More to the story…

So I haven’t posted much in the way of my WriMo story recently, so there’s bit more below.  I realized that I don’t do dialogue well.  Oh well.  I finally got a good chunk done, after my first write-in (yay!) today.  Pictures at some point I will try and post as well…

Section 1 – on the phone:

“Good morning, this is Samantha.  How can I direct your call?”

“Hi Sam!  This is Timothy – how are you doing?”

“Pretty well.  Did you want to talk to Mr. Bruckerman?”

“Uh…actually, I was hoping you could help me.  I want to get him a gift for all the advice and help he’s given me recently.”

“Well, I could probably suggest a book…”

“Oh, no no, nothing like that.  Do you have his calendar?  Maybe symphony tickets on the 23rd?”

“He actually will be traveling in California that night.  The 21st would work.”

“Right.  The 21st.  For him and Sarah, of course”

“The date looks fine, but I’m not sure about the symphony.  They’d have to get a sitter.”

“That’s right!  There’s a daughter now.  Hm, maybe I should think about a book.”

“Right, just let me know if I can help.”

“Thanks Sam!  It’s always great to talk to you.”

“Thanks – I like hearing from you too.”

It may seem like not much, but friendliness counts.  And individual opinion counts.  Anyone asking mine in something I could reasonably be expected to know something about felt good.  I am an intellectual, yes, and able to analyze my own thought patterns and feelings.  But analyzing a feeling does not eliminate that emotion.  And much as I knew that a part of my reaction to the entire conversation was due to my own frustration with underappreciation and lack of use of my talents in my current job, I still couldn’t help but harbor a certain fondness for Timothy after that.

Section 2: Voting days are no fun

Voting days are the worst days possible for relationships.  On November 3, 1998, my first boyfriend dumped me long distance from the college he was attending two hours away.  He did it, of course, by phone.  He almost seemed guilty about it.

“Uh…I just don’t really think this is going anywhere.  I mean, I still really like you.  I want us to be friends.”

Who wants to be friends with someone like you anyway?  “Maybe.  I just need some time to think about it, you know?”

“Sure.  Do you want to get together and talk or anything?”


“Oh.  Well I guess I just don’t know what else to say.”

“There’s not really anything to say.  I’ll talk to you later.”

“Um, ok.  Bye.”

Mabel was particularly defensive about the whole thing.

“It’s totally ridiculous.  I want to drive down there, knock on his door, kick him in the nuts, and then just drive away.”

“Thanks, Mabel.”

“He doesn’t even know what I look like anyway.  And besides, he deserves it for acting like such a- well, I don’t even know what.”

Anger seemed like the best antidote to sadness I had.  “I would like to tie him down to his stupid bunk bed and let him rot there until he realizes the error of his ways.”

Of course, Linda wouldn’t let me linger in it.  “Come on Sammie, that’s just not very realistic.”

“Realism sucks.  I need to build myself a better fantasy world.”

On November 6, 2001, I ran into Issac, the summer crush I almost lost my virginity to.  He was now dating a pregnant woman.  The father of the child had run back to England after getting his girlfriend pregnant.  I’m not sure how Issac had met her, but the entire situation hit me pretty hard.

“So, are you going to marry this woman?”

“No.  She knows I don’t want to get married anytime soon.”

“I don’t know how I feel about you being involved with a pregnant woman.”

“Are you talking about the emotions and hormones?  Because i’m perfectly prepared to deal with that.”

“No.  It’s more of the fact that she has to be looking towards a very specific future.  I feel like it’s too easy to take advantage of that.  I feel almost like you should marry her.  Or that there’s a sense of pity on your part.  I don’t know, it’s weird.”

“I just like her.  That’s good enough for now.”  This from the guy I’d been heartsick over for at least a month after he ran back to Georgia.  Totally stubbornly noncommittal.

“I suppose that’s fair if it works for her.  Still, it’d be something I’d worry about – I am worried about it.”

He stroked my nose quickly.  “You always worry.”