Washing Hands and Kissing

I had an epiphany today as I washed my hands. In order for a kiss, like washing hands, to be worthwhile it needs to last at least the length of two rounds of "Happy Birthday." But don't sing happy birthday to yourself--or the other person--while kissing, because that's just awkward.

Back Home Again

For the record, most of my "life" blogging will now be taking place on The Power of C blog. This will be primarily reserved for writing experiments and other little ditties.

Please feel free to follow along.

Missionary-ing in Kentucky

Wow...things certainly are different in Kentucky than they are in Utah. I have yet to serve even in Ohio, let alone Cincinnati...you know, the area where I was called to serve :P Haha, it's cool. I kind of like serving in the largest geographical mission in the United States. It means I get to see some scenery :)

Life is going well, just living one day at a time trying to get the work done. If you have no idea what I'm talking about when I say "mission" or "missionary" just check out www.lds.org to learn more.

Peace Out-
*Sista Jones

April Snow

Yes, this is a true story.

It snowed that night. It was late April and it snowed. Not flakes of snow, big globs of snow dropped from the sky, killing the blossoms and promise of spring. The freezing white covered the earth in cleansing white. That storm robbed my life of color and brightness of future. No, not the storm of snow, the storm raging in my head and heart. It continues to amaze me how heartache affects my stomach. Anything I eat turns to stone, making me feel overly full and sick from the depths of my guts to the top of my throat. I almost want to throw up, as if it will purge all of this ugliness inside me. That's it. My body rejects feeling this way. It cannot process this nocuous combination of hate, bitterness, confusion, betrayal, and hurt. Perhaps that is why the act is surreal to me still in the morning. The snow is melting, but I still feel solid inside. I feel so many things, yet I feel nothing. Everything has stopped inside me. It is a surprise I still breathe and can feel my heart beat.

The act itself was not the largest part of the betrayal. Oh do not mistake my meaning, that still pricks—a sticker in my skin every time that heart of mine beats. If only it would stop! Then this...this, whatever this is would stop. No, that is not the part that causes the deep ache in my heart and cessation of my other bodily functions. Whoever decided omission was a sin was all too right. The fact that she did not tell me, that is the part that kills what bit of humanness I have in me. I want to put it from my head, but it is a dull needle caught in the scratch on vinyl, an incessant loop of the same things I've already thought, and hearing her voice tell me that they confessed their affection for one another, that he had just left her after a weekend together, that he asked her to be his girlfriend...that she said yes to it all. The day after he broke up with me my best friend said yes to him.

It snowed that night. It was late April and it snowed. Not flakes of snow, big globs of snow dropped from the sky, killing the blossoms and promise of spring. The freezing white covered the earth in cleansing white. That storm robbed my life of color and brightness of future.

Taking Over the World

Yay for life, and the world and everything in it! No, I'm not crazy, life is just good. I've been in a weird funk lately, but I have so much to be grateful for that I really can't complain one single bit. This semester is flying to an end (HOORAY!), and after next semester I can say I am a college graduate (not that I couldn't now, it's just that close-minded people don't count AS degrees...fools). That, and there is a certain...someone in my life who just seems to make everything better. Of course, it would be significantly easier if he didn't live seven hours and 480 miles away, but we make it work. As my amazing friend Lola would say (and no, her name has not been changed to protect her, she's just that cool), "How hard do I rock?" So anyway, the picture of that handsome guy looking at your's truly is seriously one of the best guys I've ever met, that's why I was smart enough to snag him ;) Honestly, though, when I first met him I didn't really like him much at all. And after our first phone conversation I told my friends that he was annoying and wondered why I put up with him. Wow...how time changes things.

Peace Out

P.S. Note the totally awesome little button near the bottom of my sidebar that links you to my wicked rad podcast hosted through Odeo (a flurking totally rad free hosting site where anyone can create podcasts)--click it for some cool listens to some readings I had to do for a class.

The Relativity of Truth

I'm pretty sure I broke a kid's heart today. Man...this sucks. The worst part is, I didn't even do anything wrong! I didn't lead him on, or pretend to be something I wasn't, or go behind his back with someone else. I just told him the truth.

When you are growing up adults always tell you it is best to tell the truth. They never tell you how hard it is. They never tell you that it hurts more, and that's why people lie in the first place. They always leave out that a lot of times someone gets hurt by the truth. As much as this does suck, I know it's best in the end.

Because if I hadn't told the truth I would've had to compromise who I am, and things I've promised myself. I'm not willing to do that.

Bah, why are relationships and life so complicated?!

I Thought You Might Have Some Advice to Give on How to be Insensitve

Yes, I totally copped that from Jann Arden, but it fit so well I couldn't help it! There are not many things in my life I regret. I believe that our mistakes--just as much as our triumphs, if not more so--make us who we are. We learn a lot about ourselves when we mess up. Therefore, when people ask me what I would change about my past I generally have nothing to say.

However, there is one thing. When I was a freshman in college I had a radio show on the college station. One night a guy called in and asked me to a dance. I had never met him, but I accepted anyway. It was supposed to be a Valentine's Dance, but was held on Friday, February 13. My date showed up early, and none of my roommates were home. Being 5'11" I had half expected him to be shorter than me. I did not, however, expect him to be pushing five feet even. He was a terrible conversationalist, and at the end of the date gave me a hanging plant with the $5 sticker still attached. This is not the worst part of the date. No, the worst part, the part I wish I could change, is that at that same time my older sister was giving birth to her first child, my niece, Daisy. My whole family was there, and I missed it.

Every time I see her. Every time I see pictures of the day she was born. Every time somebody mentions it, I cringe. I regret being so stupid, and I wish there was something I could do to change it. Just this evening I was talking with my little sister about how our older sister is going to have another baby in August. Without thinking she said, "Yeah, are you gonna be there this time?"

Ouch.

Well I don't expect the world to move underneath me, but for God's sake could you try?

I'm done. I'm through. I quit. I want no more of this.

What, you may ask, am I giving up on? Dating. Relationships. The possibility for love. Why, you may ask, do I feel this way? Let me tell you...

I've never had a second date. If I lived in a world where I could ask all my first dates why, then perhaps I could make the necessary changes to get a second date. As things are, that's not happening. Anyhoo, case in point. Friday I went on what very well may have been the best date of my life. We didn't do anything extravagant or wonderful, just had a lot of fun. At the end I initiated a hug, which led to a kiss (neither of us made a "move" to speak of--it just sort of happened). I was on an ecstatic high. That was, until I received the following message today (via MSN Messenger):

"Listen, Chelsea, i feel like a douche, but i just got out of a serious relationship last month, we were ring shopping... and i thought that i was ready to jump back into things but i was wrong, i'm sorry but this just won't work." Right. That's cool. I've been there. But what was so difficult about telling me this BEFORE introducing me to your family? BEFORE I befriended your two-year old niece, and your dog? BEFORE I shared a recipe with your mother?

I completely respect honesty, but sometimes it comes too late.

A Summer With Stephen

This is an essay for my English class. All events are factual, and based on my summer from May 2004-August 2004.

A Summer With Stephen

His name was Stephen.

I suppose my first impression upon meeting him was somewhat tainted; after all, Liz had openly called him psychotic and swore he needed therapy. He walked into my apartment without knocking, bellowing as he went.

“Bethany! Hey Beth!--” he stopped short seeing me in the bathroom just off the hallway. Because I hadn’t met any of my roommates in Portland yet I decided to get dressed before getting ready, something I never do. Otherwise, Stephen would’ve caught an eyeful.

“Can I help you?” I queried tentatively.

“You must be the new tech,” he posited, looking me over carefully. His gaze was disquieting. The scruff on his face was too long to suggest over-night growth. His coarse, dark hair was wild and frenzied just like his eyes. Oh Lord! I left Cinci for this? Orlin, Nichole, Crystal, Matthew, Annie—even David!—them for this leering ogre whose eyes spent too little time on my face? The burning behind my eyes, a pain that was quickly becoming familiar, threatened my just-finished make-up. Instead I was saved by the nymph-like waif that stumbled from the bedroom at the end of the hall.

“Steve! How many times do I have to tell you, you aren’t allowed down the hall and you need to knock!” her voice was clogged with sleep, but her displeasure was no less evident. Other than her shock of Christina Aguilara hair, everything about Beth was petite and perfect. Barely over five feet tall she couldn’t have been a size zero on her fattest day. She shopped in the kids’ section for clothing that fit.

