Inside My Head

the literary rantings of Angie Frissore

Out of the Box

When I got home from work, it was obvious that the electricity had been off for hours, at the least, as the air in the apartment was so thick with humidity that you could slice through it with a knife.  Taco rushed to me, thankful that I had finally arrived to free her from the overheated torture chamber.

 

After deciding that the coastline was not providing adequate shade and/or breeze with which to cool off, Taco and I headed back home from our walk and made camp on the back porch.  I sat there, restlessly, full of energy, and no outlet.  One never realizes just how dependant one becomes on all things electrical for mental stimulation.  Kind of sad, really.  I could have read a book, I could have done numerous things…but the heat and humidity defeated any desire I might have had to do so.

 

Luckily I was rescued by Jake’s phone call.  He had heard the news, as just about everyone had at this point, and couldn’t believe that there was no longer ‘Abby and Micah’. 

 

“It’s like the end of an era,’ he said wistfully.  “An era of….doooooooom! Seriously though…let’s get out of dodge for at least the afternoon.  I’m coming by to kidnap you.”

 

A short time later Jake arrived at the house, and we headed up north to Essex.  We didn’t really have a game plan or a destination in mind…the intent was simply to go where the road took us, as long as it was away from Ocean Street.

 

After awhile of navigating the intricate, tree-lined, winding roads of the north shore we came across Singing Beach, a place Jake had frequented on occasion but was foreign to me.  He quickly explained the beach’s main source of attraction.

 

“There’s something about the sand here,” he explained.  “If you walk through it barefoot, it makes noise, kind of like a whistling.”

 

I ran onto the warm sand, holding my sandals in my hand, and was fascinated by the tinny, high-pitched sound the sand made as I stepped through it.  The beach was absolutely breathtaking – the perimeter was guarded by incredibly tall rock cliffs and coves that made it feel more like a tropical island than New England.  We walked along the edge of the dry sand, picking a semi-secluded spot near the rocks, and sat down on the sand.

 

“You’re better off,” Jake said, “though I think you already know that.”

 

“I know,” I replied, looking out across the water.  “I just didn’t want to believe it.”  

 

When I first met Micah, years ago, I wasn’t completely sold at first on the idea of dating him.  He wasn’t my usual type of guy, mainly in terms of appearance, but I went with it.  It was back when I had worked at the bar, though Micah wasn’t actually working there at the time, when he had popped in and offered to help out during one of our busier nights.  They put him behind the bar I was working that evening, and we instantly established a flirty-yet-productive rapport.

 

He didn’t miss a beat behind that bar.  The place was a mob scene, though to watch Micah’s expertise one would never know that we weren’t used to such madness.  I expertly navigated my way through hordes of drunken patrons, making my way back to the bar for more rounds.

 

“What do you need, doll face?” he asked, flashing me a smile.  There was something irresistible about him, and from there our little romance blossomed.  

 

But somewhere along the progression of our relationships, amidst the temporary breakups and fights, we had made the decision to cohabitate, and things very slowly started to spiral out of control.  I saw my friends less and less, and I found myself having to report in more and more to Micah – countless calls from the bar at night, wondering where I could be (when I’d simply be walking Taco), distrust, jealousy.  After just over a year of living together, things began to unravel.

 

“He changed you, man,” Jake pointed out.  “Remember the old days workin’ at the bar? Before Micah?”

 

“Liquid cocaines…” I reminisced.  “I remember the night you got me the job there.”

 

“You used to seem so much more…I don’t know, alive back then.  The dude sucked the life force out of you.”

 

“I don’t want to talk about Micah anymore,” I moaned. “Let’s change the subject.”

 

We sat for a little while longer, taking in the sun and appreciating the breeze that had developed against the stale, humid air, before heading out for beers and fried clams.  Jake’s goal wasn’t necessarily to make me get over it, per se, but to remind me that life was still happening whether Micah was there or not.  It was up to me to jump on board or stay behind.

Advertisements

October 30, 2008 - Posted by | No Messages - Excerpts from the Draft | , ,

2 Comments »

  1. that’s really good…..

    Comment by van | October 31, 2008 | Reply

  2. This is great, Ang. I miss Micah. Anyway, two things. The phrase-

    “a place Jake had frequented on occasion but (that) was foreign to me. ”

    Add the “that” I entered. Also, you might want to start paying attention to your use of cliches, and either change them around, or perhaps use them ironically, or something. For example, here you use “you could slice through it with a knife.” That’s such a tired cliche, and your writing is above it.

    Then, “The place was a mob scene.” I’m not completely against using it. Maybe have a character say this though.

    Comment by Mike | November 5, 2008 | Reply


Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s

%d bloggers like this: