Spring Break!
Just Another Day in Paradise
Spring Break has arrived, and with it a long list of things to do. For my classmates, it is a time to relax and hang out. I have multiple forms to complete, a research paper to write and several other things to catch up for school. More challenging than all of that I have to find a new attendant. The last one went Poof! At least, that is the best explaination for his sidden disappearach. Without an attendant, I cannot attend classes. For now, I am saved becausel Michele is on Spring break the week after mine. She can be my attendant for a while.

In the meantime, the "Disappearing Nurse" may generate a story. I have wanted to write a mystery for sometime, I just didn't know what to write about, that hasn't already been done. I need to get a website up and running so that I can start marketing my work. Unfortunately, that is somewhere close to the botton of the list of things to do. I have a wall to patch, a VCR to hook up and a garden to plant as well as all of the other things. I will do the best I can to get everything done. I just have to remember that my Best is the best I can hope for.
- posted by Jessica Bougher @ 10:34 PM 4 comments

 
Once more with feeling?
Just Another Day in Paradise

Another week has gone by and I have nothing more to show for my writing efforts except a research paper on Stem Cell Contamination (pretty good if I do say so) and the final for my science class. I have a few more ideas for stories and have been working out a few details for a couple of the projects on my list. I am starting to think about where I want to submit my work, how I can market it. Part of me thinks that is putting the cart before the horse and part says that knowing where the work is going will help direct the article's progress. I haven't called the week a loss yet. I still have the weekend in front of me and who knows what may emerge.
- posted by Jessica Bougher @ 5:01 PM 0 comments

 
Just Another Day in Paradise
Just Another Day in Paradise

Spent all weekend with my head in school books and assignments. I am still trying to get everything caught up. Even school work stimulates the Creative Juices! I have been tossing around ideas sparked by my Mass Communications class on Thursday. We started the class with an article Mr. Cabanis found interesting and a discussion about what if any journalistic activities were available to us as High School Students. The article talked about misconceptions held by High School Students and others about the First Amendment. I was appalled to read about the sheer ignorance of basic citizen rights in the United States. This got me to thinking about what the Framers of the Constitution might have been thinking about when they drafted the Bill of Right. I have to admit that there are areas of the law concerning the First Amendment that I was unaware of. Most of these areas had to do with regulatory issues and national security type things.

Anyway, all this has me thinking that an article about the First Amendments and the historical precedents that had affected the Framers would definitely be interesting. Being a parent, I often find that I must compensate and augment my daughter's educations by filling in the blanks when there are things they are not being taught in school. I can see that this is going to be one of those things I will need to be sure they understand. I can also see several articles on the subject that would find a homes in paying publications. I will add this to my list of potential articles.
- posted by Jessica Bougher @ 1:21 AM 0 comments

 
A few ideas
Ten Ideas for writing projects...

1. Ebook collection of perennial garden designs and ideas for the Northeast Georgia Area. ( I already have a drawer filled with designs that I can use.)

2. Ten things to consider when buying Life Insurance.

3. Article on ideas for helping your child write stories.

4. Article on how to create a different bedtime story each night.

5. Guide: How to have all of your medical information at hand when travelling without carrying your full medical records.

6. Ideas for amusing your dog that never get old.

7. Gardening from your wheelchair with ease.

8. "They never told me about that in school." what to do when life throws you a curve ball

9. "Oatmeal in strange places." Using oatmeal in recipes where you normally wouldn't look for it.

10. Simplifying storage for seasonal clothes and linens.


Now I have a place to return to when I forget what i am working on. I cannot lose the list, and my conscience will not allow me to simply forget it. I have a research paper on Contaminated Stem Cell Lines due Feb 24 and another paper on Gender Dynamics in Television Crime Drama due in mid March. In between I have my newspaper articles for the school paper and editing duties for the magazine to keep up with. On a positive note, my article for the paper was bumped up to the front page. Usually I get page 3, or somewhere in Campus Life. When I saw the paper today I was quite excited. Maybe my next assignment will get front page. above the fold! Mind you I am not complaining, Publication is publication!

Next step is another paid publication!

Jessica
- posted by Jessica Bougher @ 1:45 AM 1 comments

 
Inspirational Email
I have been subscribing to several free reprint article lists for a year or more. While I no longer publish an ezine or a newsletter I enjoy reading the various things that other writers publish. These articles provide me with information on things I would normally just wonder about. they also provide inspiration on many levels, including professional and spiritual. When I read the following article, I found that it was the kick in the pants I needed to kep me writing at a time when I just didn't feel like it. I am now compiling a list of article topics that I have been mentally filing away, because i was too lazy to actually write them down.

Throughout the day, I found that I was going back into my email to reread the article. Finally I decided to email the author, Catherine Franz and ask her permission to post the article here. I appreciate her permission to do so and hope that if anyone else reads this they too will find it inspiring. Please take a moment and stop by her site as well. She has a wonderful selection of articles there.

The Creativity Creed


By Catherine Franz

I believe that creativity is a natural order of life itself
and it provides my life with the purest of energies.

I believe there is an underlying creative force infusing
throughout my life.

I believe that when I open my creativity, I am opening the
Creator's creativity.

I believe creativity is part of my destiny and just as
important as all living things.

I believe creativity is my Creator's gift to me. Using my
creativity is my gift back to him.

I believe expectation of a fulfilling life attracts with
powerful changes when I allow creativity to flow through my
beingness.

I believe it is safe for me to discover my own creativity
even if it sets new paths not yet discovered.

I believe as I move more towards my creative self, I move
towards my own divinity.

I believe I am worth the time it takes to create whatever it
is I am to create.

I believe I have the right to have all the creativity I
deserve.

I believe that when I allow my creativity to flow throughout
my life, I tap into the source of all that there is and all
that ever was.

I believe that the time I spend creating is as precious as
anything else in life.

I believe that as creativity gives to me, so does she
deserve from me all my faith mindfulness and commitment.

I believe in my creative self.

I believe in me.

(c) Copyright, Catherine Franz. All rights reserved.



Catherine Franz is a writer and author of over 1800 published
articles and several books on various business subjects.
http://www.abundancecenter.com
- posted by Jessica Bougher @ 11:13 PM 0 comments

 
I Believe!
In order to be a realist you must believe in miracles.

-David Ben Gurion
- posted by Jessica Bougher @ 5:06 PM 0 comments

 
Too many ideas... too little time
I always seem to have many ideas for writing, but never the time to do anything with them. I have begun to keeo index cards with scribble ideas, waiting for the day when I will have the time to write and not feel like crap. For now I am bogged down with school work, including two research papers and articles for the school paper.

I did manage to get cards and letters to family written thins week and mailed this morning. This is a step in the right direction. I caught myself actually being poetic in my expression of thoughts and wishes. I know that my daughters will be more interested in the things in their package then the words I wrote, but that doesn't matter. One day they will lok at the cards again and actually read the words. At twelve, I can't remember actually reading the words in the cards either. I did have a brief thought that perhaps I should concentrate on writing verse for greeting cards.

I am thinging about posting some of my verse here just to get used to putting it out there someone else might read it. I always welcome comments, positive or negative. So if you read something, please feel free to speak up!

- posted by Jessica Bougher @ 3:15 PM 0 comments

 
Gavin- Part 7 (Thursday)
Finally on Thursday Gavin felt ready to take on the interview with Lulu Carter. He was waiting on the sidewalk when Lulu dropped her morning load at the high school. He was dressed as like the reporters he saw on television broadcasting from wars. He had on a utility vest, its pockets full of note pads and pens. His camera was slung over his shoulder. He wore mirrored sunglasses which he thought made him look rugged. He climbed the steps just as Lulu was shutting the door. Handing her his business card he told her that he was a journalist doing a story for “Hollywood Stunts Today” and wanted to interview her.

