Newly Revised Chapter

I was injured at work last week.  I am feeling a lot better now though.  The extra rest and care I had to give myself the last few days allowed me to go over a chapter I have previously posted.  It gives more back story to the character Melissa who was in the first book.  

Depression is a disease that I suffer from and have most likely suffered from since I was in grade school.  It is hard for me to write and post these chapters and entries because they contain ideas and themes our society likes to pretend doesn't exist.  It also exposes a more raw and darker side of myself I sometimes wish didn't exist.  But I write and post them to shine light on the monster that is depression.  And in shining that light, I hope others will be able to shine light on their monster and know they are not alone.

“Waiting on a heartbeat.”

            Melissa knew she should have eaten something that morning.  And she knew she definitely should have eaten something sometime that afternoon.   Eating properly was the first lock on the cage that kept her monster securely in its cage.  And the key that could turn that lock was not getting enough sleep the night before.  And since she had not slept well and had not eaten, that lock was opened and the monster inside began stretching its legs. 

Melissa had woken up that morning feeling off balance, but she didn’t have time to think about it.  It was 5:00 in the morning and she had to get herself camera-ready and out the door in order to arrive on time to the TV production set she was going to be playing a diner patron on that day.  It was for a sitcom that was sure to be cancelled before it would even air called, “Me and Mr. Roper”.  Being an extra was a job a lot of people in the industry looked down on, but Melissa happened to love it.  Ever since she was a child she loved watching TV and movies, imagining that somehow, some way someday she would be part of the magic and now she was. 

            When the production crew broke for lunch at 1:00 in the afternoon, certain heaviness had settled into Melissa’s throat and chest making it uncomfortable to breathe.  She looked at the steam rising from the trays of hot food that the craft service people had put out, instantly feeling nauseous and sick to her stomach.  This was going to get bad before it got worse.  She reached into her purse, pulling out a packet of trail mix she had horded from another set.  That would be her lunch, she reasoned.  And maybe another cup of coffee, she thought.  Turn, click…turn, click, click.  The monster sat grinning.

            After lunch, Melissa sat in silence on a soundstage with large air conditioning tubes that tangled and twisted overhead, blowing frigidly cold air mercilessly on her and the other extras seated around her.  She couldn’t stop her teeth from chattering and cursed herself for forgetting to bring a coat.  She looked around at the others.  No one seemed to notice or care, everyone enthralled in his or her own cell phone.  She couldn’t blame them for not noticing her misery.  On set, it was every man for himself. 

            And that’s when the dark thoughts started to come, thoughts too dark for someone who was supposed to be on a healthy dose of SSRI anti-depressants to have.  Melissa had heard traces of these thoughts coming to her since she woke up that morning, but they were too faint to clearly understand, but she could understand them all too well now.  Her monster was out of its cage…and it wanted to play.

            If I slit my wrists in the bathtub, it wouldn’t make too much of a mess. 

            Melissa instantly felt a pang of guilt for not taking her cats into consideration. 

            I could leave their food dishes overflowing with dry food and that way they could survive until my corpse stunk enough to alert John and Nichole next door.

            Melissa shook her head in an attempt to shake off her dark thoughts.  She knew what she was contemplating was extreme, but at that moment she didn’t care.  She felt she could slip right off the edge of the earth and even welcomed it. 

            She looked at her phone feeling as though the day might never end. 

“At least I’m making double-overtime,” she told herself in an attempt to give herself something positive to think about, but the dark thoughts were coming too fast and too loud.  She had no choice but to placate them and besides, it wasn’t all bad.  Sometimes Melissa even found fantasizing her own demise like a kind of game because in truth, this monster was no stranger to her at all.  It had lived inside of her for as long as she could remember.

* * *

It was a cold winter day for Fresno.  Melissa was in Mrs. Brown’s first grade class.  She had come in from the cold with three big maple leaves covered in frosted ice crystals.  She thought they looked like shiny diamonds and could not wait to show her best friends, Kimery and Kendra.  She would have to wait until lunch recess since Mrs. Brown had separated Melissa from sitting with them the week before.

“Your daughter is a lovely child, but she talks entirely too much,” Mrs. Brown told Melissa’s mother at her first parent/teacher conference.  “And she has a hard time concentrating.  I often catch her staring off into space.”

Melissa felt so embarrassed.  She couldn’t take criticism well at that young and fragile age.  Her desk was moved from beside Kimery and Kendra clear to the other side of the classroom.  She now sat next to Marshall, a boy with a long rat tail braided down the middle of his back.  Melissa hated him.

