"Lilac Time" - Day 563: 5 Minute Freewrite: Monday - Prompt: desperate
Desperate
was the last thing he wanted to look like, but Prom was two weeks away. Everet was a senior, and "We May Never Pass This Way Again" was this year's Prom theme, and he had missed every other Homecoming dance and dating ritual over the past four years.
"Hey. Outta the way, Mount Everest."
The cheerleaders were striding in pairs side by side down the hallway, and with him in the middle, they'd have to split up to walk around him, spoiling their daily march. Today he was not moving aside for them. Today he was already on the verge of despair, and a little nudge to send him over the edge would leave him none the worse for wear.
"Fluckwad," Gina the head cheerleader muttered, only she didn't say fluck.
She did her best to jolt him and the big-ass school-issued camera hanging around his neck, but her hundred-pound nudge didn't budge his six-foot-six, 250 pound mass.
He'd probably never find a tux his size anyway, so why was he thinking Prom?
And what were the cheerleaders doing in school at half past six in the morning? He'd come to get some classic April-morning shots for the school yearbook. Redbuds, magnolias, tulips, rich golden light slanting over the tree-lined pathways, the first wave of students heading into zero-hour classes, might provide him portfolio-worthy photos.
The cheerleaders snaked past him with drama-queen displays of wincing and cringing. Everet didn't move even after the guantlet of girls had passed. He stood transfixed by the light streaming in through old wooden doors with glass window panes. A photo cliche, but with the right subject in that lighting, a great photo with his name on the byline in the yearbook.
A rounded silhouette appeared at the door, then another, and another. Not the photo he had in mind. Too late, anyway, even if he saw something there. Four plus-size girls were hustling toward the Home-Ec room and gone before he could even focus the camera.
What the heck. Might as well see what they were up to.
Bartlett High was one of those last-century schools that still offered shop class, sewing, and cooking, but totally 21st Century about letting boys take Home-Ec and girls try sawing, hammering, and wielding in Industrial Arts. He had recognized one of the girls from shop class.
From behind a closed door he could hear music and laughter and the peculiar melody of girls' voices. Somehow it reminded him that he was dateless. Not desperate! But dateless.
He jumped back as the door handle turned, and Shayla Jones stopped short. Then again, at five-ten she probably never stopped "short," just short of crashing into him. Her gray-blue eyes widened and her rosy lips turned into an "O" of surprise. Behind her, large girls in fancy dresses zipped each other's zippers or buttoned buttons and inspected each other, some with safety pins, some with chalk pencils.
"What do you want?" Shayla said.
"A date for Prom,"
Everet said without a moment's hesitation or a milligram of common sense. He grasped the camera strap. "But I'd settle for some candid shots of Home-Ec girls trying on their lovely hand-sewn dresses."
Desperate. Oh, yeah. He was desperate now, back-pedaling, spinning his wheels, trying to save face. This was why four years of high school were about to end without him experiencing the essentials, like stolen kisses by the locker doors or slow dances.
Worse, he was short of breath and on the verge of a heart attack. None of their dresses looked like tents. They were form-fitting in the right places. He knew nothing about the fabric other than that it fell in soft, shiny folds, the kind that caught the light and fed a photographer's dreams. These would be great in black and white or color, and all were the dresses were coordinating shades of lilac or violet.
Shayla. Why hadn't he gotten to know her, or any girl like her, until the last month of school? She was all curves, sexier and more voluptuous than any of those cheerleaders, and he didn't dare say so. Oh no. Not with #MeToo and harassment suits a mere blink of an eye away. He would avert his eyes and keep his mouth shut.
source: nafdress.com
"Ladies," Layla called out. "How would you like to be featured in the yearbook for our Lilac Time project?"
The girls responded with a tepid medley of ok, sure, yeah, and why not.
Everet started focusing his camera, zooming in on pins and needles, not just his but the literal pins that the girls were using now with tucks and finishing touches on dresses that looked "better than anything sold in the stores," Shayla explained while he worked. "I defy you to find a decent looking dress, much less a dazzling formal gown, in a plus size," she said. "Like, large women never need to attend weddings or dances? Stores don’t offer many plus-size options. And size 16 or 18 is considered huge."
source: African Wedding Guest Dress Gowns for Maid of Honor
"As a size huge myself, I can relate to that," he said. "In your case, being a plus is literally a plus."
