CW #7 Rosa Parks

Our final exercise in the creative writing workshop was to write a FICTIONAL account of a famous person's day. It was meant to give us practice researching as well as writing. I wrote mine about Rosa Parks. I hope I've done her justice.

                        ~

Rosa's feet hit the floor with a thud. She shuffled through the dim light to the washroom where she washed her face, and combed her thick black hair back into a tight bun. She put on the starched navy blue uniform that was on a hanger on the back of the door. With a final check in the mirror she went downstairs, gripping the handrail and taking the steps one by one, thinking about what she was going to say at the NAACP rally the next day.

She filled a kettle with water and turned on the stove. A bag of 'Red Rose' tea, she always bought this brand because of the name, was waiting in a heavy white mug. While her tea steeped she walked over to the calendar hanging on the wall beside the fridge and flipped the page to the next month. December, 1955. Oh my, only 25 days till Christmas, she thought, I'll haf'ta pick up gifts for the nieces and nephews soon. Sipping her tea she wondered what life would have been like if they had children, if she would have had grandchildren by now.

Rosa turned on the radio in time to catch the news and weather forecast. Twenty seven Fahrenheit, I'll have to wear a coat, she thought as she sipped her tea. She pulled a bag of bread from the cupboard and laid out two slices, a thin layer of butter and a slice of bologna finished the sandwich. With precision, she folded it in waxed paper and stuck it in her purse, along with a shiny, red apple. Her tea finished, she walked upstairs to brush her teeth, after rinsing her mouth she smiled at the dark face staring back at her.  The clock downstairs on the sideboard chimed 7; she went back downstairs to finish getting ready to leave. Sitting on a straight chair beside the front door she put on her sturdy black shoes, then stood to put on her coat. The dark grey wool coat was scratchy against her neck as she fastened the top button.

From the bottom of the stairs she shouted up to her husband, "Raymond, don't forget we have the NAACP rally this weekend. I'm stopping at the drugstore on my way home, do you need anything? Okay, I'll get some aspirin. Wear a coat when you go out, it's below freezing this morning. See ya later!". The National Association for the Advancement of Coloured People was an organization dear to her heart so she never missed a chance to help out.

She stepped out the door, an ordinary start to what would be an extraordinary day. Her feet seemed to know the way to the bus stop on their own, they'd travelled that way so often. Rosa stood straight as she waited for the bus to come, her large black purse gripped in front of her. She stepped on, paid, and walked to the back of the bus, careful to take a seat after the 'coloreds' sign. Every time she got on the bus it was the same thing and the unfairness angered her. At least this bus driver didn't make her get off after she'd paid and re-board at the back of the bus. She refused to be degraded like that and often waited for the next bus.

The bus rolled to a stop in front of the Montgomery Ward department store. With a resigned sigh, but shoulders back, she stepped off the bus and walked to the employee's door at the side of the building. A pile of men's trousers at her workstation waited for hemming and pressing.  Steam rose from the presser causing tendrils of hair to be released from the bun on the back of her head. Beads of sweat peppered her brow as she leaned over the sewing machine, meticulously hemming each pant leg. A bell rang, signifying break time, so she finished sewing the leg she was working on and rushed downstairs to see H. Council Trenholm to finalize plans for the NAACP workshop she was giving at the college that weekend.

Rosa hemmed and pressed more trousers before lunch, humming 'this little light of mine, I'm gonna let it shine" under her breath as she worked. At noon, she picked up her lunch from the employee fridge and walked down the street to the office where her friend Fred Grey worked as a lawyer. She was proud to call the second black lawyer in Montgomery her friend. Seating herself in the chair in front of his desk she unwrapped her sandwich and between bites proceeded to fill him in on what she planned to say at the workshop. Fred listened without saying anything, he was used to her enthusiastic mutterings.

As the afternoon wore on, Rosa's shoulders ached from the tedious work. At 5pm the pile of pants had evaporated and she was free to go.  Her coat unbuttoned, she walked a block to Lee’s Cut-Rate Drug and with a basket in hand walked the aisles. Aspirin, toothpaste, not the heating pad - too expensive. I'll try Rub A535, it's a lot cheaper than the heating pad, she thought. She set the basket beside the cash register and paid. Her purse in one hand and shopping bag in the other, she walked down the sidewalk to the bus stop. She couldn't wait to get Ray to rub the A535 on her shoulders.

