of repetition in my story because I wanted to build the young reader's confidence as he or she progresses through the book. The book has a lot of pages, so it looks rather long for a beginner to read. The frequent repetition of entire phrases allows the physical appearance of words in those phrases to become familiar to the child. This makes the child able to read the familiar sections more quickly and smoothly. This shows even children who may be having trouble that they are improving, giving them inner encouragement based on actively building confidence rather than the external encouragement of their parents. Remembering my experiences practicing reading in both English and Hebrew, I found the internal encouragement of quickly conquering familiar words and phrases much more effective than the encouragement I got from parents and teachers.

I chose to used typed text for ease of reading and put small paragraphs on each page to eliminate as many intimidating factors from the story as possible. Short paragraphs with narrow margins allow the child to come at the story in unimposing small chunks. It context with other books on the child's shelf, the balance between text and illustration in mine offers a smooth transition between the child's old role of looking at pictures and his or her new role as the reader of the story. But the text is not directly embedded in the images so that nothing distracts the eyes from the words when the child is actively sounding them out. The small blocks of text also allow for quick progress through the book. As a young reader, each time you get to turn a page is a victorious conquest of a measurable section of the book. The more frequently the child gets that physical manifestation of moving forward, the more confident the child will feel. And when the child gets to the end, he or she will get a sense of pride from reading an entire book by themselves.

I chose to situate the paragraphs around the same place on every page for the sake of predictability. Because the first solution to the problem only makes the problem worse, unlike many other childrens' books, I wanted something to remain consistent.

I originally wanted to do the illustrations in paint as I usually do, but I decided to use colored pencils instead because I didn't want to wait for paint to dry (or risk gluing the pages together) and my relative inexperience using colored pencils makes the drawings closer to those in a child's classroom. Colored pencils are also faster to work with and more forgiving of mistakes on paper than paint is. In paint, each adult loon would probably have taken 5-10 minutes, but they only took 1-2 minutes each towards the end of the book with colored pencils. I am still much better at blending colors and creating dimensionality with paint than I am with colored pencils, but I like how childlike many of the illustrations turned out.

I chose to put some small details into the artwork that might not be noticed on a first reading so that the book would have more to offer on subsequent readings. The adult loons, for instance, have individualized necklace markings. This allows the viewer to choose which one is Momma and which one is Papa and keep their identities consistent throughout the book. And then at the end, it allows the viewer to choose which of the children is which when they grow up. There is also a tiny person with a sad face holding a bottle of Special Soap on the page where the lake turns green, and the pupil of the moon's eye is shaped like a star.

Another thing I chose to do with the illustrations is isolate the images pertaining to humanity onto the right hand side of the page and allow the images of nature to sweep across to the bottom left. I chose to do this for a number of subtle reasons. The first reason is a complex form of foreshadowing because the solution to the central conflict in the story is a restriction on humans. It is also a commentary on that solution because the images still work effectively in the greater narrative when limited to the right side of the page, suggesting that we as people will get along just fine in our lives when we make collective decisions to restrict ourselves for the good of our environment. The nature images fill the right side of the page and overflow onto the left because the world we live in can't be crammed into a box and isolated from the territory of that which is distinctly human. This breaking out of imposed confines and invasion of the side of the pages containing text that only humans can decipher represents the tendency of the natural world to impact us in unexpected ways when we try to take control of it. The curve of this encroachment on humanity is like a flood about to happen.

The style of the images is meant to bring to mind Dr. Seuss's The Lorax and The Dandy Who Sat on the Toilet. The use of vivid colors and the way that many of the illustrations fill the page all the way out to the corners is reminiscent of Dr. Seuss's style. But the shapes and details aren't like anything in Dr. Seuss's books. The level of detail and realism in the outlines of my illustrations are closer to the pictures in The Dandy Who Sat on the Toilet. Neck markings aside, the only character who is reliably identifiable is the child, and that is because he is only child mentioned in the story just like there is only one dandy. The use of visible blending of colors to create dimensionality rather than Seuss's highly detailed outlines and the use of perspective in many of the images in Dandy sets my work apart from both.

When I finished all of the illustrations for the book, I had 6 extra pages that were left blank. I had planned to have 2 blank pages just in case I had done my math wrong and needed more than I expected, but there were a number of instances in which I decided to combine the content of two pages into one after I had already numbered and started illustrating. Most of these combinations were made because something about the text of one of the combined pages would have been too difficult to illustrate, but one instance was due to an accidental combination of the content of two pages of text into a single picture. When I got to the end, I had to figure out what to do with all of the extra blank pages after the large “The End.” I didn't want to do 6 more elaborate drawings because it was around midnight at that point, but I didn't want to leave the pages blank either because it would have looked very strange. I also couldn't remove these pages because it would have damaged the structural integrity of the book once it was bound while making it very difficult to bind it in the first place.

I solved this problem by creating a step by step guide to drawing loons in the style that I used throughout the book. I chose to utilize the extra space this way because the sketch paper that the book is made of simply begs to be drawn on. This also adds to the transitory nature of the book between the childish passive viewing of the pictures to the active reading of the text. The child has to finish reading the book to get to the coloring section and the paper that the child is drawing on is of much finer quality than the construction paper that is provided to most children. There is also plenty of space for the child to practice drawing loons multiple times on each page.

