Post by Kelsey on Aug 2, 2012 22:45:05 GMT -8
I literally decided today that I would participate in Camp NaNo. Now, I'm in no way saying that I'll actually get to 50k, especially seeing as how I'm moving to college in about a week, and that can get pretty crazy. But, I haven't written anything in a while, and I figured I'd give it a go!
I have no idea what I'm doing. This literally just came out. I had a character in mind and just let her play out for a little bit. I'm not even sure what kind of critique I'm asking for, but really, I'd just love it if you could give it a read and let me know what you think, whatever you think.
I'll try to remember to update as I go.
I have no idea what I'm doing. This literally just came out. I had a character in mind and just let her play out for a little bit. I'm not even sure what kind of critique I'm asking for, but really, I'd just love it if you could give it a read and let me know what you think, whatever you think.
In my relatively short time on earth, I’ve found that there are a few things that one needs to know in order to survive in my town. First of all, you need to know how to use a microwave. This might seem stupid, but really, if you don’t know how to microwave, you pretty much won’t eat. In my apartment complex, I know all of two families - the Bensons and the Oschin twins - who know how to use their stove. The rest of us might manage a meal or two out of ours, but the majority of our meals consist mainly of Lean Cuisines and corn dogs.
Second of all, you have to know how to work the bus system. In Marville, the main roads are basically sorry excuses for two lanes, seeing as how if two cars happen to pass each other, there is a 99.9% chance that their side windows will at least tap one another. So, in order to avoid any unnecessary death by car crash, the majority of us just walk everywhere and take advantage of the buses whenever we need to get somewhere important. Driving cars, as you can probably tell, is pretty much the most terrifying thing you could do around here. So, those who’ve lived here long enough know that the safest way to get anywhere is on the bus. I mean, the roads are still ridiculous, but at least if a car gets in the way, the bus will just run it over, and you’ll be safe and sound.
The thing is, while it’s much safer taking the bus, it’s also the only way to get out of town and to your job or school, or basically anything interesting. Nothing important really ever happens in Marville. It’s more of a nothing place than anything. The whole system’s pretty simple, really, so if you don’t know how to work it, you’re pretty much screwed.
And finally, you have to know how to talk to people. I’m not saying that you have to be able to call your best friend and ask them to go to the movies. I’m not saying that you have to be able to tell your mom about that new job that you managed to get last week. What I’m talking about is going up to that random stranger on the sidewalk and asking them for the time of day. Around here, the population pretty much rotates on a monthly basis. Last week, two families moved out of the complex and two more moved in. Yesterday, my next door neighbor high-tailed it out of this place to move in with her high class boyfriend downtown. No one stays here for more than six months at a time. Well, no one except for me, Abigail, the Bensons, and the Oschin twins.
Anyways, with all the new people dropping in and out of your life, you’re going to have to learn the skill of talking to people you would have never thought to talk to before. Otherwise, you’ll be left alone on a Saturday night, feeding your cat and watching reruns of Friends until an early bedtime of 9:00. How do I know this?
Well, if there’s anything a lifetime of private school education taught me, it was certainly not how to talk to strangers.
I didn’t grow up in Marville. Actually, I’m pretty sure people end up in Marville rather than grow up here. My mom and I used to live in one of the more respectable residential areas when I was younger, and she enrolled me early on in one of the more respectable private schools available to us. And honestly, it was a decent school experience. I made some friends, learned some facts, and even got to study a bit of religion while I was there. I mean, you can’t really go to a Christian private school without learning a little bit about what the whole religion’s about, right? Altogether, not a bad experience, and I’m grateful that she thought my education mattered enough to put me in such a good school.
My problem arose when I never left. The school taught from first grade through twelfth, and while the majority of my classmates moved on to either the local public school or another high school in town, I asked my mom if I could stay. And, being the kind and generous mom she was, she let me.
I’m not about to comment on whether or not I should regret that. It’s been six years since I graduated high school. Wallowing in self pity or patting myself on the back for my secondary academic life is kind of pointless nowadays. Still, it should be said that while I succeeded in academics, the social aspect of life kind of evaded me entirely.
While I did meet new people every year, I never felt out of place. That school kind of became a safety blanket for me, and when I couldn’t find a friend amongst my thirty-two classmates, I always had a teacher to talk to who knew me well. Once I graduated and moved onto community college, I learned something about myself: I suck at being a person around other people.
Sixty days. That’s how long it took for me to drop out and move to Marville. And during those sixty days, I literally spoke the same two words maybe three times before shutting up entirely: Tami Lerwick. (My name, of course.) I don’t even know why, but for some reason, whenever I would walk into class early, my hands would get all sweaty, and I would curse my inner alarm clock for waking me up on time. The idea of sitting in class and not knowing a single person within a mile’s distance still makes me want to throw up, really. And yeah, yeah, I know it’s ridiculous. Sometimes you just have to look at yourself, admit your stupidity, and move on with life before you go crazy.