Oh God no, he didn't really say that out loud did he? Nobody was glaring at him. Not like those cheerleaders, those mean little thin bitches acting better than everyone else. He himself was guilty of not noticing the "lesser" girls who were actually so much more, in so many ways. And here he stood acting like a moron.
"What I meant to say," he floundered, "is that you all look great. I'd love to get you in the yearbook. Maybe even with a quote or two on society, and sizes, and all that. I'm not the editor, but.--"
I'd love to get you in.... the yearbook. Oh God, this was why he had never had a date in four years of school.
The girls, however, did that nodding and eye shifting thing girls do, and Liz said, "Totally. Let's do it."
Let's do it. Now she was killing him with the word choices.
'Why the Lilac Project?" he asked.
"Lilac Time." Shayla called up a song on the portable tube-speaker. "Nick Drake," she said over the opening chords. "River Man." She hit pause when he came to the line, "Going to see the river man, Going to tell him all I can, About the plan for lilac time."
"What's it mean?"
Everet felt dumb for asking, but he also felt haunted, and she seemed to know something. Like the River Man. Shayla had a plan and she called it Lilac Time and she had three friends who got it, and he wanted to "get it," too.
Shayla shrugged. "I dunno, but Nicole Drake sounds like Nick Drake. He died young of a drug overdose. And Nicole... you know."
Nicole Drake. Anorexia. Age sixteen, beautiful, but somehow convinced she couldn't get thin enough. Everet couldn't even begin to fathom the thought processes, the unbelievably wrong image of your own self.
"I could never find the willpower to stop eating, "Everet said. "But even if I were skinny, I'd still face almost as much trouble as you do finding clothes my size."
Shayla replayed "River Man," and knowing Nick Drake was dead made the song all the more haunting. Everet was not the type to cry. Like, ever. But Nicole Drake's funeral and her thin, frail body came to mind. He pushed it down and hid his eyes behind the camera lens and busied his hands writing some notes.
He jumped at the first bell signaling the end of zero hour. "So," he dared to say. "Are all of you spoken for, for Prom?"
Shayla traded glances with Amy, Liz, and Jerica. "Well, we plan to go as a quadrumvirate."
He must have looked like a dolt. "Foursome," she added. "You know, a group of four." The girls traded more glances, giggled, shrugged, and seemed to arrive at some decision via mind-reading. "If you let us help you accessorize, we might ask you to walk the Grand March with us. And the group photo thing that parents demand. We already have reservations at Biaggi's, but if they can find room for a kid known as Mount Everest, we'd let you join us."
Everet had to think. Was this some kind of joke? What was the punchline to show he wasn't falling for it?
And what was his world coming to when four "fat" girls acted like they would be doing him a big favor "letting" him take them out for dinner? It was coming to a good place, that's what. A place he should have visited long ago. Four girls, one for each of the Homecoming dances he'd missed Freshman, Sophomore, Junior, and Senior year, all rolled into one date night for his one and only and final Prom. Were they serious, though? They didn't seem like the popular girls who were so good at acting, setting you up for a fall, and laughing when you hit bottom.
"I'm told I look good in lilac," he lied. There. Safe answer. RIght?
"Then let's get you measured you for a shirt," Shayla said. "Lucky for you, I'm quick, and I'm good."
His face must have turned as red-hot as it felt. The girls giggled. Shayla added, "At sewing!"
Everet felt more than lucky--more like extraordinarily blessed!--for the first time in four years.
source:Valeria Boltneva at pexels.com
Day 563: 5 Minute Freewrite: Monday - Prompt: desperate
@freewritehouse is currently running the...
Grow-the-Freewrite-House Campaign
*and there are rumours of a radio show with @theycallmedan floating around too ;)
So be sure to keep an eye on their page feed for updates on that...*
Check Out The @FreeWriteHouse Prompt Of The Day By @MarianneWest
Join us on Twitter to spread the word about Steem https://twitter.com/FreewriteHouse
Lololol, I can completely relate.
Which is why, when Marek says my stuff is "ready for publication," my usual response is to laugh. ;-)
Posted using Partiko Android
Coming from you, that' reassuring - your comments alone are polished, professional, readable, memorable, enlightening little gems that you once told me you WILL save up in a big document in case of -- whatever happened to your other writings that were lost. A periodical going out of print, like Perihelion Science Fiction ezine going down (no new issue in more than a year; our editor never fully recovered from two E.R. visits, near-death, and long periods of rehab).
