Character Sketch #2
He said that I look like Donna from The West Wing. I’m not sure how to take that. Sure, she’s on TV and I guess that means she’s pretty, but I’ve always thought that she was a little horse-faced. Like her head is too long. Like her teeth are too big for her mouth. Is my head too long? Are my teeth too big for my mouth?
God, I hate this commute from San Rafael to Sacramento. Christ, there’s almost no movement on 37 until Vallejo and then it’s only like two minutes of smooth sailing until 80 and then... I don’t really think we move at all. Which, of course, is the perfect metaphor for my life.
How long have I been working for this firm? Four years.
How many of those years have I made this weekly trip to San Rafael? Three and a half.
What’s my job? Secretary to the associates.
How much do they get paid? $70,000 a year.
How much do I get paid? $35,000 a year. Plus I get that swell $100 gift certificate to Mervyns each December. Swell.
And who gets sent to San Rafael each week? Me. Why? Because I’m a fool and made a crack, once, about how much I looooove to drive. Of course, I didn’t expect to be sitting in my car from five until almost eight every single Friday night for the rest of my life.
The drive down is fine, though. Leave the office in Sac around ten and 80's totally clear once I'm out of town.
That's the best time to drive. No one's on the road except for you. You can turn on the radio and scream along with the songs you like moving at speeds only know in science fiction.
Except when Grandma is with me. She likes to cruise and talk. At least on the freeway she can't freak out like I'm not going to stop in time at every single light on the road. The way she grabs the arm rest, like it's the only thing that's going to save her life, every time I hit the breaks. She's crazy.
It's been a long time since she made the trip with me and ferried over to the city for a game or to go to the zoo. I guess she's getting old, though. I mean she did sort of insist that I move in with her and then she told me she was changing her will so that I'd get the house if I didn't buy it from her before she died.
Did that old guy just flip me off? For not letting him in? Fuck him. Asshole. I bet if he was in my lane and I was in his he wouldn't let me in either.
Besides, I let the car in front of him in. Isn't that that way it's supposed to work? Each person in my lane lets one car go in front and the next car goes behind.
Fucking redneck, asshole, bastard. Next time I'll just run him off the road.
Shit head should think about someone else for once in his life.
God, I'm tired of this. Tired of driving to a city I don't like from home. Tired of putting up with all the associates. Tired of that bitch who's in charge.
Just want to kick her in the chest sometimes. She hasn't even been there as long as me, but every time I talk to her she treats me like I'm a kindergartener because I'm younger.
And then there's the way she bounces her cleavage around and likes to yell at me in front of any guy who's nearby. Like I'd want any of the guys at work. I know too much about what and who they do, other than their wives, why would I want to be another one of their toys? She can have them, if she want's them.
Still, there was that new junior partner in San Rafael. He said I looked like Donna on The West Wing. That must be good.
Showing posts with label character sketch. Show all posts
Showing posts with label character sketch. Show all posts
Friday, October 26, 2007
Friday, September 07, 2007
Fiction Friday #10
Character Sketch #1
The smell of someones drying is coming through the window. They're using some sort of flowery smelling dryer sheets. At first it was nice, a smell to break up the stale smell of the night, since there's no breeze coming through the window. Now, though, it's annoying. The smell makes the air thick and heavy now, hard to breath in.
Shelia's laying in my bed, asleep. She snores lightly and occasionally shifts around. I have to turn around to watch her. I don't look, though. I'm worried that she might notice and wonder why I'm not in there with her.
I'm sitting here, bathed in the light of the monitor playing solitaire. I'm down by $572.
Shelia came over to my place just to hang out. My roommates have gone off on some road trip that I couldn't go on. No money. So, it was just the two of us tonight. We played some Mario Kart. (She was pretty good, but not great. I let her win, a lot.) We watched a couple of movies. We talked and laughed. We ordered Thai and had a few drinks. And then, suddenly, Saturday Night Live was on.
It was a rerun of an old Christmas episode. Helen Hunt was the host and Hansen was the musical, and I use that term lightly, group. It's a good episode. Lots of laughs for both of us.
