Wordsmith Holler

Original Pulp Fiction

Tag: water

  • Dallas 3 a.m.

    On Oct 1, I woke in Dallas at 3 a.m. before my flight back to Las Vegas. Picking the morning flight over the red eye became a battle of trying to sleep in a too soft bed with a thin pillow. I might have slept better on the overnight. I should have just stayed awake and pretended I was 20 again.

    I hit stop on the phone alarm and saw a long line of alerts. In the dark, the light of the phone let me know, “20 dead in Las Vegas. More than 200 wounded.”

    It was 1 a.m. in Vegas; it had just happened.

    For years, I feared hearing a mass shooting in my city. Too many tourists; too many opportunities. It seemed very real.

    I spent the weekend with Katie in north Texas. A fan of country, she would have been at the concert. Thankfully, she was in bed in Denton.

    Matthew tried to get tickets to the Route 91 Concert on Saturday. He texted to say he had couldn’t get tickets. That left my son Albert. My phone showed he walked into the house at 10:06 p.m.; two minutes before the mass murder.

    I sat in the dark and thought how lucky we were. None of our kids were there. Relief and then horror as an alert put the death toll over 50.

    We landed in Las Vegas after 7 a.m. Curtains flowed out of two windows at the Mandalay Bay. The Strip was closed so we took Maryland Parkway to work. It felt like the wind had taken the heart out of Las Vegas.

    A Justice tried to give blood but the line was 3 hours deep and she had to come back to hear oral arguments. She never was able to give blood.

    Albert woke up confused. He read my text, “Are you okay?” He looked out the window. A bus went by so he figured everything was okay. Then he Googled Las Vegas and saw the news. “Oh, that’s why they texted.”

    He went out and bought six cases of water to take to the first responders. It seemed like all he could do. He talked to a few of them. Everyone was feeling grief. Not too many people wanted to talk about what had happened.

    He kept pausing the news to ask us questions. “Why did he do it?” “I can’t believe he did it.” “Do you think he cared?”

    I didn’t know what to say. I had the same questions.

    I donated some money to the Vegas Shooting Fund. By the end of the week, it totaled more than $10 million.

    Most of the victims were from California. Of my friends, at least 12 knew somebody shot or killed. A large number of people were from my hometown of Bishop. One little town of 4,000 people and so many people were at the concert.

    Las Vegas gets a bad reputation as a place no one calls home. Nearly 50 million people visit every year.

    But on the first day, United Blood Services collected more than 600 pints of blood; they are lucky to collect 100 pints a day. As people stood in line, businesses brought sandwiches, water, pizza, cake, umbrellas, and chairs. Everyone wanted to help. Our community showed through.

    By the end of the week, you could find #VegasStrong on most of social media accounts and billboards around the city.

    The mass murder stung us. But it didn’t stop us from being people who care.

    I’m still numb to the whole event. I would give anything to wake up in Dallas at 3 a.m. to see nothing on my phone.

     

     

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  • March 15, 2017 Scribble

    I spent twenty minutes holding my head to the right as a doctor went in again for my fourth thyroid biopsy. “Boy this is really deep,” he said. “Yep, maybe you’ll be the guy,” I said. It is clear with have a nodule or two. We don’t clearly know if it is cancer. “At least if it is cancer, this is the best one to get,” said my endocrinologist. “It takes so long to grow.” Comforting. While other writers are busy taking people to other places, I’m in an endless loop of out-patient surgery. No, you would not be interested in the waiting, prodding, and sore neck. It doesn’t jump off as one of those stories you want to hear.

    ***

    Hemingway said, “There is nothing to writing. All you do is sit down at a typewriter and bleed.” True. Sometimes you just have to write it out and hope something sticks. Then let it fall to the floor. In Hemingway & Gellhorn  he says,” Never crumple pages. Always let them float gently into the basket. Any writer who rips out his stuff and crumples it will go insane in a year, guaranteed.” I like the idea of floating paper to the trash. I would float this to the trash, but it’s a huge monitor.

    ***

    It turns out nobody reads this blog. (more…)

    Read more: March 15, 2017 Scribble
  • The Endocrine System

    The Endocrine System

     

    A Conversation

    “Are you drinking enough water?”

    “I think so.”

    “It’s getting hotter and you need to be hydrated.”

    “I went to the bathroom three times tonight.”

    “You’re diabetic. That’s a sure sign.”

    “I don’t suppose four glasses of water had anything to do with it.”

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  • March 2, 2017 Scribble

    You can read this if you wish although it consists of thoughts and fragments as I attempt to free write 750 words every day. Some of this may end up in a Story or a Conversation. Anyway, this is how one learn and shapes up The Craft.

