Writing on a Sunday afternoon

Check out this month’s issue of Pank online

I haven’t been posting much the last couple of months because I’ve been editing some stories for publication.

Here’s the first of hopefully many: http://www.pankmagazine.com/read/february09.html.

On the Verge (Episode 6) – #64

Bulgy, red eyes stared back at me.

“Why aren’t you in class?”

I said nothing. Shrugged back at her and gave her my number 3 smile. The one where only half my face is happy while the other side stays the same, cool and in control. She put her hand around my arm and pulled me up but I was in no mood for that . Math class was dragging and this bitch kept saying that I was bothering her and I was like fuck you and Ms. Sonnet told me to step out and so I did. I stepped out and down the hall and out the doors and that’s where I ran into Ms. Rod and her big, bulgy eyes looking around the floor like she had lost her contact or something. “You crying?” I said.

“What did you do this time, Chuck?”

“I did nothing. That bitch Melinda started up with me and then the next thing I know, Ms. Sonnet was like, step outside, and so here I am.”

She grabbed my arm and it kind of hurt.

“What the fuck?”

“How many times have I told you to watch your mouth?”

“Stop, Ms. Rod.” She stopped and looked at me her eyes weren’t as bulgy but they were still red and wet. Once she looked into my eyes I knew I had her. She was easy like that. Plead with her a little, let her think you cared, and she’d always stop being mad at you. Her voice would go all soft and she’d ask you what was wrong and once you got going, she’d be looking at you all concerned and shit which I had to admit felt good. I didn’t know why it did. It just did. She was looking at me like that now and I knew whatever she was thinking about before was wiped clean out of her head.

“Tell me what happened.”

“You know how the bitch is.”

“Chuck…”

“She walked into class all late and shit and when Ms. Sonnet asked her for a pass she rolled her eyes and sat on her seat. I could tell Ms. Sonnet felt bad and shit so I was like, What the fuck! And she was like, Mind your own business…”

“Alright, I get it.”

“She thinks she’s better than everybody.”

“Chuck, I know you mean well but you have to learn to pick your battles.”

“I can help it if I’m the only one who gives a fuck.”

“You’re not listening.”

“No one else is going to say anything to that bitch.”

“It’s just, you have a really strong personality.”

At that point, I just looked at her coz I didn’t know what she was talking about. That was the thing with Ms. Rod, she sounded liked she believed what she said but deep down she was full of shit like everybody else. I gave my number 2 smile and a wink. She laughed that off and ruffled my hair. I almost lost it there, I had spent like an hour on my hair this morning, so my number 2 flashy smile turned to my number 1 smirk. I recovered and turned that off quick.

On the Verge (Episode 5) – #61

Chuck smiled at Selena. She smiled back. She couldn’t help herself. She knew she shouldn’t encourage him. She shouldn’t let him see her as his friend, but whenever Chuck was around her brain stopped working.

He strutted around the classroom before deciding on a desk near the file cabinet in the back of the room. Selena pretended to read something in her notebook. The other 7th graders marched inside. They yelled at each other from across the room. One girl let out a squeal when a boy pulled her from the waist and sat her down on his lap. Selena stared the boy down. He relaxed his hold and let the girl go.

For the fifth day in a row, Selena’s lesson plan was on test-taking strategies for the city’s standardized exams next month. She had dilettantely written up a topic (What a blank answer really means?) and a goal (To learn how to make an educated guess.) Selena believed in the system. She understood how important it was for the students to do well on this exam. She had convinced herself that all the energy she was spending on the exam had nothing to do with her own performance evaluation. If the students did well then she succeeded as their teacher. She believed this was fair. She believed in the people who designed the exams, in their ability to cover the topics that were most important to educating children. To her this was not a waste of time.

The class, on the other hand, seemed more inclined to enumerate the various styles of athletic footwear that were in fashion than pay attention to the strategies listed on their handouts. Whenever Selena voiced a forceful command for their attention. They stopped their conversations, stared at her, waiting for her to continue. Once she spoke, she was again interrupted.

“Ms. Rod, can’t you read from that book again. This shit is boring.”

“Ahmad, there’s no cursing in this class and don’t call me Ms. Rod.”

“Sorry, sorry, but that book was getting good. That girl in the book was messed up, with the father and running away and all that.”