“Sorry!” he cast back flippantly, and started for the door. Sighing, she called after him.

“Wait, Steve. What did you want?”

“I can’t remember. You yelling at me made me forget.” I couldn’t be sure, after all, I had barely met the guy, but he seemed genuinely angry at her reprimand. Before the two could continue a quick knock followed by a hello came.

“Hey Adam, come in,” Beth called. A sleepy-eyed guy popped his head around the corner, his short hair belying his recent slumber as he peeked down the hall.

“Just comin’ to see if you’re plannin’ on church today.”

“Yeah,” came Beth’s reply. She then turned to Stephen. “See? Adam knocks!” He rolled his eyes and left, mumbling under his breath. Adam looked from Stephen to Beth in question, but she had already turned back to the bedroom from which she had appeared. He shook his head and left.

My breath quivered as I inhaled deeply through my nose and exhaled slowly out the mouth. My hands and lips trembled as I reached for my flat iron while pushing back the memories of the last three weeks. I was able to hold the tears for only a moment as the rest came rushing back.

David and I had made the drive from central Utah to Cincinnati, Ohio in just under 28 hours, only stopping for a four-hour nap in a Kansas hotel parking lot and gas. After a two-hour detour on a belt route that dipped into Kentucky we made it to our apartment complex. At that point I didn’t care if I never saw David again. His body odor and breath were so bad by the time we made it across the Illinois-Ohio border I rolled down my window for fresh air in spite of the sprinkling rain. He complained that it was cold. I ignored him. Matthew and Annie, our manager and his wife, greeted us warmly. Our co-workers, and roommates, were at work and would be until late that evening. Nichole and Crystal were hilarious. I liked them immediately. The only other person in the office was Orlin. I met him for the first time two days later in the office. His neck was mottled with hickies. Nichole and Crystal informed me Sarah was a girl “filling her canteen” before serving a mission for her church. His swagger reminded me of the cocky wrestlers from high school; it came as no surprise when I later found him to have been one.

We were all there working for the summer selling Orkin Pest Control door-to-door. The pay was strictly commission. If one sold well, the income promised to be good. I had gone hoping to make enough to cover my expenses for a semester in Russia. Each of my trainers had bolstered my confidence, swearing I would be great—possibly one of the best. A moderately-successful salesperson could get three sales a day. Three weeks later in Cincinnati, sweating to save my life, I had four sales to my name. That’s when Matthew suggested I consider being a tech instead. My mom said she would pay for my flight if I’d go to Portland, Oregon. I purchased the ticket at five pm Friday. I flew out nine am Saturday. I packed my essentials—bedding, alarm clock, personal supplies, and two changes of clothes—into a single black suitcase.

I cried as my plane lifted into the clouds. Cincinnati to Pittsburgh, Pittsburgh to New York, New York to Atlanta, Atlanta to Portland. It was 11 pm in Portland when my plane touched down. I cried quietly in the backseat as Jared and Liz chattered incessantly the whole drive to the apartment. I plugged in my clock, made my bed, and cried myself to sleep.

Adam, Amee, and JT were nice enough. Beth had some issues. Her favorite topic was reminiscing about getting high. Stephen proved to be weirder than Liz had given him credit for. I had to deal with him every morning for the first several weeks. I’m not sure what Stephen did during the day, but each morning when I opened the door empty slurpee cups, cartons with dried nacho cheese, paperwork, and other loose objects spilled into the parking lot. In the beginning I sat amidst the trash. It wasn’t long before I tired of this practice. I made him clean out the garbage before I would get in. One day I had had enough. I refused to get in until Stephen removed every scrap of paper and losing lottery ticket. At first he wouldn’t do it. He threatened to leave me, I told him to go ahead. He radioed the office, informing Pat—our manager at Orkin—that I wouldn’t get in. Pat asked why. Grudgingly Stephen told him. That was the day I planted the seed of hatred in his heart.

I nurtured that seed into a sprout the day I found a vase of my favorite flowers with a note that read, “You’re the reason I wake up in the morning. Love, Stephen” and I responded with,

“I think I’m going to throw up.” It took deep root when he asked me on a date and I told him I didn’t date coworkers. A few days later I went to the movies with Bethany, Adam, and Justin, a guy from church who had asked Beth on a date. He was none too happy when I wasn’t thrilled about going to Seaside for the Fourth of July either.

The grotesque briar bloomed only a few short days before Beth and I were to begin our trek back to Utah. I had been off work on doctor’s orders. An untreated case of sinusitis had landed me a late-night trip to the ER and a few weeks worth of Vicodin. Just as I came back to work Stephen was in an accident. He had been rear-ended while going to an appointment. When I returned to the apartment complex that evening Liz had Stephen and me meet with her to discuss what would be done. I felt sorry for the oaf. To be honest, I had always pitied Stephen. If ever there was a broken home he came from it. Most of his youth had been spent bouncing between unwilling parents and grandparents. He wasn’t smart, and he looked downright creepy. His half-grin that slipped easily onto his face seeming to drip from his greazy hair. The way he slid his eyes away from my face too often in conversation; his whole demeanor was unsettling.

I followed him down the stairs carefully. Liz had warned me he wasn’t very steady on his feet. I carried his paperwork with me. I would take care of it the next day at the office. Stephen’s apartment was next door to mine. I bid him a good evening then started for my own door. A triumphant shout burst behind the door I just left followed by,

“I sure pulled that one off!”

“Oh hell no!” I cursed under my breath, marching back to his door. This smelly, socially inept, over-grown child was not about to get away with this. I pounded my fist against the door, practically shouting his name. The fool didn’t answer. In a fury I went back to Liz’s apartment. I told her what I heard. I set Stephen’s paperwork on her desk and told her he could do it. On my way back to my apartment I saw him going downstairs. He had “friends” down there who didn’t mind supplying an 18-year-old with a few beers every now and then.

“Steve!” I called out. He looked back at my door in a panic, then toward me. Guilty bastard, I thought. He knew I had seen him walk down the first few steps with no trouble. “Liz has your paperwork. I told her you would do it when you go to work tomorrow.”

“I’m not going to work. We just talked about this…” he trailed off, confused.

“I live next door, Steve. I’m not deaf. Next time you want to celebrate, maybe you’ll remember that.” Dumfounded he responded with an open-mouthed stare. “I heard you, Steve. I know you’re lying.” With that I walked past him into my apartment. I hardly had time to set my keys on the kitchen counter when there was a knock at the door. “Come in,” I said without moving.

“What did you tell Liz?” His eyes had narrowed; his stiffness belied his agitated state. I related to him what I had heard, and said. “You think I’m lying?” he growled.

“I know you are.” At that he rushed toward me. He came within inches of my face. Instinctively, I dropped into a defensive stance I had learned in my Rape Aggression Defense class.

“You’ve hated me since the day you came here!” He was yelling now. His face was beyond red, almost purple. “Now,” he momentarily lost his words in his anger, “now you’re trying to get me fired!” His leaps in logic triggered my memory. He continued yelling while my mind raced back to Criminology. We had studied serial killers. They all had common threads. Single-parent families, usually abused as children, social outcasts, then a combination of drugs, alcohol, or both, coupled with some event triggering the psychotic break that lead to extensive killings. The only thing lacking in Stephen’s case was that event. Looking into his desperate eyes I realized this job was the only thing he had going for him. This event just might be the one. In a moment of pride I pushed his buttons anyway.

“You’re getting yourself fired.” I saw his fists clench, his eyes told me he was thinking hard. “Thinking about hitting me, Stephen? That’s a good idea,” I taunted. I hardly knew what happened when he hammered his fist against the countertop.

“Gaaaaaaaa! You stupid bitch! Just stay the hell away from me!” With that he stormed out, banging the door closed behind him. I think I breathed for the first time in five minutes. My heart was drumming in my throat. I tried to listen for him, to see if he came back. I closed the blinds and locked the door. The blood pulsing through my head drown out all outside noise, locking in the wild thoughts beating around my brain.