A bus pulled up, and without looking at the driver she paid and walked down the centre aisle to the first non-white seat and sat down beside a man. Crammed onto a seat barely big enough to seat one adult, let alone two, she balanced her load on her lap and kept her eyes straight forward. The bus started. Three times it stopped for passengers until the front was full. The only seats left were the middle section where she was sitting with three other blacks. The bus driver, James Fred Blake, noticed a white man standing and shouted back for the 4 black people to move to the back of the bus even though there were no empty seats. At first nobody moved. Blake walked back and told them again. Rosa moved her legs aside to allow the man sitting beside her to leave then, gripping her parcels, slid over against the window. The other three moved to the back, where they stood, waiting to see what would happen.

Rosa sat firm, her jaw jutted out and head held high, tired, not from the physical work she had done that day, she was tired from years of racial injustice.

Blake threatened to get the police and still she did not move. She stiffened her body and in a firm voice said "No. I will not."

Blake left the bus to find the police. While she waited her resolve strengthened and although no other people stood beside her, she knew that she could not give in.

After a few minutes, two police officers accompanied Blake when he returned to the bus. The two officers walked to the back of the bus and confronted Rosa, ordering her off the bus.

“Why do you all push us around?” said Rosa.

The police officer replied, “I don’t know, but the law is the law and you’re under arrest.”

The officers escorted Rosa off the bus, one stopping to pick up her purse, the other to pick up her shopping bag. One opened the back door of the cruiser.

Rosa Parks stepped into the car and onto the pages of history.

“I would like to be known as a person who is concerned about freedom and equality and justice and prosperity for all people.”
― Rosa Parks

CW #6 An Unfinished Song

You may recognize this story as I posted a version of it a year ago. The creative writing assignment for class #6 was to write our own story. I liked this story the first time but knew it would be better once I applied some of what I learned. It could still use work, but here it is re-written and with critique results incorporated.

                  ~

Larry stood outside the restaurant door his shoulders slumped. He almost didn't recognize the ashen face staring back at him in the glass door. He hitched his jeans up and tightened his belt one more notch, then ran his hand through his grey hair in a vain effort to tidy it. He tried to remember when he was a normal, happy man, what he had been like before the depression descended, before the dense grey fog had taken over his mind obliterating all recollection. Staring at his wounded reflection he examined his life to try to find the reason for his condition, hoping to find a trigger that could be reversed, but there was nothing he could pinpoint. His doctor told him that he'd get better, but it would take time. With a shallow sigh he pulled open the door and stepped inside.

"Larry, we haven't seen you for ages. I've missed your cheerful smile and all your crazy jokes, where have you been?"

"Around." was all the response he could muster.

"I'll put you in your usual seat." The waitress gave him a quick hug before leading him to his table, "Are you having the tacos?"

"Please." Larry answered back with a wan smile. His thin body collapsed into the chair and for a moment he clasped his hands in front of him and lowered his head as if in prayer, his breathing became deeper and slower as he gathered his will to continue his charade.

He took a deep breath and sat up, letting the noise and commotion wash over him like a warm wave. He felt a stirring of life, like a seed getting ready to emerge from sun warmed soil. He needed this. His meal appeared before him and with unsteady hands he ate, a cloth napkin tucked under his chin so he didn't spill onto his favourite concert t-shirt. He hadn't eaten much this past month: canned soup and saltine crackers had been his mainstay, anything else was too much effort.

He lifted his head from the last of his meal and noticed people moving to tables on the patio. Someone started singing with a karaoke machine. Larry felt his pulse quicken as the familiar sounds of the Hollie's 'Long Cool Woman in a Black Dress' caught his ear. His foot moved to the beat of the music.

They've never had music here before, thought Larry, the new owner is really changing the place.

With strains of music wafting through the restaurant, he gathered his energy and walked over to the patio door so he could see what was happening. As he stood there, a woman in a bright pink t-shirt came inside, squeezing past him on her way to the bar.

