stranger than fiction
I forced myself to start writing comics again and found my skills were suffering as of late. So i finally picked up that book that's been sitting on my shelf for a few years "The Lie that Tells a Truth: A Guide to Fiction Writing" hoping to find some good advice to advance my skills as a writer/cartoonist (which are basically the same thing, anyway. cartooning is just an older form for writing) It also contains many writing exercises that I wanted to try. So Wednesday night after walking home from work, I sat at my computer and started typing. Before I knew it, it was after midnight and I had typed 4 pages about the first girl I fell in love with. It's not finished. I haven't had a chance to go back to it but I think I'll finish it soon. I wanted to post these exercises here and see if anyone was willing to critique my crap if even look at it at all.
First Love
Can’t hardly remember the first time I saw Jennie Froetchel. She was always seated behind me in math class and in reading through elementary school. And in choir she always stood in the alto section looking across at the only male soprano belting the high notes. (I was a late bloomer and damn proud of my freakish voice.) I even found her in a couple old photos from my first communion. She was so quiet and unassuming back then drawing her little pictures of Garfield. Lord knows how she finally found her voice.
I remember when it happened (before it happened.) I stayed after school for a literary magazine meeting or a school paper meeting or it really could have been any of the clubs I was a member of. But for whatever reason that day I decided to skip out and full around in the art room; an odd choice because I recall usually skipping off to the band room during all my free time, I never kept anything special in the art room, and I can’t recall what I was doing there in the first place. I must have been admiring that abstract painting that had been hanging on the wall for some time. I was so enticed that I failed to observe Ms Froetchel sneak up behind me and jab me in the back with the rear side of the stapler.
“Gotcha!” she screamed as I jumped out of my skin. “Thought you could get away with it, Doctor? I’ve already figured out your plot to kill the French ambassador and Special Forces are already en route to intercept his daughter.” I didn’t turn around. I stood there for a few moments confused at what was going on. I knew who this was, but then again, I really didn’t know who this was. “Well? What do you have to say for yourself?” She was playing a game. Should I play along? I thought. It was silly and unexpected. I slowly raised my hands up to the sides of my head ready to surrender. An evil grin crossed my face as I brought them together to begin a slow clap.
“Well done, Miss Froetchel. You certainly are… resourceful. But though you may have caught me off guard at the moment, you cannot expect my genius was unprepared for your arrival.” I turned slowly inching my way towards the light switch. She kept the stapler poised on me. She had an intense look in her eye but she was smiling slightly. I couldn’t tell if that was acting or if she was actually enjoying my reaction. “You had an easy enough time taking out my security. Let’s see how you fair against my NAZI ZOMBIE BUGBEARS!” I slapped the light switch off, supposedly releasing the pack of imaginary monsters from the adjacent room. She laughed, we went on playing the little secret agent scenario until our improvisation muscles were worn out and we had already made our way through most of the school before exiting through the loading dock and into the practice field where we crashed on the grass.
We must have been there for an hour or two talking about hobbies and fandoms. It was spring and the sun was shining off her pale face. I remember her eyes. I had trouble figuring out what color they were. Somewhere between blue, green, and gray. Maybe some brown in there, too? Her hair was a little messed up from our adventure and the yellow flower barrette was hanging down. She didn’t seem to care. The corners of her lips curled up when she smiled. I was seeing this girl for the first time. That day I saw her soft frame encasing a wealth of energy and imagination. Her imperfections made her seem so much more perfect. She was beautiful inside and out.
The moment I realized this our conversation was cut short as her ride showed up. I didn’t have much else to say but “so long” as she skipped off to her father’s van. The last glimpse I caught of her was of her ass as she was getting in. Keep in mind I was a young teen at the time. I have looked at some fine behinds before then and since then but I contest that there will never be an ass in history that is more perfect than Jennie Froetchel’s. And as perfect as it was, I knew from that day, my ass was toast.
I would like to think things got better from that day on, but I was never one to take big leaps of faith. As far as crushes went I would always the nerd who passively pined for the hot girl. Then I would write in my journal about how I almost said hi to her during lunch but chickened out at the last second. With Jennie, conversation came easy. We could study together, eat lunch at the same table, goof around the auditorium when we should be in band. Friendship was easy for me. Holding back my rising affections for her was the hard thing.
Puberty was not helping the situation. As my hormones grew so did her curves. Her perfect ass had gathered a perfect set of tits to match. Other boys were starting to take interest in her and they put me in a very awkward position. I knew I was going to have to make a move eventually. I just didn’t know how to go about it. It is pity teenhood doesn’t come with an instruction manual.
