Three Doodles
Apr. 1st, 2012 11:36 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
kasihyaI read The Hunger Games today, and was mildly horrified to discover that (a) I write like Suzanne Collins, and (b) it is an insanely obtrusive style, and I'm not even as good as she is. Coming on the heels of rereading The Eleventh Hour (Time War Remix) and discovering that my writing is incredibly dry and confusing at times. Of course, it's good to be humbled, but anyway, the point of this exercise - aside from making me not feel useless - was to try to balance out my [[dialogue][movement description][dialogue][thought process][dialogue][dialogue]][repeat sequence ad nauseum] formula with some ... well ... variety.
I have a feeling that my attempts to write a multiethnic, mixed-class Twelve Apostles is going to backfire horribly.
‘Sorry we couldn’t meet in the apartment. My roommates are moving out as we speak, and it’s a disaster. So not representative,’ Riley says, straight off the bat. ‘You can maybe come by in a few days and check it out then?’
The girl — she’s pretty with her olive skin and sleek brown ponytail, he thinks happily; he likes being around pretty people — shrugs and slides into a chair in the café. ‘We’ll do that, assuming all goes well. Come on, Van, sit down.’ She reaches around to tug at the dark-eyed young man standing with his hands still perched on the back of the chair next to hers. He would be pretty too, Riley thinks, but something hollow in his expression makes him shiver inside.
Van blinks several times in rapid succession, and gives a near-imperceptible shake. A smile appears on his face like he’s switched on a lamp, one of those nice warm ones that belong in plush living rooms out of catalogues. ‘Sorry,’ he says. ‘I’m not running on an adequate amount of sleep at the moment.’
Riley decides that he will revise his first impression. ‘Not at all, not at all. Sit down, let’s talk.’
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
People have a lot of associations with the coming of the Messiah: fire, brimstone, locusts and all that. John doesn’t believe a word of it, mostly because Joanna can’t stand bugs. ‘Mother forgive me for saying this, because I know that there is purpose to everything, but I dearly wish that some other purpose could have been found for insects,’ she says one day while they walk through Central Park with their family, as she swats a gnat away from her face.
‘But that would disrupt the entire ecosystem,’ says Jamie. ‘It all depends on ants and bugs and other small animals.’
John doesn’t roll his eyes, because that would be unholy, and Joanna constantly stresses the importance of being forgiving. ‘That’s the point she’s making: if you’re so all-mighty and powerful, and you know that one day you’re going to send your daughter to go muck around on Earth, why bother with little gnatty things that you know she hates? It’s rude, is what it is.’ He slides his fingers through Joanna’s and swings their hands back and forth as they walk. ‘Aren’t I right?’
Joanna shakes her head and smiles indulgently. She has this way of smiling that makes John feel like he’s woefully inadequate, but also like maybe that’s okay, that being perfect is something only she can truly achieve, so it’s fine to slip up every now and then. ‘It’s a metaphor.’ Joanna crouches down on the ground; a moment later, she comes back up with an ant that skitters around her fingers. Their brothers and sisters gather in around her to listen while she speaks. ‘See this ant? This ant, right here, with the community of its siblings and anthill, does more for the continuation of this earth than any of you ever will, simply by going about and doing its duty. Without this ant, the world as you know it would not function. And the bacteria, they will do more for the continuation of this earth than this ant ever will. In this way, the smallest have the capacity, when working together, even to tower over the giants in their accomplishments.’
The ring of people in the path contemplate the tiny creature wandering around the Messiah’s hand in silence. John wonders if this means that he’s more powerful than Jamie or Judas, or even Patricia. In his own way.
‘Only if you work with your fellows,’ says Joanna to the ant, but her eyes flicker to John for a split-second before she puts the ant back on the ground and wipes her hand on her jeans.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The thing is, John doesn’t like Jamie, and he doesn’t think that she deserves to stay with Joanna and her crew. (They would call themselves the Apostles, but Matt thought that sounded too much like a B-rated horror movie, and nixed the Children for the same reason. Currently they’re ‘the crew’, although Judith is looking into etymologically significant last names for them to adopt.) When Joanna found him, he was living off of Emmanuel’s couch, failing high school, and with zero support from their parents. She’d been a lifeline for him, a chance to have a new family where he pitched in and got back in equal amounts. He wasn’t a burden, and he was able — encouraged — to forget his past.
And then there was the whole thing with the Castella’s wedding, and suddenly Jamie shows up outside of the apartment he shares with Patricia, Joanna, and Andrés, while they’re in the middle of dinner.
‘Hey John, how’s it been?’ Jamie asked. Her professional, polished outfit — she’d probably just come off work, to go by her shoulder bag — stands in sharp contrast to the dingy hallway outside their apartment with its thin layer of grime. She tries to peer over his shoulder into the apartment; John closes the door on himself to block her view.
‘What’re you doing here?’
Jamie shrugs. ‘I saw your friend on local news the other night. Joanna, right? And then they showed you in the background, listed under ‘Joanna’s family’ along with that white tranny and the Mexican dude, and I thought, well, looks like my little brother’s found himself some peeps. Let’s check that out, huh?’ She leans in to whisper. ‘So which one of them is your boyfriend?’
John trains his face into blankness, so that he doesn’t punch his sister in the face. ‘No one’s my boyfriend. They’re my family. They don’t care who I fuck, and they stick up for me when I got shit to deal with at school. It’s more than I can say for any of you.’ He starts to close the door in her face.
‘John, who are you talking to?’ Patricia calls from the dining room table.
