Post by redjasper on Apr 12, 2007 17:05:14 GMT -5
I'm so happy to discover this creativity section! 
I've been to a few writing workshops and I've had some fun writing stuff, but I'm a bit shy about sending something to a writing competition. This piece called 'Awkward' is a bit of experimental writing I did last spring. It's based on a dream I had, not about Marty because I hadn't heard of Marty yet, but I'd gladly replace the guy it was about with Marty.
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Awkward
I show up. I’m hanging out with his sister, Nora. We sit around reading. But I’m waiting for him. Nora’s reading about a jazz legend. I’m reading about chair design. But I’m really there to see him. He’s carrying boxes to the front door. Grace’s things. No one is talking. He’s ignoring me.
Other women start to arrive. They’re going to the art exhibit with Nora. She puts down her book and heads outside. I’m looking at an atlas because I love maps. But I’m crazy about him. He’s putting his jacket on. He moves towards the door. I move towards my coat.
She’s there. Grace. She’s been mingling with the art women. On the driveway. I'm up on the porch with him. They’re all talking. We’re ignoring them. He’s propped against the railing. I’m leaning against the window. His blue eyes find me. He’s moving over. His palms brush my cheeks, his legs straddle my legs. Energy is passing through us. He’s leaning in and I’m being kissed. We’re kissing.
I’m dizzy from his heat, from his weight against me. Silence from the art women. Grace is standing on the bottom step. Riveted on us. He’s ignoring her. He whispers, “Let’s go get some food.” He grabs my wrist and steers me around the railing and down the steps, right past her.
We’re at the diner and I’m not talking. He’s ordering for us. I’m sitting beside him. I’m fiddling with the salt shaker. Arm touching arm, thigh pressing thigh. Waiting for heat. Grace is marching up to our table. She’s thrusting her arm out. My knapsack is on the end of it. “Nora says this belongs to you.” She lets go. The knapsack catches the table edge, tumbles to the floor. It’s upside down. Out of my reach.
I've been to a few writing workshops and I've had some fun writing stuff, but I'm a bit shy about sending something to a writing competition. This piece called 'Awkward' is a bit of experimental writing I did last spring. It's based on a dream I had, not about Marty because I hadn't heard of Marty yet, but I'd gladly replace the guy it was about with Marty.
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Awkward
I show up. I’m hanging out with his sister, Nora. We sit around reading. But I’m waiting for him. Nora’s reading about a jazz legend. I’m reading about chair design. But I’m really there to see him. He’s carrying boxes to the front door. Grace’s things. No one is talking. He’s ignoring me.
Other women start to arrive. They’re going to the art exhibit with Nora. She puts down her book and heads outside. I’m looking at an atlas because I love maps. But I’m crazy about him. He’s putting his jacket on. He moves towards the door. I move towards my coat.
She’s there. Grace. She’s been mingling with the art women. On the driveway. I'm up on the porch with him. They’re all talking. We’re ignoring them. He’s propped against the railing. I’m leaning against the window. His blue eyes find me. He’s moving over. His palms brush my cheeks, his legs straddle my legs. Energy is passing through us. He’s leaning in and I’m being kissed. We’re kissing.
I’m dizzy from his heat, from his weight against me. Silence from the art women. Grace is standing on the bottom step. Riveted on us. He’s ignoring her. He whispers, “Let’s go get some food.” He grabs my wrist and steers me around the railing and down the steps, right past her.
We’re at the diner and I’m not talking. He’s ordering for us. I’m sitting beside him. I’m fiddling with the salt shaker. Arm touching arm, thigh pressing thigh. Waiting for heat. Grace is marching up to our table. She’s thrusting her arm out. My knapsack is on the end of it. “Nora says this belongs to you.” She lets go. The knapsack catches the table edge, tumbles to the floor. It’s upside down. Out of my reach.
.
Just like it really happened. Whoa! 