"Is this a private party?" Larry asked her. He wasn't sure why he cared, but there was something inside him looking for a life preserver.

She shook her head, smiled and invited him to join in.

He stepped through the door and felt a stirring of life in his chest. Colour flushed his face and his heart beat a little faster. Visions of singing in front of the mirror in his room as a teenager flooded his memory. Piles of albums had littered the floor, driving his mother crazy. Simon and Garfunkel's 'I am a Rock' became his anthem and he sang it until the album was worn out. He thought of his guitar sitting covered with dust in the corner of his living room and strummed his fingers as if it were in his arms.

He stood by himself against the side wall of the patio listening to the music. Slowly courage welled until, at a pause in the music, his hesitant legs carried him to the entertainers with the karaoke. He bit his lip then blurted out his request: a chance to sing. With trembling hands he took the list of songs and made his choice.

He grasped the mike with sweaty palms waiting for the first notes to play. A gentle breeze cooled his sweaty brow. Closing his eyes he started to sing,
"A winter's day
In a deep and dark
December;
I am alone,
Gazing from my window to the streets below
On a freshly fallen silent shroud of snow.
I am a rock,
I am an island."

His long given up dream of being a rock star played in his head as he belted out 'I am a Rock'. For a few brief minutes he felt more alive than he had for months and the confusion in his mind lifted a bit. He stood up straight, with his shoulders back and head held high, swaying to the music. It was his saviour.

Abruptly, it seemed, the music stopped and he opened his eyes. Where he had imagined cheering crowds, sat tables of people immersed in their conversations. Barely an eye had turned his way. Deflated he handed the mike back and turned to walk away. His shoulders slumped and his legs felt like they were walking through a vat of molasses. Feelings were stuffed back into a leaden suitcase.

Suddenly exhausted, he went back through the patio door, the possibility of salvation left behind, and trudged to the door to the parking lot. His arm trembled with the effort of opening it. Just as he was about to step through a voice called out to him.

"Hey! I really liked what you sang. I love Simon and Garfunkel. I wish you'd sung more. Maybe next time." A bright smile lit the woman in pink's face and she turned away.

Heat flushed Larry's body, and he walked out the door, with a slight smile on his face and a bounce in his step - not quite as alone as he was before.

CW #5 Homeland

Oh boy - this was a hard one. I had a heck of a time coming up with a plot based on the writing prompt and then there was the writing of it! Certainly a challenge! One more creative writing challenge after this and then it will be time for the Christmas break - whew...

                                   ~

Angie paced through the kitchen and down the hallway, her shoes clacking on the beige tile floor. Everytime she glanced at the neat stack of mail on the hall table she clenched her hands into a sweaty fist, she wasn't sure but she might actually get sick. At the other end of the table was a wedding photo of her son and his bride in an ornate silver frame. "Oh, no... what have I done".

The crunch of gravel on the driveway alerted her to her husband's arrival. With a quick turn on her heel she rushed to the kitchen where she she stood in front of the stove stirring a curry, her slender figure stiffened against the sound of her husband's steps coming down the hall.

"Hi honey, I'm home!" Carl grabbed the pile of envelopes from the table as he passed by. The smell of curry scented the air. Carl walked into the kitchen, his bulky form darkening the doorway for a moment. The corners of Carls mouth dropped into a frown, "Curry again? What's wrong with meat and potatoes?"

Angie opened the fridge and grabbed a bottle of beer. "I have a beer open for you, why don't you come and tell me about your day?"

"Huh, in a minute", he dropped the mail on the kitchen table and seated himself on a chair, took a swig of beer, and started to open the envelopes. Just as he was opening the bank statement the back door opened and Peter, their son, stepped through the door.

"You won't believe it! Vidya is refusing to come home. She wants to stay in India with her family. I wish her parents hadn't lent her the money to go. How will I live without her? I love her!" Peter leaned against the counter, his shoulders slumped.

Carl glanced at the paper in his hands. "What's this? Angie, do you know anything about this," his voice grew louder, "five thousand dollar withdrawal?"

