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I'd appreciate feedback on this. I know it's long, but anything would be a great help!
The Ride Home
Half day left, and seven cigarettes. I??ve never smoked so frequently before; does he get to me that much? Why the hell did I ask to go back for such a goddamned stupid reason? I don??t give a rat??s ass about politics, but I need money. I could probably get enough from him to afford tobacco until thanksgiving, if I keep hold of some sort of budget. Let me see, Sunday dinners usually run about fifteen dollars if David calls, five if he doesn??t. I??ll have to ignore him. Tobacco is $13.49 plus tax, and I have about 150 papers left. I can swing it if I eat in the cafeteria. I guess everybody has to make sacrifices at some point in their life. It??s been so long since I had a drink. Even if I keep the strictest of budgets, I won??t be able to afford anything until after Christmas. God damn it, I??ve been too sober for too long. I??m starting to forget what it feels like to forget. Having so much on your shoulders can make a man go insane, let alone some kid with such memories.
??What??s up, man? You look serious; that just isn??t a good look for you.?
??Not much, Mike. I??m going home to vote tomorrow. I??m starting to get sick from all the politically charged bullshit in the dorms. Last tight I saw a kid get a fist to the face for saying that Kerry is a giant douche.?
??I think they said that on South Park, but it isn??t like you to care about that kind of shit. You usually just ignore all those would-be earth-shakers.?
??It isn??t just that. I have a lot on my mind. The only reason I??m going home is because I??m broke again. Politics are geared to the less apathetic, anyway.?
??Damn straight. Mind if I pry into what it is that you are worried about??
??Well, if you don??t mind a violin solo, my dad??s the one taking me home tomorrow. That isn??t everything, but that??s the one that??s getting to me the most right now.?
??You should be happy to get your mind off Theresa for a few hours.?
??That??s a weird part of it. Whenever I go home, I don??t think of this place at all. It??s like I cross some sort of memory barrier. It just feels weird. My relationship with my dad is a whole lot more tangible than that with Theresa, anyway. He just bugs the shit out of me. He??s so damned smug about everything, and assumes that I care about his infallible advice.?
??Sounds like you have some problems there, man.?
??No shit Sherlock. I don??t know if I??ll be able to go an hour in a car with that man without a cigarette or stabbing something. You know how I love stabbing?
??Just grin and bear it. Remember: he doesn??t have to know that you??re in hell. You got a light??
??Yeah, here. I??m going to bed after this. At least my nightmares don??t include my family. Peace.?
??Later.?
Well, at least that problem is regular enough to merit an answer other than ??that??s fucked up, dude,? or ??looks like you??re in love, aren??t you cute.? The truth is that I could never outwardly verbalize why I don??t like him; it just seems to be what I??m supposed to feel about him. Shit. I just have to think about the money. He usually gives me about forty when I visit him. That much couldn??t mean anything to him. It??s about an hour??s pay. I just have to get my mind off him, which will be easy if I can just lie in bed and think about things until I fall unconscious. I hope my roommate isn??t there. I think he??s scared of me. He stopped trying to talk to me after a night when I came back so high I was talking to the wall about pirates. I??m not absolutely sure that was it. I remember the cold of the wall against my forehead and there was a new document on my laptop??s desktop about how I should kill all the ??pirate scum? by stabbing them in the heart. There was an interesting description of how it would feel when the knife slid through the sternum. It was strangely nostalgic when I read it. No wonder I have nightmares.
Good, he isn??t here. I think I heard his voice in Molly??s room. I hate her too. She??s treated me differently since she overheard me saying that I wanted to beat my roommate to death with a rock for leaving the window open on a cold night. At least I didn??t. Throw my clothes in pile next to my bed. The pile is getting pretty big. Good thing I??m going home: laundry is free there. Every time I climb the ladder to my bed, I think about how hard it is when I??m drunk. It isn??t impossible, just exhausting enough to make to final collapse onto the sheets a full-body orgasm of instant bliss. I sometimes wonder if that??s the only reason I drink. What should I think about? This seemed like such a good idea seven minutes ago. How about Theresa? That??d be nice. She??s so beautiful. When she talks, everything about her gives an impression of her being a woman. Not a girl, not a teen, but a woman. It??s so nice to just visualize sitting on the side of a hill with your head on her lap, looking up at her silhouette against the sun.