Lulu screamed. She was so happy. An article in a trade magazine might give her the big break she so desperately needed to make the career change that was the stuff for dreams. Gavin had a list of questions he wanted to ask including about the customizations of her bus. When asked about the manual transmission on her bus, she admitted to having a special relationship with the head of bus maintenance. She had dated him briefly and he still thought that they had a chance of a future together. The only place that could ever happen was in his dreams and her nightmares. As for the seatbelts she had elected to be part of a bus safety experiment. Once the experiment was over she had asked to keep the seatbelts. The wheels were paid for out of her own pocket. She had bought them from a catalog that sold custom items for semi tractors. She had wanted chrome rims, but learned that they were not within her budget.

Lulu took Gavin for a ride to demonstrate her skills as a safe driver. This ride was no less disturbing then the ride he had taken earlier that week. Afterwards she dropped him off at the high school. She extracted a promise from him that they would have dinner together very soon and discuss the photo spread that would accompany the article in the magazine. She was excited by the possibility that her talents were finally getting recognized She wanted to get her hair done before he shot the pictures Gavin assured he that there was plenty of time.

As he was compiling his notes and impressions of their morning together, he began to wonder if any of the articles would sell. Was he merely trying to nurse his wounded ego, taking advantage of the innate human desire for recognition, for their fifteen minutes of fame? Most people would never achieve the level of notoriety they craved, and maybe even deserved. He knew that he hated feeling as though his life counted for little in larger scheme of the world.

Thinking back to that morning, he realized that Lulu probably had no idea how attractive she was as a person. Sadly people were near sighted when they looked in the mirror. They were blinded by their own misconceptions of what made them attractive in the eyes of others. Lulu wore her hair stuffed under a base ball cap. Dressed in baggy sweats she gave the appearance of being much heavier. Gavin had noticed on occasion that she had a nice figure with sexy curves. Yet every thing she said and every gesture was designed to hide her beauty.

He knew that he would have to call her next week, maybe ask her to dinner. If he had asked her on a date she would be busy. However, if he told her he had a few more questions she would agree to meet with him. Shaking his head he decided that he just didn’t understand people in general and women in particular. He knew that he didn’t have to understand someone in order to write about them. He ordered a pizza and began to draft his article. He was deep into the story, looking back through his notes when the doorbell began to ring insistently. Marking his place and saving his work on the computer, Gavin went to the door. It was a bit early for the pizza man, but he wasn’t complaining.

The man on the other side of the door was not the pizza man. Gavin didn’t recognize him, and though that he might be a new neighbor. He was not prepared for anything that happened next. “Hello Handsome, we finally meet. You don’t recognize me do you?”

Gavin shook his head.

“I sent you pizza and beer the other night?” the man tried again.

Gavin still had no clue.

“We talked for hours on the phone last week, Lamar Jackson, locomotive engineer. It has taken me while, but I found you. You have the sexiest voice. It gives me goose bumps. I had to meet you in person. It has been too long since anyone has done that for me.”

Unable to respond, Gavin stood in the open door trying to understand what was happening. This man was soft spoken, smelling of citrus and pipe tobacco. He was slight of build and graceful, yet held himself with the confidence of a man twice his size. Gavin finally remembered their conversation. He had pictured him as taller and heavier. He was balding, his fringe of thin gray hair attempting a pathetic imitation of a comb-over. He moved in close to Gavin, as if to kiss him. He handed Gavin the red rose he carried. Gavin flashed back to his worst nightmare. This situation magnified those memories of watching old disco movies with his foster father. The man would force Gavin to dance with him.

Lamar was wearing 70's style polyester shirt open to the waist and 15 lbs. of imitation gold chains around his neck. As the man began to hum Diana Ross’s “Last Dance" and reach out to pull Gavin closer a train whistle sounded in the distance. Promising to come back when he had more time, Lamar turned and ran. Before Gavin could close his door, his pizza arrived. In a daze, he paid the delivery guy and went inside.

He looked at the note laying on the table, the one that had come with the pizza and beer on Sunday night. He thought about the phone calls. He thought about the times he had dismissed the man as a nut. Now the man had shown up at his door. Gavin hadn’t even remembered his name much less the efforts the man had made to get to know him. At that moment Gavin didn’t feel very good about himself. He thought about the different people he had met that week. The only ones he had really made any effort to know were ones where it served his purposes. Others, like the waitress at the diner were barely noticed. Did others interact with him in the same way?

Gavin ate pizza and drank beer while watching television as usual that night. This time he watched sit-coms. He fell asleep in his chair. He dreamt of school buses, trains and shopping carts. He dreamt of homeless people, police men and little boys. He was running, but didn’t know from what. He ran into churches that turned into diners. He tripped over plastic grocery bags filled with cans. The streets were lined with paintings, awful paintings that reminded him of vomit. Chester Neat tried to force him to eat cat food, all the while laughing maniacally. He was awakened by the ringing of his phone. The ringing stopped before he could answer it. His watch showed that it was 3:30 A.M. He stumbled to bed and slept soundly the rest of the night.
Friday morning greeted Gavin with a hangover. He had known he was drinking too much when he was doing it. Still he continued. Now he was paying the price. Remembering his foster father’s advice about hangovers, he opened another beer. Soon he began to feel better. After a shower he was feeling human.

He was on his way to the diner for breakfast when he saw Clara pushing her cart toward the alley. On an impulse he called out to her. “Clara? Can I buy you breakfast?” At first he was sure she didn’t hear him, but then she started to turn her cart around. As she did it tipped over. He rushed to help. As he sat the cart up on its wheels she began to pile bits and pieces back inside. They shared a laugh as he helped her navigate the alley. Inside the diner he introduced Clara to the regulars. A few people got up and left, their plates barely touched. Others said hello and continued on with their meals. He and Clara ordered and settled back to enjoy their coffee and the company of a new friendship.

While they were eating, Chester Neat came in. Seeing Gavin he detoured from his usual seat at the counter. Gavin introduced him to Clara and invited him to join them at their table. Soon the three were talking like long lost friends. Soon after they had finished their meals and were about to part, Chester invited Gavin and Clara to dinner at his apartment. Both accepted. Chester then told them that he already had invited another guest, his favorite cashier from Wal-Mart.















- posted by Jessica Bougher @ 11:38 PM 1 comments

 
Gavin- Part 6 (Wednesday)
Next morning, Gavin awoke early and dressed with care. Always considered scrawny as a boy, Gavin was now grateful for his slight build and baby face. His old High School Baseball cap covered his somewhat receding hairline. He packed a lunch that would make any mother proud. It was healthy, and boring enough to pass the closest inspection. He grabbed a backpack which he had filled with library books. They filled the pack enough that it appeared to contain text books. He was hoping that he could blend in with the students. All he had to do was tell anyone who asked that he was a new student. No one should question him beyond that.

No one at the bus stop questioned him when he walked up and dropped his pack on the sidewalk beside theirs. It was cold. A few girls wearing mini skirts and leggings stood to one side whispering and giggling. Gavin was pretty sure the topic was boys. There were three besides him. One was sitting on a low wall studying a chemistry book. The other two were smoking. All had on headphones.

Once he was on the bus, Gavin was not sure he was ready for the wild ride that followed. Lulu raced through yellow lights as they were turning red. Her wheels screeched at every stop. They squealed at every start. The bus appeared to have been customized with seatbelts and retrofitted with a manual transmission. Lulu Carter must have a special connection with the people whom did the bus maintenance. When the bus arrived at the high school Gavin gladly disembarked. The ride had been nothing like he had expected. If he had not been afraid of blowing his cover he would have kissed the ground. To follow through with his cover story, he headed toward the school entrance blending in with the sea of students and teachers. Once he was clear of the bus area he headed back towards home.