“My name is Ms. Rodriguez not Ms. Rod.”

“I wanted to hear more too, Ms. Rod.”

“Felicia, sit up straight and close your legs.”

“I liked it when that girl got all in that guy’s face on the bus. You remember, how that guy was trying to do something to her and she was like, get off me.”

“People, let’s get back on track. “

This went on for another thirty minutes. She’d introduce a strategy and just when she would ask the class to demonstrate what they learned, someone would start talking about some book they read or some story they had written.

Selena refused to shout. She didn’t like losing control in front of the children. When things came apart, she had a habit of sitting down behind her desk and waiting for the class to calm down.

When she did this, the class continued to argue about the virtues of the new basketball courts in the park across the street. She stared at them, hoping to shame them into submission with a scathing look but it was as if she had given them freedom to continue disrupting the lesson she had so carefully written. She could feel her face grow warmer and then Chuck approached her desk.

He sat down on top of the desk.  “Want to see my new phone?” He pulled out an iPhone from his pocket.

Selena was dumbfounded. Not only did this kid have a phone that cost three times more than the clothes on her back, he didn’t even deserve it. “Who bought you that?”

“My father, I told him that I needed it and he gave it to me. Look at this, I downloaded some pics from my last trip to P.R.”

“Chuck, sit down.”

“But look, this is me and my brother on the beach.”

“We are in the middle of class, Chuck.”

Chuck shot her a puppy-dog look. “Come on, Ms. Rod,” he said, “give it up.”

Chuck showed her some more of his family photos from their vacation, but Selena paid no attention. She pretended to look though. She didn’t want Chuck to lose his temper. She didn’t want him to trip her like he did his math teacher during class last week. She didn’t want him to have one of his fits.

On the Verge (Episode 4) / #60

A horrified Lucas watched as the doctors shoved a tube into his nose. He felt the tube move behind his right eye, down his throat, and then the pain. The tube wound down his charred esophagus but he didn’t cry out. He was too freaked out by what was going on around him. He felt the cool water rushing through the tube and into his belly. For moment there was relief, the water had made the stinging bearable, but then, panic. The water didn’t stop. He thought, for sure, they would drown him. He tried to grab on to an arm but it was no use. They had strapped him down. His torso, his legs and arms, all strapped down. He blinked over and over hoping, praying, begging them to stop but the doctors, nurses, whatever they were, didn’t even bother to look at him. When the water finally stopped gushing there was silence and then an awful, mechanical grunt pulsated inside his ear. The sucking began. A vacuum had been let loose inside his belly, he panicked some more. Now he feared they would suck out his organs, his skin, they’d turn him inside out. He could feel his lungs getting pulled down and he breathed in and out as hard as he could to keep them in place. Ping, ping, ping. Louder, more staccato, until there was a flurry of gloved hands moving over his chest and down his arms. He felt straps tightening and a prick in his left arm. They still didn’t look at him in the face. They still treated him like an animal being prepared for the slaughter. Hard breaths, maniacal blinking, and praying for something even though he was never taught to believe, never had fallen into the trap of believing in anything. He prayed and begged and pleaded.

On the Verge (Episode 3) – #59

Thirteen-hour shift and I feel fantastic.  Got my platinum shoes on and my slinky, sexy, seductive, fabulous dress on and I’m out of here.  Not a moment to soon.  Freaking mad house today, but that’s okay ’cause nothing going to kill my mood.  Not the freak with the oozing eye who kept spitting all over my desk and repeating the third word he spoke.  “Woke up today-today and I couldn’t-couldn’t feel my eye.  Eye.  Everybody kept pointing-pointing at me on-on the subway and-and then all this-this shit fell out-out of it in-in front of some-some sweet looking ladies-ladies wearing almost nothing. Nothing. Nothing…”  And then he got stuck like that.  Nothing.  Nothing.  Nothing.  Fucking unbelievable.  I just let him be though ’cause who am I to judge and then there was that idiot who swallowed Clorox.  Saying he drank it by mistake and shit and his wife looking at him like she was disappointed and shit.  Sad to see all that hate and the dude was like all apologetic and shit but that part was kind of funny.  So much to see and then they had to take that mama away ’cause she just lost it completely. With that little scrawny baby of hers, looking like it had come out of her belly at ninety years old.  When they checked they baby they could find nothing wrong with it.  Go figure.  Mama was convinced her kid was a goner but no such luck, I guess.  So much happened tonight but I don’t need to think about that no more because I’m out and about tonight.  Once I’m through those doors I’m free.