With that fantastic thought, I know exactly how the nightmares will begin. The sky turns blood red, and she changes to a pitch-black monster. Her hair stands on end and waves about as though it had muscles, and the only things visible in the silhouette are two big white, insane eyes and a white, maniacal, fang-filled grin. It laughs in a deep, sultry chuckle, and I go into its being. I see through its clear eyes as it torments the phantoms of my past. It feels like sitting in the driver??s seat of a car that??s running down innocents, and you can neither control the car nor your laughter at the rag dolls bouncing off the windshield. I blame Alice for this. I told her a single story about my life and she made it sound like I killed children and fed them to their parents. I wasn??t that bad; I never killed, did I? It??s healthy for some people to have fear in their lives. All I could do was go along with it until I woke up. Half the nights I enjoyed these things. Those nights are the worst.
Waking up is the hardest part of the day. It doesn??t matter how hard it was to get comfortable the night before. The morning sheets are always soft as silk, and the pillow is like a cloud. I hate it when I wake up with a full bladder and my roommate is there. I he had the decency to wake up and leave by this time, I??d have the ability to piss in the sink. That bastard. I have to jump off my bed, usually falling on my ass, and run down the hall in my bathrobe. It feels so good, though. It??s a relaxing way to start your day at three. He??s going to be here in about half an hour. Pick up the pile of rancid clothing, throw them into my laundry bag, put on the same pants I??ve been wearing for the past month, scrounge for the dregs of my sock and shirt drawer, and put on my least disgusting sweatshirt. It??s almost the exact same thing every morning, with slight variances in my choice of shirt and actions toward laundry. If I start my morning mechanically, I can put off thinking about my life for a few minutes. I can??t afford to go outside to smoke. What if he shows up early and walks into the courtyard? I can almost feel the disappointment at my old habit drilling into my ears, making my stomach turn. Just think about the money. My phone is ringing. I love that tone, it reminds me of the songs they play in old video games where they??ve tried to replace orchestral instruments with unrefined electronic beeps.
??Hello, you have reached the cell phone of Charles Christopher Petrovich. This is Charles speaking. How may I help you??
??My god, do you always answer the phone like that? No wonder you??ve never had a girlfriend.?
That bastard. He??s just never heard of them. He wouldn??t have noticed if they showed up at the front door holding a baby, asking for their Charlie-poo. ??Of course, Dad. How else would people know whom they were calling? You can never underestimate the intellect of the common man.?
??That kind of talk will get you a stick in the eye. Anyway, I??m by the courtyard. Are you ready.?
That??s a new saying, you hear that somewhere or did you make that jewel up on your own? Oh, and yes, I managed to scrounge enough time between bong rips to get ready. ??Yeah, I??ll be down in a second.?
??All right. I love you, buddy.?
??I love you too, Dad.?
There are too many goddamned stairs in this goddamned building. I lived my life in a one-story house, and the only stairs were those that lead to the basement. Well, at least I don??t need my duffel bag for this. God damn it, he brought the truck. That thing is so tiny that I can barely fit in the seat when pulled all the way back. That bastard would probably bring that thing if I were moving everything back, that inconsiderate prick. He??s still wearing his work shirt and nametag. I can??t think of any other respectable corporation that would even consider making their employees wear the same dated, faded polo shirt every day. Maybe they didn??t; he was always overly proud of working in the same company for his entire adult life. ??They work me to death, every goddamn day, like a dog. If I didn??t have kids, I??d be a millionaire my now.? There??s still time to stop supporting my lazy ass, just cash out my MET and take a cruise around Europe. It isn??t worth being a spoiled brat if it means I have to listen to how hard it is to support three kids in college every time I talk to him.
