Tag: writer’s craft

A to Z Challenge: Nelma

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Character sketches that are fictional, but based on real people, like you and me. We are now past the halfway point in the alphabet!

We were sitting in the living room of her small apartment, Nelma, her two girls and me. The girls were watching TV while their hair was getting braided. I was told it could take several hours to put in the many small, tight braids, with beads strategically placed in a pattern. The braids would stay in for a long time and would not just keep their hair neat but would make it look like they’d been able to afford exorbitant salon fees. Nelma was good at saving money.

I’d been wondering how she was doing since she had left the girls’ father. Nel was my employee, and really good at her work. I needed her to be okay. We had just finished a busy week in the public schools, teaching nutrition and exercise to grade schoolers – you can imagine how those subjects appealed to them. But Nel knew how to fool them into having fun. She had a large repertoire of line dances and once she put the music on, they exercised in spite of themselves. She knew how to have fun with kids.

Nel always came to work wearing something worthy of a second glance. Of course it helped that she was thin. Almost anything looked good on her. And she was one of the few people I knew in our hot, steamy climate who actually ironed her clothes. The ironing board, set up and ready, was a permanent fixture in the living room.

I was there that morning because I had some kid sized bikes that I thought her girls might like to ride. They were such cute little ladies, shy but curious, and with the kind of behavior that let you know their mom paid attention to them.

I was also wondering if she had found anyone to look into some car trouble she was having. Not being able to get to work had been a problem all week and I had given her a ride several times. She knew how to do a lot of things that surprised me, but fixing cars was not one of them. I was about ready to help her find a safer, more reliable vehicle.

We were the only two people working in our small government program, so we often talked for a bit in the morning while we prepared our sample meals. The conversation had turned to personal situations enough times that I knew she was struggling with a relationship. The girls’ father was a classic abuser and had not taken kindly to her leaving and getting her own place. He was harassing her, and she was afraid of what his next move might be. Sometimes he was just annoying, but there were hints of what he might do, given the opportunity.

That’s why I was glad I was there with them that morning when he knocked on the door.

A to Z Challenge: Mandy

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Character sketches that are fictional, but based on real people, like us.

Mandy covered her auburn hair with a scarf and stepped out into the sunny spring day. She had just gotten a color that really suited her and she wasn’t about to let it fade with sun exposure. Looking good was worth what it cost in routine hair appointments. It was a way of letting the world know she cared.

The cancer diagnosis a year ago had sideswiped her. She had almost gotten back on her feet after the death of her husband, all the trauma, the loneliness, getting used to a different life without him in it. Facing off with cancer was like being asked to do it all over again, only it was her own life she had to worry about this time.

As if chemo hadn’t been bad enough, the toxic treatment gave her kidney failure so now she was going to dialysis three times a week. And because she had a cancer that was treatable but not curable, she was not a candidate for a kidney transplant. At times it seemed as if the world was against her, but she presented a whole different image to that world. It wasn’t going to see her go down. She was waging war against every negative aspect of her life. Her attitude was her number one weapon.

Her first step was to more closely match her energy level with her living environment. She sold her two story home and moved into a condo on the edge of town. No one there did their own yard work. There were no steps to climb. Her condo had windows with gorgeous views and the light streamed in and lifted her soul every morning.

She accepted her thrice weekly trips to dialysis as part of her life, like showering and eating. She decided they would be rest days, for reading, napping and whatever else she could manage. She was tired on those days but recovered by the following morning. Her in between days were full of times with friends, her grandsons, and getting to know her new neighbors.

The project of “feathering her new nest” had been so fun. She and a friend had searched the furniture stores until they found exactly the pieces that fit her rooms, matched the vibe she wanted and were comfortable and practical. Their efforts had created spaces that were inviting and filled with warmth, and pleased her. She chased happiness and peace, and all who walked into her living room felt she had caught a great deal of both.