I was beginning to feel distant from her. Since she had discovered theater, our silly little games weren’t as interesting to her and seemed childish. We still occasionally played our little role-playing games, but she was clearly more skilled than me at the time. Still I tried my best to impress her. Perhaps I was trying too hard at times. She did seem a little annoyed, though she would never say it.
I was probably being too obvious. I am not sure. She apparently knew but wasn’t about to tell me. In fact I heard from a friend of a friend who heard it from her friend that she was already knew I had a thing for her. She was perfectly okay with it. So at least I had that.
She didn’t dislike me. That was never the problem. She still saw me as a goofy kid. I guess first impressions are hard to shake off but I still had some connection with her.
We continued to stay friends into high school. It wasn’t until sophmore year before the homecoming dance that I actually asked her out. In person? Hell no! I was still way too nervous and it was right around that time when everyone started using the Internet. I emailed her my proposal. She sent a reply back to me a day or two later. Evidently she was going out of town that weekend and wasn’t going to be available for the dance at all. She said she was flattered, though, and felt sorry that she couldn’t go with me. So the next time she saw me she walked up, gave me a big hug from behind and asked
“Would you like to go to the Sadie Hawkins dance with me next month?” I was overflowing with joy. I thought I could burst. Who cares if it was partially out of pity? I was going on a real date (sorta). What was more important was that she asked to spend time with me. I had to make this a night she would remember.
I arrived to her house a little early that night in my flannel shirt and blue jeans, all set for a good old fashion hoot-nanny. She seemed a little under the weather as we drove their in her father’s van and things didn’t get better when we arrived at the school. We spent the majority of the evening hanging out at the snack stand where our friend Tim was working. She didn’t feel much like dancing and I didn’t feel much like leaving her side to mingle with my other classmates who seemed to actually be having a good time.
The night did give us the chance to talk. It had been some time since we had time to just have a deep conversation. As the night wound down it became obvious that she was looking rather ill. I suggested we end the date early and she called for her ride. As I waited there outside the school we suddenly found ourselves in a moment of silence. I wondered what she thought of me, if she even thought anything of me. I thought maybe this wasn’t going to work out. I wasn’t her type, never was. She wasn’t going to say anything.
She turned her head and looked at me. I had been staring at her. She noticed and looked a little annoyed. A little embarrassed, I turned my head looking for a conversation starter. “You have pretty eyes.” No, you idiot! Something else “Nice weather, huh?” It was raining. Try again. “How about those…local sports teams…?”
She took a few steps away from me and folded her arms. There wasn’t much room under the small shelter where we were standing but it felt like a football fiend was between us. Another minute of awkward silence and I couldn’t stand it anymore.
“Look… I’m sorry tonight wasn’t great.” I said. She just looked at me and shrugged.
“It’s not your fault I got sick”
“No. It is me.” I interrupted her. Maybe something else was on her mind, but I something compelled me for once to act on my emotions. “I know I am not your kind of man. I try too hard I get it. I even annoy myself at times. Maybe you’ll come around and maybe I will eventually lose interest but tonight I know if I bury my emotions for you I will regret it for the rest of my life. So tell me to back off and I’ll back off. Bottom line, I’m not ready to give up on you. So just expect more of me.”
In a perfect world a boy and a girl meet. They fall in love. They kiss for the first time. The kiss starts out soft with her lips poised to his. She tilts her head slightly and he pulls her in as the kiss deepens. His hand slowly creeps down her back and he wraps his palm around one cheek of her perfect round ass. She relents; pushing her bosom into him and gently digs her nails into the back of his neck. His other hand caresses works its way through her hair until he is massaging her scalp in a circular motion. One of them has to come up for air eventually. When that happens, the tongue is free to explore. This is something new to taste. She bites his lower lip and tugs on it as their hands begin exploring each other-
HEY! Over here in the real not-so-perfect world!
She didn’t say anything. She got in her parents car and drove off. Not so much as a “see you in school”. She just left. Was she upset? Was she surprised? Did she even watch me take reach into my chest, take out my still beating heart and set it out on the rain soaked pavement for her and all Bethel Park High School to see? I had plenty of time to ask myself these questions as I walked home in the rain. (I lived only 5 miles form he school and I made the trip many times before.)
I wondered if I made any progress in my personal development. I know a few years ago, even a month ago, I wouldn’t have had the courage to say anything at all that night. But something inside me compelled me to act. Some force tugged my heartstrings like an alien puppet master and forced the words out of my mouth. It was like their was a creature growing inside of me, filling me with a boldness I had never known. What is this? I was too young to understand what this monster was.
