YES! I did it! The first chapter is now complete! Now on to Chapter Two. It will get better. I promise.
Oh yeah. This story is not autobiographical in any way. Only some events are related to my life. Ben, the main character, is not me, nor is he supposed to resemble anybody I know.
And please leave comments, tips, critique, blablabla!
//Jarrett
onsdag 3 oktober 2007
Chapter One (continued)
After supper I brought my history homework down to the livingroom. The TV was on, and my mom sat there watching commercials. When the breaks ended and the programs resumed she'd switch to another channel running more commercials.
That was what she called "research". Since she worked for an advertising agensy she got paid to gather ideas, but also to spot potential law-suits where otehr companies ripped of trademarked ideas.
"Whatcha got there?" she asked.
"Oh. Just homework. Why?"
"Just wondering why you weren't studying upstairs in your room. Maybe you just wanted to spend some quality time with your dear old mother." Here eyes still hadn't left the screen, but she cracked a small smile.
"All the time I spend with you is quality time. You know that," I said, equally sarcastic. "But honestly. There's too much crap on my desk. I'm not sure what is schoolwork and what is my drawing stuff."
"You mean my drawing stuff," she corrected.
"Whatever. It's there if you need it." I didn't feel like arguing about to whom the pencil sets and art supplies belonged. It's impossible to debate anything with her. She not always right, but she almost always wins. It's probably because of her ability to keep a cool head in heated situations. (For the record, the pencils might as well be mine. They give them to her at work, and she has plenty stashed away in a drawer out in the office.)
The normal programming began again after six or seven minutes. It turned out we were watching another sterotypical drama for teens (young adults) like me. the make main character was having troubles with he crush and didn't know whether to ask her out.
That's Ironic, I thought. He was having a dilemma similar to mine. My mother was thinking the same thing.
"You should call her," she said flatly.
"We NEVER call eachother. It just feels wierd. I'll text instead. Ok?"
She turned her gaze to me now, looking at me as if she wanted something. I felt a little intimidated by this impromtu staring contest, but I wouldn't back down. I just mirrored back the same expression. Maybe I raised my eyebrows a bit higher than hers.
After a little though it finally occured to me that she was waiting for me to make a move and do what I said I was going to. She had never accepted procrastination on my part, and wasn't going to start then either.
I stood up and, with some skilled rumaging, got my cellphone out. I reflected on how as jeans get tighter, the task of retrieving one's phone becomes more difficult. I then sat back down and started writing a new message. It read:
It was a very unpersonal message, but keeping it neutral meight make it seem less wierd. With exceptions for instant messaging and sending SMS's, Anna and I almost never socialized outside of school. I didn't want her to think of our get-togethers as dates. Atleast not yet.
I must have fallen asleep well before 11:30. My attempt to stay up was really only half-hearted anyway. I don't know why I was in such a hurry to see what she wrote. Anna always answered my texts, and, just as expected, there was a new message waiting in my inbox the next morning.
SHE DIDN'T ANSWER MY FUCKING QUESTION! I hadn't even asked what she was doing last night! Apparently all she could think of was Tim, and therefor had to write me about him. I was really irritated. I just then realized that I was growing jealous. Maybe I had a crush on Anna after all.
That was what she called "research". Since she worked for an advertising agensy she got paid to gather ideas, but also to spot potential law-suits where otehr companies ripped of trademarked ideas.
"Whatcha got there?" she asked.
"Oh. Just homework. Why?"
"Just wondering why you weren't studying upstairs in your room. Maybe you just wanted to spend some quality time with your dear old mother." Here eyes still hadn't left the screen, but she cracked a small smile.
"All the time I spend with you is quality time. You know that," I said, equally sarcastic. "But honestly. There's too much crap on my desk. I'm not sure what is schoolwork and what is my drawing stuff."
"You mean my drawing stuff," she corrected.
"Whatever. It's there if you need it." I didn't feel like arguing about to whom the pencil sets and art supplies belonged. It's impossible to debate anything with her. She not always right, but she almost always wins. It's probably because of her ability to keep a cool head in heated situations. (For the record, the pencils might as well be mine. They give them to her at work, and she has plenty stashed away in a drawer out in the office.)
- - - - -
When I finished writing my history notes Mom handed me the remote. I just set it down next to me on the sofa without changing the channel. We laughed at some stupid commercials and even saw one that she was responsible for. It was for some local appliance store. The concept was so silly it almost wasn't funny at all. She explained that this wasn't her best project, and joked that, unlike conventional artist, she doesn't have to sign her work. She didn't want her name anywhere close to that fiasko.The normal programming began again after six or seven minutes. It turned out we were watching another sterotypical drama for teens (young adults) like me. the make main character was having troubles with he crush and didn't know whether to ask her out.