I saw Stephen twice after that. I didn’t speak to him either time, nor him me. I know I never gave him my address, but with the information age allowing access to anyone with an internet connection I wonder sometimes. The car that takes a little too long slowing down at the crosswalk, the calls where I can hear someone breathing on the other end yet no one answers when I pick up, the humanly sounds outside my basement window. And yet, I don’t think I would change things even if I could. Live, learn, and move on. Yeah…move on.

The Creativity of Boredom

This is a little something I penned the other day. I hope you enjoy...

The Creativity of Boredom

Words about things that have no meaning to me.
What's the point of this existence? There probably isn't one.
But I won't accept that until I prove all others wrong.

I hafta be right cause I hate to lose. If you wanna try that get used to disappointment.
I'm abrasive, I'm bold, I'm not afraid to say I told you so.
No I'm not mean, I just like facts.

Yeah, words about things that have no meaning.

I'm doin fine, but thanks for askin. Actually that's a lie, but thanks for askin.
You see, I can't find a meaning to this existence and I just can't deal with that.

Just give me time and I'll find it.
A little more time and I'll prove I'm right.

Kissing on the First Date

This past week I visited a friend in Provo. I was there from Tuesday night until Saturday afternoon. I had a date Wednesday, Thursday, and Friday. Here is a brief synopsis of what transpired...

Wednesday
Lunch with Jesse at Mi Ranchito. Perhaps you will think me a heinous bitch, but I nearly laughed out loud when he began speaking and his open mouth revealed Billy Bob teeth. No, wait! These were his real teeth! Then the fact that he couldn't make simple conversation to save his life (his excuse for the silence was that he was eating, and he was attracted to me so he was acting shy--WTF???) was another serious strike against him. Rachel, my friend that I stayed with, and I voted no. Actually, it was more like HELL NO.

Thursday
Lunch with Justin at the Pizza Factory. He met us at the door, which he opened. Made great conversation--which includes us laughing really, really hard (always a bonus)--and then paid for our meals, which we totally didn't expect. Rachel ended up having the hots for him, he texted her Saturday night to go to a concert, but she missed it. They have tentative plans to do something in the near future. Needless to say, we voted yes on Justin.

Friday
Dinner with Chase at Tucci's. Originally I was supposed to go out alone with Chase, but his friend John David (JD) decided it would be fun to come along. I had to beg, plead, and eventually yell at Rachel to go with me. Because of the change in number, rather than Chase coming down to Provo, we drove to Salt Lake. When their drunken roommate Nick found out we were going to Vortex (a trashy night club) he wanted to come, too. 30 minutes later we were still waiting and JD had disappeared as well. Chase asked if we would mind waiting in the car for a few minutes while he rounded them up. 20 minutes later he came out alone apologizing profusely for their behavior, and calling them unreliable. We decided to go to dinner. Getting to the restaurant took about 10-15 minutes. Just after we had been seated, Chase's phone rang. Nick had decided he wanted to come and was walking down a busy highway. Falling over himself to apologize, Chase asked if we wanted to just leave or if we cared if he brought them back. We decided to wait at the restaurant for him to bring them back. About 40 minutes later he arrives with not only drunken Nick in tow, but now-plastered/high beyond belief JD as well (keep in mind: I had yelled at Rachel to come because she didn't want to, and JD was supposed to be her date...). After a strained dinner where Chase was constantly apologizing to us, or our waiter Jammer for JD's behavior (which consisted of him repeating the F word time and again, and practically shouting, "Lick balls!"), Chase managed to usher JD to the car. The drive home was rather uneventful, other than the revelation that while Chase was taking JD to the car he had managed to pee on a piling in the parking garage. JD had passed out by the time we arrived back at their apartment, and Nick staggered inside. Chase said, "Come talk to me for a second." So as we made our way toward Rachel's truck he apologized again for their behavior and asked, "Is there anything I can do to make it up to you?" I'm not gonna lie, I had wanted to kiss him since I had laid next to him on the Love Sac when we first arrived. But watching how kind he was to Rachel, and his endless patience when dealing with his shit-faced roommates had only proven to me that he was a worthwhile guy. As we had been walking to Rachel's truck I had looped my arm through his. After he stopped apologizing I said, "Let me think..." at which point I pivoted him using his arm, placed my hand on his face and kissed him soundly. And DAMN if that wasn't a good kiss! The first words out of his mouth were a mildly serious, "I have a bedroom..." I laughed, kissed him again, and said that I wouldn't mind seeing him again before walking away. Rachel called me a whore. I said he worked hard for it.

I also decided that forevermore I am going to make the first move, cause that was just too much fun.

Real Friends

My friend (we'll call her Rebekah) just came out of a bad relationship. Reader's Digest version: He was manipulative, controlling, and a candyass pansie. Because of this, she practically alienated her family and most of her friends (she couldn't get rid of me if she wanted to)--he wanted to know if she would give up her family, friends, and grad school for him. Much as I tried, I could not convince her of his mind-game-playing ways. I don't blame her, I did the same thing when she tried to warn me about my ex.

Now her self-worth is close to zero. Her other friends don't want to hang out because they feel like she was ignored them while she was with him. Yeah, it pissed me off that she ignored me while she was with him, but I also knew it would end badly and that she would be in desperate need of a friend when it did.

Beside, she did the same for me.

Of All The Weird Things

So, I finally felt guilty for telling the ex to go to hell. I'm actually adjusting really well, but I felt like this is the last thing I need to do before I really move on (since there are several viable "options" around these days...).

I found his profile on myspace, dropped a short "hey..." kinda message, and crossed my fingers in hopes that I could just apologize and move on. Nay nay. He tried to add me to his friends list!!! What kind of ass does that? In response I told him I just wanted to apologize, wish him well, and move on with my life. I'm not into digging at the scars of old wounds. Yes, it may have only been five months but I'm dealing very nicely, thank you.

Eh, whatevs.

Sometimes Life Bites You in the Ass...

But that isn't always a bad thing. The boyfriend mentioned in the last post declared--in a text message--yesterday that he no longer felt we were "right." When I said this was something serious that needed to be discussed at least over the phone (since his residing in So Cal and mine in So Utah doesn't allow face-to-face) he replied that he was busy because he was going on a bike ride to Huntington Beach with his brother and needed to get his bike ready. So when I asked him to explain to me what happened he said he had been trying all day (insert eye-roll here). So I told him I obviously didn't understand so he should try a different approach. He said he didn't know how else to explain it. I told him to go to hell.

I am not going to lie, I cried my eyes out for hours and hours since then. But after visiting with a friend who, fortunately for me not-so-fortunately for her, has experienced heart-break before I took a step back and looked at things from a different perspective. Yes, losing this relationship still hurt like hell and made me feel like my heart was in a vice, but there was light at the end of this torture. I didn't have to worry about what he thought anymore.

He had a real issue with the fact that I belch. Yes, I know, it is not "lady-like"--but it is a part of who I am. Around him--taboo. I am 5'11", when I wear four inch heels I am pretty much a giant; however, I LOVE my tall shoes! I love how they make me feel. He hated that I was a whole quarter inch taller than him and forbade me wear them in his presence. He told me my butt was big and insisted that for the relationship to continue I had to take up running. I was well aware that my figure was--and is--more than full and in need of some lifestyle changes. So I started eating less food as a whole, but more healthy food was also incorporated. I convinced my family we needed to start exercising more--we are now all members of Gold's Gym (yes, that cost a pretty penny). That is all good, but he made me feel inferior. He made me feel like I wasn't good enough for him if I didn't lose several inches and a lot of pounds. For the first time in my life I really felt ugly. I never though I was runway model-gorgeous, but I at least thought I was a passable cute. I have cute hair, I wear cute clothes, I try to take care of my general appearance. But with him I felt inadequate. I know it may sound trivial, but I want a little dog when I get married and (gulp) have kids. I grew up with a miniature schnauzer in my home, I want my children to have a pet like that. Sometimes Mitzi (my dearly-departed friend) was my ONLY friend. He said the dog was NOT allowed on his bed, NOT allowed in his room, NOT allowed to bark, and NOT allowed to ever make messes. If it did any of these things he would "kick it like a football across the yard." Hmm, not the acceptance I was hoping for. Mostly, I've been in this depressed funk for weeks. I don't feel like being with friends. I don't feel like getting ready for the day. I don't even feel like going to the gym.

