Fiction post for the week of 06/26

[wordwhacker]

I'm getting behind myself. Boo. I suck. Actually, I'm working on a story at the moment that I'm having a lot of fun with - a project for crimsonata, which is due today or tomorrow... basically whenever I finish it. I'll post that when I'm done with it. For a first draft I'm really happy with it so far (it's sitting at just over a thousand words right now). It should be somewhere around 3,000 when I'm done with it, I hope.

Anyway, for my last June weekly post I'm going to copout again (and embarass myself a little - but not too much) and post part of an older story. This one's only about a year old. This was a first draft, edited to death at the time but old enough now that I'm cringing at it. (Probably a good sign. C'mon, cringe with me!) Still, there are some things about it that I like, the "dude dialogue" in particular. It might be worth revisiting at some point.

The main character, Jon, tells the story in first person. He is so totally the most heterosexual character I've ever written. He practically oozes it. So of course this story exists mostly to freak him out. We join our heroes in Chapter 3, where then find themselves in a gay bar, pretty much for shits and giggles. He's a bit toasted and has just knocked a girl over on the dance floor, though the chapter starts off with his mental rambling.


Just What You Weren't Looking For [Excerpt - Chapter 3], 2,500 words


It had been a while since I'd had anything resembling a steady girlfriend - not that I was counting, exactly. If you wanted to get superstitious about it, I always thought it was bad luck to actively look. All right, I hadn't always thought that. That was more a learned thing. Meaning that the more I learned about women and dating and relationships, the more I learned that I knew next to nothing at all, at least in any kind of practical, personal sense.

I'm not the kind to lay all of the blame on the ladies, however. No, it takes two to tango, and we all know how keen I am on dancing. To stay on the fairground, though, I haven't always been the one getting dumped.

I think I'd been staying single for a while almost out of hope that a period of vague celibacy from the dating world might help me clear my head and figure out what exactly I was looking for... and what I wanted to have people find in me. And I don't mean in a literal sense, really. More... I don't know... metaphysical, or something non-committal like that.

I think a lot of my relationships wound up turning out sour because I just plain got bored of them, as much of an ass as that makes me sound. 'Bored' isn't quite the word, really. It's more like they went stale, or were static somehow. I'm no genius by any means, but I've always liked being challenged. It's something that motivates me. I don't like it when the only challenge I'm getting in a relationship is in the form of a tiff.

But what kind of 'challenge' is there supposed to be in a relationship? Or is there even supposed to be one? Am I looking for something completely unreasonable, here? Or am I just looking in the wrong places? It would have been nice if I could have answered those questions on my own, but instead they just mutated and spawned equally disturbing baby questions in my head. I found myself asking them over and over again, in different ways, almost as though I was trying to trick myself into coming up with the answer.

And so I found myself in a gay bar, wondering (now that I was sufficiently buzzed and the inhibitions were out of the way) whether maybe there's a reason I wound up letting myself get dragged here. It took me a while to admit it, but queers - once you got to know them - were a stimulating bunch to be around, creepy double-entendre aside. They usually have to think about this kind of stuff more. They have to consciously figure themselves out to some degree. Everything they do is a challenge, if you want to look at it from that angle. Maybe that's why I've wound up friends with so many of them.

But I'm not queer. I'm -

- losing myself in drunken, rambling thoughts. I just ran someone over. Maybe I should help her up.

I looked down at her, somewhat unsteadily. She was looking up at me through the tunnel of gyrating vertical bodies and laughing. The swivelling white disco lights swam over her and illuminated bits of fabric and skin in a wavy pattern. Her lips were dark and her teeth were jarringly white in contrast.

I held out a hand, which she grasped. She had a firm grip.

Her head swam up into proper vertical alignment with her body and I had a bit of a better look at her, vaguely aware both that ogling her was impolite and that, being a bit toasted, I could get away with it. Her hair was short, gelled up and tousled and probably a shade of blue, though it was hard to tell in this place. She wore the same kind of dark, striking makeup that suited the inhabitants of the club. She had a dress that looked like a clingy, ruffled tube of soft, stretchy fabric. I wanted to touch it, but luckily I remembered that randomly groping a chick - in a gay bar, no less - probably wouldn't go over well.