Well, I moved to Marville when I was nineteen and got a job at the diner my mom used to take me to whenever we’d drive through the town when I was a girl. From my apartment, I have to walk a block to the metro, ride for two stops, then walk a block more to the diner, and the whole process takes about fifteen minutes at the most. I do that every weekday at 7:45, and I come home every night at 8 after the dinner rush is over. Most of the other waiters and waitresses work either the morning or night shift, but I’ve always liked to keep busy. And, for some reason, when I’m in uniform and doing a job, I can actually talk to people. That sort of knowledge has kept me at that job for five years now.
I was going to work at the diner for a couple years before finding some kind of internship at the local paper. I’ve always wanted to get into the publishing career in some way or another. My fingers have never been able to pen the next Moby Dick or anything, but I’ve been pretty good with words for as long as I can remember. I figured that people could use an editor somewhere, even if it didn’t make that much money first starting out.
Then, when I was twenty, my mom died.
Yeah, it was bad. Growing up, my mom was the one constant I had in my life. Friends left my school constantly, but Mom was always there when I came home each day. Not only was she not there anymore, but she left my little sister Abigail alone in their home. She was only nine, and the only relative still living to take care of her was me, so within the week, I was the caretaker of a child with no idea what to do with her.
Originally, she had been attending my old school, but since she was now living in my apartment in Marville, she had to transfer to the local public school. That had been rather fun. I’d been too nervous to go talk to the principal myself, so I had to bring her with me. The secretary had assumed I was just bringing her along to let her feel included in the process. I let her believe that; there was no point in informing her that I was a grown woman who needed to bring my nine year old sister along with me to feel slightly less uncomfortable talking to strangers.
Abigail, thank God, seemed to grow socially much better than I did, and I’ll let you be the judge of whether or not her schooling had something to do with that. She’s made friends, been to sleepovers, and even been voted student council president. In all honesty, I’m quite proud of the little bugger.
Of course, it is a little pathetic that my thirteen year old sister now has a better social life than I’ve ever had, but you know, minor details.
These days, since my boss gives me the weekends off, I generally spend my time knitting in front of the tv with the cat to keep me company.
On a particularly warm night in August, I was in the process of re-watching all six seasons of Doctor Who for the seventh time when I heard a knock on the door. Curiously, I turned to look at Darren, our cat, who was currently sprawled out on the cushion beside me. Not used to visitors himself, he stared right back at me, as if asking, “Who would knock on our door?”
I shrugged, as if he could understand my movements, and settled back into the couch. The Doctor and Rose were about to leave on their first trip together in the TARDIS when the knock came back, faster and louder this time. Cautiously, I lifted the remote and hit pause, shifting in my seat to face the door.
“Seriously, Dare,” I whispered. “Who the hell could that be?” He yawned.
I waited a minute more when the knock returned, this time with a shout or two. “Come on, Tami! Open the door already! I know you’re in there!”
I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. That was the voice of Charlie Oschin, our beloved next door neighbor of a miraculous eight months. After knowing her for that long, I knew that Charlie would not stop knocking on my door until Mr. Ferguson across the hall called the super and had her physically removed.
With another calming breath, I walked over to the door and slowly unlocked it. “What’s up, Charlie?” I asked quietly, my face only barely peeking out. Seriously, what the hell was wrong with me?
“Tami, what the hell is wrong with you?” she asked loudly, hands on her hips. I guess my inherent pathetic-ness was visible. “I haven’t seen you in literally a month. How is that even possible? We literally live three steps away from each other!”
I shrugged my shoulders, keeping the door semi closed. “I’ve been busy.”
“B.S., Tami. You haven’t been busy for as long as I’ve known you.”
“Not true. I’ve been busy with work.”
She opened her mouth, apparently wanting to give a sassy retort, but what I had said was true. I mean, working twelve hour days at pretty much the only restaurant with edible and tasty food in the area could take it out of you. Still, she wasn’t convinced. “Alright, fine. But you only work weekdays, and don’t even try to deny it!
“And since you only work weekdays, that’s left you eight days where you could have at least knocked on my door and said hello so that Jamie and I could know that you’re alive!”
At that I rolled my eyes and leaned back, unconsciously pulling the door back with me. “Now you’re just being ridiculous. Of course you know that I’m alive. Otherwise how would Abigail still be toting herself around everywhere?”
