The Infamous Scowling Incident

     Oh god!  Where the hell is she?
   
     I've been sitting in the lobby of the Townsend University Library for the last half-hour waiting on this heavy set gal in my British Literature class to show up.  I need to give her the outline of her research paper.  We did an one-on-one  workshop in class today on our outlines and I didn't get to finish looking it over.  I told her I'd meet her here at three when she got off work at the circulation desk.  It's three-thirty now and I still haven't seen her. She better be here because our freaking revisions are due Monday.  Otherwise, she'll get a zero and blame it on me.

     In the meantime, I text Paul and ask him what time we're playing football.  He's been an intern for Campus Crusaders for the last three semesters.  I've been a member of this laid-back Christian group ever since my freshman year (two years before Paul's arrival).  His charisma makes him the coolest intern the organization's ever had.  He's tall and athletic and encourages the guys who are involved to play a game of football every Friday afternoon.  We normally play at four, but lately Paul's pushed the game up to three-thirty since it gets dark so early outside.  After I text him, I notice my workshop partner still hasn't shown up.  Okay, time to go look for her.

     I go over to the Christmas decorated circulation desk to see if my partner's still up there.  Dammit!  She's not up here.  Okay, then.  I'll get on one of the computers over in the lab and check my e-mail.  This will be a better use of my time.  What else am I gonna do besides wait around out in the cold for people to show up for football?

     As I log into my e-mail account, I get a text back from Paul saying, "Football at 3:30.  Come bring it!"
    
     Oh god!  I'm running late.
    
     I'm in such a hurry to exit the library, I end up leaving my blue beanie and thick, dark Columbia gloves by the computer.  Dammit!  Now I've gotta go back and get my hat and gloves.  From now on, I'm gonna leave them in my backpack or gym bag when I'm inside.

     On the way back from getting my beanie and gloves, I look towards the circulation desk one last time to see if my British Lit partner's there, but she isn't.  Dammit!  Did she miss her shift?  Boy, is she in trouble now?  It's okay.  It happens to the best of us.

     While all of this is processing through my head, I see my longtime friend Christina, who takes over my elusive British Lit partner's shift on Friday afternoons.  Christina and I have known each other since our freshman year of high-school and she liked what this university had to offer as much as I did.  She's very attractive with her straight, dark hair and blue eyes, which get her plenty of long stares from the guys on campus.  We could've dated all these years, but we didn't want to ruin our friendship.  Anyhow, as I walk by the circulation desk, she's looking at me and I've got an angry look on my face and I'm breathing real hard.  She has a stunned look on her face.  Oh god!  Did I just scowl at her?  She'll never speak to me again.  It's okay.  I just need to play football and take my mind off of this.

     When I walk out into the cloudy, thirty degree weather, I debate whether I should text Paul back to tell him that I'm running late.  Nah, I'm not gonna worry about it.  He should realize that I'm already on my way over to the intramural fields.

     As I'm walking across University Drive, I see this blond-hair girl wearing a dark jacket and a gray, black-striped skirt running right by me barefoot.  At least she has opaque tights on to cover her tiny feet.  But still, she's crazy to be doing this in the cold weather.  I guess those black high-heeled dress shoes she's carrying in her right hand were hurting her feet.  Like me, she's panicking, although not being discreet about it.  She's yelling out, "Oh my god!  I'm not gonna make it."

     I guess she was supposed to meet somebody or be somewhere and lost track of time.  Seeing this gal makes me want to run over to the intramural fields.  At least I've got my Asics 2140 running shoes on as opposed to that gal who has no shoes on at all.  This will save me some time.

    I start running over there once I get past University Drive.  I think of it as if I'm going for a seven-mile run.  I blaze past the new dormitory buildings that I've been living in this semester and the recreation center.  I'm all bundled up in a green windbreaker, black wind pants, the beanie and gloves I almost left behind in the library.  I don't have time to go back to my dorm to grab my thin pair of running gloves.  I run up until I get to the intersection of Stadium and Park Place, which is a busy intersection with only a four way stop.  Worse yet, I've gotta put with rush hour traffic to my left and right.  Dammit!  I was making up some time.  Oh good!  The guy to my left in the silver Nissan Pathfinder is letting me cross.

     I give him a thank you wave as I run across the intersection.  Okay, I'm almost there.  I just need to get past the Greek dormitories and jog down the small flight of stairs and I'll be there. 

     Despite everything I've been through, I arrive at the fields at a quarter 'til four.  The fields are still damp with some small patches of snow off to the side.  Dammit!  They started without me.  It's okay.  I probably haven't missed much.

     "Where have you been?  The Deltas have already scored a touchdown and we've been waiting for a sixth man to show up so we could equal the amount they have," Paul yells out at me as I place my dark Nike gym bag by the metal fence.

     No you haven't!  You went ahead without me.  God, I can't believe you're only in short sleeves and shorts.  You're no different than this gal I just saw running around barefoot.  It makes me cold just looking at you two.

     I don't reply back to Paul.  I'm pretty much quiet the whole time I'm out here.  The British Lit gal failing to meet me in the library has put me in a foul mood.  The only time I say anything is when Paul chases down the Deltas' quarterback, Jason, who's wearing a dark green Michael Vick Eagles jersey.  Paul shouts out as Jason runs out of bounds, "He beats dogs!  He beats dogs!"

