Week Nine Journal One

Week Nine Journal 1

Taft, CA

Driving down the Westside Highway I felt at ease for the first time in a couple of months. I looked out the passenger window of my car and saw the sun setting behind the low mountain range, it lit up the entire sky and the mountains seemed to only enhance the beautiful effect. I glanced over my shoulder, Jill was still sleeping in the backseat. It annoyed me that she didn’t ever drive, even though she had a driver’s license, but being the gentleman that I am, I had no other options. It still got lonely with no one to talk to.

“You awake yet back there?” I asked, hoping to hear a response.

Nothing. It was so quiet that I could hear her breathing, thank god, because I don’t know if I could handle the rest of this drive alone. I was now quickly approaching some small town, as indicated by the large green sign right in front of me. The sign also told me that there was a gas station at the next exit. I realized that I hadn’t looked at the clock for what felt like an hour, and when I finally glanced down, I realized it had actually been about two hours. I took the exit toward Taft, some small town, and decided to find some gas and shelter for the night.

“Where are we?” asked Jill from the backseat. To my relief she was finally awake, although it would have been nice to have a conscious companion before I decided to call it a night.

“We are just entering Taft, some small town, I think we should call it a night. I’m about to fall asleep behind the wheel and we know that wouldn’t end well.” Taft was, for the most part, a ghost town; all the businesses were closed, none of the lights in the houses were on, no one walked the streets. It felt eerie. I swore I was in a Rod Serling script or something.

“Yeah, it didn’t last time, you moron.”

“We agreed not to talk about that anymore. It’s done.”

“Don’t get mad, it could have happened to anyone but I’ll keep shut about it if it makes you feel better.”

“Not like you ever drive anyways, you asshole,” I muttered under my breath.

“What?”

“Nothing, never mind. I think this is our motel, right under the water tower,” I said. The water tower wasn’t anything special, but was still probably the only memorable thing about Taft. The tower was grey and the paint was peeling, I estimated it hadn’t been painted in at least fifteen years.

We hopped out of the car, ignoring our suitcases, since we were only going to stay for a night. The motel was an awkward building. I opened the door expecting to see a nice front lobby, yet I saw the exact opposite. The bar was filled to it’s maximum capacity, and scanning the room I saw a door towards the back labeled “Hotel—Front Desk.”

“So this is where all the people are,” I whispered to Jill.

“This is creepy, can we just get to our room. I kind of feel like we’re in that movie Deliverance, only no one looks like Burt Reynolds.”

“Yeah, follow me.”

We moved briskly towards the door to the front desk, trying to avoid any contact with the locals. It took us a couple of minutes but we got there and pushed the door open, hurrying through like mice who just spotted some cheese.

The front lobby, which is what I suppose you should call it, even though it wasn’t in the front of the building, was much nicer and inviting than the bar. The walls were all wood paneled, with a brownish carpet covering the entire area, giving it a cozy 1970s feel. I approached the front desk, which had an old man with glasses behind it, he reminded me of the poor younger brother of Rich Uncle Pennybags, the monopoly guy.

“Can I help ya?” asked the old man.

“Yeah, actually we need a room, just for the night.”

“No bags with ya?”

“No, actually we are just in town for a night, making our way to Bakersfield, maybe going down to LA after we’re done there. So you have a room for us?” Due to lack of sleep, I was beginning to grow impatient with the old man, as lovable as he looked, I just wanted to sleep.

“Yeah, I got some rooms fer ya. One queen bed be fine for you two?”

This happened way too often, everyone thought that Jill and I were married, or at least dating, engaged perhaps. We were just friends and had an unspoken mutual understanding of that fact.

“No, we’re not married, so two separate beds would be nice. That is, if you have a room with that.”

“Sorry, you two got that look on ya, that young lover look. What do I know though, I’m just an old man.”

“Old? Since when does anyone consider fifty old?” I was trying to make the old man feel good, so he would just get on with giving us our key and taking my credit card.

“Ha, I’m quite a few years older than that. Anyways, it’ll cost ya fifty bucks for the night, you can pay me now or in the morning, I don’t much mind.”

“I’ll get you in the morning if that’s alright, are you going to be working in the morning,” I searched my brain for this man’s name (had he already introduced himself?).

The old man understood what my pause meant and jumped in to help me out, “Conrad, the name is Conrad.”

“Yeah sorry Conrad, you’ll be here in the morning?”

