Writing When I’m Angry

As he lay on the wet, muddy ground, Alair could think of nothing more than how badly he wished the rain would wash him away. He wished for the water around him to rise and to be swept in a vast, fast-moving current that led to nowhere in particular, anywhere but here. The rain pelted the bare skin on his arms, neck, and face, each drop hitting with enough force to cause a small stinging sensation for a moment or two. Though there were hundreds of drops, thousands, millions, Alair felt that each one must have represented something he had done wrong in his life—evil deeds, sins of omission, imperfections at work and school, the things he had taken for granted—as each raindrop reached his skin, Alair’s depression sunk deeper and deeper.

Newest Novel Idea: Part 5

Eventually I had to make my way back to the campus for my institute class.  I was taking Doctrine and Covenants this semester.  I was seriously thinking of skipping, when an overwhelming sense of duty overcame.

            I walked up the sidewalk towards the LDS Institute of Religion building, stepping over the obvious ice-patches.  I made it all the way up to the front doors before I found some black ice.  It is a well-known fact that I am one of the clumsier people, so naturally, I lost my balance and slid forward.  My forehead banged against door handle and I landed hard on my butt.  Rewards for doing the right thing, I suppose.

            A group of students that had been talking in the game room heard my fail and came to see if  was okay.

            “I’m fine,” I said, “Promise.” I got to my knees and looked up.  I found myself eyelevel with my own blood smeared across the door.

            “Kymber!?” I heard someone call out as if from under water as I faded from consciousness.

            I was out less than a minute and immediately tried convincing those around me that I was perfectly fine.

            “I just didn’t know blood made me queasy, I guess, now I do.  Everything’s good.  I’m just going to clean up now.”

            I walked down the hall to the ladies room where I soaked a wad of paper towels in the sink.  Then I pressed the dripping glob to my forehead with my left hand without looking in the mirror.  I was about to leave when I remembered the blood on the front door.  I grabbed another handful of paper towels with my right hand and then back to the foyer.

            Someone had beat me to cleaning up.  Standing only an arm’s length away was one of the cutest boys I had ever seen.  He had thick, dark, curly hair; he also wore glasses.  He was about 6 inches taller than me and average size, perhaps slightly chubby.  I froze.

            “Um . . . I was going to clean that up . . .”

            He turned and I saw his charming smile turn into a face of concern.  “Is this yours?” He asked referring to the blood. I nodded. “Are you okay?” Again I nodded.

            He put the rag he was holding in a bucket next to his feet.  I wondered where he had found cleaning supplies so fast, but then remember that the custodial closets were always left opened since the members were in charge of keeping the building clean.  The handsome stranger held out his hand to me.  I shook his hand, absent mindedly transferring the wad of paper towels from my hand to his.

            “Greg,” He introduced himself.

            “Kymber.”

            “Nice to meet you,” he hesitated before asking, “Can I see it?”

            “What?” Then I remembered where I was and what was going on. “Oh, this!” I said stupidly as I removed the dripping glob of paper from my face.  It had turned slightly orange.

            “We’re going to put a band-aid on that immediately, I’m afraid,” he said mock-seriously.  Then he took off the backpack he was wearing and started shuffling though it.  He pulled out what looked like a home-made draw-string bag, complete with a glitter red-cross.  He lost a few manly-points for that.  He must have seen me eyeing the glitter because he said, “I’m such a klutz, so my sister-in-law made me this portable first aid kit, my 4 year-old niece helped.  She picked out the band-aids too, so I’m not sure what you’ll get.”

            “That’s fine,” I said, giggly stupidly.

            He used the dry paper towels I had given him to dry my wound.  Then he put Neosporin on a q-tip and gently tickled my sore forehead.  Then it was time for applying the bandage.  He pulled one out at random and opened it slowly. “And the winner is . . .” he teased as he pulled the wrapper off, revealing a blue monkey band-aid, “Dora the Explorer!  You’re going to have a Boots print on your head.” I laughed at his lame pun; it didn’t matter what he said as long as he just kept talking.

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Newest Novel Idea: Part 4

           The next morning I got up earlier than I normally would, meaning I only pushed snooze once.  I said a quick prayer, read a few scriptures and then I slid into a pair of dark jeans and a long sleeved t-shirt.

            There were two hours before my first class started at nine.  Usually, I didn’t even have 15 minutes before class after I get ready.  What was I going to do with all this time?  I was tempted to turn on my laptop and watch an episode of Monk, but I refrained.  Instead, I grabbed my iPod, keys, and coat, and headed out the door.

