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Post by lia on May 10, 2004 4:15:34 GMT -5
Yes,lovely.
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Post by phil on May 12, 2004 21:57:25 GMT -5
Thanks Paul & Lia! Glad you liked it. *** Questions for class discussion: 1. What moment in the story captures 'YOU' the best? 2. Discuss the comedy and pathos in the story. Which prevails? 3. Does the author have too much unquestionable faith in Winona? 4. Would you like to see an adventure that sends Winona up river into a 'Heart of Darkness' to kill Cooley? 5. Are there any other U.S. Presidents who make you feel queesy?
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Post by imayne on May 13, 2004 0:24:47 GMT -5
Let's not turn this into a literature class, and anyway, why the sudden thing about US presidents?
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Post by phil on May 13, 2004 0:55:33 GMT -5
imayne...it's not serious. Just a lighthearted attempt to make people smile.
I'm sorry if you were offended.
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Post by lia on May 13, 2004 3:16:21 GMT -5
I'm sorry if you were offended. I don't think he is.Are you?
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Post by imayne on May 13, 2004 4:06:47 GMT -5
I am not offended, I'm just saying that these are the sort of questions I haven't heard anyone ask since literature class...
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Post by Jen on May 16, 2004 20:46:47 GMT -5
I am not offended, I'm just saying that these are the sort of questions I haven't heard anyone ask since literature class... ahhhh, is that the kind of thing im in 4 @ literature class?? haha now im a lil freaked... :-*smooches; ~Jen~
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Post by imayne on Jun 8, 2004 3:30:43 GMT -5
Came across this great series of monologues written from the perspective of different characters in "The Age of Innocence". But it's Chinese, which made me feel compelled to translate it: BTW, Stephen, since you can read Chinese, do visit the original site here: www.besidefilm.com/column/articledetail.asp?articleno=A00000000004Translated Every time I feel a little embarrassed. The same people telling each other the same things, there is so much between all left unsaid and hidden, yet I see them talk to each other smiling. The feeling leaves me alone, but such is the sorrow of awareness. At least she makes me feel comfortable.
He is my pride, the soil beneath a delicate blossom.
Spittle falls like rain, and he holds his umbrella beside me. She is beside him. Distance has brought of all our woes. I am so close to him, and yet he and she are so tightly wound together.
No one told me anything that was going on between them, but a woman's intuition sees everything. I pity her, but I love him. Marriage will be the best way to solve all this.
I stand behind her, and the vessel slowly leaves the lighthouse. She does not turn back, and I feel all is at an end. Akin to the golden sun-rays dancing on the water surface at dusk, beautiful but ephemeral.
The boat has left the lighthouse, and he is far behind me. I feel there is no turning back, if only everything moved in the way this boat does, knowing nothing but forward.
I tell him I am pregnant, and see as the light dims in his eyes. Yet I must act as though I had not seen it. I know he will no longer bring her up, and he will never leave me. He has given up everything for me, is this not love?
I lost when I heard the news of her pregnancy. My courage is all shrunk to the eye of a needle, and I must return to the present, and say goodbye to her, and to the past.
At my final moment I called my son to my side and told him all about them. I do not know if he still loves me, but he has stood by me and given me my joy and happiness. I will wait for him at the pearly gates and tell him everything.
When my son called me up I was hesitant, right now it's not a bad decision to stay put here and say nothing. After all I am an old-fashioned man. She will be watching me by the window, she will be as beautiful as she was before, so many years have passed and I still her turning back, her countenance illuminated by the setting sun. Whoever said that passion needed consummation for love to take place? As long as I remember, all is well.
Seeing him under the window, I know he will not come up. Many things can be forgone, but some things once forgone will need to wait a lifetime to roll around again. Forget it, at least I had him once, and I waited too, so long as I do not forget. I will see him in Kingdom Come, and tell him that I love everything about him.
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Post by phil on Jul 11, 2004 23:01:07 GMT -5
The Daughter[/u] (Part I)
(1) The Travelers
She loved the bay area and was happy to return for a long weekend visit. For one thing, the illuminating lights on the bridge at night in the distance never failed to excite her. Sometimes, she would just stand perfectly still up on the flat roof of her mother’s house and gaze at it. The view of the bridge, coupled with the golden horizon of twinkling lights over the surrounding landscape, was a thrill to come home to. She looked forward to the sight in the mornings as well. Sometimes, a white fog bank hundreds of feet high would swallow the Gate, only to burn away and release it from its misty clench to reveal two glorious towers.