My thought process continued along this same path, before long I came to the conclusion, "WHAT WAS I THINKING, BEING WITH HIM IN THE FIRST PLACE?" Sure, we shared mutual interests in music, friends, music, politics, music, mostly just music in the beginning. But things have seriously deteriorated over the last few months. In fact, since he came in April it seems to have been a downward spiral. I felt so stupid for not seeing the glaringly obvious red flags waving in my face.

Jamie said, "You weren't stupid, you were love-struck." No. I didn't see them because I didn't WANT to see them. I wanted everything to be perfect and happily-ever-after. I wanted him to be the one. I made heinous exceptions for him that make me cringe to think about now.

In life, all choices carry consequences. Before making decisions one should always ask, "Is this something I can live with for the rest of my life?" If not, then it is obviously wrong. So I asked myself, "Can I live without Ben?" YUP. "Will I be happy?" YUP. "Did I learn anything from this?" I SURE AS HELL HOPE SO--OTHERWISE I DESERVE TO BE HURT.

Now I wonder if he asked himself if he could live without me and be happy. I sure hope he did and that his answer was yes, because if not he just made a mistake he'll regret forever.

"Make a fool of me once, the fault is your's; make a fool of me twice, the fault is mine." I will not be made a fool by this pandering coward again.

Been A While

Wow-March 30 the date of my last post. That is just plain pathetic. And all through the semester I wondered how I would ever go another day without writing something. Maybe that is why life has seemed so randomly dull lately, all the creative juices dried up after being untapped for a while like a scab forming over a cut.

Life hasn't been all that interesting. Graduated with my AS, moved home (does that sound sorry or what?!), and now I'm looking for a job. That's not entirely true...Looking would mean I have been actively going around in search of employment opportunities. I've spent most of my time unpacking and reboxing all the things a person needs when living alone versus a person who lives at home. I've accumulated quite a bit through my five moves in the last year (that isn't including the two moves home). Enough that I've been promised space in one of the three family storage rooms in the house (like that will ever happen), so for now there is a mountain of my things piled neatly in the corner of the living room.

I cannot complain, however, since I have something now I've never had before--a love interest. That sounds off, but it's the truth. He says I can't call him my boyfriend because we don't date traditionally (seeing how he still lives in California), but he's moving to Utah for school in the fall so we'll see what happens. His official self-proclaimed title is "great friend"--far too complex for the simpleton minds I deal with on a daily basis. Sorry baby, it's just easier to call you my boyfriend.

That seems enough for now. Peace.

Jenna Goes to Work

My ringing cell phone snatched my attention. Looking at the clock before opening it, I sighed.

"Shit! I know I'm late Camille. I'll pick you up in two minutes."

"Jenna, we can't afford to be late to this gig. It's the biggest one of the year."

"Right. I'm there," I offered lamely while looking in the mirror. Tonight I was an Indian belly dancer, escaped from the harem. My hair was wound tightly in a bun on top of my head. The gold chandeliers cascading from my earlobes were hollow and nearly weightless, but for their sheer size. I looked like I had stepped into an "I Dream of Jeanie" costume--except the chest hugging top was cut higher on the bottom and lower on top, and the billowy bottoms began at the crest of my butt cleavage. That, and Jeanie never wore four inch stilettos. The shoes made me a towering 6'3", but they also made my legs look like they went for miles. My eye make-up would've made Cleopatra blush. Damn I looked good.

I threw the translucent mask into my purse along with the pound and a half of gold bracelets I would put on before going in. I donned my extra-long black coat. So what if it was late in the season? You always need a jacket in Utah.

Heidi tossed an automatic, "Have fun..." my way, never taking her eyes from the screen of her laptop. I took the stairs as quickly and carefully as my shoes would allow. Waiting for Gretta to warm up, I flexed and pointed my feet in the shoes working the definition of my calves. When I arrived at Camille's she and Alisa came out before I could honk. Camille the run-of-the-mill Playboy Bunny and Alisa dressed to the nines as a business professional.

Camille handed me the directions as she and Alisa made themselves comfortable in the car.

"This is outside?!" I questioned in shock, reading the map.

"Yup."

"I'll freeze! You can practically see through this top as it is, now they'll see everything!"

"Meh, makes for better tips," Camille flipped down the passenger-side visor to check her lipstick, while Alisa muffled her wayward giggle. I shook my head, turned off the dome light and drove toward the mouth of the canyon.

Jenna Has An Epiphany

Why the hell am I here? Celtic group my ass. They play Celtic music, that does not make them Celtic. Truth be told, I avoid most public places these days. This fool lady is talking about "voices" coming from the drum. Aubrei--the girl sitting next to me--said,

"I must not've drank enough before coming to class."

UGH! This music is SO depressing! It reminds me of Last of the Mohicans when the lady jumps off the cliff. I always liked that movie...

Is there a reason I'm here? C'mon God, you are a merciful loving Father in Heaven, right? So why? Why am I here now? Is there something I'm supposed to learn from this miserable experience?

Aubrei just said this reminds her of Titanic. I feel like that. I am on this ship that's hit an iceberg. Surprisingly, it isn't sinking fast, but very, very slowly. So slowly I almost question it's inevitable fate. One thing I know for sure, I am suffocating already. If I don't get off soon I'll drown.

Screw this concert. I need air...

The Purpose and People of the Grand Experiment

First and foremost, I would like to maintain that I REALLY think we should call it "BYU's Illegitimate Child." Thank you. ;)

That said, I believe Our Grand Experiment is about the hierarchy of society and the culture at a rural, Utah college. Particularly, the influence of the dominant religion on each of the student's lives. The driving point seems to be the rebellion, the clinging to, or the utter disdain for this cultish entity that is completely separate from the actual theology of the church, but is so rigidly maintained by the people in it.

As for who this novel is about, the characters that seem to embody what I believe this novel to be about would have to be Michael, Sabrina, Todd, Gill, John, Nikki, and Jenna (of course I included my own character--DUH! :P).

I think what this novel says, is that despite the social pressures and the ingrained doctrines, people are still free to choose their paths. Some have the gumption to do so, while others, well, drop balls. But the point is that through experience, trial, and error the characters are capable of becoming more well-rounded individuals. To illustrate my point, let us take a scene from Chelsea's life:

Chelsea met a boy named Jacob on the internet (GASP!!!). She talked to him nearly every day on her instant messenger. He called her at least twice a week. This carried on from the end of August until the beginning of December. Because the relationship had evolved, they decided to meet. However, Jacob conveniently missed each of the meetings. Then Chelsea found out Jacob was hiding her from his family because his mother did not approve. Jacob was 22. Last time Chelsea checked, the iron clad apron strings were still firmly tied around his neck.

While it is sad, it is also true. In fact, Jacob's mother became so upset that he was contacting me he had to buy his own cell phone because she did not approve of him talking to a girl he had met online (insert sarcastic eye-roll here). For a long time all she knew was my name and that he frequently talked to me. The moral of this story is that at the age of 22, Jacob should be able to choose for himself what he wants to do. Because he didn't have the kahunas to stand up to his mother, we haven't spoken in over three months. Bravo, Mom. Bravo. Your son is a spineless, mindless jellyfish who can't do anything without your say-so. That is what I call a productive, well-adjusted member of society...(again, insert sarcastic eye-roll here).

The point of this little drama--trust me, there is one--is that in our novel, the people whose parents were over-bearing, over-protective, and ultra-conservative have created offspring who cannot think for themselves, who are incapable of decision making, and who follow blindly because they don't know how to see. When these people are sent to college where they are forced to make decisions, they either thrive or fail. That is what our novel is saying.

Getting to Know Jenna

If you need anymore information on any of these questions just ask!

