And then they met...

 (Another early, early, early draft of a chapter from my next novel.)

“Remind me why we’re here?” Ramona asked, turning to her friend Andrea as they stood in a small cement-floored theatre with a small 3-foot stage a few feet in front of them.

Andrea smiled wide.  “Because you’re the bestest friend in the whole world,” she replied, “and because you don’t want me to get raped and murdered on my first date with someone I met online, which I let YOU talk me into going on by the way.”

“Oh, that’s right.  I really need to remember to keep my mouth shut sometimes.”  Both of the girls laughed.  “What’s the name of their band?”

“Turn Up.”

“Like the vegetable?” asked Ramona.

“Like ‘Turn up...the music’.  I thought it was cute...and so is he!  Look, Ramona!”  Andrea pointed to a tall gentleman with dark, curly hair standing next to the stage sipping on a cocktail, looking aloof. 

“That’s Derek?”

“Yep!  Derek!” she called out waving her arms at him.  He saw them and smiled coyly. 

“Andrea?” he said as they walked toward him. 

“Yes!  And this is my friend Ramona.”  Derek’s mind seemed to be somewhere else as he nodded and then looked over both of their heads to the crowd that was beginning to collect for the band’s show.

“Great to meet you ladies.  Come backstage,” he said suddenly taking Andrea by the hand.  Andrea looked back at Ramona and shrugged. 

She followed them into a small green room with one dingy couch and lots of cigarette smoke wafting through the air.  There were three people squeezed onto the couch drinking and laughing.  One of them seemed to recognize Ramona.

“Hey!  I know you!” said an overly enthusiastic male with long, luscious locks of blonde hair.

“Heeey,” Ramona replied, trying hard to remember his name and where she could possibly know someone like him from.

“Anderson.  Well, everyone calls me Andy.”  He stood up and shook her hand.  His hands were big, warm.  “I know Aaron and he knows your friend Liz.”

“Oh, that’s right.  I’m sorry.  I am terrible with names and faces.”

“Quite all right.  I’m just psyched to see you at our show.  How did you hear about us?”

“Well, my friend Andrea is meeting your band mate Derek from online for the first time tonight,” explained Ramona as she turned and pointed to Andrea who was already wrapped in Derek’s arms and kissing him passionately.

“Classic Derek!” Anderson said, laughing.  “Well, can I offer you something to drink?  The bar gave us some sodas and beers.

“Sure, a beer sounds amazing.”  As Anderson turned and bent down to pick out a beer from a small cooler beside the couch, pieces of his long hair fell over his face.   Ramona suddenly felt something inside of her spark.

“Here ya go, pretty girl,” said Anderson, handing her a bottle of Corona.  “Cheers.”

Ramona smiled and said, “Cheers.”

After talking to Anderson for about an hour, Andrea came to get Ramona.  “It’s almost time for them to go on,” she said.  “You can keep flirting after the show.”

“All right.  Can’t wait to hear you guys play,” said Ramona, turning to Anderson.  “I’ll see you after the show?”

“Definitely,” Anderson replied, giving her a big, warm hug and a kiss on the cheek.  Ramona caught a whiff of his hair noting he might use the same brand of shampoo as her.

During Turn Up’s loud and raucous set, Ramona was shocked to see how passionate and focused Anderson was.  She remembered the very few times she had ever seen him.  He always seemed like such a nut, but watching him sit behind his drum kit, playing with his band, completely in his element, Ramona saw something deeper inside of him and it turned her on. 

It's a new dawn. It's a new day.

Now that my latest book is published and live on Amazon, I will be starting to write the sequel to my first book, The Awful Truth of Loving.  While compiling You + Me and waiting for the copyright to come back, I wrote little bits of the sequel here and there.  I'm glad I did because it's a nice little bread crumb trail leading me down the path of the story I wanted to tell.  Not everything is fleshed out yet, not even close, but here's a taste of something you can expect to read in case you're curious:



Accidental Babies

Ramona was able to get Anderson to calm down enough to meet her in West Hollywood for coffee.  He was usually so confident and relaxed, but when she saw him walk through the door of Queens Road Café, she was surprised to see he was really nervous.