"ummm... well, it's the money I lent to Vidya for her trip." She wiped her sweaty palms on a dish towel, and stirred the pot again. "She was so depressed. I was worried she might do something and thought a trip home might perk her up. I thought seeing her family would help…"

Carl's face turned red and a vein started to pound in his neck. "Are you telling me that you gave Vidya five thousand dollars without consulting me?" his hands shook, rattleing the bank statement that was clasped in his hands.

Peter's mouth formed a snarl. "Mom, are you out of your mind? How are we supposed to pay back that loan? I'm not even sure I'll have a job by the end of the week - AsciiPro is having trouble with the call center in India and might hire someone there to work it out. So I'll be without a job, my wife, and my child."

"Child?" she raised her eyebrows and a smile lit her face.

"Ya. I just found out this morning. Vidya is pregnant, and thanks to you I'm losing everything." Peter slammed the door as he stormed out of the house.

Carl turned to Angie, "You call her and tell her that if she doesn't get her ass back here from that hell-hole I'm calling the police to say she stole the money." He grabbed his beer off the counter and stomped into the living room.

Early the next morning Angie picked up the phone with trepidation. Her hands shook as she dialed the number to Vidya's parents house in India.

"Hello, Vidya speaking." said a disconnected voice over a crackling line.

Angie stared out the kitchen window and a nerve twitched under her eye as she told Vidya about Carl's threat to call the police.

At the other end of the phone line, Vidya stood in front of an ornate full length mirror admiring the perfect job she had done applying the bindi. The perfect red circle was reflected in the round mirrored disks in her saree. She adjusted the burgundy garment over her shoulder and preened at her image. *so much better than American clothes*. Her attention focused back on what Angie was saying but she dismissed Angie's threats as impossible to implement. Angie continued her pleading,  the combination of cajoling and threat didn't budge Vidya's position. She was staying in India and that was all there was to it, even if she did miss Peter tremendously.

Frustrated, Angie called Peter to see if he had more luck.  "Mom, I'm at work, I can't talk. We are really busy here dealing with the call centre I told you about.", his voice lowered to a menacing whisper, "You better find some way of getting her home. I want my baby born here."

That evening Carl returned home from work to find Angie crying in the livingroom. "I take it Vidya said no." said Carl. His eyes didn't leave Angie, his face flushed . "I'll let you try again tomorrow before we take any action. You can find out from the Indian Embassy what steps we need to take. I don't understand why she doesn't want to live here where we eat cows instead of letting them run everywhere."

Angie grimaced at Carl's racist words, "you sure didn't help matters" she mumbled under her breath.

As soon as Carl left for work the next morning, Angie called Vidya again and, again she had no luck. "The baby will have choices when it grows up. If it's born in the US it will automatically be an American citizen. Think what that might mean for its future. Oh honey, it's not about the money, we want you to come back. Peter is distraught without you, we all are.", but Vidya held strong.

With shaking hands Angie dialed the number she had written down. "Hello, I need some advice. Someone we know borrowed some money and have returned to India, what is our recourse?".

"I'm sorry, the staff is unavailable, I'll have someone call you tomorrow.", said an unfamiliar voice.

Angie hung up the phone and pulled a box of tea from the cupboard. She could no longer hold back her tears when she saw the decorated elephant on the lid.

The next day Peter burst in the back door of his parents house. With a goofy grin on his face he said "the company is sending me to India! I'm going in two weeks and who knows how long I'm going to stay there - they say it's a permenant job! Vidya will start looking for an apartment today. Isn't that fantastic! I'll be there when the baby is born."

Angie stood frozen to the spot. She was losing her son and grandchild to a foreign land that she was certain Carl would not agree to visit.

CW #4 - Come Sail Away

You'd think that this writing thing would get easier each week, but no, it is getting harder. I took the comments from the workshop and incorporated them into my story, but I know there are still a few problems logistically. I'll leave it to you to decide what makes sense!

                      ~

Come Sail Away

With shoulders slumped and a frown on his face, Brian kicked at the sand as he walked along the beach towards the resort's marina. He felt trapped by his boring job and a wife that didn't give him a moment's peace. He was uneasy about the 5 million dollar insurance policy that his wife, Cornelia, had taken out on his life and was looking to find solace among the boats.