    According to my new writing goal, I am supposed to just write down whatever comes to my head and finish up in 750 words. The whole thing sounds a bit of a waste of time, frankly. I don’t have the luxury of writing nothing; there is so much more to write and get done.

    Yet, here I am just writing. And counting time.

    (more…)

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  • A Moment of Pure Truth

    A Moment of Pure Truth

    Christopher stood over the maze of workday and eyed the ocean. A thin fog cloud floated passed his perch on the 45th floor. On the docks, sea lions barked at tourists. East Bay traffic sought a faster path, ships hauled electronics in and almonds out, and the blood-red sun sunk into late afternoon north of the Golden Gate.

    In the conference room, five people sat in executive chairs around a table. Their faces reflected gloomy sullenness. They might as well said they intended two more hours of arguing and defensiveness. He crushed out his cigarette and flicked it into the wastebasket.

    A nervous man hunched from a camera with a stenographer perched to the side wearing a mask. Christopher thought he could use oxygen too. While the inventor told his story, the woman repeated what he said.

    “Does she have to do that?”
    “We need an accurate transcription,” said an attorney seated at the end.
    “Isn’t the video enough?”
    “I want to read it tonight.”

    Christopher rocked forward. He ran his right hand through his hair and looked over at the inventor. “Forget the transcriber, Mr. Wells. The quicker you answer, the faster we can get out of here.”

    The nervous man explained his one-of-a-kind process. It required this and that and one thing or the other. It mattered little to those at the settlement conference. The questions rolled, and the answers landed in a flat dud. Each person rubbed their eyes and wished for sleep.

    Christopher turned to the window daydreaming of places far from this evening. He watched the sun drop into the sea until the dying light filled the room.

    ~

    Five hours over the vermilion bridge, he opened the fabric roof. Clammers walked along the beach carrying clam guns and pails. They laughed in the ocean air. Christopher breathed deep taking in warm relief. The surf sweet. Sentries of redwoods stood on the cliff and a lone tree marched out to the shore. He longed to join its rush to the sea. Away from him, he picked up the faint smell of skunk. Humboldt County Fog, he guessed. A guy in a beanie and a girl in a flannel shirt smiled and waved.

    Christopher touched the solid dash. It was real, although, he still wore his virgin wool dress pants. He closed his eyes for a moment and opened them quick. A pair of 501’s replaced his wool pants. He looked in the mirror and dark sunglasses reflected his face. He settled into the car seat steering the wheel from the sand.

    The redwoods rose above the ocean. Ferns and grass bunched up crowding the road. The path intruded on the stillness giving way to silence. Sentries of trees towered until only darkness touched the sky. Christopher came to seek solace, and the forest ignored him.

    He slowed the car into a clearing. The tires crunched over cones, broken branches, and fronds. A hard thump echoed from the closing door. He regretted disrupting the surrounding cathedral.

    Christopher wandered over fallen timbers and rocks. Over a ridge he scanned for the forest tops watching the breeze sway each branch. The woods reached a a prominence beyond his imagination. He leaned against a trunk rounder than his stature. He followed the ridges and cliffs of bark as high as he could see. It never ended. Christopher guessed this tree stood stories tall long before his great-grandfather arrived in California.

    The width of the tree circled around and Christopher stepped over ferns as he rounded it. A black ant carried a golden speck of pollen at the end of a mile long trek. It rushed to disappear under the surface of leaves going deep into the humus. Christopher looked and failed to see the clearing’s starting point.

    A beam of light surrounded a smaller tree with a pathway from the sky. Dust and insects crisscrossed the dancing light. Christopher stood in awe breathing in the serenity.

    Christopher walked away from the big tree to stand under the light shaft. The illuminated tree as stood tall as the last one. This one though had the purest white branches. His shoulders shuddered, and every tree stepped back with appreciation and respect. He reached up stroking an albino cone of pure whiteness. Then a subtle spark passed through his hand twinkling in the light. Christopher rubbed together his fingers relishing the soft white powder. A jolt of energy flashed from the tips and floated to his core. He felt alive and full of wisdom.

    The light illuminating the ghost tree shown brighter, and he stood alone looking up. In the light glow, Christopher’s face expressed joy.

    ~

    “Is that what a nervous breakdown looks like?” asked Mr. Wells.

    Christopher jumped back from the table. The room became larger and the crowd surrounding him snapped to attention. The transcriber braced Christopher’s back as he sank into a chair confused. Everyone stared. A hand pushed him a glass, and he sipped the water allowing himself to return to the meeting.

    Christopher surveyed the balcony. Stars touched the rooftops of the city and a helicopter searched the bay. He pondered the outside while the others waited for him to say he was okay. Christopher cleared his throat and everyone turned to him.