At home he made careful notes about the previous day as well as his bus ride. He knew that the next phase of his research would be very different. He would make contact with Lulu Carter, as a journalist. He would conduct a proper interview and take photos. He would plan to interview students on her bus and their parents. He knew that her safety records would be a matter of public record. When he was finished, he would have a store as good if not better than most told on 60 Minutes.

That night he dropped by Rose’s Diner for dinner. He saw no one he recognized except the waitress who waited on him Sunday. She recognized him, and must have remembered his tip. When he sat down she told him that she would save him a slice of Lemon Meringue pie if he wanted. There were two slices left. He thanked her. He ordered the daily special and coffee and lemon pie to go. While he ate he went over his notes. He had a list of interview questions. He sketched out a few ideas for how to write the article. He would know more after he talked to Lulu Carter.


On Wednesday, a change in plans had Gavin on his way to the skeet shooting range. Charlotte Webber, a three-time widow had recently taken up skeet shooting to occupy her time since husband number four spent weeks traveling for work. Charlotte wanted to make sure there was enough life insurance on him in the event he passed away unexpectedly. At the range the pro shop manger outfitted Gavin with proper shooting gear and rented him a shotgun. He easily found Charlotte, as she was the only woman there. Waiting for her to stop and reload, Gavin was able to get her attention.

He introduced himself as a journalist, writing for Modern Skeet Shooting. She recognized the magazine as one of the most popular publications in the sport. The idea that Gavin wanted to write an article about her for that magazine excited her. After several hours Gavin knew more then he needed for writing an in-depth article. On the shooting range Charlotte demonstrated her prowess with the gun. She even gave Gavin a few lessons and had him hitting three out of four clay pigeons.

At the end of the day, Gavin decided that Charlotte Webber was nothing more than a middle-aged woman whom life had dealt repeated bad hands. Her first husband had died in Viet Nam. Her second husband had been one of three men killed when the billboard he was building had had collapsed. Her third husband had been killed on September 11th, when the World Trade Center Towers had collapsed. There was nothing mysterious about any of those deaths. The fact that Charlotte had persevered and gone on with living was a testament to the strength of her character. Gavin had never been more impressed with anyone.

That evening they had dinner together. He had wanted to get a better feel for who she was. Charlotte Webber seemed vibrant and in control on the skeet range. Gavin wanted to get to know her softer side. He had sensed that there was a lot more to her than the person most people saw everyday. After a good dinner and a few glasses of wine she seemed to relax. Before long she was talking about things he had never dreamed. She missed her sister, a missionary in China. Her parents had died years before. Her current husband was gone three weeks out of every month. He worked for an international shipping company, monitoring package handling processes around the world. She had no children.

As the evening wore on, she consumed the better part of two bottles of wine. Gavin was not trying to get her drunk; he was actually concerned about how much she did drink. Soon it became obvious that she often drank to excess. Finally, he told her that he had an early morning and needed to get home. He offered to drive her home, or call for a taxi. She handed him the keys to her convertible and signaled for the bill which she paid. She gave clear directions to her home. He walked her to the door, thanking her for the interview. After promising to call her if he had any more questions he left.

Three blocks away he waved down a cruising taxi which took him home. As he was arranging his notes from the interview he struggled for the right word to describe her. She was not depressed. She seemed to find joy in many parts of her life. She didn’t seem angry. For the most part she seemed to just roll with whatever life threw her. She didn’t talk about good and bad events. Everything was very matter of fact. One day was not measured against another. If anything she seemed accepting of whatever came her way. No, not accepting just resigned.

Overall, Charlotte Webber would be a wonderful subject. There were numerous magazines that would want her story. Women’s magazines would see her as inspiration. Magazines targeting older Americans would see her as a shining example of the resilience characteristic of their generation. The sports magazines were always looking for interesting features on women in sports, especially non-traditional sports. He decided to draft the article several ways and see which lent itself more to a quick sale. He worked until 3:00 A.M. and finally forced himself to go to bed.
















- posted by Jessica Bougher @ 11:35 PM 1 comments

 
Gavin- Part 5 (Tuesday)
Next morning, Gavin awoke early and dressed with care. Always considered scrawny as a boy, Gavin was now grateful for his slight build and baby face. His old High School Baseball cap covered his somewhat receding hairline. He packed a lunch that would make any mother proud. It was healthy, and boring enough to pass the closest inspection. He grabbed a backpack which he had filled with library books. They filled the pack enough that it appeared to contain text books. He was hoping that he could blend in with the students. All he had to do was tell anyone who asked that he was a new student. No one should question him beyond that.

No one at the bus stop questioned him when he walked up and dropped his pack on the sidewalk beside theirs. It was cold. A few girls wearing mini skirts and leggings stood to one side whispering and giggling. Gavin was pretty sure the topic was boys. There were three besides him. One was sitting on a low wall studying a chemistry book. The other two were smoking. All had on headphones.

Once he was on the bus, Gavin was not sure he was ready for the wild ride that followed. Lulu raced through yellow lights as they were turning red. Her wheels screeched at every stop. They squealed at every start. The bus appeared to have been customized with seatbelts and retrofitted with a manual transmission. Lulu Carter must have a special connection with the people whom did the bus maintenance. When the bus arrived at the high school Gavin gladly disembarked. The ride had been nothing like he had expected. If he had not been afraid of blowing his cover he would have kissed the ground. To follow through with his cover story, he headed toward the school entrance blending in with the sea of students and teachers. Once he was clear of the bus area he headed back towards home.

At home he made careful notes about the previous day as well as his bus ride. He knew that the next phase of his research would be very different. He would make contact with Lulu Carter, as a journalist. He would conduct a proper interview and take photos. He would plan to interview students on her bus and their parents. He knew that her safety records would be a matter of public record. When he was finished, he would have a store as good if not better than most told on 60 Minutes.

That night he dropped by Rose’s Diner for dinner. He saw no one he recognized except the waitress who waited on him Sunday. She recognized him, and must have remembered his tip. When he sat down she told him that she would save him a slice of Lemon Meringue pie if he wanted. There were two slices left. He thanked her. He ordered the daily special and coffee and lemon pie to go. While he ate he went over his notes. He had a list of interview questions. He sketched out a few ideas for how to write the article. He would know more after he talked to Lulu Carter.



- posted by Jessica Bougher @ 11:29 PM 0 comments

 
Gavin- Part 4 (Monday)
When morning came, Gavin had forgotten about Lamar Jackson. Instead he was contemplating his next interview. He had a choice, he could go back to see the cat food cookbook lady, visit the bus driver/ stunt driver or the skeet-shooting lady. Taking his camera and notebook with him to breakfast at the corner diner Gavin studied his notes. He wanted to be prepared for whichever choice he made. After a leisurely breakfast, he decided that he needed to do some surveillance before he made contact with the subjects. He had an idea for a disguise that would allow him to move freely without drawing unwanted attention to himself.

Every day he passed a bag lady on the street. Her shopping cart ferried her worldly possessions up and down the streets. What she didn’t push in the cart she wore. This morning she had been rummaging in the dumpster beside the diner when he went past. Most people turned away when they saw her coming. Seldom did anyone speak to her unless she stopped too long to rest on a curb or bench in front of a store. Gavin admitted to himself that he was no better than others when it came to ignoring her. This time he was going to be different. He signaled for the waitress and ordered a large coffee, bacon egg and cheese sandwich and a sweet roll to go. Paying his bill he started looking for the bag lady.

Finding her was not hard; she was still in the alley, having only moved on to another dumpster. After briefly considering what he was about to do, he called out to her. “Hello? Would you like some breakfast?” At first she appeared not to hear him. But before he could call out again, her head popped up, pivoting around looking for the source of the voice.

“Who’s there?” she mumbled.

Taking a few steps closer to her, Gavin identified himself. “My name is Gavin, I live in this building. I thought you might like some breakfast, maybe some hot coffee? It is rather cold out here.”