“I’m the one who’s ridiculous?” she asked with a sarcastic laugh. “Look at yourself! You can barely open the door to talk to a friend who you haven’t seen in a month! And I’m sorry, but if the only reason that people know you’re still drawing breath is that your thirteen year old sister is still living, you have a problem. Plus, you and I both know that Abigail could pretty much live on her own at this point. She could easily continue life almost normally if you kicked the bucket without us knowing.”
“Thanks, Charlie, that makes me feel loads better about my life,” I spat, turning away and heading for my fridge. Charlie wasn’t leaving anytime soon, and if I was going to spend the night with her, I was going to need something sweet to balance her out. “You want some ice cream?”
Second of all, you have to know how to work the bus system. In Marville, the main roads are basically sorry excuses for two lanes, seeing as how if two cars happen to pass each other, there is a 99.9% chance that their side windows will at least tap one another. So, in order to avoid any unnecessary death by car crash, the majority of us just walk everywhere and take advantage of the buses whenever we need to get somewhere important. Driving cars, as you can probably tell, is pretty much the most terrifying thing you could do around here. So, those who’ve lived here long enough know that the safest way to get anywhere is on the bus. I mean, the roads are still ridiculous, but at least if a car gets in the way, the bus will just run it over, and you’ll be safe and sound.
The thing is, while it’s much safer taking the bus, it’s also the only way to get out of town and to your job or school, or basically anything interesting. Nothing important really ever happens in Marville. It’s more of a nothing place than anything. The whole system’s pretty simple, really, so if you don’t know how to work it, you’re pretty much screwed.
And finally, you have to know how to talk to people. I’m not saying that you have to be able to call your best friend and ask them to go to the movies. I’m not saying that you have to be able to tell your mom about that new job that you managed to get last week. What I’m talking about is going up to that random stranger on the sidewalk and asking them for the time of day. Around here, the population pretty much rotates on a monthly basis. Last week, two families moved out of the complex and two more moved in. Yesterday, my next door neighbor high-tailed it out of this place to move in with her high class boyfriend downtown. No one stays here for more than six months at a time. Well, no one except for me, Abigail, the Bensons, and the Oschin twins.
Anyways, with all the new people dropping in and out of your life, you’re going to have to learn the skill of talking to people you would have never thought to talk to before. Otherwise, you’ll be left alone on a Saturday night, feeding your cat and watching reruns of Friends until an early bedtime of 9:00. How do I know this?
Well, if there’s anything a lifetime of private school education taught me, it was certainly not how to talk to strangers.
I didn’t grow up in Marville. Actually, I’m pretty sure people end up in Marville rather than grow up here. My mom and I used to live in one of the more respectable residential areas when I was younger, and she enrolled me early on in one of the more respectable private schools available to us. And honestly, it was a decent school experience. I made some friends, learned some facts, and even got to study a bit of religion while I was there. I mean, you can’t really go to a Christian private school without learning a little bit about what the whole religion’s about, right? Altogether, not a bad experience, and I’m grateful that she thought my education mattered enough to put me in such a good school.
My problem arose when I never left. The school taught from first grade through twelfth, and while the majority of my classmates moved on to either the local public school or another high school in town, I asked my mom if I could stay. And, being the kind and generous mom she was, she let me.
I’m not about to comment on whether or not I should regret that. It’s been six years since I graduated high school. Wallowing in self pity or patting myself on the back for my secondary academic life is kind of pointless nowadays. Still, it should be said that while I succeeded in academics, the social aspect of life kind of evaded me entirely.
While I did meet new people every year, I never felt out of place. That school kind of became a safety blanket for me, and when I couldn’t find a friend amongst my thirty-two classmates, I always had a teacher to talk to who knew me well. Once I graduated and moved onto community college, I learned something about myself: I suck at being a person around other people.
Sixty days. That’s how long it took for me to drop out and move to Marville. And during those sixty days, I literally spoke the same two words maybe three times before shutting up entirely: Tami Lerwick. (My name, of course.) I don’t even know why, but for some reason, whenever I would walk into class early, my hands would get all sweaty, and I would curse my inner alarm clock for waking me up on time. The idea of sitting in class and not knowing a single person within a mile’s distance still makes me want to throw up, really. And yeah, yeah, I know it’s ridiculous. Sometimes you just have to look at yourself, admit your stupidity, and move on with life before you go crazy.
Well, I moved to Marville when I was nineteen and got a job at the diner my mom used to take me to whenever we’d drive through the town when I was a girl. From my apartment, I have to walk a block to the metro, ride for two stops, then walk a block more to the diner, and the whole process takes about fifteen minutes at the most. I do that every weekday at 7:45, and I come home every night at 8 after the dinner rush is over. Most of the other waiters and waitresses work either the morning or night shift, but I’ve always liked to keep busy. And, for some reason, when I’m in uniform and doing a job, I can actually talk to people. That sort of knowledge has kept me at that job for five years now.