    “Answers come at the strangest times,” he said.
    “How do you mean?” Mr. Wells asked.
    “All this means nothing. None of you should win.”
    “But we are so close.”
    “A settlement over a slight?”

    Christopher pushed himself from the table. He stood for a moment before the people seated opposite him. He nodded, smiled, and looked up. They followed his gaze to the ceiling tiles where his answer revealed itself to him but no one else. The others in the room only recognized a crisscross pattern.

    As they tried to understand the truth, Christopher gathered up his papers, turned away, and walked out the door.

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  • The Smell of Sage and Iron

    The Smell of Sage and Iron

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    The day-long truck ride started out as an adventure, then a journey, and after the third basin and range, it became a challenge to overcome boredom.

    Victor rolled down the window. He stuck his head out far enough for the wind to buffet his face. The blowing wind helped. He shuck off the grog and blinked a few times. The cool air made his face numb but the inside air made him sleepy.

    He reached back in and the heat hit again. He looked at the thermometer. Still more than 96 degrees. Was that inside or out? It didn’t matter. It was still hot.

    Not a car passed in two hours. The desert highway lived up to its name as the loneliest road and looking east across the playa, Victor saw the heat waves rising off the sand. Blue and green forms rose in a dance hypnotic and he ran too close to the edge. He pulled back with a sharp turn. Another mistake would either leave him awake or dead.

    He reached over for some water. The bottle felt light and only a sip remained. He took it, yet the little wetness only made him thirstier. He reached behind him for another bottle. Finding none, he licked the bottom of his front teeth and wet his tongue.

    To the west a few white clouds formed over the range. The sunlight made them transparent while dark patches below followed the clouds. In the shadows, the creosote and sage took on a dark shade of green and south of these white puffy clouds, a dark cloud filled the sky. The white clouds were rushing to join the darkness.

    Below the dark cloud, Victor saw mist and lines drifting down to the valley floor. Then a flash of light. And another. Lightening mixed with rain. He waited for the reply. Thunder sounded eight seconds after the flash so the rain fell eight miles away.

    He thought about the water. Refreshing and wet. Cold and dark; he longed to drink it.

    He punched his foot on the accelerator. The truck jumped and rushed forward. The wind blew faster beside the window.

    He stuck his head out again and a smell of dried wildflowers and iron filled his nose. The wind telegraphed the rain and brought a few drops to the pavement. They dropped and evaporated.

    In an instant, large drops fell on the windshield. A slow splat of drops hit in front of him and to the side. Each drop the size of silver dollars. A few more rain drops fell and then a torrent of rain.

    Victor let the water hit his face. The dust on his hair turned to mud and flowed past his forehead. He stuck his tongue out to catch a few drops.

    Thunder shook the truck. A flash of light and the rain started falling faster. Water drops filled the cab. Victor rolled up the window. He turned on the wipers. They failed to keep up with the falling water.

    A small road dipped down into the culvert and Victor slowed down to pull over. Off the road, he sat in the cab and watched the water hit the hood. It rippled down the side of the truck and pooled around him.

    He found a napkin and wiped down the door. The steering wheel was sticky. He tried wiping it off. The paper stuck to the wheel and tore off into strips. He tossed the waded paper onto the floor.

    The rain started to let up. Victor rolled down the window. He took a deep breathe of the smell of rain, mud and sage. A flash of light and thunder rocked the truck. He sat beside the road and looked as the sunlight flickered through the rain.

    Steam rose up off the pavement. Victor opened the door and walked to the back of the truck. A small puddle formed in the gravel. He pushed his boot toe through the water and it flowed off into the culvert.

    Victor reached into the bed for a used beer can. He shook it. Water sloshed back and forth in the bottom. Victor brought the can up and drank the water.

    The can smelled of rain and sage. He thought about the length of the journey. A smile turned up his lips and he walked back to the cab. With the rain, the trip became an adventure again.

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  • Make The Rain. Stop.

    Make The Rain. Stop.

    Years ago in the American southwest, there was an apprentice rainmaker. He learned everything he could from his mentor, a Great Chief, who could taste the wind, read the sky, and cause it to rain in the very spot he picked.

    This Great Chief was known throughout the four corners for his rainmaking and he was often called upon by farmers and ranchers when their crops or their cattle were suffering. They would send a messenger or a telegram and the Great Chief would make it rain.

    The apprentice took note of everything his mentor would do. He tasted the sky. He stared up at the clouds. And he watched as the Great Chief honored the four winds and paid tribute to the spirits.

    One day after all of the long study and practice he believed he was ready to make his own rain.

    (more…)

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