In the name of hanging on to things loved, she had stayed with the church of her childhood. It was 30 miles away but it was worth it to her because she had purpose there. She was a musician and loved playing for the weekly services. It was there she felt comfortably challenged and appreciated.

At this stage of her game, she was making good choices, and she knew it. There were no guarantees for her longevity but her strategy was to hope for medical advances. Just last week she had heard of a medical trial for her diagnosis that made her pulse quicken. If she could get accepted for that she would really be in the fight with a new weapon, and that sounded good, really good…

A to Z Challenge: Leonard the Doctor

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Character sketches that are fictional but based on real characters, like us.

Finally free of military obligations, Leonard was more than excited to set up his own private ENT practice. He was now quite experienced at peering down people’s ears, noses and throats and could hardly wait to start making some real money. There had always been something about being a short person in the military that had left him feeling a little insecure. He was ready to be a boss.

His new clinic on the edge of the small, but growing, city was his own design and was going to serve him well for many years. A full hall of exam rooms, for when he took on associates, a med room with an autoclave, the small surgery suite, and the offices – it was all but finished with the carpet going in the waiting room this week.

He’d put an ad in the paper for a receptionist/nurse/bookkeeper and figured he would end up training someone to do it all, for the time being. Things would be slow at first.

His biggest irritation was his wife, who kept popping in unannounced to give him decorating advice, or request help with the kids. She was ditsy, that was the best word he could think of to describe her. He would much prefer that she stay home and mind her own business.

By the next week he had interviewed several people for his front office, and one was a nurse, just out of school. She wouldn’t know much, but that way he could “fashion” her to suit his practice and not have to re-program a bunch of bad habits. He probably wouldn’t need to pay her a lot either. He liked the idea of starting out with everything new.

The first week the doors opened there were two patients. One was a bad nosebleed and he was so glad he had properly prepared his nurse. “When you see a nosebleed getting out of the car, meet them at the door and get them off the carpet as quickly as you can. No sitting in the waiting room.” Not that they would have had to wait…

During the slow days between the two patients there was a lot of time to train his nurse on the patient filing system he had decided to use. She was going to have to learn his dictation machine as well, and type out patient reports. She was fairly quick at the office tasks which pleased him. He kind of liked standing behind her when she worked at the desk, watching to make sure she was getting the billing system right. He found himself wondering what it would be like to touch her hair.

The weeks wore on, and the practice was growing, but slowly. He was starting to do surgery at the local hospital and had trained “his girl” to make up the surgery packs and autoclave them. At some point he was going to start taking her to surgery to assist but he’d have to pay her more then, so not yet. There were still some slow times at the office too, and he was having fun making her nervous.

Their teaching sessions were getting kind of exciting to him. She reminded him of some of the new army recruits he’d been acquainted with. He liked standing close while explaining how to position the microscope, or use an ear speculum. She would find a reason to move away, but he could follow. It was almost ridiculous how he’d slowly chase her around the exam table. Didn’t she get it?

He wasn’t expecting it at all the day she gave notice that she was leaving. It was after the last patient had gone and the locking of the doors. She was finishing up the roster at the desk when he finally got the nerve to stroke her hair. She calmly turned around and said “I’m giving you one month to find my replacement. During that time, if you ever touch me again or make me feel uncomfortable, I’m walking out the door at that moment. And, by the way, your wife will hear about it too.”

He blushed, and wished he could have thought of something to say. How dare she embarrass him like that! Now, she was making him feel uncomfortable. And so awkward.

The next month went way too slowly for both of them. She was glad to be done and made sure he gave her a glowing recommendation. He ended up hiring three people to replace her. None of them were young, cute, or chaseable.

A to Z Challenge: Karmen

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Character sketches that are fictional but based on real characters, like us.