I was going to work at the diner for a couple years before finding some kind of internship at the local paper. I’ve always wanted to get into the publishing career in some way or another. My fingers have never been able to pen the next Moby Dick or anything, but I’ve been pretty good with words for as long as I can remember. I figured that people could use an editor somewhere, even if it didn’t make that much money first starting out.
Then, when I was twenty, my mom died.
Yeah, it was bad. Growing up, my mom was the one constant I had in my life. Friends left my school constantly, but Mom was always there when I came home each day. Not only was she not there anymore, but she left my little sister Abigail alone in their home. She was only nine, and the only relative still living to take care of her was me, so within the week, I was the caretaker of a child with no idea what to do with her.
Originally, she had been attending my old school, but since she was now living in my apartment in Marville, she had to transfer to the local public school. That had been rather fun. I’d been too nervous to go talk to the principal myself, so I had to bring her with me. The secretary had assumed I was just bringing her along to let her feel included in the process. I let her believe that; there was no point in informing her that I was a grown woman who needed to bring my nine year old sister along with me to feel slightly less uncomfortable talking to strangers.
Abigail, thank God, seemed to grow socially much better than I did, and I’ll let you be the judge of whether or not her schooling had something to do with that. She’s made friends, been to sleepovers, and even been voted student council president. In all honesty, I’m quite proud of the little bugger.
Of course, it is a little pathetic that my thirteen year old sister now has a better social life than I’ve ever had, but you know, minor details.
These days, since my boss gives me the weekends off, I generally spend my time knitting in front of the tv with the cat to keep me company.
*****
On a particularly warm night in August, I was in the process of re-watching all six seasons of Doctor Who for the seventh time when I heard a knock on the door. Curiously, I turned to look at Darren, our cat, who was currently sprawled out on the cushion beside me. Not used to visitors himself, he stared right back at me, as if asking, “Who would knock on our door?”
I shrugged, as if he could understand my movements, and settled back into the couch. The Doctor and Rose were about to leave on their first trip together in the TARDIS when the knock came back, faster and louder this time. Cautiously, I lifted the remote and hit pause, shifting in my seat to face the door.
“Seriously, Dare,” I whispered. “Who the hell could that be?” He yawned.
I waited a minute more when the knock returned, this time with a shout or two. “Come on, Tami! Open the door already! I know you’re in there!”
I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. That was the voice of Charlie Oschin, our beloved next door neighbor of a miraculous eight months. After knowing her for that long, I knew that Charlie would not stop knocking on my door until Mr. Ferguson across the hall called the super and had her physically removed.
With another calming breath, I walked over to the door and slowly unlocked it. “What’s up, Charlie?” I asked quietly, my face only barely peeking out. Seriously, what the hell was wrong with me?
“Tami, what the hell is wrong with you?” she asked loudly, hands on her hips. I guess my inherent pathetic-ness was visible. “I haven’t seen you in literally a month. How is that even possible? We literally live three steps away from each other!”
I shrugged my shoulders, keeping the door semi closed. “I’ve been busy.”
“B.S., Tami. You haven’t been busy for as long as I’ve known you.”
“Not true. I’ve been busy with work.”
She opened her mouth, apparently wanting to give a sassy retort, but what I had said was true. I mean, working twelve hour days at pretty much the only restaurant with edible and tasty food in the area could take it out of you. Still, she wasn’t convinced. “Alright, fine. But you only work weekdays, and don’t even try to deny it!
“And since you only work weekdays, that’s left you eight days where you could have at least knocked on my door and said hello so that Jamie and I could know that you’re alive!”
At that I rolled my eyes and leaned back, unconsciously pulling the door back with me. “Now you’re just being ridiculous. Of course you know that I’m alive. Otherwise how would Abigail still be toting herself around everywhere?”
“I’m the one who’s ridiculous?” she asked with a sarcastic laugh. “Look at yourself! You can barely open the door to talk to a friend who you haven’t seen in a month! And I’m sorry, but if the only reason that people know you’re still drawing breath is that your thirteen year old sister is still living, you have a problem. Plus, you and I both know that Abigail could pretty much live on her own at this point. She could easily continue life almost normally if you kicked the bucket without us knowing.”
“Thanks, Charlie, that makes me feel loads better about my life,” I spat, turning away and heading for my fridge. Charlie wasn’t leaving anytime soon, and if I was going to spend the night with her, I was going to need something sweet to balance her out. “You want some ice cream?”
I'll try to remember to update as I go.