“Yup, either me or Ella, my wife.” He than plopped the key down on the counter and slid it over to me, as though it was some kind of ancient relic that no one else should see. “Room 218, sleep tight y’all.”

“Take it easy Conrad,” I said as Jill and I slowly slipped away, heading towards the elevator, before realizing there were only stairs in this establishment.

Week Nine Journal 2

Week 9 Journal 2 (Exercise 2 pg. 359)

“What the hell are you thinking, Jon?”

“Dude, we need to get our story straight, we can’t really do that if they are listening in on us can we?”

“No, I guess we can’t”

“Yeah, now you’re thinking.”

“I was kidding you idiot, god I swear you are stupid sometimes.”

“Me? Yeah, I’m the stupid one.”

“Let me recap today for your small little brain, I swear you have no short term memory: We went to the gas station and saw some dude rob the register, the cops are holding us here as witnesses, smashing up the microphone on the table is not going to do anything except make us look like idiots, and possibly get us, well, hopefully you, charged with vandalism.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah”

“But I thought we were in here because I snagged that pack of gum before we saw the robber.”

“Wow. You seriously need to get your brain checked, you really think that some cop would bring both of us in here because you stole a pack of gum?”

“I didn’t know, man, I just kind of freaked out.”

“And you had to smash this microphone, how are we going to explain that to the cop when he comes in here, huh?”

“I don’t know.”

“Let me rephrase that, how are YOU going to explain that?”

“Were in this together.”

“Ha, not at all. Oh look, I think that’s him coming now, better think quick.”

Week Eight Journal Two

When I finally woke up, I was in my bed in my house. I turned over and looked at the clock on my nightstand, that familiar red glow, it was only nine in the morning. I remembered going out for a cigarette, but did I really get jumped in my own backyard? Sometimes when I drink I manufacture memories in my head, but I didn’t even drink last night.

Jumping out of bed, I instinctively grabbed for my cigarettes, but they weren’t there. I realized that I was still in my clothes, a little weird considering I had been wearing a suit the day before. I found my cigarettes in my slacks, and headed towards the door, noting a hole that appeared to have been kicked into the wall in the hallway. I don’t know why I would kick a hole in my own wall, but decided that I could deal with it later. I grabbed my shoes, noticing the caked on mud, when I realized my pants, my nice slacks, had been ripped from the knee down on my right leg. Great, I thought, another seventy dollars down the drain.

What the hell happened last night? I could not shake that question out of my skull. I was almost completely out the door, my cigarette half lit, when I noticed a piece of paper on the kitchen table. I stepped over to the table, completely ignoring the half lit cigarette spewing smoke into my house, and grabbed the piece of paper:

Hope you slept well asshole.

Learn to keep your mouth shut.

We still want our money.

Be back soon,

The Large One.

I stepped outside to finish my cigarette, still clutching the note in my hand. I had never heard of anyone that referred to themselves as “The Large One,” nor do I know why I was assaulted last night, and I definitely have no idea why I owe someone money, but since they say they’ll be back soon, I guess it will all be figured out soon. I just have to arm myself and wait.

Week Eight Journal One

Week Eight Journal One

An unsuccessful painter

The basement room is cold but well lit, which gives it an eerie feeling. The far corner of the room is filled with discarded canvasses, maybe five separate stacks, each at least ten high. There is a bed in one corner, pushed all the way up to the walls on two sides, it is clearly ignored and in disarray. Old magazines and art history books are scattered about half the bed, while the other half appears to be where someone sleeps, as there is a slight indent the size and shape of a human body in it. Near the discarded canvasses is an easel, worn and battered, dried paint drips cover the legs near the bottom, and various splatters of paint litter the carpet below. There is nothing on the walls, except for a few small paint splatters, complementing one larger one, apparently placed there out of anger and frustration. The room has a very minimal feel, as though the person who typically occupies it only cares about one thing. There aren’t too many clothes, only a few plain colored t-shirts, and some multi colored jeans, made so by the paints that they are around. When paint and clothes are constantly in the same room, there is no way to keep your clothes clean.

Week Seven Journal One

Week Seven Journal One (Alternate Version)

It was the first week of June, the exact date I do not remember. Bernard and I had gone out to dinner early in the evening, around five. It was my birthday, but of course as soon as we arrived home, Bernard grabbed a beer from the fridge and went to the bedroom, grabbing a sack of weed and some rolling papers. I walked in on him finishing up a joint.