Things were different following the Sadie Hawkins dance. We didn’t talk about my outburst, but we did spend more time together in the months following. She even joined the marching band late in the season and we spent some time together before and after practice tutoring her on the baritone. (I actually played the sousaphone, but both instruments are similar in how they are played.) I’ll admit, she didn’t really care for playing music, but she was enjoying the time spent with her friends. That is what band is about. The football team could be on the biggest losing streak in ten years and as long as you had section dinner, a bag of pixy sticks, and an all tuba version of Jerimiah Was a Bullfrog, it didn’t matter what was happening on the field.
I long for those days when the song in my heart was the song on my lips and the forty-two pounds of brass and silver (forty-three with the mouth piece) carried that tune across the field and up and beyond the stands. The only thing that brought me more joy was knowing that just twenty yards down the field, clad in the most unflattering orange striped uniform, white spats, and plumed bucket hat, was Jennie pretending to play a rusty old baritone (but really just fingering the keys. She never did learn how to play it right.) But football season left as quickly as it began and we all moved on to the next big school event which was the musical.
Drama was Jennie’s domain. The school musical was the one time during the year when the musicians and the theater students who are normally on opposite ends of building seven are forced to interact with each other. I wasn’t complaining. I liked performing in front of others. I had planned to play my tuba in the orchestra that year, but Jennie suggested I audition for a role with her.
“Couldn’t hurt.” She said with confidence. “I’ve heard you sing before. You had a pretty voice back when we were in choir together.” Of course the music wasn’t the problem. It was the speaking part that I was worried about. But I threw caution to the wind and went ahead with the audition not expecting much to come of it.
I was nervous. Not exceptionally nervous, but enough that I was sure I was going to screw up royally. It was late in the day and I knew the directors had already listened to dozens of auditions by now. I walked in expecting something like a panel of judges who were going to listen to my song and ridicule me until my face exploded. Then a studio audience would vote if I would stay on for callbacks or get voted off the island. Or maybe this was before reality tv and I’m just mixing up memories. Anyway, it was rather casual. I stepped up to a music stand where the audition piece was and a bit of script that I was expected to site read.
I took a deep breath. “You have a pretty voice” he words resonated in my head. Suddenly I was back at the Sadie Hawkins’s. The director sitting across from me became Jennie and the monster in my chest grabbed me by the throat and played my voice like a set of bagpipes. When I was finished I looked up from my music to see the director’s jaw had dropped. Evidently I was pretty good at singing. Who knew? I must have been riding that boost of confidence because my script reading went pretty well, too.
First Love
Can’t hardly remember the first time I saw Jennie Froetchel. She was always seated behind me in math class and in reading through elementary school. And in choir she always stood in the alto section looking across at the only male soprano belting the high notes. (I was a late bloomer and damn proud of my freakish voice.) I even found her in a couple old photos from my first communion. She was so quiet and unassuming back then drawing her little pictures of Garfield. Lord knows how she finally found her voice.
I remember when it happened (before it happened.) I stayed after school for a literary magazine meeting or a school paper meeting or it really could have been any of the clubs I was a member of. But for whatever reason that day I decided to skip out and full around in the art room; an odd choice because I recall usually skipping off to the band room during all my free time, I never kept anything special in the art room, and I can’t recall what I was doing there in the first place. I must have been admiring that abstract painting that had been hanging on the wall for some time. I was so enticed that I failed to observe Ms Froetchel sneak up behind me and jab me in the back with the rear side of the stapler.
“Gotcha!” she screamed as I jumped out of my skin. “Thought you could get away with it, Doctor? I’ve already figured out your plot to kill the French ambassador and Special Forces are already en route to intercept his daughter.” I didn’t turn around. I stood there for a few moments confused at what was going on. I knew who this was, but then again, I really didn’t know who this was. “Well? What do you have to say for yourself?” She was playing a game. Should I play along? I thought. It was silly and unexpected. I slowly raised my hands up to the sides of my head ready to surrender. An evil grin crossed my face as I brought them together to begin a slow clap.
“Well done, Miss Froetchel. You certainly are… resourceful. But though you may have caught me off guard at the moment, you cannot expect my genius was unprepared for your arrival.” I turned slowly inching my way towards the light switch. She kept the stapler poised on me. She had an intense look in her eye but she was smiling slightly. I couldn’t tell if that was acting or if she was actually enjoying my reaction. “You had an easy enough time taking out my security. Let’s see how you fair against my NAZI ZOMBIE BUGBEARS!” I slapped the light switch off, supposedly releasing the pack of imaginary monsters from the adjacent room. She laughed, we went on playing the little secret agent scenario until our improvisation muscles were worn out and we had already made our way through most of the school before exiting through the loading dock and into the practice field where we crashed on the grass.