1. Name on your birth certificate: Jenna Marie Janes
2. Nicknames: Dolly (but only my grandmother calls me this)
3. Piercing/tattoos: Ears pierced. I wear a clip-on on my stomach for work, I'm considering just getting one.
4. Eye color: Blue/Green (depends on what I wear)
5. Hair Color: Dark brown
6. Place of birth: Cedar City, UT
7. Favorite food: Chinese
8. Ever been to Africa? Someday...
9. Ever been to Europe? (See previous answer)
10. Hawaii or Mexico? I've been to Mexico (Tijuana and Ensenada), I think Hawaii is overrated.
11. Love someone so much it made you cry? Only once...dumb bastard.
12. Been in a car accident? Just one and everybody was fine
13. Croutons or bacon bits: Bacon bits
14. Favorite day of the week: Tuesday, because I don't have Physics
15. Favorite restaurant: Brad's Food Hut
16. Favorite flower: Starburst Lilies
17. Favorite sports to watch: Why watch when I can play???
18. Favorite hot drink: Hot Chocolate with Vanilla and Hazelnut creamers
19. Favorite ice cream: Double Fudge Brownie (by Dreyers)
20. Disney or Warner Brothers: What can I say? I love Beauty and the Beast...
21. Favorite Fast Food: Wendy's
22. Color of bedroom carpet: Emerald berber with flecks of peach and rose (ie, UGLY)
23. How many times did you fail a drivers test: None :)
24. Name a tragic event from your life: When my dog Mitzi of 13 years died.
25. Which store would you choose to max out your credit card? Barnes and Noble
26. What do you do when you're bored? I wish I had time to be bored!
27. What time is bedtime? Usually 10:30 on weekdays. Weekends go from 2-4am.
28. What is your most interesting scar? The one on my wrist from cutting it on a broken cookie jar as a toddler.
29. Did you have a childhood pet? If so, what was it? I had a miniature schnauzer named Butch (who died). A Blue Heeler named Buff (who ran away). And another miniature schnauzer named Mitzi (who just died in August of complications from diabetes). I also had a little neon fish I named Shark who tragically died when I finally cleaned the bowl.
30. Favorite TV shows? Law and Order and Monk
31. Ford or Chevy? Dyed in the wool, true blue through and through a Chevy girl.
32. Last person you went to dinner with? My sister Natalie and niece Lily
33. What are you listening to right now? Band called Mest, song "Chelsea"
34. What is your favorite color? Green
35. Lake, ocean or river? Lake (I have a phobia of sharks...)
36. How old are you? 20

Jenna Talks to Michael

"Just come up to Beckie's office with me now and we can check on the TV assignment," I told Michael, my back to him as I erased the whiteboard and gathered my books.

"OK."

As we turned the corner to go up the stairs, we couldn't help but notice a guy on his cell phone. DTRs were never a good thing to have on the phone, especially in public places. I slyly listened in on what he was saying.

"Stacey, that is not what I said...NO! You're twisting my wor--" he stopped walking and clenched his fist in frustration. "Mmhmm...Yeah...OK..." He turned the mouthpiece away as he sighed heavily. Rolling his eyes and nodding his head he finished the conversation. "I love you, too. See you tonight." Michael and I continued past. I thought I heard the guy mumble some profane name or another under his breath. As we came to the top of the stairs, I spoke without thinking, the words tumbled out of my mouth.

"Don't you ever feel like you wear a mask? That it's easier to pretend to be the person people think you are rather than act how you really feel?"

"Every damn minute of my life."

Michael's immediate and hearty agreement with my statement set me to thinking. What did he have to hide? So I decided to do what I do best. Dig.

"I think everybody is hiding something; even if it is for the sake of having something to hide," I carefully baited.

"I think people hide for survival. If people knew their secrets they would be socially murdered."

"Ever feel suicidal?" I half-played. He didn't speak, but his answer shouted from his slight grunt, the barely-perceptible nodding of his head, and the faint smile of recognition that played across his lips.

"Me too," my response startled him.

"What could you possibly have to hide? You're like Miss Perfect. Your boss loves you, you get good grades, you don't live in a hole...people actually like you. You have everything," he practically snapped.

"People who have everything have it all to lose. Especially when they have secrets. Secrets that would change everything everybody knew about them," my tone was icier than I intended. How could this schmuck possibly understand what I was going through? He wasn't the one living a double life. He wasn't going against every value and moral his parents had drilled into him. But the worst part was, he wasn't doing it and not feeling bad about it.

Jenna's Cover is Possibly Blown

“O my Father, thou that dwellest in that high and glorious place…” How I love singing the hymns! I crave escaping life for a little while and coming here where I can almost be at peace; a deep breath after being submerged. School was particularly heinous this week, and no work this weekend means no money. Now that Sunday is nearly over it will be time to go back to reality.
“Before we have the prayer, I just wanted to remind you to meet with your FHE Groups afterward!” Brother Heinze called out before the last note could leave the air. I peeked to see who was saying the prayer.

Jeanette Boyter. Ugh. Self-righteous, holier-than-thou pretentious snob. She is one of those people who practically campaigns to be the Relief Society President. She can have it. They can leave me in the Sunday School until I die and that will be perfectly fine with me. Chill Jenna. She is going to say the prayer and you can’t be thinking mean-spirited thoughts while she’s doing it, I told myself. If I can just keep my eyes closed and not break out laughing when she is bound to say, “Please bless those who have lost there way, that we may bring them back to the fold…” like she always does, I’ll be fine. Biting my tongue. Biting my lips. Face turning hot. Must get air…
“Amen!” the word whooshed out of my mouth. Sweet, sweet oxygen!

“So, Mama, what’s up for this week?” Ethan clamped his muscled arm around my neck. I returned the favor.
“Well, I was thinking we could play Ultimate Frisbee on the field by the stadium around seven. What do you think boys?” I turned to the eight other faces of my A-Town boys who had huddled around Ethan and myself.
“Whatever, step mom,” Jaysen rolled his eyes playfully. He was always egging me on and I always played along.
“That sounds tight to me, Mama,” Rick tried his hardest to sound ghetto. Poor kid was raised in Utah Valley, like ghetto was ever going to happen. The rest nodded or mumbled their approval. Shane came up as the rest of the group dispersed.
“Hey Ethan, you ask her about Hilt yet?” he somehow shifted a perceptible weight onto Ethan’s shoulders.
“Man! I knew you were gonna do that. You promised--”
“I did not promise,” Shane held his hands up in front of his chest as though refusing an offering.
“You promised you would ask her,” Ethan jabbed his finger into Shane’s chest.
“Guys, I’m not deaf. Ask me what?” This was going nowhere if I didn’t step in soon. They were instantly quiet, both looking at one another then shaking their heads back and forth in negation. Eventually, Shane threw his hands up.
“Fine! I’ll ask her,” Shane practically yelled at Ethan. Ethan snickered.
“We have a friend--”
“It’s this guy who lives in the dorms with us,” Ethan barged in.
“Do you wanna ask’er?” Shane whipped around to Ethan. Ethan stepped back, holding his hands up in surrender.“Anyway, this guy Hilt—his name is Nick Hilton—he lives in the dorms with us and we were wondering if he could come tomorrow.” Both guys stared at me as if I was going to punish them for sneaking candy.
“Sure why not?”
“Are you sure?” Ethan echoed Shane.
“Yeah. More people make it more fun anyway.” I should’ve known they were going to bear hug me, but I was gasping for air before I could blink.

* * *

“C’mon team! Let’s go!” I hollered to the five guys on our side of the kick-off line. We were down by two, but we were receiving. Jaysen caught the Frisbee, and snatched three phat goose-steps before sailing the thing over to Ethan. Rick tried blocking, but missed altogether. Ethan danced around him before tossing the Frisbee to me. I had positioned myself just left of the goal-cones. I took one step closer before letting the lime-green disc fly. It glided easily through. I must’ve thrown it harder than I thought because I almost hit a rather large passer-by who was cutting across the field. I jogged over to him. “Sorry, I wasn’t aimin’ for ya,” I gasped my explanation. Before the stranger could reply I saw his eyes widen and heard the sound of footsteps behind me. Instinctively, I flinched, thinking the hit was meant for me. Instead, Ethan and Shane charged past me tackling the guy to the ground.
“HILT!”
“Glad you could make it!” All three of them stood up, laughing.
“Welcome Hilt. I’m Jenna,” I offered my hand. He took it in his, but the look in his eye was unsettling. His gaze was so penetrating I felt like he was reading my thoughts.
“Have I met you before?” he asked after a minute. I studied his face closely. He did look vaguely familiar.
“I can’t say that we have. I don’t think we have any classes together. Maybe I’ve just seen you on campus.”
“Maybe,” he drawled. My explanation didn’t seem to satisfy him.
“Hey!” Rick hollered from the playing field. “We gonna play or talk? C’mon!”