Ramona stood up and waved him over to the table she had gotten for them.  He gave a slight nod and removed his sunglasses with orange frames.  She went in for a hug as he went in to shake her hand.  They paused and laughed nervously before deciding to just sit down.

“Hey,” Ramona said trying to over-compensate how nervous she felt by making direct eye contact.  “Thanks for meeting me.”

“Ain’t no thang,” he replied unable to make any eye contact at all.  “Uh, do they serve alcohol here?”

“I don’t think so.  It’s just a coffee shop.  They have food if you---.”

“Naw, naw, I’m not hungry...just thirsty.”

Just then, a waitress walked up to their table asking, “Can I get you anything to drink?”

Anderson looked down at the table as if this were the hardest question anyone could have asked him at that moment.

“He’ll just have a water with some lemon, thanks,” Ramona answered for him. 

The waitress left them alone again. 

“So...what do we do now?” Anderson asked after a long silence.

Ramona shrugged.  “I have no idea,” she replied.  “I’ve never had this happen before.”

“I don’t mean to sound like a dick, but...are you sure it’s---.”

“Yes, I’m sure.”  She paused.  “You’re the only one I’ve been with this year...unless this is immaculate conception, in which case God really does have fucked-up sense of humour because I’ve never been to church a day in my life.”  Anderson suddenly saw how nervous Ramona was and instinctively reached across the table for her hand.  She instinctively took it.  “I don’t want you to think I planned this, Andy.”

He finally looked at her.  “Mona, I don’t.”

Andy was the only one who called her “Mona” besides her mother, but Ramona hadn’t heard her mother call her that for nearly ten years.

It's Up!!

My collection of short stories and poems is up and available for immediate download!!  I will now share with you the foreword I wrote for the book and I will give the link to the book at the bottom of this post.  Thank all of you so very much for reading and for your support!

Foreword From the Author:

            It’s around 9:30 a.m. on a random weekday morning.  I’m at Aroma Café in Studio City and I’m doing what I’ve been doing here the last few months on random weekday mornings, which is working on the book you now hold in your hands.  Oh, and drinking coffee.  Lots of coffee.

            My first self-published book was a fiction romantic comedy of sorts, so one might wonder why I felt it necessary to venture into the realm of short stories and poems next.  The answer simply is that I love stories.  I think we all do.  Whether we hear them in our favorite songs, movies, or television shows.  Mankind has had a fascination with storytelling since the beginning of time and I am no different.

            For as long as I can remember, using my vast imagination and writing stories has been my favourite way of expressing myself.  When I was a teenager, my favourite place to be was in a coffee shop with a notebook and a pen.  I would sit and look around at different people, trying to imagine where they had just come from or where they were going to next, what it was they were working through in their lives at that moment, and like a photographer out in nature, I would often get lost in them.  I wanted to capture those moments on paper in the form of words for others to see and interpret. 

            I’ve kept a good number of the notebooks I carried with me from high school and college.  I dug into them to gather stories and poems for this collection.  A majority of them were too melodramatic for my tastes now, but a few still hold some truth for the person I am today, and those few you will find revamped, edited, and included here.

            There was also a period when I gave myself a 30-Day Challenge to complete 1 short story each day.  I completed 15, not the whole 30, but it was still enough to render some of what you’ll find here.

            These poems and short stories are not necessarily complete on their own, but rather, they are seeds I am planting in the soil that may someday grow into a greater narrative for another book I have yet to write and hopefully one that you have yet to read.

            And so it is with great pride and joy that I present to you my first collection of short stories and poems.

With many thanks and so much gratitude,

Leslie Li Hikida

Excerpt from You + Me: A Collection of Short Stories & Poems

http://www.amazon.com/dp/B00HKSLKHW 

In Review!

It's happening!!  My second self-published book You + Me A Collection of Short Stories & Poems has been submitted to Kindle Direct Publishing and will be available to download very soon.  I can't tell you how great this feels to have completed another piece of work that I will share with my readers.  I will post again with a link to the download page as soon as it goes live. 

Oh, so close.

