She Doesn't Know How

I can't remember if I've posted previous drafts of this before, but this is a revised chapter.  Actually, it's two chapters I've decided to fold into one.

“She doesn’t know how.”

            Melissa sat at the small desk from Ikea in her apartment, her leather-bound journal open in front of her.  Tears were right at the surface.  She could produce them at any moment.  They tickled her nose, making it uncomfortable to breathe.  Just as the first tear leaked from one of her eyes, she wrote:

            When I was little, they told me to believe in myself.  They told me to follow my dreams and ANYTHING I wanted to be, I could be.  I’m seeing now how that was a lie.  Well, not completely.  The part they forgot to tell me about, the un-sexy, less romantic truth is that I could be anything I wanted…as long as it made a steady income, as long as I would be given health and dental and a nice little 401K to match.  The only acceptable dreams are the ones that chain you to desks inside windowless offices.

            Melissa was twenty-nine.  She had moved to Los Angeles nine years ago to finish grad school at the University of Southern California.  That is where she met one of her best friends, Johnny.  That was long before the night he professed his love for her in his car in front of her apartment.   Frightened of what that meant, she pushed him away.  That was more than three years ago and she hoped he was somewhere, happy.

            Melissa looked at a large stack of papers on the corner of her desk.  It was the 75-page petition she was given by the bankruptcy court to file for Chapter 7.  This was never part of her childhood dream.  She felt slapped with shame. 

Her parents, both immigrants from the Philippines had so much hope for their only daughter.  She was going to become so much more than they could have dreamt of being in the new, exciting country they would come to call home.  And for most of Melissa’s life, it looked as though things would end up that way.

* * *

            “I am so proud of you, Missy,” said her father Ronald.

            It was graduation day at USC.  She stood before them in her graduation cap and gown.  Her stomach had been in knots all morning.  Melissa was getting her Masters Degree in American Literature.  She was going to get her PhD and be a professor.

            “We knew you would make us proud,” said Jeanie, her mother.

            “Thanks, Mom and Dad,” Melissa replied, trying her best to return their bright smiles.  She knew she had to tell them, but she didn’t know how and she wondered if they could sense something was wrong.

“We’ll be up in the bleachers watching you,” said Ronald.  “And then we will meet you afterward and take you to breakfast.”

Melissa nodded.  “Okay, Daddy.”  They each gave her a kiss on the cheek, then turned to head toward the stadium.  “Wait!” Melissa called out to them suddenly. 

They turned back to her, confused.

            “Did you forget something?” Jeanie asked, almost accusingly.

            “No, I…I have to tell you something.”  They nodded and walked back to her.  “Mommy, Daddy, I don’t want to be a professor.”

            “Well, that’s all right, honey,” said Ronald.  “You can be just a regular teacher.”

            Melissa shook her head, knowing this would break their hearts.  “No, that’s not what I’m saying.”

            “What exactly are you saying, Melissa?  What is it you want to be?” asked her mother sternly.

            Melissa shut her eyes and the words fell out.  “An actress,” she said, barely loud enough for them to hear, but they did hear.

Ronald and Jeanie looked at each other, both so disappointed.  They didn’t take Melissa out for breakfast that day.  And they didn’t speak to her for months afterward.

* * *

             Melissa’s cell phone buzzed.  “Hello?” she said, trying to hide the fact she was upset.

            “Hey,” replied her best friend in a cheerful tone.  “I’m sorry.  Did I wake you?  You sound tired.”

            “No, Anna, and I hate that everyone assumes that since I don’t work a regular full-time job that I must sleep in until noon every day.  I get up and do shit like normal people.”

            “Geez, someone’s feisty this morning.  I was going to ask you to meet me for lunch, but never mind.”

            Melissa sighed.  “I’m sorry.  It’s not you.  I haven’t worked at all in the last two weeks and I’m freaking out.”  She paused before adding, “It’s paralyzing sometimes.”

            “No, I’m sorry, Melissa,” Anna replied.  “That is upsetting.  Anything I can do to cheer you up?”

            “I don’t think so.  I shouldn’t be around people right now.  I’m going to get coffee and read.  I’ll call you later this week.”

