As I passed through the front hall, I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror. I could hardly recognize the beautiful woman staring back at me from the glass; this woman was an innocent, charming guest, rather than a hardened spy. I admired my dress, and my sophisticated hairstyle, smugly knowing that the notorious Jack Rabitt would never realize that his arch enemy was about to finish his successful robbing career in a single night.
I had been invited to a party organized by an undercover agent, who was pretending to be a rich banker who was celebrating the fiftieth anniversary of his business with several of his most notable clients and associates. He had slowly built up Jack's trust over the past few years, and today was the day we had all been waiting for. The house that he had rented was nicely furnished, and it was built upon a stretch of beautiful countryside, with a long gravel driveway, forests to the East and West, and rolling pastures to the South. Driving up towards the house, I had had my doubts about the location, because it provided such an easy escape for the notorious criminal.
I turned away from the mirror, and headed for the West lounge, where all of the other guests were chatting happily, drinks in hand. Skirting a group of loud gentlemen, I scanned the room for his ugly face, with its permanent leer and his multiple gold teeth. He was nowhere to be found, no matter how hard I searched. I wondered if he was late, or if he had found out our clever scheme. I sat down on a convenient couch, and struck up a conversation with a man who sat next to me, looking bored.
"Sally Doolittle," I said cheerfully: my alibi was perfect. I was supposed to be a dental hygienist, which meant that when I finally noticed Jack, I could mention his gold teeth.
"Mark Fisher," he replied, smiling briefly. "Pleasure to make your acquaintance." We exchanged a few other trivial remarks, but soon I got up and walked out onto the terrace. I wondered if Mark was in on the plan, or whether he actually believed that it was a cocktail party. I stood by the railing, and looked down the driveway, feeling disappointed. Had Jack been there, I would have seen him by now. I could only cling to the hope that soon I would see another car approaching. Deep down, I realized that my mission was failed, so I turned to go back to my car. Suddenly, I felt a hand on my shoulder. Whipping around, I saw only a flash of gold teeth.
"Excuse me, but I could swear that I recognize you from somewhere," he drawled. I quickly pressed the alarm button concealed beneath my white gloves. It would alert my special team that I had found Jack, and that they should make their move within minutes to ensure a speedy arrest. I clenched my teeth angrily, realizing that I had left my gun lying on the passenger seat in my Audi, so I was now entirely dependent on the officer who would direct the operation. I hated feeling like I was powerless to do anything.
"Um," I stuttered, mind racing for a comeback. "You must be Jack," I stalled, "we met years ago, at a party. Sally Doolittle; how very nice to see you!" I could see the confusion in his eyes, as he tried to remember the nonexistent event.
"Of course," he said politely, "would you care for a drink?" Where is my team of policemen? I thought. "Of course," I said, and he took my arm. We sat down at the spacious wooden bar, and after ordering our drinks, he talked about his job as a banker. You fat liar I thought, You're a banker's worst nightmare! I wondered if he had taken precaution and prepared for the situation that would soon befall him. Suddenly, I heard a loud crash. The team had arrived, taking down the door with them. Their guns were pointed in every direction, unsure of where Jack was. "HOLD YOUR HANDS UP ABOVE YOUR HEADS, THIS IS THE POLICE! Jack froze, hands in midair. "Gotta go, sweetheart," he muttered through his teeth. I lunged for his arm, hoping to hinder his escape.
"Nice seeing you again," he grinned, sidestepping me easily. Before the police team could react, he reached inside a pocket, and threw something that exploded with a loud crack, letting off an opaque mist. I cursed loudly, knowing I was powerless to stop the wily criminal from making another escape. The policemen tried in vain to get rid of the mist, but by the time it cleared, Jack was gone. I stormed up to the policeman in chief.
"You buffoon! You could have come undercover, and we would have caught the slippery crook!"
He looked embarrassed; "We'll catch him next time?" he tried.
"Search the building and the surrounding area on the double," I shouted as I turned to the rest of the team. I sighed heavily, as the panicked guests rushed around the room, asking questions and shouting among themselves. "Since you messed up my scheme, you can handle them," I said coolly to the officer.
I turned on my heel, and stamped out the front door, slamming it behind me. As I opened the door of my car, I noticed a hastily scrawled note on the driver's seat. "Nice disguise, Rachel. You'll never catch me!I tore it up, and stepped on the gas pedal, my tires throwing up gravel behind me. Next time, I wouldn't forget my gun.
Monday, March 23, 2009
Sunday, March 1, 2009
Final Draft WA-4
The Wedding
Chapter 1
I was minding my own business in a corner of the little building, right near my little hole in the wall. Today, a crowd filtered in to my home, rudely disturbing my peaceful rest. I was frustrated, because the same crowd typically came once a week, but they had come yesterday as well. Before my very eyes, men in horrid black suits, and women in distasteful dresses had filtered in through the doors, and had begun to sit down in the seats.
The organ lady had nearly stepped on me, as she made her way to the organ, and had proceeded to bang out some of the most awful sounds I had ever heard. A ridiculously dressed woman, in a white sack had flounced up the aisle between all of the benches and was now standing hand in hand with a terribly ugly man who kept scratching his nose. I couldn't decide whether to let them finish their little celebration, or shoo them out of my home. After I had put up with an old lady sneezing all over my favorite prayer book, and a brat stealing some candles from a side table, I made my decision. I would scare these freaks out! I sauntered out on my hind legs, onto the steps in front of the altar.