* * *

“Thanks for coming!” I called to the backs of several of the guys. A few raised their hands in acknowledgment. Ethan, Shane, Hilt, and I sat on the grass talking for a while before Hilt and Shane claimed they needed to study for a Business test. Ethan offered to help gather the equipment. As we walked toward Gretta, my white 1993 Taurus, Ethan cleared his throat uncomfortably. I looked at him. His expression seemed troubled.
“What’s up?” I asked casually. Ethan didn’t seem terribly bright, so it couldn’t be that upsetting.
“Oh nothin’. I was just thinkin’ bout somethin’ Hilt said is all,” he offered lamely. I stopped walking.
“Really Ethan, what is it?”
“Well,” he paused. “It’s about you.” The hairs on my neck rose.
“What did he say about me?” I faked being cool with them discussing me.
“He said he thought you were some dancer that works a lot of the keggers around here. I told him he was probably just drunk and thought you were someone else,” Ethan began walking again. My blood ran cold. I tried to swallow the boulder in my throat. My heart beat wildly; I looked down to see if it was visible through my shirt. It was all I could do to keep my knees from buckling. I knew I had to keep walking or Ethan would suspect something. An unnatural, high-pitched bogus laugh escaped my lips.
“Me? A dancer? It's so ridiculous it's almost laughable. Maybe he was doing something more than drinking.” He had been more than drinking. His clothes were rank with the sickly sweet scent of weed in addition to Jim Beam. He had been at the house party—the one where John got a hold of my Princess pants. My train of thought spiraled downward. How had he recognized me? What was I going to do? This could not be happening. I can’t afford for this to happen. I choked on the sob trying to tear out of my throat. The burning behind my eyes was becoming more than I could handle. A single shiny tear escaped down my cheek.
“You alright?” Ethan asked.“Oh yeah, my contacts. I must’ve got some dirt in there or something. Thanks for your help. See you later,” I gushed.
“Later.”

Son of a bitch! Ethan looked perplexed as I drove away. I waited until he was out of sight before I began slamming my palm against my steering wheel.
“Damn! Damn! Damn!” The tears were coming more quickly now. I could hardly see the road through the misty haze. I couldn’t blink them away fast enough. They streamed hotly down my face. Black splotches spattered my white t-shirt as I drove to my house. Only halfway through the first semester and already my cover was being seriously threatened.“What am I going to do?” I moaned into my hands after parking the car.

Convincing Chris

Of the short stories I found, I particularly liked The Life You Save May Be Your Own by Flannery O'Connor. After reading her essay in our textbook, Crafting Fiction, I wanted to read some of her work. This story is about a drifter named Mr. Shiftlet who happens upon a widow woman and her daughter, both named Lucynell Crater. The story tells of what happens during their meeting.

My other pick is a classic favorite of mine that I happened to stumble across. Edgar Allan Poe's A Tell-Tale Heart is a chilling story of a man who kills his benefactor because of the benefactor's "Evil Eye." The calm flow of the story from the killer almost belies his insanity.

Short Story-- The Call

Here is my short story, PLEASE leave comments (preferrably constructive ones).

The last thing Jennie smelled was the rich odor earth carries after being dug from deep below the surface. The last thing she heard was his piercing whistle.

His whistle was actually the first thing Jennie ever knew of him. She was walking down the sidewalk to deliver her timecard to Jane Beck in the administrative building when the red grounds crew vehicle spun past her. Two men in grubby blue shirts and mucky jeans rode in front, their faces serious. The creases in their eyes were a lighter shade of skin, almost telling of the fair complexion that used to reside in the now weathered, tired expressions they bore. But he was riding in the bed of the cart; sitting next to a mound of freshly turned dirt. He was younger. He sat there and he whistled. The whistling startled Jennie. Not because it reflected happiness in an obviously dismal place, but because it sounded in her ear so clearly and perfectly. She was almost drawn to it. One would think the growling engine would drown out such a delicate sound. But the faultless pitch superceded the throaty cough of the cart’s motor. Jennie continued, following the men along the main walk for some distance before they turned left at the fountain. Though she could no longer see them and the guttural rumble of the motor faded, Jennie still heard the whistling. She tried to shake it, but instead his image kept recurring in her mind. He sat with his left arm propped on the same knee. His other leg was tucked under, and his arm lazily draped over the shovel handle. He wore the same uniform as the other two, a faded blue cotton work shirt, and denim jeans that were quickly wearing at the knees. He also sported a khaki baseball cap, pulled low over his brow. His brown hair was unkempt, spilling from under the hat over his ears and down his collar. Jennie was too far to see the color of his eyes, but they were small and dark. Usually when one whistles the lips are pursed, almost to the point of puckered, but she did not remember his mouth this way. His reptilian lips barely parted, the corners dipping ever so slightly into the tiniest sliver of a downward curve.
“Hi Jennie.” The salutation reeled Jennie back to reality as she descended the stairs into the building.
“Oh, hey Samantha,” Jennie offered her warmest smile as a cover, hoping the other girl would pretend not to notice her obvious surprise. Once inside the building, Jennie’s mind turned over to her impending radio show that night. She wasn’t really looking forward to it. Arthur, the man for whom she produced the show, had a certain creep factor; one she and her friends called the “child molester” feeling. Whenever she was alone in the building with him, she locked the office door and always looked for weapons of opportunity when in the booth. The fact that on more than one occasion his hands grazed her butt in a not-so-accidental way also made her leery. Oh well, the two hour block would give her time to study for the bane of her graduation--Physics.