Melissa had the hardest time finding parking once she arrived at Aromas in Hollywood.  She immediately remembered it was Labor Day weekend and that all of L.A. was be out having brunch.  She almost turned back to go home, but forced herself to keep to looking for a space.  She parked nearly half a mile away.  Normally she would be annoyed, but decided the walk might do her some good.

            “I’m sorry,” said the female cashier, handing Melissa her debit card back once she had finally made it to the front of the line at the coffee bar.  “Your card’s declined.  I can’t run it again.  Can you pay with another card?”

            Melissa took her card back and started digging through her wallet, knowing full well that all five of the credit cards in her wallet were maxed out.  “I might have two dollars in change,” she said as she struggled.

            “Here, I’ve got it, please,” said a handsome gentleman behind her.  She had noticed him the moment he got in line.  “And I’ll take a non-fat latte and butter croissant.”

            “I’m sorry,” Melissa said, her face turning bright red from the shame of not being able to buy herself her own cup of coffee.

            “Please, buying beautiful women coffee is one of my favourite pass-times.”  Melissa’s heart skipped a beat.  “It’s my pleasure,” he said.

            “Well, thank you.”  Melissa smiled for the first time that morning.  She took her coffee to look for an open table.  She felt his eyes on her the whole time.

            She found one in a sunny spot on the patio.  After adding cream and sugar to her coffee, she settled into her seat and opened the book she was reading.  She started to feel like her regular self, taking occasional sips from her cup, inhaling deeply and calmly as she read.

            “Excuse me,” said a man’s voice, startling her a little.  Melissa looked up to see it was the man from the line.  “Sorry to bother you, but since I paid for your coffee, I thought you might be able to do something for me.”

            “Sure, I can try,” offered Melissa, wondering what she could possibly do for someone like him.  She knew she had to look like absolute garbage at that moment.

            The man took an iPhone out of his no-doubt-designer dark-denim jeans.  “My personal assistant downloaded an update for my phone and now I can’t get it to…”

            His voice trailed off and Melissa took the phone from him.  “I’m no expert, I’ll take a look.”  She started pushing different prompts on the screen for a moment before turning the touchscreen back to him.  “There.  Is that better?”

            He looked pleasantly surprised.  “Yes, that’s perfect.  How did you do that?”

            “You just---.”

            “You know what?” he interrupted.  “Don’t tell me.  Give me your phone number and from now on, whenever I need technical support for my phone I am calling you.”  They both laughed.  “Would that be all right?  If I called you sometime?” he asked kindly.

            Melissa shrugged excitedly.  “Yes, of course,” she answered, taking the phone back to program in her number.

            “What’s your name?” he asked as she typed.

            “Melissa.”

            “Melissa?” he replied, taking back his phone.  “My name is Aaron.”

            Melissa took the hand he offered her and felt her heart skip again.

Aaron.

Been wondering what Aaron has been doing since the end of the last book?  Me too!!  Here's a sneak-peak:

“Summer in the city.”

                                    It was nearing the end of August.  It still felt too hot in L.A. to be autumn.  Aaron sat on a park bench watching his newest female companion, Sadie, a beautiful full-bred border collie run around a West Hollywood dog park with an array of other mutts.  He couldn’t understand how she was able to stand the heat with all that fur.

            “Sadie!” he called out.  She obediently perked up her ears and came running, tongue hanging out of her long snout.  Aaron lovingly wrapped his arms around her as she stood up on her hind legs, putting her front paws in his lap.  She started licking mercilessly at his face.  “Okay, okay, that’s enough, beautiful.”  He stood up and she jumped around his feet as if he were about to bestow some great reward upon her.  “All right, one more time,” he said.  He pulled out a blue rubber ball hidden in his back pocket and threw it as far as he could.  Sadie was off like a lightning bolt!

            Once home, Aaron hung Sadie’s red leash up on a hook by the door leading in from the garage.  Sadie, worn out from the afternoon’s excitement retired to her dog bed in front of the living room sofa.  Aaron went to the kitchen and poured himself a glass of water.  He knew the air conditioner was out by the way he was sweating even more, despite having just come in from the triple-digit weather outside.  After setting a big metal bowl filled to the brim with water beside Sadie, he went upstairs to soak a bath towel in cold water to wipe her down with.

            His cell phone rang.  “Andy Anderson, what’s up?” he said.