The hot sand was replaced by the smooth boards of the dock. His frown turned to a smile as he walked along the dock admiring the colourful sailboats. A slender, blonde woman on a boat waved a greeting. He waved back.

The next day, as soon as Cornelia left the room for her day of spa and shopping, Brian headed straight for the docks. The blonde woman was there again; this time, instead of just waving, she called out 'hi'. A butterfly tumbled in his stomach.

"Hi." Brian answered. "Is this your boat?"

"Yup, she's all mine! She's an O'day 14 footer built in 1984." Tulula plunged a mop into a pail and continued scrubbing the deck.

"She's a beauty. She's exactly the same azure blue as the ocean. I'm Brian." He shifted from one foot to the other.

"I'm Tulula, do you sail?"

"No, but I've wanted to since I was a boy. Are you from around here?"

Tulula dipped her bucket into the sea and rinsed off the soapy deck, "I'm from Canada, but left when I was 32, I've lived here for 5 years. It feels more like home here than Toronto ever did. I couldn't stand the winters."

"Oh! I'm from Toronto too, and I know exactly what you're saying. I dream of moving away but my wife… oh, I don't want to talk about her… what does your family think of you living here?"

"I don't have any family." Tulula said quietly. She stowed the bucket in the tiny cabin and emerged with a coconut and machette. With a flourish she chopped open the coconut and offered Brian a drink.

A bead of sweat formed on his brow, and with a shaking hand took the coconut from her, "er… where did you learn to do that?"

"I had a friend here who knew all about native plants and fish and he took me under his wing. He died in a boating accident. I miss him."

She stepped off the boat and sat down on the edge of the dock, dangling her feet in the water. Brian sat down beside her and an easy banter grew between them. Suddenly he remembered that he'd better get back to his room or Cornelia would be furious.

As soon as Cornelia left the next morning, Brian walked quickly to the docks, hoping that Tulula would be there. His face brightened when he saw her blonde head bent over her mop.

"Hey!" she called out to him, stowing the mop in the compartment under the seat. "Do you want to go for a sail?"

"Oh boy - do I ever!" Brian stood at the side of the boat, his face flushed and a wide grin spread across it.

He hopped on the boat, but before he could sit down she handed him a life jacket. "You'd better wear this." she said, putting hers on as she spoke.

They motored out of the harbour and when they were clear of the breakwater Tulula set the sails. As the wind blew through his hair, Brian couldn't imagine anything quite so grand. "This is amazing!"

Lost in conversation, the hours passed quickly. After a quick look at her watch Tulula turned around, shocked to see huge black clouds racing their way. "We'd better get back." As they got closer to the storm the wind picked up and the ocean got rough. "Hold the tiller while I reef the sails!" she shouted over the wind.

The waves tossed them around like a cork, driving rain soaking them. Passing Brian the tiller again she ducked into the cabin and emerged with a scabbard holding her machete slung across her back. Her teeth chattered as she turned to Brian, "just in case…"

Waves crashed around them - Brian couldn't see how they could possibly survive the ocean's wrath. The boat crested a wave and shuddered before it crashed into the trough.  Shudder. Crash. Shudder. Crash. On it went, Brian and Tulula's eyes wide with terror, until a giant wave crashed down on top of them, capsizing the boat. As the boat sunk into the sea, Brian and Tulula clung onto each other as the waves threatened to bring them under too.

The sun was just coming up in the east when they washed onto the shore, their arms numb from grasping each other. They dragged themselves further onto the beach and collapsed.

When Tulula woke up she called out, "Hey Brian! Look, there's a grove of coconuts. I'm parched."

On shaking legs they shuffled through the sand to the trees. The storm had knocked several coconuts to the ground and they drank and ate until they had their fill. Energized, they started walking along the shoreline looking for habitation;  when they had circled the island with no sign of life they knew they were lost.