The translucent purple Mac sounded the familiar alert, informing Jennie of a new instant message. Caleb! Her friend from Colorado solicited a conversation.
“How are you Jennie?” The bright blue words appeared in the white box.
“Bored to tears!” Jennie spoke while typing. She tacked on a crying emoticon for extra emphasis.
“Would you like to play a game of checkers or chess?” he offered.
“I need some sort of mental stimulation,” she replied.
“Chess then since it is more ‘brainy’,” he retorted.
“Which room?”
“Wombat Wagon in the Social Rooms,” he directed. Caleb actually taught Jennie how to play chess online. In fact, all their communication was through the Internet. Jennie met Caleb in a teen chat room at the age of 12. At times their contact drifted, but for the most part they kept in touch. He didn’t really teach her much about chess other than which pieces could move where. The rest he left for her to learn. Unfortunately, she didn’t pick up very quickly. In less than 20 moves he captured her king. Despite the lack of moves, the game lasted through the end of the radio show. Caleb claimed a need for sleep so Jennie bid him goodnight. She set up the automated play list that would run until the next DJ came in at six. The clock on the mixing board glowed a ruby 12:53 am. Jennie grabbed her keys and planner before locking up the building. She regretted her decision to not wear a jacket when the January air blew right through her knit shirt. It was warmer when she arrived at the station. Why did the car her grandparents loaned her have to die? It just wasn’t fair. Mired in self-pity, she trudged toward her apartment. She passed the girls’ dorm and the Physical Plant. She was nearly past the lot of school-owned cars when she heard what could have been a moan. Probably some cats getting freaky, she rolled her eyes at the intense over-reaction of her imagination. She began walking faster when a cry for help was discreetly uttered. Momentarily Jennie paused. That sounded almost human. Should she go for help or prove herself wrong? She discerned a faint wheezing sound. “It better not be cats,” she grumbled turning toward the lot. Typically the gate was locked, but tonight the padlock hung open from the chain. She pushed the wide gate on its giant wheels. Screeching noisily it moved, giving without much force.
“Hello?” She called tentatively. A distinctive moan came from under the covered parking to the east. She quickly walked over. “Where are you?” She made her way to what she thought was movement.
“Oh, thank God,” a man’s voice gasped. “I’m stuck.” The voice half shocked Jennie. Part of her wished it had been cats.
“Where?” she crouched near him. She could barely make out a human silhouette in the inky darkness.
“I was working on this cart when the block came out and pinned my leg underneath,” he let out a shaky breath.
“What do you need me to do?” Jennie chided herself inwardly. Why did she have this nagging sense of duty to help others? I should have just kept walking, she thought to herself. Oh well, too late to turn back now.
“There’s a jack…” he paused during a brief spell of intense pain, “there is a jack on the other side of the cart. If you lift this, I could wiggle out.” Jennie, feeling her way around the cart, nearly stumbled over the jack. She placed it under the frame of the cart, working it up and down until it began to rise. She heard the rub of denim on concrete.
“That’s good!” he called. She trailed her fingers along the contours of the cart until she was back around the other side.
“Do you need a doctor?” she asked the dark, slumping form her dilated pupils now picked out against the cinderblock walls. The shape began a slow, limping pace back and forth.
“No, my leg is fine. I was starting to give up hope, I’d been there so long and it’s awful chilly,” he replied after some time. He hobbled toward a truck. The engine protested turning over, but eventually did. “How did you hear me?” he asked, coming back to where she was standing.
“Well, I was walking home when I thought I heard something,” Jennie indicated the street beyond the open gate, shivering from the winter cold.
“Walking, huh?”
“Yeah, my car died the other day. I don’t know what’s wrong with it.”
“Can I give you a ride for your troubles?”
“That would actually be great, thanks,” Jennie smiled. Maybe good things did come to those who helped others after all.
“You want a coke or somethin’?”
“Anything hot if you have it,” Jennie hugged herself to keep warm. He went inside the building. Momentarily he returned with a bottled root beer, the cap already removed.
“This is all I’ve got,” he offered the drink. She took it from his outstretched hand. “Go ahead and warm up in the truck, I have some papers I need to take care of inside. It’ll be just a minute,” he motioned to his older model Chevy. It was a light blue with upholstery that reminded Jennie of her dad’s truck at home. The smell was the same, too. Sweat, dust, dirt, and gasoline, combined to create the pungent fusty odor unique to a work truck. Sipping the soda, her teeth clinking against the glass lip, she began unwinding. Oh it was late. Jennie was feeling the effects of the day. Pure exhaustion. Her Physics homework was torture, and Arthur was particularly disturbing during the show. The comfortable smell of the truck, the warmth from the heater, and the soft foam seat called her eyes to droop and head to nod. The cry of the opening door and breath of frosty air that came with it revived her momentarily.
“I live at the Wakefield Apartments,” she half mumbled.
“I’m sure you do, darlin’,” he drawled. Putting the truck into gear, he rolled through the gate then got out to lock it behind them. He left his door open. The brisk air sent pinpricks down Jennie’s spine. The hairs raised on her arms. The eerie sensations roused her from her sleepy state. When the man came back she vaguely recognized him. It was then she realized she didn’t even know his name. She also noticed he was no longer limping. The dome light in the truck was burned out, so she couldn’t get a closer look at his face. Besides that, her vision was blurring anyway. Damn contacts. She needed to throw them away when she got home. When he turned the wrong way out of the lot she couldn’t remember if she actually told him where she lived or if she only thought it. She decided it was better to repeat herself than have him drive out of his way to get there.
“I live in the Wakefield Apartments,” she felt like she was talking through a mouthful of peanut butter. No response. “What’s your name?” He checked his mirrors and put on his right turn signal, all without speaking. Jennie tried again to ask him his name. Inside her head was screaming at him, but her lips hardly moved and no sound escaped them. She had the same sensation when she tried to yell at her roommate Staci to turn off her alarm in the mornings. Her brain was working well enough to yell, but getting the sound to come out took so much effort that most the time she slipped back into sleep with only a sigh. Her head lolled toward the man, her eyes opening and closing ever so slowly. A small grunt escaped her chest as she abandoned consciousness for the homey security of the backs of her eyelids.

The scent of soil filtered into Jennie’s lungs. She gasped. It felt as though she held her breath all night. A gas lantern dangled precariously from its wire fixture, threatening to break loose at any moment. The unusually dull light seared like the sun in Jennie’s groggy eyes. She lifted her hand to wipe the sleep away, but her hand wouldn’t move. A harsh cord bit her wrist. An attempt to move her other hand yielded the same result. Both legs were also bound. Her hands could touch, but her feet could not. She lifted her head to see what has holding her down. Shards of pain sliced through the base of her skull to the top of her scalp. Each hair follicle seemed electrified by the stinging surge. Little white dots danced through her vision. An aching yelp tore from her throat. She panted shallowly. When her heartbeat quit drowning out all other sound she attempted to lift her head again. She regulated her breathing, as one does when running. In minute intervals she gently lifted her throbbing head from its earthen cradle. She gasped, her head hit the ground with a thud sending new waves of tenderness down to her shoulders. She had been stripped of all clothing. Her ashen skin was smudged with clods of dried mud. Wine colored bites stippled her chest and hips. Her mouth tasted of stomach acid and her teeth were filmy. The tongue in her mouth was far too large to fit comfortably inside. She nearly gagged, but her reflexes caused her to cough. This forced fresh tremors of agony through her body. A weight settled in her stomach. She licked her lips, but the act lifted particles of remaining vomit back into her mouth. Her body was tired, as though she had just completed a difficult work out. Her legs felt particularly feeble. She struggled to keep consciousness. She had no idea how long she had been in this place or how she had come to be there.

A malicious chortling sound resonated from beyond the muted circle of light. Jennie turned her head toward the noise, but could see nothing beyond the ridge of her upper arm.
“Who’s there?” she croaked hoarsely.
“Doesn’t hurt much yet. It’ll be worse in a few hours,” the voice sounded from the shadows. The tone brushed a chord of recognition in the depths of Jennie’s mind, but she couldn’t place it. She wasn’t too worried with figuring out who the pervert was; the sadistic bastard was enjoying her torment. The scuffed brown leather toe of a boot peeked from beyond the ocean of darkness. The waves receded as a shape separated itself from the rest. He put a worn wooden stool on the perimeter of the light so when he sat she could see most of his body, but his face remained shaded. “Don’t feel stupid. You aren’t the first to play the ‘Good Samaritan’ to a trapped man. If it weren’t for the decent people in this world like you, I would never get what I work so hard for. Actually,” he snickered, “I don’t have to work that hard at all. It’s pretty easy.” The minutes marched slowly by as they sat in silence. Finally, Jennie couldn’t take it anymore.
“Please…” her weak plea trailed off as silvery tears welled in her frightened eyes.
“Enough talk,” he cut in gruffly. “‘A little less conversation, a lot more action…’” he tunelessly lilted the lyrics to a once-popular cover of an Elvis song as he moved toward her. He turned his khaki hat around so the bill was in back. She could see the permanent sweat ring nearly half way up the cap. “Don’t want that getting in the way, now do we?” He spoke in a singsong voice. His grin was lop-sided, almost to the point of being twisted into a sneer. His teeth were perfectly straight, though lightly stained. His blue work shirt was unbuttoned and the tails trailed his swaggering movement. The white tank top underneath was clearly worn. A brownish-yellow sweat stain came part way down the neck. A definite line appeared on his chest where the work shirt came to a “v.” He worked outside. Jennie recognized the line as one similar to the permanent tan her father carried from years of working out of doors in all sorts of weather. Blue shirt. Outside. Khaki hat. All the disconnected clues floated haphazardly in her head. Her captor hadn’t shaved for several days. The traces of a reddish-brown beard were visible. He stood, straddling her waist. He fluidly dropped to one knee, then the other. He placed his calloused hands over hers. He brought his face within inches of her nose. For the first time she saw his eyes. They were a brown so deep they were almost ebony, but at the very center a cornflower blue rimmed his coal black pupil. Eyes so unique she would never forget them. His breath smelled of tuna masked by strong wintergreen mint gum. The smell was nauseating. She closed her eyes and swallowed hard, forcing the rising acrid taste back down her throat. He covered her mouth with his, the stubble on his face irritating her skin. She was in such a state of shock her eyes remained open. Tears slid down the sides of her face into her hair. When he lifted his head he cackled, “Like to see what’s goin’ on, huh?” His slimy smile slinking across his features. “That’s fine by me, my Jennie Jean.”
“How…” she tried once again to speak. He laughed at her surprise that he should know her name.
“You were asleep before, but this time you’ll get to see everything,” he continued. Jennie slammed her eyelids down and forced herself to control her breathing. She heard the zipper on his jeans. His coarse fingers slid down her torso, the rough tips tearing at her supple skin. She couldn’t stand the thought of letting this son of a bitch have his way with her. Again. She couldn’t fight him. She was unfeeling. Jennie held her breath until all faded into obscurity.
Her eyes fluttered open. He was sitting next to her. His hands clamped over his ears, knees tucked to chest as he rocked back and forth whimpering. Dizziness swallowed up Jennie’s consciousness as she retreated into the swirling haze of fitful rest.
When her eyes opened again he was kneeling over her, a dirty cloth tied over her mouth. “I know you didn’ holler much before, but this hurts somethin’ fierce and I don’ wan’ anybody knowin’ our little secret. I’ll take it to the grave. This way you will too.” An object glittered in Jennie’s peripheral vision. She stared into his phantom eyes before she felt the cool steel against her carotid followed by immediate warmth, plunging her into eternal frigidity. Her body seized. A gentle gurgling bubbled from her sinuous neck. His hypnotic eyes slowly faded to black.