??What??s up??
??Not much, at least since I stopped going to class and started an impromptu rap group based on the premise of businessmen that gave up Wall Street to follow their dreams of traveling the rap battle circuit.?
??There??s no goddamn way I??d waste all that money so you could be some out of work artist.?
That goddamn son of a bitch self-righteous prick, ??I was joking, Dad.?
??Sometimes I can??t tell. Killed many brain cells lately??
??I can??t afford liquor, let alone weed. One of these days I??ll get a job that doesn??t include only four days a year.?
??Damned straight, you know I only want the best for you.?
That goddamn son of a bitch self-righteous prick, at least he didn??t yell at me for smoking. ??I know. Can we stop at Taco Bell on the way home? I haven??t had it in nearly four months; I miss it.?
??We??re going out for a big dinner tonight. It isn??t every day that you pay a visit.?
??I don??t exactly have a car. I??ve been trying astral projection lately, but all I can do so far is see what the weather is in Prague.?
??I wonder, sometimes, if you??ve smoked yourself retarded.?
??Don??t worry, I don??t have enough money for that much weed.?
??What do they charge these days??
What the hell kind of question is that? ??Fifty an eighth, average. That is, until you find a good supplier.?
??That ridiculous! Why, back in my day, it was about fifteen an ounce!?
??I wish. Hey, I always assumed you grew up in a monastery. What about that whole ??dark side?? thing you always talk about??
??I was a kid too, you know.?
Holy shit! This is only the second time he??s admitted to being human! ??Really? I thought you popped out of Grandma a thirty year old family man.?
??Heh, yeah, not quite. I remember one day, I was walking back home and I smelled some good weed burning. I just thought about how I wish I had some on me to go get blitzed before I went home. When I walked into my yard, Grandpa was burning two pounds that he found in the garage.?
Why is he telling me this? Does he think it??ll endear me to him? ??No shit.?
??Yeah, he said ??I told you I didn??t want this shit in my house,?? and I said ??that??s why I put it in the garage!???
That??s actually a pretty funny story. ??Two pounds! Holy fuck! Most dealers don??t even have a quarter pound at any given time!?
??Yeah, those were different days. At the beginning of high school, an ounce cost ten dollars. By the end it had risen to fifteen, so me and a bunch of buddies went out and bought kilos for one-eighty and undercut the other dealers by one or two dollars. We ran that school, just like you??ve told me you did. We thought we were hot shit.?
??Go on, this is interesting.?
??Well, back then, drug testing was a lot less common than it is now, so I started working right away. I didn??t have college after high school, I wasn??t that lucky.? Even in this conversation, he??s trying to make me feel guilty. ??I used the money I got starting out in GM to pay for a house between me and two others: Kevin and a guy named Dan. We still thought we were hot shit, going to college parties and to the high school dealers. I??m pretty sure your mom still doesn??t know about those days. Every boy has to pick a time in their life to give up all the exciting things to settle down and become a man.?
This feels nice. I know it??s his way of saying that he knows that I don??t have to give up the fun of life for a couple years; he just can??t let himself admit that he feels that way. ??There are a lot of people that never grow up. I might get a head shop some day. That??d be nice. The life of an owner of such a small, lax business couldn??t be bad. The guy that owns Su Casa is still a hippie. He just sits back and lets the money roll in from all the little stoners that can??t drive to the campus for a better deal.?
??Yeah. One of my old friends, Neil, had a business like that. He sold specialized lighting with his brother, for in closet grow rooms. He was pulling in thousands of dollars a week, until the feds busted him.?
It seems he had real friends, too. ??That seems odd. Grow lights are dual use tech; it doesn??t seem like a case would hold if he just said they were for marigolds or something.?
