I like our little ragtag group. We have one woman who lives in Singapore, three in the Philippines, one in Los Angeles, and two here in the Bay Area. One of our members, the lovely Susan Evangelista, wrote an article about us for the online mag Our Own Voice.
One of my favorite prompts from this group, was the opening lines from The English Patient. Here's what I wrote (the first paragraph is from the novel):
It was already cold in the cave. He wrapped the parachute around her for warmth. He lit one small fire and burned the acacia twigs and waved smoke into all the corners of the cave.
"What are you doing?" she asked.
"I'm not sure. I saw it in a movie." He began to cough. "Maybe it gets rid of bugs or something."
"And what is this again?" she was full of questions. She flapped her arms to let him know what she was asking about.
"It's a parachute," he said, as if this made perfect sense.
"Let me guess: you saw it in a movie."
He found her lovely. Her thick hair twirled into an enormous bun at the back of her head, her delicate wrists, the way she was underwhelmed by everything he did to impress her. He pulled a large flashlight from his backpack and flicked it on. This is when she
threw up.
"Oh my God," he said, scrambling through his backpack for a bottle of water. He'd filled the bag with everything from band-aids to condoms, the latter a testimony to his confidence. Set your sights high, his mother always said. He was finally taking her advice. "Are you okay?"
"There's a rat." Her voice was measured. She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand and took the water from him. "Well, half a rat." She took a sip of water and continued to stare at the partially eaten corpse. Then, remembering that she'd thrown up, she set to work piling some rocks over the mess she'd made. The smoke from the twigs masked any unpleasant odor.
He watched her, admiring her odd lack of embarrassment and wondering if he should help. Despite the decidedly unromantic turn of events, he longed to kiss her.
"Let's get something straight," she said, adjusting the parachute and, apparently, reading his mind. "I agreed to this 'date' because our mothers are friends, and they wouldn't leave me alone until I agreed to go out with Mr. Big Handsome Pinoy guy. That's it. I certainly didn't think I'd end up in a cave with a parachute, a rat, and you staring at me with puppy-dog eyes. So just cut it out. We aren't going to have sex. We're not even going to hold hands. You will have nothing—and I mean NOTHING—to report back to your football player friends."
"Okay." He was unfazed. "Let's just talk."
"Frankly, I don't even want to speak to you. This type of thing might work for those Barbie-types you're so fond of squiring around school, but not for me."
"Squiring? What's 'squiring?'
"Never mind."
She was right. This type of thing did work for the tousled-hair blondes he always asked out. He had never dated someone of his own race, and he knew that the Filipino girls he passed in the halls at school disliked him for it. He was vaguely ashamed about the whole thing, but the truth was that he felt intimidated by Filipino girls. It was as if they knew his secrets, could tell when he lied, could sense his weaknesses. This was true of his mother and even his little sister. But he couldn't admit it out loud.
"Wait," he said. "Are you jealous?"
"Of what?"
"Those girls you're talking about."
She sighed. "No."
"You're just as beautiful," he offered. "More, even."
"Shut up."
"You are."
"I'm smarter."
"That, too."
"And funnier," she said, finally smiling.
"Definitely."
Their laughter echoed off the cave walls, surrounding them like the smoke. The silence that followed was long and uneasy. Any other girl would have filled it with giggles and empty talk, but she simply stared at him until he had to look away. Then she opened her arms wide, and the parachute spread like wings. He crawled over to her, laid her down gently, and wrapped the parachute around them.
finis
Okey dokes, then. Just trying to psyche myself up to write for the new prompt. Wish me buena suerte...
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