We must have been there for an hour or two talking about hobbies and fandoms. It was spring and the sun was shining off her pale face. I remember her eyes. I had trouble figuring out what color they were. Somewhere between blue, green, and gray. Maybe some brown in there, too? Her hair was a little messed up from our adventure and the yellow flower barrette was hanging down. She didn’t seem to care. The corners of her lips curled up when she smiled. I was seeing this girl for the first time. That day I saw her soft frame encasing a wealth of energy and imagination. Her imperfections made her seem so much more perfect. She was beautiful inside and out.
The moment I realized this our conversation was cut short as her ride showed up. I didn’t have much else to say but “so long” as she skipped off to her father’s van. The last glimpse I caught of her was of her ass as she was getting in. Keep in mind I was a young teen at the time. I have looked at some fine behinds before then and since then but I contest that there will never be an ass in history that is more perfect than Jennie Froetchel’s. And as perfect as it was, I knew from that day, my ass was toast.
I would like to think things got better from that day on, but I was never one to take big leaps of faith. As far as crushes went I would always the nerd who passively pined for the hot girl. Then I would write in my journal about how I almost said hi to her during lunch but chickened out at the last second. With Jennie, conversation came easy. We could study together, eat lunch at the same table, goof around the auditorium when we should be in band. Friendship was easy for me. Holding back my rising affections for her was the hard thing.
Puberty was not helping the situation. As my hormones grew so did her curves. Her perfect ass had gathered a perfect set of tits to match. Other boys were starting to take interest in her and they put me in a very awkward position. I knew I was going to have to make a move eventually. I just didn’t know how to go about it. It is pity teenhood doesn’t come with an instruction manual.
I was beginning to feel distant from her. Since she had discovered theater, our silly little games weren’t as interesting to her and seemed childish. We still occasionally played our little role-playing games, but she was clearly more skilled than me at the time. Still I tried my best to impress her. Perhaps I was trying too hard at times. She did seem a little annoyed, though she would never say it.
I was probably being too obvious. I am not sure. She apparently knew but wasn’t about to tell me. In fact I heard from a friend of a friend who heard it from her friend that she was already knew I had a thing for her. She was perfectly okay with it. So at least I had that.
She didn’t dislike me. That was never the problem. She still saw me as a goofy kid. I guess first impressions are hard to shake off but I still had some connection with her.
We continued to stay friends into high school. It wasn’t until sophmore year before the homecoming dance that I actually asked her out. In person? Hell no! I was still way too nervous and it was right around that time when everyone started using the Internet. I emailed her my proposal. She sent a reply back to me a day or two later. Evidently she was going out of town that weekend and wasn’t going to be available for the dance at all. She said she was flattered, though, and felt sorry that she couldn’t go with me. So the next time she saw me she walked up, gave me a big hug from behind and asked
“Would you like to go to the Sadie Hawkins dance with me next month?” I was overflowing with joy. I thought I could burst. Who cares if it was partially out of pity? I was going on a real date (sorta). What was more important was that she asked to spend time with me. I had to make this a night she would remember.
I arrived to her house a little early that night in my flannel shirt and blue jeans, all set for a good old fashion hoot-nanny. She seemed a little under the weather as we drove their in her father’s van and things didn’t get better when we arrived at the school. We spent the majority of the evening hanging out at the snack stand where our friend Tim was working. She didn’t feel much like dancing and I didn’t feel much like leaving her side to mingle with my other classmates who seemed to actually be having a good time.
The night did give us the chance to talk. It had been some time since we had time to just have a deep conversation. As the night wound down it became obvious that she was looking rather ill. I suggested we end the date early and she called for her ride. As I waited there outside the school we suddenly found ourselves in a moment of silence. I wondered what she thought of me, if she even thought anything of me. I thought maybe this wasn’t going to work out. I wasn’t her type, never was. She wasn’t going to say anything.
She turned her head and looked at me. I had been staring at her. She noticed and looked a little annoyed. A little embarrassed, I turned my head looking for a conversation starter. “You have pretty eyes.” No, you idiot! Something else “Nice weather, huh?” It was raining. Try again. “How about those…local sports teams…?”
She took a few steps away from me and folded her arms. There wasn’t much room under the small shelter where we were standing but it felt like a football fiend was between us. Another minute of awkward silence and I couldn’t stand it anymore.