Karmen didn’t know what had gotten into her. It wasn’t that they’d never fought before, they had. It wasn’t that the finances were stretched tight, they always were. And it wasn’t that the kids weren’t always testing their patience, because that was a given. It was all of that and more, all at once. If he had listened to her and helped her quiet down, it might have gone differently. But no, he didn’t understand and that mad her even more angry. They should have let it go until morning when they were rested and in their right minds…

She was sitting at a friend’s house thinking things over. She hadn’t expected him to call the cops on her and the night she had spent cooling off in jail for her “domestic disturbance” was a first. It hadn’t been fun and she was determined not to let that happen again.

Now she had gotten past the angry period and moved into scared. She was going to have to appear before a judge, and at the very least it would mean community service, and likely more. The worst part was not being able to go home because of the restraining order. What was her husband thinking? Was he really that afraid of her? Did he think she would hurt the children? It was confusing because she couldn’t remember some of the details.

It was going to be the news of the day in their small Hispanic community. A third of the people living there were his relatives, a third were related to her and another third were people they didn’t want to associate with. She could not get Felipe to understand how badly she wanted to get into a better, safer neighborhood. Why couldn’t they live someplace where everything they owned didn’t have to be under lock and key. Someplace where the drug dealers weren’t always looking at her kids as potential customers. It was simple, he always said. They would move when they had the money to move.

Karmen just wanted to talk to Felipe, on the phone. She wanted to see the kids, tell them she was sorry. She wanted some clean clothes.

She sat in silence, wishing she could turn back the clock.

A to Z Challenge: Juan

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Character sketches that are fictional but based on real characters, like us.

“I was never so happy to see someone in my whole life.” He couldn’t stop saying that.

Ike and Juan left the chained enclosure and came to the car where I’d been waiting. It had taken quite a while to get Juan’s belongings returned to him and the paperwork done to bail him out. He’d only been locked up for three days but it had seemed like a lot longer to him. He still wasn’t sure what had happened, but from the time he’d been stopped on the highway until now the sense of being helpless, confused and frustrated had been nearly overpowering.

He’d been a fireman in Mexico and was used to dealing with the authorities, the Mexican police and officials. This had been different from the start. Evidently someone reported a break in and described a van the same color and make as Juan’s. A patrol car had pulled him over and he was cuffed and taken in for questioning in spite of his protests that he knew nothing about it and had been in Publix getting groceries. He didn’t know what had become of his van.

The next thing he knew they were taking him for a ride to the port jail where his cell phone and contents of his pockets were bagged and taken away. He was suited up and told he could make a phone call. The numbers he might have called were stored away in his cell phone, and before he could think of what to do next, the opportunity melted away. He wondered if anyone would ever miss him.

I kept wondering why the police wouldn’t at least listen to a clean cut, nicely dressed kid, who was obviously not on drugs or intoxicated. Was being Mexican that much of a strike against him? Of course, there was no one who could answer questions like that.

The next day a search of the impound lots was successful in finding his van. Juan didn’t have the impound fee with him but was allowed to look the vehicle over. He immediately turned his attention to the glove compartment. His wallet was there, along with his credit card and driver’s license, but the $400 in cash that he had just been paid for a week’s work was missing.

Ike took over. He was enraged. He knew a few people in the sheriff’s office and was not going to let this matter die without a fight. The three page letter he drafted and had me type was a chronicle of every detail of the arrest and detainment, including the money missing from the van. He suggested that both of us should sign it – being upstanding citizens we could be references for the truthfulness of Juan’s account. I was not counting on the effectiveness of this move. It was no small thing to cast doubt on the integrity of the sheriff’s deputies. We would see what kind of pull Ike had with his buddies in the department.

The next day Ike took Juan to the impound lot to pick up the van. Mysteriously, an envelope with $375 was now in the glove compartment. All charges against Juan were dropped. It wasn’t exactly the confession and apology we would have liked but Juan was content to keep a low profile. We think we know what happened but will never be able to prove it.

What do you think happened that resulted in charges being dropped and money reappearing in the van?