“A birthday joint! For you,” said Bernard, overly excited.

“I rarely smoke pot, and why don’t you try asking before you roll up a whole joint?” I was angry, and laying it on thick, hopefully he would get it without me having to say it too directly.

“I rolled it up because I was trying to be nice, but it doesn’t matter because I’ll smoke it with or without you.”

I walked into my room and threw myself on the bed, completely disregarding the issue of cosmo I had read before falling asleep the night before. There was no light in the room, and I started to let my mind drift, overanalyzing any thought that came into my head. Would I be with Bernard forever? Why am I with him now? Bernard is outside getting high, while I’m in here waiting for something. What the hell am I even waiting for?

Sometimes when my mind drifts, I get frantic. It’s why I have panic attacks. It just sort of builds and builds and after twenty minutes of that crap, I am just out of it, completely hysterical. I rolled over in bed and felt something hard in my side. I reached under the sheets and pulled out a jewelry box. The front door opened and Bernard called my name, expecting me to still be sitting in the kitchen. He appeared in the doorway of the bedroom.

“Shit, I was gonna come back in for that,” said Bernard.

“Yeah, a little late for that.”

“Well, uh, will you marry me?”

“Bernard, you’re a good guy, but we have been dating for only two months and it’s my birthday. It’s just kind of bad timing. Really bad timing.”

“Ok. Sorry.”

“No, no it’s fine.” I was starting to actually think Bernard wasn’t so bad. He meant well, he just wasn’t very good at showing. I still don’t think I could ever marry him, but he could be a great life-long friend.

“Hey Bernard?” I said.

“Yeah?”

“You want to roll another one? I guess I have to smoke it, it’s my birthday, right?”

“Yeah”

Week Seven Journal 2

Week Seven Journal 2

A few friends and myself were playing basketball in a park near my house. We needed a few more people to make the game interesting, rather than playing two on two, so we called a friend who we rarely hang out with, Joe. Joe came up to the park and brought a couple friends who none of us knew. We played basketball and one of Joe’s friends, Sean, was getting increasingly aggressive, even though this was just a meaningless pickup game. On one play, I had possession of the ball and was driving down the court when Sean grabbed for the ball screaming like a bat out of hell, blatantly fouling me and preventing a basket that was undoubtedly going in. He was aggressive, but never really made it clear that he was out for blood or anything. We continued playing until, once again, Sean got too aggressive and elbowed me in the nose. I spun around with both of my fists clenched tight, ready to kick him in the shins and than pound on his face. I had no idea if he had done it on purpose, I mean people take elbows to the face all the time in basketball, but this guy was aggressive the whole game, going out of his way to get at the ball. I took another step toward him, ready to pounce, when I noticed an apologetic look on his face. He began apologizing profusely and clearly felt horrible about letting his aggressiveness get the best of him. He ran and grabbed some tissues from his car, as my nose hard started a slow drip of blood at this point. In the end, I was the one who felt stupid because of assuming he would be proud of elbowing someone in the nose.

Tom had played basketball plenty of times with almost everyone there, except for two, Sean and Brian. He thought about how they played, they looked just like everyone else on the court, neither was freakishly large, and they didn’t seem to have any ridiculous amount of skill. Sean and Brian were clearly sizing up everyone else too, at least those who they had never played with before. The game started and went fine for a couple minutes, until everyone noticed that Sean was getting overly aggressive. On one particular play, Tom was passed the ball after a blocked shot, with no one in front of him, he knew that it was an easy basket. Out of nowhere Sean sprinted towards Tom, screaming, yet still speaking words, seemingly at the same time.

“I want that ball,” screeched Sean.

He dove in front of Tom, hitting the ball and causing Tom to stumble. The other players looked on in amazement, wondering why someone would purposely dive, clearly injuring themselves more than anything, just to stop a basket in a game that meant nothing. It was bewildering.

“What the hell?!” shouted Tom, “Someone’s taking this a little too seriously. Don’t forget we don’t actually get a salary for this.”

“Yeah, whatever, good thing we’re not getting paid or you’d be broke,” retorted Sean.

“That doesn’t even make sense. None of us are getting paid, so yeah I guess I’m broke, just like everyone else here,” said Tom.

“How ‘bout we finish playing.”

