Salutations, all.
Where were we? Ah yes. Courtesy of Violet’s Evil Scheme, Chris bumped into his ex-girlfriend. Courtesy of Justina’s lavender nightie, they instantly started knocking boots. Then Angel and Scott realized that their significant others had slept together and almost had A Moment. Today: Chris talks to people on the phone.
Chapter 54: Again
Chris stared at the phone in his hand. Should he call? Shouldn’t he call? What would she say? What would he say? e looked down at the He looked down at the slip of paper and dialed the numbers.
“Hello?”
“Hey, Foss.”
“Chris?”
“In the flesh … err … on the phone.”
“Dipwad.”
“Lovely.”
“I am.”
“I know.” [oh, the wittiness of this repartee]
“Benoit, we’ve been having the same conversation since we met.”
“Minus 10 years.”
“Doesn’t feel like it.”
“I know. It’s kind of weird.”
“I missed your voice.”
“I did too. What happened to us?”
“Just drifted apart … one of those things. We were kids.”
“We had dreams.”
“We had different dreams.”
“Yeah we did. Looks like they’re overlapping a little now.” Chris laughed.
“I guess so. Some cosmic forces want us together.” [if by cosmic forces you mean an irrationally vindictive psycho with three names, then yes, you are correct]
“Maybe. Look, Foss. Did you tell your boyfriend about us?”
“Yeah. Didn’t take it so well. Did you tell your woman?”
“No. It’s gonna be rough.”
“I ended up dating a wrestler, you know. I guess you got me hooked.” [how? It’s not like he was a wrestler when they were in college]
“I guess so. It must be the muscles.”
“They help.”
“So, who was it?”
“Scott Steiner.”
“You’re kidding me.”
“Nope.”
“Holy crap.”
“What?”
“Dude is best friends with my ex.” [oh, so she’s your ex now? Does this mean that you won’t agonize over how you cheated on her? I’m guessing not.]
“Woah. Small freaking world. I guess she must know then.”
Chris was struck silent.
“Christopher?”
“Yeah. Yeah. Hey, Foss, why don’t we meet up later or something? Tomorrow night?”
“Ok. You gonna be all right?”
“Sure. I’ll see you soon.”
Chris hung up the phone. His head swam in circles. What was he going to do? How had his life turned upside down so quickly? Did Angel really know? Only one way to find out. He dialed her number.
“Hello?”
“Angel?”
“Chris.”
“How are you?”
“Fine. You?”
“Oh, you know, hanging in there.”
“Tell me it’s not true, Chris.”
“I can’t.”
“Ok.” Her voice was oddly calm.
“Angel …”
“Don’t. I don’t want to hear any of it. I don’t want to hear a single word of explanation. Not one lurid detail about you and her and what you did. Just leave me alone, Chris. I honestly mean it.”
“Angel …”
“Weren’t you listening to me?” she was shouting now. “I don’t want to talk to you. You’re just like all the rest of them. So go and be with your college sweetheart … go screw each others’ brains out. But don’t you ever, ever speak another word to me.”
With that, she slammed the phone down. Chris threw down the receiver and gritted his teeth.
“Angel … I’m so sorry.” He turned out the lights, sat in the dark, and stared at the ceiling. [how can he sit down and stare at the ceiling? Won’t that hurt his neck? Well, at least he’s not crying. Which is odd, because I think that this is an appropriate crying situation.]
NOTES:
1) Yes, this chapter was pretty much just people talking on the phone. Hey, at least that means no extended descriptions of the night air or, like, Angel’s internal anguish.
OK, folks. So here’s the deal: I took a lengthy break from this in 1996. In that year, I actually developed a social life, which included getting a real boyfriend. So there was actually a three-year gap between this chapter and the next one that I wrote. Yes, I was 19 when I wrote most of the rest of this. And, in the interest of full disclosure, I kept it up throughout college. Yes, some of you knew me personally when I was writing this.
So you might be saying to yourself: “You were a semi-adult when you wrote this? AND an English major? AND the editor of your college literary magazine? Why then surely what follows must be well-written, incisive prose.”
Uhm, no. No it’s not. It’s still crap. You see, even though I was older and “wiser,” I wrote this in pencil in marble notebooks and had no intention of ever showing anybody. This means I never edited it, planned ahead, or worried about the quality of the writing. It might not be as gut-wrenchingly horrific as some of the oldest stuff, but it’s still … unabashedly bad. And I’m going to keep on posting it. Yes, eventually, I will get to the point where I’m fresh out of the old stuff. But never fear; that’ll be quite a while from now. And I’ve got a plan for a fun way to continue past then.