A to Z Challenge: Ike

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What do you do when a trusted friend suddenly disappears? That’s what Ike and I were wondering as we sat in the feed room looking at each other. That was also the day I decided that if I were to go missing, I would want Ike looking for me.

I was a relative newcomer to Ike’s territory, a Yankee, he called me. He had taken my daughter on as a project when she decided to bring a horse into her life and had nowhere to keep it. He graciously provided the trailer to get it to Florida and a pasture when it got there. We had become good friends since then and I liked hanging around the stable. It seemed like Ike knew most everyone in town, and particularly, everyone connected with horses.

Although he had a “house”, loosely defined, he preferred to hatch his best morning plans in the feed room next to his coffee pot and a collection of mugs. I was always wary of using those mugs, but I’d never heard of anyone dying out there. Likely no germs could survive the strong coffee he put in them.

He had been thinking over the absence of his best hired hand, Juan, since earlier when he had come out to help feed the horses and found Juan wasn’t there. He had already done some calling around to friends. No one had seen the man.

“Let’s get in the truck and check the highway. Maybe he’s broke down and had to leave his van on the side of the road somewhere. He was going to the store last night.”

The old, red diesel truck, a dually, wasn’t my favorite ride but it was his favorite, so we went. It was alarming that he kept checking the ditches, not just for a vehicle, but for a person.

“You don’t think he could have been mugged and left for dead, do you?””

“Doesn’t hurt to check. He did carry a bit of money with him sometimes.”

We traveled the highway to the store and a few other likely places but didn’t find the van, or any bodies, thankfully.

Back in the feed room, Ike got on the phone calling the local hospitals to see if the missing hired hand might have been admitted, but that didn’t turn up anything either. We couldn’t decide what to do next. Juan wasn’t a drinker, a drug user or a rowdy so it didn’t occur to us that he would have gotten in trouble with the law. From what we knew, Juan was in Florida on a student visa and had no family or friends close by. If we couldn’t find him, who could? We were stumped.

Ike wasn’t going to give up though. That’s always been one of the things I like about him. There’s just not much he won’t do for you if you’re his friend.

Several days went by, and then, “I found him. He’s in jail up at Port Manatee! Let’s go see what we can find out.”

Although he was an old timer himself, Ike was well aware that the “good ol’ boys” weren’t necessarily all good. What we were about to find out was surprising to say the least.

(Continued tomorrow with the letter J, for Juan)

A to Z Challenge: Fade

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Character sketches that are fictional but based on real characters, like us.

We were standing around the operating table, gowned and masked, working on a late evening emergency case – a young guy who flipped his motorcycle. The doctors were calmly discussing vacation plans. I was stabilizing a leg while they did major reconstruction on it.

“I’m going to Wisconsin. We have a fishing cabin up north. It’s one of those out of the way places on this great lake. Going catch a musky.”

“Oh yeah?” the other doc said. “Where exactly?”

“Probably Hayward.” I said, deciding to join the conversation.

“You know the place?”

“It’s my hometown. I grew up there. I’m due for a vacation there too.”

“Well, what are the chances of that?” He said.

And so began my acquaintance with Fade. He wasn’t the doctor. He was the guy whose leg I was holding.

After surgery he was one angry young man. His leg was in traction with pins at the knee and the ankle. He was on his back in bed and would stay that way for quite a while. He was lucky that walking again was even a possibility, but the sudden change in his plans didn’t make him feel lucky. Formerly cute, popular, and definitely on the cocky side, he was now in pain and trying to learn how to manage a bedpan. He was my patient, on my primary care unit, which meant that we were going to be spending a lot of time with each other.

At first he was in no mood to have visitors but it didn’t take long for his room to be named “the party room”. His group of close friends started showing up often, regularly breaking visitor rules. Fade would charm his way out of trouble with whoever was in charge. He was so sweet when he wanted to be, and almost abusive when he stopped caring. I never knew which guy I’d be dealing with when I went in the room. But, things were working in my favor – I was young and fairly good looking.

