random description

The car must have smelled so nice when it was first driven off the lot of the dealership. Now however the acrid odor of burnt pleather flows in and out of the passenger’s nostrils. A smell so acute the cigarette must have just burned through the worn down driver’s seat. The interior of the car is the color of an old catchers mitt in need of some oil, so much smoke has been blown in this ride that there is a permanent haze on the windshield that needs to be wiped off before the ignition is turned over. If the ignition could be turned over. Only half as bad as the windshield is the rearview mirror, cracked down the center from being tweaked so many times so she could get a better view of her lipstick. The only thing that is reflected in this mirror now is the backseat and the open air. Through the back window into the open air there is an abandoned building, half torn down as a result of a company that changed its mind halfway through the project and decided not to build in this neighborhood.
The back window of the sedan had been blown out by a tree limb falling during a heavy storm. The water had come down in waves washing the glass down the backseat like surfers riding a wave. Seeping into the cracks in the pleather making it stretch and burst at the seams. However bad the car had smelled because of the incessant smoking that went on inside of it was nothing in comparison to the way it smelled now. Because the owner of the car never made it back to her car, the result of an unfortunate misunderstanding she had with a customer, the mold that had accumulated because of the rain had started to grow. The rats hadn’t eaten all of the mold before they left, the constant visitors that started showing up once they realized that this car had been abandoned drove the rats away. Now the only passengers that get to breathe the cigarette odor are not conscious long enough for it to bother them, or smell even worse in comparison to the car. The car floorboard had mats at one point, but those tan mats of woven fabric had been taken for god knows what, and now the only thing on the floor besides cigarette butts and broken needles is rat droppings and the occasional pair of shoes lying haphazardly on the floor as if thrown off in a last ditch attempt to get comfortable before passing out.
The outside of the car gives the onlooker a good idea as to what they could find inside of the car. Forty bags and trash litter the area around the blocks the car had been put up on after someone had decided to make a quick buck off the fresh new tires. The car had once been regal blue, and the owner had taken pride in her car. It was her way of making a living, driving to meet one customer, and then as soon as she got paid for her time, driving off again to yet another one. Her car was her pride and joy, washed and waxed so frequently the car wash stayed in business another year because of her. After she died however, the car wash went under, as did her pride and joy. Rust is now taking over the outside of the car and soon just like the owner of the car, it will be forgotten.

draft 3

Lucky

After a night of shooting pool down at a local bowling alley, James and I left our friends behind in order to make my midnight curfew. Crude goodbyes of a high school nature are flung at each other like monkeys flinging crap. Pushing aside books and papers with my feet I make room on the floorboards for my feet, I get in and buckle my seatbelt. Giving him directions to my house because he wasn’t used to driving there at night, we discussed the new Modest Mouse album. Cruising down the road at a cool sixty miles an hour in a posted forty-five, it was raining. It was raining hard. Despite God having promised Noah that he wouldn’t flood the earth again, we still thought about breaking out the paddles and pushing the boat button hidden under the steering wheel. However we didn’t have enough room for many animals in the bed of the truck, all we thought we could fit was barely enough girls for the each of us if we were to repopulate the planet. But that would require effort and magic, so we continued driving. James had been the first to get his drivers license and a car, or truck in his case. A bright red stick shift Chevy S-10, complete with a black plastic bed liner and silver metal craftsman tool chest just behind the rear window. With my knees inside the glove box and James sitting comfortably behind the steering wheel we changed the topic of conversation to our upcoming graduation and college. Caught up in the discussion of him leaving to go up to NAU, and my staying in Tucson to attend the U of A, I noticed we were nearing a turn we needed to take to get to my house.
Coming up on the turn that led to my neighborhood and realizing that he didn’t know to turn there, I mentioned that we needed to make the next left, thinking James would blaze on by and we would stop and turn around. I thought wrong. Realizing that he has no intention of slowing down, my heart starts to pump and adrenaline begins to course through my veins. Every passing moment comes in to fine detail and slows down. James downshifts into third from fifth, taps the breaks and wails on the steering wheel turning left, moving hand over hand as if they were racing to grab the next part of the steering wheel. I grab the passenger handle above his door and look straight ahead. Water shedding off the window in great arcs, the windshield wipers beat slower than my heart, tires squealing on the water-wrecked road, utter silence in the vehicle. As we hydroplane across the pavement James shifts into second and then neutral. I see the yellow lines of the pavement getting farther away from me, and the white lines on the edge of the road are underneath the middle of the truck. Bouncing up and down like bull riders we left the road and headed for desert country. Instead of stopping on what should have been dry land any other night, we zip through the mud like motocross riders. The once pristine red truck now mucked with mud more than a pig fresh out of the pen. I look through my window to glimpse our sure to be oncoming demise and I see an electric box the size of small car and a telephone pole taller and stouter than any oak. We careen through the gap between the two with mere inches to spare as we come to a halt. And not too soon do we slide to a stop, the person whose property is just off the road had placed large boulders on the edge of their property line to keep vehicles from driving on their land. At our current course we would have slammed into them passenger side first, leaving the car and I infused into a bionic dead organism. Silence.
Silence.
Neither of us looking at each other we sat in silence staring out the windshield, appreciating just how lucky we were, and how the chances of our surviving that incident unharmed had been slim. Lightning flashing in the distance and the thunder rolling in after breaks us out of our stupor. “Man…we just had a blues brothers moment,” I casually mention breaking the silence. Nervous laughter ensued, the kind of laughter that lasts longer than it should. Foot still on the break James pushes the clutch in and shifts out of idle into first gear, “All right Elwood, lets get out of here.”