            One good thing about February is that the days get longer.  It was already light outside and it was only 7am.  The air was cold around me.  I drew in an icy breath and felt some of my negative energy leaving me.  I was outside.  It felt so good to be outside with nowhere to go.  I didn’t have to rush off to class or walk to the Wal-Mart to buy shampoo.  I had nowhere to go and two hours to get there.

            At first I stayed on campus, balancing on the edges of the fountain and flower beds.  I felt like a child again.  After a few minutes I strayed over to the institute building.  There was old heavy snow on the ground.  I attempted to make a snowman, but the snow was frozen solid.  If I stood perfectly still, I could stand on top of it without sinking.  It made me feel pretty good about myself knowing that I was light enough to be supported.   Obviously this was not the right kind of snow for snow angels either.  So I moved on.

            Around 45 minutes were spent walking around the cemetery.  A lot of people think that cemeteries are creepy, but I find them calm and serene.  I read the names and dates on almost every headstone I passed, mentally doing subtraction to figure out their ages.  There were the very young, children who died in infancy, and the very old; I found one man who had lived for 102 long years.

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Newest Novel Idea: Part 3

            I returned to my room to find Tamera still dreaming pleasantly.  I dropped my scriptures on the floor, a little too mercilessly, and then collapsed face first onto my bed.  I could feel my skirt riding up, and even though no one was around besides my unconscious roommate, it made me feel uncomfortable.

            I rummaged through my closet for a minute, trying to find something to change into, but then I gave up.  I pulled my PJs off the top of my hamper and slipped them on.  If I was going to be sulking, I would at least be comfortable.

            There was no real reason for me to feel so down on life, it was a conscious choice I made.  Some people wake up each morning, breath in the fresh air of a new day, stretch all their worries away.  Not me.  I wake up each morning thinking to myself why does morning have to come every single day?! I literally roll out of my bed and slink off to the bathroom.  I stare at myself in the mirror way longer than is required before I ever get out my make-up or hair supplies.  I just look into my eyes, trying to find the light that used to be there that is now gone.

            My attitude was a dimmer.  I closed the curtains on the windows to my soul.  I didn’t know if I really wanted anyone to see in.  I mean, I longed for romance, but I was afraid of friendship.  I guess I was kind of expecting love to just find me without much effort on my part.

            The light may have been dim, but it had always been there, until recently.  Somehow I couldn’t find it at all.  I’d just stare and stare thinking about what I’d done wrong and what I needed to do better.  But I couldn’t make myself change.  I wanted to change, but I didn’t believe I could, I guess.  My head was muddled.  My spirit was muddled.

            I’ve never been too good about daily prayer, personal scripture study, journal writing, etc.  I guess I’d been getting by on “borrowed light.”  But borrowed light was still light.  So what had happened to mine?

            I laid on my bed thinking about these things, once again.  I listened to Tamera’s steady heavy breathing, feeling slightly jealous that she could sleep in the middle of the day like that.  I’ve tried to, and usually about the time I drift off someone wakes me up to go to dinner.  I sat up; It was about dinner time now.  That’s what happens when Church doesn’t get out until 4 in the afternoon.

            “Tamera,” I said, loud enough to wake her, “Wanna go eat food?”

            “No.” She rolled over and pulled her lime green comforter over her head.

            I laid back down and stared at the MormonAds across the room.  I had put them up, perhaps to remind me to be better than I naturally am.  They weren’t working.  Or more aptly, I wasn’t working.  One of the posters taunted me to “rise above the blues.”  I ignored it and pulled out a box of cereal.  I didn’t feel like walking across campus again in this February weather.

            I’d prayed to God one hundred times to help me change, to help me become happier.  But had I really done my part?  Is happiness something you have to work at, or is it something some people just naturally have?  I wasn’t sure, but I was going to make the 101^st prayer count.  Tomorrow I was going to get out of my room.  I didn’t know where I would go, but sitting in front of a laptop watching chick flicks and crime shows was getting me nowhere. 

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Newest Novel Idea: Part 2

               Well, I was holding a guy’s hand at that very moment.  It was another one of those Mor-mon handshakes, and he was married anyway.

               “Hi, Kymber,” Brother Jinks, second counselor to the Bishop said with authority, “This is Joshua.”

               I took Josh’s hand.  Instant discomfort.  He was a dead-fish shaker.   This kind of hand-shake can only be made worse with cold hands, and Joshua’s hands were freezing.  Great, a dead fish on ice.

               “Can you guess why I just introduced you?”

               For a moment some part of me, a stupid and desperate part, entertained the idea that Brother Jinks might be hooking me up.  How did he know I needed a date?