I came to a halt in the center of the steps, right in front of the podium. Knowing that the humans were no doubt awed by my powerful presence, I raised my claws high into the air, and put an immediate stop to the preaching going on behind me with a high squeak. "Ladies and gentlemen," I began grandly, but I was cut off by a screech. "Rat!" It was the sneezing hag. Raising my claw indignantly, I was about to put a stop to the terrible noise coming out of her mouth. Suddenly, I saw the priest running after me with his heavy book. "Good," I squeaked, "finish her!" But, suddenly, the old man flipped the book high above his head, and brought it down as hard as his skinny little arms could muster. I dodged his frail attempt easily. I scolded him, "She's over there, stupid!!" Nevertheless, he brought the book down again, and everything went black....
Chapter 2
The wooden door creaked open. I shivered, feeling a chilly draft filtering in through the door behind me. I wasn't entirely sure that the old man who was walking me down the aisle was going to make it all the way up to the altar. Just then, I saw my fiancé’s great aunt, who waved enthusiastically at me. I smiled coolly, remembering her four hour long speech at our rehearsal dinner; half of the guests had fallen asleep.
Suddenly, she sneezed. I watched a naughty little boy putting some candles in his pocket. I saw Jim, standing with his best man. Before I could reach him, I saw something dart across the stairs underneath the altar, where the priest stood. It looked like a rat. It came to a stop in front of the podium, and I saw a tail. It raised two little arms, and let out a humongous squeak, louder than the blaring organ. The church went silent.
As I stared, the old man escorting me fainted. I supported him with one arm, and held myself up using a pew. The rat began to squeak angrily at the congregation, and I heard a scream. It was Jim’s great aunt. The priest sprinted forward and thwacked at the rat with a bible. The rodent easily evaded the old man, and it pointed a skinny arm at the priest, and began to squeak.
As the incredible scene unfolded, I began to question my decision to marry Jim. While I was busy holding up an old man, he was scratching his nose in awe of the cheeky rat. Furious, I yelled angrily at him, "forget this; we're so totally over!"
He didn't turn around as I stormed out of the building, tearing off my veil. I kicked the limo driver out into the street, climbed into the car, and tore off down the street, hoping never to see Jim or his great aunt again.
Chapter 1
I was minding my own business in a corner of the little building, right near my little hole in the wall. Today, a crowd filtered in to my home, rudely disturbing my peaceful rest. I was frustrated, because the same crowd typically came once a week, but they had come yesterday as well. Before my very eyes, men in horrid black suits, and women in distasteful dresses had filtered in through the doors, and had begun to sit down in the seats.
The organ lady had nearly stepped on me, as she made her way to the organ, and had proceeded to bang out some of the most awful sounds I had ever heard. A ridiculously dressed woman, in a white sack had flounced up the aisle between all of the benches and was now standing hand in hand with a terribly ugly man who kept scratching his nose. I couldn't decide whether to let them finish their little celebration, or shoo them out of my home. After I had put up with an old lady sneezing all over my favorite prayer book, and a brat stealing some candles from a side table, I made my decision. I would scare these freaks out! I sauntered out on my hind legs, onto the steps in front of the altar.
I came to a halt in the center of the steps, right in front of the podium. Knowing that the humans were no doubt awed by my powerful presence, I raised my claws high into the air, and put an immediate stop to the preaching going on behind me with a high squeak. "Ladies and gentlemen," I began grandly, but I was cut off by a screech. "Rat!" It was the sneezing hag. Raising my claw indignantly, I was about to put a stop to the terrible noise coming out of her mouth. Suddenly, I saw the priest running after me with his heavy book. "Good," I squeaked, "finish her!" But, suddenly, the old man flipped the book high above his head, and brought it down as hard as his skinny little arms could muster. I dodged his frail attempt easily. I scolded him, "She's over there, stupid!!" Nevertheless, he brought the book down again, and everything went black....
Chapter 2
The wooden door creaked open. I shivered, feeling a chilly draft filtering in through the door behind me. I wasn't entirely sure that the old man who was walking me down the aisle was going to make it all the way up to the altar. Just then, I saw my fiancé’s great aunt, who waved enthusiastically at me. I smiled coolly, remembering her four hour long speech at our rehearsal dinner; half of the guests had fallen asleep.
Suddenly, she sneezed. I watched a naughty little boy putting some candles in his pocket. I saw Jim, standing with his best man. Before I could reach him, I saw something dart across the stairs underneath the altar, where the priest stood. It looked like a rat. It came to a stop in front of the podium, and I saw a tail. It raised two little arms, and let out a humongous squeak, louder than the blaring organ. The church went silent.
As I stared, the old man escorting me fainted. I supported him with one arm, and held myself up using a pew. The rat began to squeak angrily at the congregation, and I heard a scream. It was Jim’s great aunt. The priest sprinted forward and thwacked at the rat with a bible. The rodent easily evaded the old man, and it pointed a skinny arm at the priest, and began to squeak.
As the incredible scene unfolded, I began to question my decision to marry Jim. While I was busy holding up an old man, he was scratching his nose in awe of the cheeky rat. Furious, I yelled angrily at him, "forget this; we're so totally over!"