            “Not a whole lot, bro.  Just wanted to let you know we’re playing a show tonight at Boardener’s if you find yourself in the area.”            

            “Thanks, man.”  Aaron pulled a crème-coloured towel from his hallway closet.   “It’s so hot though.”

            “Dude, I fuckin’ know!  It’s brutal,” Anderson replied.

            “My air conditioner is out again,” he complained, immediately regretting it.

            “Man, that must be terrible.  I live out of my car half of the week.”

            “Hey, I told you you’re more than welcome to crash here whenever,” Aaron said in his own defense.

            “I don’t need your charity…but I might be by later to use your shower before the show.”  
They both laughed.   "Fair enough," said Aaron. 

            “All right, man,” Anderson sighed.  “When you’re old and alone, sitting in a rocking chair in some nursing home, you can’t say I didn’t try to save you.”

            Aaron rolled his eyes and hung up the phone.  As he walked to the bathroom, a woman’s earring fell out of the towel he was holding.  He picked it up.  It was Monique’s, his most recent ex-girlfriend’s.  He was surprised to be finding it now since she’d moved out almost a year ago.  Seeing and holding her earring suddenly made him feel sad, but he remembered Sadie downstairs.  He threw the gold hoop earring onto the bathroom counter then went to turn on the bathtub faucet.

Jared and Jessa Part I

New Chapter!

Jared and Jessa Part I

Jared sat at a big table in the back of Il Caprice.  He was a Pasadena native and had been coming to this restaurant with his family since he was a kid.  He was there with his mother and father, his sister Madison, her husband Allen, and their four-year-old son Tommy.  He looked around at all of the people seated around him who were smiling and laughing with one another.  Jared felt like such an outsider.  That is how he felt most of the time, despite the fact that his whole family had gathered that night just for him.

 “Are we getting dessert?” asked Tommy.  “I want dessert!”

“Ssh, ssh,” replied Madison.  She looked up at Jared.  “What do you say, Uncle Jerry?  Indulge your sweet tooth?”

Jared shook his head.  “No, I---,” he started to say, but before he could finish, the faint sound of the birthday song started creeping up from behind him.  Soon, the whole restaurant joined in the singing.  The smiling waitress placed a round chocolate cake in front of him with exactly thirty lit candles on top.  Madison reached into her purse and pulled out one more.

“Thirty-one for good luck,” she said as she lit it and placed it beside the others.  “Now, make a wish!”

Jared closed his eyes and really thought for a few seconds.  He blew out the candles and everybody cheered.  After dinner, Jared and his family walked out to the street.

“I want to go to Uncle Jerry’s house!” Tommy shouted.

“Not tonight, little man,” replied Allen.

“Next time,” Jared offered, but Tommy was already enthralled with a spinning pinwheel in the closed storefront of the toy store next to the restaurant.

“What are your plans now?  Going to meet some of the guys from work for a drink?” asked Ruth, Jared’s mom.

“No, not tonight,” he answered with a yawn.

“How about grabbing a beer with your old man?” asked his dad.

Jared shook his head.  “No, thanks.  I’m just going to call it a night.”

“BORING,” teased Madison.  She winked at him as she reached out to give him a hug.  “I love you, baby brother.”

“Thanks for everything, Maddy.  Love you too.”

“And I love you, Uncle Jerry!” Tommy exclaimed, wrapping his arms tightly around Jared’s right leg.

He reached down and tousled Tommy’s dirty blonde hair.  “Goodnight, little man.”

Jared hugged the rest of the family before all of them dispersed into different directions down the streets of Old Town.  Jared sat in his car on Central Avenue fiddling with the buttons on his XM Radio.  He settled on a talk show with a pleasant-sounding woman giving advice to someone.

“Insanity is doing the same thing and expecting different results,” she said.  Jared’s mind started to wander and his eyes drifted to a little dive bar close to his apartments.  It had always looked intriguing to him, but he had never gone in.  “So if you want something you’ve never had,” the woman continued, “you’ve got to do something you’ve never done.  It’s really very simple…”

Just then, as if something was guiding his hand, Jared found himself parallel parking in front of the bar.  He got out of his car and walked inside.  The place smelled like cigarettes even though smoking had been banned in bars and restaurants for years.  It didn’t seem like cops or much of anyone else stopped by that often, so they probably didn’t have anything to worry about.  There was a jukebox in the back.  A blinking neon sign that read, “Bada Bing!” with the silhouette of a naked woman hung above it.  A couple drunk barflies sat at the far end of the bar laughing and slapping each other on the backs.