Draft 2

After a night of shooting pool down at a local bowling alley, James and I left our friends behind in order to make my midnight curfew. Crude goodbyes of a high school nature are flung at each other like monkeys flinging crap. Pushing aside books and papers with my feet I make room on the floorboards for my feet, I get in and buckle my seatbelt. Giving him directions to my house because he wasn’t used to driving there at night, we discussed the new Modest Mouse album. Cruising down the road at a cool sixty miles an hour in a posted forty-five, it was raining. It was raining hard. Despite God having promised Noah that he wouldn’t flood the earth again, we still thought about breaking out the paddles and pushing the boat button hidden under the steering wheel. However we didn’t have enough room for many animals in the bed of the truck, all we thought we could fit was barely enough girls for the each of us if we were to repopulate the planet. But that would require effort and magic, so we continued driving. James had been the first to get his drivers license and a car, or truck in his case. A bright red stick shift Chevy S-10, complete with a black plastic bed liner and silver metal craftsman tool chest just behind the rear window. With my knees inside the glove box and him sitting comfortably behind the steering wheel we changed the topic of conversation to our upcoming graduation and college. Caught up in the discussion of him leaving to go up to NAU, and my staying in Tucson to attend the U of A, I noticed we were coming up on a turn we needed to take to get to my house.
Coming up on the turn that led to my neighborhood and realizing that he didn’t know to turn there, I mentioned that we needed to make the next left, thinking James would blaze on by and we would stop and turn around. I thought wrong. Realizing that he has no intention of slowing down, my heart starts to pump and adrenaline begins to course through my veins. Every passing moment comes in to fine detail and slows down. James downshifts into third from fifth, taps the breaks and wails on the steering wheel turning left, moving hand over hand as if they were racing to grab the next part of the steering wheel. I grab the passenger handle above his door and look straight ahead. Water shedding off the window in great arcs, the windshield wipers are beating slower than my heart, tires squealing on the water-wrecked road, utter silence in the vehicle. As we hydroplane across the pavement James shifts into second and then neutral. I see the yellow lines of the pavement getting farther away from me, and the white lines on the edge of the road are underneath the middle of the truck. Bouncing up and down like bull riders we left the road and headed for desert country. Instead of stopping on what should have been dry land any other night, we zip through the mud like motor cross riders. I look right, through my window to glimpse our sure to be oncoming demise and I see an electric box the size of small car and a telephone pole taller and stouter than any oak. We careen through the gap between the two with not but inches to spare as we come to a halt. And not too soon to we slide to a stop, the person whose property is just off the road had placed large boulders on the edge of their property line to keep vehicles from driving on their land. At our current course we would have slammed into them passenger side first. Leaving the car and I infused into a bionic dead organism. Silence.
Silence.
Neither of us looking at each other we sat in silence staring out the windshield. Lightning flashing in the distance and the thunder rolling in after breaks us out of our reverie. “Man…we just had a blues brothers moment,” I casually mention breaking the silence. Nervous laughter ensued, the kind of laughter that lasts longer than it should. Foot still on the break James pushes the clutch in and shifts out of idle into first gear, “All right Elwood, lets get out of here.”