               I looked over Joshua again.  His hair wasn’t dark, but it was thick.  I’d give him half cre-dit for that.  He was taller than me, another plus, though not hard to achieve.  He was a little scrawny, but I was a little overweight, so neither of us was really the gym-hitting type.  I guess this could work. Besides, then I could teach him how to properly shake hands.

               “I’m sure I don’t have a clue,” I told Brother Jinks.

               “You can’t think of any reason?”

               I shook my head and anticipation built up inside me.

               “We’re your new home teachers!” Brother Jinks exclaimed with much more enthusiasm than was actually required for these sort of things.

               “Oh, great,” I muttered, “I mean, good, good. That’ll be . . . nice.”

               That was it.  I was leaving.

               It’s so hard to be single in a church of families.  Okay, so I go to the single’s ward.  But half of those people are engaged or steadily dating.  They scratch each other’s backs in sacrament meeting.  The hold hands in Sunday school. And then they act like they’re parting for eternity when they have to separate for Priesthood and Relief Society.  It’s quite sickening.

               Usually it’s not so bad.  Tamera, my current roommate, usually sits with me, equally sin-gle.  But today, Tamera was sick and those had to be the longest three hours I’ve ever endured.

I missed the single’s ward I’d had at the community college.  Now that I was at the Uni-versity I felt even more insignificant and invisible.  I was one of 200 people in my ward.  My other ward had 60 people total.  I would be surprised if the Bishop even knew my name.  But there I go again.

                Brother Jinks and Joshua set up an appointment for later that week and I finally made my escape.

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Go to Part 3

Newest Novel Idea: Part 1

               It was finally over.  After three long hours I could go back to my room and take a much needed nap.  When I tell you what I’ve been doing for the last three hours you might be disappointed in my bad attitude.  In fact, I’m sure you’ve already guessed by now and are already considering putting this book down to read something a little more uplifting.  But don’t, just bare with me a little longer.

            I gathered up the fifty cutesy handouts the Relief Society teacher had printed out on cardstock and mercilessly shoved them in my scripture bag.  I looped the handle around my left arm and started to leave the room.  I realized my mistake only moments later.  My mistake was that I left my right hand free, something you should never do inside a Latter-day Saint building if you wanted to get out untouched.  I shook hands all the way from the classroom to the front doors.

            I’m not a germaphobe or anything, but I do have my own personal bubble which everyone at Church seems to want to invade.  This ward wasn’t as bad as others in that sense, I only had to worry about shaking hands here.  Back at home random old ladies would sit down next to me, put their arms around me and welcome me to Relief Society.

            “I can’t believe you’re already 18,” they’d tell me, a little too close to my ear, “I remember when you would run around in sacrament meeting with nothing but a diaper and skirt on.  You used to really hate shirts, didn’t you?”

            Well, I wear shirts all the time now.  Actually, I prefer to wear shirts with high collars, low waistlines, and longish sleeves.  I suppose that comes from being a Mormon, or maybe just that if someone is talking to me, I want them to be talking to me and not my chest or stomach.

            I’m also not 18.  I’m 21.  Twenty-one and single.  In fact, it’s worse than that.  I’m twenty-one years old and I’ve never had a boyfriend, I’ve never kissed, never held hands.  The last time I went on a date was when I was 18.  Which is partly my fault, I suppose.  After high school, where the only dances I attended were girls’ choice, I decided that it was the men’s turn to start asking.  I was headed for community college.  I wanted to go to a university, but this college was free!  They gave me a full-ride scholarship just for existing.  I was ecstatic.  College would be the perfect place, a fresh start from my awkward years.  Most exciting was the prospect of new datable men.  I soon found out, however, that my picture of college was all wrong.

            My freshman year I spent a lot of time in my dorm room with the door open waiting for friends to invite themselves into my life.  As a result, the only friend I actually made was the one who had no choice to be in the room as well, my roommate, Wendy Allen.  Wendy was great and we had a lot in common, the same music, the same movies, we both wanted to convert Michael Bublé and then marry him.  We’d fight over who could have him until we found out he was engaged.  Then we’d argue about who would get Zachary Levi.  Of course, then we found out he was a smoker.  So then we wouldn’t fight about anything unless I’d get in a sour mood. Then Wendy would tell me, “Kymber, STOP IT” in her perfect theatre major diction.  For some reason we haven’t talked since she graduated at the end of my freshman year.  I suspect I was a little overbearing, much like a giant black raincloud hovering overhead about to burst at any moment. But there I go being a Grumpy-Gus again.

