Writer's Block

I'm upset with myself, especially concerning my writing abilities. I don't usually like to wax angsty like this, but I feel the need to say something. The first idea I ever had was Conditioned Genesis; I have the characters, the setting, everything but a compelling story. I don't like the stories I've come up with before, I need something better. I'll eventually break out of this mental prison.

News

My next assignment for Creative Writing is a play, and I must chose a song and use it as inspiration for the play. The title of the song will be the title of the play. I've toyed with a number of songs I'd like to use, and I've settled on Float On by Modest Mouse, for now at least.

Much like every other assignment, there are rules to follow. I cannot have more than three characters or more than two scenes. And as a general rule of play writing, I need to keep the limits of the stage in mind. This should be good.

Derby Harbor

Here are some revisions to the story. Not too much has changed, but I did add an extra scene towards the end. I'll probably end up making at least one more revision.
Setting: Alaska, 2004

I found living in Derby Harbor difficult. The surrounding mountains isolate the town from the rest of the world and force everyone to hug the sea. It felt like letting go of the ocean meant certain death, and I suppose it did, at least for the crab fishermen. There were times I thought I lived at the top of one of those white peaks nearby despite being at sea level, the air was so thin. It made it hard to breathe, and every gulp of air I made took effort.

I worked at the local grocery store, which was a job I liked, and I’ll look back on it as a positive time in my life always. It could be hard to deal with the customers on occasion, but I did my best for our small store. My troubles in Derby Harbor began at work in the late winter, early spring of my senior year of high school, my favorite time of the year as a brisk wind blows in off the North Pacific that made it easier for me to breathe. For most people the wind and cold forced them into their living rooms to huddle for warmth, but I could never live without the cold.

Walking down my hill to work I passed by the town funeral home, conveniently located right next to our grocery store. The top of the Old Russian house that held the funeral home acted as a beacon for me signaling my arrival at work, the house welcomed me with open arms almost daily. On my way past the funeral home this day I noticed a wake taking place, earlier than usual, but I didn’t know who died so I assumed it to be another crab fisherman, no one I know.

Hanging outside the entrance of the store, some old lady milled around waiting for God knows what. I thought she might be here for the wake, but I thought her tattered green dress familiar, recognizing her as one of our regulars, Mrs. Ostermann. She crawled out of whatever hole she came from to torment me and my co-workers every chance she got, though I don’t think she was self-aware, and all I could think was I wasn’t even punched in and I had to deal with our most demented customer, what a crock.

I approached her, “What’s the matter Mrs. Ostermann, here for the usual?”

I startled the woman; she’s like a door mouse, “Oh dear, what’s your name son? Why am I out here? Where’s my daughter?”

I herded her into the store for it’s not good to have old ladies out in the cold as they shrivel up and won’t bloom the next spring, “Ma’am I presume you’re here to shop and my name’s Isaac. I wish I knew where your daughter is, but I’ll do my best to help you in a moment, just let me get to work.”

God, how does a town of five thousand people spawn such characters? It’s a cruel joke that I have to deal with this woman first thing, so where are my co-workers? They probably smelled her coming and did the smart thing by clearing out. I prayed God would relieve her of her dementia at least for the time she spent with me and I prayed my time with her would be short.

Mrs. Ostermann wandered her way to the dairy case, “Oh son I remember now that I need milk. What kind do I want?”

“I recommend the milk variety Ma’am; it’s all the same really.”

She went on, “I want, I want the fat free milk.”

I picked up a gallon of milk with a green cap and label, “Here you go Mrs. Ostermann, fat free milk.”

The old woman spent the next ten minutes staring at the gallon of milk in all its glory, fingering it gingerly as her hands trembled under the weight of the carton. I resisted the impulse to hum Also Sprach Zarathustra while she managed to break out of her stupor and say, “This milk says skim.”

“I know that Ma’am but look underneath that, it says fat free.”

I outlined the phrase fat free with my finger, but Mrs. Ostermann just looked at me. The lights were on but nobody was home, so I made my move, “You’ve got your milk, don’t you need to get back to your daughter?”

“Yes son I do. Thank you but I’ve got to go.”

I smiled and waved her good bye as she wobbled towards the front end and cashiers, so I hoped that was the end.

Mrs. Ostermann turned back, “Son, I need some help, I don’t remember where my daughter is . . .”