The woman shuffled towards him. Her head was swathed in a rainbow of rags. She was wearing a coat that looked suspiciously as though it had been a velvet drape in a previous life. Her left hand sported a lime green mitten while her right a man’s leather palmed work glove. She had on glasses mended many times over with tape. She squinted up at him through the impossibly thick lenses. Her feet were encased in cracked rubber Wellington’s. “Who’s gonna buy me breakfast?” she asked. “I ain’t got the money for any fancy breakfast. The mission doesn’t serve breakfast.”

“Ma’am I bought you breakfast. I have coffee, an egg sandwich and a sweet roll if you want it.” Gavin was unsure what else to say.

“You got cream and sugar?” she asked.

“I have cream, sugar, sweet ‘n low and equal.” he replied.

As he offered her the bag, she flinched as though he were going to strike her. He turned and sat the bag and Styrofoam cup on an overturned box. Eying him warily, she opened the bag. Soon she was sipping the hot coffee and trailing crumbs down the front of her coat. Gavin waited quietly until she finished. When the food was gone she folded the foil sheets from the food into tiny squares. These and the grease-stained paper bag disappeared into a pocket somewhere on her person. She cradled the cup in her hands savoring the heat it offered. Curiously she asked him, “Why did you do this? What do you want from me?”

Clearing his throat he answered. “I have a business proposition for you. I want to rent your cart for the day.”

Suspicious, she asked, “what you gonna do with my cart? It’s not for sale. You can get your own down at the Food Lion.”

Smiling, he replied. “I don’t want to buy it; I want to rent it for one day. I will return it to you by 5:00 P.M. tonight.”

“What are you gonna do with it? What am I supposed to do all day? Today is my can day. I pick up cans today and sell them. Monday is the best day. We have a lot of messy drunks on the weekends and they leave cans everywhere. You gonna collect cans for me?” She asked.

“Okay, here is the deal. I am a journalist. I need to snoop around some for a story I am writing. Like I am now people will think I am a stalker and call the police. But if I look like I belong there no one will question me. I have seen you all over town. Everyone has seen you. I want to rent your cart.”

Shaking her head she started muttering. Hearing something about a crazy school bus driver and now a crazy reporter mixed in with her curses, he interrupted her. “What was that about a crazy school bus driver?”

“Damn fool woman nearly mowed me down over on Oak street. I was in the crosswalk. Guess I walk too slow for her purposes. She kept honking that loud horn at me. I was barely across when she flew past.”

Gavin could not believe his luck. There could only be one school bus driver in town that drove like that. “That is the woman I am investigating. I want to observe her without her knowing I’m watching. She already knows your cart; she would not look close at me. She would think I was you. Please you have to let me rent your cart for the day.” Gavin was pleading. “I will give you fifty dollars cash right now and buy you a steak dinner tonight.”

“Fifty dollars right now and a motel room for the week.” She countered.

“Fifty dollars and a motel room for three nights.” He replied.

“Fifty dollars and five nights. Final.” She started to walk away.
Desperate, Gavin called out, “throw in your coat for the day and we have a deal.”

When she turned around she was grinning. “My name is Clara Mae Mathers.” They shook hands and agreed to meet at the It’ll Do Inn, three streets away in an hour. Gavin went home to pack a lunch for himself and change into clothes more suitable for his plan. A pair of threadbare baggy pants and a ragged sweatshirt provided the base off his attire. Ripping the knee to expose stained thermal underwear, led him to tear the collar half way off an old flannel shirt which he wore under the sweat shirt. His knit ski hat looked too new, so he opted for the old hunting cap with the flap that folded down over his ears.

Rummaging in a drawer he found two gloves and a mitten all missing their mates. Snipping two fingers on one of the gloves allowed it to unravel a bit. He would layer them. Looking in the mirror he realized that even though he had not shaved in two days he still didn’t look unkempt. Remembering a trick used in one of his high school plays he picked up a box of baby powder and liberally dusted his head. After a few minutes of rubbing the powder left his looking dirty and unhealthy. A light coating of petroleum jelly smeared with coffee grounds on his face gave the appearance of a beard… from a distance. Up close the coffee smell was quite noticeable. He cut a strip of wool from an old army surplus blanket to use as a muffler. As he was about to walk out the door, he realized that his shoes were a dead giveaway that he was wearing a disguise. After a few minutes of frantic digging in his closet he unearthed a pair of old work boots left from his days as an auto mechanic apprentice. The broken laces with their numerous knots were the perfect accessory to his disguise.

He met Clara on the sidewalk in front of the motel. As he approached her he was intensely aware of the odor wafting from her body. Hopefully she would take advantage of her stay in the motel to take a shower. Two or three showers would not be excessive, giving how much she stank. Gavin went insider and paid for the room. He went ahead and paid for six nights since the seventh night was free.

Outside he handed her an envelope with the fifty dollars inside and the room key. He had thoughtfully gotten a ground floor room with no steps. He had not been sure she would be able to manage the stairs. She rummaged through her cart and handed him a crude map drawn on a creased grocery sack. “This is my Monday can route. The part marked with red is where that crazy ass bus driver’s route runs with mine.” She handed him the map and several plastic grocery sacks. “Put 25 cans per sack. No more or the bag will split. No less because then you have to open every bag to count.” She shrugged off her velvet drape coat and spread it over the cart. A dust cloud surrounded the two of them as she patted the fabric. “Be careful and don’t spill anything on it. I just washed it last month.”

Gavin picked up the coat, surprised by the weight. “I really appreciate you doing this ma’am. You have been very helpful. I will have your things back here by 5:00.”

Peering up at him with her thick glasses she wrinkled her nose like she had smelled something foul. “What’s that all over your face? You fall in the dirt?”

“No ma’am. It is supposed to look like I haven’t shaved in a while. He replied.

“Looks more like you’re afraid of soap and water if you ask me. I could smell you coming down the street.” She bent down and scooped a handful of mud from the gutter and pulled a white plastic jar from her buggy. Taking her gloves off she used two fingers to extract a slimy yellowish-green material. Mixing the two substances together she created a substance that looked like coarse shoe polish. This she told him to apply over his coffee ground beard. As he was attempting to do this he realized that the stuff smelled like a dirty garbage can. She laughed at his reaction.

After Gavin and his new friend had parted, he began a slow shuffle in the direction of the route outlined on her map. He wanted to make sure he didn’t miss a single can. By the time he reached the point where the bus route and the can route converged he was tired. His feet hurt and his face itched under the coating of what had to be axle grease and mud. No longer did he worry about anyone noticing the coffee smell. No one even looked at him. Stopping to rest on a bus stop bench he counted the bags he had filled. He had sixteen so far. According to the map he was not even half way through. He could not imagine anyone, much less a woman of Clara’s age doing this day after day, week after week. His musings on the situation were interrupted by a tall, gangly police officer. “This bus stop bench is reserved for people waiting for buses. If you aren’t waiting for the bus move along.”

Looking around, Gavin didn’t see anyone waiting for the bus. In fact he saw no one on the street except the police officer and himself. Outraged by the impertinence of the pimple face police officer, he exploded. “Is this how you treat people? I don’t see how my sitting here to rest my feet is inconveniencing anyone. There is no one else anywhere around!”

“Sir, if you are just sitting here, then you are loitering. Loitering is illegal. The residents of this street are serious about having this enforced. We received three calls about your sitting here. I am just doing my job.” The officer began flexing his fingers and cracking his knuckles as though he were expecting a fight.

Gavin checked his watch and saw that he had been sitting for less than ten minutes. “I am amazed that you had so many calls about my sitting here in such a short period of time. I have been here less than ten minutes. I just turned the corner and have passed one house.”

The police officer started to turn red in the face. “Sir, are you calling me a liar? I have asked you to move along. I am asking again. This is the last time. If you are not on your feet in thirty seconds I will run you in for vagrancy.”