He didn't turn around as I stormed out of the building, tearing off my veil. I kicked the limo driver out into the street, climbed into the car, and tore off down the street, hoping never to see Jim or his great aunt again.
Saturday, February 21, 2009
The Wedding (Draft 2)
The wooden door creaked open, with a loud whine. I tried to suppress a grimace at my less than perfect entrance. I shivered, feeling a chilly draft filtering in through the door behind me. I couldn't help strutting down the aisle, watching all those people turn around and stare.
I just knew that I looked gorgeous, with my white dress and fashionable veil. I wasn't entirely sure that the little old man who was walking me down the aisle was going to make it all the way up to the altar. Just then, I saw my new husband's great aunt, who waved enthusiastically at me. I smiled coolly, remembering her four hour long speech at our rehearsal dinner; half of the guests had fallen asleep. Suddenly, she sneezed; it was so loud that I found it a miracle that she hadn't blown half way across the church. I noticed a little boy putting some candles in his pocket, and had to stop myself from telling his mother to teach him some manners. My eyes drifted to the front of the church, where I saw Jim, standing with his best man. Before I could reach him, however, I saw something brown dart across the stairs underneath the altar, where the priest stood waiting to begin the ceremony. It looked like.. a rat. The little brown object came to a complete stop right in front of the podium, and I saw a long tail. It raised two little arms, and let out a humongous squeak, louder than the blaring organ. The church went quiet and the woman with the huge glasses who had been playing the wedding march spun around in alarm. As I stared, still in shock that such a small animal could let out such a huge noise, the old man escorting me fainted. I supported him with one arm, and held myself up using the pew next to me. The rat, or whatever it was, began to squeak angrily at the congregation, and I heard a scream from my right. It was the great aunt who had given the four hour speech; somehow, I was not surprised. The priest had evidently decided to take matters into his own hands; he sprinted forward, bearing his heavy bible, and thwacked away at the rat. The rodent easily evaded the old man, and before my eyes, it pointed a skinny arm at the priest, and began to squeak even louder.
As the incredible scene unfolded before me, I couldn't help but question my decision to marry Jim. His family was boring, and while I was busy holding up an old man, he was scratching his nose in awe of the cheeky rat that was steadily ruining my wedding. Without waiting to stay and see what happened, I yelled angrily at him, "forget this; we're so over!"
He didn't even turn around, as I stormed out of the building, tearing off the veil that I now hated. I kicked the limo driver out into the street, climbed into the car, and tore off down the street, hoping never to see Jim or his great aunt again.
I just knew that I looked gorgeous, with my white dress and fashionable veil. I wasn't entirely sure that the little old man who was walking me down the aisle was going to make it all the way up to the altar. Just then, I saw my new husband's great aunt, who waved enthusiastically at me. I smiled coolly, remembering her four hour long speech at our rehearsal dinner; half of the guests had fallen asleep. Suddenly, she sneezed; it was so loud that I found it a miracle that she hadn't blown half way across the church. I noticed a little boy putting some candles in his pocket, and had to stop myself from telling his mother to teach him some manners. My eyes drifted to the front of the church, where I saw Jim, standing with his best man. Before I could reach him, however, I saw something brown dart across the stairs underneath the altar, where the priest stood waiting to begin the ceremony. It looked like.. a rat. The little brown object came to a complete stop right in front of the podium, and I saw a long tail. It raised two little arms, and let out a humongous squeak, louder than the blaring organ. The church went quiet and the woman with the huge glasses who had been playing the wedding march spun around in alarm. As I stared, still in shock that such a small animal could let out such a huge noise, the old man escorting me fainted. I supported him with one arm, and held myself up using the pew next to me. The rat, or whatever it was, began to squeak angrily at the congregation, and I heard a scream from my right. It was the great aunt who had given the four hour speech; somehow, I was not surprised. The priest had evidently decided to take matters into his own hands; he sprinted forward, bearing his heavy bible, and thwacked away at the rat. The rodent easily evaded the old man, and before my eyes, it pointed a skinny arm at the priest, and began to squeak even louder.
As the incredible scene unfolded before me, I couldn't help but question my decision to marry Jim. His family was boring, and while I was busy holding up an old man, he was scratching his nose in awe of the cheeky rat that was steadily ruining my wedding. Without waiting to stay and see what happened, I yelled angrily at him, "forget this; we're so over!"
He didn't even turn around, as I stormed out of the building, tearing off the veil that I now hated. I kicked the limo driver out into the street, climbed into the car, and tore off down the street, hoping never to see Jim or his great aunt again.