Anyhoo … on to the matter of the next chapter.
Coming up next …
Angel goes to a bar (!) and gets hit on. You know, because she’s so beautiful and all. And at this bar, she has an alcoholic beverage (!)
BUT WHICH BEVERAGE???
That’s right … it’s another Unabashedly Bad Contest. If you can guess what alcoholic beverage our beloved Mary Sue imbibes, you will win a WWF VHS from my personal collection. Leave guesses in the comments section.
See you next time for …
Chapter 55 – Reevaluation
Tuesday, September 29, 2009
Tuesday, September 22, 2009
Chapter 53: Company
Salutations, readers. If you enjoy playing drinking games while reading this, then I hereby suggest the following:
every time you see ellipses: take a drink
every time either Angel or Scott says the other one's name for no apparant reason: take a drink
every time Scott says "Dammit" : take a drink
every time Angel refers to Chris as "my Chris": take a drink
egregious crying: take a drink
tandem egregious crying: finish the bottle
You might not want to play this game with anything stronger than club soda. Otherwise you'll probably end up in the hospital.
Enjoy!
Chapter 53 – Company
“Dammit, Angel. Dammit, Dammit!”
“Scott, calm down, okay?” There was little she could do. Scott was, after all, a professional wrestler [and she just a helpless woman]. She put her small hands on his massive back [oh wow].
“Destroying your apartment won’t help.”
He ignored her and toppled a potted plant. [I’ve heard that Mario Batali does the same thing when he’s drunk. My brother-in-law works at a hotel where Mario stayed. No potted plant was safe.]
“Sit down, Scott.”
He complied for a second, then stood again. Angel folded her hands over his and pleaded with him to return to the couch.
“Scott, Scott. Tell me. Sit down and tell me.”
“Dammit, Angel.” His voice was much softer this time. He sank into the couch, head in hands. [could it be? Could it really be? The return of egregious crying?!?]
“What is it?”
“She cheated on me. She slept with her ex-boyfriend.”
“Justina? How did you find out?”
“She told me, Angel. Dammit, Angel. I thought … I mean I really thought she was … God.” [you thought she was God?]
Angel rested her cheek on his shoulder. “I’m sorry, honey. I’m so sorry. When did she tell you?”
“This morning.” His face was still buried in his hands. “She said she just ran into her old college sweetheart in the hotel and then one thing led to the other … Angel, how does that happen?”
“I don’t know.”
“They slept together! You don’t just run into somebody and … Dammit.”
“Maybe they just caught up in …”
“There are no excuses Angel. It happened. That Canadian whore.”
Angel giggled. “Sorry. Amusing epithet. I’ve got my own problems with Canadians these days.” She squoze Scott’s shoulder and smiled. Suddenly, an idean fringed her insides with ice. “Scott?”
“Yeah.”
“What, um, what did you say Justina’s last name was?”
“Foster. Justina Foster. Why?”
“And … what college did she go to, if you know?” Angel’s fingers shook.
“Edmonton. Freaking Canadians.”
“Oh no.”
“What?”
Angel’s chest fell into itself. She froze.
“Angel?” Scott forgot his rage as he watched his friend’s face bleed dry of color. Her lips were parted but no sounds escaped them. He shook her gently. “Angel?” Less gently.
“Chris,” she whispered.
“What?”
“She slept with my Chris.”
“No. No. What would make you think something like that?”
“That’s where I heard that name before. Justina Foster,” she spat the words. “She and Chris.” [way to jump to conclusions there, Angel. You assume that she only had ONE boyfriend throughout all four years of college??]
“Angel …” Scott clasped her hand.
“My Chris.”
“Angel …”
“God. Scott.” She broke down into sobs. [about freaking time!] Scott pressed her to his shoulder. He had no words. [finally]
“Shh.”
“My Chris. Scott … Scott …” [there’s some compelling dialogue if I ever read any.]
“Just cry, Angel. Can’t do much else.” [except knock over potted plants, apparently.]
He held her until he began to cry too. [woooo!!!] Then they held each other. [how is this physically different?] The night fell around them.
“What do we do, Scott?”
“I don’t know.”