They got an early start in the morning. “Are you about done, Winona?” her father asked, in his quiet philosopher’s voice. He pushed his coffee cup slowly towards the middle of the table and nudged his wife playfully to let him out from the booth. “Yes..let me just..” She took one last sip of cold coffee. “Let me get the tip at least,” she offered quietly but firmly. Her voice was a sweet, soft, mid-western melody. Two girls in the next booth smiled at her, and she smiled in return. One of them, a fresh faced brown-eyed beauty named Doris, whispered something in broken english to her companion, Katie, a pretty latino with soft brown eyes and jet black silky hair. She gestured as she responded in Spanish, but it was clear in any language what was implied. They were able to get an autograph each on a t shirt and a napkin before The Enchanted slipped out the door.
(2) This Guy
Her father remained in the car as the two women went in to buy flowers at The Sweet Smell of Success flower shop. The young man behind the counter with a nametag that read ‘Carl’ recognized Winona. That face! and those eyes! He thought she looked so lovely in her tight faded blue jeans, seemingly held in place by one brass button, black t-shirt and silver headband. The way the headband pulled her long hair back and away from her face and neck exposing a complexion that beckoned the touch of Man. Her lips looked extraordinarily kissable. Yet, he thought, kissing her would be like smudging the Mona Lisa. “I love…loved you…you blew me away in Girl, Interrupted,” he said. He chose his words carefully. “Thanks,” she said shyly, looking him in the eyes.
He appreciated her looking him in the eyes. He would dream of those large brown eyes later, awake and asleep. And, he would remember how she acted like she didn’t expect to be recognized. He helped carry the basket full of assorted blossoms to their car as if it was a forty-pound bag of rock salt. After she climbed into the back seat, he handed her the basket gingerly as if it was a vial of nitroglycerin. When they drove away he could not remember how he got outside. Back inside he sketched the shape of her face in the dust on the workbench in the greenhouse. The next day, using a chewed pencil, he would sketch her profile on the company pad with the company letterhead on top. Two days later he would lose his job for ignoring customers as he brought poster board and colored markers to work and drew her face. Three days later, carrying a portfolio of his sketches, he would cross a street thinking of her and not paying attention he would be run over and crushed by a bus. The by-line on page three in the Chronicle the next day would read:
MAN HIT BY BUS, DIES IN STREET Artwork of Woman’s Face Scattered in Street. “He was a Quiet Man,” Landlady Says, “ and He Loved Flowers.”
(3) Blossom
The drive up towards the cemetery on West Grove Road was pleasant. Her father didn't say much and pretty much just fumbled with the toothpick in the corner of his mouth as he drove. It had rained the night before, the first rainstorm in three months, but now it was a bright, clear, day with not a cloud in the sky. The wild flowers and heather scattered along the way glistened. Everything seemed so much more alive. Winona, sitting in back behind her father, lowered the window. She loved the smell after the rain and she heard a meadowlark singing.
She looked forward to visiting her grandmother, and also visiting one of the most influential men in her life. But her father seemed tense as he drove, leaning forward and gripping the steering wheel tight until his knuckles were white. Visiting people six feet under wasn’t his idea of a grand time. Winona reached over the seat and placed her hand on his right shoulder. He relaxed, let out a deep breath, and settled back into his seat. He adjusted the rear view mirror for a moment and smiled back at her. Her mother turned and looked back at her beautiful daughter. With the wicker basket of flowers in her lap and wearing just a faint stroke of makeup she thought Winona looked like an intense spiritual Minimalist portrait by Redon: Perhaps with the title Winona With Bouquet. “What?” “Nothing,” her mother smiled.
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Post by phil on Jul 11, 2004 23:03:02 GMT -5
The Daughter[/b] (Part II)
(4) The Dead
Beyond a wall of giant oak trees a gravel road led to the entrance of the green open field of silence. Her parents took an armload of flowers each and began their rounds as Winona tended to her grandmother. Weeds had started to pop up around the edge of her marker, and she squatted down at first, then dropped to her knees and manicured it slowly and carefully. The previous night's rain made it easy to remove the unwanted growth. She felt the warmth of the Sun on her back as her shadow moved like an eclipse across the grave. A sage sparrow swept in and landed on the headstone, tilted its head and looked Winona right in the eyes. “Are you the concierge?” she asked, not moving a muscle. ‘Why, yes…yes I am, Beloved’ the sparrow thought. ‘You bring fresh cut flowers instead of those phony, fake, cold plastic, un-loving, wax-tasting flowers that everyone else seems to bring. Pirate bugs will tunnel out from below and make a bee-line for those flowers and we shall return to feast on those tasty morsels.’ It fluttered away.
Pulling the bronze vase out and setting it on its base she filled it with purple and white irises, and pale pink roses signifying grace and joy. She had adored her grandmother and she was flooded with fond memories, but the one that was vivid was her advice on shyness. ‘Just fake it, dear!,’ she would whisper into the young girls ear.