That's Ironic, I thought. He was having a dilemma similar to mine. My mother was thinking the same thing.
"You should call her," she said flatly.
"We NEVER call eachother. It just feels wierd. I'll text instead. Ok?"
She turned her gaze to me now, looking at me as if she wanted something. I felt a little intimidated by this impromtu staring contest, but I wouldn't back down. I just mirrored back the same expression. Maybe I raised my eyebrows a bit higher than hers.
After a little though it finally occured to me that she was waiting for me to make a move and do what I said I was going to. She had never accepted procrastination on my part, and wasn't going to start then either.
I stood up and, with some skilled rumaging, got my cellphone out. I reflected on how as jeans get tighter, the task of retrieving one's phone becomes more difficult. I then sat back down and started writing a new message. It read:
"hey there. i might not be
online tonight but i was
thinking we could hang
out tomorrow? think about
it... i have not clue what
we might do. maybe watch
a dvd?:-) //ben"
online tonight but i was
thinking we could hang
out tomorrow? think about
it... i have not clue what
we might do. maybe watch
a dvd?:-) //ben"
It was a very unpersonal message, but keeping it neutral meight make it seem less wierd. With exceptions for instant messaging and sending SMS's, Anna and I almost never socialized outside of school. I didn't want her to think of our get-togethers as dates. Atleast not yet.
- - - - -
I didn't get a reply that evening. The only reason I was staying awake passed 11 pm was in case she sent a text back. Then I was going to go straight to bed and try to sleep on whatever thoughts might emerge. I was anxious to see if her messages would contain any traces or hints of something other than friendship.I must have fallen asleep well before 11:30. My attempt to stay up was really only half-hearted anyway. I don't know why I was in such a hurry to see what she wrote. Anna always answered my texts, and, just as expected, there was a new message waiting in my inbox the next morning.
"haha. sorry i didn't get
back to you last night. i'm
so tired right now! tim
from our class was here
all night;-) we watched late
night talkshows and just
talked. see you around!"
back to you last night. i'm
so tired right now! tim
from our class was here
all night;-) we watched late
night talkshows and just
talked. see you around!"
SHE DIDN'T ANSWER MY FUCKING QUESTION! I hadn't even asked what she was doing last night! Apparently all she could think of was Tim, and therefor had to write me about him. I was really irritated. I just then realized that I was growing jealous. Maybe I had a crush on Anna after all.
- - - - -
torsdag 20 september 2007
Chapter One
- - - - -
"So you like her, right?"
For some reason I was startled to hear her ask me that. My mother and I get along great and talk about nearly everything, but she must have picked up on something I hadn't said. At first I just dismissed her inquiry, thinking - or at least hoping - that she was addressing someone else. Subconsciously I was probably just stalling, trying to buy time. She was preoccupied with the book she was reading. He voice was soft and not fully committed, and her gaze still scanned the pages of what I realized was just a thick mail-order catalog. I guess she sensed my confusion, so she cleared her throat and asked again, her eyes never meeting mine.
"Ben, do you have feelings for this girl?"
She looked up now and we each grinned broadly. We both had trouble talking about things like this. Mom became uncomfortable discussing love and relationships when my father divorced her. We love eachother, but for the last 11 years we almost never say it. We never NEED to say it. For some reason I'm more than OK with that. The only times the phrase is said is when one of us is in tears.
She knew I had heard her and allowed me to formulate an answer before responding.
"It's not like that," I said close to a minute later. "I don't know if I like her or not. I jus tknow that she doesn't like me the way I want her to like me."
" 'The way you want her to like you'... And what way is that?"
"Well, it's one of two ways. I either want her to like me as another guy-friend, or like me like me," I spurted out, not having to give my answer a second thought. "We talk about relationships and shit, which I great because I really nead someone to talk about them with."
My mom winced when hearing this. She knew that she had passed that handicap on to me. She also knew that I meant nothing offensive by my remark. I continued.
"But sometimes I hate being 'that friend'; the one who listens and comforts and critiques. She tells me things that she hasn't told anybody else. Things between us are on a really personal level. We don't bother with small talk, 'cause it's all just bullshit anyway."