“My Chris …” [uhm, you guys were technically broken up].
“When’s the last time you spoke with him?”
“Couple days. My Chris. Scott … I was saving myself for him. Just him.” [except you didn’t want to marry him?]
“Angel …”
“Scott, I was ready. I was going to tell him that I was ready … for him.” [WOAH. When did you arrive at this decision? You sure are good at keeping secrets. Especially from the readers].
`Shh …”
“I thought he understood. I thought he could wait … What’s wrong with me?” [oh, where does one begin?]
“Angel,” he pushed her hair behind her ears. “Angel look at me. There is nothing wrong with either you or me. We are wonderful, intelligent [snerk], attractive people.”
“Sure. Why don’t …”
“Shh. Just listen. You are one of the most beautiful girls I’ve ever met in my life.”
“Scott …”
“No, Angel. I mean it. You are gorgeous. I’ve always thought so. From the first time we met at Sting’s party. Angel …” He cupped her chin in his hands and looked into her eyes. “Angel,”
“Scott, don’t do this.”
“Do what?”
“Tell me I’m beautiful now.”
“Why?”
“It’s too easy for us.”
“What do you mean?”
“Too easy for us to try to make ourselves better by … giving in.”
“Giving in to what?”
“Jealously, hurt, and …”
“And …?”
“An undeniable mutual attraction.” [where did THAT come from?]
“Angel. I’m not trying to take advantage of you.” He stroked her hair.
“I know that Scott. I’m not accusing you of that. But I know how broken we both are. And I know how badly we … at least I … am fighting the urge to …”
“To?”
“To … do what … we …” She looked away. Her hands trembled
Scott cupped her chin in his hands again.
“No,” Angel said, pulling away. “This is wrong. It’s all wrong. We can’t.”
“You’re right. You’re right.” He ran his fingers through his hair. “Dammit, Angel. Why us? Why do we have the worst relationship luck on the whole planet?” [maybe it’s not luck so much as the fact that you’re both seriously screwed up]
“I dunno, Scott. Just lucky I guess.”
“Lucky,” Scott said sourly. “Lucky. Justina and Chris should be so lucky. Angel, when I see him, I’m going to bash his pointy face in .”
“Scott …”
“Yeah, yeah. I won’t. I’m going home, Angel. [uhm … aren’t you in your apartment already?] Take care of yourself.”
“You too, Scott. I’ll be in touch.”
NOTES:
1) Scangel? Gross. But maybe they deserve each other? Still. Gross.
2) Hey, everyone … just in case you didn’t know: Angel is the most beautifullest girl on the planet. EVER. No man can resist her charms.
3) WTF was up with all of shocking left-field revelations in this chapter? And the sudden violent streak emerging in Scott? Oh, whatever.
COMING UP NEXT
Angel confronts Chris. Sort of. Well ... it’s slightly more confrontational than her confrontation with Marcus. It's pretty dang nonconfrontational as far as confrontations go.
See you then for ...
Chapter 54 - Again
every time you see ellipses: take a drink
every time either Angel or Scott says the other one's name for no apparant reason: take a drink
every time Scott says "Dammit" : take a drink
every time Angel refers to Chris as "my Chris": take a drink
egregious crying: take a drink
tandem egregious crying: finish the bottle
You might not want to play this game with anything stronger than club soda. Otherwise you'll probably end up in the hospital.
Enjoy!
Chapter 53 – Company
“Dammit, Angel. Dammit, Dammit!”
“Scott, calm down, okay?” There was little she could do. Scott was, after all, a professional wrestler [and she just a helpless woman]. She put her small hands on his massive back [oh wow].
“Destroying your apartment won’t help.”
He ignored her and toppled a potted plant. [I’ve heard that Mario Batali does the same thing when he’s drunk. My brother-in-law works at a hotel where Mario stayed. No potted plant was safe.]
“Sit down, Scott.”
He complied for a second, then stood again. Angel folded her hands over his and pleaded with him to return to the couch.
“Scott, Scott. Tell me. Sit down and tell me.”
“Dammit, Angel.” His voice was much softer this time. He sank into the couch, head in hands. [could it be? Could it really be? The return of egregious crying?!?]
“What is it?”
“She cheated on me. She slept with her ex-boyfriend.”
“Justina? How did you find out?”
“She told me, Angel. Dammit, Angel. I thought … I mean I really thought she was … God.” [you thought she was God?]
