Writing

Writing is a big part of my life. It's one way I work things out. I was dumped by this girl who I dated for 2 years, so I wrote a script about it. The plan was for me to end up with the girl in the end, but as I wrote it I realized my life had to go on, which is reflected at the end of the script.

When my grandparents needed someone to take them to Massachusetts so my Grandmother could have heart surgery and my Grandfather needed someone to drive him around I went. In the experience I got to see my Grandfather in a different light... A softer light, if you get my drift. He was a loving husband, worried about his life mate. I had to take the above Ex to the Hospital a few times and could relate. But it was his tenderness that inspired a short story originally titled "Thoughts of a Melancholy Writer" I later shortened it to "Night of Waiting". It basically combines my grandfather's and my experience into one.

Much later I had a friend and roommate who started talking about the animalistic side of life. I just could not wrap my head around it, so I wrote a story about that, to try and understand it. It wasn't really what my friend was getting at, but it made for some fun, twisted, fiction.

Also while in LA I was dealing with being the 5th wheel... Never fun, but lead to an okay story about a guy who is crazy and his friends are in his head.

Right now, I am working on what looks to be my longest story which makes sense because it's dealing with my father. Trying to understand how we got this way (strained). Trying to understand how he can always be negative. And why we can't be close. Will the story be all of that... Maybe, maybe not. It will probably be entertaining though because it involves a haunted lighthouse.

So now that I have written a blog about writing I will give you a sample. Here is the first short story I wrote. Just so you know I am not a complete creeper.

Creepy or not writing is something that makes me whole.

“Night of Waiting”

            It’s about two o’clock in the morning now; I am sitting on the edge of a comfortable hotel room bed. Though the pillows are soft and the mattress is firm, I am wide-awake. Earlier this morning I dropped my wife of fifteen years off at the hospital. Fears of Emily’s operation going to hell are keeping me up. The doctors all say that this is almost routine, but that almost is what’s worrying me. A heart operation is no laughing matter.

            Slowly I get up and walk over to the dresser where my keys and wallet lie. I pick up the worn-out piece of leather, which is barely holding itself together. It’s bloated, filled with money, phone numbers of relatives- hers and mine- and cards of all kinds: Insurance, AAA, debit and credit, and for some weird reason this reminds me of the last time I brought her to the hospital.

            We were in college down in Boston and she hadn’t been feeling so well for about a month. Emily was so stubborn. I kept saying, “We need to go to the doctor, we need to go.” But she wouldn’t have it. “No, I’m fine. I don’t need some over-educated jerk in a white coat telling me what’s wrong.” So I didn’t push the matter. Then one night she woke me up. She was white as a ghost, shaking, and sweating profusely. “Now we can go to the doctor.” Emily said in a whimper. I quickly jumped out of bed, slipped on my sandals, grabbed our Zip Lock bag of laundry money and helped her out to my car. I prayed my Junker would make it there in one piece. It was a ‘93 Chevy Corsica and never ran right. The old “Purple Beast” must have known that there was something wrong because it never ran so smooth, before or since.

            When we got to the hospital it was surprisingly calm, but at four in the morning what did I expect. We wrote our names down for the security guard, I still don’t know why. Then we headed to the registration desk, where they asked my slightly green girlfriend every question under the sun, from insurance to symptoms to where she’s from. I just sat there holding Emily’s cold clammy hand, to assure her that I wouldn’t leave her side. The nurse at the desk asked us to sit in the waiting room for a minute. An hour later another nurse came out to greet us. Okay, it wasn’t an hour, more like fifteen minutes, but in that environment with elevator music playing overhead, it felt like an hour. The nurse, Ruth, took us to room 345. She handed my love a Johnnie and felt the need to comment on my pajama pants.

“Like Superman, huh?”

“No, just the thought of having X-ray vision excites me.” I replied.

Ruth left the room and Emily lied down on the stiff hospital bed. I pulled the chair right up next to her. I began to stroke her hair ever so gently as I watched her eyes become heavier and heavier. Just before she let them shut she made sure to tell me something.

 “I love you, Conner.” And with that she was asleep. She must have felt more at ease now, which was good, but for me all of this was like drinking a whole pot of coffee.

            A half hour went by and a doctor came in to ask me some questions and I answered them the best I could. Then he left. An hour later another doctor came in. He was a stout, cuddly teddy bear like, man with a bad comb-over. This was the man who would be Emily’s doctor; his name was Phil. I couldn’t help it, but I had to say it. “Hello, Dr. Phil.” From then on out it was, “Whatever you say, Dr. Phil.”, “No problem, Dr. Phil.” It was no surprise that he hated me by the time we left. Dr. Phil woke Emily up and spoke very softly to her He began to ask her to breathe deeply to check her lungs, to say “AWWWW”, all that fun Doctor stuff. He took blood samples and urine samples, and then left to have them tested. A nurse came in not too long after Dr. Phil left and hooked Emily up to an I.V. Guess old Phil was giving us a hint that she would be staying at the hospital for a while. The nurse left, like all hospital attendants do. I turned on the TV and sat on the edge of Emily’s bed. She started to get sleepy again and invited me to snuggle up beside her. Of course I obliged, I am not one to say no to a sick, yet pretty girl. Especially, since I was dating her.

