You did it!!!

Our experiment was a success! You have won my heart. Today, Friday, June 6th, 2008, CreativeNachos has its first short story written in cyberspace by a group of people, most of whom don’t know each other. I’m so proud of you for making this a reality.

You have inspired me to create. You’ve shown me that anything we can dream, we can bring to life. Your willingness to share, to unleash your imaginations on this playground is something I treasure. The fact that you all found a way to work together to see it through to the end is amazing.

Now, CreativeNachos proudly presents, It’s All Invented, a tale written by Bridget, Scott, Judy, Danielle, Rowena, Chris, Nicole, Claire and Lorrie.

Please feel free to share your reactions, thoughts, observations, and celebratory remarks in the comments section at the end of the story. Let us know how you liked the ending. Enjoy!

It’s All Invented

A Short Story written by Bridget, Scott, Judy, Danielle, Rowena, Chris, Nicole, Claire and Lorrie

   Lisa’s life was unraveling. On the one day that every single minute counted, Steve was already a half hour late. As she strode back and forth across the office floor, panic settled upon her. For a split second she thought of jumping out the window, hoping in her car and driving away. The thought held such appeal that she raced to window; that’s when she saw him.  Two stories below, Steve paced back and forth on a small patch of grass that separated parking spots, like a tiger trapped by water. Dressed only in boxers and a pair of black socks, he waved his hands in the air and muttered to himself like a mad man.

   In that moment, Lisa almost felt sad for Steve.  Of course, she was furious with him but he was a decent guy and knowing his history, the two years spent in the nudist colony after college, and recent loneliness, there was a part of her that couldn’t help but feel sad.  It had only been six months since leaving the colony and he was still adjusting to “life on the outside.” The fact was she couldn’t really understand why the basic concept of putting some clothes on before going out in public continued to escape his mind. More importantly she couldn’t understand how this man had become such an important part of her daily thoughts, of her life.

   Actually, it was her brother’s fault. When she admitted to him that she’d been working on an invention, she’d expected that others in the world might be thinking about the same thing but she never imagined he’d know someone who was building the exact same thing. His suggestion that she and Steve meet to discuss it had initially enraged her. For once in her life, she’d wanted something she could lay claim to, something she could call her own. She was willing to offer him money to stop building it when she met him. Granted it was money she did not yet have as she had sunk everything into this idea but she was desperate. However as they talked, she realized that he had answers to her obstacles and she had thought of things he hadn’t yet. It occurred to her then that they might be more effective together than separate.

   That night brought tears to her eyes. She’d been intoxicated by their ideas, by him, and by the endless drinks she consumed. It was as though they were celebrating a victory they had yet to attain. It continued at her house where their clothes evaporated as they walked through the door. As she watched him, she cursed that night.

   Now, weeks later, she knew that the pregnancy test she’d been carrying around for days would be positive; Steve was the father.  She feared that her unborn baby would suffer the same illness as Steve; a disease that caused one to crave nudist colonies and sleep with married men or women depending upon the baby’s sex.  There would be no way to hide this from her husband who was due back in a week.

  As she watched him, a funny thought occurred to her. Too often she’d wish she had become a school teacher like her mom but in this moment, she wished she’d been a therapist. She pictured Steve, a client, coming to her for years with the same problems. She’d try to help him but she imagined him making little progress, showing up late and half naked time and again.  Colleagues would take bets on when he would forget the boxers.  Steve’s never-ending case combined with the mundane normalcy of her life helping her kids with their homework, cooking dinner for her often absent husband and writing her seemingly endless case notes would cause her to lose it one day as Steve entered her office. “You really AREN’T too sexy for your shirt, Steve!” she shouted out loud. A moment later, she heard someone behind her clear their throat. Mortified that she’d screamed out loud while alone in her office, she slowly turned.

   Caroline walked in the door. 

   “Hey, Lisa,” she said, pointing back over her shoulder.  “Did you know that guy who’s always panting around you is out in the parking lot waiting for the men in the white suits?”

   Lisa thought about explaining that he was really her brother’s friend who was crashing on her couch. She wanted to tell Caroline that she just remembered how she’d forgotten to flip the laundry in her haste this morning. All of Steve’ clothes remained in the washer as she rushed out the door leaving him asleep on the couch. She wanted to say that she hoped the power had gone out and that he had not woken wishing to start a clothing revolution. 

   Instead, all Lisa could say was, “I know.”  As she thought about the big interview, the one where they would promote their invention, she said, “I think I’ve made a big mistake.”

***

   As Steve paced back and forth uttering words of gibberish, the thoughts of having sex with Lisa wouldn’t leave his head. Yesterday, Steve would have said it was the best sex he’d ever had but now, the thought was horrifying. Early this morning, Steve received a phone call from his father telling him that he had wonderful news. As his father babbled on about some woman he met at an office retreat 27 years ago, Steve was trying to get dressed so he can go and meet the woman of his dreams. Then his father dropped the bomb. He said “Steve, you have a sister”.

   As the worst words Steve had ever heard replayed in his mind he couldn’t help but feel nauseous. He continued muttering to himself.