I haven't been posting much here because I am patiently waiting for the copyright to come back for You + Me, my collection of short stories and poems.  My patience is starting to run out though because I am really excited to share the collection with all of you PLUS I am really starting to feel the itch to write the sequel to my first novella, The Awful Truth of Loving.  

One might ask: "So, why don't you just start writing it then?"

And that's a fair question, but the way my creative process works is I can't fully start to work on the next project until the current one is finished.  I know that sounds like an excuse, but I've learned over the years the way in which I as an artist and a writer work best and this is just how it works for me.  I need things to go in order.  

I have started to outline the next book and write up some character descriptions and plant little seeds of the book in my mind, but until I have You + Me published I'm stuck in my own writer's purgatory.  Keep your fingers crossed for me that the copyright comes any day now.

 And since you have all been so patient waiting along with me, I will share another story that will be included in You + Me.  It is called...

Teach Me

            Words are just words until you string them together into a sentence that gives them meaning.  And moments are just moments until there is someone there to remember when they were more.  I’m learning to let things go.  I’m trying to let things be, but no matter how many times I am forced to learn this lesson, I always seem to forget in an instant that nothing I hold is truly mine and the more I try to hold onto anything, the more slippery and elusive it becomes.  It’s like holding onto the wings of a butterfly while commanding it to fly.

            And so I stand naked again in front of my master, all of my armor and defenses lying in pathetic broken pieces on the floor.  I no longer possess the strength or arrogance to pick them up. 

“I am ready to learn,” I say.  “What is the lesson for today?”

            It amazes me how my feelings can change, how something I once believed in so strongly can suddenly become its polar opposite without a second thought or a moment of regret.  Things can seem dark and murky, but then suddenly the clouds part, shedding light on things I never even dreamed possible.  Hopeless beings we humans are. 

I see the seasons change.  Year after year, winter follows autumn and summer follows spring.  Yet, when feelings of despair visit me I latch onto them, convinced things will always be this way.  But why can’t I see that my feelings are also malleable like the seasons?  They too are always changing into what will naturally follow next.

            I was convinced it was over for me and that I would never get past certain feelings plaguing my mind, but then suddenly, I’m able to get passed them just as easily as passing through a threshold to the outside world.  And I couldn’t even tell you where the dividing line was between hopelessness and hope.  It came without warning and I was given another chance to prove that I was listening, that I had learned the lesson finally and completely that time.

            Or so I thought...but even if I didn’t fully learn the lesson or however easy it is to forget, it’s okay because the master is always there.  I will be tested again and again.  And if I should fail once more, there is always the opportunity to strip away the armor, the arrogance, to tear away my weak defenses and say, “I’m sorry I wasn’t listening, but I’m listening now.  Please teach me the lesson again.”

Paging Alfred Hitchcock!

I am so close to finishing my book and being able to send it off to be copyrighted I can smell it!

As I was editing one of the last stories in my collection I realized this particular one is a direct call back to one of my biggest childhood writing influences, Alfred Hitchcock.

Just to give you an idea of what a strange child I was, when I was in 5th grade we were given a writing assignment in which we were to explain in an essay who we would like to meet if we could meet anyone in the world.  They could be dead or alive in all of human history and who do you think it was that I picked?  Mr. Alfred Hitchcock, of course.

I said I would build a time machine so that I could go back in time to meet him.  I was obsessed with Alfred Hitchcock Presents and watched it every night on Nick at Nite (along with Mary Tyler Moore, Rhoda, and The Lucy Show).  Ah, the good 'ole days.  Anyway, here's the story I will be including in the upcoming collection.

The Lottery

            The high-pitched beeping alarm rouses me from my deep sleep, the sound reminding me that the two billion dollars I won in the Georgia State Lottery was nothing but a dream. I force myself to sit up.

            Lately I’ve been waking up with a mildly terrible feeling that something is going to happen to me, like I will be struck down by a car in a crosswalk or I am going to choke to death on a crouton very soon.  Dying isn’t the scariest part for me though.  My parents would be devastated for sure, but that is the natural reaction when losing a child. I don’t have any children, so leaving any offspring behind doesn’t bother me either.  The scariest part of this being dead scenario is how absolutely positive I am that my husband, Kenny, would be able to get back to life as usual within days of becoming a widower.  He’s simply not a mourning person.  That’s why I’ve been extra careful when crossing the street and eating salads at lunch.