Gavin didn’t want to make trouble, not for him or for Clara so he got up. As he began walking away, he looked back at the officer. The young cop had taken a seat on the bench and was smoking a cigarette. Gavin shrugged his shoulders and went on. He didn’t want to move to quickly and miss the school bus. By the same token he didn’t want to get arrested for vagrancy either.

Fortunately, he wasn’t forced to wait very long. A yellow school bus came hurtling around the corner. He was sure that this had to be Lulu Carter, wannabe stunt driver. As Gavin continued along the same street the flying yellow bus crossed his street several times. On several occasions Gavin witnessed daredevil maneuvers and jackrabbit starts. Lulu seemed to especially enjoy sliding around corners and squealing the tires. Even more frightening was her attempt to run over the old man with the walker in the crosswalk. Gavin had never seen anyone that age move that fast. He was even more impressed by the ease with which he hurled the walker at the bus. He made a note to go back and talk to the old man the next day. He believed that this was not the first time that the old man and Lulu had crossed paths.

By 5:00 Gavin had collected thirty-two bags of cans and made his way back to Clara’s motel. He returned her cart with the cans and her coat. Thanking her profusely he went home. Every inch of his body ached. His feet had swollen. All he wanted was a cold beer, a hot bath and sleep. He would make his notes the next day.




- posted by Jessica Bougher @ 11:26 PM 0 comments

 
Gavin-Part 3 (Sunday)
The next day Gavin dressed in his Sunday best and thought about all the times that he had been herded into church as a young boy. Now he realized that sometimes it wasn’t a bad thing. At least he would know how to behave. Dusting the cover off a battered bible he thumbed through the pages checking to make sure that there was nothing to fall out and embarrass him. A quick breakfast at the corner dinner left Gavin with just enough time to walk the six blocks to the church.
Normally, breakfast was a pleasant event in his life. He enjoyed the camaraderie of the other regulars. The staff was warm and welcoming. Here, he felt like part of a very large family. He enjoyed his time at the diner. He especially enjoyed teasing the waitresses. Cindy was his favorite. She was pretty in a girl next door kind of way. She wore little makeup, and needed none. He auburn hair was always neatly secured in a bun and covered by a kerchief. They always matched her uniforms and were crisply starched. This morning, she traded stations with another waitress as soon as Gavin walked in the door.

Paranoia struck like a bolt of lightening. Gavin recalled the humiliation suffered on his last visit. He had stopped for dinner the night he was fired. Frank was not happy that he had taken the afternoon off. Gavin’s explanation that he was unable to concentrate on his work had meant nothing to Frank who was waving the sheath of papers for all the “bad” appointments Gavin had set. A “bad” appointment was on that the client had either stood the salesman up or called to cancel and asked not to be contacted again. Gavin was aware that the number of those appointments had steadily risen over the last few weeks. But, he had not seen any reason to be concerned since this often happened. This time the situation was different, Gavin was fired. He was not held responsible for the actions of the clients. The reason he was fired was that he was unmotivated and showed little enthusiasm for his work.

He had hoped to find solace among friends at the diner, maybe even some sympathy. Instead, Cindy had snapped at him, calling him a whiner. No one there spoke up his defense. Cindy had continued her barrage of insults by telling him he was nobody and would always be nobody. The fat man at the counter had egged her on, tossing in a few barbs of his own. Within minutes the rest of the customers and staff had joined the attack. Gavin had fled in humiliation. Pulling the collar of his tattered Army Surplus Coat up to shield his tears he had stumbled into the miserable drizzle of the night.

Shaking off the dread of a repeat visit, Gavin pushed open the door and took a seat at his usual table. Greeting the people seated around him, he picked up a menu. Normally he had the same breakfast every time he ate there. Maybe this time he would order something different. He could not remember the last time he had had pancakes. A waitress he did not recognize took his order for blueberry pancakes and bacon. He added cream and sugar to his coffee while watching Cindy as she carried plates to a table of old men seated by the restrooms. This morning she was wearing pink, and had tied a polka-dot scarf around her neck. The trim on her uniform was pink and white checked. Gavin decided that the scarf clashed with the uniform. As he finished his breakfast, he noticed that Cindy was watching him as she refilled sugar canisters. Flashing a smile, he carefully counted out the tip for the waitress who had served him.

Finding the church proved harder than he had thought. He circled the block several times before he finally saw the hand painted sign propped in front of a small run down building that had once been a service station. Graffiti covered the front of the building. A few older cars were parked on the curb. At the door a small boy maybe six years old handed him bulletin. The ink was still damp. An antique hand cranked mimeograph machine rested on a battered table in the corner. A woman in a floral print dress offered him coffee and a donut. He accepted a cup of the murky liquid, adding copious amounts of cream and sugar.

He was directed to the chapel, which had once been a pair of service bays. Trap doors in the floor allowed ready access to the pits underneath. The pews were rough-hewn benches with out backs; sure to reward anyone who fell asleep during the sermon with an embarrassing landing on the floor. Coffee cans were sitting at the end of each pew. Gavin’s curiosity about their purpose was quickly answered when the man on the end spat a long stream of tobacco juice in one and passed it on to him. Gavin declined, showing him a pack of chewing gum, offering him a stick. The man grinned and offered Gavin a pouch of chewing tobacco. At that point it was obvious that Gavin was out of his depth.

The pews filled up quickly and things got started. There was no organ or piano, but the music was good. The best way to describe it was a cross between blue grass and Cajun honky-tonk. Gavin had never heard “Amazing Grace” played on an accordion before and hoped never to again. Howard Goodman entered the room, as the music was finishing. The man definitely had a presence. Weighing 280 lbs., he walked very cat-like. His booming voice filled the room. His sermon was filled with promises of hellfire and damnation. He never once opened the Bible, but waved it in the air and banged it on the pulpit as though it was a gavel. He preached on the sins of lying, beating your wife or children and defiling the innocence of a child. Just as Gavin was beginning to think this was not the man he had talked to on the phone, Goodman leapt over the pulpit, landing in the aisle beside where he sat six rows from the front. Gavin knew then that this was the same man, as Goodman had told him about his “trade-mark” move when they had talked on the phone.

After the service, Pastor Goodman welcomed Gavin to his little church. He asked for his address and phone number so that he could visit with Gavin later in the week. Gavin filled out the card as requested and thanked him. As Gavin was leaving, the young boy who had handed him the bulletin grabbed his hand. He pulled Gavin over to the table where the woman in the floral dress was clearing away the remains of a few stale donuts. She looked up ay Gavin and asked, “Would you care to have supper with us? We always have fried chicken after church. We will meet at the city park about 2:00.”

Caught off guard by the unexpected invitation, Gavin didn’t know what to say. Finally after clearing his throat several times he managed to speak. “I appreciate the invitation. I have something I promised to do for a friend. If I get done with that fast enough, I will try to stop by. Should I bring anything?”

“You don’t have to bring anything, unless you really want too. We have everything already planned out. I hope you can join us.” She extended her hand to Gavin as she introduced herself. “I am Florida Taylor. This boy with ants in his pants is my son Clark.”

Gavin shook woman’s hand. It was small and calloused. The nails were unpolished and clipped. Her grip was astonishingly firm. A man’s silver wrist watch was fastened tightly around her finely boned wrist. She wore no rings that Gavin could see. Her dress was faded from washing. Streaked with strands of gray, her chestnut hair was caught into a bun wound tight at the back of her head. A few stray tendrils danced around her ears. Gavin tried to determine her age, but was unable too. Her face was smooth; no lines marred the luminous skin. Her hazel eyes sparkled. In a whisper, Gavin introduced himself. “I’m Gavin Leonard.” A tug on his sleeve reminded Gavin that they were not alone.

