On my Desk This Week...

Didn't get as much writing done as I expected due to an intensifying Special Election for my neighbors in the 8th district. The false-confession story is humming along though, and I expect to be done with it by the end of May.

Can't say enough good things about  the indie movie"Band Aid" which features Zoe Lister-Jones and Adam Pally as a couple who use music to fight through their emotional issues.At first, it's a bit hard to watch, not because the fights are so horrible, in terms of what people fight about in real life, but because movies(and particularly television, much as I really do love it) have  conditioned us to expect story fights like wanting to go to a football game on one's anniversary, or someone cares about their work or even the relationship Too Much. Things that even someone like me, who was coupled for about two minutes, with unlabeled side trips making up most of my romantic history, might say "Nobody breaks up over that."

Which, of course, makes it easy for a series regular to bounce up like  a weeble after she's rebuffed wannabe circus clown Dick Van Dyke or whatever(Not to pick on The Golden Girls, but they did rely on that sort of thing more than they didn't) but how much could you care about those relationships? When the resolution happens with "Band Aid' you'll be on board.

Wish me luck as I got word that another new social worker will be coming to see me in June.  Don't expect conflict till the big review in the fall, but will miss talking to J, because his having hands-on caretaking experience meant I didn't have to explain everything all the time and that is just easier.Also, there is a challenging spot where a person is involved enough, without wanting to weigh in on everything and make our family some kind of special project, and we'd found it with J and now we have to start again.  No offense to the next person, but I never look forward to all that.

Good Suburban People, Part 3

Still not sure if I nailed this ending, but the hayloft in O'Connor's original effort is not an option for me.(if you are not familiar with "Good Country People", do read it.)

“What happened 2 your leg?”

Helga(or maybe stupid idealistic Joy that loved everything and really earned the Hopewell name fulltime) put aside her dream of the Sweet Guy That Never Asked, and tried to convince herself she got a bloodthirsty thrill out of typing “CRUSHED by a Truck…artery almost completely severed…they thought I would die.”

“I am so sorry. I had (and he sent an emoji of a heart, which looked like the worst valentine ever, that nobody would  want to share with the whole class) Operation when I was ten. God spared me for a higher purpose.”

“Don’t need God when yr leg is, like,  bulletproof titanium. Ok, so, don’t you worry that you might miss out?”

“It’s true I don’t have much money…driving my mother’s Honda is sometimes a trial.”

“Dude, not that! Did Occupy teach you nothing(Although, like everything else, she only saw it on cable television.) “Capitalism sucks! I meant, like, sensually. Because you’re, like, saving yourself and all that?” Remembering the word "sensual" let her imagine what working on her education full-steam might feel like, even though she’d only done it, like three and a half times and could probably ask herself the same question.  She wouldn't be afraid to admit that the answer was yes. Still, she got around more thanJoel, or as she still liked to think of him, BibleMan.

“My chastity is a gift for my future wife.” 

“You could just send her flowers.”

Slowly, gently, their relationship began. While Sharon Hopewell was tutoring teens that flunked English in summer school, Helga sent pictures. Coy ones at first, but the tidal wave of gratitude and reverence for her imperfect body  Joel  offered made her reach for new heights, including expensively improbable underwear that she got exercise walking to the mailbox so her mother wouldn’t see it. It went on that way for weeks until, due to a combination of her long skirt and the kitty running between her legs, she tripped.  Her topless state no longer felt like a European vacation or a photo shoot,especially when she made the same sort of hollow thump when she fell as a piece of furniture.

"Joy, are you all right in there?" her mother asked.

Fiction: Good Suburban People, Part 2

“You’re not a loser, Joy. You just have…circumstances.”

“Yes, I’ve lost my leg and my life. All because your stupid ex-boyfriend couldn’t drive…”

The words, though simple, landed like a bomb. Joy’s mother never liked to talk plainly about her accident.  “You can’t live in the past!” she would say brightly.  “Just keep moving forward.”

“We broke up right after it happened. I don’t know how many times I have to say I’m sorry, Helga.” Suddenly the name wasn’t so hard on Mrs. Hopewell’s tongue. It was probably a defense mechanism anyway, like she heard about on Dr. Phil. Maybe if she was patient with this stage, someday her daughter would find her way back to being lovely, lighthearted Joy.