Angel rested her cheek on his shoulder. “I’m sorry, honey. I’m so sorry. When did she tell you?”
“This morning.” His face was still buried in his hands. “She said she just ran into her old college sweetheart in the hotel and then one thing led to the other … Angel, how does that happen?”
“I don’t know.”
“They slept together! You don’t just run into somebody and … Dammit.”
“Maybe they just caught up in …”
“There are no excuses Angel. It happened. That Canadian whore.”
Angel giggled. “Sorry. Amusing epithet. I’ve got my own problems with Canadians these days.” She squoze Scott’s shoulder and smiled. Suddenly, an idean fringed her insides with ice. “Scott?”
“Yeah.”
“What, um, what did you say Justina’s last name was?”
“Foster. Justina Foster. Why?”
“And … what college did she go to, if you know?” Angel’s fingers shook.
“Edmonton. Freaking Canadians.”
“Oh no.”
“What?”
Angel’s chest fell into itself. She froze.
“Angel?” Scott forgot his rage as he watched his friend’s face bleed dry of color. Her lips were parted but no sounds escaped them. He shook her gently. “Angel?” Less gently.
“Chris,” she whispered.
“What?”
“She slept with my Chris.”
“No. No. What would make you think something like that?”
“That’s where I heard that name before. Justina Foster,” she spat the words. “She and Chris.” [way to jump to conclusions there, Angel. You assume that she only had ONE boyfriend throughout all four years of college??]
“Angel …” Scott clasped her hand.
“My Chris.”
“Angel …”
“God. Scott.” She broke down into sobs. [about freaking time!] Scott pressed her to his shoulder. He had no words. [finally]
“Shh.”
“My Chris. Scott … Scott …” [there’s some compelling dialogue if I ever read any.]
“Just cry, Angel. Can’t do much else.” [except knock over potted plants, apparently.]
He held her until he began to cry too. [woooo!!!] Then they held each other. [how is this physically different?] The night fell around them.
“What do we do, Scott?”
“I don’t know.”
“My Chris …” [uhm, you guys were technically broken up].
“When’s the last time you spoke with him?”
“Couple days. My Chris. Scott … I was saving myself for him. Just him.” [except you didn’t want to marry him?]
“Angel …”
“Scott, I was ready. I was going to tell him that I was ready … for him.” [WOAH. When did you arrive at this decision? You sure are good at keeping secrets. Especially from the readers].
`Shh …”
“I thought he understood. I thought he could wait … What’s wrong with me?” [oh, where does one begin?]
“Angel,” he pushed her hair behind her ears. “Angel look at me. There is nothing wrong with either you or me. We are wonderful, intelligent [snerk], attractive people.”
“Sure. Why don’t …”
“Shh. Just listen. You are one of the most beautiful girls I’ve ever met in my life.”
“Scott …”
“No, Angel. I mean it. You are gorgeous. I’ve always thought so. From the first time we met at Sting’s party. Angel …” He cupped her chin in his hands and looked into her eyes. “Angel,”
“Scott, don’t do this.”
“Do what?”
“Tell me I’m beautiful now.”
“Why?”
“It’s too easy for us.”
“What do you mean?”
“Too easy for us to try to make ourselves better by … giving in.”
“Giving in to what?”
“Jealously, hurt, and …”
“And …?”
“An undeniable mutual attraction.” [where did THAT come from?]
“Angel. I’m not trying to take advantage of you.” He stroked her hair.
“I know that Scott. I’m not accusing you of that. But I know how broken we both are. And I know how badly we … at least I … am fighting the urge to …”
“To?”
“To … do what … we …” She looked away. Her hands trembled
Scott cupped her chin in his hands again.
“No,” Angel said, pulling away. “This is wrong. It’s all wrong. We can’t.”
“You’re right. You’re right.” He ran his fingers through his hair. “Dammit, Angel. Why us? Why do we have the worst relationship luck on the whole planet?” [maybe it’s not luck so much as the fact that you’re both seriously screwed up]
“I dunno, Scott. Just lucky I guess.”
“Lucky,” Scott said sourly. “Lucky. Justina and Chris should be so lucky. Angel, when I see him, I’m going to bash his pointy face in .”
“Scott …”
“Yeah, yeah. I won’t. I’m going home, Angel. [uhm … aren’t you in your apartment already?] Take care of yourself.”
“You too, Scott. I’ll be in touch.”