The game resumed. It was back and forth, basket after basket, placing them in a tie every other basket. One possession was taking place particularly close to the basket. Tom grabbed the rebound, after one of his teammates had missed. Jumping up to put the ball in the basket, Tom was elbowed in the nose by Sean, presumably trying to block the shot, although who knows why his elbow would be that close to Tom’s face. The sound was louder than anyone could have expected, almost like the snapping of a tibia or some larger bone. The game was stopped, if only temporarily. With Sean’s aggressive play, Tom had viewed this as intentional, although it was not. For a brief moment, it appeared as though a fist fight would ensue. Tom clenched his fists, moving towards Sean. Sean immediately felt horrible, and a genuinely sorry look formed on his face.

“I am so sorry, man. I did not mean to do that at all, is it bleeding? Yeah it’s starting to, I’ll run and grab some tissues from my car. I’m sorry,” said Sean, clearly sorry and maybe even a bit shaken up. With that response, all of Tom’s preconceived notions regarding Sean were wiped away.

Week Six Journal #2

NARRATION

This was the fifth time the white coupe had locked onto my tail, and definitely not the last. The first time he had followed had been at one in the morning on a Saturday, while I was just trying to get home. He turned off his lights, yet when I stopped to get out and confront him, he reversed like the coward he was and drove off into the night. He had followed me a couple more times between then and now, although every time I stopped to confront him he would drive away. Him and his passengers even took it upon themselves to yell profanities at me and my friends, although they could not do anything else. It has become such an annoyance that I took to carrying a old baseball bat in my car since I frequently drove alone and only saw the white coupe with at least three people in the car. My girlfriend told me to stop following them, but this needed to end, and I was determined to end it. I followed them down County Road 1 for a considerable amount of time, constantly on the phone with my friend just incase I needed another witness, maybe even backup; I had no idea what these people were capable of or what they intended to do. Unbeknownst to me, the driver of the white coupe had also called a friend who pulled out behind me in a green sedan. The green sedan got in the lane next to me and slammed on the gas, gaining maybe half a car length on me, and tossed an opened pop can at my car. The pop can hit my windshield and flew away. Now the green sedan was in front of me and the white coupe was making its getaway. This had to end. I now locked into the green sedan, he pulled into a parking lot and I followed, than left, hoping he would follow me. He followed. I pulled into the park a half mile down the road and he followed. I turned around quickly so that I was facing him. I frantically searched around my car for something to throw and found a completely full Taco Bell cup. I quickly rolled down my window and tossed it, a direct hit, old Pepsi dripped down his windshield. I cornered him and got out, demanding answers, which he gave. I now realized I could be in huge trouble seeing as these kids looked like they had just gotten licenses. I got some answers out of the kid and not wanting a hefty jail sentence began to leave. The kid informed me that the white coupe had called the police and that we should probably both get the hell out of there. I left and saw the cops pull him over a quarter mile in front of me. Hoping they wouldn’t notice me, I sat at the light not more than ten feet away from the cops and kids. They came to my window and made me get out of the vehicle. After a lengthy conversation, and a seizure of my baseball bat, I was free to go pending a decision from the kids’ parents of whether or not to press charges. I didn’t care, the maximum charge was disorderly conduct, which in my case would be considered a misdemeanor.

SCENE

“There’s that fucker again,” I said.

“Seriously this is not worth it, it’s just a giant waste of time,” said my girlfriend, Josie.

“No this ends tonight I’m tired of having to put up with this crap.”

“God damnit,” she sighed.

“This kid cannot be serious, he thinks that he’s gonna lose me with that little car ha!” I said, after a prolonged silence.

“We can still stop now.”

“Nope, sorry, I’m in the zone, this is gonna end one way or another,” I responded.

“Shit that car is totally his friend or something, he’s driving like a jackass,” I said.

“Yeah, your right, now I am kind of getting pissed off,” said Josie.

“Let’s see if we can get them to follow us, y’know, give us the upper hand.”

“Alright fine,” said Josie.

“Ha got em in my tail now, lets stop this, I’ll pull into the park.”

“Don’t do anything stupid, I don’t want you going to jail.”

“So who’s your little buddy in the white car, huh, asshole?”

“Uhh, Mick Prudy.”

“And why the hell does he think he can get away with following me like this? Why is he even following me?”

“I..I don’t know. Was the Taco Bell cup really necessary?”

“Was the pop can necessary you fucking idiot, you got off light.”