I must have looked a little flustered when I realized I hadn't let go of her hand yet, and did so. She smirked (rather deliciously, as I remember) and sort of swung her hips to bump into my own as she sauntered past to wherever she'd been going.

Gay bar, Jon. Gay bar. I tried to make this notion solidify in my brain without dipping into the concept of girl-on-girl action, narrowly succeeding. I decided, as I carefully made my way off the dance floor and back to the table, that I really didn't like this place much.

I did eventually find the table, though I found the bar and a double shot of tequila first. On some level I knew I was getting a bit more sloshed than I'd usually be comfortable with, but I felt a kind of grim determination, a sort of primal need, to get drunk enough to be able to enjoy myself. I'd started to get there before, until I'd started thinking too much. It stood to reason, then, that cutting out mental faculties was the best way to enjoy myself in this queer-infested groove hole.

Maybe it worked a bit too well. I slunk back in my chair, the warm sensation of newly ingested alcohol welling in my stomach, and really lost it for a while. I know, I'm a light-weight. It was almost like sleeping, just letting my eyes unfocus and letting the music pound away into my brain, a wash of moving darkness and rhythmic flashes of light swimming through my vision. I don't know how long I sat there. The songs all sounded the same.

"Jon?"

I felt Ryan's breath on my ear, but the voice was buried under the bass line. Sort of startled, I turned my head, my nose grazing his before he moved back a bit. He made the motion of lighting up a cigarette and gestured toward the door. I nodded, wishing I hadn't as my centre of balance went haywire and made standing up and following him out an adventure.

We sidled down the hall past the line-up. It was probably going to be a while before we could get back in, but it would give me enough time to clear my head a bit. The elevator ride down to the parking garage was a quiet one apart from the hum of the elevator and the ringing of my eardrums.

I decided that there must be something up if Ryan wasn't talking to me, so as the elevator doors slid open I asked, "You okay?"

He looked almost surprised. "Yeah."

I made an "after you" motion and followed him out into the parking garage. We weren't technically supposed to be smoking there since it was still "inside", but nobody really cared. Folks were gathered here and there, around or in cars or clustered against the walls.

"D'you wanna go to the car?" Ryan asked.

I shrugged. "Your call. Your car."

He started walking, and I followed him, glad that he had a better sense of direction than I did when I was drunk. It was cool in that stale, underground kind of way, and I was actually happy he'd wanted to go sit in his car. I'd left my jacket up at the bar.

I stayed quiet until I'd had a few minutes sitting in the front passenger seat, with the back adjusted practically to the horizontal and my eyes closed. As long as I wasn't trying to process it visually the world was in focus, and I was happy to keep it that way until I'd worked some of the booze through my system. Ryan had tipped the driver's chair back, too. I could hear him breathing. "Thought you were smoking."

There was no response for a second. "Nah."

That was the thing about him. Most people smoke more when they're stressed. Ryan won't touch the stuff when he's worked up about something. Sets his stomach off, so he says. Amazingly, I'd been right - something was wrong. "What's up?"

I heard him move a bit, but he didn't say anything. I waited for him. Ryan wasn't much of a deep talker. Trying to worm stuff out of him just either pissed him off or freaked him out. In spite of myself I felt my stomach tense a bit, the way it does when you're trying to convince yourself that you should be relaxed about something.

As much of an ass as I am for thinking this, I couldn't help but worry that he was going to say he had a crush on me or something.

It was almost ten years ago that he told me he was queer. For whatever reason, it still feels like he just told me. Like I'm still just getting used to it. I dunno, maybe having gone away to college for four years is what made it so hard for me to get a grip on. I took off at 18, only half seriously starting to consider him a friend again, leaving Ryan here while he was still closeted, repeating the 12th grade and boyfriend-devoid. I come back four years later and the little bastard has a posse, is half way through a degree in psychology and plays the queer dating game with more enthusiasm than I've been able to muster since High School.

'Jealous' isn't quite it. 'Put out' is more like it.

He was a good guy, though. He'd had to stick it out through a lot. He had some tenacity, no question.

Ryan's voice sort of startled me when he finally spoke. "D'you ever feel like... I dunno... like what you decided to do with your life was a mistake?"

That one caught me off guard. It also brought a few comments to mind, none of which were very politically correct. I had no idea what the hell to say, and I'm sure it was apparent. Clarify. When in doubt, clarify. "What do you mean?"