A small voiced wanted to know, “Mister, will you play ball with me after supper? I got a new football for my birthday, but I don’t now how to throw it right.”

Gavin was reminded of the smaller boys he had seen in the foster homes. Boys that had never had an older brother or a father figure in their lives to teach them the basics. “Clark, I will do my best to get there. I won’t promise because I won’t make a promise I might not be able to keep. But, if I do get there I will show you how to throw a football.” Gavin said his goodbyes and made his escape.
When Gavin arrived at his apartment, he began to feel badly about lying to Florida and Clark. He had no other commitments for that day. No other commitments other than the one to himself and the stories he was writing. He sat down at his desk and began making notes about his morning and the service. Deciding that he would eat super with them, he kept n eye on the time. He didn’t want to be late.

He realized that he had learned nothing more about Pastor Howard Goodman now than he knew when he spoke with him on the phone. In that conversation Goodman had told him he wanted to purchase life insurance to provide for the Korean girl he was adopting from an orphanage overseas. He intended to marry the girl once she turned eighteen. He had gone on to explain that after being married six times he wanted a wife that would obey and the only way to be sure of that was to train one to his liking.

Expecting the Pastor to be at the picnic supper, he read over the notes he had made from Modern Christian Morality and Foreign Adoption Network. He wanted to be prepared when and if an opportunity arose to speak with the man. After skimming his notes he changed into jeans and a sweatshirt that would withstand roughhousing with a six- year old boy. He opened a new pocket sized note book and selected a couple of good pens. After a moment of he added a second notebook to his pocket, Clark might want a notebook of his own.

Gavin stopped by the corner grocery on his way to the park. It had been a long time since he had been invited to or even attended a church picnic. The best he could remember was that his foster mother always had a Lemon Bundt cake under a plastic domed. She always asked him to carry it for her. In the bakery department he had many cake choices, none of them a Lemon Bundt cake. Finally he could an orange cream pound cake that looked like it would do. It was on a cardboard circle wrapped in plastic. Gavin didn’t feel quite right about taking the cake to the picnic looking like it had just come from the store.

A few aisles over he found a plastic cake carrier much like the ones he remembered from picnic past. After paying for the cake and the cake carrier he asked the lady in the Bakery to please put the cake in the carrier. While he was waiting for her to do that he noticed a stand of fresh flowers. They were not fancy florist arranged flowers, but they were cheerful. Cindy would have thrown them in the trash, but Florida would appreciate them. Impulsively he bought a bouquet.

At the park he looked for a large group of people, expecting that the picnic would include most if not all of the people who had been at the morning service. Finally, he spotted Clark leaned against a tree near on of the picnic shelters. A shiny football tucked under on arm. He was kicking the dirt with the toe of a scuffed sneaker. Gavin walked over to him. “Hey champ, am I too late for supper?” he asked.

Clark looked up and let out a whoop! “You came, you came! I told her you would come.” Clark was bouncing round like a rubber ball in his excitement. “Mom I told you he would be here. See, Look here he is!” Clark grabbed Gavin’s free hand and pulled him over to the table where Florida was laying out a small picnic.

Gavin handed her the cake carrier, apologetically. “It’s not homemade but I hope its okay? I wanted Lemon but this was all I could find.”

Florida took the carrier from him with a shy smile. “You shouldn’t have. We invited you, and I am sure this will be just fine. Thank you, Mr.….”

“Just call me Gavin. Everyone else does.” he answered.

“Gavin is an unusual name, sounds so strong. What does it mean?” She asked.

“It’s Gaelic, from Gwalch meaning Hawk and Maedd meaning battle. Some say it is derived from Gawain as in Sir Gawain, one of the Knights of King Arthur’s Round Table.” Gavin shrugged and looked away as though searching for something. “I was named by social workers from DFACS. I was left in a shopping cart at Leonard’s Five and Dime. The social worker thought that I had a future as a leader so he named me after the Knight and the store in which I was found. Gavin Leonard.”

In an effort to change the subject, Gavin asked about her name. “Florida is an unusual name for a person.”

“My mama wanted to go to Florida when she grew up, where there is always sunshine and beaches. Instead she had me. She named me Florida. I guess she had a sense of humor. When I was five she ran off with a truck driver and moved to Florida.”

“That must have been hard for you?” Gavin asked. “Having your mama just run off and leave?”

“I might have been, but Daddy was a good sport.” She laughed.

“He said it meant that we could interview a new mama, that I could help pick. What he really meant was that he could have a different woman every night if he wanted. And he wanted.”

“Didn’t that upset you?” Gavin asked.

“I learned not to let him know if it did. I finally moved out when I was sixteen. Clark was born a year later. He is the best thing to ever happen in my life.”

“What about his daddy?”

“His daddy was dead before he was born.”

“It must be awful rough being a single mom? Do you have any help?”

“My father tries to help when he can, but he was never much on parenting. Still we see him 2-3 times a week. He lets Clark usher on Sundays and makes sure he has clothes and shoes and things like that. He gave him the football for his birthday last month. He just never has time to play with him.”

“I had promised to play ball with him this afternoon.” Gavin watched the young boy throwing the ball in the air, trying to catch it with out much success. “When will the others be here?” Gavin wanted diversion from the conversation with Florida, which was becoming very personal, too personal for his comfort. “Why don’t I go toss the ball with Clark until the others arrive?”

Not wanting to answer his question, Florida stood there biting her lower lip. Finally she answered him. “Clark and I do this every Sunday after church. Sometimes Daddy meets us. He said he would today, but might be late. We can start without him if you’re hungry.”

This caught Gavin off guard. He had anticipated the protection of a group of people. Instead he was faced with an intimate family picnic. His only hope for salvation lay with the impending arrival of Florida’s father. If his luck was good, it would be Howard Goodman. He was too nervous to ponder how a man whom only a few short hours ago had him quaking in his Sunday best was now the one person he wanted to see the most. Instead he tried once more to change the direction of the conversation.

“So, you father is the preacher?” he asked.

“Yes, he is the preacher.” she replied.

“Must have been hard growing up, being a preacher’s daughter and all.”

“Being the preacher’s daughter was easy. Being his daughter was much harder.”

Their conversation was cut short by Clark’s sudden bellowing as he ran toward the parking lot. “Grandpa! Grandpa!” The next few minutes were spent with introductions. Howard Goodman in person was a commanding as he was behind the pulpit. Again he did not resemble the man Gavin had spoken with over the phone. Soon, everyone was seated with heaping plates of fried chicken and potato salad in front of them. The only conversation involved requests for napkins, salt and pepper. Only after the last chicken bone had been sucked dry and the final remnants of potato salad had been mopped up with diner rolls, did the Preacher seem inclined to talk.

Goodman started the conversation by tossing an envelope on the table in front of his daughter. “Looks like the people at Immigration are questioning Sun Li’s age. It seems that her birth certificate is bogus. The adoption can’t go through. Fellow by the name of Brown stopped by and dropped these off last night.”

“Daddy I told you it wasn’t a good idea. We didn’t know anything about her.” Florida busied herself with setting out plastic cutlery so that she didn’t have to look at him while she talked. “I thought her picture looked odd, like it had been touched up. I am glad that Immigration has questions too. You would have had a passel of trouble once you got her over here.”

Goodman cleared his throat and spoke in a soft voice that barely hid his irritation with Florida. “There would have been no trouble. At least she would be less trouble than getting mixed up with some money grubbing barfly.” Gavin sat quietly, taking in the conversation. Many of his questions were being answered. He knew that the polite thing would be to excuse himself and find Clark while they settled their differences. Then again, if he excused himself they might be upset when they realized how much of their conversation h had over heard. Gavin’s quandary was settled when Clark ran up to the table and announced that he was hungry enough to eat a dinosaur.