“Don’t worry about it Ma’am, she’s probably at home right now.”

“Yes, she’s supposed to get home at three o’clock. Thank you.”

Off she went to pester the cashiers up front and lord knows they needed to be kept on their feet. From behind a hand fell on my shoulder, causing me to jump.

“Jesus Christ!”

“Isaac, you know better than to take the Lord’s name in vain.”

“Then don’t startle me like that Chris and I won’t.”

Chris leaned on my shoulder, “You handled Mrs. Ostermann pretty well there. You may be a bastard, but you’re a smooth bastard.”

A cashier swears and we hear it in the dairy aisle, prompting Chris to swing around and face me head on smiling, “Looks like the scourge you unleashed made its way up front.”

“They never saw it coming, Mrs. Ostermann is a ninja.”

Chris laughed, “Ha, ninja that’s good. She’s definitely like one of those Japs, all we need to do is tape her eyes shut and paint her yellow.”

“Uh yeah, I gotta get back to work.”

I thought my tribulations for the day ended right there and then, and thankfully the next few hours only consisted of shelving overstock and keeping on top of sales items. While I worked the dairy case a couple of customers came down my aisle, a father and daughter each dressed up with the father in a tux that didn’t quite fit and the daughter in a simple black dress. The father staggered around as his daughter did her best to keep him walking straight; they looked as though they came from the wake next door.

The daughter recognized me, and she asked if we had any flowers. Her father protested, suggesting to his daughter Natalie they buy a gallon of milk instead. Natalie pleaded with her father to wait for his milk because they needed the flowers for the funeral tomorrow and they didn’t have enough money to buy both. He wouldn’t be swayed. She went off to grab the flowers before it was too late and left her father with me, begging me to help police the man.

The father leaned in and spoke with whiskey on his breath, “You better let me have my milk, if you don’t I’ll get you fired.”

I responded, “Sir, if you get me fired I’ll wait for you outside and gut you.”

The man stood back and laughed, “Heh, I like you kid.”

He grabbed a gallon of milk and staggered up front to make his purchase, brushing my shoulder as he passed. I didn’t move to stop him. Natalie came around the corner and down the aisle in search of her father, but he was no longer here. She had a bouquet of flowers with her and asked me where her father went, so I told her the truth. She gave me a pitiful look that I’ll never forget, and something must have overcome me because I pulled out my wallet and gave her the money for the flowers. She didn’t know how to react and stood dumbfounded. I forced the money into her hands.

She started to cry and told me, “Thank you Isaac, I’ll pay you back.”

I waved her off, “Don’t worry about it. You shouldn’t let your father push you around Natalie.”

She answered, “Yeah, hey Isaac, are you doing anything Saturday?”

“I’m working.”

She frowned and her shoulders dropped, “Oh. If you get out early give me a call.”

We stood there for a moment, each looking at the other. I never answered her, so she went after her father without another word. I got back to work and the rest of the day proved uneventful until closing. The sun set and the dark heralded a cold that penetrates to the bone no matter how warm the clothes one wears.

As I swept out the dairy cooler in back my boss came up and said to me, “Isaac, I need you to do something very important. Mrs. Ostermann came in a few hours ago and well . . . she never left. She’s very confused and I need you to take her home. You can go home afterward.”

I didn’t object to my boss’s request, I just went to the aisle Mrs. Ostermann happened to be stalking at the moment and brought her out of the store. It’s amazing I hadn’t run into her for the rest of the day, but thought I should be thankful for that and didn’t think on it too much.

I walked Mrs. Ostermann to her home, which is a mile in the opposite direction from my home. It sucked that no one at work had a car, not even my boss, but this is one of the drawbacks of living is such a small, insular town. When she started shivering I gave her my jacket and I kept her from tripping and possibly breaking a hip. She spoke about her daughter the entire way; it was a long walk.

Near her home Mrs. Ostermann asked me, “Do you know my daughter young man?”

I responded, “Of course I do, she comes in and gives us a grocery list of all the things you need. We deliver it all to your home, so you don’t even need to come to the store.”

Mrs. Ostermann grabbed my arm on hearing what I said and shook, “You know my daughter? I’ve looked for her all day. She didn’t come home from school today and I’m worried. She’s supposed to come straight home from school, have you seen her?”