Melissa did her best to pay attention that day, but a moth walking across the window caught her eye.  She heard Kimery and Kendra laughing and wondered why Mrs. Brown never scolded them.

When it was time for recess, Melissa ran to the cubby room to retrieve her diamond-encrusted leaves from that morning.  There was so much hustle and bustle she was the last one to make it inside.  She was so disappointed when she pulled out the maple leaves to see the frost had all melted.

“Melissa, what on earth are you doing with those wet leaves?” asked Mrs. Brown.  Before Melissa could respond, Mrs. Brown continued, “You’re dripping water everywhere.  Just throw those away and go outside like everyone else.”

Melissa felt her cheeks burn red as she dropped the big leaves into a large, metal gray trashcan.  She was beginning to hate Mrs. Brown too.

Melissa went outside, immediately scanning the playground for Kimery and Kendra.  They weren’t in their usual spot on the jungle gym.  She saw her breath in the air every time she exhaled as she ran to the cement ramada in the middle of the playground.  She followed the sound of Kimery and Kendra’s laughter.

As she came around the back wall of the ramada, she heard Kimery say, “I’m so happy Melissa isn’t sitting by us anymore, aren’t you?”

“Yeah!” Kendra exclaimed.  Melissa felt her heart sink.

“She has ugly black hair that looks like she never even brushes it.”

Kendra laughed some more before looking up, seeing Melissa standing a few feet away from them looking hurt.  “Hi, Melissa!” Kendra said excitedly.  “You didn’t hear anything we were talking about, did you?”

Too afraid to cause trouble and lose her only friends, Melissa shook her head.

“We were wondering where you were,” Kimery lied.  “Come over here and let us braid your pretty hair.”

Without a second thought, Melissa obediently sat down on the frozen ground and let the two girls pull at her hair.  She was glad she was facing away from them because then they couldn’t see her crying.

* * *

Melissa’s cell phone vibrated.  She walked out of the soundstage to check it.  It felt good have the late afternoon sun on her frozen skin.  Her heart skipped a beat when she saw there was a text message from Ryan, a guy she had been seeing on and off for the last three years.  It read:

Ryan: Mel, you are an amazing woman.  You deserve everything you want in a relationship, but I am not the person who can give those things to you.  We have tried so many times and it isn’t working.  I won’t stand in your way anymore.  Please don’t give up on yourself.  I’m rooting for you.

            She couldn’t count how many times Ryan had sent this type of message to her before.  She should have believed him.  She should have made the decision to look for someone new.  She knew herself better than that though.  She knew they would be in contact in a few days or a few weeks or a few months.  And she knew she would take him back no matter his excuse because deep inside she was still that little girl on the playground, the little girl who knew exactly what certain people she cared about thought of her.  And yet, still so eager to be by their side the minute they said something nice to say.

Making headway.

I haven't posted in a while, but I have not forgotten about my little book.  I have printed out all of the chapters, however rough they are right now and was pleasantly surprised to see how much of the groundwork I have already done for the next novella in my series.  I have since put the rough chapters in the order I might have them in the book to see where the gaps I need to fill are and also so that I can start going back and revising them and fleshing each of them out.  Here is yet another revision of a chapter I have previously posted, however this time I combined it with another chapter because I feel it works best as a longer chapter with a flashback instead of the flashback having to stand alone as one chapter.

"Do it with a rock star."

Ramona sat at The Farmstead sipping hot peppermint tea.  It was all her stomach could seem to handle lately.  This was her and Liz’s favourite lunch spot.  Ramona couldn’t wait to see her since she had decided to keep her pregnancy from Liz as not to take away the spotlight from her at her wedding and honeymoon.  Liz and Johnny had gotten back from the Caribbean the night before though, and Liz’s first order of business was to meet Ramona for a girls’ luncheon.

As soon as Ramona saw Liz walk through the front entrance, she was out of her seat waving her to their table.  They hugged.

“Oh, my, gosh, hi!” said Liz loudly, embracing Ramona for as long as she could.  “I’m so excited to see you!”

The two women sat down.  “How are you and Johnny?  How was the honeymoon?  Tell me absolutely everything.”

“It was fantastic,” gushed Liz.  “It was so romantic.  We had the honeymoon suite.  Johnny and I walked along the beach every day at sunset and sipped Mai Tai’s on the sand.  I couldn’t have asked for a lovelier trip.  It was heaven, I wish I was still there, waaah.”  They both laughed.