            When I woke up I quietly got off the bed, found the bag of laundry money that I brought and went to find the nearest payphone. I called her parents and told them what was going on. They thanked me in their state of shock and said they’d be down as soon as they could. I then informed our school as to the fact that neither she nor I would be in classes for a while. After that little run around from the college I headed back into Emily’s room.

            “Your buddy, Dr. Phil, was just here,” she informed me.

            “Really? Any news?”

            “The tests came back,” she said as tears started to form.

            “Wha…What’s wrrrong?” I felt my heart pounding out of my chest.

            There was a long silence as she tried to put her thoughts to words. By now I knew it wasn’t good news and my mind began to race a million miles a minute. I tried my best to look cool and collected so I didn’t make things worse.

            “Something is wrong with one or both of my kidneys; they’re not sure what….” Her head flopped to her chest.

            I quickly ran up beside her and put my hands to her face. I lifted her head up so her eyes met with mine and wiped away her tears. “You’re going to be okay, Baby. We’re going to get through this.” It seemed so cliché to say, but it was all my little mind could think of. You’d think someone who studies writing and the English language would have a better response. Something that would wipe away the worry, but I had nothing. Hell, it was all I could do to stop my tears.

            The days progressed and Emily became comfortable with Dr. Phil, while I continued to piss him off with my Dr. Phil comments. Ah, it was great to see him try to keep his cool. He’d release a breath and start to turn red. Emily thought I was horrible to purposely do such a thing, but I needed something to lighten the mood.

“Hey, Emily I wonder what’s on TV,” I said with a smile.

            “I’m sorry,” she said with sympathy for Phil.

            “Oh my God, Dr. Phil’s on! But wait, how can you be here and on TV at the same time?” My grin grew.

            “Because that’s not me!” Phil proclaimed.

            “Like I said, I’m sorry,” Emily said shaking her head at me.

            “I really think you could do better,” Phil retorted. My grin dropped to a frown.

            “Well my work is done here,” Phil said gleaming with pride as he left the room.

            Emily too had a smile on her face. “What? That’s nothing I didn’t already know, but I still love you.”

            I had all I could do to keep from laughing.

That’s one reason I love Emily; she makes me laugh. I dated a few women before Emily and when I threw one of my smart-ass remarks their way, I got nothing. They only yelled at me for being a jerk. But Emily would just give it right back. The first time that happened I knew I was going to fall hard for this one.

            On the day of surgery her parents and I sat in the waiting room. We were normally a talkative bunch, but that day we spoke barely a word. Every once in a while we shot a little smile to each other that was about it. All that the doctors were supposed to do was remove a kidney, the left one was failing but the right one was fine. The surgery was supposed to take four hours. One hour for prep, three to remove the organ. Five hours later I checked in with the nurse’s station to see what was going on.

            “If there was anything wrong, the Doctor would come out to talk to you,” A nurse snapped.

            Just the comfort I needed. It was on to hour six now and we were beginning to get hungry, but none of us were willing to leave the waiting room to retrieve food. Her mother grabbed a newspaper she brought and tried to read it, but she just can’t focus. Her father insisted on walking about the room making the other families nervous. And I just take it all in and watch the clock tick-tock away. Hour seven and we were allowed to see Emily. The doctor brought her parents over to the corner to tell them what had happened. And I slowly moved towards her bloated body.

            “Excuse me Sir? Are you with the family?” A nurse asked harshly.

            “No, I’m her boyfriend,” I timidly replied.

            “Well, only the family is allowed in this area,” she snapped back.

            Liz, Emily’s Mom, stated with authority; “Hey, he was here when we couldn’t be! He brought her to the hospital, he made sure our daughter was taken care of, Conner is allowed back here,” the bitchy nurse backed down.

            “Emily has a fine boyfriend, Mrs. Hunter,” Dr. Phil said as he winked at me. I had to smile.

            Then I turned back to Emily’s body lying in that bed, tubes coming out of her in every direction. It’s an image I won’t ever forget. I walked around the bed so I could whisper in her ear.

            “Hey, I told you everything would be all right. The surgery is over, Hun, and Dr. Phil says you’re going to be fine.” With that, I gave her a gentle kiss on her puffy cheek.

            I found out later that what had happened was that it wasn’t the left kidney that had the problems it was the right, an assistant had messed up on the paper work so they had to correct the error. Just think what would have happened if they didn’t realize the mistake, Emily might not be with me today.

            Now I am in this hotel room again. It’s amazing how your mind can take you back to a certain place and time. Seems like yesterday that whole thing happened and now tomorrow… Well today, it will happen again. I turn on the radio and Billy Joel’s “Scenes from an Italian Restaurant” is playing. I love this song. Well when you’re a Joel fan it’s hard not to love it. Emily wasn’t a fan of Billy Joel, but admitted to love this song.

            “Bottle of Red, bottle of White…”

            “I’ll take one of each, Billy.”

            As the music plays on, I move out to the little balcony, which over looks the parking lot. “Ah, How I love a room with a view.” I say to myself.

            The sound of cricket’s chirping fills the night air. Then an unsettling silence and I feel very alone as a light cool breeze brushes my shoulders. I slowly move my eyes up to the starry sky and now my lips begin to quiver.

            “God, I know I have bashed the church more than once, but if there is any forgiveness left in you please forgive me, and just watch over my wife. I don’t know what my life would be without her, and don’t want to…” My prayer fades into a whimper and there I stand a man unsure of his future. No smart-ass remarks, no new ideas for a story, just a man with an ache in his heart.