NOTES:
1) Scangel? Gross. But maybe they deserve each other? Still. Gross.
2) Hey, everyone … just in case you didn’t know: Angel is the most beautifullest girl on the planet. EVER. No man can resist her charms.
3) WTF was up with all of shocking left-field revelations in this chapter? And the sudden violent streak emerging in Scott? Oh, whatever.
COMING UP NEXT
Angel confronts Chris. Sort of. Well ... it’s slightly more confrontational than her confrontation with Marcus. It's pretty dang nonconfrontational as far as confrontations go.
See you then for ...
Chapter 54 - Again
Wednesday, September 16, 2009
Chapter 52: Reprocussion [sic] Discussion (Part II)
Alright, buds. It’s me again. A day late again. Many apologies. I continue to blame work. Actually, it’s not so much my job per se as it the ridiculousness of the academic job market. It’s BAD out there, my friends. BAD. Almost as bad as …
Chapter 52: Reprocussion [sic] Discussion (part II)
They shared an English Lit class in their Freshman years at Edmonton University. He perfectly recalled the first day he had caught eyes with her:
She was wearing an Edmonton Oilers tee-shirt and giant neon green bangles on her wrists. Her spirals of copper hair exploded from her head in a myriad of directions.
“Is this English Literature 101?” She had asked him, staring down at a crumpled schedule.
Chris: long-haired, sort of gawky, decked out in a Black Sabbath shirt [uhm, was his Frankie Valli shirt in the wash?] and black boots, mumbled: “I think so.”
They sat next to each other as Professor Cavanaugh entered the room. Without missing a breath, he delved right into a speech. “First of all, I loathe wasting time. I also loathe tardiness. The first portion of literature we will be studying is a portion of the works from the Shelley portion of our Anthology.”
From that day on, Justina and Chris kept a daily tally on how many times Professor Cavanaugh said “portion” in a class. They would fight to stifle giggles and kick each other under the desk. A smile stretched across Chris’ face when he thought of the day of their first big exam. Upon reading the first question, “In which portion of the play Macbeth does the first portion of blood imagery come into play,” they had both burst into uncontrollable laughter. They then sat through a lengthy lecture (containing 31 “portions”) and were given one more chance to shape up before failing the semester. [for laughing during a test? Dang]
He recalled their first “date.” He invited her to watch the Oilers game with him in the commons [sic] room. They laughed over every stupid commercial—Chris was astounded that someone else found Mr. Whipple as amusing as he. He walked her back to her dorm and they turned towards each other in the doorway. There was no awkwardness in this moment. The night surrounded them in an inky fluid. The moon caught her face in a soft, luscious light. She smiled up at him and he brought her lips [sic] down on to hers gently. She touched the back of his neck lightly and then pulled back.
“The dating portion was fun, Chris, and the kissing portion was fantastic, but we both need to study before we fail the English 101 portion of our college years.”
He looked at her and grinned. “No, cousin. I’ll to Fife.”
“What?”
“Well, Shakespeare is romantic, and that’s the only line I can remember.” [actually, this is a remarkably accurate depiction of the way most freshmen think of Shakespeare. That’s because they read Romeo and Juliet, which does not contain cannibalism, infanticide, gang rape, and mutilation. That’s Titus Andronicus. You don't read that in high school. For good reason.]
“I think you need to study more than I do. Goodnight, Christopher. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
He saw her tomorrow. He saw her the next day. He saw her every day for the next four years. And then they separated with promises to stay faithful. But time had watered down their bonds – she moved to Michigan, he began his wrestling career.
And here they were now.
“Chris?”
“Yeah?”
“What ya thinking about?”
“Everything. This is so weird, Justina.”
“I know. But it was great.”
“Yeah.”
“Chris? I have a boyfriend.”
“Oh. I have … uh … an Angel.” [oh, gross]
“What?”
“Nevermind.”
“Did that really just happen?”
“I’d ask you to pinch me, but if you did, it’d probably happen again.”
She giggled. He put his socks on. [where is he going? What time is it?]
“I have to go to work, Foss.”
“Me too.”
“We’ll talk later.”
“I’m sure.”
She pinched him anyway. Just in case.
NOTES:
1) Look, folks, I’m going to out myself as a college English teacher here. Because I simply must express my incredulity: How are Shelley and Macbeth being taught in the same course? That’s one of the most ridiculous things I’ve ever written.