Conversation was minimal while bowls and plates were being passed between them. Clark chattered away, as little boys do when they have an indulgent audience. Florida focused on Clark and whether or not he was eating his vegetables. Pastor Goodman cleaned his plate three times before he declared himself full. He didn’t remember Gavin from that morning. Gavin choose to leave things at that. The less attention he attracted the better. He had already made up his mind that the story he had originally intended to write was not the real story. Instead the story was one about fraud in international adoptions. Pastor Howard Goodman had been duped. Given his true intentions, the entire situation was ridiculous.

Once the cake had been cut, Gavin stood up and excuse himself. Slipping away to the bathroom he made notes of what he had heard. He was propped against the wall when the door was pushed open. Half expecting the pastor, he dropped his tablet. Instead, Clark slipped in, before the door slammed shut. Picking up his tablet, Gavin walked over to the sink and busied himself at the sink. When Clark had finished, he asked Gavin if he still wanted to play football. Gavin said that he had fifteen minutes before he had to leave. This seemed to please the boy.

Outside Gavin showed him how to hold the ball and throw it using his entire body to send it soaring. Just as Gavin was checking his watch, Florida called out for Clark telling him it was time to go home. Gavin and Clark walked over to the tables, Clark’s hand dwarfed in Gavin’s. Florida had everything neatly packing into a basket. Pastor Goodman was no where to be seen.

“Where did your father go?” Gavin asked.

“He left.” Florida’s answer was short, discouraging further discussion on the topic.

“Let me carry the basket for you?” Gavin asked.

Squaring her shoulders and looking Gavin directly in the eye, Florida informed him, “I can carry the basket just fine Mr. Leonard. I hope you enjoyed your supper. Maybe we will see each other next Sunday.” With a jerk of the handle, Florida hoisted the basket with one hand and grabbed Clark’s hand with the other. She strode off not looking back. Clark kept looking over his shoulder at Gavin. He stood there under the picnic shelter and watched them go. He had no clue what had transpired between Florida and her father that could have precipitated such a sudden shift in her demeanor. Dejected, he headed to his car and drove home.

That night he was watching 60 Minutes when the doorbell rang. He was not expecting anyone. He opened the door to the pizza delivery man, who was balancing two large pizza boxes in one hand and holding a brown paper bag in the crook of the other. “I have a delivery for a Mr. Gavin Leonard. Is that you?” He asked.”

“I’m Gavin Leonard, but I didn’t order any pizza. There must be a mistake.” Gavin’s mind raced trying to remember if he had ordered it and simply forgotten. “I don’t have any money with me to pay for them.” He informed the delivery man.

“S’ already taken care of,” replied the delivery guy.

“What does that mean?” Gavin asked. “Taken care of by whom?”

“Mister I don’t know and don’t care. I just deliver the damn things; I don’t take the orders or make them,” replied the delivery guy. “Will you just take them before my arm falls off?”

As he reached out and took the boxes, Gavin saw the edge of an envelope poking out from between them. The delivery guy sat the brown paper bag on top of the boxes and walked away. Wondering what this was all about, Gavin pushed the front door closed with his foot and placed the packages on the table. The envelope was plain white, with his name scrawled across the front. The flap had been tucked rather than licked or taped. Inside the envelope was a single sheet of plain white paper with a brief note.

Gavin-
I hope you enjoy the pizza and beer. I was guessing with the pepperoni. As for the beer, since women like long stem roses; men get long neck beers. So, I sent a dozen long necks. I am looking forward to meeting you.
Until then, Lamar

He knew that Lamar was an odd duck. Now it appeared the man was trying to court him. Since he was hungry, he piled several slices on a paper plate. Settling back to watch the rest of 60 Minutes he twisted the top on a cold beer. Tomorrow would be soon enough to sort out Lamar Jackson.


- posted by Jessica Bougher @ 11:24 PM 0 comments

 
Gavin-Part 2 (Saturday)
On Saturday Gavin knew he needed to rethink what he was doing. Shaken by his experience with Chester Neat, Gavin realized he needed to be better prepared. If he had been asked which magazine he was writing for he would have had to make up something and hope he was close. As it was, Chester Neat had been so impressed that anyone would even want to interview him that he forgot all about being angry.

Throughout the entire interview process, Gavin had been petrified that Chester would remember all the times that they had crossed paths; all the times that he had treated Gavin like a miniscule pest. Gavin had not known who the fat man was. All he knew was that the man him nervous, just his sheer bulk. In the end as he was leaving, Neat had offered him several bits of advice and invited him to come by anytime and bring some of his work. He would be glad to read it and offered suggestions.
Today, the whole episode seemed like a faded science fiction thriller turned into a B Grade Movie. Settling for a breakfast of stale pop tarts and a half flat cola, Gavin spread out the lead sheet he had stolen when he had been fired. These sheets contained vital information about the many people he had spoken with over the past weeks. Some contacts had been successful and he had set appointments. Others had blown him off. Either way, these sheets were golden. He could use the information to track down people for interviews; interviews that he would sell interviews with people that would make him famous.

No longer would he be a time card punching drone subject to the whims of egotistical managers and salesmen on the down side of life. He would be recreating himself as an author, a journalist. His name would be on the tongues of every educated intellect in the world. In High School he had discovered a talent for writing and reporting. For two years he served as editor in chief of the school paper. Upon graduation he was faced with the harsh reality that college and a career in writing were not in his future.

Raised in the foster care system all his life, he was considered a success when he graduated from high school with a job and having never been arrested. Five years and three jobs later he was only able to pursue his writing as a hobby. He had been enrolled in a Mechanics apprenticeship with a local Honda dealer. The pay had been decent and the hours were fair. He hated the job. He hated the fact that his hands were constantly black with grease no matter how hard he scrubbed. He hated the infections he got in his nail beds from the grime. After eighteen months he quit. His left hand had been smashed when a chain broke on an engine hoist, pinning his hand against the firewall of the engine compartment. Two surgeries later Gavin decided he wanted to do something else with his life.

A High School friend got him a job with a hospital cleaning crew. They cleaned medical equipment at night. At first the endless parade of bedside commodes, walkers and wheelchairs didn’t bother him. Occasionally he would be asked to help out with minor repairs. He knew that what he was doing made a difference to the people who used these items. The other guys on the crew were friendly. He worked there for two years. One night the head of security showed up with the supervisor. Someone on the crew had been selling drugs on the job. They wanted to know whom. Gavin had no clue and told them that. Later the entire crew was reassigned to other parts of the hospital. Gavin was sent to the laundry. Two days later he quit.

He ended up setting appointments for the insurance agent as a favor for the man. They often ate dinner at Rose’s Diner. Frank often complained about not having enough time to set the appointments and keep them. He was not having any luck with the ad he placed in the paper. The person would have to work from their home and needed a fax machine and computer with Internet connections. Gavin offered to help out until he either found a new job or Frank found someone to take over the calls.

Three days ago Frank had fired him. He told him that he needed more appointments than he was getting. Pointing out the fact that Gavin was taking off without notice and wasting prime cal time; Frank suggested that Gavin was burned out and needed to find something else. Angry, He had tossed books and folders into a garbage bag and left them on Frank’s doorstep. He kept all the lead sheets. They were the lifeblood on any sales agent and he knew that Frank would have a devil of a time without them. Now those very sheets would jumpstart Gavin into a new career.

After sifting through the sheets Gavin had selected several he felt would offer the most with which to work. People are quirky by nature, and some were more than others. He knew that people who believed they had nothing to hide loved to talk about themselves. Over the phone people shared intimate details of their lives with no idea to which they were talking. He had already made a connection with them over the phone, why couldn’t he do the same in person?

Realistically, Gavin knew that most of these people were not people he wanted for friends or neighbors. Still, they were interesting people, with interesting lives, hobbies and dreams. If he could interview them in person he could learn more. By appealing to their vanity and the innate human desire for recognition, maybe they would let him into their worlds and their lives. All he had to do is find something that would push the right buttons and excite them about talking to him.