“I saw all the pictures you posted on FaceSpace.  Gorgeous, Liz!”

A waitress came and set two waters in front of them.  “Are you ladies ready to order?” she asked.

“You start, honey,” said Liz.

Ramona looked up, knowing this was not going to sit well with Liz.  “I’m just going to stick with the tea,” said Ramona, “and could I maybe get some soda crackers if you have them?”

The waitress nodded.  “Yes, and for you?”

Liz looked confused at how little Ramona had ordered.  “I guess I’ll just have the Caesar Salad and an iced tea?”

The waitress nodded and took their menus.

“Are you feeling all right?” Liz asked after the waitress had left them.  “Did you eat before you came?  You seem nervous.”

“No, I didn’t eat before I came, but I’m all right,” replied Ramona, suddenly not knowing how to tell Liz what she needed to tell her.  It sounded so absurd in her mind.

“You don’t seem all right and you look a little pale.  You know you can tell me anything, honey.”

Ramona took a deep breath.  “Okay, I wanted to wait until after your wedding and when you were back from your trip to tell you.”

“Tell me what, Ramona?  You’re freaking me out.  Is something wrong?  Are you sick?”

Ramona shook her head.  “No, not exactly,” she answered.  “I’m…pregnant, Liz.  Liz, I’m pregnant.”

“Aaaahhh!!” Liz shrieked.  All eyes and heads turned toward them.  “What?!  When?!  How?!” she shouted.

“Well, I---.”

“No!!” Liz interrupted before Ramona could answer any of her questions.  “Who, Ramona?!! Who??”

“Excuse me,” said an older gentleman seated at a table with his wife close to them.  “Would you two mind keeping your voices down?  People are trying to enjoy a nice, quiet lunch.”

Ramona normally would have apologized for being rude, but with all the emotions and hormones running through her body at that moment, she could not be subdued.  “We will not ‘keep it down’,” she replied.

“But every time you two raise your voices, it causes us to have to raise our voices,” argued the man’s wife.

“Oh, so sorry to make your raise your voices in public.  If you wanted peace and quiet you should have stayed at home.”

“Some people just don’t have any class I suppose.  It’s sad, really.”

“No, it’s not sad and we do have class…lots of it!” shouted Liz.  “This is my best girlfriend whom I have not seen in over a month and I just found out she’s pregnant!  So, we are going to sit here and be as loud as we want and if you don’t like it, you can get the fuck out of here.”

The couple looked at them, defeated before going back to pushing their food around on their plates, muttering to themselves.

Liz reached across the table and took Ramona’s hand into hers.  “Okay, honey.  Please tell me.  Who’s baby is it?” she asked.

Ramona’s eyes met hers as she answered, “Anderson’s.”

“Andy Anderson?!” Liz shouted.  That was the final straw.  The older couple walked out in a huff.  “Aaron’s friend Anderson?  THAT Anderson?”

Ramona nodded.  “The very one.”

“When did---?  Are you two like…dating?”

“Not really.  We just hang out and---.”

“Have unprotected sex?”

“We used protection!  The first few times.”  Ramona closed her eyes, her nose wrinkling up into a hushed sob.  “Oh, my, God, Liz.  I am so fucking stupid.  How could I have let this happen?”

Liz wasn’t used to seeing Ramona vulnerable and emotional since she was usually the one who needed cajoling.  She reached for Ramona’s hand again.  “You are not stupid, Ramona.  Everything happens for a reason and we are going to figure this out together.”

Just then the waitress came with Liz’s food and drink.  “May I get you two ladies anything else?” Liz shook her head as Ramona wiped her eyes with her cloth napkin.

As soon as the waitress was gone, Liz said, “You are not alone in this, okay?”

Ramona nodded.  “Thank you so much, Liz.  I just don’t know what I’m going to do.”

Liz spread her napkin across her lap.  “Well, I know what you’re going to do,” said Liz with a raised eyebrow and her lips turned up into a smirk.

“What’s that?” Ramona asked, forcing herself to smile again.

“You are going to sit there and tell me absolutely EVERYTHING.”


* * *


Ramona stood in a large, dingy and dimly-lit cement room that was the Bootlegged Theatre in Echo Park.  There was a three-foot-high stage on one side of the room where a young punk band was playing loudly.  There was a smattering of people of all ages standing around, holding beer bottles, and drinking from red solo cups.

“Remind me why we’re here again?” Ramona asked Amy, the cute, bubbly co-worker from the agency she had come with.