Jared took a seat.

“What can I get you, stranger?” asked the bartender.

“Whiskey, neat.”  Jared pulled his phone out of his pocket and looked at it.  No missed calls.  He didn’t know why he even checked anymore.  Habit.  The bartender set his drink in front of him.  “Thank you,” Jared said.

After a few sips, the door opened loudly.  Jared looked and saw a woman enter.  She was beautiful with thick, long brown hair that reached down to her waist.  She wore a long black skirt and she walked with purpose.  Jared looked back down at his glass.

“What can I get you?” asked the bartender.

Despite all of the empty seats at the bar, the woman sat right next to Jared.  “Rum and cranberry please.”

“Rum and…”

“Cranberry,” she repeated and then started digging through her large leather purse.  

“Does that even taste good?” Jared asked before he could stop the words from coming out of his mouth.

The woman looked at him, a little startled by his question.  “Yeah, it is actually.”  The bartender set the drink in front of her.  “Want to try it?” she asked.

Jared shrugged and took a sip.  “Hmmm...not bad,” he said, sliding the glass back to her side.

“Yeah, I used to get rum and Cokes, but the Coke kept me up late at night, so it’s rum and cranberries for me now.”

“I see.”

“Plus,” she continued.  “The cranberry juice is good for U.T.I.’s.”  Jared looked at her.  She covered her mouth with her hand.  “Jesus, Jessa.  Learn to shut up for once.  I’m sorry,” she apologized.  “I tend to over-share with strangers sometimes.”

Jared smiled and replied, “That’s all right.  I don’t mind.”  

She smiled back.  “What’s your name?” she asked.

“Jared.  Yours?”

“Jessa.”

“I like that,” he said almost inaudibly.

“What?”

He cleared his throat.  “I said, ‘I like that.’  It’s pretty.”  He could see Jessa blushing.  After a few moments of awkward silence, Jared asked, “Do you mind if I over-share something with you?”

“Absolutely not,” Jessa replied, tipping her head back to consume the last of her cocktail.

“Today is my 30th birthday,” he said.  

“Oh, well, happy birthday!  The next round is on me.”

“That’s not the part I wanted to share,” he continued.  

“What is it then?” she asked, waving the bartender over.

Jared looked her dead in the eyes.  “I haven’t slept with anyone in almost two years.”

Jessa’s eyebrow raised with curiosity.  “Well,” she replied, “I guess we better order a couple more rounds.”

Jared felt delicious chills run up and down his spine.  He couldn’t believe the dumb wish he had  made on his birthday cake earlier that night was actually coming true.

Getting to know you/me.

I recently got a new MacBook Air because the last MacBook I had for 6 or 7 years died on me suddenly and tragically.  It will be missed!

Work has slowed down for me a tiny bit, so I am in full sequel-writing mode.  My morning ritual is now waking up, taking my probiotic supplement, doing a 20-minute meditation, eating breakfast, and then going to my favourite coffee spot and having a couple cups while I bang on this contraption.  I love it.

My next book will be a sequel to my first book The Awful Truth of Loving.  I have a tentative name for the book I'm pretty sure I'm going to use, but I don't want to share it just yet in case it changes.  But, yes, it is the name to a song that influenced the book like the first one was.

The biggest lesson I've had to learn about writing is that the first draft is just going to suck.  I used to stop myself from writing because I would see things that my favourite singers, movie/TV writers, authors, etc. would put out and it would be pure gold!  How did they come up with that?? I would ask myself while shamefully closing my laptop vowing to never attempt to write anything again.

Then I realized that writing doesn't work that way.  At least not for me.  It's not going to come out fully-formed and perfect.  It's going to be messy and covered in goop like a newborn baby.  And I'm going to have to clean off the goop and labor and stay vigilant while it cries and shits until, eventually, it can walk on its own.  Too far with the baby analogy?  Okay.  Basically, it's going to take time and patience and loads of re-writes.  I'm sure for some more prolific writers it is much easier and to them I say, "Go F yourself!  You are not normal."   