Making quick notes about the people that he wanted to interview he headed to the library. He needed to know as much as he could before he approached them. At the library he decided to start with the periodicals. Pulling out his list he selected two magazines on each topic.

For Chastity Monroe, he selected Cooking Today and Creative Cuisine. Lamar Jackson was a locomotive engineer who kept asking Gavin to call back in a few days when his schedule had been posted. Gavin knew that Lamar’s route was Atlanta to Asheville. He selected North Georgia Today and Rapid Rails for him. For Pastor Howard Goodman he selected Modern Christian Morality and Foreign Adoption Network. The pastor’s intent to marry the girl he was adopting definitely placed him in the category of so weird it has to be real.

He selected Great Mexican Getaways and Stunt Woman Weekly for school bus driver Lulu Carter. Her desire for a more exciting career as a stunt driver combined with her hatred for her current job combined with the threat of taking the whole busload of kids left Gavin with chills. The final person on his list made the whole idea seem like a carnival freak show. Chester Neat claimed to weigh 480lbs. Gavin knew that the man was morbidly obese and that there was not a life insurance policy anywhere on earth that would cover him. Still he had completed the interview, curious as to what a person that large did with themselves. As it turned out, Mr. Neat was an artist; more specifically he was a painter. Somehow that sounded reasonable. The only question was what did the man paint? Gavin was dying to find out. To get into the mind of Chester Neat, he selected Modern Art and Museum Art.



- posted by Jessica Bougher @ 11:22 PM 0 comments

 
Gavin- Part 1 (Friday)
Just as Gavin was about to give up and go home he saw the man. Problem was the man saw him too! In the seconds that followed, every bad moment of the past week flashed before his eyes; the fat man in Wal-Mart, the perverted locomotive engineer, getting fired and the waitress in the diner, Cindy laughing in his face when he asked her out. Individually those were not the best moments in his life. Together they were the stuff nightmares were built upon.

Concentrating on his work had been difficult, so he took the afternoon off. He went to Wal-Mart with a list. After collecting his items, he took his time deciding which cashier he wanted to visit that day. He was looking for a particular cashier, a woman named Chastity Monroe. He had spoken to her the day before. He had been half-heartedly dialing, trying to fill the last fifteen minutes of his day. She had been his fourth call. Out of breath she had been more than willing to make an appointment with the salesman for whom he worked. She was pleasantly talkative, and before he realized it, they had been chatting for over an hour. Gavin was always amazed at how much some people would reveal about themselves, especially to an anonymous voice on the telephone. He didn’t mind that really, sometimes they were quite entertaining. Chastity Monroe was no exception. She aspired to be a cookbook author and had been developing her own unique recipes for several years. They were all adaptations of popular dishes, the difference being she substituted canned cat food for the meat. He had though that she was cooking for a cat. She assured him that the dishes were intended for humans. While the concept intrigued Gavin, it did nothing for his appetite.

The man in question was wearing a large tropical print muumuu dress. He snatched the camera from Gavin’s hands and snapped off the lens. He hurled it through the window of the diner. Gavin tried to run but the camera strap was still around his neck and Chester Neat still held the camera in his clenched fist. He twisted the camera strap tight around Gavin’s neck lifting him until his feet no longer touched the ground. As Gavin gasped for air, he got a very close look at Mr. Chester Neat.

At first glance Chester Neat resembled a walrus. His head appeared to be encased in oily, sweaty rolls of fat. He was bald, stubble indicating that his baldness was entirely by choice. His ears appeared to be an after thought, an accessory designed to display the numerous large gold hoops. He sported a rather voluminous mustache that ended well be low his corpulent chin. Gavin counted at least three. The mustache and bristled head created the image of an old walrus. This old walrus was angry, demanding “What are you doing taking pictures of my neighbors? Those old ladies are extremely upset. They think you are casing the building for a robbery or a terrorist attack. They wanted me to call the police.”

Dangling in mid air while strangling made answering difficult, leaving Gavin to gesture to his shirt pocket where he had his business cards and Press Pass. Chester extricated them and looked at them. With a grunt he released his grip on Gavin allowing him to collapse on the floor. Chester settled his girth onto a chair as he perused the documents. “So you are a journalist? To what kind of journalism do you subscribe?” Chester studied Gavin with some amusement as he was still crumpled on the floor. He asked, “Perhaps we should call an ambulance for you, or would you prefer the police?” The patrons and staff of the diner had resumed their business, but were keeping an eye on the two men.

Struggling to his feet, Gavin extended his hand to Chester and introduced himself. “My name is Gavin Leonard. I am a journalist writing an article about artists in the area. I had heard about you through word of mouth around some of the local art suppliers and galleries. I had hoped to do a piece on you and your art.” After dusting himself off and adjusting his clothing he sat across from Chester. “Can I buy you a cup of coffee, maybe Danish?” he asked. Gavin struggled to maintain his composure and not appear frightened. He signaled the waitress, hoping that if he acted as though what had just happened was nothing unusual in his day, Chester would relax and he could get on with his interview.

As the waitress approached, Chester dropped the cards he had been studying. After ordering coffee and pecan pie he looked directly at Gavin. “So the world has finally decided to acknowledge The Great Chester Neat. It is about time. Which gallery clued you in to my work? No wait don’t tell me… It was the mouse at Downtown Direction. I knew he was lying when he said my work was unimaginative.” Gavin could only nod.

Once the waitress had deposited the two cups of coffee and two large slices of pie on the table the men occupied themselves with adding sugar and cream to their mugs. Finally Gavin broke the silence. “How long have you been painting?”

A spray of crumbs delivered Chester’s reply, “All of my adult life.”

Brushing bits of damp piecrust from his chin, Gavin considered his next question. “What is you favorite medium?”

“I prefer acrylics.”

“What other mediums have you tried?”

“I started with oil pastels and then tried oils. Acrylics give better definition.”

“How does you work sell? Are there any galleries that regularly show you work?”

“There is not a gallery in this state that I would allow to show my work. Their audiences have unsophisticated palates and lack the ability to appreciate my work.”

At this point Gavin asked if he could see some of Chester’s work. When Chester invited him back to his apartment to see all of his work Gavin knew that he had definitely found one of the strangest people in the city. In Chester’s apartment he was treated to a one-man art show. Chester assured him that everything he had ever painted was in the apartment. After examining a few dozen canvases Gavin was sure that in spite of his own lack of artistic taste that the world was not being deprived with the lack of Chester Neat’s work.
Gavin snapped a few dozen photos of Chester and his artwork. After scribbling a few pages of notes about Chester’s past and quest for a future as a world-renowned artist he excused himself. Claiming a prior commitment with an editor he made his escape. Once outside he hailed a taxi and headed home. He quickly added a few notes about his impressions of Mr. Neat and his apartment. At home he downloaded his photos to the computer, printing out thumbnail photos for his reference.


- posted by Jessica Bougher @ 11:19 PM 0 comments

 
About Gavin
The story of Gavin began as a writing assignment in a creatve writing class. Initially I was only trying to satisfy the requirements of the class. I ended up with a story that I wanted to tell. I knew when I turned in the story, that I was not finished. Still I allowed my story to be included in the submissions for the college literary magazine. No I didn't win. I knew that I would have little chance due to the quality of work my peers were submitting.

Now, the story has come home. I can work on it more and iron out the inconsistencies. I am excited that I can now fix the things that need to be fixed. I offer to anyone who might read this blog, the oportunity to help shape this work in progress.

I had considered posting the story as a serial work, much like Charles Dickens, Mark Twain and Stephen King. I have choosen instead, to post the story in sections. I hope you enjoy my work.

Read in good health and humor!
Jessica

- posted by Jessica Bougher @ 11:09 PM 1 comments