            Wendy went on three dates while I knew her.  I know what you’re thinking, “Three dates?! She only went on three?”  Well, that was three more than I’d been on.  Not for lack of trying.  I tried everything, short of asking the guys myself, for three long years.  I’ve been from no make-up to lots of make-up to moderate make-up.  I went from t-shirts to blouses to Wal-Mart specials.  I’ve had long hair and medium and short.  Thin glasses, thick glasses, no glasses.  And with all my variety in bait, you’d think I would have caught at least a small fish.  But no.  Not one fish bit.

I did get asked on a date once freshman year, by Levi Haycock.  Wendy had helped me pick out the cutest clothes I owned, a green shirt and long flowing black skirt.  Then I did my make-up. I was in the middle of doing my hair when there was a knock at the door.  Surely it couldn’t be Levi, he was 45 minutes early!  It was Levi.  I answered the door with a curling iron up to my scalp.

“You look . . .” He began in his shy way, “Um . . . you’re not doing your hair for the date are you?”

“Um . . .” What did that mean? Levi hadn’t told me what we were doing.  Maybe I was over-dressed.  Maybe he was concerned I’d spent all this time on my hair and it would just get wind-blown.  Maybe he was taking me horse-back riding! “Why?” I asked.

“Um . . . I’m going to have to cancel, my roommate Joe . . .” He let his words fade out as he closed the door behind him.

As I listened to his footsteps retreating I gave Wendy an appalled look. All she said in return was, “Hair! Kymber, your hair!”

I stared her for a moment before realizing I still had the iron up to my head.  I lost a big chunk of hair that day, and that is when I went from long hair to short hair overnight.

Levi never explained why he stood me up and he never asked me out again.  I suppose I shouldn’t dwell on that too much, I just got his wedding invitation in the mail. Scott and Linda Allen would like to announce the marriage of their daughter Wendy Lynn to Levi Peter Haycock.

There was more, but I’ll spare you the details.  I don’t know how it happened.  They must have met up after graduation or something.  When they announced it on Facebook I thought it was some kind of joke.  We’ll see who gets the last laugh.

Here’s something I just don’t get.  A whole lot of my friends and acquaintances are married.  One in five of the people I know who are around my age (5 years either direction) are married, engaged, or have children.  How is this possible when I still stay up at night wondering what it feels like to hold a guy’s hand? 

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October

It was an unnaturally beautiful mid-October day for Utah, but Sam hadn’t noticed. He was in Price attending college for the first time and he was finding it hard to adjust to this new life. The past two years had been so structured, compared to that his life now was chaotic. He went to bed at a different time every night, depending on when his roommate David was tired. On Mondays and Wednesdays he didn’t have class until 11:00 and could sleep in, but on Tuesdays and Thursdays he had signed up for a 7:00 class. Today was Tuesday, and Sam was tired.

                Sam stifled a yawn as he walked across the street towards the Student Center. He was watching his feet, perhaps to make sure they kept moving, and had his hands in his hoodie pocket. There was a warm breeze that was stirring around the leaves he kicked up as he shuffled along. Sam didn’t think much about them, he didn’t watch as they swirled around him in the air, as if suspended by magic. He had things on his mind.

                The slight wind was not only disturbing the leaves on the ground, but pulling other leaves from their branches and sending them out into the world. They danced in the air for a few moments then touched the ground gracefully, making a subtle noise. One leaf alone was too quiet to hear, but together the hundreds landing on the grass sounded like a calm rain. The sound would have soothed Sam’s soul, if he were listening. But Sam wasn’t listening. He was brooding.

                He’d been away from home for two years. Then he was promptly sent away again, three hours away and with no car. He didn’t want to come to this stupid little town, but the college had offered him a pretty good scholarship and his parents hadn’t wanted him to miss such a great opportunity.

An opportunity for what? Sam thought resentfully. This Podunk college was smaller than his high school! What was he going to learn here that he couldn’t have learned by staying at home a year and going to the university extension in his town? Now he was stranded; though not so far away, there was a long and winding canyon separating him from the rest of civilization.

He glared at the school’s unofficial mascot, Gibby the Rock, as he pulled the door open. Someone had painted it bright pink with a big happy face. What right does a stupid rock have to be happy? Sam resentfully ate his lunch with a group of people from his dorm. They never spoke to him, but it was better than eating alone.

David sat down across from Sam and immediately set to flirting with the girl on Sam’s right. Sam listened while he chewed. David was a natural when it came to talking to girls. Sam wasn’t awful at it, but girls never seemed interested in anything he had to say when there were other males around. Sam had thought about this and figured that there must be something wrong with him. Either he was unattractive or he just wasn’t that funny. Or both. Sam glanced at the girl then got up and left.