After showering and getting dressed I go to the kitchen.  The only signal I need to know that Kenny is awake is the sound of the morning news report at full volume coming from the dining room.  I told him I didn’t want a TV in the room where we eat, but did he listen?  No, because Kenny makes most of the money, so Kenny makes all of the decisions.

            We’ve been married for the better part of ten years.  This year will be number nine.  Our relationship is mechanical at this point.  Name a time of day and I can tell you where Kenny and I are and what each of us is doing. 

            At 2:40 p.m. Monday – Friday I am just getting back from my lunch break.  I’m sitting down in my cubicle, headset on my head, and I’m logging into the phone system.  Kenny is looking at pornography in his big shot corner office downtown.  Our marriage, it’s like clockwork.

            Sometimes I lay awake at night and watch as the shadows of leaves from the fur tree outside of our bedroom window catch the moonlight and wash over Kenny’s peaceful face.  When he’s awake he’s always so serious, so burdened by me, by life, but when he’s asleep he looks almost dead and so he looks almost...happy. 

            Did you know he used to call me “fancy face”?  Yeah, back at the beginning of our relationship, all our friends said we were co-dependent on each other.  No one would accuse us of that now though.  Over the years we’ve gained our own independence and learned we can do this “marriage” thing all by ourselves.

            My cell phone rings beside me on the kitchen counter.  The vibrations coming from it startle me into spilling some coffee from the too-full mug I’m holding.  I pick up the phone to answer it.

            “Hello”, I say. 

            “Hello, angel.”

            It’s my mother.  God love her, but damned if she doesn’t sound like some adult from one of the Charlie Brown specials.  Luckily she doesn’t have much time to talk, so I’m off the phone before I know it.  I grab my purse by the back door and slip on some black flats.  Kenny doesn’t say a word as the back door creaks open and then shuts behind me.  He knows exactly where I’m going and exactly when I’ll be home.  Like clockwork, remember?

            The elevator in my office building is unusually crowded today.  There must be an important meeting or something.  As soon as I settle into my cubicle in the back corner I look over to see Caelum.  We both started at the company the same year and we’ve sat next to each other ever since.  We also went to the same high school, but we weren’t friends then.  I don’t know if you would say we are friends now, but we’re friendly. 

            On this particular morning something is different about him.  He looks either tanner or toner.  I can’t decide, which doesn’t stop me from staring.  He just looks so dreamy all of a sudden.  Listen to me!  Did I, an intelligent woman in my 40’s, just use the word “dreamy” to describe someone I’ve known for over a decade?  I must be losing my marbles.

            “Good morning, Caelum,” I say in a too-high-school-girl-giddy tone.

            “Morning, Lillian,” he replies with just the corners of his lips turned up in a smile. 

            We both sit at our desks and log into the phone system.  It’s hard for me not to eavesdrop on Caelum’s phone calls all morning.  He sounds so pleasant, so masculine, so darn sexy!  I get goose bumps when I hear him tell a customer he’s transferring them to our supervisor.  I don’t know what’s come over me!

            “What’s got you all smiley today, missy?” Caelum asks as he stands up and takes off his headset to go to lunch.  Before I can answer, he grabs the blazer off the back of his swivel chair and says, “Let’s go eat,” and I nearly faint.

            We’re sitting in the break room surrounded by the inane chatter of office managers and co-workers.  I didn’t feel like risking the salad today with all those hazardous croutons, so all I brought was an apple. 

Caelum looks up from the large spread of food he got from the cafeteria.  “That’s all you’re eating?” he asks.

“Yeah,” I say trying to laugh it off.  “Diet starts today!”

He gives me a confused look and then digs into his food.  We are quiet through most of lunch.  Slowly the tables around us empty until it’s just Caelum and I sitting across from one another.  After finishing what seems like the fifth course of his meal, he gets up to throw away his trash.  I pull out my phone to look at the time and I hear the break room door open and then close.  I assume he’s gone back to work, but when I put my phone away I am surprised to see Caelum standing right in front of me. 