"We'd better make a shelter." said Tulula as she walked towards a line of palm trees. Later, using hooks and line that had been tucked into a pocket of one of the lifejackets, and matches from another pocket, they waded into the lagoon to catch some fish to grill for supper. Every day they combed the beach looking for washed up sea life, if their search didn't turn up anything they waded out into the lagoon with baited hooks to catch their day's meal. They settled into an easy routine and soon the days turned into weeks, which turned into months.

"How many days have we been here, Tulula?"

She sidled up to him and checked her watch, "361." she said slipping her arm around his waist.

"Just 4 more days till I'll be declared dead and Cornelia can collect my life insurance, she must be ecstatic."

Several hundred feet offshore, a commercial pleasure boat dropped its anchor and a small skiff was lowered into the water. Catching the sound of the droning engine Brian and Tulula looked up. Pleasure and dismay contorted their faces as they realized they'd been rescued.

Rage distorted Cornelia's face the next day at the sound of Brian's voice on the phone. "what, when." she spluttered as Brian informed her that he'd already talked to a lawyer about a divorce. Through gritted teeth she said "You can't take half my business, you have no right."

"You're wrong there - I do have the right and I'm going to take it. I'm not interested in being a partner in your business, I want my half in cash." Brian hung up the phone and turned to Tulula, "we aren't going to have to worry about money for the rest of our lives."

CW #3 Bob & Jim

This is the third creative writing assigment. We are given a writing prompt and from there have to come up with a scenario and the action. It is a challenge!

                               ~

Bob Carlson and Jim Hanson greeted each other awkwardly as they took their seats on the 747 bound for London, England. Bob groaned inwardly - he couldn't stand Jim and the thought of sitting next to that blow-hard for seven hours was almost more than he could take. He thought of asking to change seats, but the plane looked full, and besides which they were neighbors so he had to at least pretend to get along.

As soon as they were in the air and the seat belt sign went out, Bob undid his seatbelt and tried to get comfortable, loosening the laces on his Reeboks and stretching his worn denim clad legs in front of him.

"You really should keep your seatbelt on. People have been killed by smashing into the ceiling when the plane has hit a big pocket of air." said Jim as he snugged up his belt a bit.

Bob rolled his eyes. "What are the odds of that happening?".

"Not zero, take your chance if you want," he said sarcastically, "Amy is a sweet girl with a head on her shoulders, I'm sure she's happy to have a father."

"You leave Amy out of this! I noticed how much time you two spent talking at the last party, what's that all about?" said Bob as he surreptitiously did up his seat belt. Bob picked up his 'Ontario Grain Farmer' magazine and with the veins in his neck throbbing, turned to look out the window.

"Look," said Jim, "I know you don't like me, and that's fine, but don't put thoughts into my head that aren't there. Amy is a nice kid, with a good brain on her shoulders," he thought to himself, "but that's what she is, a kid. Besides which, we have a long flight ahead of us and it will go faster if we can agree to get along, at least for these few hours." He undid his seatbelt and stood up, his carefully combed black hair barely clearing the ceiling. He shrugged out of his sports jacket, folded it neatly and placed it in the overhead bin, refastening his seatbelt as soon as he sat down. Bob couldn't help but notice that his worn jeans contrasted with Jim's neatly pressed Levi's.

"Why should I believe you don't have the hots for my daughter? She sure can't say enough about you. It's sickening." Bob blustered, his face red with anger.

The stewardess rolled next to them with her brushed aluminum serving cart. "Can I interest you gentlemen in a drink?". Bob ordered a beer, while Jim ordered a scotch, neat.

Jim picked up his magazine, 'The Economist', but was not easily put off by Bob's rebuke. "Look, we were just talking about the chemistry experiments that she's been doing at school. You'll just have to trust that I prefer my women closer to my own age." he gritted his teeth in a frustrated grimace and tried to change the subject. "Have you had any dealings with Genesis Grains Incorporated?"

Bob turned to look at Jim with a bit of surprise on his face. "Well, yeah. That's the company that I'm going over to close up a sale."

"Do you know anything about their GMO research arm?"

"A bit. They are doing some pretty interesting stuff."

"The research that they're doing with golden rice has me really intrigued. Imagine splicing in the gene for making more vitamin A - it will save millions of kids from blindness. I'm seriously thinking of investing in them. I've been tracking their stock for 6 months and the trend is good." Jim sat back in his seat while the stewardess delivered their drinks. "Ahhh. That's not bad scotch."