Monica heard the haunting whistle long after the red cart sped past her. He watched her form grow smaller through the expanse. He looked to the pile of earth beside him. Taking off one of his leather gloves, he sifted a fistful through his fingers, inhaling as it trailed back down to the heap below. He could almost taste her again. An imperceptible satisfaction filled him.

The last thing she smelled was the rich odor that earth carries after being dug from deep below the surface. The last thing she heard was his piercing whistle, drawing the life from her body.

Jenna Meets Princess John

I saw a kid wearing my pants Saturday afternoon. He was walking shirtless and barefoot down the highway toward Manti. I had wondered what became of them the night before. I knew I shed them somewhere in the living room, but that usually happens at the beginning of the routine. That's why I always carry a spare outfit in the trunk of my car. Too bad, I really liked those jeans. They had always fit me just right. The poor fool was clearly hung over from the night before. It had been a pretty wild party. That's why I left early. Just enough liquor and it makes the night go fast, but too much and the viewers become more agressive than what I like to deal with; especially when they are already full of testosterone and most likely steriods. I figured he wouldn't recognize me from the party so I pulled over to ask if he needed a ride.
"Where you headed?" He squinted at my face. The light was clearly penetrating his skull causing massive explosions behind his pin-point pupils. His hair was disheveled, and a sprinkling of whiskers lightly shadowed his jawline.
"I'm trying to get back to Ephraim," he finally mumbled. The first three times he spoke it was so faint I could hardly hear. I wasn't sure if he was completely sober yet.
"Well you are taking the long way there," I jerked my thumb in the opposite direction. "Ephraim is that way." He stood there biting the skin on his upper lip, curling and uncurling his fists. He cocked his head to one side then the other.
"You wouldn't happen to have any water and some Ibuprofen, would you?" I didn't mean to make fun of his plight. But the idiot had brought the pain upon himself. My laugh caused him to physically reel, as though I had hit him squarely in the chin with a right hook.
"I'll do you one better, if you promise not to puke in my car I'll give you a ride," I offered, unlocking the passenger door. He was clearly still inebriated enough that if he tried anything I could easily subdue him. Actually, I had learned to subdue just about anyone. When a girl does what I do to make ends meet, guys tend to think they can take things further than the girl says they can. He stood there, his eyes glittering little slits in the brutal sunlight. Despite his unkempt appearance a flash of recognition lit up my mind. I had seen this kid with an entire fifth of Captain Morgan's Spiced Rum last night, and he wasn't sharing. I hadn't been there fifteen minutes before that bottle was more than half empty. He didn't even bother with a glass, just gulped it straight from the squatty neck. I was surprised he still had a pulse. I offered again, "You promise not to puke?" He nodded sloppily.

Somehow John managed to get himself into my car. He reeked of vomit. I had to do his seatbelt up for him which nearly caused me to pass out. For all the silence of our conversation until that point, he made up for on the ride into town in spite of all four windows being rolled down. He was what the girls and I call "talkie drunk" where the drunk just goes on and on to no end. I'm pretty sure I knew most of John's depressing life story by the time I dropped him off at Anderson Hall. Before he got out he became really quiet, concentrating on something. Finally, when I thought he had dozed off, he began speaking.
"Thanks for the ride. I probably would've ended up in some ditch," he unbuckled the seatbelt and opened the door. He put his feet out and pulled himself into an unbalanced standing position.
"Anytime Princess," I lilted to his back. Too bad his butt looked better in my jeans than mine did. I thought I heard a chuckle as he closed the door.

Monday I was running an errand for Beckie across campus when I noticed John sitting on one of the benches around the fountain. "Hey Princess," I said loudly enough for him to hear. His head jerked up to see who was speaking. A fleeting expression of confusion danced through his eyes before it was replaced with humiliating recognition. "Feeling any better?" I stopped a few feet in front of him.
"Yeah. Hey, I never got your name the other day."
"I'm Jenna," I offered my hand.
"John."
"I know. I know lots of things about you Princess. See you around." I began walking away.
"Hey Jenna!" he called after me. I turned to see what he wanted. "Thanks again for the ride." I tossed a smile over my shoulder as I made my way down the weather worn sidewalk to the Noyes Building.

Finished Blood

I flipped up the collar of my jacket, tucked my chin as close as I could to my chest and walked past the crowd. How was I going to care for my lizards if I couldn't get in? A feeling like one gets when an elevator drops too quickly settled in my stomach, but rather than act as a fleeting sensation it stayed with me long after I had left the view of the faceless people gathered in the street.

I sat in my darkened living room, stirring my tea which had long since grown cold, replaying the day the bland woman came into my shop. I thought back to my impression of her. Undead. Lifeless. Cold. Almost translucent. An involuntary shudder from the memory caused me to tip my teacup over. I muttered a profanity out of sheer desperation. I was tired of feeling afraid. In my line of business it is not beneficial to have fears of any kind.

Darkness approached wreathing the world in a deeper wash of ebony than my mind could recall. Hmm. I suppose now is just a good a time as any to check on my babies; to make sure the shop was even standing. I put on a hat, and rummaged through a box of clothes I hadn't worn in years until I found a simple, non-descript jacket.

The winter air sucked the breath from my lungs. Usually I enjoy the crispness of the cold air, but tonight I felt smothered. It was as if I couldn't force enough air into my lungs to feel like I wasn't choking.

I rounded the final corner at a near trot. It was as though I was breathing through a straw with a hole near the top. I had to suck the air nearly all the way up, only to have it dribble out the side at the last second.

Gasping, I thrust the key into the stubborn lock. Served me right for not changing the lock when I took over the business. After the desperate struggle, I stumbled into the inky darkness of the space. The formalin greeted me like an old friend. The dim amber lights in the cages cast small pools of eerie iridescence. Their low wattage was absorbed into the atmosphere almost immediately from the source.

I didn't dare turn on the lights out front. I only flipped the switch on in the back after closing the door. The sudden intensity of the bare bulb shocked my dilated pupils into reclusion for a few stunned moments. I scrawled out a sign which I hung on the door before locking up.

"Closed until further notice. All out of mole's blood. Thank you."

The pre-dawn light cast a gray coat over everything it touched. Again, the air seemed to stick in my throat as I walked toward my shop. I must admit, I was surprised to find an even larger demonstration outside the door of my shop. Hadn't they read my sign? I couldn't see the door for the many heads and shoulders blocking my view. For such a large number of people, it was uncommonly quiet. But the closer I came I could hear the faint murmuring rising up to the steely sky. "Blood of a mole...Blood of a mole..." It rose and fell with a cadence changing it from a request to an entrancing chant.

Again, I passed by the crowd unnoticed. However this time, I noticed the people. Each of them varied in shape and size, but they were nothing more than shades of gray. A stout woman with a shapeless face stood in my path. The wisps of her iron hair were pulled into a lumpy knot at the back of her head. Silvery tears made paths from her ash-colored eyes. She whimpered the sing-song words, "Blood of a mole." I slowed my pace. The man before me was bald. His head seemed carved of granite. The movements of his lips were invisible, but a throaty version of the cry came from deep within his chest, mixing into the collective groan.

I stopped. Looking about, it came to me that these people were not people at all, but mere shells of human beings, drained of life and color. What was bringing them to my shop? It was then the sun sent its rays into the heavens as it remained hidden behind the distant horizon. Peach, Rose, and Wheat tinted fingers stroked away the aged tresses until the sky burned brilliantly into a gleaming Garnett. The astonishing display reminded me of something I had seen before, like tongues of flame licking the sides of a glass. Glass. Ruby colored glass.

I took off my coat. I could breathe as I walked to the door. The temperamental lock behaved. I removed the sign. I was the color in their lives. I was the blood of a mole.

The crimson liquid trickled into gleaming jars.