2) I had a biology teacher who comically overused the word “portion.” I always counted. Her record was 89 “portions” in one class. It was amazing.
3) I had an English teacher who repeated the line “No cousin. I’ll to Fife” incessantly. It supposedly demonstrated Macduff’s integrity. I’m playing it for “comedy” here, of course. Apologies to the Bard.
4) Where was the "discussion" of the "reprocussions" [sic]? I guess it was more important to flex my writing muscles by overwrought descriptions of the magical night.
And alas, the answer was Mr. Whipple. No contest winners this round. But another one is coming up in chapter 55!
COMING UP NEXT:
Scott and Angel have a chat. And unlike all of their previous chats, important information is actually exchanged. And there are meltdowns. But, seeing as how Scott and Angel are involved, they are dumb meltdowns.
Tune in next time for …
Chapter 53: Company
Chapter 52: Reprocussion [sic] Discussion (part II)
They shared an English Lit class in their Freshman years at Edmonton University. He perfectly recalled the first day he had caught eyes with her:
She was wearing an Edmonton Oilers tee-shirt and giant neon green bangles on her wrists. Her spirals of copper hair exploded from her head in a myriad of directions.
“Is this English Literature 101?” She had asked him, staring down at a crumpled schedule.
Chris: long-haired, sort of gawky, decked out in a Black Sabbath shirt [uhm, was his Frankie Valli shirt in the wash?] and black boots, mumbled: “I think so.”
They sat next to each other as Professor Cavanaugh entered the room. Without missing a breath, he delved right into a speech. “First of all, I loathe wasting time. I also loathe tardiness. The first portion of literature we will be studying is a portion of the works from the Shelley portion of our Anthology.”
From that day on, Justina and Chris kept a daily tally on how many times Professor Cavanaugh said “portion” in a class. They would fight to stifle giggles and kick each other under the desk. A smile stretched across Chris’ face when he thought of the day of their first big exam. Upon reading the first question, “In which portion of the play Macbeth does the first portion of blood imagery come into play,” they had both burst into uncontrollable laughter. They then sat through a lengthy lecture (containing 31 “portions”) and were given one more chance to shape up before failing the semester. [for laughing during a test? Dang]
He recalled their first “date.” He invited her to watch the Oilers game with him in the commons [sic] room. They laughed over every stupid commercial—Chris was astounded that someone else found Mr. Whipple as amusing as he. He walked her back to her dorm and they turned towards each other in the doorway. There was no awkwardness in this moment. The night surrounded them in an inky fluid. The moon caught her face in a soft, luscious light. She smiled up at him and he brought her lips [sic] down on to hers gently. She touched the back of his neck lightly and then pulled back.
“The dating portion was fun, Chris, and the kissing portion was fantastic, but we both need to study before we fail the English 101 portion of our college years.”
He looked at her and grinned. “No, cousin. I’ll to Fife.”
“What?”
“Well, Shakespeare is romantic, and that’s the only line I can remember.” [actually, this is a remarkably accurate depiction of the way most freshmen think of Shakespeare. That’s because they read Romeo and Juliet, which does not contain cannibalism, infanticide, gang rape, and mutilation. That’s Titus Andronicus. You don't read that in high school. For good reason.]
“I think you need to study more than I do. Goodnight, Christopher. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
He saw her tomorrow. He saw her the next day. He saw her every day for the next four years. And then they separated with promises to stay faithful. But time had watered down their bonds – she moved to Michigan, he began his wrestling career.
And here they were now.
“Chris?”
“Yeah?”
“What ya thinking about?”
“Everything. This is so weird, Justina.”
“I know. But it was great.”
“Yeah.”
“Chris? I have a boyfriend.”
“Oh. I have … uh … an Angel.” [oh, gross]
“What?”
“Nevermind.”
“Did that really just happen?”
“I’d ask you to pinch me, but if you did, it’d probably happen again.”
She giggled. He put his socks on. [where is he going? What time is it?]
“I have to go to work, Foss.”
“Me too.”
“We’ll talk later.”
“I’m sure.”
She pinched him anyway. Just in case.
NOTES:
1) Look, folks, I’m going to out myself as a college English teacher here. Because I simply must express my incredulity: How are Shelley and Macbeth being taught in the same course? That’s one of the most ridiculous things I’ve ever written.
2) I had a biology teacher who comically overused the word “portion.” I always counted. Her record was 89 “portions” in one class. It was amazing.