   “I mean ARE YOU KIDDING ME?? I spend all of these years in a nudist colony having random sex with hundreds of women and even some men without repercussion or even incident and its when I re-join the real world, start working towards a capitalist goal and find a woman who makes it all worth it that I become the star of the world’s worst Jerry Springer show?? How could this happen? What will I tell Lisa?”

   Lisa…saying her name out loud now brought Steve back to that night. To the many times he proclaimed her name in ecstasy.

   “Stop!” “Are you crazy? She is your SISTER! You will NEVER say her name out loud again!”

   The office parking lot was beginning to fill and as Steve’s voice started getting louder, he drew more and more attention.

   “Ohhhh, if you only knew, you smug drones! You have no idea!”

   For the first time, Steve felt jealous of the boring lives of these drones. They wake up, take out their business uniforms, stop by Starbucks for overpriced coffee and have a day just like the day before. What Steve would give for such monotony today. Who needs this type of excitement? Just as these thoughts passed through his head, he saw Lisa’s blonde hair shining through the front door of the building.

   “Oh GOD, she’s coming!” Steve was shaking.

    He wanted to run. Instead, he leaned over to straighten his left sock. Then he slowly stood, and met her eyes. Her glance flickered for an instant as she noticed the remote control in his hand.

   “We Must Begin Again,” he said, as his finger depressed the button and everything went white.

Lisa’s life was unraveling. On the one day that every single minute counted, Steve was already a half hour late. As she strode back and forth across the office floor, panic settled upon her. For a split second she thought of jumping out the window, hoping in her car and driving away. The thought held such appeal that she raced to window; that’s when she saw him.  Two stories below, Steve paced back and forth on a small patch of grass that separated parking spots, like a tiger trapped by water. Dressed only in boxers and a pair of black socks, he waved his hands in the air and muttered to himself like a mad man.

In that moment, Lisa almost felt sad for Steve.  Of course, she was furious with him but he was a decent guy and knowing his history, the two years spent in the nudist colony after college, and recent loneliness, there was a part of her that couldn’t help but feel sad.  It had only been six months since leaving the colony and he was still adjusting to “life on the outside.” The fact was she couldn’t really understand why the basic concept of putting some clothes on before going out in public continued to escape his mind. More importantly she couldn’t understand how this man had become such an important part of her daily thoughts, of her life.

Actually, it was her brother’s fault. When she admitted to him that she’d been working on an invention, she’d expected that others in the world might be thinking about the same thing but she never imagined he’d know someone who was building the exact same thing. His suggestion that she and Steve meet to discuss it had initially enraged her. For once in her life, she’d wanted something she could lay claim to, something she could call her own. She was willing to offer him money to stop building it when she met him. Granted it was money she did not yet have as she had sunk everything into this idea but she was desperate. However as they talked, she realized that he had answers to her obstacles and she had thought of things he hadn’t yet. It occurred to her then that they might be more effective together than separate.

That night brought tears to her eyes. She’d been intoxicated by their ideas, by him, and by the endless drinks she consumed. It was as though they were celebrating a victory they had yet to attain. It continued at her house where their clothes evaporated as they walked through the door. As she watched him, she cursed that night.

Now, weeks later, she knew that the pregnancy test she’d been carrying around for days would be positive; Steve was the father.  She feared that her unborn baby would suffer the same illness as Steve; a disease that caused one to crave nudist colonies and sleep with married men or women depending upon the baby’s sex.  There would be no way to hide this from her husband who was due back in a week.

As she watched him, a funny thought occurred to her. Too often she’d wish she had become a school teacher like her mom but in this moment, she wished she’d been a therapist. She pictured Steve, a client, coming to her for years with the same problems. She’d try to help him but she imagined him making little progress, showing up late and half naked time and again.  Colleagues would take bets on when he would forget the boxers.  Steve’s never-ending case combined with the mundane normalcy of her life helping her kids with their homework, cooking dinner for her often absent husband and writing her seemingly endless case notes would cause her to lose it one day as Steve entered her office. “You really AREN’T too sexy for your shirt, Steve!” she shouted out loud. A moment later, she heard someone behind her clear their throat. Mortified that she’d screamed out loud while alone in her office, she slowly turned.

Caroline walked in the door. 

“Hey, Lisa,” she said, pointing back over her shoulder.  “Did you know that guy who’s always panting around you is out in the parking lot waiting for the men in the white suits?”

Lisa thought about explaining that he was really her brother’s friend who was crashing on her couch. She wanted to tell Caroline that she just remembered how she’d forgotten to flip the laundry in her haste this morning. All of Steve’ clothes remained in the washer as she rushed out the door leaving him asleep on the couch. She wanted to say that she hoped the power had gone out and that he had not woken wishing to start a clothing revolution. 

Instead, all Lisa could say was, “I know.”  As she thought about the big interview, the one where they would promote their invention, she said, “I think I’ve made a big mistake.”