I answered, “Ma’am, your daughter is forty-two years old.”

She stopped moving, “Oh . . . do you know when school lets out, I need to be home for her when she arrives.”

I gave up speaking to her because she was too far gone to be saved. I hoped the old woman would die soon and spare everyone a lot of trouble, but I pushed those thoughts to the back of my mind. It's not good to think that way. I pulled her to her house, she lived with her daughter, but no one was home. I grew upset at finding the doors all locked and no spare key hiding anywhere outside.I shouldn’t be too hard on her though. A man like her father should be able to take care of himself, but instead he tied himself to his daughter. No one wants the responsibility of taking care of this old woman, not even her own daughter. People disgust me. I did the only thing I could think to do; I broke one of the windows in the door and unlocked it from the inside. I led Mrs. Ostermann into her home, taped up the broken window and left for my own home.

I forgot about that night and got on with my life, and I went to work the next day, Saturday, as I usually did. The day passed and I found myself checking the dairy case around six in the evening when my boss approached, telling me to get out of the store. Stunned, I asked him why.

He said, “You have a date tonight with that Natalie girl, right? She asked me to let you off of work early and I told her I would. That girl needs a good man in her life Isaac.”

I punched out, left the store, and waited out front for ten minutes contemplating my next move. I’d been outmaneuvered and left in check without realizing I was playing a game in the first place. Chris walked up from behind me with his girlfriend Katie in tow and they pulled me along without as much as a word, bringing me to our local seafood restaurant. It’s a nice place and Natalie stood well-dressed outside, smiling on seeing us arrive.

A waiter sat us and we ordered our food. Natalie got the surf-and-turf, which I expected I’d be paying for, so I distracted myself by trading war stories, tales on weird and unruly customers we’d come across, with Chris. During our diner, Katie’s phone rang, and it was a text message, showing us all, that read, “How gave you bien Cutie?” It was from her old flame J.D. J.D., here’s a man I wouldn’t give the time of day to, but only because the last time I did give him the time he argued that quarter of seven was not fifteen minutes before the hour, but instead only ten. A true moron if there ever was one.

Katie complained, “I’ve told J.D. we’re done, but he doesn’t get it. He shouldn’t call me cutie anymore.”

I quipped, “You do realize he probably just spelled your name wrong.”

Katie’s response was silence, broken by Chris’s laughter. He patted me on the back and told me this is why we are friends. I suppose the whole situation is funny; I never could understand what attracted Katie to J.D. in the first place, although she isn't too bright herself. We finished our meals and exited the restaurant, my wallet much too light for my tastes. Outside, a familiar figure waited in the dusk, the old boyfriend J.D. He confronted our lot, his old girlfriend in particular, and at first he pleaded with Katie to take him back, but when his lamentations fell on deaf ears he tried to force himself on her. He felt her up like an addict trying to get a fix while Katie stood transfixed, unable to move under her own power. Natalie froze, a statue in the cold while Chris attempted to intervene, but got forced back when J.D. brandished a knife.

Chris pulled back and said, “J.D., what the hell are you doing?”

I couldn’t believe what J.D. just did and I would not let such a violation stand, so I took action. Everyone has a right to life, liberty, and property and when someone threatens the rights of another they forfeit those right themselves. In my anger I pulled out a butterfly knife I like to carry about and I advanced on J.D.

J.D. barked, “Get back Isaac.”

I responded, “You have no right to touch any girl like that, let alone Katie. Get the hell out of here before I make you leave.”

J.D. laughed, “Screw you Isaac. Get out of here.”

“What?”

“You heard me Isaac. What do you care, this has nothing to do with you.”

“That’s bullshit. You attacked us, so you made it have to do with me.”

I looked to Chris, who shrugged and J.D. smiled before making a sudden move at me. I reacted by plunging my knife into his shoulder. He howled, trying to stagger away but I wasn’t done with him yet. Just as I blocked his path to finish what he’d started the town cop showed up.

Our cop, Officer Bob, didn’t bother to look up from his clip board and not having noticed J.D. or his knife wound said, “Isaac, I was told you’d be here and came down to ask if you’d come to the station with me.”

Everyone, myself included, stared at Officer Bob, which prompted him to ask what the matter was. J.D. responded by pointing at me, “He stabbed me!”

