& that's the way life goes

Writing Exercise 17: No bull

You are a matador visiting LA from Spain

Where I come from, women…

love the fact that I’m a matador, it is supposed to give me a sense of pride and family heritage. But tonight, oh tonight I locked eyes with a pretty woman sitting next to me at the bar. She is wearing white tennis shoes with her black skirt and tight knit pink top. Her curly brown hairs is pulled into a loose pony tail with tendrils falling around her face. He has to restrain himself from reaching a hand out to touch them and tuck them behind her ear. He tried to start a conversation with her, but all he got out of it was that she was a waitress at the restaurant down the street and she had just finished her shift. She shunned him after he boldly told her he was a matador. He hadn’t been expecting this kind of response, back in his country she would have been swooning at his feet. What was with these American women? She spoke to the bar tender in Spanish, asking for another drink. When he brought it I held out my hand so I could pay for it. She thanked me in Spanish and kept her eyes trained on the television above the many rows of liquor bottles. I tried once again to make conversation, but she cut me off telling me she didn’t date animal killers. I was shocked, I had never had that reaction before. I tapped her on the shoulder asking for further explanation and something must have snapped. She went into a tirade about how I was proud to have murder in my title. She alternated between English and Spanish, but so fast that I couldn’t catch all the insults. Out of breath she stopped, finished her drink and left. I sat there alone, with the bartender sending me sympathy glances, and I couldn’t wait to get back on a plane to Spain, where the women made sense.

(I haven’t been on here much at all this weekend.)

Writing Exercise 16: Can you believe it?

Finish these four short shorts:

I can’t believe I was afraid of…

trying out for the school play.  I never imagined being cast as the lead role!  I thought, at best, I’d be given the role of evil stepsister, but Cinderella?! Never in my wildest dreams.  At tryouts behind the curtain I was a nervous wreck, bitting my nails and hands shaking.  As soon as I walked on stage and the light hit my face, all eyes on me, I thrived on the attention.  I nailed every one of my lines and even remembered all the staging I had practiced.  I worked it and I earned the Cinderella part.  Rehearsals start today, I can’t wait to get up on stage and feel alive again.  It’s exhilarating!

I can’t believe I was intimidated by…

the playful barking of the massive black dog.  At first I wasn’t sure if it was giving me a warning or was inviting initiation.  I approached the cage cautiously, walking sideways as the shelter employee advised, not wanting to threaten the dog.  I also never made direct eye contact.  All of this was in vain though, as the dog was playing bowing and wagging his tail furiously, drool escaping from his mouth as he picked up a ball and dropped it repetitiously.  “Take him out please,” I instructed the employee.  He did as I asked and quickly opened the kennel door and slipping a leash expertly around the dog’s neck.  “you can take him out that door,” he said gesturing to the exit, “I’ll be right behind you.”  Before I could take a step the big dog sat at my feet and lifted his paw, his mouth open in a sloppy grin.  “You are a ham,” I teased as we walked through the door.  There was no way I was leaving without this dog.  It definitely paid to keep an open mind when choosing a dog from a shelter.

I can’t believe she never told me…

that it was her that called my house looking for me when she knew I was staying somewhere I wasn’t allowed.  Why would someone who is your friend do that?  She purposely got me in trouble for staying out all night, just so she could feel good about herself.  Well you know what? It’s pay back time.  I pretended that I didn’t know who it was that called, and that my mom wouldn’t tell me.  At first my mom wouldn’t, said it wasn’t any of my business.  But after awhile and after some heavy prying, she broke down and gave me the name.  At first I was shocked, I didn’t want to believe her, I couldn’t.   Then it sunk in and it made sense.  The girl was jealous of me and she pretended to be my friend so she would have access to the perfect opportunity to sabotage me.   But that’s ok, because tonight she goes down…

I can’t believe how many years it’s been since…

I’ve climbed a tree.  I used to love the feeling of the rough bark against the pads of my feet.  I wanted to be a monkey so I could swing from branch to branch, but logic told me  I couldn’t.  I’d sit in the branches and watch the world go on below me, it was peaceful and quiet up in my own sanctuary.  Occasionally, a squirrel or bird would settle down in the tree, not noticing me, but I was never scared.  One day though, as I was coming down from my perch, I my foot faltered and I slid.  I caught a branch  but not before that rough bark got a hold of my cheek.  After that I grew wary of trees.  I wonder now, years later, if I could still find that peace in the branches of a tree.