***

As Steve paced back and forth uttering words of gibberish, the thoughts of having sex with Lisa wouldn’t leave his head. Yesterday, Steve would have said it was the best sex he’d ever had but now, the thought was horrifying. Early this morning, Steve received a phone call from his father telling him that he had wonderful news. As his father babbled on about some woman he met at an office retreat 27 years ago, Steve was trying to get dressed so he can go and meet the woman of his dreams. Then his father dropped the bomb. He said “Steve, you have a sister”.

To be continued…

 Photo by Brian Moynihan

Sometimes, right in the middle of a project, we suddenly feel stuck. Our excitement and endless energy seem to have dissipated. Our ideas stop flowing and we wonder what to do next. Well, the best thing to do in that situation is take a mentalacation (Webster,  I’ve got a new one for you! Mentalacation will be defined as a mental vacation for the creatively stressed out).

Think back to one of your favorite times in life. Close your eyes and pull up a mental picture of that place. Let yourself sink into the moment. Try to grab hold of the smells, sounds and feelings in that happy place. Stay there as long as you like and then when you open your eyes try to bring that calm, that happy energy to your work.

Right now, I’d like to be in Acadia National Park in Maine standing with my husband at this lake we found while hiking; it felt as though we’d discovered the lake hidden among the trees. The water was like glass; a perfect reflection of the sky. There was silence and beauty and a moose that followed us as we hiked down. It was like life – stumbling along a path with little direction in awe of the beauty, frightened and exhilarated at the sight of this enormous moose and sad when it all came to an end. In that moment by the lake, in the quiet stillness, there was peace.

Where is your happy place?
 

Recently, I found myself in a professional pickle with a gentleman I can only describe as “a human steamroller.” When addressing the room, he spoke as though God, herself, had sent his all-knowing butt to the world to make everything better. As he looked around the room, he made sure that his eyes only landed upon other men; women were passed over no doubt due to their small brains. Yet, even when he directed his comments to his fellow men, you got the sense that he didn’t truly care whether they agreed with him or not. In fact, it was clear that he didn’t care what anyone had to say because based on the comments he made after people responded to his questions and his affinity for talking over people who were talking, it was clear he was not even listening. I was incensed, yet I remained quiet.

I am aware that this incident taps into some of my own childhood issues. Growing up, I listened to extended family members debate everything from politics to the best way to get around the city – train or on those two blessed feet you were given. Often people spoke over other people and did not listen. I mean is it really that hard to listen? Instead I would keep silent and I have to tell you my own silence deeply annoys me.

There is a level of intimidation I feel around people like this, these bullies, these steamrollers and I want to change my response. I’m aware of the fact that these folks eat, sleep and crap just as I do. I know they put their pants on one leg at a time as I do. Perhaps it’s that I know when people like this speak they think others, like me, are stupid. Even though I know I’m not maybe I let that doubt creep in for a millisecond and wonder if they are right. I don’t know but I turn this to you and ask, how do you deal with people like this in either the personal or professional arena? Tune them out? Confront them? Speak your mind without caring for their response?

Like Frasier Crane said, “I’m listening.”

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Identity is an issue close to my heart, something I am fascinated by, and some recent comments here got me thinking about it. We play so many roles; we are so many people to the scores of different people in our lives. When I started thinking about the roles I play or have played throughout the various stages of my life, specific songs would pop into my head. At first, I thought I might try to create a Top Five list of my favorite life roles. This was not an original idea but instead, a thought inspired by author Nick Hornby’s main character, Rob, from the book, High Fidelity; Hornby is a genius with lists. I simply couldn’t narrow it down; there are far too many great roles in my life that go hand in hand with amazing tunes. Every identity we wear is fodder for our artistic endeavors because each one teaches us something important about our lives; thus, the birth of the Beat Chronicles.  
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I was obsessed with Grease long before I understood the true meaning of the song, “Greased Lightning” and believed that women do not need to change for men. I wanted a boy to like me the way Danny Zuko liked Sandy, to smoke cigarettes like Rizzo (I couldn’t get my hands on any cigarettes so the pipe was my prop; it would be years before I would dive into a box of Parliments), to ride the ferris wheel during, “We Go Together” and dance like Cha Cha DiGregorio. Mostly, I wanted to sing like Sandy.

After I went to see the movie with my Mom and her friend, I begged her to buy the album. My Mickey Mouse record player was practically worn out from use. I had this fabulous flowered nightgown which is pictured here and, despite the fact that it looked nothing like her nightgown in the movie, I believed I looked just like Sandy when I wore it. I would sit on the edge of my toy chest with my legs tucked neatly underneath me and sing “Look at Me, I’m Sandra Dee” the same way Olivia Newton-John did in the film. On the floor lay my yellow blanket, my imaginary pool, and I would sing to it.

When the words, “Hold your head high” left my lips, I would look up at the stuffed monkeys that lined the shelf just above my bedroom door and sing my heart out.

Do you think Sandy completely changed for him or do you think she remained that “super nice, great to bring home to the parents” babe and just brought out the “black leotard wearing” temptress for like birthdays and drunken evenings?

Either way, there is something nice about remembering a time when underlying messages and sexual innuendos were lost on me; when all I cared about was the music.