Song of the day: “Cal me All” by Paul Simon. I think that’s twice now in one or two weeks, though it’s a different song, so it doesn’t really matter.
So yeah, after a long conversation last night, big brother and I decided to print out “Saving Nina” rather than start reading through it on the computer again. The nasty thing about doing a read-through on a computer is that you can’t actually read the story. Nope, on a computer you start thinking “should this be written this way, or that?” and then you end up debating a single paragraph for an hour or two and you really can’t get anything done.
Another thing we discussed is that soon, once we’ve finished the rewrite edit of “Commanding Morgan”, I’m going to see if I can start the writing juices up again, and, in order to do so, I need to do actual writing. So I thought about it, and thought about it, and then just started writing on the premises of letting my imagination flow.
Here’s part of what came out in the hour that followed…just for the sake of letting it flow, nothing too complicated only characters and a story that needs to start developing on its own. I have no idea what’s going to happen, so I guess it will be a road of discovery. Hah.
Have a look/see:
Joe.
“What the hell are you talking about?” Joe glanced up from the heavy tile he was trying to shove in place.
“I’m just saying: you, and me put down a couple thou, offer for the job, get it, make a fair mint and spend the rest of the summer slumming on the beach.”
Eyeballing the man at his side, Joe sighed. The stupid tile wasn’t going to move without his friend’s help, and since Ralph wasn’t likely to shut his trap until he had shared his next ‘brilliant’ idea, he might as well sit down in the shade.
He reached for the bottle of cold water, he’d set under the old elm tree half an hour ago, and took a deep draught. The icy liquid chugged down his parched throat. Overhead the midday sun shone brightly, pounding down through the canopy of leaves that dotted the deserted street with a disorderly dance of light and dark.
“I’m serious, Joe. Why let the company take the biggest cut from Samson’s estate? We could do it; bid lower, hire us some of the boys under the counter, so to speak, and we’d have it made for the rest of the year.”
Joe didn’t bother to ask what Ralph figured they would do after the year was through and the company didn’t want to hire them back again due to underhanded behavior - not to mention that the IRS would have something to say about the entire matter.
“Really, Ralph. I thought I made it clear the last time that for the sake of our friendship, it would be best to keep business and pleasure firmly separated.”
Ralph, a lanky, somewhat twitchy twenty-two-year-old, dismissed the reminder with a blithe wave of his energetic hands.
Joe and Ralph had been friends since Joe had knocked Ralph’s front teeth out in fifth grade. Of course, it had been a big misunderstanding, which cost Ralph’s baby teeth, but in the resulting month of detention, they had become best friends for life.
The problem with Ralph was that he spoke before he thought, and that ‘little problem’ had caused him more trouble than Joe wanted to contemplate at this particular time.
“Bah. This is solid, Joe,” Ralph continued, blissfully unaware of Joe’s wandering thoughts. “Seriously. I’ve thought about it ever since we heard the boss-man talk about Samson throwing up a fuss about the estimate he got.”
Joe glanced at his watch, drolly noting that exactly five hours had passed since they’d ‘overheard’ that particular conversation.
“We could make this work, I swear.”
How often had Ralph said those exact words, Joe wondered. Memories bubbled to the surface. There had been the paper route at age twelve. Ralph thought it a grand way to scrounge up some extra cash so they could go to the arcade during the weekends.
As it had turned out, Joe had ended up working the route on his own. The same scenario had repeated itself at thirteen, with the lawnmower business Ralph had thought would be the solution to all their problems. And then there had been the homework scheme, the car service; consequently followed by the carwash, dog walking and too many other ‘ideas’ that had come to a dead end, simply because Ralph couldn’t commit to watching a movie through, let alone an actual business.
Rather than get depressed about all the schemes vivacious Ralph had gotten him into, Joe threw back his head to spray some of the cool water over his hot face. The icy pearls ran down his throat into the open neck of his sleeveless shirt. He relished the feel of it.
“We know everything we need, to pull this off, Joe. Think about it: Your brain and my gab. We’d be a hit because we know stuff normal folks don’t. Like where the cheapest, good quality materials can be found, cheap laborers. Heck, we do this right we might actually manage to set up our own construction company.”
He made it sound so simple, like he always did. Joe fought the niggling sense of excitement, reminded himself again that whatever Ralph thought of, he would have to clean up the mess later on.