Yeah, human frailty is a whole 'nother issue, as I'm currently being reminded.
Somewhere, along the course of our long weekend in Florida, I've managed to wrench my right shoulder, which is far more painful than usual. Gah.
Posted using Partiko Android
I hope it isn't a rotator cuff injury - those take forever to heal. But you know so many herbal remedies for inflammation and all. Which reminds me. Now that I've dug up hundreds of tiger lillies, I should figure out what's edible before composting them.
https://honest-food.net/dining-on-daylilies/
Yeah, I went to my reflexologist last night, and while he couldn't do much for me yet, he did give me a couple of motions that have already helped.
I have a close friend who is still recovering from rotator cuff surgery a couple of years ago, but we were at least able to eliminate that possibility, as I still have good range of motion while my arm is being manipulated. So it's basically just a matter of time.
He did advise me to take turmeric and magnesium, which seems to have helped, and as long as I keep moving it gently, it isn't stiffening to the point of immobility, which is what happened last night.
Oh, what fun it isn't. And I have to figure out a way to isolate our turkey poults, to keep them from being able to get out of the enclosure, which will be fun one-armed.
Ah well, if any neighbors are watching, at least it should be entertaining. ;-)
Posted using Partiko Android
Ever try tiger balm? No connection to the lily. I'm sorry you're in pain but glad you can laugh about it - you *** have to figure out a way to isolate our turkey poults, to keep them from being able to get out of the enclosure, which will be fun one-armed. Ah well, if any neighbors are watching, at least it should be entertaining. ;-)*** #loveit!
Part of what stank to high heaven is that he was found hanging by his own belt, which is a neat trick, since belts are automatically taken from prisoners prior to being booked into a jail cell. If I'm not mistaken, that's California state law
I've always questioned whether his death was a suicide. I knew him pretty well, and I never saw even a hint of depression, or even instability. He was one of those guys that had his own innate moral compass, which drew others to him, and he was a smart and funny guy.
That said, I can't honestly say that it wasn't suicide, as I have no way of knowing. But it felt wrong from the start. It never felt true.
As David said to Claire, in an episode of Six Feet Under, "If you really think you can know another person, you're dreaming. "
I have no way of knowing. But it felt wrong from the start. It never felt true. Well said, my friend. I hear you. I hate this story - hate it! - and so many like it. But I just read about musician Sam Baker, who survived a terrrist attack. "Unlike many people who suffer extreme trauma," he remembers the lurid details. Adults and children "died in the most terrible manner. I'll never forget it." But in spite of all the dark stuff in our world, "what keeps me going is all the great stuff I see," he said. "I see people helping each other. We need to look at the positive, because doubt is a disease that will take its toll." Interview by Ed Condran. Opens with a Helen Keller quote: Although the world is full of suffering, it is also full of the overcoming of it.
I don't believe your friend's father somehow got hold of his belt (just saw this in an episode of The Good Wife, a lawyer show) and killed himself. Someone did him in, but who, and why, and we will likely never know....Find a positive! Look, good things are happening somewhere!
Rob Reid at YouTube on Sam Baker:
"We all have suffered pain, sorrow, grief, loss, regret -- we all have broken fingers. It is the way of life. But Sam affirms and confirms that we can make beautiful, tender music, not despite our broken fingers, but because our fingers are broken."
I agree, it's easy to be overwhelmed by the negativity, cruelty and outright stupidity of what we see around us, but it takes guts and moral courage to choose to be inspired by the good in the world.
And there is a lot of good, if we simply open our eyes and hearts.
One of my inspirations has always been Viktor Frankl, who despite being tortured in Auschwitz, chose to view his captors with compassion, as he describes in his book, "Man's Search for Meaning."
He understood at a visceral level that they felt that they had no choice but to follow orders, which to him meant that they had far less freedom than he did, despite his captivity. He still had the freedom of his own mind, and of thought.
For a man who was forcibly castrated, without anesthesia or any follow-up care, to remain so compassionate regarding his captors, remains among the most inspiring things I've ever read.
I see kindness and compassion wherever I go. When I am out and about, I have my door opened for me a high percentage of the time, and the majority of people I speak with are friendly and pleasant.
This is one of the reasons I got rid of Cable TV in 2006, rarely read the paper, and even more rarely watch the news. Why take in all that programming and misinformation?