Bob looked at Jim out of the corner of his eye and put down his magazine. "Where did you hear about them?"

"There was an article in 'the Economist' several months back about the work that's being done with GMO. Not the GMO that lets Monsanto sell more poison, but the GMO that is really going to help people. The internet has lots more information, if you dig for it. There's a lot more going on than you see in the media. They just like to sensationalize and not educate." Jim took a another sip of his drink.

"You've got some good points, Jim. I'd like to hear more about what 'the Economist' said, but here comes our supper."

"This barely qualifies as supper. It isn't anything like the fantastic spread that your wife put out a few weeks ago. Man, she can really cook!" said Jim as he peeled back the plastic on the butter. He was hoping a less controversial topic would ease the conversation a bit.

"Umm, well, yeah. Maria's the reason I have such a paunch! How can I keep trim when she stuffs me with all that stick-to-your-ribs Italian cooking. She's got a good student in Amy too." Bob's face reddened as he thought of Jim's comments about Amy and her irritating infatuation for him - 'metrosexual indeed'.

They were silent as they finished their meals and both contemplated how to keep the conversation congenial.

After their plates were cleared away they resumed their conversation over coffee, with a more neutral topic. "Do you do much investing?" Bob asked Jim, recalling comments about the grain company.

"Tons, I love the excitement of the market - the losses not so much. Do you have an investment advisor or do you work on your own?"

"I have an investment advisor, but I haven't been happy with my returns." said Bob, brushing crumbs from his 'Mets' tshirt. Their conversation started to flow more easily and before they knew it they were starting their descent into Heathrow airport.

Bob turned to Jim with a smile. "You know, you aren't so bad afterall. I'm sorry I was so quick to judge. "

Jim was pleased that a common ground was found and smiled back, relieved that Bob didn't suspect the truth - he was really interested in Bob's wife, Maria, and that she shared the attraction.

CW #2 - Dialogue Challenge

The Creative Writing workshop was on Monday and, as last week, it was a fantastic learning experience. I had slaved over the assignment: a writing prompt that involved 3 women at a bar. The focus was conversation but also keeping an eye to descriptive "show not tell" prose. I've never done any dialogue so it was a challenge. I was excited to have my work critiqued by the group. I want to hear what needs improvement! How else can I improve?

Assignment: Tabitha Merkle has just broken up with her boyfriend, Pete Lawsky. They have been going together for two years. Tabitha thought that this was the man she wanted to spend the rest of her life with. She is meeting two of her best friends, Gloria Stimple and Rosie Ratchinsky in a bar to discuss the breakup. What happens next?

                                                         ~

Tabitha slumped down into a chair and looked around. There was nothing outstanding about the place: the dark wood of the floor was scuffed with years of use; the walls were a diluted burgundy, which matched the ring her glass of wine had left on the white table ; it even had an enormous oak bar with a brass foot rail dominating one side of the room. Small tables for four peppered the floor, many of them occupied by groups of women. In the far corner a bunch of men had pulled three tables together and were making a lot of noise.

Out of the corner of her eye she saw the door open and turned her head to see Gloria and Rosie walk into the bar and with a frantic wave she got their attention. Tabitha stood up and embraced them both, a fragile smile wavering on her face. Her eyes were puffy with with recently shed tears.

"I'm so glad you're here, I couldn't have sat here by myself any longer."

"Oh, you'd be fine." said Rosie. Her heart shaped face framed by carefully brushed ringlets showed little sympathy as she looked at her friend.

"I'm glad to see you too. I'm so worried about you. How long have you been waiting?" said Gloria. She looked at Tabitha and noted her outfit of loose fitting jeans and frayed grey t-shirt, a sharp contrast to her own carefully combed blond hair and stylish shirt that she wore over form-fitting jeans. Tabitha usually took more care.

Tabitha collapsed back into her chair. "Not long." and broke down with quiet sobs.  Her right hand twirled a strand of her lifeless mousy brown hair.