Sunday, February 15, 2009
The Wedding
I was minding my own business in a corner of the little building, right near my little hole in the wall. It was a nice place to live, because it was quiet (except for one day a week, when a crowd of people gathered to listen to a boring little old man speak) and the windows were colorful,letting in nice light. I liked to curl up just behind the baseboard, and take a mid-afternoon nap every day before i settled in for the evening.Today, however, a crowd filtered in and rudely disturbed my peaceful rest. I was frustrated, because the same crowd was typically not due back for a week, and they had come yesterday as well. Before my very eyes, men in horrid black suits, and women in distasteful dresses had filtered in through the doors, and had begun to sit down in the seats. The organ lady had nearly stepped on me, as she made her way to the organ, and had proceeded to bang out some of the most awful sounds I had ever heard. A ridiculously dressed woman, in a white sack had flounced up the aisle between all of the benches and was now standing hand in hand with a terribly ugly man who kept scratching his nose. My whiskers twitched in annoyance; who did these clowns think they were? I ventured out a little further, trying to decide what to do. I couldn't decide whether to let them finish their little celebration, or shoo them out of my home. After I had put up with an old lady sneezing all over my favorite prayer book, and a brat stealing some candles from a side table where i loved to sit, I made my decision. I would scare these freaks out and they would never come back. But no, I thought to myself; my mother rat had always told me to be polite. So, with that in mind, I sauntered out on my hind legs, onto the steps in front of the altar. I strutted proudly across my stage, and came to a halt in the center of the steps, right in front of the podium. Knowing that the humans were no doubt awed by my powerful presence, I raised my claws high into the air, and put an immediate stop to the preaching going on behind me with a high squeak. "Ladies and gentlemen," I began grandly, but I was cut off by a screech. "Raaaaaaat!!!" It was the little hag who had sneezed. Raising my claw indignantly, I was about to put a stop to the terrible noise coming out of her mouth. Then I heard a slight shuffling behind me; glancing over my shoulder, I saw the priest running after me with his heavy book. "Good," I squeaked, "finish her!" But, suddenly, the old man flipped the book high above his head, and brought it down as hard as his skinny little arms could muster. I dodged his frail attempt easily. Putting my paws on my hips, I scolded him, "She's over there, stupid!!" But as soon as the words had left my lips, he brought the book down again, and everything went black....
Sunday, November 23, 2008
"Letters About Literature"
Dear Mr. Wilkinson,
I recently read your book, Oblivion's Altar, and was very moved by its powerful message. In history at school, I studied the settlement of the Americas by white pioneers and the effects their concept of 'Manifest Destiny' had on the Native Americans who already lived there. Before reading your book, the material seemed dry and dull, and although I knew it was a tragedy, relating to their struggles was nearly impossible for me. When Oblivion's Altar was recommended to me, I agreed to read it, but I expected to put it down quietly like several other books about history that I deemed 'boring.' I was wrong; contrary to my original judgment, I found that I simply could not stop reading.
The life of Chief Ridge opened my eyes to the cruelty of the white men that pushed the Cherokee farther and farther West, pushing them onto the trail of tears. Through his story, I was able to experience for myself the grief he felt while watching helplessly as his people suffered, and blamed him for not being able to stop the pioneers. I felt the inexplicable sadness that he felt, when he realized that the culture he knew no longer held any meaning in the steadily changing world. The incredible sacrifice he made when he gave up his son, so that he could learn about the culture of the white man, made me realize just how tragic and serious the situation was. The faith he had in Andrew Jackson's treaties and promises was genuine, and it made me angry to learn that the president did not sympathize with their plight; instead he exposed the Native Americans to the cold realities of westward expansion, displacing families, forcing women and children to pack their things and move, and dishonoring the Cherokee warriors. Andrew Jackson and Chief Ridge were pragmatic, but Ridge was forced to bring the terrible news to his people and urge them to move, instead of facing certain death if they stayed. His attempts to make peace with Jackson and his followers were dismissed, because they regarded Ridge as an uneducated savage.
Before reading your book, I only knew the pioneers' side of the story, a tale that involved courageous settlers who expanded the great country that we have today. Now, I realize that the settlement of the West was more than just glory and gold; thousands of people suffered for the Americans' gain, and today, the Native Americans are hardly remembered for the bravery they showed when faced with losing all that they had ever known. The detail in your book allowed me to realize that Chief Ridge was viewed as a traitor by his people for wanting to submit to the white men who oppressed them, rather than watch his family and friends die, and to experience for myself everything that happened during Ridge's lifetime. Ridge was a hero and a man who gave his life for everything he believed in. I will never view that time period in the same way after reading Oblivion’s Altar. Thank you for providing me and many other readers to come with this incredible insight into history.
Sincerely,
Brodde Lamb
I recently read your book, Oblivion's Altar, and was very moved by its powerful message. In history at school, I studied the settlement of the Americas by white pioneers and the effects their concept of 'Manifest Destiny' had on the Native Americans who already lived there. Before reading your book, the material seemed dry and dull, and although I knew it was a tragedy, relating to their struggles was nearly impossible for me. When Oblivion's Altar was recommended to me, I agreed to read it, but I expected to put it down quietly like several other books about history that I deemed 'boring.' I was wrong; contrary to my original judgment, I found that I simply could not stop reading.
The life of Chief Ridge opened my eyes to the cruelty of the white men that pushed the Cherokee farther and farther West, pushing them onto the trail of tears. Through his story, I was able to experience for myself the grief he felt while watching helplessly as his people suffered, and blamed him for not being able to stop the pioneers. I felt the inexplicable sadness that he felt, when he realized that the culture he knew no longer held any meaning in the steadily changing world. The incredible sacrifice he made when he gave up his son, so that he could learn about the culture of the white man, made me realize just how tragic and serious the situation was. The faith he had in Andrew Jackson's treaties and promises was genuine, and it made me angry to learn that the president did not sympathize with their plight; instead he exposed the Native Americans to the cold realities of westward expansion, displacing families, forcing women and children to pack their things and move, and dishonoring the Cherokee warriors. Andrew Jackson and Chief Ridge were pragmatic, but Ridge was forced to bring the terrible news to his people and urge them to move, instead of facing certain death if they stayed. His attempts to make peace with Jackson and his followers were dismissed, because they regarded Ridge as an uneducated savage.