There was a book that came out in the 1990s, about television news shows, entitled "The More You Watch, The Less You Know."
That about covers it.
Posted using Partiko Android
Ohhhhh wow - another keeper of a comment on a Steemit post. You do need to collect and anthologize these. This is choice most of us do not consciously make: it takes guts and moral courage to choose to be inspired by the good in the world.
I've read Viktor Frankl but not the part about being castrated without anesthesia or follow up care. (How does anyone survive the blood loss and risk of infection on top of everything else!)
Interesting perspective on who was more free.
I see kindness and compassion wherever I go.
I can hear the poet in you. That line is powerful and has a rhythm that should help people make it their mantra. And I love your closing comment about the news. My husband watches documentaries on WWII, the Holocaust, all kinds of military battles, and it is SO DEPRESSING to me. I keep watching because he is right in that we need to remember. To look at how these things came about. We need to know. Understand (or try to). And remember. I could go on and on but it's time for the first coffee of the morning. Thanks again Cori for reading and sharing your thoughts!
I do still watch occasional documentaries, and read articles about WWII and other military activities, but far less frequently, and I temper them with more positive material.
Why put myself through that, without giving myself the care of something happier to follow?
That said, I'm actually more interested in earlier historic events, so I'm more likely to watch something about the Boer War or the American Revolution, which isn't quite so close to home.
Pretty much every male of age in my family took part in WWII, and we're lucky as heck not to have lost any of them.
And Marek's family went through far worse, living in Warsaw, as he damned near lost his grandmother in a pointless street arrest, where her crime was walking home from work. His dad, her son, was maybe two at the time.
She was taken to Pawiak prison in Warsaw, which housed mostly female prisoners, and few made it out alive. She was lucky, because her stepfather was German, and vouched for her character.
The irony is that they weren't even Jewish; like most Poles, they were Catholic. But that didn't matter, as Russia and Germany colluded to exterminate the Poles as a people.
Nearly everyone knows that six million Jews died in the Holocaust. Very few know that three million Poles died, a high percentage of whom were women, children, and other noncombatants.
Posted using Partiko Android
ohh the sad stories. Moments ago, Tim walked in to say the first targets of the Nazis were Gypsies (Romani, as they now say the prefer to be called, but that hasn't caught on). Millions of gypsies under the Nazis and later on, under Stalin, and soooo many more than the Jews--gays, metally challenged, anyone not in good health, would be shipped out. It's surreal. I cannot imagine that this really happened. It looks like an episde of the Twilight Zone or a dystopian sci-fi movie. How close to home it was for you: the people with tattoos you met in person, and your husband's father and grandma. And yet life goes on and we must rejoice and be glad. :)
Indeed. But, as you say, we must remember.
When I was a freshman in high school, I didn't think the Russians were our greatest threat, despite the ongoing Cold War. I thought, strictly from the force of numbers, that our greater threat was likely to come from the Chinese.
In English class, I wrote a story called Carthage II, with the U.S. standing in for Carthage, and the Chinese doing their part as the Romans.
Even as a kid I thought the U.S. stance of being the world police was foolhardy, not to mention arrogant, and any time someone made a comment such as "things like that could never happen here," I thought they were fools.
If it could happen anywhere, it can happen here. People are people, for better or for worse. And that was the impetus for writing my story.
I've changed my opinion only to the extent that I now consider us (the USA) to be our own worst enemy, our government to be corrupt and fundamentally broken, and certainly nowhere near trustworthy.
As George Carlin so succinctly put it, "If it comes from the government, it's probably bullshit." Check and mate.
And yet, I still love my country, even as I distrust my government. I still believe that most people are mostly good most of the time, despite doom and gloom headlines, and a government and national news media that collude to prey on us all by instilling fear.
I still agree with FDR, that the only thing we have to fear is fear itself, because it too often immobilizes us, prevents us from acting in our own best interests, and robs us of our creativity and vibrancy.
So whenever I get caught up in the bullshit news floating around me, I remind myself that this is all part of the illusion, that none of it is real, and that in the end, it can't affect my inner being in any real way.
That at least helps keep me sane, all things being relative. ;-)
Love it: this is all part of the illusion, that none of it is real, and that in the end, it can't affect my inner being in any real way. That at least helps keep me sane, all things being relative. ;-)
How precocious you were - writing allegories, with politics and world events, at such a young age!