“What pop can?”

“Shut the fuck up! Your friend needs to watch his back, and if your smart you’ll do the same, and also stay the fuck out of your friends business, it’s me and him and your just getting caught in the crossfire.”

“Okay, okay. He just texted me. He called the cops and their probably on their way so we should both get the hell out of here.”

“Yeah later asshole.”

NARRATION AND SCENE

This was the fifth time the white coupe had locked onto my tail, and definitely not the last. The first time he had followed had been at one in the morning on a Saturday, while I was just trying to get home.

“There’s that fucker again,” I said.

“Seriously this is not worth it, it’s just a giant waste of time,” said my girlfriend, Josie.

“No this ends tonight I’m tired of having to put up with this crap.”

“God damnit,” she sighed.

This needed to end, and I was determined to end it. I followed them down County Road 1 for a considerable amount of time, constantly on the phone with my friend just incase I needed another witness, maybe even backup; I had no idea what these people were capable of or what they intended to do. Unbeknownst to me, the driver of the white coupe had also called a friend who pulled out behind me in a green sedan.

“Shit that car is totally his friend or something, he’s driving like a jackass,” I said.

“Yeah, your right, now I am kind of getting pissed off,” said Josie.

This had to end. I now locked into the green sedan, he pulled into a parking lot and I followed, than left, hoping he would follow me. He followed.

“Ha got em in my tail now, lets stop this, I’ll pull into the park.”

“Don’t do anything stupid, I don’t want you going to jail.”

I pulled into the park a half mile down the road and he followed. I turned my car around quickly so that I was facing him. I frantically searched around my car for something to throw and found a completely full Taco Bell cup. I quickly rolled down my window and tossed it, a direct hit; old Pepsi dripped down his windshield. I cornered him and got out, demanding answers, which he gave. I now realized I could be in huge trouble seeing as these kids looked like they had just gotten driver’s licenses.

“So who’s your little buddy in the white car, huh, asshole?” I said angrily.

“Uhh, Mick Prudy.”

“And why the hell does he think he can get away with following me like this? Why is he even following me?”

“I..I don’t know. Was the Taco Bell cup really necessary?”

“Was the pop can necessary you fucking idiot, you got off light.”

“What pop can?”

“Shut the fuck up! Your friend needs to watch his back, and if your smart you’ll do the same, and also stay the fuck out of your friends business, it’s me and him and your just getting caught in the crossfire,” I said angrily. Anything that crossed my path at this point just pissed me off even more and this kid wasn’t helping

“Okay, okay. He just texted me. He called the cops and their probably on their way so we should both get the hell out of here.”

“Yeah later asshole.”

I left and saw the cops pull him over a quarter mile in front of me. Hoping they wouldn’t notice me, I sat at the light not more than ten feet away from the cops and kids. They came to my window and made me get out of the vehicle. After a lengthy conversation, and a seizure of my baseball bat, I was free to go pending a decision from the kids’ parents of whether or not to press charges. I didn’t care, the maximum charge was disorderly conduct, which in my case would be considered a misdemeanor.

Week Six Journal #1

Getting home was never fun. It meant that I had nothing better to do than sleep and manage my miserable existence.

I never smoked in my small rented house. It cost an extra seventy five dollars a month for that privilege. I stepped out of my side door, since it was more convenient than walking all the way to the front, not to mention it didn’t directly face the street. I grabbed my cigarettes from my pocket and noticed I would be smoking the last one in my possession. I lit it up and didn’t inhale the first drag, a weird habit I had ever since I had started smoking.

I got about halfway through my cigarette and noticed something in my side yard. I could only see its shape, it looked about the size of a raccoon, although it did not move. Curious, I walked out into the yard and bent down for a closer look.

It was just a bunched up bedsheet. Why would someone place a bedsheet in the middle of my lawn? It wasn’t windy at all tonight, so there was no way a whole sheet made it’s way into my lawn.

Something rustled in the bushes to my back. I looked behind me. Nothing. I looked to the right. Still Nothing.

Next thing I knew I was on the ground, instinctively flailing my arms at whatever it was that just tackled me in my own damn yard. Teenagers these days have no boundaries whatsoever, I thought to myself. Thinking was a big mistake, because as fast as I was flailing my arms, there were two guys on top of me flailing theirs, although in a much more disciplined and aware manner.

I was out cold after what I estimated to be thirty seconds.