just me
I could’ve had water,
I didn’t want tea.
I might’ve gone out,
But I kept it just me.
Day 3 of Nano Poblano, and the idea of a morning teleconference with authors was made just a little better with a proper writing prompt.
There once was a girl
who did not know
the power her smile
had on this schmo
She’d run swiftly away
from his table most days
making him think
he should go
But he’s a schmo, so he kept coming back for more. And so…
There once was a girl
who discovered
the heart that her smile
had uncovered
So she sat down to stay
at his table one day
learning each felt the same
’bout the other
© Copyright 2017 William S. Friday
Bill stands in front of a large group of strangers. They are sitting in a semi-circle on folding chairs. Each one holds a Styrofoam cup of what looks like coffee. Bill fidgets imperceptibly as he tries to make eye contact with a few of the strangers.
Bill (to the group): Hi, I’m Bill!
Group (to Bill): Hi, Bill!
Bill: Hey, everybody. I really suck at this… this introduction thing… so yeah, um, anyway… I’m really bad at it.
Bill strokes his beard, trying to think of what to say.
Bill (continuing): So… I’m bad at this. A friend tells me that I come off arrogant when it’s me and a roomful of strangers. That I just need to introduce myself first and not wait for others to come to me. So that’s what I do now… introduce myself first so I don’t look like an asshole.
Group Leader (to Bill): Don’t worry about a thing, Bill. No one in the group will think you’re arrogant.
Bill (to the Group Leader): Are you sure? Cause you’re the one who told me that.
The Group Leader looks angry, like a hungry dinosaur.
Group Leader (to Bill): I’m sure, Bill. Go on.
Bill: Okay then. Like I said, I suck at this…
Random Group Member: Suck at what exactly, Bill?
Bill: I think we established that…
Bill squints to read the Random Group Member’s nametag.
Bill (continuing):…Steven. I suck at introductions. And large groups of strangers. And interruptions.
Steven looks awkwardly at the Styrofoam cup of coffee in his hands.
Bill (continuing): Also, I’m probably not going to remember any of your names.
Another Group Member: We’re wearing nametags.
Bill: Yeah, well I’m bad at that too.
Group Leader: Bill, maybe if we focused on why we’re all here.
Bill (thinking out loud): Nametags… Interruptions… Strangers…Assholes… Oh yeah, Nano Poblano.
The group cheers.
Bill: Lemme start over. Hi, I’m Bill, and this is my third Nano Poblano. I guess I’m here for the same reasons all the rest of you are. To write and post… something… every day in November. And to be accountable to the group. And to get to know everyone better. I hope no one is too offended if I stare at your nametags. I really suck at remembering names.
Steven: You said that, Bill.
Bill (staring over his glasses at Steven): Yeah, um, Steven…
Group Leader (interrupting): Okay, great! That’s about all the time we have for group today. I know each of you has something exciting for us again tomorrow. Bill, thank you for introducing yourself to the group this year. I know how hard that can be for some people…
Steven (under his breath): Some assholes.
Group Leader: …some INTROVERTS to navigate in a group setting. Alright then, same time tomorrow everyone! Remember to toss your cups in the trash on your way out.
Steven: You mean the recycle?
Group Leader: No… STEVEN.
Bill (under his breath): No… STEVEN.
Group Leader (to Bill): Bill…?
Bill: Yes?
Group Leader: Don’t be an asshole.
* * * * * *
Every November, a group of strangers gathers in an often scary place known as the internet. Where, every year, strangers become more than just bloggers or friends. These strangers become family. To you, this was my introduction. My way of saying, “Hi, my name is Bill”. Some of what you just read is true. Except that I don’t know any bloggers named Steven. The rest… pretty much. And I’ll be around for the entire 30 days, coffee in hand, my nametag on, ready to say hi.
Welcome to Nano Poblano 2017.
I got to wake the sun this morning,
from my bed of silent dreams,
in the nonsense of my plans
for another day.
I drank coffee by the window,
unnoticed in my chair.
Looking back at her,
I couldn’t pull my eyes away,
but she did not see.
She’ll be busy when she rises,
shining down on others through the day.
But I’ll remember what she looked like
lying next to me.
© Copyright 2017 William S. Friday
I seriously just had the most amazing experience.
Reading.
First time I can ever remember a story becoming alive to me from the printed page. Full of colors, and smells, and stars.
Then, it merged into another story I had read, elsewhere. Full of heat, and death, and regret.
And the two stories became what I felt I’ve been living since I don’t know when.
That’s as deep as I’ve been in a while.
And I swear I have smoked no peyote.
© Copyright 2017 William S. Friday
I woke up two hours before my alarm. The TV was still on, but barely audible, and it wasn’t the thing that woke me. There was a dream. There is always a dream.
I had three messages on my phone from three different people, still accustomed to my old hours. I’m not up all night anymore. I’m just as likely now to fall asleep watching a movie before I know I’m even sleepy, and be up before the sunrise, before my brain knows what time it really is.
The only thing that is the same in my very different life is the coffee. Except now, that first cup, and the time it takes to consume it, is as sacred as the silence that surrounds me as I drink. Now, the only sounds that keep company with me are the clock on the wall behind my head, my nearly silent breathing, and, if I’m truly still, the slow beating of my heart.
© Copyright 2017 William S. Friday
I think I’ve seen the world as it will be, but that might have been a mistake.
The voices, real and imagined, pretty much all said do it.
But I can count on the fingers of one amputated hand how many times the voices, real and imagined, have been right.
I lived a lifetime of failure within structure, and now that’s gone, replaced by an endless freedom to fail.
Quiet times are the worst, when the voices, all of them imagined but one, my own, come.
Louder times, spent in the company of people or amusements, I think of as distractions.
And both come with a feeling, a gnawing, like the scraping of a stone tool against my bones.
And in the wake of all this, come the times when I tell myself I will create worlds, unimagined.
When I limit my distractions to coffee and mid-afternoon panic, and I shut off the world, all of it, the voices included.
And I tell myself, only I, that everything will be as I’ve seen it.
© Copyright 2017 William S. Friday