Gloria pulled her chair closer to the table and leaned in towards Tabitha. “You’re a wreck, Tab, what happened?"

"We were having supper and Pete just blurted it out. That he was leaving me and going to live with Ann. I can't believe it, we were going to get married. What's wrong with me? Nobody will ever love me... I'll never meet another guy like him." Reaching under the table Tabitha unearthed a box of tissue from her backpack. "I don't think I can live without him."

"Pete is a jerk. I can't believe you saw anything in him anyway. I say good riddance." said Rosie as she glance over at the table in the far corner, the blush in her rosy cheeks matching her pink blouse.

Gloria shot a nasty glare at Rosie then continued, "Rosie's right, although she didn't need to be so blunt about it. Come on, you have lots of good qualities, he just didn't see them. But it's over now and you have to find some way to move on. And hey - we love you, haven't we been friends for years? This isn't the worst thing that could happen to you!"

"I know… I guess. It's just that we had made plans. And I'm so stupid. I thought they were just studying together, I even invited her over so they could be together. I left them alone and slaved in the kitchen making her vegetarian lunches. How could I have been so dumb? It's no wonder he picked her, I'm not the smart one, studying architecture…" she trailed off with a sob.

Gloria and Rosie exchanged glances, there wasn't much to argue with, she had been a bit of a dope.

Gloria took a long swallow of her Carlsberg Light. "Look, you're the nice one, and she is just a conniving bitch." she blushed at using a swear word then kept going, "She knew what she was doing, and you were just kind - it’s your nature. Hey, how come you didn't answer your phone these last few days? I must have called a million times. We were worried sick about you at work."

"I couldn't. After Pete moved his things out I couldn't go on. I couldn't get out of bed. Couldn't talk to anyone.". In a low voice she continued, "I didn't want to live." Tabitha stifled a sob. "Gloria, the policeman said that you were the one that called. Thanks. He got there right in time - I was just leaving our, err, my apartment, for the drugstore." The final word hung in the air. Tabitha thought back to the the last few days and realized how lucky she was to have friends like this; she wasn’t sure if she would have gone through with it, but she had a strong feeling that the cop and Gloria might have saved her life.

Rosie locked eyes with one of the guys across the room; a coy smile passed her lips while she batted her eyelashes at him. "Hey, look! I'll bet one of them would fix you up for a night!"

Gloria glared at Rosie and gave her a kick under the table. "I think it's a bit soon for that".

"Tab, you have a lot going for you, so don't throw all that away. You complained yourself about Pete's distraction and how he always put you down for not going to university. Hey, you have a good job and you didn't need to waste all those years studying. Maybe this is a good thing and you'll find someone who loves you for who you are." Gloria said.

Rosie looked at them both with a smile. "How does that song go? 'Always look on the bright side of life'. Can't go wrong with that as your ear worm!", she looked around the room, bored with the conversation. "Hey girls, those guys are waving to us to come over. I think we should join them." Rosie flipped her perfect curls and waved back.

Tabitha thought about what her friends were saying, agreeing that much of it she couldn't argue with. Pete was a jerk and had dealt her a huge blow but was she going to let him spoil her happiness? No, at least not for tonight, she thought to herself.

Gloria looked over at Tabitha expecting another outburst of tears. Instead she smiled at them both and said, "you know what? I can find a way. I am okay and I'll find someone. Hitting rock bottom showed me that Pete's not worth it, no guy is worth dying over. Oh, and thanks you guys, you're lifesavers." Tabitha put the box of tissue back into her backpack.

Rosie looked at Tabitha with a puzzled smile while Gloria patted Tabitha's arm. "Don't scare us like that again.".

The three girls talked among themselves, and ordered another round of drinks. They giggled when a tall, dark haired man swaggered over to their table. "Ummm, hey. We have three extra chairs, why don't you girls join us".

Simultaneously the three chimed "sure", and stood up to walk over.

"Are you okay with this?" Gloria asked as she scrutinized Tabitha's face.

"Yeah, it will be a good thing, beside which we could hardly stop Rosie!".  Tabitha smiled, promising herself that she’d enjoy the evening, and walked over to the table with her head high and a bit of a spring in her step.

                                                           ~