Before reading your book, I only knew the pioneers' side of the story, a tale that involved courageous settlers who expanded the great country that we have today. Now, I realize that the settlement of the West was more than just glory and gold; thousands of people suffered for the Americans' gain, and today, the Native Americans are hardly remembered for the bravery they showed when faced with losing all that they had ever known. The detail in your book allowed me to realize that Chief Ridge was viewed as a traitor by his people for wanting to submit to the white men who oppressed them, rather than watch his family and friends die, and to experience for myself everything that happened during Ridge's lifetime. Ridge was a hero and a man who gave his life for everything he believed in. I will never view that time period in the same way after reading Oblivion’s Altar. Thank you for providing me and many other readers to come with this incredible insight into history.
Sincerely,
Brodde Lamb
Sunday, October 12, 2008
The Cat: Final Draft
It was a cold and rainy day and the cat sat on the edge of the steps, switching its tail back and forth slowly. The old rocking chairs on the porch stood, sentinels behind him, creaking back and forth slowly in the gentle breeze. The cat opened his yellow eyes wide and stretched, slowly, venturing forth into the light drizzle. He meandered along the front walkway and leapt lightly up onto the low brick wall that surrounded the yard. He watched the road, as if waiting for someone, and from time to time he patrolled up and down the length of the wall.
Finally, the headlights of a car appeared, twin swords cutting the mist. The cat watched as it pulled into the driveway. He jumped down and ran across the rough gravel to the door, meowing loudly as the man and woman walked towards the front steps. The man reached down to pet the cat with one hand, while opening the door with the other. She walked inside, leaving wet footsteps glistening on the ground. "Whose cat is this?" he asked her, and then laughed surprisedly, when the cat ran through the door and skidded across the slippery floor. Turning on the light, he followed, shutting the door behind them.
"Oh, you let him in the house? Jim, you know we can't keep him." she said, putting the mail down on the counter and bending down to check for a collar. "We don't have time to take care of him with the schedule at the hospital, and he's probably just lost!" Jim scratched his head. "He doesn't have a tag and I've always liked cats," he said stubbornly.
She pushed past him lightly, and walked into the living room where the cat was purring softly, asleep on one of the armchairs. "We should take him to the pound and see if someone is there to pick him up." she said. "Hey, kitty," she whispered. The cat opened one large yellow eye crabbily and then shut it again. He began to purr more persistently, and she stood up, not certain what to do.
Jim was watching from the doorway. "See?" he said. "He wants to stay!" He gestured at the cat, which was now sprawled out on the armchair, head on paws and back legs dangling over the edge of the seat. “Well, there’s nothing we can do today,” she said, walking back into the kitchen. Secretly, she didn't want to put him out any more than Jim did. “But I hope he knows that we have nothing to feed him!” Jim smiled, sitting down in the seat next to the cat and turning on the television.
The next afternoon when Jim got home, the cat was waiting on the wall for him again. That morning, Jim had gently scooped the cat up from his warm chair, and put him on the front porch, after repeated complaints from his wife. He had been hoping to see the little cat again, though he forced himself to be prepared for the worst. He opened the car door, and then the trunk. He slung the bag over his arm and picked up the purring cat, which had begun to rub against his leg. He walked through the door and set the cat down on the floor, opening the bag and pulling out a collar that fit in the palm of his hand. Jim sat down on the floor and put the collar on the cat. He then pulled out several cans of food, which he stacked in a cabinet.
Later, she opened the door to find the two sitting on the couch watching the television. The cat jumped down and began to rub against her leg. “He’s got a collar now,” said Jim smugly, grinning at her from his seat. She smiled, bending down and scratching the cat behind the ears. Somehow she knew that the cat would be staying.
Finally, the headlights of a car appeared, twin swords cutting the mist. The cat watched as it pulled into the driveway. He jumped down and ran across the rough gravel to the door, meowing loudly as the man and woman walked towards the front steps. The man reached down to pet the cat with one hand, while opening the door with the other. She walked inside, leaving wet footsteps glistening on the ground. "Whose cat is this?" he asked her, and then laughed surprisedly, when the cat ran through the door and skidded across the slippery floor. Turning on the light, he followed, shutting the door behind them.
"Oh, you let him in the house? Jim, you know we can't keep him." she said, putting the mail down on the counter and bending down to check for a collar. "We don't have time to take care of him with the schedule at the hospital, and he's probably just lost!" Jim scratched his head. "He doesn't have a tag and I've always liked cats," he said stubbornly.
She pushed past him lightly, and walked into the living room where the cat was purring softly, asleep on one of the armchairs. "We should take him to the pound and see if someone is there to pick him up." she said. "Hey, kitty," she whispered. The cat opened one large yellow eye crabbily and then shut it again. He began to purr more persistently, and she stood up, not certain what to do.
Jim was watching from the doorway. "See?" he said. "He wants to stay!" He gestured at the cat, which was now sprawled out on the armchair, head on paws and back legs dangling over the edge of the seat. “Well, there’s nothing we can do today,” she said, walking back into the kitchen. Secretly, she didn't want to put him out any more than Jim did. “But I hope he knows that we have nothing to feed him!” Jim smiled, sitting down in the seat next to the cat and turning on the television.