*  *  *  *  *  *  *

Jenna was sitting under a tree reading a book and listening to 70s and 80s music. She absolutely loved the autumn. There was nothing quite like sitting among the yellows, oranges, and browns on the ground. The tree she was sitting under had turned a vivid red over the weekend; it perfectly matched her brand new jacket. Not that she needed the jacket, today was perfect. The temperature was in the mid-70s and there was a gentle wind. Jenna sighed and closed her book. She couldn’t be still on a day like this.

Jenna walked around the campus. She looked at the trees and the leaves on the ground. The wind picked up and threw resting leaves into action. Leaves were twirling above Jenna’s head, she started spinning with them. She realized she must look ridiculous, but she didn’t really care.

Jenna spun until she was dizzy, then she collapsed in a pile of newly fallen leaves. She stared into the heavens. The sky was perfect blue. There were wispy clouds warning of a storm ahead, but for now everything was just right. She watched as the birds flew south in their elaborate formations. Leaves fell around her.

She stood suddenly, disturbing the leaves around her. She took off running and skipping towards the Student Center. It was time for lunch!

A guy with curly black hair was leaving as Jenna arrived. She couldn’t help but notice how cute he was. He had bushy eyebrows, and chocolate brown eyes. He smelled really good too.

“Beautiful day, isn’t it?” Jenna asked him as she approached. He seemed to ignore her. Jenna thought he hadn’t heard. As she looked behind after him, Jenna saw him mocking her. His lips mouthed her words, he moved his head with exaggerated movements. Then he kicked Gibby, angrily.

“Are all men stupid?” Jenna said under breath as she turned to go inside. She found herself face-to-chest with the Dean of Students.

“Excuse me?”

“Sorry, not you,” She apologized and then stole another glance at the guy. He really wasn’t all that attractive. “Jerk.”

*  *  *  *  *  *  *

Sam limped to his door and started digging in his pockets for his keys. He stuck the key into the lock and opened the door to his cell. He looked about the dinky room and sighed. Only half of this dungeon was his. He kicked off his shoes, which was much more painful than it should have been.

“Idiot!” He scolded himself, “What kind of moron kicks a boulder?”

Sam slumped onto his unmade bed an immediately jumped back up. There was a spring sticking out of his mattress, it had torn a hole clear through the mattress cover and his fitted sheet. He groaned and started stripping the covers off his bed.

He was too tired for this, but the mattress had to be flipped before he could take a nap. Sam glanced at the alarm clock; there wouldn’t be time for a nap before his next class now. He had exactly 20 minutes before he had to leave again and it would take him 10 to remake his bed.

*  *  *  *  *  *  *

                Jenna sat down for lunch in a miserable mood. She stared down at her tray glumly and tried to stab her well done pork chop, but the fork bounced back. Jenna forced her fork into the meat and started sawing at it with a butter knife.

                “Hi!” Someone said to her.

                She looked across the table and saw a blonde girl with a huge grin. Jenna smiled in spite of herself.

                “I’m Abby,” The girl said, then she pointed her fork at the Latino boy on Jenna’s right, “That’s David.”

                “I’m Jenna.” Jenna was so happy to have someone to talk to at lunch that she forgot all about the boy she’d met outside.

Anna

                Anna sat at her desk chewing on the end of her pen. She hated introductions and conclusions. No matter how flowery her wording throughout the body of her essays, the beginning and ending always sounded somewhat hashed together. She sighed as she took out her laptop. This was going to have to be good enough, there was barely enough time to type and print her paper before class. Why did she have to procrastinate? She’d have to lecture herself later; there just wasn’t time for guilt now.

                Her fingers caressed the keyboard like they had been born to type. Anna would have typed her paper in the first place, but her professor wanted a hand written draft as well as the final essay. Writing was tedious and inefficient. She hated how ugly mistakes looked on written drafts. Pencils smudged and erasers smeared. Pens didn’t smug, but they left ink blots, and mistakes were permanent. Mistakes were one thing Anna could not accept.

                She grabbed the still warm paper from the printer as she headed out the door. She put it in her bag and slipped on her jacket as she hustled across the campus. She glanced at the time on her cell phone. How did it get to be so late? Gracious!  Anna broke into a run, ignoring the looks she was getting from other students.

                Class was just beginning when she slid into the back row, panting. Her professor gave her a pointed look, but didn’t say anything. The lecture was long and Anna couldn’t help herself as she took out her phone to once again check the time. She tapped her foot impatiently for the class to end. It was all she could do to stay awake.