One day I arrived on the unit and noticed an unusual smell. I imagined it was coming from Fade’s room, and even thought I saw a bit of smoke seeping out from under his door. Laughter sounded from inside, and when I opened the door I saw it was indeed a party taking place. His friends were sitting around the bed and Fade was there in the middle, smoking weed. Pain medicine, he called it. I had to agree he looked pretty comfortable, but it was still illegal in California, our state at the time. I wasn’t sure what the Catholic nuns who ran the hospital would think of it either. Turned out they were way ahead of their time, agreed with him, and allowed it. I became familiar with that smell.

Over time, the adaptability of youth worked it’s magic. Fade got used to us as we cared for him. We were his encouragers and were able to develop solid friendships with him. He healed and walked out of the hospital eventually, a more thoughtful, careful and experienced young man. It was a long time before I heard from him again, but that’s another story.

A to Z Challenge: Bruce

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Character sketches that are fictional but based on real characters, like us.

Probably in his 50’s, reasonably fit and with greying hair and beard that would be classified as distinguished, there was something unconventional about him that made him attractive, at least to women and children. It was probably that he didn’t mind talking to them, and didn’t mind topics of conversation that women and children might actually find interesting. He had men friends too, of course, but men were often busy during the day and Bruce, well… I’m not sure that he had a busy time.

I think he envisioned himself as a gentleman farmer, with ambitious ideas of working his little acreage into a productive garden, with fields of hay and grain to support his herd of milk cows, several horses, and a pig or two. But in reality he was not a particularly wise farmer. It was his good luck to have married a woman who doubled as a farmhand. He dreamed, she did.

A gentleman farmer always has other, more important pursuits however, and Bruce’s pursuit was writing. I always attributed his interest in people to his need for characters to put in novels. His writing was also how I came into the picture – that, and living on the adjacent farm. We shared a fence.

Bruce was a friendly neighbor. His daughters were good babysitters too, and his wife was nice enough to let me come over and buy fresh milk. I wasn’t particularly happy when he wanted to keep his angry bull at our farm. It was in the pasture in front of our house where it terrorized me and the children. On the other hand, he did occasionally drive his horse and wagon over and offer us rides, which we thought was pretty cool. The relationship felt reciprocal.

One day Bruce was sitting in my kitchen, in his farmer outfit of bib overalls and flannel shirt, discussing a manuscript he was working on. By the way, he wanted to know, would I mind doing some proofreading for him? I didn’t mind at all, in spite of the fact that I was raising two small children and working shifts at the local hospital. He was a real writer. He had a manuscript, whereas I was only wishing I had one. Being a proofreader for Bruce would be one step closer to the world of writing. At the very least I would be keeping my grammar skills current.

His manuscript was not finished, but more of a work in progress, and Bruce began inviting me over to the farm to help him work on the next chapters. He had his writer’s loft, accessible only by ladder, a place of pride complete with typewriter, his writing library and reference books, and a bed where he evidently got all his best ideas for plots. His description of it had the same flavor of excitement that my younger brothers used when describing their treehouses or forts in the hayloft. It was his hideaway, where he went when his wife was out milking the cows or weeding the garden.

“I’ve got some ideas for this chapter. Come and see what you think.” he would say. Right, I thought. Your kids are in school, your wife has taken a second job to support the farm, and you want me to join you in your hideout… No, just not going to happen, in the interest of maintaining good neighborly relationships. Mind you, Bruce would have been horrified to know I had second thoughts about joining him to work on the next twist in his novel, and I would have been embarrassed telling him. There was just a faint creepiness about the whole thing.

And as it turned out, I never had to tell him. But that’s another story.

These writing exercises are part of the April A to Z Blogging Challenge. Can I write a post for every day of the month except Sundays? I don’t know, but this is my 10th year (kind of a special landmark), so I have to give it a try.