“We need to get these tiles in, Ralph,” Joe reminded him, trying to change the topic, even though he knew full well that it would be useless. Ralph might be flighty as hell, but once he thought of something, he’d hold onto it like a hungry dog wanted a bone. It wouldn’t last, but for a while at least, he would nag and whine until Joe caved.
“Damn the tiles, Joe. We deserve better than the measly paycheck we get from Walt; you know we do! Heck, this is almost worse than pulling social security.”
Joe rolled his eyes at the exaggeration. Walt wasn’t such a bad boss, all things considered. Stingy, yes, but fair too.
“No, this is the solution, Joe. It will solve all our problems.”
They didn’t have any, Joe thought, sighing deeply.
“Our own business. We can take our pick of jobs; regulate our own hours, pay, and what not. It’s absolutely perfect.”
Ralph’s light-brown eyes sparkled enthusiastically in the sunlight; his reddish complexion indicated that he had once again forgotten to put sun-lotion on his fair skin. Gawd, Joe really didn’t want to hear Ralph’s momma complain later on - the way she used to when they were kids. Edna Pritchett - a.k.a. Momma - had phobias about practically anything, and her only son getting skin cancer from sunlight was one of them.
In light of what Joe knew of Edna, Ralph was lucky to be as sane as he was: just spending an hour in the frail woman’s company always exhausted, and disheartened Joe. Honestly, Edna could literally make a man feel depressed about winning a million dollar jackpot.
“Did you forget your sunscreen again, Ralph?” Joe interrupted lightly, his eyes on the pretty mansion that stood at the end of the courtyard floor they were laying.
“Sunscreen? For crying out loud, Joe? How can you ask me about sunscreen at a time like this? I---”
“Edna,” he cut in. From the corner of his eye he saw Ralph’s mouth open, but no sound came out. His friend blinked, sighed and then turned, muttering under his breath: “I left it in the truck.”
Sitting there, his knees up, arms stretched out on top of them, Joe watched Ralph bounce towards the dented blue truck.
If Ralph could just direct all the energy that made him do everything at triple speed, into a useful direction, things would be so much easier for the both of them. It wasn’t as if Ralph didn’t pull his weight, or anything; he did…as long as the job, subject or…whatever, held his interest. Regretfully, as soon as his mind went on to a different tangent - which it often did - or when things didn’t pick up as fast as he would like - another frequent occurrence - he left Joe to pick up the pieces.
Had it been anyone other than Ralph, Joe would have felt he was being taken for granted, or even taken advantage of; not Ralph however. Ralph was just…Ralph.
“Think about it, Joe,” Ralph said as soon as he returned from his trip to the car. He was slathering white sunscreen cream on his face, liberally smearing the strong smelling stuff over prominent cheekbones, pointy chin and around wide-set mouth that never stopped talking.
Joe suspected that one of reasons he and Ralph became best buds was because when he was around Ralph he never needed to make an effort. He did not need to think about what to say. Heck, most of the time he didn’t need to talk at all. Since Ralph loved to talk about everything and anything, and didn’t need much - if any - feedback, their relationship worked out rather wonderfully.
“Can you imagine? You, me, our own company.” Ralph’s teeth flashed engagingly with the sunscreen-smeared face splitting open in a slightly crooked grin.
Joe sighed, knowing that chances were he’d be broke again six months from now, tops.
“I’ll think about it, Ralph.”
I have another page or two, but this is all of this particular scene. I think I could grow to like Joe and Ralph.
But anyway, after the printing of “Saving Nina” and this practise bit of writing, it is time to get ready for outside work.
I’m just about to change into work clothes when Amox (mini boxer) attacks Micky (portuegese waterdog) so while I literally throw Amos back up the stairs, little sister who is standing there gets bit in her Achilles heel by Prama (we think), who tried to sneak in a bite underneath the steps of the stairs at the fighting boxer.
Poor little sister. It doesn’t hurt all that much, she claims, but she does almost pass out from it. It doesn’t surprise me really; a good deep bite has that effect. Once she’s recovered a bit, we head on out to continue with the wall, and she insists on making the cement (she needs to do the least walking there).
It goes rather well, and by the end of the afternoon the new wall is finally finished, the fence gets put up, the rocks are nicely crooked, just the way we like them, and then it’s time to head out to get another batch of rocks. It takes almost an hour to get to the location, but they’re well worth it and we load them in, thinking that we might actually have enough this time to fully build the stairs we still intend to build.
When we finally get home, I’m thoroughly tired, so I’m rather happy that I have today’s writing to add to today’s Blog. Hah.
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