Play Nice

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If only they could write for themselves
« Week 125Week 126 »
Forgotten Tales

the unwritten saga continues

him: You’ve had me in the truck for months now.

me: I know. I feel really bad about that.

him: Not bad enough to do something about it.

me: Yeah. Well, I, uhm, I don’t know.

him: You didn’t even give me the keys to the damn thing. Trust me. I looked.

me: I didn’t? But how did you get there then?

him: Hell if I know. In the first version, I was in the store already, no idea how I got there. Then, when you lost me, nice going by the way, you started over with me in the truck. And you gave me cigarettes. Who smokes anymore?

me: I only had you smoke one!

him: So I smoked the rest. What else was I supposed to do in that god forsaken truck. How about writing in a book or a magazine the next time?

me: You could have left the truck.

him: I did. But if you’ll remember, or maybe you can’t since it’s been so long since you’ve thought about me, out of sight out of mind, you only wrote in a lake and the store. Lot of good that did me. I have no wallet.

me: Damn. But the old man—

him: Yeah. He doesn’t seem to know me from Adam. Which I very well could be, but you never game me a name either. Shit. You really screwed me you know. “No money, no service.” If I hear that one more time ...

me: I really am sorry. It’s just this writer’s block—

him: I’m sick and tired of hearing about the writer’s block. Why don’t you try sitting in a truck in the middle of summer and let’s see if that doesn’t loosen up the words a bit. I bet they “flow” then, like the damn pool of sweat I was drenched in every day.

me: Look, I know I haven’t really done right by you—

him: First thing you’ve gotten right all day.

me: Okay. I get it. You’re mad, but there’s no need to get snippy.

him: No need? Wait. You leave me stranded for two months with no food, nothing to drink, nobody to talk to except for that crusty old man, who by the way isn’t as endearing as you wanted to believe, and I’m not supposed to have an attitude? Sister, you got a lot of nerve.

me: Okay, okay. Geez. Calm down. Look, I’ll write in some keys. How’s that? And some money. That way you can go do your own thing. I’ll call you when I need you back.

him: Fine. I guess that’ll do. Oh, and write in a girlfriend. A hot one. That likes to have sex.  A lot. You owe me.

me: Sure, sure. I’ll make her a fucking Playboy playmate. Just stop whining. It’s really not at all becoming. You were supposed to be tougher than this.

him: Whatever. I don’t care. Just make her a redhead and we’ll call it even.

Published 06/25/05 in Writing • | Views: 1767 times | Print

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