Tell, Don't Show: Fiction that Breaks the Rules (English 261)
Instructor: Eric Puchner
February 27, 2009
Exercise #1, Ticking Time Bomb
Pat Visbal
Note: For me this was breaking the rules, especially, the choppy format and the change in tense. (I'm so ashamed!)
(No title)
He was a rock musician. He played lead guitar in a well known band and she had him all to herself tonight.
She had run into him outside the stadium after the show was over. There were people all around him, but she was bold. She stepped between body guards and shouted, "Hey, ------, great performance! Can I interview you for my school newspaper? It would really help me out..."
"Sure, why not?" he said. And she was suddenly engulfed by people and became part of the living pulsating thing called an entourage.
She wasn't stupid, and she wasn't going to do anything stupid. She was aware that she was sixteen and he was decades older than she was, but she was a straight A student who was managing editor of her high school newspaper, and he was a fucking drug addict, alcoholic moron, who just happened to play the guitar well. She was perceptive and she knew how to play this: Ask innocent questions, get him talking, get him to trust her, and take it all down.
Everybody talked to her. They told her their deepest darkest secrets. Her friend's mom had told her she was having an affair and why. Her teacher told her he had a thing for boys. Her therapist told her his girlfriend had never had an orgasm before she met him. She new which kids were being abused--sexually and physically--because they all told her. She didn't publish this information, she just filed it away for safe keeping.
"What would you like for dinner?" the rock star asked, tossing her the room service menu. They were in his hotel room, which had original works of art on the walls and was bigger than her family's whole house.
"Oh, I don't care. I'm easy." It was a great line coming from her, because she didn't look the type. She wasn't all tarted up, like half the girls at school, she was without makeup and in jeans and tennis shoes and a school sweatshirt from her brother who went to NYU. And she was a virgin. Her innocence blared.
He smiled. "This Hotel is famous for duck. We'll get you the duck."
"Sounds good." She opened her notebook and started easy, innocently. "So, what's the worst TV show you've ever seen, but that you enjoy watching?"
"Like, what's my guilty pleasure? I like the home shopping network; it's mesmerizing. It's like they're seducing you with their words and pictures--flashing those fake gems like they're answers to philosophical questions that are going to solve all your problems."
She asked him more questions and wrote it all down, thinking, okay, maybe he's not as fucked up as I thought. There's a little bit of intellect left there in that pickled brain.
Dinner came. The duck was like nothing she'd ever had. It was red and glistening; crispy, yet moist; sweet, yet savory. She couldn't get enough of it.
"So childhood," She patted her mouth with her napkin and picked up her notebook. "What was the worst thing you ever experienced as a kid?"
He lit a cigarette, inhaled, and blew out the smoke. It took a very long time. "Off the record?" he asked. Something didn't feel right, but she nodded and put down her notebook. "Off the record," she said.
"When I was six, we had this big neighborhood barbecue; everyone was there. It was hot and I was bored and tired, so I went into our car and laid down on the front seat and I released the parking brake. Shit! I don't know why! I was curious and probably ADD. I just wanted to see what would happen."
He took another drag off his cigarette and his voice was quieter when he spoke. She had to get closer and lean forward to hear.
"The car started rolling down the hill. Mr. MacDonald saw it and jumped in and jammed on the parking break. And then my dad was there. He jerked me out of the car, yanked down my pants, and they fell down around my ankles, and he whipped me with his belt. The whole neighborhood saw everything. Everything."
She envisioned it--shocked. If her parents had ever done anything like that to her, she would have killed them or run away from home. She couldn't talk.
"Hey, are you okay?" he said. "Do you want a sip of my wine?" She did. The taste was so foreign, but it made her feel so right. It helped.
They're in his bed, now, his arms are around her. Her jeans, her sweatshirt, her bra and panties are on the floor. She still has on her t-shirt on--can't quite give that up.
"Sweetheart, I wanna suck your titties, I wanna eat your pussy." He is all over her, hands, mouth, everything. She knows this is not love, this is sex. But it feels wonderful...
At the last minute, she pulls away.
"What's the matter?" he says.
"I can't," she says. "I'm sorry, I just can't." And she's using her arms, her t-shirt, trying to cover everything up.
He sits up, lights a cigarette. She sees there is something wrong. Something very, very wrong.
"You know, sweetheart, you have a lot of issues. You really need to deal with that shit." It wasn't said kindly from a place of concern. It was more of an accusation, like there was something wrong with her. This, from a guy who was a total basket case, who made her look like Mother Theresa. She looks at him for a second and then slaps him in the face. His cigarette goes flying.
His expression was engraved in her mind forever. She'd never seen eyes like that before. He hit her back so hard it knocked her off the bed and into the wall. He grabbed her and dragged her back up and held her so their faces were an inch from each other, and said, "If you ever... ever... do that again... I will kick your ass from here to fucking kingdom come."
She seriously considered retaliating. She had that cocky self destructive thing going for her that made her want to push the envelope... But then he said, almost invitingly, "Come on, sweetheart, hit me. I know you want to." He gestured toward his face. "Come on, hit me....... just once." It sounded so friendly, but his eyes weren't friendly. They were livid.
Between the two of them, they had one article of clothing on (her t-shirt), and that made her uncomfortable. And then she remembered the story he told her about his dad physically abusing him... and she realized he had a lot of rage built up and he could probably get really creative kicking her ass from here to fucking kingdom come.
She backed down. He held her and cuddled her and whispered sweet nothings in her ear until she stopped shaking, and he fell asleep.
She quietly put her clothes back on. She found her notebook next to the plate holding the bare bones of her duck and took the elevator down to the lobby.
On her way out, she dumped the notebook in the trash.
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