friday snippetsFriday Snippet - 2/1/08
Thank you to everyone for stopping by and comments last week on Sain Devon. I'm glad you're intrigued with the new world too. I intended to put a brief excerpt up of SD again, but I've got a scene for The Pleasure Principle that I'm really curious of thoughts, if you're willing? It takes place the next day after Cryman's request for Rox's help at the bar (TPP 1/18/08) which she declined to do and kicked everyone out. She went home to her place in San Francisco where she lives alone, went to bed and contemplated the events. This scene starts as Rox is waking up in her secure studio, located on the top floor of a three story apartment building. This is a draft and probably isn't nearly as good as it might become so please do not copy, repost or plagiarize. Thank you!The Sugar Bowl
I woke
up with fuzzy thoughts later that afternoon. As I squinted
and blinked the afternoon sun made my studio glow a warm
yellow. A delicious aroma was filling my head and the sound
of traffic outside was faint but slightly louder than
usual. I turned my head to see my window ajar and then
looked around and saw with growing consternation my little
kitchen table had a large glass of orange juice, and a
table setting with a pan placed over the plate. I scrambled
out of bed breathing hard and grabbed my baseball bat. This
was too far. This was stalking. This was crazy people shit.
I jumped out of the bed shaking and checked the closet,
bathtub and under the bed - no one. My locks and deadbolts
were all in place. My firescape and chain looked
untampered. Finally, I checked the kitchen and dining area.
Aside from the fact someone had cleaned all my dishes and
my kitchen was now spotless, nothing else had been
tampered. That is if you ignored my sense of security. Next
to the table setting was a note. I looked back to the pan
and lifted it.
Fragant under the pan, with a small shot glass of warmed
maple syrup was french toast and sausage, my favorite
breakfast. The note scrawled next to it was from the
notepad I kept by my phone that had the phrase "Canoe Do
It?" under a cartoon moose and squirrel rowing for their
lives away from a huge waterfall. It was the same neat
handwriting from the napkin last night.
"Girlie,
Don't get all knotted about anyone getting in. You're safe
enough from the usual louts but we ain't usual, as I've
explained. I didn't see you in your dreaming, Dottie came
and did on my behalf so don't go feeling more violated than
you ought. This is meant as an apology. It's meant as a
plea.
I'm sorry if I said it all wrong and scared you, or I scare
you more now trying to make some right. I don't mean to
bring harm to you, though what I'm asking of you to believe
and what I'm asking you to do has risks. There are things I
understand and things I'm even still not savvy, but I know
we need help. I know things can't stay the way they are
much longer - those bridges I burned? Well the villagers
have pitchforks and they are circling my castle. But you,
you could change it. You could be the one to help make it
right for everyone. It's a terrible burden and I'm a beast
for asking of you, but there's joy too, I promise. Wonder.
Passion. Much more than you'd ever expect. And you'd be
doing what you are best meant to do. Please just consider
it.
I won't be going to the bar anymore, but I would like to
speak with you one more time. Please meet just me at 7 p.m.
at The Grove. It's public and as you may know a favorite
spot for off duty cops, so you can scream and have me taken
in if I even blink wrong. But please, consider, what if all
I'm saying is true? What if there is more for you, Roxanne?
"P.P." was crossed out and Cryman was written instead. Then
a Post Script.
P.S. - If you even think I might be telling a bit of truth,
if you’re leaning to the possibility of yes at all - then
just open the sugar bowl. "
I looked at my laughing cow sugar bowl on the center of my
table as if it were a bomb and chuckled exasperated. Then I
wondered if it was. Then I wondered if I was foolish enough
to open it instead of calling the cops to report an
invasion with no visible signs of entry from a burglar that
made me breakfast and cleaned my kitchen. I read the note
again. I thought logically about smashing the jar with my
baseball bat, to be safe. Or calling the police. I thought
about last night with my fear and the bat. In my memory I
heard Cryman's voice, "Here it is Roxanne."
I walked away. I wanted to take a shower but I still felt
vulnerable. Finally I compromised with the fastest shower
on the planet and got dressed in jeans and a t-shirt,
sneakers. I eyed my innocuous sugar bowl with suspicion. I
checked my studio again. I checked the now cold breakfast.
I checked the time 5:00 p.m. I head Cryman’s voice in my
head again, “Here it is.”
I called my parents and left a message on their voicemail
assuring them I was fine and that I’d love to have brunch
with them Sunday. I sent a text to David and told him maybe
tonight since I was off, we could meet and grab a pizza
thinking that I just needed to get out a bit. No immediate
reply. The entire time I did all this, I kept glancing at
the sugar bowl and wondering.
Finally, I grabbed my bat with a frustrated growl and
stalked back to my dinette table. Ready to swing the bat
down with one hand, with the other I made a fast grab and
pulled the top off the bowl. As I did I thought, 'I'm an
idiot and weak, I am too idealistic.' I thought, 'Maybe I
have a death wish and I really do need therapy.' And I
thought, 'I do want something more. There has got to be
something more.'
Nothing happened. Just sugar cubes that stared up at me
while I stared back and felt stupid.
I sighed and started to replace the top when there was a
pulse in the air around me, a pulse through me. The world
shuddered, shifted like haze from a pavement on a hot day.
My head felt heavy and I was off kilter enough to need to
sit. I missed the chair and landed unceremoniously on the
floor where I think I lost the bat. My head spun faster and
faster as faded cowboy boots suddenly appeared in my view.
I heard a familiar wispy feminine voice say, "That was a
bit sneaky."
And the reply came from the worn combat boot clad feet that
appeared next to them, "Not among my finest hours. We lost
t'luxury to be kinder and slow. But we’re here Dee, she
opened it, so dare's in her she wants more. So mebbe she'll
forgive us? Forgiveness still lingers, right? You got her,
now?"
I slipped into darkness before I heard the reply.