I decided to make the front and back covers simple and unimposing because I didn't want the rather thick-seeming book to be intimidating to new readers. The soft curves and soft colors of the front cover allow the young reader to give it only a passing glance and move on quickly to the story inside. The blurb on the back cover promises an interesting tale if the book were to be picked up in a store promises a fun activity for reaching the end of the book.

My children's picture book, Loon Lake was designed for an audience of early readers. This was done through decisive techniques applied in the writing and physical appearance of the book, including word choice, balance of text and illustration, and the illustrations themselves. The textual and visual content of the book both relate to topics we talked about in class because they utilize strategies implemented in Dr. Seuss's The Lorax as well as The Dandy Who Sat on the Toilet. I am very pleased with how the final product turned out and thoroughly enjoyed working on the project.

Spring 2014: Final Poetry Portfolio

Assignment: Revise 2 poems from this semester. (Rough drafts can be found in the archives.) Write 1 blackout poem and one poem of any style containing 6 assigned phrases.



Revised poem 2:

Frankie

Thank you.

Thank you for being the best tiny spoon I know.

Thank you for fulfilling my childhood wish

For a dog that looks like a puppy forever

With your big, round eyes and brown floppy ears.

Thank you for thumping a rockin' drum solo

With your tail on the walls of your crate

Every time I come home from school.

Thank you for telling me you have to go outside.

Thank you for barking at all the strange men

And warming up to my friends quickly.

Thank you for reflecting my bad moods at me

So that I can only cheer you up by fixing myself.

Thank you for being quiet in your carrier

When I sneak you into the grocery store.

Thank you for reminding me that dogs are gross.

Thank you for shedding on every outfit I own.

Thank you for insisting upon licking my face

For five minutes straight with the same tongue

You use to clean your butt and chew on hooves

That make my whole bedroom smell like a barn.

Thank you for rolling in raw fish right after a bath.

Thank you for making me pull strangers' gum out of your mouth.

Thank you for licking the inside of my underwear

While I'm on the toilet so I have to change or wear them wet.

Thank you for making me laugh.

Thank you for being perplexed and scared

Of a fat earthworm, cautiously sniffing

And jumping back over and over.

Thank you for running down the stairs

On your front paws when they're too tall for you.

Thank you for that face you make

When you're waiting to eat your dinner-

The one where your eyes go wide

And your bottom front teeth are showing

And your head tilts so far to the side

That your body goes with it,

Leaning back and to the left.

Thank you, Frankie, for waiting two months in the shelter

And nearly two years on the street for me to find you.

Revised Poem 6: (It's funny 'cause I gave it a Jazz structure!)

My First Time

No clinging sweat, nothing getting

Stuck In uncomfortable spots.

No breezy chills, No heat lingers.

Just music Moving our bodies.

“Rhythm is jumping- jump session!”

We pulse. We stretch. We compress. Hips

Swivel. Hands connect. Breaths syn-

Chronize. We both smile. Vision spins.

I catch a glimpse of a glint in

Your eye before a light touch moves

Me in a new unexpected

Way. My curly hair swings around

And I can see you again. I

Feel your hand on my hip and I

Follow your touch around the floor.

And I take control, pulling you

Close. Your smile broadens. “Can't be too

Often someone does that move, huh?”

“Nope. I like moves out of the blue.”

I grinned. We spun fast as could be.

Still not sweaty above the knee.

The beat's getting a lot faster-

I could keep at this until three.

I wish I could tell someone why

Tonight is so great. But they'd look

At me funny or laugh in my

Face. But believe me when I say

This because it's totally true:

There's nothing quite like your first Swing

Dance in moisture-wicking panties.

Blackout Poem:

Assigned Phrases Poem: (alone with the desert, out of the boathouse, into the hardened snow, a combination of everything, precise arrangement, warning for years)

Wouldn't Have Expected This Warning for Years

Something tells me you're the kind of guy

Who would be ditched by an ex-fiance

For some time alone with the desert.

Twice.

You know,

The kind of guy who would walk

Down to the lake arm in arm

With his mother on her birthday

To be greeted by a boogle of hungry weasels

And a stench wafting out of the boathouse

From the birds he forgot to feed for so long

That nobody would know to teach him

The difference between doves and

Central Park pigeons.

And then one poor orphaned weasel

Would break off from the boogle

And scamper squeaking after your mother

Until a fall hurled her into the hardened snow,

Drawn by its family's scent in her fur coat,

And the result of its claws and jaws

Would render it a pink mink.

Yeah.

You're a fucking disaster.

And you would have had me fooled

Had I neglected to notice

A combination of everything

From the shining white smiles

Gleaming above the tailored suit

You wore on our first date

To the precise arrangement of red

Rose petals on a new white comforter

When I hadn't given you my apartment key.

Spring 2014: Rough Draft Poem 6

My First Time

No clinging sweat,

Nothing getting stuck

In uncomfortable places.

No breezy chills

Or lingering heat.

Just the music

Moving our bodies.

We pulse.

We stretch.

We compress.

Hips swivel.

Hands connect.

Breaths synchronize.

There's nothing like the first time

Swing dancing in moisture-wicking panties.

Spring 2014 Column: Biking With Dogs

Here's the link to my column.