“Look… I’m sorry tonight wasn’t great.” I said. She just looked at me and shrugged.
“It’s not your fault I got sick”
“No. It is me.” I interrupted her. Maybe something else was on her mind, but I something compelled me for once to act on my emotions. “I know I am not your kind of man. I try too hard I get it. I even annoy myself at times. Maybe you’ll come around and maybe I will eventually lose interest but tonight I know if I bury my emotions for you I will regret it for the rest of my life. So tell me to back off and I’ll back off. Bottom line, I’m not ready to give up on you. So just expect more of me.”
In a perfect world a boy and a girl meet. They fall in love. They kiss for the first time. The kiss starts out soft with her lips poised to his. She tilts her head slightly and he pulls her in as the kiss deepens. His hand slowly creeps down her back and he wraps his palm around one cheek of her perfect round ass. She relents; pushing her bosom into him and gently digs her nails into the back of his neck. His other hand caresses works its way through her hair until he is massaging her scalp in a circular motion. One of them has to come up for air eventually. When that happens, the tongue is free to explore. This is something new to taste. She bites his lower lip and tugs on it as their hands begin exploring each other-
HEY! Over here in the real not-so-perfect world!
She didn’t say anything. She got in her parents car and drove off. Not so much as a “see you in school”. She just left. Was she upset? Was she surprised? Did she even watch me take reach into my chest, take out my still beating heart and set it out on the rain soaked pavement for her and all Bethel Park High School to see? I had plenty of time to ask myself these questions as I walked home in the rain. (I lived only 5 miles form he school and I made the trip many times before.)
I wondered if I made any progress in my personal development. I know a few years ago, even a month ago, I wouldn’t have had the courage to say anything at all that night. But something inside me compelled me to act. Some force tugged my heartstrings like an alien puppet master and forced the words out of my mouth. It was like their was a creature growing inside of me, filling me with a boldness I had never known. What is this? I was too young to understand what this monster was.
Things were different following the Sadie Hawkins dance. We didn’t talk about my outburst, but we did spend more time together in the months following. She even joined the marching band late in the season and we spent some time together before and after practice tutoring her on the baritone. (I actually played the sousaphone, but both instruments are similar in how they are played.) I’ll admit, she didn’t really care for playing music, but she was enjoying the time spent with her friends. That is what band is about. The football team could be on the biggest losing streak in ten years and as long as you had section dinner, a bag of pixy sticks, and an all tuba version of Jerimiah Was a Bullfrog, it didn’t matter what was happening on the field.
I long for those days when the song in my heart was the song on my lips and the forty-two pounds of brass and silver (forty-three with the mouth piece) carried that tune across the field and up and beyond the stands. The only thing that brought me more joy was knowing that just twenty yards down the field, clad in the most unflattering orange striped uniform, white spats, and plumed bucket hat, was Jennie pretending to play a rusty old baritone (but really just fingering the keys. She never did learn how to play it right.) But football season left as quickly as it began and we all moved on to the next big school event which was the musical.
Drama was Jennie’s domain. The school musical was the one time during the year when the musicians and the theater students who are normally on opposite ends of building seven are forced to interact with each other. I wasn’t complaining. I liked performing in front of others. I had planned to play my tuba in the orchestra that year, but Jennie suggested I audition for a role with her.
“Couldn’t hurt.” She said with confidence. “I’ve heard you sing before. You had a pretty voice back when we were in choir together.” Of course the music wasn’t the problem. It was the speaking part that I was worried about. But I threw caution to the wind and went ahead with the audition not expecting much to come of it.
I was nervous. Not exceptionally nervous, but enough that I was sure I was going to screw up royally. It was late in the day and I knew the directors had already listened to dozens of auditions by now. I walked in expecting something like a panel of judges who were going to listen to my song and ridicule me until my face exploded. Then a studio audience would vote if I would stay on for callbacks or get voted off the island. Or maybe this was before reality tv and I’m just mixing up memories. Anyway, it was rather casual. I stepped up to a music stand where the audition piece was and a bit of script that I was expected to site read.
I took a deep breath. “You have a pretty voice” he words resonated in my head. Suddenly I was back at the Sadie Hawkins’s. The director sitting across from me became Jennie and the monster in my chest grabbed me by the throat and played my voice like a set of bagpipes. When I was finished I looked up from my music to see the director’s jaw had dropped. Evidently I was pretty good at singing. Who knew? I must have been riding that boost of confidence because my script reading went pretty well, too.