Amy smiled, wrapping her arm around Ramona’s shoulders.  “Because you’re the bestest girlfriend anyone could ask for,” she replied.  “And because you didn’t want me to get murdered on the first online date I’ve ever been on, the one that YOU talked me into going on, by the way.”

Ramona winced.  “Oh, that’s right.  I really need to learn to shut my mouth sometimes.”  They both laughed.  “So, what’s this guy’s band called again?” she shouted over the clanging drums and screams of the current band’s last number.

“Turn Up.”

“Like the vegetable?”

Amy shook her head.  “No, like ‘Turn Up’…the music, I guess?”  Amy shrugged.  “You know everyone has to be clever these days.”

“Clever indeed,” replied Ramona.

“That’s him!” shouted Amy as the next band came up to start setting up their gear. “That’s Dylan.”

“Ooh, Mama like,” replied Ramona looking at the tall, dark, curly long-haired gentleman Amy was pointing to.

“Back off.  He’s mine,” Amy teased.  “You can have the hot drummer.”

Ramona’s eyes fell on the drummer who had even longer, perfectly blonde locks.  “Hey, I know that guy!” Ramona exclaimed.

“You do?  How?”

“His name’s Anderson.  He’s a friend of a friend…sort of.”

The band started to play as the lead singer came to the center microphone.

“Well, he rocks,” Amy said.

“Yeah,” replied Ramona, “he does, doesn’t he?”

The crowd gathered in front of the stage and everyone could feel the energy of the room change from the last band as Turn Up played.  Ramona found it impossible to keep her eyes off of Anderson.  She had only met him once or twice before and never gave him a second thought.  She definitely thought he was cute, but he had always just seemed to be this flighty Venice Beach hippie type of guy, totally not her type.  But seeing him up on stage in his element with his band, she was starting to feel he was the complete opposite.  He was focused and sexy as fuck.  Ramona bit her bottom lip.  This night might not end up being a total loss for her after all.

After the show, Ramona and Amy waited outside the venue while the band loaded out their gear.  Ramona was still feeling tingly from seeing Anderson up on stage exuding such raw talent.  She could not even deny she was feeling nervous.

“Dylan!” Amy shouted as she spotted him coming back from putting an amp in his car.

“Hey!  You came!” he greeted.  “I thought I saw you in the front row.”  They embraced for a long moment.

“I told you I’d be here.”

“Yeah, but L.A. is full of flakes.”

“Well, not this girl,” laughed Amy.  “You guys were amazing!  The stuff you have up on your Sound Cloud does not do you justice.”

“And neither do your pics on Cinder, girl.  You are smokin’!”

Amy blushed furiously.  “Oh, my, God.  Thank you. Um…this is my good friend Ramona.  She said she knows your drummer.”

“Who?  Andy?” he asked and Ramona nodded.  “Shit, L.A. is small.  That’s awesome.”  Amy and Dylan were already having a hard time keeping their hands off of each other.  “Listen, we’re all headed back to my folks’ place in Los Feliz.  They’re out of town.  You babes have to come.”

“We’re there!” said Amy without hesitation.  “Text me your addy.”

A few hours (and a lot of beers) later, Ramona found herself in the backyard of a beautiful Spanish-style home tucked on a hill up against Griffith Park.  Ramona and Anderson were getting cozy in a hammock in a small gazebo behind the pool.  Amy and Dylan had disappeared back into the house, but they were both too buzzed to notice or care.

“It’s so rad that you are here right now, Miss Mona,” said Anderson after taking another swig from the bottle of Corona he held in his hands.  “I just can’t get over it.”

“And why not?” Ramona asked with a laugh.

“I don’t know.  It’s just that every time I saw you out with Aaron and that chick Liz, I just always thought you were such a fox and way outta my league.”

“Is that why you never asked me out then?”

Anderson shrugged, flashing his adorably boyish grin.  “Hey,” he said, “I’m shy.”

Ramona almost choked on her beer.  “Bull.  Shit!” she exclaimed.  “You are not shy.  Did you see yourself on stage tonight?  You are a rock star!”

Anderson suddenly kissed her hard on the lips.  “Say that again, Mona.”

“What?” she replied, having already forgotten what she’d said.  “That you’re a rock star?”

He pushed his thigh and hip into her, bringing her instant pleasure.  “Say it again.”

“You are a rock star, Anderson.”

“Again.”

“You are a rock star! You’re a rock star!  You’re a rock star!” she shouted breathlessly, losing herself in complete ecstasy.