The next afternoon when Jim got home, the cat was waiting on the wall for him again. That morning, Jim had gently scooped the cat up from his warm chair, and put him on the front porch, after repeated complaints from his wife. He had been hoping to see the little cat again, though he forced himself to be prepared for the worst. He opened the car door, and then the trunk. He slung the bag over his arm and picked up the purring cat, which had begun to rub against his leg. He walked through the door and set the cat down on the floor, opening the bag and pulling out a collar that fit in the palm of his hand. Jim sat down on the floor and put the collar on the cat. He then pulled out several cans of food, which he stacked in a cabinet.
Later, she opened the door to find the two sitting on the couch watching the television. The cat jumped down and began to rub against her leg. “He’s got a collar now,” said Jim smugly, grinning at her from his seat. She smiled, bending down and scratching the cat behind the ears. Somehow she knew that the cat would be staying.
Sunday, September 14, 2008
The Race (Draft II)
I stood there in front of the block, so nervous I was shaking a little. I searched the crowds in the stand for my mother’s familiar face and finally saw her waving both arms above her head at me excitedly. I was envious of her, because all she had to do was watch. I heard the starter blow his whistle somewhere in the distance, and I quickly pulled my goggles down over my eyes, and climbed onto the block. I fidgeted, looking around at my competitors to see if they were feeling as sick as I was.
I had been two seconds off of that national cut this morning, and the girl that won in prelims was at least a second and a half in front of me. She looked confident standing there beside me, ready to win again. The beep sent us flying off the blocks in unison, and I could hear the roar of the crowd before my fingers pierced the cold blue water. I kicked as hard as I could, breaking the surface, and ramming my arms around into the water ahead of me. I had entered my element. The first and second laps felt good, and as I swung myself off of the wall onto my third, I felt powerful and in control. I could see that I was ahead and pulled with all of my strength. The girl fought beside me, but the adrenaline coursing through my veins pushed me forward. In the last lap, I could feel my arms burning, but I pulled through, racing her.
Suddenly, I choked on water. I had misjudged the distance from the water to my chin. I couldn’t breathe, and was trying to cough it out. With every stroke, I saw her coming towards me, and I struggled to stay ahead. Finally, diving deep for the wall, I somehow managed to finish first, half-strangled though I was. Coughing out the excess water that had filled my lungs, I pulled off my goggles and reached over to shake hands with my opponents. I dared to steal a glance at the scoreboard, and all of the bubbling happiness that had filled me the moment before leaked slowly out of me. I had missed my national cut by eight hundredths of a second, with a time of 1:00:64.
I almost ran to the warm down pool, letting my frustration go behind my reflective goggles. I sprinted angrily lap after lap, finally slowing down after I had worn out most of my disappointment. I didn’t want to see my coach—I already knew what he would say. Putting on my bravest face, I pushed myself out of the water, grabbed my towel and made my way up the stairs to the balcony area. My mother was there waiting in the hall for me. She was so excited, but I could only watch and nod. She knew I was on the verge of another wash of tears, so she said kindly:
“You did your best. Leave the last race in the pool, just like Jordan said. You still have the two hundred IM, so don’t let your disappointment ruin the race for you.”
Dumb Jordan, I thought. She had nothing to worry about. Leave it to her, a swimmer in a D1 school, to tell me to leave the last race in the pool. I knew that the cut had only become a goal for me in the past couple of days, but I couldn’t let it go. Turning on my heel, I moved down the stairs towards my coach, because I knew I had to talk to him.
“Can I do a time trial for the 100 fly, Doc?” were the first words to leave my lips.
It would make me feel so much better if I knew I could have another shot.
“Of course. You can have several if you need them, and you swam that last race well!” he said.
I was surprised at the compliment, but suddenly I felt as if a million pounds had been lifted. I went to warm up for my 200 and actually felt like smiling again.
Getting out of the water after the 200 IM was such a nice feeling. I had placed well and I was feeling encouraged. I dried off, without warming down (a signature move for me) because I was so tired. I waved to my mom, who leaned over the balcony, smiling hugely and congratulated me.
“I’m going to go back to the hotel, because Storrs needs to go to bed. I’ll see you when you get back with the team!”
I confirmed that I would come say goodnight and jogged over to where Doc was standing.
“Good swim,” he acknowledged, with a serious look on his face. “Do you still want to swim that time trial?”
I looked at him in utter confusion.
“Tonight? I was thinking more like tomorrow or Sunday, Doc.”
“Well, we have an opening tonight, if you’re interested, but I’ll need an answer now so that I can register you.”
“Ok,” I agreed.
Secretly, I knew there was no way I could do it. I had swum the 100 fly 3 times already today, once at prelims and finals, and once in the 400 Medley relay. Plus, I had only just finished the 200 IM.
“Good, you have 30 minutes before you swim, so go warm up!”
I fumbled around in my bag, feeling guilty that I was going to keep my tired and hungry team on the pool deck for half an hour extra, just because I wanted to try to get a national time.
After warming myself up, I put on my blue warm ups and huddled in my folding chair with my Ipod. Doc’s wife, Shelley walked up to me and asked if I would like to call my mom and tell her I was about to swim again. I declined, because I knew that having her up in the stands would only add to the pressure I felt. Hugging my knees, I tried to feel excited, but I couldn’t see past my stress.