Twenty minutes later her parents returned. They were in a heightened state of excitement and out of breath. "Winona...you're not gonna believe it!" "What?...slow down...catch your breath!" They sat on a stone bench nearby. Winona brushed off her dirty jeans and joined them. The stone bench was cold. "Well...when we were over by Timothy,” her father started, then looking at his wife, “We heard laughing!" "Oh!..." "No, really, I know it sounds strange, but it is true!" "Has to be the wind in the trees," she offered, her right eye slowly winking. "There are no trees near there!" her mother said breathlessly. "Let's go...I want to see."
(5) Space
If visiting her grandmother stirred a flood of memories, walking towards Timothy’s resting place created a tidal wave. He had died in her arms and was so unashamed in his acceptance of death. She was thinking how he still lived in the crevices of her heart and she felt his spirit and strength in all ways. Yet, as the sun dove behind a roll of angry clouds and the wind kicked up, she was feeling a bit unnerved at this new development.
Following a narrow path surrounded by tall pampas grass and purple clover to a small clearing near the lone stream, the three of them stood motionless at the singular grave of her godfather. It was perfectly still and silent. No trees, just a soft sound of the turquoise water passing through the rocky stream nearby. "Dad, I don't hear...." "...shhhh!.....listen!" But, still nothing. Unexpectedly, her forehead creased and she began to weep softly. She wanted to hear. Winona knelt down and with one wide sweep cleared the loose brush away to read:
Having Great Time Forever Laughing Timothy Leary 1920-1996
She blanketed his grave with the rest of the cut flowers. She turned and walked away. Standing on the moon on the southwestern edge of the bright and dazzling crater Aristarchus, her godfather looked down at the silver sand in-between his toes and laughed again. Her parents caught up and passed Winona as they ran to the car. Although she didn’t see them, a thousand sparrows were in the trees as they drove slowly out the entrance. They hoped she would visit again soon and one of the sparrows left a little tribute on the windshield.
(6) Home
Waves rolled and crashed silently at the bay’s edge. Up the street, past the dark and silent houses, a single light shone in an upstairs bedroom window of her mother’s house. A small blue vase near a miniature yellow glowing table lamp sprouted one fresh fragrant red rose. Her father put it there and rotated the vase for full effect. She’ll like it like that he thought. He turned and saw the mahogany framed photo of his mother on the wall. She was about Winona’s age in the picture, and she was smiling at her son. Her hair still wet, Winona sat on the edge of the bed fresh out of the shower wearing only a crème-colored robe. She shuddered at the repulsive chocolate brown pajamas with smiling yellow teddy bears her mother had laid out for her on the bed. A water droplet fell from a strand of her wayward hair and slid down past two moles of her birthday suit to the inside of her right breast and she dabbed it with the robe. Reaching down and searching for her slippers under the bed she found an old pink shoebox. Reclining on her bed now she looked inside. She laughed and shook her head when she saw photos of herself at sweet sixteen. It reminded her of the times when she was alone on the very same bed in the very same room and dreamed of all the things she wanted in life. She looked around the room and thought that it looked smaller than she had remembered. Her mother would suddenly appear at the door. “Goodnight, honey.” “Sweet dreams.” A few moments later she returned. “There’s always a place here for you,” her mother said quietly. “Oh, mom.” “And..Winona?” “Yes?” She walked over to her daughter. “Do something with this hair,” she said, as she pinched some moisture out of a couple strands with her thumb and first finger.
In a little while, down towards the bottom of the mess of photos, she found a picture of him. She heard laughing in her heartbeat, in a rhythm like an old boyfriend’s guitar. She promised herself she would not cry.
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Post by phil on Oct 29, 2004 20:48:21 GMT -5
Corky
I walked out of the airport into the blazing California sun, and the heat nearly knocked me over. One lonesome cloud attempted to block the fireball in the sky. Three hours late, my white shirt darkening quickly with sweat, and there were no taxis available out on the skybridge. Or so I thought.
At the far end of the skybridge, at a curve in the shade, a taxi driver with long dark hair under a ball cap and oversized sunglasses came out from behind the raised hood of a yellow and blue taxi and waved to me. When I waved back, as an automatic response of sorts, he slammed the hood jumped into a station wagon and kicked it into reverse, squealing the tires and beelining it right towards my knee caps. He landed both front and rear two inches from the curb on a dime, so my legs lived to see another day. But I’d lost my balance dodging the shadow of the taxi and landed on the luggage carrier. The driver had quickly arrived and was peering over me. He raised his sunglasses. “Need a cab?” “Hey,” I said, as I sheepishly brushed my pants, “you’re not a dude!” “No kidding, Nim,” she deadpanned. She hustled my suitcase into the back and we were away. She lowered her glasses and lit a Lucky Strike. I told her the destination and she nodded. I inquired about the car smelling hot.
“Yah. Small problem. No problem. No sweat,you know” she said through rising smoke. I cracked a window as it drifted back. “We’ll make it.” “Are you sure? I’m already late for a meeting.” “Yeah.” After a moment I asked the question etched in stone somewhere. “Well, this nice girl drives a cab. Ok Nimrod?” she huffed. I sunk back into the seat. I focused on an ID with her picture. She was smiling and it said ‘Corky,’ but I couldn’t make out her last name.
We didn’t make it far. Out on the highway the car sputtered and died. She cursed like a sailor and managed to ease it over onto the rough shoulder where the gravel met the brown dead grass. Hot misty steam sifted through the seams of the hood. She got out on the passenger side and retrieved a bag of tools with a huge monkey wrench popping from the top, and a large jug of water. When I offered to help she just shook her head sadly. I think she was crying.
Awhile later she picked up a rock and hurled it angrily at a billboard that boasted pain free laser surgery for hemorrhoids. She missed horribly. I followed with one of my own, and hit the smiling bald headed f**ker above the left eye. I left a mark in his forehead, but the son-of-a-b*tch was still smiling. Corky laughed and I sensed from her sidelong glance that I may have been shedding some of my nimrod-ness.
She sat down on the hard weedy patch of dead grass and her shoulders slumped and lit another Lucky. She squashed the burnt out match deep into the ground with her left shoe. I squatted next to her. Cars rushing by kicked up a nice breeze. “What is it?” “The serpentine belt.” Her voice was much more relaxed. It was rather gentle and being this close to her for the first time I noticed she smelled wonderful and despite an adorable streak of grease on her forehead her skin was impeccably creamy white. I didn’t dare let her catch me staring.
Instead, she was staring at me. She looked at my chest area and my waist. Her eyes shined. “Follow me!” she said. “Give me your tie and your belt.” “You’re kidding!” “C’mon, Nim, you have a meeting to get to,” she mocked. “But my girlfriend gave!…it‘s a five stitch tie!”, I started. “Your meeting!” “It won’t work!” I argued. But she had a firm grip on the monkey wrench so the debate was over. She took both and strung them together masterfully like an artistic weaver and worked a long armed socket wrench like an expert.
“It won’t work,” I muttered under my breath repeatedly, even after she started the car and topped of the radiator. It did work. She got me to my office downtown as the last of the contraption slipped and shredded away. I self conscientiously stuck a thumb in a loop pretending to hold up my pants as I thanked this unusual girl. “I don’t know what to say.” “Have a nice day, Nim,” she smiled and she shrugged her shoulders. “Just another day at the office ya know.”
* * *
The following Thursday I saw her again. She came through the door of my office on the twelfth floor carrying a small brown plastic bag. She was still wearing her ball cap backwards and wore an oversized shirt with the sleeves rolled. Her face was scrubbed clean and there was a hint of lipstick. Up close she was definitely not a dude. She handed the bag to me following an awkward silence after we had smiled at each other. Inside was a yellow silk tie and a shiny black leather belt. “You didn’t have to do that,” I said softly. “My brother helped pick them out you know. Check out the tie,” she said as she turned it over in my hand. I looked closely. There were seven golden stitches in the interior fabric, a sign of the most expensive and high quality stitching. “That’s no way to spend your hard earned money,” I said, barely audible. She smiled shyly, pushed her hair back away from where it fell near the edge of her mouth, turned and walked away.
Corky was certainly etched in stone in my mind. I loved her. A few days later I called Ray’s Cab Company and asked to speak to her. A snooty dispatcher told me she no longer worked there and was not allowed to give out any more information. In the following week I hailed cabs and drifted around town asking other drivers what became of Corky. I kept looking for her car 36. One cab driver, Spark, a quiet black man with a large gap between his front teeth told me she talked constantly about working in a garage somewhere. He looked at me in the rear view mirror and said I really looked lost. I never found her and it made me more than sad.
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Post by Charles on Oct 30, 2004 5:45:27 GMT -5
Excellent, Phil . . . its ALWAYS a pleasure!!!
Chas
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Post by lia on Oct 31, 2004 3:15:50 GMT -5
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Post by phil on Oct 31, 2004 21:01:30 GMT -5
Thanks, Charles & Lia. And thanks for continuing to host my stories.
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Post by bigdaddy on Nov 2, 2004 9:49:17 GMT -5
first time I have had more then 10 minutes at time to look at your stuff... very good...nice to have you back in town, my man...I can see her tossing and missing with those rocks...
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