J.D. clutched his shoulder with blood drenching his shirt and jacket. I don’t remember much because I’ve tried to forget that time, but I ended up down at the station alone. I do remember the looks on everyone’s faces, the incredulity in Chris’s eyes, but I remember Natalie most of all. She looked past me and into the ocean behind the restaurant, and I don’t know if she ever got over that shock.

I spent the next fourteen hours in the station, and most of it I spent in one of the holding cells. They asked me to talk, but I never said a word. I couldn’t talk as I was too choked up with anger, and I wished I stabbed J.D. in the throat rather than the shoulder. The next morning Officer Bob came in and let me go.

He said, “I got statements from your friends and from the sound of it the stabbing was self-defense. As for the incident at the Ostermann household, her daughter isn’t pressing charges because nothing was stolen, so you’re free to go for now.”

That was the end of my sojourn at the police station, so all that was left was for me to walk home. People turned and watched as I passed by and gave me a wide berth when I neared. Having lost the collective trust of my fellow townsfolk, life in Derby Harbor became brutal. People I once considered friends no longer talked to me and customers, at best complained about my presence at work and at worst demanded I get fired. The only person who still hung out with me was Chris because he was the only one who understood. He wasn’t enough to help me, so I planned to disappear at the end of the summer, hoping escape would be relief.

Towards the end of the school year, I started to wish I could just stay home until summer came. The looks people gave me, I’ll never forget. Their cold stares went past me or through me as though I wasn’t there. Teaches got tough on me as if they expected trouble out of me at any moment, but I never gave them any. One Monday rolled by and Natalie didn’t show up to school, and Tuesday was the same. People started to talk, saying I did something to her. On Wednesday the principal called me to his office. I stood in front of his steel desk in the simple room the school provided him.

Master P, as the student body took to calling the principal, started by asking me to sit down. I refused. He went straight to business, “Isaac, you’re dating Natalie right? Do you know why she hasn’t been coming to school as of late?”

“I don’t know sir, but I can go check.”

“Good, and get back to me soon. Graduation is coming up and I don’t want this to turn into a bigger mess than it already is.”

I walked out of the office and leaned on a wall nearby. What gave Master P the idea that Natalie and I were dating? We’d gone out once to the restaurant, but that’s it. Are other students telling him this? Teachers? Nobody talks to me anymore so I just don’t know.

I showed up outside Natalie’s home Wednesday after school since I didn’t have to work that day. What a way to spend my day off. I knocked on the door and got a meek yes in return. I announced myself.

Natalie answered the door, “Isaac what are you doing here?”

Natalie was a mess. Her hair stood up on end, disheveled and her clothes were dirty and not ironed. I said, “You haven’t been to school the last couple of days, so everyone’s worried. Is your father home?”

Natalie sobbed, “No he isn’t. I just don’t know what to do. Could you stay Isaac, for just a few minutes?”

I agreed to though I didn’t want to, but I didn’t want to find out what might happen to Natalie if I left. The situation did not make sense to me at first because I was under the impression she took care of her father, so why couldn’t she take care of herself with her father gone? I stepped insider her home only to find squalor. It isn’t possible for humans to live in such a state of decay in which I found that house in.

I asked Natalie where her father was and she responded, “He’s in Fairbanks for two weeks. My aunt is sick.”

I couldn’t stand the house or its mess, but I couldn’t leave Natalie alone as things were, so I stayed and told her I’d help out if only for my own piece of mind. She was ecstatic and stuck herself to me for every moment I spent in her house. I cleaned and even cooked everyday after school, work, and the bulk of the weekend. It took the better part of a week to make that house livable by mopping, scrubbing, and sweeping every room. The cleaning gave me something to focus on besides my disgust. Natalie spent the time either bouncing around getting in the way or nagging me to do some other chore while complaining about what I was doing at the time. She was like a poorly trained dog that tears up the furniture when the owner goes on vacation.

I was glad when Natalie’s father returned and I no longer had to be around that house. Disaster had been diverted and she came to school once more. Natalie took every opportunity to eat lunch with me or spend time with me, which made my situation difficult. I did my best to remain aloof of her hoping the time I spent with her didn’t give her wrong ideas, especially about us.