One of my teammates came and sat with me, trying to pump me up before my race. I was so grateful for her distraction, but then Doc asked me to come to the other side of the pool and sit down while I waited. I curled up against the wall with my back imprinted against the uneven boards of the cooling vent. I kept asking my coaches if there was any chance that I could make the cut, and finally Doc kneeled down right beside me and said,
“Whatever you put your mind to doing, you will do.”
I didn’t believe him at that moment, because my arms felt stiff and sore, like I had just been hit repeatedly with a stick. Before I knew it, the boys’ relays were finished and I was walking over towards the blocks with Doc.
“Nobody else is swimming 100 fly, so you’re on your own here,” he said. “Good Luck!!”
He smiled and walked to the other side of the pool deck. Two of my older team mates walked with me to my lane, with their arms around my shoulders. I wished the butterflies in my stomach would shut up, so that I could feel better before I swam.
“OK, Brodde! You can do this! Let’s go!” said Brenna, as I rubbed my hands on the block.
I took off my jacket and tried to smile at them. They stood right behind me until the starter blew his whistle for the ready signal. I heard the announcer somewhere in the distance calling out the names and events to be swum by the time trial swimmers, but what I was really focused on was my team. They had lined up along the side of the pool, and on the bulwark, just for me. They yelled encouragement as I stepped on the block and the warm bubbly feeling that I had felt earlier filled me once again. I knew I could do this with them standing there. It would hurt, badly, but I had to do it. I gritted my teeth, and a smile spread across my face again. Then, I heard the announcer tell us to take our marks. I took a deep breath, and grabbed the block as tightly as I could, feeling weak at the knees and in my arms.
The beep sounded and I was off again, flying like an arrow through the air. The water electrified me as I surged through it, my feet splashing furiously behind me. I could see them waving me forward, and could hear their yells, urging me on. Putting my head down, I reached my arms out farther, knowing that I had only my determination to race. The third lap hurt so badly, I thought I couldn’t finish, but one last glance at my team as I swung myself around on the wall to go to my final lap convinced me. I kicked harder than I ever had, and powered through to hit the wall. This time, I had to know immediately whether or not I had done it. But, I didn’t have to look at the scoreboard this time; my team was cheering so loudly, the building shook. Laughing, I hauled myself out of the water.
I had gone 1:00:00, good enough to make the national team by more than a half second. I was bombarded with hugs and slaps on the back from my teammates. Their happiness for me was so genuine; it was such a lift for me. The response from my coach, however, was something I hadn’t expected. I knew he was so proud of the team for helping me pull through, and proud of me for achieving my goal. Was it just my imagination, or had his eyes had momentarily filled up with tears? One blink, however, and he was back to normal.
“Congratulations," he said, flashing a brief smile. “We’re going to have a hard time convincing the officials that you actually got that time!”
I gave him a hug, not caring whether he minded that I was wet or not. I dove into the warm-down pool, and laughed hysterically into the water, where I knew nobody could hear me, so ecstatic about what I had just achieved.
Shelley let me call my mom, and the surprise in her voice made me so happy. I couldn’t wait to celebrate with her and my sister, and tell my dad when I got home to Charlottesville. On the bus ride back home, two days later, all I could think was, I have the best teammates in the world. I knew that without them, I could never have achieved what I did. I had gotten my cut, and as we drove through the night towards home, I closed my eyes and slept soundly.
I had been two seconds off of that national cut this morning, and the girl that won in prelims was at least a second and a half in front of me. She looked confident standing there beside me, ready to win again. The beep sent us flying off the blocks in unison, and I could hear the roar of the crowd before my fingers pierced the cold blue water. I kicked as hard as I could, breaking the surface, and ramming my arms around into the water ahead of me. I had entered my element. The first and second laps felt good, and as I swung myself off of the wall onto my third, I felt powerful and in control. I could see that I was ahead and pulled with all of my strength. The girl fought beside me, but the adrenaline coursing through my veins pushed me forward. In the last lap, I could feel my arms burning, but I pulled through, racing her.
Suddenly, I choked on water. I had misjudged the distance from the water to my chin. I couldn’t breathe, and was trying to cough it out. With every stroke, I saw her coming towards me, and I struggled to stay ahead. Finally, diving deep for the wall, I somehow managed to finish first, half-strangled though I was. Coughing out the excess water that had filled my lungs, I pulled off my goggles and reached over to shake hands with my opponents. I dared to steal a glance at the scoreboard, and all of the bubbling happiness that had filled me the moment before leaked slowly out of me. I had missed my national cut by eight hundredths of a second, with a time of 1:00:64.
I almost ran to the warm down pool, letting my frustration go behind my reflective goggles. I sprinted angrily lap after lap, finally slowing down after I had worn out most of my disappointment. I didn’t want to see my coach—I already knew what he would say. Putting on my bravest face, I pushed myself out of the water, grabbed my towel and made my way up the stairs to the balcony area. My mother was there waiting in the hall for me. She was so excited, but I could only watch and nod. She knew I was on the verge of another wash of tears, so she said kindly:
“You did your best. Leave the last race in the pool, just like Jordan said. You still have the two hundred IM, so don’t let your disappointment ruin the race for you.”
Dumb Jordan, I thought. She had nothing to worry about. Leave it to her, a swimmer in a D1 school, to tell me to leave the last race in the pool. I knew that the cut had only become a goal for me in the past couple of days, but I couldn’t let it go. Turning on my heel, I moved down the stairs towards my coach, because I knew I had to talk to him.