??That??s something they??ve lightened up on a lot since then. Then again, they just busted Tommy Chong a few months ago for selling ??tobacco pipes.?? On the other hand, one of my buddies at work is a cool old hippie. He could design his way out of a Mongol attack. The guy never stopped. He still has his ponytail and says ??man?? at the end of half his sentences. I just don??t think I could swing something like that.?
Is that his way of making a concession? That??s too easy. ??It still makes me hopeful. If I could find some specialty that I could do like it was nothing, it??d be heaven in a bag.?
??You still have to be careful. If you aren??t, you??ll get a uniform knocking at your door with a life shattering slip of paper.?
That seems more like him. ??You seemed to get out all right.?
??I got busted hard, back when I was still dating your mom, while Dan, Kevin, and I were still dealing. There was one regular customer that everyone absolutely detested, a real piece of shit, but everybody tolerates a regular. One day, we sold him a quarter pound; we put it in a toolbox to avoid suspicion. We thought we were clandestine masterminds. He was walking down Willow and the cops were waiting for him. I guess they??d been on to us for a while. They busted him and he rolled on us as soon as they said ??jail time.?? They knocked down the front door and pinned us in our own living room about five minutes later.?
??No shit!? Why is he telling me this?
??Yeah, the best part was when your mom called. I was pinned under the knee of a cop; so naturally, I couldn??t answer. A uniform picked up, and told her that I was ??tied up.?? I still think it was damned funny of him, despite the circumstances.?
I have to agree. ??So, Dad, how long did this go on??
??Didn??t John tell you I smoked with him a few months ago??
I felt like my head was about to explode! My father had smoked with my brother! Just a few years earlier, he had yelled at my eldest brother for three hours when he found a film canister with a couple specs of fragrant dust in the bottom! ??Yeah, but I thought he was full of shit.?
??I??m not dead yet. I probably could have kept on living my life with a beer in one hand and my one-hitter in the other. The day John was born, I looked down at him and told myself that I had to get my shit together and be a father. That was when I decided to be a man. You know, Kevin still lives like a boy.?
??He still smokes??
??Oh, hell yeah! That boy thinks he??s a teen for Christ??s sake.?
This seems like a good place to test him. ??I wonder if he??d have ever smoked with me if I asked him. I went over there enough to baby-sit. Just think; I pretended a bottle of vodka was for disinfections when his kids found it. Something tells me that they??ve experienced more than I give them credit.?
??That??s no way to raise to sons, but I can??t tell him how to live his life. He??s my oldest friend.?
So you tell me instead? ??I suppose it??s my turn for a story, eh??
??I suppose.?
I need to tread lightly. ??The last three years of high school, I was part of a syndicate based in Saint Johns. All the drugs in Lansing came either from us or some bar with a secret grow room. The day we heard that the bar got busted, we had a huge party, and basically controlled Lansing. I was never as deep as the majority of the kids, though. One thing I always admired was their professionalism; we only referred to each other by nicknames to circumvent betrayal. I was ??Spaz;?? I even had a weird little signature.?
??I remember that; you used to doodle it on your tests. What exactly did you do, if you weren??t in too deep??
Shit, I guess hindsight is 20/20. I need to ease up a little. I??m on trial here; I don??t need to impress him. ??I was an ??intimidator.?? If somebody owed one of my men money, I had to find a way to keep the pressure on. It was nuts. Other than that, I dabbled in dealing. My most lucrative stint was when I was the running supply man to Fannie Mae??s pretzels up at the mall. From time to time I also took odd jobs.?
??I knew there was a reason you rode your bike to the mall so often. That was the only time you used the damned thing.?
God damn it; he sure likes to make references to my weight. On the other hand, he seems rather nonchalant about this. By all estimation, he should be pulled over to the side of the road beating me with an umbrella by now. I love him; I really do. I have no friend that has a parent that??s so open with them about their past. Every one of them complains about how hypocritical their parents are when it comes to these things. ??Ooh, Taco Bell!?