3) I had an English teacher who repeated the line “No cousin. I’ll to Fife” incessantly. It supposedly demonstrated Macduff’s integrity. I’m playing it for “comedy” here, of course. Apologies to the Bard.
4) Where was the "discussion" of the "reprocussions" [sic]? I guess it was more important to flex my writing muscles by overwrought descriptions of the magical night.
And alas, the answer was Mr. Whipple. No contest winners this round. But another one is coming up in chapter 55!
COMING UP NEXT:
Scott and Angel have a chat. And unlike all of their previous chats, important information is actually exchanged. And there are meltdowns. But, seeing as how Scott and Angel are involved, they are dumb meltdowns.
Tune in next time for …
Chapter 53: Company
Wednesday, September 9, 2009
Chapter 52: Reprocussion [sic] Discussion (Part I)
Sorry, sorry, sorry for the delay, ladies and gents. Busy with junk and stuff. Hope the marvelous stupidity of Chris' inner monologue in this chapter will make up for the lateness.
Enjoy!
Chapter 52: Reprocussion [sic] Discussion (Part I)
Justina cuddled closer to Chris and smiled. He ran his fingers through her curls and kissed her head.
“That was …”
“Phenomenal,” he finished.
“Mmm.”
“But … back to reality. What are you doing in my hotel room, Foss?”
“Your hotel room? This is my hotel room.” [cue the wacky hijinx music]
“How? This wing is for WCW employees.” [they have their own wing now? Oh, whatever.]
“Your point being ...?”
“What, you got a job here?”
“You betcha. And Felicia Baigen showed me to this room.”
“Who?”
“I think she’s like some executive assistant or something. She’s got all of the paperwork and reservation thingies if you don’t believe me.”
“Course I believe you. Guess there was just a mix up. So what’re you doing here? Seamstress?”
“Tailor,” she corrected. [ah yes. That sounds much more believable.]
“Ah.” He turned his head and looked at her, eyes flashing.
“I know that twinkle.”
“Do you?” He grinned.
“Don’t you ever run out of energy?”
“Not with someone like you. Just watching you blink is sexy.”
She fluttered here eyelids in response.
“Oh baby.”
Hours later [hours? Dang.], Justina’s red head settled into the crook of his elbow as she slept peacefully [wait, what time is it anyway?]. Chris’ temporary brain fog had dissolved. Reality bit into him like a gust of winter. This woman lying next to him was not Angel. [duh. You just had sex with her. Wasn’t that clue #1?] He had just spent the last six hours releasing all his sexual frustration [eew?] on someone who was not Angel [hence the frustration, no?]. It was not their long-awaited wedding night; it was a week after he had dumped her. And this woman was not Angel. Chris closed his eyes and tried to convince himself otherwise. He was at Angel’s hosue and they had fallen asleep watching TV [naked?]. What had they been watching? The Pelican Brief. But it had gotten boring and … oh, to hell with it. It was no use. He could not pretend that the floor to the left of the bed wasn’t littered with their clothes, that the sheets weren’t tangled around his ankles, or that the woman next to him wasn’t anyone but Angel. [wait, did that last part make sense?]
How could this have happened? He hadn’t seen Justina in 10 years. How could he have had sex with her 10 minutes after meeting her again [maybe it was the lavender negligee]. Where had been his self-control? The truth was, he hadn’t even thought for a second about Angel [congratulations, Chris. Congratulations]. Maybe what had just happened was a sign of some sort. Maybe it was time to move on.
Chris heaved a sigh and closed his eyes. He was in a mess. He felt like he had cheated on Angel and they weren’t even technically still going out. Well … she had kissed Dustin Rhodes. But Chris had done much more than just kiss Justina. Should he tell Angel? Did it even matter? It would kill her.
This week without her had been torture for Chris. Was he just using Justina to escape his troubles? What did he feel for her? He had truly loved her in College, but what about now? [uhm, you just ran into her six hours ago. Chill.] Maybe she was a totally different person. He had changed quite a bit. He remembered the way they had been. They shared an English Lit class in their Freshman years at Edmonton University. He perfectly recalled the first day he had caught eyes with her ...
NOTES:
1) I swear I wrote this long before the “we were on a break” Ross and Rachel drama that ate Friends.
2) That’s nice. So women can either be nurses, airheads, vindictive bitches, or seamstresses. Excuse me … tailors.