She’d never done it in a hammock before.

Here you go, Aaron!

A continuation of a story I started on set...

“What should I write?” she asked, becoming frustrated.  “I’m not a writer for God’s sake!”  If this were a kitchen counter with a big metal bowl, a bag of flour, some eggs, milk, butter, oil, maybe some basil and thyme, then she would know what to do.

“Oh, great, now you’ve lost it,” Madeleine said to herself with a laugh.  “You’re all alone and shouting at no one.”

She calmed herself.

Then came the voice again.

“Write about…the last things…you remember,” it said.

That was the first thing the voice had said to her that made any sense.  She picked up the pen, immediately feeling spent and weak.  If only they would give her something to eat, something with some sugar, maybe she would be able to concentrate.

Seeing nothing else to be done, Madeleine used all of her strength to put her pen to paper and then she started to write, but as her pen made the faintest mark of black ink on the white lined paper, a familiar melody crept into her consciousness from somewhere in her subconscious.

“And in the valley of the deep,” she softly sang, “is where your secrets I shall forever keep.”

Where did that come from? she wondered.

It certainly wasn’t anything easily accessible to her recent memory.  And yet those two lines seemed engraved in her brain.

“And in the valley of the deep is where your secrets I shall forever keep,” she repeated, this time without singing it.  “But what’s the next verse?” she asked.

After a moment more Madeleine dismissed it as a song or nursery rhyme she had learned as a child.  “Nonsense,” she said aloud, again to nobody.  She went back to the task a hand.  She wrote:

The last things I remember are being warm, hot actually…from the sun.  Yes, I was outside in a park somewhere.  I remember because there were children laughing and dogs running.  And green grass.  Yes, I remember the grass because I had taken off my shoes and the grass felt wet and wonderful beneath my feet, in between my toes.  It had been freshly cut because I remember the smell of it.

Just thinking about it caused Madeleine to forget for a moment that she was locked in a cement room.  She felt free again, so she continued to write.

I remember a hand on my shoulder.  I remember turning around and seeing a police officer.  He was speaking words to me, but I couldn’t hear them.  And the words I could not hear were causing tears to run down my face.  Despite being hot in the sun for so long, my veins ran ice cold.  I shivered.

Madeleine shivered in her cell.  And again came that melody.  She wrote:

And in the valley of the deep…is where your secrets I shall forever keep.

To be continued/what now?? 

Time to Write.

I've heard in talks given by wise writers like Elizabeth Gilbert and Wayne Dyer that art and inspiration can sometimes be something the writer or artist channels from another source, something that does not belong to us, therefore, something we are not responsible for how it turns out.  That is how I feel about this piece.  I wrote it while on a set, waiting in holding.  I don't know what it's about or if I will continue it, but it came through me and now here it is:

She looked around her cell.  It was cold.  Since regaining consciousness she’d been allowed a notebook and pen, but had been denied food and water.

“What do they want from me?” she wondered. 

“Write!” shouted a voice in a hushed whisper after a long silence.

She looked around her suddenly, trying to decipher where this strange instruction could have come from.  Her cell was floor to ceiling cement with no windows.  The door was made of cold steel and locked up tight.

“Hello?” she said meekly.  “Is someone else…there?” 

Nothing. 

“I must really be losing it,” she thought to herself.  “Your name is Madeleine Hillcrest,” she said.  “You live at 5211 Riverside Dr.”

Madeleine closed her heavy eyelids.  She welcomed sleep although she had slept for most of the time she’d been locked away.  She hadn’t the slightest idea how long that could have possibly been either.  Hours?  Days?  Weeks?  She suspected they had given her something that kept her so drowsy.  Madeleine felt her mind and body start to drift away.

“Write!!” came the voice again, more insistent this time and most obviously a female’s.

Madeleine’s eyes flew open.

“What should I write?” she asked, becoming frustrated.  “I’m not even a writer for God’s sake!”

“Oh, great, now you’ve lost it,” Madeleine said to herself with a laugh.  “You’re all alone and shouting at no one.”

She calmed herself.

Then came the voice again.

“Write about…the last things…you remember,” it said.

That was the first thing the voice had said to her that made any sense.  She picked up the pen and immediately felt weak.  If only they would give her something to eat, something with some sugar, maybe she would be able to concentrate.

Seeing nothing else to be done, Madeleine used all of her strength to put her pen to paper and then she started to write.

If anyone has any hunches as to what comes next, leave them in my comments :)