     "Okay Paul.  We get it." I remind him with a smile before Jason's able to hear his comment.

     Other than that, I don't say anything else.  On the very next play, I get real aggressive.  Jason hikes the ball.  Randy, the tight end, runs a short slant across the middle.  Jason passes it to him.  I'm coming to bring the pain.  Randy catches the pass.  He is hit immediately and goes flying into the air.  Fortunately, there aren't any refs out here to throw a flag for unnecessary roughness.

     He gets his big muscular body up from the wet grass and says to my face, "Dude!  What the hell's your problem?  You could've broken my back.  It's not tackle football."

     I'm not in the mood to fight back, and instead, walk away from the game.  Randy yells out, "Where do you think you're going?  You can't just quit in the middle of a game.  Come back here!"

     Paul runs up and encourages me, "Just ignore Randy.  He's a jerk.  It's about time somebody took him down like you did.  In the three semesters I've been here, you play the best defense out of our entire organization and we need to see more of that in order to beat these guys."

     "I wish I could stay and finish the game, but I just realized I've gotta meet someone at the library," I give him an excuse.  I needed to find a way to take myself out of the game so that I didn't have to deal with Randy.  Lying to Paul was the best solution I could come up with.

     As I leave the intramural fields I realize something.  I could e-mail my workshop partner and set up a meeting time over the weekend to return her outline.  Even though she lives off campus, she's gonna need her outline at some point.  The town's not that big.  It shouldn't take her that long to get here from her apartment.  Why didn't I think of this before?

     Instead of walking back to my dorm, I decide to return to the library and e-mail my partner.  Hey, Christina's gonna be up there for another hour.  Maybe I'll run into her and be able to apologize for scowling at her.

     I decide not to run over there since I've got lots of time.  I bet the gal that ran around barefoot isn't going to be rushing back from whatever she tried to get to on time.

     The sun begins to peek out from behind the clouds by the time I walk back across University Drive.  I see that same gal who ran across this street barefoot an hour ago, except this time she's walking with her dark-haired friend talking about girl stuff.  But, she's still going around without any shoes on.  God, she must really hate those shoes.  I know what she's gonna be wanting for Christmas.  At least her friend's wearing black boots.  I guess that's who the barefoot gal was in a hurry to meet.

     When I walk by the circulation desk, Christina's not up there.  Hmm, maybe she's in the quiet section stacking books.  Well, I guess I'll go e-mail my British Lit partner one more time.

     In my e-mail to her, I write, "Where were you?  I spent a half-hour in the library lobby waiting for you to get off work.  You better come up here and pick up your outline this weekend or else you'll fail this assignment."

     After I send the e-mail, I go and look over at the circulation desk again for Christina.  I still don't see her.  Well, the only other choice I've got is to go over to the quiet section and do some studying.  Maybe I'll run into her on the way over.

     I walk down until the end of the long, green-carpeted pathway and look around real carefully to see if she's in here.  Even after looking down all the rows of where the books are placed in alphabetical order according to the author's last names, I still can't find her.  I decide to walk back down the pathway.  The library's surprisingly crowded for a Friday afternoon.  I guess because finals are near, people are real serious about studying.

     Luckily, I pass by an open table on my left.  I pull up one of the wooden chairs that face the pathway so that I can look to see if Christina's walking by without having to crane my neck.  And also too, it'll be easy for me to apologize to her.

     I spend an hour in here studying.  Most of the time, I just sit here and look for her.  Unfortunately, I don't see her.  Dammit!  I guess she already went back to her apartment for the weekend.  I'm gonna be brooding about the scowling incident all weekend.

     While I'm getting ready to pack away my study materials in my gym bag, I see someone entering the quiet section.  That's not some stranger, its Christina, and she's looking at me with a pleasant smile on her face.    








    


    
 

The Importance of Setting in a Story

There were several points that Josip Novakovich writes about in his chapter on setting that I could relate to.  First, he points out that while setting is important to a story, it doesn't have to be described in detail.  Like in a drama, the reader needs to know where the action takes place, but it shouldn't dominate the story.  Otherwise, the reader gets bogged down in the detail of the setting and gets bored reading it.  In Ernest Hemingway's short story "Hills Like White Elephants," he uses minimal descriptive words to describe the train station.  Another point that Novakovich makes is how the characters in a story need a background that they can interact with.  For example, I have used the mountains of Colorado as a backdrop for several short stories and creative nonfiction essays.  Just like Novakovich mentioned, the mountains are the place that my characters move on and play out their drama.

Novakovich makes a valid point when he says the author should use an authentic setting - it is easier to describe the place if you have intimate knowledge of it.  For example I find it easy to describe the Colorado mountains because I have spent a lot of time there and so I am familiar with the mountain trails, flora, and fauna of the Rockies.  He also points out that the writer can set the mood using descriptive verbs, adjectives, and adverbs.  Hemingway illustrates this point with the words he uses not only to describe the hills, but also the mood of the characters.  Even though Jig and her boyfriend (husband) seem happy on the surface, they are masking their true feelings.

The last point that I thought was important in the chapter on settings was how the author can use it to characterize the people in the story.  He used a wonderful example with the passage he chose from Dead Souls.  After reading that paragraph the reader can visualize the stinginess of the character.  I never thought of describing a room to characterize a story!

Opening my blog

I resent the URL for this blog.  Were you able to open it?