On the Verge (Episode 2) / #58

A mother ran into the emergency room with her infant. She hollered at the nurse when she was told to sit down and wait her turn.

“She’s running a fever! She needs medicine, please!”

Selena looked away. She felt violated by the scene. She wanted the mother to follow the nurse’s orders. So much drama made Selena cringe.

The anxious mother stopped hollering for a moment to catch her breath. She looked around her. “So many people waiting! How long, how long have you been waiting?” The mother asked a homeless man sitting in the first row of chairs.

Selena couldn’t help but look over. At the other end of the row, she saw a bowed head of shaggy hair. Selena assumed he must be asleep. She turned her attention to the magazine she had bought earlier in the gift shop. Then, a deep, rumbling startled her. The homeless man finally spoke.

“Long time,” he said.

This answer made the anxious mother’s face turn purple. In tears, she turned to the nurse, now more hysterical than before. The nurse called over the security guard at the entrance. The short guard sauntered over and leaned on the nurse’s high desk. He looked like he was going to blow her a kiss. He had doused himself with an enormous amount of cologne, which had made Lucas hurl a few hours before.

Selena thought she had grown accustomed to the deep wood smell but once the guard was in motion, the odor thickened and Selena’s olfactory system seem to go on overdrive. She felt immediately repulsed and drawn in at the same time. She lifted the magazine and tried to fan away the stench. The short guard misread her actions. He looked over and winked at her.

Desperate to get his attention, the anxious mother grabbed the short guard’s night stick. “Get me a doctor!” She ordered him, holding the stick in a jabbing motion.  She threatened to squash his kidney if he didn’t do as she ordered. The short guard tried to reason with her. He called her Mami a few times. Said something to her in Spanish, which only seemed to make her more anxious.  Then, the guard did something unexpected. He rolled up his polyester sleeve and showed the anxious mother his tattoo.

Selena leaned in a bit. She couldn’t make out exactly what the anxious mother was looking at but whatever it was it made the woman gasp and reach out for the security guard. He caught her and the infant in his arms and sung softly in the anxious mother’s ear. The orderlies finally arrived. They pulled the infant away from the anxious mother’s arms. Out they through the flapping doors of the emergency room. The short security guard held on to the anxious mother. He kept singing something in Spanish to her and she kept crying, but silently, holding on to him as if she had no strength to support herself.

Selena looked at them for another moment and then lost interest.  She returned her attention to an article about the suicide of a famous actor.

On the Verge (An Episodic Experiment) / #57

Since I’ve been neglecting my original goal of writing a piece everyday, I’ve decided to experiment with an episodic story. My goal is to try to write a bit everyday. Be warn: This will be a rough ride.

Episode 1

Selena didn’t expect to see her husband on the floor, on all fours, vomiting. After a full day of haranguing her twelve-year-old students, the last thing she needed was to find Lucas spewing on their brand new shaggy chic, white sofa.

Selena dropped her tote bag on the floor and ran to him, but Lucas raised a hand to stop her from coming to close. Then the smell hit her. Beyond the sourness of his bile and the cinnamon apple pie candle that was burning brightly on the coffee table, she smelled something familiar to her like the indoor pool at her school.

Lucas finally stopped hurling long enough to look at her. His purple face looked like it belonged to a ninety-year-old, not a man in the prime of his life, whose been living off his wife’s paltry, teaching salary to follow a misguided dream. For the last year in a half, Lucas had been completely dedicated to his art. Everyday, locked up in the studio apartment he and his wife had shared since they both graduated college, he worked on a monumental painting that he believed would be as significant as a Jackson Pollock.

“It burns,” he whispered. He massaged his throat, but it was no use. His trachea burned like he had swallow hot coals, he could barely open his eyes, and then the gagging began.

October Idiosyncratica Challenge

Okay, so I’ve learned a few things from the challenge this month. First, I’m no grammarian; second, adverbs rock; third, the English language makes no sense; and lastly, articles are considered adjectives, what the f**k. I hope I was able to weed out all the adjectives, but I wouldn’t be surprised if a few slipped by.

