Where Would Your Main Character Take You On Vacation?

The main character, Garrett Neff, the gorgeous guy in the black-and-white photo ad, would take me to the island of Barbados because this is the destination where he had been bound to travel on when he was first discovered to become a male model. But, however, he suddenly took over the main character, Damien, in my novel To Write A Story:

Garrett, wearing a sports cap, denim jeans and t-shirt, lays the cafeteria tray on the table. He puts his backpack on the floor, pushes the chair toward him, and sits down in the seat. He shakes the handheld skim milk carton and carefully opens it. He sips the cold beverage and looks around the room, searching to find Deborah. He is not seated in the usual spot that is near the sliding glass door. Four students have already occupied the table.

     Deborah sees them, the four students, as she walks into the cafeteria. The Holocaust class had just ended five minutes ago. She decides to skip lunch and, instead, find Garrett. She maneuvers her way around, searching each table. At last, she spots him sitting in a chair that is located against the wall, near the window.

    “Garrett.”

     He turns and looks upward. “You found me.”

     “It took awhile,” Deborah says. “But, yeah. I found you.”

     Garrett asks, “Where’s your lunch?”

     “Decided to skip.”

     “Why?”

     “No specific reason,” she replies, sighing. “Alright. It was you. I wanted to find you, first.”

     He asks, “Aren’t you hungry?”

     “I’m always hungry,” Deborah announces, staring at him. “Starved. You’re eating. That’s good.”

     Garrett smiles. “You noticed. Never thought you would.”

     Deborah lays her textbooks on the table; the laptop case and messenger bag on the floor. Then she sits in the chair next to him.

     “Oh, I have,” Deborah says to Garrett. “Every time. I just hadn’t spoken of it to you before.”

     She carefully places the laptop on the table in front of her and opens the computer. Then she presses the “on” button and waits for the system to display the preset picture of her and her parents, Clifford and Diane, in the background along with the icons on the screen.

     Without Deborah knowing, Garrett observes the family portrait that had been loaded into the laptop computer. “You look different,” he comments.

     She turns and sees him staring at the photograph. “I just turned thirteen years old.”

     “No wonder.”

     “How did you look at age thirteen?” Deborah asks him.

     Garrett replies, “A dork.”

     “Serious?”

     He nods. “Yes, I am. Serious.”

     She answers, “Get out of here. I will not believe you until I see a picture.”

     “Than you need to take my word because that will never happen,” he announces.

     Deborah begins typing on the laptop computer keyboard.

     He looks at her. “I almost forgot.”

     “What did you forget?” she asks her ‘dork’ boyfriend without taking her eyes off of the screen.

     Garrett says, “I read your article in the newspaper.”

     She stops typing and looks at him. He is holding the current copy of The Daily Bruin. “The last week?”

     “Yeah.”

     “You liked it?”

     “That is the headline of the story, ‘The Last Week’ right?” he asks, reconfirming her feature article.

     Deborah nods. “Yes, it is, Garrett.”

     He lays the newspaper on the table. 

     “What are your plans for Easter?” she asks him calmly.

     Garrett answers, “Wake up early, eat breakfast, and go to Sunday’s Mass.”

     “Mass?”

     He replies, “Service of the Roman Catholic Church.”

     Deborah doesn’t respond. At first she feels overwhelmed. “Alright…Well. Could I come?”

     “Don’t know,” Garrett says. “I’ll ask my parents. Although it’s a sequence of prayers and ceremonies. Pretty much as any other church service. Not sure, though, could be different.”

     She shrugs. “Go ask them.”

     “I will ask them,” he insists, sounding determined.

     Deborah smiles. “Okay." She looks at him. Her facial expression shows a feeling of knowing that his parents have a strict style.

     Finished typing Chapter 19 today, July 17, 2013, in the To Write A Story blog at Blogger. Garrett hasn't replaced Damien. Garrett is Damien. 

          

Bedroom of Clutter

     Once up the stairway, we walk into my older cousin's former bedroom before she had gotten married to Calvin. Julie lived in this two-story house in Waipahu, which belongs to my mother. Her first name is Mabel.

     Garrett is behind me as I push the heavy door open. My feet touch the surface of the wooden balcony. The paint on the rail is no longer new, but peeled and torn. The paint exposes the chipped wood. The faded surface, of this wooden balcony, is stained with multiple bird droppings that accumulated over the years while I was away from home. The island of Oahu. For several years I was residing in the South Bay, Southern California.

     I dreamt of living an extraordinary life while I was working at the United Airlines reservations building in El Segundo. I was in the International reservations answering telephone calls. My life's motto had been "Life is a scrambled egg." I worked at United, for a year, until I joined a church organization then my whole entire world turned upside down as I lived each day feeling high and low. Excited and depressed. As the years passed, I gradually began to notice and realize that life within the LA Church of Christ isn't what it appears to be as what I had first thought it to be of being light, joyful, and uplifting. No, I felt the opposite. I felt burdened and obligated. Not to mention the emotional anger and bitter frustration that dwelled inside of my heart against certain church members that had, in my opinion, caused the inner thoughts of my mind to pound. Stormy weather. The hardships became a lot harder during the fall season. Loud voices. Nervous breakdowns. Panic attacks. Schizophrenia. 