??We aren??t that far from home. Just wait a while and we??ll get some great food with mom.?
??All right. I guess I can wait.?
He??s stopped talking. It feels odd. I??ve learned more about my father in the past few minutes than I have in a lifetime. It??s even odder that the only things that could bring us together like that are reminiscences about our days in the underworld. Is that what I inherited from him? My eldest brother had been the biggest dealer in my high school; John had shared that responsibility with a couple close friends; and I had basically controlled every illegal activity in the district. What the hell kind of family is this? Was it possible that my syndicate had been handed down through the family? My friend, David, inherited an effeminate, whiny personality from his father; was the capacity for evil my inheritance? From my mother??s side, I??ve gained my imposing physical stature and an inconsiderate lust for sarcasm. Until now I??ve assumed that my father had only given me a family history of paranoid schizophrenia and angina. How much of me is my father? Now that I think of it, Theresa looks and acts kind of like my mother.
Am I afraid, or happy? My father changed from such a corrupt man to working seven days a week without a drop of liquor, all so he could support three ungrateful brats through college. Would I look down at my second son one day and decide to ??get my shit together?? I don??t want to be the man he is now. I never wanted to be that man. I hardly ever saw him when I was young. I still remember the terror of the day he shaved his mustache; I had no idea who my own father was. Am I going to be that distant man one day? Will I decide to shave my beard one day and come home to a terrified son? I don??t ever want to be that man. If I ever have a family, I would want to be there with them as often as humanly possible. I??m afraid. I know exactly what he was thinking. He knew that he had to work to be able to buy his house and car so that he wouldn??t be suffocated by the cost of providing for our education when the day came. Have I inherited this sense of misguided well meaning along with my lust for evil? That??s just what I need: a new nightmare.
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holy fucking shit i cant believe i read that whole god damn story! well its kinda boring and pointless well i guess not pointless but definately boring. i also notice a couple mispelled words and "typos" like an 'I' was suppose to be 'It' and also ??Didn??t John tell you I smoked with him a few months ago??
I felt like my head was about to explode! My father had smoked with my brother! Just a few years blah, blah , blah" you say months then years? hmm well which one is it? and also there was a 'to' that was suppose to be 'two'. and i also had a little trouble following who was talkin. i guess it wasnt that bad of a story all together though. not bad.
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I missed the part when youre dad pulls the J out of his pocket and after lighting up you totally have a "moment" with him...
Eh?
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read Stephen King's 'On Writing'
trust me, it'll help
The only advice I can give you is this; cut, cut, cut. Alot of the sentences/paragraphs/dialogue was long and drawn out - keep it short and sweet. Delete any unneccasary (i hate that word lol) words or sentences. Let the reader fill in the rest themselves. If you don't then they'll find themselves skipping whole lines to get to the end quicker..
One more thing - Dialogue needs to be more realistic. ie, if you're writing a conversation between you and your dad, you should word it how you would both talk to eachother. If a 12 year old girl is speaking, don't have her saying words like 'unanimous' or 'existentialism'.. Similiarly, if you're having a conversation with your dad, you're more likely going to use slang terms, and drop your t's; that kind of thing.
anyway, it was an interesting read.. sorry about the critisicm, but I love to write, too.. so i love talking about it, :p
peas
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The weird thing is that my dad and I actually talk like that. And thank you for your help!
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lol then i'm sorry
hey i didnt mean to be critical.. its just thats the exact same advice someone once gave me, and it helped a hell of alot! :)
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I didn't mean to criticize your criticism (tee hee), I'm just explaining that part of it. I know its long and drawn out, too, but I had to show my background, how I deal with it, and what I've become. Anywho, The best literary advice ever given to me was to give absolutely everything in a story some nuanced meaning that adds to the rest of it. I just have trouble giving those ties substance. Either way, I've already re-written it, and it was in need of repair. I love to talk about it too. If I post another story some time, I'll actually read through it once beforehand.