Graduation came and went, and I finished fourth in my class which is better than most, and I’m happy with that. Summer made life for me much harder when Chris quit the grocery store to prepare for working on his father’s crabbing boat in November. Chris was the one guy who understood me, and he was the only friend to stick by me when everyone else abandoned me. Hoping to forestall his departure, I told him it was early for that and he said “preparations take awhile.”

On his last day at the grocery store, which I had off but still took the opportunity to come talk to Chris, he said, “Don’t worry about it Isaac, we can still hang out, go drinking or something. We've been friends too long for me to give up on you like the rest of the town.”

“You're right; we've been friends for too long. I’m leaving this town, it’s too tough for me to get by when everyone either acts like I don’t exist or is out to get me, even with you around. I’m leaving for Paris Island at the end of August.”

“You’re going to France?”

“No, I’m joining the Marines.”

“But they’ll send you to Iraq.”

“Probably”

Chris stepped back, “What? No, you can get a job with my father on the ship. People might be tough on you now, but if you keep your head low and work hard they’ll forget about what happened with Mrs. Ostermann and J.D., and what about Natalie?”

Natalie, as if on cue when Chris mentioned her name entered the store and came down our aisle stopping next to us. She greeted us both with a smile.

I started, “Natalie I . . .”

She interrupted, “Isaac, I want to talk with you, will you walk me home?”

Taken aback I said, “S . . . sure.”

Chris gave me thumbs up as I walked away with Natalie. She swung a gallon of milk in one hand and with the other grasped one of my arms and wouldn’t let go for anything.

Squeezing my hand she said, “I’m sorry about not talking to you for the last few days, but I needed to think. Isaac, you’re a good person and you were only trying to do the right thing at the restaurant. You’re not a violent person.”

“You’re wrong Natalie, I am a violent person.”

She squeezed harder, “No you’re not, I won’t let you get violent, okay?”

Natalie smiled, and we found ourselves standing outside her front door. She ushered me in without a wasting a moment and closed the door behind her. Her house, the living room, kitchen, everything was squalor. Amid the mess her father slept on the couch dressed in boxers and a wife beater. It was hard to walk around.

Natalie jumped into the kitchen from the hall and said to me, “Just let me put the milk away and then we can go upstairs where it’s clean. Sorry for the mess, I do my best but it’s so hard with my father out of work.”

She came back and pulled me upstairs into her room, where it was clean as she said. She sat on the bed and motioned for me to join her, but I chose to stand. Natalie started to cry and having never seen her cry before I didn’t know what to do.

She said, “I can’t go on like this anymore Isaac, it’s just too hard. I need help.”

“Uh, what do you need?”

She came to me and grabbed my arm, “I need you Isaac.”

The look she gave me pierced down into the base of my brain stopping my heart. I said, “Natalie, I don’t think I’m ready for this.”

“Please Isaac, don’t leave me alone.”

A knock on her door interrupted us, salvation. Natalie let go and started to shake. She called out and her father responded by breaking her door in. With a loud crack the lock broke open and the door swung against the wall. The smell of whiskey followed him in and he proceeded to push all of her belongings on the dresser onto the floor. He threw books about and Natalie cried, her sobs grew frantic when she asked her father what was wrong.

He answered, “Natalie, I should kill you for this, I can’t believe you’d betray your own father like this. And you Isaac, what gives you the right to come into my home and take what isn’t yours?”

I remained calm, “And what sir, did I take?”

He got right into my face, spitting, “You know very well what. Where is it? WHERE’S MY MILK!”

For a moment I couldn’t speak, all I could do was laugh. The father stood dumbfounded and Natalie managed a couple weak chuckles in-between sobs. I’ve never laughed so hard in my life, and once it hurt too much to continue I said to her father, “Well did you check the fridge?”

He answered, “No.”

I continued, “Then I suggest you go do that now.”

I couldn’t bear to look at Natalie after my show, so I walked to the door and said with my back to her, “I’m sorry Natalie, I should go.” The last thing I heard in that house was her crying.

Now here I am one week later on a plane that’ll take me to Fairbanks and from there to the “Outside” and freedom. I’ll just disappear; it’s getting cool, winter comes early here. I couldn’t bring myself to speak to Natalie again, so I wrote her a letter. I told her I was sorry for laughing as I did and I won’t be there for her, but told her to move on and forget me like everyone else would. I won’t be coming back.