I’m speechless as he reaches out and caresses the side of my face.  I can’t remember the last time anyone has done this to me.  It feels 10,000 times better than nice.

“What are you doing?” I whisper, blushing uncontrollably.

He leans down to me and says quietly, “Lillian, haven’t you seen the way I’ve been looking at you?”  Still speechless, I shake my head.  “Well, you should start paying more attention.”

I close my eyes as our lips meet.  So warm, so inviting.  It’s a good thing I’m sitting down because my legs, my arms, everything turns to jelly.  I can feel him pulling away, but I grab a hold of him suddenly.

“Please don’t leave me,” I say.

“Lillian, we have to go back to work,” he says.

“No, we don’t have to do anything, Caelum.”

“Yes we do, Lillian,” he says.  “We’re taking the jet to Belize in an hour.”

I’m sad and confused.  I feel him shaking me and when I open my eyes I see it’s actually Kenny’s face before mine.  It’s then I realize we actually did win the Georgia State Lottery and I haven’t worked or spoken to Caelum in weeks.  And everything that had happened was the same dream I’ve been having since we won all of this damn money.  Kenny and I really are billionaires and yet somehow, I still wake up every morning feeling extremely disappointed.

Breaking Up is Hard to Do

I spent this morning editing and wanted to share another sample from my upcoming book with all of you.  I can't wait to publish the whole thing!!

Breaking Up is Hard to Do

            Sandy was on the couch, determined to get through dividing the rest of their DVD collection before the sun went down.  She couldn’t believe how many movies she and her soon-to-be-ex-Paul had managed to accumulate over their five-year domestic partnership.  She held up a copy of Memento and wondered which of them had wanted it more.  The irony of that thought made her smile for the first time since she had started packing.

            The back door flew open.  Paul came in and tossed a clunky set of keys on the counter, successfully disrupting the task Sandy was trying hard to accomplish.  He didn’t say anything to Sandy and she didn’t say anything to him either.  She knew he didn’t want to face the fact that they were splitting up, but he had to because it was happening.  She was leaving.

            “Do you want to keep Memento, Paul?” Sandy asked as he passed through the living room on his way to the stairs.

            “Sure, whatever,” he replied.  She noticed that he could barely look at her anymore.

            Sandy listened as he shuffled around upstairs.  It was as if he were in complete denial about the whole situation.  Granted she had made her final decision just two weeks ago, it was something she had been talking about for at least a year.  This had to be anything but a surprise to him. 

            Paul came back downstairs.  “Are you really doing this right now?” he asked.

            “Yes, I really am, Paul,” she answered.  “My parents are coming tomorrow to help with the big stuff and I want them to see that we--- that I - have made some progress in the last few days.”

            “But do we have to split our shit right now?  I mean they won’t be here until late tomorrow evening and it’s only what?  Barely 5:00?”  He slumped down on the couch next to her, resting his head on her shoulder.  “Can’t we talk about who gets what...I don’t know?  Later?”  He looked at her more hopeful.  “Never?”

            Sandy’s eyes started to well up.  “No, Paul.  We can’t put this off anymore.  I know it hurts, but we have to.  Please.”  Sandy picked up their copy of The Notebook and said, “Well, I know this one’s mine.”

            “Damn it, Sandy!” Paul exclaimed, standing up again.  He headed back to the kitchen.

            Sandy sat in silence, more frustrated than ever.  She heard cabinets open and then slam shut.  He turned on the kitchen faucet full blast.  She let out a loud sigh.

            “Hey,” Paul said, suddenly standing in the threshold of the room holding a dripping, full glass of water. 

Sandy looked up, wiping away her tears.  “What?” she asked.

“Instead of all this ‘good-bye’ stuff, do you think maybe we could say ‘hello’ again?”

            “What are you talking about?” Sandy asked, completely confused.

            He came and sat beside her again. 