I am also learning to enjoy the process of writing.  When I write my books now I am no longer pretending that I have all of the answers figured out.  I am just getting to know the characters as if they are the ones telling me who they are and what they've been through.  It is loosely based on my own life and experiences, but then a little magic comes in to fill in the rest of the blanks.  It really feels like channeling to me sometimes.

I am starting to see that this next book is going to be somewhat more personal and darker than TATOL.  I take that as a sign that I am growing as a writer and letting myself be more vulnerable.  It scares me a little because I don't like sharing my feelings all the time, but as I'm writing, this is what is coming out.  And so, I just have to go with it.

Here is the start of a chapter I wrote this morning.

“I am a human being, capable of doing terrible things.”

Anderson felt sick.  He wanted to call Ramona and tell her the deal was off.  He couldn’t be a father.  He had never been sure that he ever wanted kids, so why on earth would he have one now?  Is 7 months too late to have an abortion?  The fact that he didn’t know the answer to that question only validated his idea that he simply was not ready for fatherhood.  What could he possibly know about being a father anyway?  It’s not like he ever had a shining example of what one was.

* * *

“Mom!” Anderson called to his mother as he burst through the back door of his childhood home.  He dropped his backpack by the sofa and frantically looked around.  “Mom!  Where are you?  I have something to tell you!”

“Anderson, hush!” scolded his mother as she came down the stairs.  “Your father is sleeping.  He was working all night.”

“Mom, I’ve got to tell you about school today,” Anderson continued with excitement.

“What on earth is it?”  She took a seat on the sofa as Anderson jumped in front of her.

“We won.”

“You won what?”

Anderson looked disappointed.  “You don’t remember?  Today was the school’s battle of the bands and WE WON!!”

“Anderson!!” called a booming voice from upstairs.  Both Anderson and his mother looked up in fear.  “Get up here!”

Anderson looked at his mother.  She couldn’t protect him.  She nodded for him to do as he was told.  Anderson picked up his backpack and headed up the stairs, each step filling his stomach with worry.  He thought he might throw up.

Just as he was about to put his hand on the doorknob to his parents’ bedroom, his father yelled again, startling him so much his hands shook.  He forced himself to go inside.  

The door creaked open.  It was pitch dark in their room, the windows had been covered in black fabric to keep out the daylight.  It smelled like stale cigarettes.  Anderson’s father worked the graveyard shift at a gas station down the street.  He slept during the day while everyone was awake and was awake all night while everybody slept.

“H-h-hi, Dad,” Anderson stammered.  “You w-w-wanted to see me?”

“Come here,” his father said as if it were a threat. 

Anderson swallowed hard, tears already stinging his eyes.  Once he was beside his father in bed, he smelled alcohol.  It was always there.  For a moment his father didn’t move.  His breathing was deep and measured.  Anderson started to relax, thinking his dad had fallen back to sleep as he sometimes did in the middle of one of his rampages.  Just as Anderson was about to turn to leave, he was grabbed tightly by the  collar of his t-shirt.

“Please, Dad!” Anderson squealed involuntarily.  “Don’t.”

Anderson’s father sat up.  He looked like a monster in the dim daylight coming from the hallway.

“Don’t you tell me what to do, boy,” his father said, angry spit flying from his lips.  “Now, what in the hell is so goddamn important that you had to come in the house screaming like a retard?”  Anderson looked away, too late to stop the tears from flowing down his reddened cheeks.  “Are you crying?  You fucking pussy!  Answer me!!”

“Battle...bands,” was all Anderson could manage to say.

“What did you say?”

“My band won the school’s battle of the bands today.”  Anderson pleaded, “Please let me go.  I’ll be quiet.”

Before Anderson knew it, he was thrown to the floor.  His arm burned from sliding against the shag carpeted floor.  

“You’re damn right you’ll be quiet,” his father said.  “Or I’ll make sure you stay quiet and I know you don’t want that, you crying sissy.  Now, get the fuck out and let me sleep, goddamn it.” 

Anderson scrambled to his feet with his backpack and headed out of the room.  “And close the goddamn door!!”

Anderson wiped his face with his hands and turned to close the bedroom door behind him.  He was thirteen years old.