COMING UP NEXT:
Chris waxes nostalgic about his relationship with Justina. I try to be a Serious Author by using Extensive Descriptions of, like, the moon and stuff. And I mention a beloved television commercial icon from the 80's. BUT WHICH ONE? That's right, folks. It's another UNABASHEDLY BAD CONTEST. The prize: a wrestling VHS from my personal collection. You know you want one. Leave your guesses in the comments section! And join us next week for ...
Chapter 52: Reprocussion [sic] Discussion (Part I)
Enjoy!
Chapter 52: Reprocussion [sic] Discussion (Part I)
Justina cuddled closer to Chris and smiled. He ran his fingers through her curls and kissed her head.
“That was …”
“Phenomenal,” he finished.
“Mmm.”
“But … back to reality. What are you doing in my hotel room, Foss?”
“Your hotel room? This is my hotel room.” [cue the wacky hijinx music]
“How? This wing is for WCW employees.” [they have their own wing now? Oh, whatever.]
“Your point being ...?”
“What, you got a job here?”
“You betcha. And Felicia Baigen showed me to this room.”
“Who?”
“I think she’s like some executive assistant or something. She’s got all of the paperwork and reservation thingies if you don’t believe me.”
“Course I believe you. Guess there was just a mix up. So what’re you doing here? Seamstress?”
“Tailor,” she corrected. [ah yes. That sounds much more believable.]
“Ah.” He turned his head and looked at her, eyes flashing.
“I know that twinkle.”
“Do you?” He grinned.
“Don’t you ever run out of energy?”
“Not with someone like you. Just watching you blink is sexy.”
She fluttered here eyelids in response.
“Oh baby.”
Hours later [hours? Dang.], Justina’s red head settled into the crook of his elbow as she slept peacefully [wait, what time is it anyway?]. Chris’ temporary brain fog had dissolved. Reality bit into him like a gust of winter. This woman lying next to him was not Angel. [duh. You just had sex with her. Wasn’t that clue #1?] He had just spent the last six hours releasing all his sexual frustration [eew?] on someone who was not Angel [hence the frustration, no?]. It was not their long-awaited wedding night; it was a week after he had dumped her. And this woman was not Angel. Chris closed his eyes and tried to convince himself otherwise. He was at Angel’s hosue and they had fallen asleep watching TV [naked?]. What had they been watching? The Pelican Brief. But it had gotten boring and … oh, to hell with it. It was no use. He could not pretend that the floor to the left of the bed wasn’t littered with their clothes, that the sheets weren’t tangled around his ankles, or that the woman next to him wasn’t anyone but Angel. [wait, did that last part make sense?]
How could this have happened? He hadn’t seen Justina in 10 years. How could he have had sex with her 10 minutes after meeting her again [maybe it was the lavender negligee]. Where had been his self-control? The truth was, he hadn’t even thought for a second about Angel [congratulations, Chris. Congratulations]. Maybe what had just happened was a sign of some sort. Maybe it was time to move on.
Chris heaved a sigh and closed his eyes. He was in a mess. He felt like he had cheated on Angel and they weren’t even technically still going out. Well … she had kissed Dustin Rhodes. But Chris had done much more than just kiss Justina. Should he tell Angel? Did it even matter? It would kill her.
This week without her had been torture for Chris. Was he just using Justina to escape his troubles? What did he feel for her? He had truly loved her in College, but what about now? [uhm, you just ran into her six hours ago. Chill.] Maybe she was a totally different person. He had changed quite a bit. He remembered the way they had been. They shared an English Lit class in their Freshman years at Edmonton University. He perfectly recalled the first day he had caught eyes with her ...
NOTES:
1) I swear I wrote this long before the “we were on a break” Ross and Rachel drama that ate Friends.
2) That’s nice. So women can either be nurses, airheads, vindictive bitches, or seamstresses. Excuse me … tailors.
COMING UP NEXT:
Chris waxes nostalgic about his relationship with Justina. I try to be a Serious Author by using Extensive Descriptions of, like, the moon and stuff. And I mention a beloved television commercial icon from the 80's. BUT WHICH ONE? That's right, folks. It's another UNABASHEDLY BAD CONTEST. The prize: a wrestling VHS from my personal collection. You know you want one. Leave your guesses in the comments section! And join us next week for ...
Chapter 52: Reprocussion [sic] Discussion (Part I)
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