body

Skating to school was an every day occurrence, a few tumbles in the beginning, a few scrapes, a few bruises, but nothing serious. I had been skating for an entire semester to school from about a mile and a half away. First day of second semester sophomore year broke my record of nothing bad happening to my body. I had gotten so comfortable in my skills on my long board that I thought I could look at a map of the U of A campus and figure out where my building was on the first day of class while skating. In front of the StUnion with countless people milling about I trusted my instinct and peripheral vision to guide me though a gap surrounded by a pole and a curb. Looking up only briefly I figured I would easily fit through the gap on my current course and went back to searching for my building. I wasn’t a little bit wrong in my assumption, I was way fucking wrong. My front right wheel slammed into the pole, I Supermanned through the air and introduced my face to the concrete, but my face didn’t want to meet only the concrete it also wanted to meet the asphalt just up aways from its current location. So it slid across the concrete and into the asphalt and proceeded to allow the asphalt to take up residence in forehead and right side of my face starting at my eyeball and working its way back to behind my ear. Only my sideburn stood up for me, not allowing the asphalt to set up shop in too much of my facial structure. Apart from my fractured wrist, bloodied face and ripped hands I'm sure I looked just as normal as could be skating to campus health, where asked "did you lose consciousness?" to which I could only reply, "Not that I remember."

memior (WIP)

Cruising down the road at a cool sixty miles an hour in a posted forty-five, it was raining. It was raining hard. So hard in fact we thought about breaking out the paddles and pushing the boat button hidden under the steering wheel. But that would require work and magic, so we continued driving. James had been the first to get his drivers license and a car, or truck in his case. A bright red stick shift Chevy S-10, complete with a black plastic bed liner and silver metal craftsman tool chest just behind the rear window. My knees in the dashboard and him sitting comfortably we talked about who knows what. Coming up on the turn and realizing that he didn’t know to turn there, I mentioned that we needed to turn there, thinking James would blaze on by and we would stop and turn around. All of the sudden everything is happening very fast but at the same time in my mind in slow motion. James downshifts into third, taps the breaks and wails on the steering wheel turning left. I grab the passenger handle above his door and look straight ahead. Water shedding off the window in great arcs, tires squealing and sliding on the water-wrecked road, utter silence in the vehicle. Bouncing up and down like bull riders we left the road and headed for desert country. Sliding between an electric box the size of small car and a telephone pole taller and stouter than any oak with not but inches to spare we came to a halt. Silence.
Silence.“Man…we just had a blues brothers moment.”

Pass (Rickel)

In Boyer Rickel’s Pass the reader can easily derive the sense of distance from others Rickel felt as a young boy growing up. Throughout the memoir Rickel creates a sense of being distant from what is taking place in the story. He does this by talking about how he viewed things in the past, not by narrating the story as if he were there right then. He does it omnisciently, as if he is watching himself perform actions in the moment. By doing this it helps the reader feel as he felt, not connected to what is going on but “a spy” (4), always watching but never interfering. By narrating from a distance Rickel instills in the reader how it is he felt as a young man, distant and unsure of whom he was. Without this narration from a distance the reader would not have as great a sense of the distance and uncertainty he felt. If Rickel had simply told the reader he was distant from everyone in his life growing up and then proceeded to narrate the story in the moment not omnisciently, then the reader would have had greater trouble identifying with what is Rickel’s main point. He felt like every single young person growing up feels, unsure of who they are and scared of doing something “uncool” and then being ridiculed for it. It is this fear of being ridiculed that makes Rickel seem tense throughout the story. He sees his father not being sure of himself and is “embarrassed by his awkwardness“(2) among the other adults. From an early age Rickel learns to stay out from under foot of other people as to not be noticed. It seems to start when he is becomes ashamed of his father awkwardness and continues into young adulthood. The reader is able to identify with this tenseness because of the way Rickel describes everything around him, from seeing the other boys naked bodies in the shower and being embarrassed that he too is naked, to staying out of his brothers way so he would remain “ok” (4) in his brother’s and his brother’s friends eyes. Throughout the story we see Rickel watching everything from a distance and never speaking. When he does speak it is only to laugh when everyone else laughs or to make jokes when everyone else makes jokes. By showing the reader how distant from everyone yet how reliant on everyone he was, Rickel is allowing the reader greater access into his psyche as an adolescent. By narrating this story from a distance and telling the reader how he felt rather than showing them directly, Rickel is very effectively allowing the reader to know exactly how he felt. He felt as every young person growing up feels, unsure of what or who they are and wanting to be accepted, as well as constantly under stress at the fear of being labeled an outsider or “unacceptable.” (4) By writing in this style Rickel is creating what could be referred to as a first person omniscient narrator, which in my belief is essentially what a memoir is.