Playing Bottle-Caps and Jumping Rope

I didn’t have to look underneath the bathtub to know Lo had taken the money. I ran out the door, down 204^th Street. I turned left on Sherman Ave. I ran to the corner lot. The ground was covered with weeds, glass, and spray-cans. Hector’s Bodega stood in the middle. Weeds hugged the store’s sidewalls.

The neighborhood opened up in front of me. I looked inside windows. A man was yelling at his TV. A woman was splashing water on her face. Pigeons danced on a fire escape. I stood outside the store. Twenty minutes passed. I decided enough was enough. I had to get inside and find Lo. I walked into the store. Men stood around the counter, shit-kickers who had nothing better to do. Some chewed on toothpicks, others gnawed on cigar stumps. Lo stood beside them.

“Hey,” he said.

I braced my keychain, squeezed my fist, and waited. The keys pricked my palm. When I felt his beer-breath, I clawed into his face. I inhaled his sweat and desperation.

He fell down on his knees. He didn’t scream or yell. He didn’t try to reach for me. He held on to his cheek like he was afraid his face would fall off.

I ran out. I squashed weeds, kicked spray-cans, and felt the glass crunch underneath my feet. I ran into a group, boys playing bottle-caps and girls jumping rope. I trampled a boy. The boy transformed into a bulldog. “Suck my dick, estupida!” Bully yelled.

I ran to my building. I looked back. I saw Lo following me. He was holding his cheek. Blood ran down his hands. He shouted at me but Bully’s taunts and sneers was all I heard. I slipped inside my building. I bit my lip to make it stop trembling.

Shakedown / Idiosyncratica Sept. Challenge

The Idiosyncratica Challenge for September was to write a 500-word tale on the joys of losing.  A task I found daunting but also fun to write.  Here’s what I came up with.

 

Shakedown

I suddenly feel alone.  

Standing beside the trash cans.  It is not dark yet. A garbage bag lies halfway out of an overstuffed trash can.  The soft wind makes the black plastic flutter like grass on the side of a hill. I place the lid over the mound.  I press down. Half the bulk goes down the metal hollow, the other bulges out, stretching the black into a thin film. 

I see a hang-nail – red flesh peeking underneath; I see stains on the wood floor, a chair with a weak leg.  I shake my head, come back to the present.  “Are your ears ringing?” 

Sofia doesn’t respond, but Nelson, her lover, smirks.  “Didn’t you hear me,” she says, “we’re moving in together.”

“Why?”

“Nelson needs me.”

I imagine Sofia in Nelson’s railroad apartment, fixing his meals, cleaning up the place, maybe even getting a pet with him.

“We could all get a place together,” I say.

“What are you talking about?”  Sofia looks confused.  

“Together we can afford a bigger place.”

“Come on!”  Nelson laughs.

I ignore him.  “Why are you looking at me like that?”  

Sofia looks away.  “Don’t you get it yet?”  She grabs a shopping bag from the kitchen and packs away some of her stuff.  “I’ll pick up the rest later,” she says.  And then they leave.

I run after them, down the steps, shouting her name, but she runs faster.  I slide down the last four steps trying to catch up to them.  In the lobby, I come to a dead stop when she turns around to face me.  

“I can’t believe you,” she says.  Her words hit me like a wet towel across the face.  Nelson  grabs my arm but I jump back.  There’s an older man standing by the mailboxes.  He was in the act of opening his mail, but is now frozen in mid-act.  I forget about him and lunge at Sofia but she’s too quick.  I fall down on my hands and knees.    

“Let’s go.”  Nelson pulls Sofia away.

I wait for her goodbye, but all I hear is the traffic outside.

It’s been two weeks since she left.  During my breaks from work, I think about Sofia and Nelson.  Each time I promise myself it will be the last time.  I read my favorite book for the fiftieth time, Voyage to the Secret Galaxies.  I imagined Sofia and Nelson eating dinner in the back room kitchen of their railroad apartment.  She had always wanted someone to rescue her.  She had always pointed out that the life we were leading wasn’t going to get us anywhere.  There was always a husband, a man who was going to come into her life and give her what she always wanted.  Of course, her plans had never included me.  That was my fantasy.  My own con.  My eyes are slabs of concrete.

I take this in stride.  Sofia’s now Nelson’s responsibility.  He’s now her poor sap.   White flashes and I lose touch.