 Sometimes, at night, Mrs. Hopewell watched old home movies of little Joy making faces at the camera or telling stories to their dog, and she wondered where that girl went. Something on Joy’s phone made a sound and she went back to it like it called her name. She would zone out in front of it, as if it were pumping something vital into her veins. “It’s a lovely day out there, and you are just staring at some stupid screen.” Mrs. Hopewell said, but the argument was more one of habit then passion.

“Kara from high school is pregnant again.”Joy scrolled down on the social-networking page, half-eager, half repulsed.

“Isn’t that nice for her? Is this the second or third now?”Her daughter thought she was trying too hard to be interested, whether from some thwarted urge for grandchildren or some article on engaging an angry  daughter, Helga couldn't say.

“Third, I think, and she’s just my age..it’s kind of disgusting.”

“Well, it’s nature, Joy, but it’s not a contest.”

“Breeding may be natural,” Helga said, trying not to wince at the implied pep talk and the use of the old name that dogged her. “but I don’t think nature meant for us to snap pictures of our pee-sticks.”

“You are probably right about that! She’s just excited, though.” Mrs. Hopewell hesitated, feeling the question “Don’t you remember when you used to be excited?” hovering on her tongue.

“You didn’t need to break up with him.” Helga said flatly. “I would have gotten over it.”

“Of course I did. You’re my everything, Joy.”

“No pressure….”

“What does that mean?”

“ Never mind.” She was relieved that BibleMan22 sent her another message.  She liked hearing from him more than she let herself admit, but his “Hey…” was kind of a letdown.Get out of my head, Mother,she admonished.

“What are you wearing?” Not her usual gambit, but she liked the idea of turning him into her own personal beefcake. He was cute, underneath the weird clothes and rustic haircut.

“Nothing special. Shorts and a t-shirt. But I have one question…”

Helga’s heart sank. Her fantasy of herself as a sexy temptress was completely undone by the thought that she knew what the question was. Still, she was no chicken, and it wasn’t like her desultory pursuit of an online BA consumed her days or anything.Still, this question again.  She almost wished he’d asked to see her tits. “What happened 2 yr leg?"

Fiction: Good Suburban People Part 1

(this is my attempt to modernize O'Connor...at one time, I thought there could be a whole book of these kind of stories, but, on reflection, perhaps that's making my influence too literal.)

“Hi, it’s Joel…did you decide on a Bible yet?”

“What Bible?”

“We met after church…you were with your mother…”

“….”

“Last week.  You said you’d think about it.”

“Look, dude, you seem like a nice guy, so…”

“Thank you.(blush)"

"Everybody says that and and then they don't do anything...I was just pulling your chain, Ok?"


"You don't even pull your own chain, though, do you?" She typed(evil grin), sent the message and logged off.

Her mother said “Joy, dinner is ready, when you are.”

“Mama, I wish you would respect my wishes and call me Helga.”

“But it’s so harsh and Scandinavian.”

"I’m Scandinavian, Mother. “

“On your father’s side. He told me he doesn’t like the new name either.”

“Well, lucky that you agree during the three minutes a year he thinks about me then.” Helga replied, while inspecting her chipped  blue nail polish.She wasn't sure if it looked tough, or just trashed. Maybe she would leave it just to drive her beauty-school dropout mother nuts for a day or two.

“Did you get in a fight on twitter again?   God knows why you spend so much time talking to those losers living with their parents…”

“What do you think I am?” Helga asked, kind of enjoying it when the pointed comment made her mother’s face crumple a little.  Plain facts were always her mother’s Kryptonite, especially about the leg and all that.Even ten years in, Helga’s mother acted like she should just put her leg on and hop through life with a brilliant smile on her face. To that end, her mother never liked to acknowledge Helga’s injury more than she could help, though she did take on most of the household chores without much complaint.

 Which is why Helga softened her tone and said “No fights today.  I just don’t feel like a Joy.”

“You are to me.”

“That is really cheesy, mother.”