“Can I do a time trial for the 100 fly, Doc?” were the first words to leave my lips.
It would make me feel so much better if I knew I could have another shot.
“Of course. You can have several if you need them, and you swam that last race well!” he said.
I was surprised at the compliment, but suddenly I felt as if a million pounds had been lifted. I went to warm up for my 200 and actually felt like smiling again.
Getting out of the water after the 200 IM was such a nice feeling. I had placed well and I was feeling encouraged. I dried off, without warming down (a signature move for me) because I was so tired. I waved to my mom, who leaned over the balcony, smiling hugely and congratulated me.
“I’m going to go back to the hotel, because Storrs needs to go to bed. I’ll see you when you get back with the team!”
I confirmed that I would come say goodnight and jogged over to where Doc was standing.
“Good swim,” he acknowledged, with a serious look on his face. “Do you still want to swim that time trial?”
I looked at him in utter confusion.
“Tonight? I was thinking more like tomorrow or Sunday, Doc.”
“Well, we have an opening tonight, if you’re interested, but I’ll need an answer now so that I can register you.”
“Ok,” I agreed.
Secretly, I knew there was no way I could do it. I had swum the 100 fly 3 times already today, once at prelims and finals, and once in the 400 Medley relay. Plus, I had only just finished the 200 IM.
“Good, you have 30 minutes before you swim, so go warm up!”
I fumbled around in my bag, feeling guilty that I was going to keep my tired and hungry team on the pool deck for half an hour extra, just because I wanted to try to get a national time.
After warming myself up, I put on my blue warm ups and huddled in my folding chair with my Ipod. Doc’s wife, Shelley walked up to me and asked if I would like to call my mom and tell her I was about to swim again. I declined, because I knew that having her up in the stands would only add to the pressure I felt. Hugging my knees, I tried to feel excited, but I couldn’t see past my stress.
One of my teammates came and sat with me, trying to pump me up before my race. I was so grateful for her distraction, but then Doc asked me to come to the other side of the pool and sit down while I waited. I curled up against the wall with my back imprinted against the uneven boards of the cooling vent. I kept asking my coaches if there was any chance that I could make the cut, and finally Doc kneeled down right beside me and said,
“Whatever you put your mind to doing, you will do.”
I didn’t believe him at that moment, because my arms felt stiff and sore, like I had just been hit repeatedly with a stick. Before I knew it, the boys’ relays were finished and I was walking over towards the blocks with Doc.
“Nobody else is swimming 100 fly, so you’re on your own here,” he said. “Good Luck!!”
He smiled and walked to the other side of the pool deck. Two of my older team mates walked with me to my lane, with their arms around my shoulders. I wished the butterflies in my stomach would shut up, so that I could feel better before I swam.
“OK, Brodde! You can do this! Let’s go!” said Brenna, as I rubbed my hands on the block.
I took off my jacket and tried to smile at them. They stood right behind me until the starter blew his whistle for the ready signal. I heard the announcer somewhere in the distance calling out the names and events to be swum by the time trial swimmers, but what I was really focused on was my team. They had lined up along the side of the pool, and on the bulwark, just for me. They yelled encouragement as I stepped on the block and the warm bubbly feeling that I had felt earlier filled me once again. I knew I could do this with them standing there. It would hurt, badly, but I had to do it. I gritted my teeth, and a smile spread across my face again. Then, I heard the announcer tell us to take our marks. I took a deep breath, and grabbed the block as tightly as I could, feeling weak at the knees and in my arms.
The beep sounded and I was off again, flying like an arrow through the air. The water electrified me as I surged through it, my feet splashing furiously behind me. I could see them waving me forward, and could hear their yells, urging me on. Putting my head down, I reached my arms out farther, knowing that I had only my determination to race. The third lap hurt so badly, I thought I couldn’t finish, but one last glance at my team as I swung myself around on the wall to go to my final lap convinced me. I kicked harder than I ever had, and powered through to hit the wall. This time, I had to know immediately whether or not I had done it. But, I didn’t have to look at the scoreboard this time; my team was cheering so loudly, the building shook. Laughing, I hauled myself out of the water.
I had gone 1:00:00, good enough to make the national team by more than a half second. I was bombarded with hugs and slaps on the back from my teammates. Their happiness for me was so genuine; it was such a lift for me. The response from my coach, however, was something I hadn’t expected. I knew he was so proud of the team for helping me pull through, and proud of me for achieving my goal. Was it just my imagination, or had his eyes had momentarily filled up with tears? One blink, however, and he was back to normal.
“Congratulations," he said, flashing a brief smile. “We’re going to have a hard time convincing the officials that you actually got that time!”
I gave him a hug, not caring whether he minded that I was wet or not. I dove into the warm-down pool, and laughed hysterically into the water, where I knew nobody could hear me, so ecstatic about what I had just achieved.
Shelley let me call my mom, and the surprise in her voice made me so happy. I couldn’t wait to celebrate with her and my sister, and tell my dad when I got home to Charlottesville. On the bus ride back home, two days later, all I could think was, I have the best teammates in the world. I knew that without them, I could never have achieved what I did. I had gotten my cut, and as we drove through the night towards home, I closed my eyes and slept soundly.
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