     I turn around, looking at Garrett. "I have a paper cut," I say to him. "Sore. A sting feeling on my left hand."

     Garrett takes a quick look as I point to my skin, showing him the thin cut on the lower end of my ring finger. "It is stinging," I comment to him. "You know, I was planning on writing this blog post during Valentine's Day instead of today, an ordinary day."

     "The second of July," Garrett replies, smiling. 

     I smile, slightly. "The typewritter papers and the red spiral write notebook. I had typed duplicate copies of the March seven to nine. Haven't thrown them away. Not throw away, but the papers were recycled."

     "These were stashed in your deceased grandparents' bedroom, right?" Garrett asks.

     We are standing in the bedroom of clutter. "Right," I say, looking around at the carpet floor of my cousin Julie's old bedroom. The ground toward the walls are covered with magazines, pocketbooks, and hardcovers. 

     "I need to move."

     "I'd be there."

     "In my dreams."
      Garrett smiles.
      "How do you know a person is the right one?" I ask, sounding unsure. "Are we right for each other?" My dark brown eyes meet his hazel ones. His gorgeous eyes.  "Do you know?"

     Garrett answers, "I know what you are saying," he says. "My curly hairdo look?"

     "Yes." I say.
     A pause.
     He looks at me. "I'll wear a cap if it becomes too naturally curly."
     "You will?"
     "Of course," Garrett answers, smiling. "What else?"
    "Well...you don't smoke," I inform. "Peaceful just knowing you don't smoke. It's the odor and the overall health."
     He whispers, "I know."    
     "This is the hard part," I announce, staring at him. "Do you know how to...You know?"
     "No."
     "No?"
     "What are you saying?"
     "Sex."
     Garrett looks at me. "Oh, that," he calmly says. "Well, I don't know. Do you want to?"

     "You're asking?"

     "Yes."

     "Why?"

     "You're not that bad."

     I laugh. "I don't know. I'm old. It's not that easy having sex with a girl who is past fifty and a virgin. We could try, like a normal couple. Are we a couple? But could we talk to a...You know?" I ask. The sound of my voice is hesitant. "It's just that I'm afraid of intimacy, I guess. Getting hurt? What else...Pain? I should, though. Shouldn't I? At least try to? After we marry? Do you want to marry me? Or just say that we did it for pleasure or something. Isn't that what strangers do nowadays? They have sex for fun. A one night stand. No Strings Attached. Seen that movie? We could, but, then again, I don't know. Should we? Then I'll know how sex feels like, you know, to have sex. You're perfect. You know that don't you?"

     He smiles. "You can shave."

     "Girlie girl," I reply, smiling. "You should've been having sex with someone else, you know."
     "We are not."
     "Okay."
     "You alright?"
    I shake my head, reassuring him. "Yeah," I nod. "Don't know why you are here with me." After regaining my composure, I say, "Before starting the diary of a Lost character, in this very room, I read a tweet on the iPhone4 of a tsunami warning. Couldn't believe my eyes. Hawaii received a tsunami warning after a magnitude 8.9 earthquake devastated Japan."

     "Was it not on a Friday night?" Garrett asks me. 

     I answer, "Think it was. Was the date March eleven?"

     "I think you're right."

     "Need to double check," I announce. "You never know."

     He says, "Right."

     "The manly look." 

     I gaze at Garrett, hoping for the feeling of pregnancy. But how can a girl become pregnant when she is over the years of childbirth? Menopause. Think I'll be menopausal." 

     We are outside now, standing on the faded, chipped, and bird pooped stained wooden balcony. I turn to look at Garrett, but he is no longer standing next to me. "I'll be there," I hear him say. "In my dreams," I repeat in my mind.
     I turn to oversee the view of where I currently live, observing the afternoon sky. Depending on the island weather and the season, I feel the gentle trade winds or the cold, crisp, and fresh air. I stare at the horizon and, once more, gaze at the sky, clouds, mountains, houses, and trees. The landscape of Waipahu. 

     I'm thankful to be alive as I'm standing on the bird droppings and chipped wood of the faded balcony. My dark brown eyes gaze downward, catching a glimpse of my family's backyard. From above, at this time of the month, I could see pots of orchid flowers that are lined in a row, on the cement, along the wire fence. The weather and the scenic view are visibly seen.
     Life is different. 

