Monday, July 12, 2004

To Do: Write

What with all this Disneyland business, all this big hair nonsense, all this just-trying-to-get-through-the-day stuff, I haven't done much writing. There's a dull, nagging, vaguely mocking silence where all the stories should be. And so I'm glad that I'm "up" at writer's group next week, and I'm thankful to Marianne Villanueva for inviting me to join because otherwise who knows when I'd get my butt in gear?

Anyways, I'm not so sure which piece to run by the group, but I'm leaning towards "Bernie Aragon, Jr. Looks For Love." And just to remind myself (and anyone else who cares) that I write fiction, I write fiction, I write fiction, I'll post the beginning of the story:

Watsonville, CA., 1929

On his way home from working the morning shift at the Silver Spoon Diner, Bernie Aragon, Jr., aged twenty-seven, stopped to help an old woman. She wore a brown hat with one feather tucked into the band and was struggling to cross the street while cradling an overstuffed bag of groceries.

"Allow me, ma'am."

"How gallant you are!" the old woman said as she transferred her burden into his arms. They walked side by side in silence. After unlocking her front door the woman hesitated, but then ushered Bernie through.

He placed the bag on a small table in the foyer and turned to face the woman. She held a nickel in her outstretched hand. Bernie blushed and said, "If you please, no thank you ma'am."

"Well why on earth did you help me, then?" Her tone was not unkind.

"My mother lives in the Philippines," he answered. "I haven't seen her for six years, and I miss her terribly." Then he walked out the door and shut it quietly behind him.

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