This blog was meant to sharpen my writing. I can't tell if it's working, but stories are connected scenes, not essays. This is just a series of essays. So I've rethought my goal for this, but I'm not sure I'll be able to change this. Instead of ranting and reviewing and praising and expressing my thoughts, I need to only report on five minutes of each day or five minutes of a day past. Five minutes is my limit because I won't be writing more than 2000 words and a typical scene of that length shouldn't be more than 20 minutes but for practice, I've limited it even more. When I go to my real writing, I should be able to ease up and have clear, vivid scenes. I can't just concern myself with style, economy and tone. I'm not saying I've mastered those, though I do a pretty good irritated narrator, but my focus should've been on the scene all along.
Last night, before I finished my "volunteer" work at Hilltop, playing Pitch with some eighty year old ladies, my stomach grumbled loud enough that one of the ladies asked if I was getting enough to eat. I explained that with my schedule, classes and work, I hadn't eaten yet, but would fix myself a big meal after I left.
That was a lie. I wouldn't fix myself any meal, but I did get some food. At GCS, the fast food service on campus, there were three guys standing near the counter. I fumbled with my wallet, pulled out my ID card and shoved it back in my pocket. I didn't want to waste a second ordering. I waited behind them until they said they weren't in line and were just waiting for their food. Then why the hell don't you stand elsewhere? Plenty of room! And there are chairs for you.
The place had plenty of empty seats, but it was busy. Or had been. Everyone except the three idiots that were in my way had their food in their bellies already. But they stayed at the tables and talked. And no one was yelling or anything, but the dozen different conversations mixed together and filled the place. It had wonderful acoustics, which is why they had local bands and theater groups play here some nights. But it meant that I couldn't hear too well. And being next to the kitchen, where the dish washer rattled and the deep fryer hissed and everything just seemed louder, I couldn't hear too well.
A dark blonde girl with plenty of curves and a soft belly that showed beneath her tight shirt was at the register. She leaned on the counter with her body parallel to the floor and her tits hanging down. Her head were on her folded arms, like they were a pillow. She saw me and smiled and sighed and I got the impression she wished I hadn't come in.
I glanced around the kitchen for TRC, but didn't see her. So I scribbled my name and order on the slip of paper and X-ed the "Takeout" box. As I wrote it, TRC leaned over the counter and cocked her head, trying to read my order upside down. "Cheeseburger and fries," and then she left for the stove. I slid it towards the curvy girl and fumbled in my pockets for my card. She lifted her head and straightened up and rolled her shoulders back. I handed her my card and glanced at the TV, highlights from the latest college game were on.
Uninterested, I turned back and there was TRC with a smile, leaning against the counter. She had a Coca-Cola sponsored cup in hand that she beat against the other hand. I assumed it was meant for me.
"Hey."
"Hey"
She's such a thin girl, and attractive but not terribly so. The soft girl next to her had more sex appeal because TRC's bones stuck out at the joints and whatever butt she had was hidden by baggy jeans and a long sweatshirt. And when she smiled, her round cheeks rose up and she squinted, though I was sure she wasn't oriental. She plopped the cup on the counter with the opening down.
"Thank god it's Friday," she said, holding my cup hostage. The ransom was one decent conversation, something I could never afford in public.
"Friday, Friday," the curvy girl sang.
"Oh god." She turned to me, who was confused about the singing and reaction. "Someone printed these papers with her on it and all the lyrics and they wallpapered our door."
I chuckled a little. "Oh?"
"We deserved it. Last week, while we were in class we had some Bieber songs blasting through the walls."
"Glad you're not my neighbors," said the curvy girl.
"We get into these wars all the time," TRC explained to me. "They had this picture of Bieber on the door across the hall from ours, and you can't just take things off of people's doors, right? So every time we left the room, we'd have to see it."
"I think he's cute."
"This is why we don't hang out more."
She scooted the cup towards me. Another customer came behind me and I shifted down so I was in front of the curvy girl and not TRC. I gave her a nod and she gave me the chipmunk smile, showing the gaps between her teeth.
I filled my cup at the soda fountain and sat, glancing from the TV to the counter. Every time she was staring at me. When my order was up, a stout black boy, who I had never had contact with outside of GCS but who knew my name, walked it to the counter and handed it off to her.
"It's been a pleasure serving you," she said before letting me have it. "It's nice to see you're as verbose as always."
I tried to make some joke about how I'll keep it down next time, but it was so loud in the place, she didn't hear me. Or maybe it was so trite that she didn't care to respond.
-Cantwhistle
P.S. This is what I'm going to try to do. It won't be a story, but it'll be a recap of an event from my day that might be a part of a story. Just one scene, five minutes.
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