Starting Life Over

Searched the website for a community college in Delaware. The online class of the Delaware Technical and Community College has an Internet "nonfiction" writing class. Thinking of various topics and subjects that would be interesting for the public to read. History. True crime. Past events. My life. Social Security. Got it. I finally knew what I wanted to write. It's my life on Social Security Disability Income and the steps that I need to take in order for me to discover how to live freely again without worrying about a once a month paycheck. In the future, I and Midnight, my black cat, need to move to the east coast in the city of Wilmington that is in the state of Delaware. 

How do I begin to write a nonfiction book about my life on receiving SSDI (Social Security Disability Income)? Where do I start? Is this book a memoir instead of a nonfiction? Need to do research. 

Don't Call Jason

     The name of Garrett's girlfriend reminds me of a woman who is a look-a-like of me, but isn't. Lost her data info on the Kindle screen. No, no. Couldn't find her info on the iPad and MacBook Pro. The Internet. Instead, while searching for her info on the MacBook Pro on a midweek night I accidentally came across his home address and phone number in the white pages. I wouldn't dare call him. He may not be friendly. I might feel disappointed at his coldness. Jason. Don't call him. A psychological nightmare. 

     Had you ever had one of those episode in your life? Have you experienced a mind-boggling conversation so scary that your eyes begin to tear? Usually when the opposite sex is not interested in me he will back away and become unresponsive. Not interested? How about simply as 'are we friends'? I shake my head. It doesn't work out that way. Remember. I pick up the telephone and dial Jason's phone number. His line rings. He answers--- 

Jason: Hello.

Sheri: Hi, Jason. It's, Sheri

Jason: I don't know you. 

Sheri: But...

Jason: Don't call.

Sheri: I met you...thought we are...friends.

Jason: I don't know you. Don't call. Stop calling. 

Sheri: Okay.

     Sob. Tears. Cry. "Don't call Jason." End of story. A dead beat friendship. Not a brother in the Arts and Media sector in the LA Church of Christ. "What am I going to do?" 

     Life lives on. The tears dry up. I stop crying. No more sobbing. Life lives on. The scars remain and I won't call Garrett.
     Please try.
    Not at his home phone number. Life is too precious for tears. But I do wonder if I could be lucky enough to catch a glimpse of seeing his handsome face within the crowd at his hometown state of Delaware. I picture him walking on the Wilmington streets or standing in line at a store minding his own business. He doesn't notice me or does he? I wonder. But why me? It's a fantasy of continued dreaming.   

             

A Date With A Guy Named Steve

      Most of us in our American society, past and present, remember his and her best and worst dates. In my case scenario, this was his "worst" date and supposedly my "best" date. I remember, vaguely, 1992, the Saturday before Easter. Since I had been baptized, any brother could ask me on a spiritual date. Christian dating is different than an ordinary date outside of the LA Church of Christ.

     I was standing  at the community park, on a Saturday mid-morning, in the city of Torrance, California, with a group of my new "Christian" church friends, when an attractive brother named Steve threw a football in the air. Surprisingly, he had asked me on a date. I didn't know what to say, at the moment, when I heard him said those words. How "shocking" for a guy who was, in my opinion and, perhaps, everyone else's too, a close resemblance to the actor Tom Cruise.    

     On this date, Steve slightly pushed my somewhat overweight Japanese body up on top of a roof that was several minutes in walking distance away from his apartment. I don't remember the exact details at what we had talked about, but the most vivid memory was his past obsession to be rich. This was his most anticipated struggle, he revealed. In addition to his becoming rich obsession, another memorable observance that I had noticed while on this past date was his intense undesirable stare. To this day, June 30, 2913, I remember. Steve's intense stare felt awkward and impolite. The feeling is hard to describe.  A sense of being not 'very friendly' would suit Steve's description. 

     After our "talk" on top of the apartment's building roof, we, Steve and I, walked back to his place. Inside the apartment, two couples (Charles and Barbara; Doug and Angela) were presently waiting for us to arrive. Double and triple dating had been a requirement for those who were planning a date within the church organization. Dating among only ourselves were very rare. After the food had been cooked, all of us ate dinner and watched a 1991 movie Rocketeer in the apartment's living room. 

     At the end of the "spiritual" date, Steve asked to walk along the beach. I said that I needed to move and if he could help lift a few boxes out of the apartment where I was residing with a female coworker at United Airlines. He listened, agreeing, and transferred the packed boxes from Marjorie's Torrance apartment to a married couple's house in Redondo Beach. The dark-haired couple, Keith and Peggy Sandoval, at this time, had a kid son, Joesph, and an infant daughter, Nicole.

     While Steve was driving, from his place to Marjorie's, he commented of not being interested in the sisters who he had asked out to go on a date. He felt an obligation, on his part, as a brother, to encourage them in the church. As Steve spoke, I remember hearing "Proud Mary" playing in the radio over the speakers. At a curbside, he parked the noncompact car. "Our date was like the movies," Steve said. 

     The most bizarre of a scenario was that I hadn't asked Steve to go on another date after he had asked me to go out on this date. "Weird isn't, Garrett?"