            “You know, say, ‘hello,’ like we did the first day we met?  Like this.”  He took her hand and led her to the kitchen.  “Sit,” he said pointing to one of the chairs at their kitchen table.

            “Oh, my goodness, you’ve gone insane,” Sandy remarked.

            “Probably, but sit down anyway...please.”  After a moment of hesitation Sandy did what he asked of her.  Paul turned and grabbed a notepad from the counter and put it in front of her.  He then retrieved a pen from a mug full of pens and highlighters and handed that to her as well.  “Okay,” he said.  “The day we met, you were at The Safehouse Coffee Bar on Ventura.  You were sitting on the patio, despite the 100 degree weather, and you were writing feverishly.” 

            Sandy immediately protested, “I don’t know what you---.”

            “You were writing feverishly,” he repeated.  “Come on, Sand.”

            She hated to disappoint him and so she started writing on the yellow legal notepad in front of her.  He peeked over her shoulder and saw she had written:

This is stupid.

            Paul frowned.

“Then what?” she asked.

            Paul thought for a moment and snapped his fingers, saying, “Then I came up and was---.”  He dumped the mug of pens on the counter.  “I was holding a hot cup of coffee---.”

            “Despite the 100 degree weather.”

            “You’re supposed to drink hot stuff when it’s hot!  I know you’ve never believed me, but it cools me off.”  Sandy nodded, having heard him say this a thousand times before.  “Anyway,” he continued, “I came up and I said---.”

            “’Hello,’” Sandy interrupted, completing his sentence.  Paul nodded excitedly.  “And even though all of the other tables were open you asked me---.”

            “’Is anyone sitting here?’  And do you remember what you told me?”

            “I said, ‘Nope.  I’m alone.’”

            “Thank God!”  Paul exclaimed, taking the seat across from her.  “To which I replied---.”

            “’Aren’t we all?’”  Paul was lost for a moment, seeing in his mind the both of them sitting on The Safehouse Coffee Bar patio that summer’s day.

“What happened next, Paul?” asked Sandy, finally giving in to Paul’s walk down memory lane.

            He searched her eyes for a moment to remember.  “I asked you what you were writing and you said, ‘The greatest story never told.’”  They both laughed.  “God damn, you were clever, Sand.”

            “Thanks!  Then what?”

            Paul tilted his head back, pretending to drink the rest of his imaginary coffee.  He slammed the mug down on the wooden table with a loud thud and took Sandy by the hand, leading her back to the living room couch.

            “I took you to a movie,” Paul said, sitting them both down.

            “Oh, yeah, that awful Chainsaw Massacre movie.”

            “Right!  And I covered your eyes to protect you from the scenes I thought might give you nightmares.”

            Sandy pulled Paul’s hands away from her eyes, replying, “But I got them anyway.”

            “Hey, at least I tried!”

            Sandy decided to cut him some slack.  “Okay, then what happened?”

            Paul arched his eyebrows suggestively and answered, “Why, my dear, sweet Sandy, don’t you remember?”

            It was apparent she did not and so Paul got up and ran to the bedroom.  She followed right behind him.  He put a hand on each of her shoulders and lightly pushed her back onto their bed.  Her legs dangled off the edge as he spread them so that he could stand between them.

            “Then I charmed the pants off you,” he said, adding, “Quite literally I’m afraid.”

            Sandy nodded as the memories of that night and all that followed for the next five years came flooding into her mind.  “Then what, Paul?” she asked.

            Paul lay down next to her, running his hand through her soft, dark hair.  “And then, sweet lady, we fell in love,” he said.

            “Was it easy?” she asked.

            “It was too easy, Sand.”  He wiped a tear from her eye.  “And then we moved in together.  We lived here in this house through earthquakes, auditions, concerts, camping trips, too many cancelled TV pilots to count, and...”

            “Five trips to rehab,” added Sandy.

            Paul nodded and finally broke down, allowing himself to cry for the first time.  Sandy got up from the bed, leaving him to weep alone, not knowing how to comfort him anymore.           

            “I’m sorry, Paul,” she said. 

He nodded because he understood she had reached her breaking point.  Sandy went downstairs and started to sort their DVD collection again.