Ryan didn't respond right away. Normally I kinda liked having these no-pressure conversations with Ryan. At the moment I wanted to whack him.

He sighed. "I dunno, it's just... you know... I thought it'd be a good way to go, learning how people tick. Learning how I tick."

School. He was talking about his damn degree. I turned my head to look at him. "Don't you like doing it?"

He was examining the ceiling thoughtfully. "Well, yeah... I do. But not really in a... in the kind of way you want to keep... giving away as a career, you know?"

I didn't, but I had the feeling he wasn't finished yet. Once Ryan got trying to explain something he could take a while of rambling at it before he really nailed it down. I didn't mind so much now that I knew what it was about.

He continued after a minute. "I guess... I got into it because I was already doing it, you know? I was already having to put the pieces together... I mean, I guess everybody has to, to some extent, but since I'm... y'know... a fag..." he said the word with a strange twinge of something, but he didn't pause on it for long. "You know..."

I nodded to make sure he knew I was still listening. I'd let my eyes slide comfortably closed again, which was marginally helping me fit the words together properly into sentences. "Kinda... adds something to it, huh?"

"Yeah." After a second, Ryan let out a curt sigh. "Look, I'm sorry, I picked a stupid time to get into this, dragging you out of the bar -"

"No, man, no problem... It's just, I might be better off if I could..." Language was failing me. Why do there have to be so damn many words, anyway? "... process better, y'know?"

"Yeah... Sorry." He sounded disappointed, though he was trying to hide it.

I felt a pang of resentment. He was the one who dragged me out here in the first damn place. If the point of the whole thing had been to corner me for a heart-to-heart he should have thought things through a bit better. Clubbing doesn't exactly put me in a touchy-feeley mood in the best of times. "Look... I'm working tomorrow evening... What're you doing Sunday?"

"Dunno."

'Talk' mode was apparently over. Cue 'Sulk' mode. Exit stage right. "I'll call you then."

I popped the chair back into a more or less upright position and clambered out of the car. I felt a sour mood creeping on, and I was keen on outrunning it if I could. I probably would have just walked the hour long trek home then and there, but I'd left my jacket up at the bar. Trying not to let that irk me too much, I sidled over to an unoccupied space near the doorway to have a cigarette and calm down a bit.

I puffed and fumed away. He should have damn well known better. I'm pretty manic when I've been drinking, and getting testy with me is a great way to tip the scales the wrong way. He should have known better than to drag me so far out of my comfort zone. I was dimly aware that there was probably some peer pressure happening with the whole drag-Jon-to-the-gay-bar stunt, of course, but at that moment I wasn't in the mood to leave him much leeway in the name of character.

At least he hadn't done anything freaky, like tell me he had the hots for me. That would have pretty much finished off my night, right there.

"'Scuse me?"

I snapped out of my thoughts and looked in the direction I hoped the voice had come from. A girl was standing there, looking a little zoned out but with her feet on the ground, holding an unlit cigarette between her fingers.

"D'you have a light?"

I blinked. "Uh, yeah..." I fumbled through my pockets for it, finding it after just long enough to make me look like a loser. I flicked it to life and held the flame out to her. She put the cigarette to her darkly painted lips and took a few quick draws on it.

"Thanks." She took a long puff. "Sorry I nearly tripped you up, there."

It was about this time that it dawned on me that she was the girl I'd nearly run over in the club. She was wearing a long jacket and looked less absurdly striking in the dim parking garage light, but it was definitely her. Boy, was I ever quick on the draw tonight. "No, that's okay." Fight for your footing, Jon, don't give up the ghost yet.

"So," she said, pausing for another lengthy draw. "You gay?"

---



Oh, and eternalism? I'll have your "hurricane" story sometime within the next few days. A'ight?

Comments

[eternalism.livejournal.com]

Woot! I'll have the guardian story . . . uh . . . done by the 7th, which is when it's due.

Sad thing is, I only started it tonight. I'm a bad bad monkey.

[wordwhacker.livejournal.com]

I notice you've already finished said story. X-D I shall read it shortly, once I get through the past day's worth of Friends entries. With any luck I'll have a hurricane story for you by the end of the night. And don't I still owe you slash fanfic, ShigureXAyame? I'm-a have to do that this summer sometime.