Tuesday, November 2, 2010
Chapter Seven Part B
Happy election day for those of you who are in the U.S. I hope you voted. This is the first time we've got to vote in an AZ election since we've been home. When we lived overseas, voting was tough. Easy this time. Of course, I was glued to the coverage. Just like I'll be glued tonight. I promise to get back to scribbling in the morning.
I had to go back to the dentist today for some drilling. Our new dentist is great, but my head is still kind of fuzzy from the shot. Please, turn a blind eye to huge errors! These are rough drafts.
Thanks for all the help with character names. I'm going with Alex for the dive girl. It's going to be tough to choose the guy names. They are all great. Maybe I'll have to add more characters. I was thinking that Leesie's roommates need to find out something's happened to her by now. That could be another good chat. I think we'll hit 15,000 words tomorrow. That's a third of the novel. Only 45,000 more to go.
I'm in the mood to press ahead and revise more later. I hope you're all in the same kind of mood.
LEESIE HUNT / CHATSPOT LOG / 05/06 2:58 AM
Kimbo69 says: Leesie living with six guys? That’s a picture I can’t process.
Leesie327 says: Ick. You make it sound like they’ll be passing me around.
Kimbo69 says: And the girl sounds fishy to me.
Leesie327 says: Michael says Alex is like one of the guys.
Kimbo69 says: But she jumped to get him hired.
Leesie327 says: Michael says when they are down two dive masters it puts all of them at risk—too much diving. They could get bent. It’s dangerous.
Kimbo69 says: She went after him for her health?
Leesie327 says: She didn’t go after him.
Kimbo69 says: She convinced him to move in with her.
Leesie327 says: I’m moving in with her.
Kimbo69 says: Yeah. That’s a nice touch.
Leesie327 says: Michel and I are way beyond that petty stuff.
Kimbo69 says: And I’m not? Mark and I aren’t? We’ve been together way longer than you have.
Leesie327 says: Our situation is different. No one else exists for either of us.
Kimbo69 says: Liar. You are insanely jealous.
Leesie327 says: Shut up.
Kimbo69 says: Be honest.
Leesie327 says: Okay. I’m scared. I’m scared to leave here. I’m scared to unplug the hospital strength pain killer. I’m scared she’s pretty.
Kimbo69 says: You’re pretty.
Leesie327 says: I’m so hideous now.
Kimbo69 says: Michael doesn’t think so.
Leesie327 says: What if she has long hair?
LEESIE’S MOST PRIVATE CHAPBOOK
First day off morphine starts
off sore—even after I swallow
their pills. “You’re job, young lady”—
the doctor hands me a full bottle
of pain-a-cide—“is to take these pills
only for pain—not comfort, not anxiety.”
His golden Cayman tones echo off the
sunny walls. “Don’t skimp at first.
Taper off as soon as you can.”
I can’t eat breakfast—or even drink
my smoothie. I manage not to puke
my guts up but just barely.
The sore gets worse and worse,
but no way I’m telling because
he’s moving in tomorrow and I’m
going with him.
Michael gets excited when they
unwind the figure eight bandage
that’s trussed my collarbone in place.
“Keep your right arm in the sling.”
Sugar moves it gently back in place.
“But you can move it to dress and bathe.”
Michael rushes over to the tourist trap
across the street, comes back with
a bulging, plastic bag. “Let’s REALLY go
to the beach.” The dressing on my nose
now is more of a brace than a cast.
He tosses the bag on my lap.
I pull out a hottest pink, tropical print
bikini. “You’ve got to be kidding?”
My ribs are unwrapped, but still
black and blue. Bikinis are contraband.
Doesn’t he know the rules? Is this a hint?
Or is he as clueless with this as he was me
moving into an apartment full of guys?
He digs in the bag and pulls out a t-shirt.
“I got you one to match mine.”
My day’s been too long already. If only
I could lie in bed with the shades pulled down
counting the waves of pain. But
I’m fine. Remember. Nothing wrong today
Sugar helps me change, wraps my hand cast
in a bread bag. “Don’t get your face wet
or sand in your boots.” She just washed them.
They stunk so bad. She sprays my head with
sunscreen and ties a scarf around the stubble.
I limp half way. Michael carries me the rest.
He sets me on the sand, spreads out a straw beach mat,
trimmed in hot pink to match my swim suit.
We lie together on it in the sun.
His thigh touches mine. I squint
my eyes against the bright light.
“I forgot.” His hand goes
into his pocket. “One more present.”
He puts sunglasses over my eyes that have faded
from purple to greenish black.
We laze in the sun until I’m sweaty.
His hand reaches down and unvelcroes
the straps on my boots.
“What are you doing?”
He pushes off my scarf. “We’re going
“No we’re not.”
“No waves today. Come on babe.
I’ve got you.”
He picks me up, carries me
into cool, silky water deep as his chest.
His arms loosen. I clutch at him.
“Take it easy. This will feel good.”
He makes me lie flat on my back
one arm in my sling, my good hand
holding my broken one on top of
“Fill your chest with air.”
I’m beautifully buoyant in the
salt and sun and Michael’s arms.
“Relax. Put your head back.”
I obey—cool ocean blueness
laps around my body, easing
away heat and a measure of ache,
calming me as I lie embraced
by it’s subtle rhythm.
“Saltwater therapy.” His lips
find a patch of my fuzzy head.
“You need more of this.”
“I could lie like this forever.”
“That can be arranged.”