At some point, I'm not sure when, she put her hand on mine. I remember turning mine over so I could hold hers, too.
After the show was over and the TV was off, we were quiet, which was strange for us. We always seemed to have something to say to each other. I don't-- I'm not sure who was the first one to move. I can't remember who first put lips on whom. I can only remember that suddenly we were kissing. It started off light. The way a good kissing session always starts, playful, getting to know how the other person reacts to certain small motions, learning the shape of the other's face, noses bumping too much. Touching it all lightly, feeling our way around each other. Then it became more... urgent. Not forceful, but harder. Tongues playing with each other. Lips lightly pulled on with teeth. Hands roaming over the other's body offering gentle suggestions of how to move together better with a little nudging.
My hands under her shirt feeling the warmth of her back. Her hands unbuttoning my shirt and then on my chest playing with my nipples. My fingers searching for a way to unclasp her bra. Her laughing a little, pushing away from me so she was sitting on my legs. Me smiling at her flushed face and her giggle. Her pulling her shirt over her head. Me sitting up to kiss her again and take my own shirt off and then search for the clasp again. Her pushing me down, laughing again, and unclasping the front of her bra saying that that was the problem. My face growing even more flush. Her moving forward to lay on me again. My skin tingling and the touch of her warmth against my chest.
I have to apologize to everyone out there. I couldn't go any farther with this. I lost what I started doing and then didn't know what I was writing about after I stepped away. So, this it where it stops.
The smell of someones drying is coming through the window. They're using some sort of flowery smelling dryer sheets. At first it was nice, a smell to break up the stale smell of the night, since there's no breeze coming through the window. Now, though, it's annoying. The smell makes the air thick and heavy now, hard to breath in.
Shelia's laying in my bed, asleep. She snores lightly and occasionally shifts around. I have to turn around to watch her. I don't look, though. I'm worried that she might notice and wonder why I'm not in there with her.
I'm sitting here, bathed in the light of the monitor playing solitaire. I'm down by $572.
Shelia came over to my place just to hang out. My roommates have gone off on some road trip that I couldn't go on. No money. So, it was just the two of us tonight. We played some Mario Kart. (She was pretty good, but not great. I let her win, a lot.) We watched a couple of movies. We talked and laughed. We ordered Thai and had a few drinks. And then, suddenly, Saturday Night Live was on.
It was a rerun of an old Christmas episode. Helen Hunt was the host and Hansen was the musical, and I use that term lightly, group. It's a good episode. Lots of laughs for both of us.
At some point, I'm not sure when, she put her hand on mine. I remember turning mine over so I could hold hers, too.
After the show was over and the TV was off, we were quiet, which was strange for us. We always seemed to have something to say to each other. I don't-- I'm not sure who was the first one to move. I can't remember who first put lips on whom. I can only remember that suddenly we were kissing. It started off light. The way a good kissing session always starts, playful, getting to know how the other person reacts to certain small motions, learning the shape of the other's face, noses bumping too much. Touching it all lightly, feeling our way around each other. Then it became more... urgent. Not forceful, but harder. Tongues playing with each other. Lips lightly pulled on with teeth. Hands roaming over the other's body offering gentle suggestions of how to move together better with a little nudging.
My hands under her shirt feeling the warmth of her back. Her hands unbuttoning my shirt and then on my chest playing with my nipples. My fingers searching for a way to unclasp her bra. Her laughing a little, pushing away from me so she was sitting on my legs. Me smiling at her flushed face and her giggle. Her pulling her shirt over her head. Me sitting up to kiss her again and take my own shirt off and then search for the clasp again. Her pushing me down, laughing again, and unclasping the front of her bra saying that that was the problem. My face growing even more flush. Her moving forward to lay on me again. My skin tingling and the touch of her warmth against my chest.
I have to apologize to everyone out there. I couldn't go any farther with this. I lost what I started doing and then didn't know what I was writing about after I stepped away. So, this it where it stops.
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