I paused for a moment. Mostly because my temper was impairing my thinking, but also because I was running out of steam. Mom was somehow able to understand my feelings through the rambling. She could always summarize things in a way no one else could.
"So you feel like you're somewhere between 'best friend' and 'boyfriend', but with none of the benifits."
"Yes!" I cried out exasperatedly. I leaned forward in the sofa I was sitting in, placed my elbows on my knees and rested my eyes in the palms of my hands. Sure, I had pondered all these thoughts before, but this was the first time I had gotten myself wrapped up in my emotions.
"Well, do something about it?!"
"Like what? What am I supposed to do if I don't even know what I want?" The tone of my mother's voice made it clear that she thought the solution was obvious. She stood up, walked over to me and gave me a quick rap on the crown of my skull with her rolled up magazine.
"You have to find out what you want, right?"
She was right.
"Fine. I guess I'll spend more time with her," I finally said, giving in to her pursuasiveness. "I'll do my best to fine out what she wants."
"You're not doing this for her! You need to clear things up for yourself," she scolded.
I had nothing to reply with. There were to many possible scenarios being enacted in my head; some good, others bad. I was just worrying and being overanalytic.
"Don't think about it too much, kiddo," my mother added. I'm sure she's psychic.
For some reason I was startled to hear her ask me that. My mother and I get along great and talk about nearly everything, but she must have picked up on something I hadn't said. At first I just dismissed her inquiry, thinking - or at least hoping - that she was addressing someone else. Subconsciously I was probably just stalling, trying to buy time. She was preoccupied with the book she was reading. He voice was soft and not fully committed, and her gaze still scanned the pages of what I realized was just a thick mail-order catalog. I guess she sensed my confusion, so she cleared her throat and asked again, her eyes never meeting mine.
"Ben, do you have feelings for this girl?"
She looked up now and we each grinned broadly. We both had trouble talking about things like this. Mom became uncomfortable discussing love and relationships when my father divorced her. We love eachother, but for the last 11 years we almost never say it. We never NEED to say it. For some reason I'm more than OK with that. The only times the phrase is said is when one of us is in tears.
She knew I had heard her and allowed me to formulate an answer before responding.
"It's not like that," I said close to a minute later. "I don't know if I like her or not. I jus tknow that she doesn't like me the way I want her to like me."
" 'The way you want her to like you'... And what way is that?"
"Well, it's one of two ways. I either want her to like me as another guy-friend, or like me like me," I spurted out, not having to give my answer a second thought. "We talk about relationships and shit, which I great because I really nead someone to talk about them with."
My mom winced when hearing this. She knew that she had passed that handicap on to me. She also knew that I meant nothing offensive by my remark. I continued.
"But sometimes I hate being 'that friend'; the one who listens and comforts and critiques. She tells me things that she hasn't told anybody else. Things between us are on a really personal level. We don't bother with small talk, 'cause it's all just bullshit anyway."
I paused for a moment. Mostly because my temper was impairing my thinking, but also because I was running out of steam. Mom was somehow able to understand my feelings through the rambling. She could always summarize things in a way no one else could.
"So you feel like you're somewhere between 'best friend' and 'boyfriend', but with none of the benifits."
"Yes!" I cried out exasperatedly. I leaned forward in the sofa I was sitting in, placed my elbows on my knees and rested my eyes in the palms of my hands. Sure, I had pondered all these thoughts before, but this was the first time I had gotten myself wrapped up in my emotions.
"Well, do something about it?!"
"Like what? What am I supposed to do if I don't even know what I want?" The tone of my mother's voice made it clear that she thought the solution was obvious. She stood up, walked over to me and gave me a quick rap on the crown of my skull with her rolled up magazine.
"You have to find out what you want, right?"
She was right.
"Fine. I guess I'll spend more time with her," I finally said, giving in to her pursuasiveness. "I'll do my best to fine out what she wants."
"You're not doing this for her! You need to clear things up for yourself," she scolded.
I had nothing to reply with. There were to many possible scenarios being enacted in my head; some good, others bad. I was just worrying and being overanalytic.
"Don't think about it too much, kiddo," my mother added. I'm sure she's psychic.
- - - - -
Introduction.
Hi people. This is my first short story worth sharing. I hope to keep this updated with new chapters as often as possible. Stay tuned.
Oh yeah! I've got a regular blog too:
http://stonerhair.blogspot.com/
I need to get better at blogging there.
Oh yeah! I've got a regular blog too:
http://stonerhair.blogspot.com/
I need to get better at blogging there.
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