‘No one.’ He tries to shut the door. Jamie sticks her foot in the way. ‘Get out of there,’ he insists.
‘I came to talk to you, you ass,’ she says. ‘Let me in, I’m not going to embarrass you.’
‘John.’ Joanna’s voice is steady and, as always, implacable. ‘Let her in.’
Joanna is not a woman to be disobeyed. Neither is she a deity to be disobeyed. John lets up the pressure on Jamie’s foot, and opens the door with a sinking feeling in his stomach. ‘It’s my sister. Jamie.’
‘You have a sister?’ asks Andrés, in that perpetually confused tone of his that John normally finds endearing.
‘You didn’t tell them you have a sister?’ Jamie sticks her hands on her hips and scowls at him. ‘What kind of little brother are you?’
John very nearly shouts at her that he’s the kind of little brother that doesn’t get mentioned at family get-togethers anymore because he’s going to Hell, but he doesn’t, because at that instant, Joanna gets up and puts a hand on his shoulder. ‘Hello. I’m Joanna. I’m John’s older sister. May the blessing of the Mother be with you always.’
John shuts his eyes and waits for Jamie to implode. She is silent. He hears the sounds of chairs scraping as Patricia and Andrés get to their feet, then footsteps. ‘Patricia McMillan. John’s aunt.’
‘Andrés Rodriguez. I am John’s uncle. Blessings of the Mother.’ His calloused hand rests on John’s other shoulder.
John’s insides seem to be doing a very funny thing. His stomach stops sinking, and something inside his chest expands, and then everything seems to disappear completely. And if it does exist, then he stops being aware of it. He is conscious only of a floating sensation, like being wrapped in layers and layers of soft blankets on a cold morning, and he would pull his housemates into a hug if he could fit all three of them at once.
He opens his eyes. Jamie is staring at him with eyes bugging out of their sockets as they travel from Andrés’ prematurely wrinkled face, to Patricia’s broad shoulders and sundress, to Joanna with her hooked nose and authoritative aura. Jamie clutches at the strap of her briefcase.
‘My family,’ John repeats. The words come out thicker than he meant them to.
Jamie looks away, over at the wall where they’ve hung a painting that a street artist named Tom did of Patricia and Andrés. Her faces goes through a series of complicated expressions. John tilts his head back and meets Joanna’s eyes. No one speaks.
Finally, Jamie looks back at John, and straightens. ‘Hey, John’s family. Do you mind if I talk to John for a bit?’ She gives them a smile through gritted teeth.
John crosses his arms across his skinny chest. This is, he knows it, a deciding moment. He can step up and be the better person here, like Joanna would want him to do — like he wants himself to be able to do — or he can tell her to get the hell out of their apartment, and stop acting like a few sentences are going to change the way his biological family has treated him for the past year and a half.
Joanna hums a hymn under her breath. Andrés squeezes his shoulder; John reaches up to place his fingers over the older man’s hand. He takes a deep breath. ‘You can sit at the table with us while we eat.’
‘You may eat with us, if you would like,’ Joanna adds.
John glances at her quickly, frowning. All right, they weren’t starving, not right now, but he’d worked hard to put that food on the table — they all had. Jamie is perfectly capable of feeding herself, these days, and she’s probably got better food than they do. He doesn’t want her getting a free meal out of their meager supplies; she should have to work for it, too.
Which is exactly what Joanna would tell him is being selfish. Not selfless. ‘A true devotee of the Lord cares for all under their roof, and does not turn anyone away from table, no matter the circumstances.’ John snorts. ‘Yeah, come on in. We’ve got beans and rice,’ he says.
‘It’s no real arroz con frijoles, but you will not go away hungry,’ says Andrés.
Jamie smiles uncertainly. ‘Thank you, so much, but I’ve got enough of my own food at home. I wouldn’t impose. I’ll just sit down.’
‘You may have my chair,’ says Joanna, as Patricia and Andrés move back towards the dining table.
‘Oh no, I couldn’t possibly,’ —
John has to snicker at that. ‘She’s just using it as an excuse to sit in Andrés’ lap. Don’t flatter yourself.’
Jamie looks as though she’s not sure whether she’s allowed to be in on the joke and laugh, or not; she lifts one corner of her mouth and both of her eyebrows, but in the end just sits down in Joanna’s chair and passes the chipped cracked plate of Joanna’s food over to Andrés’ side of the table. The dinner continues, but the thread of conversation and easy camaraderie that John associates with this apartment is strained by Jamie’s arrival.
‘So,’ says Patricia. ‘What brings you to this neck of the woods?’
John watches as Jamie’s face contorts, her gaze darting around until it settles on Johanna. ‘I was watching the local cable news channel a few days ago …’ she begins, and Joanna smiles.
I have a feeling that my attempts to write a multiethnic, mixed-class Twelve Apostles is going to backfire horribly.
‘Sorry we couldn’t meet in the apartment. My roommates are moving out as we speak, and it’s a disaster. So not representative,’ Riley says, straight off the bat. ‘You can maybe come by in a few days and check it out then?’
The girl — she’s pretty with her olive skin and sleek brown ponytail, he thinks happily; he likes being around pretty people — shrugs and slides into a chair in the café. ‘We’ll do that, assuming all goes well. Come on, Van, sit down.’ She reaches around to tug at the dark-eyed young man standing with his hands still perched on the back of the chair next to hers. He would be pretty too, Riley thinks, but something hollow in his expression makes him shiver inside.
Van blinks several times in rapid succession, and gives a near-imperceptible shake. A smile appears on his face like he’s switched on a lamp, one of those nice warm ones that belong in plush living rooms out of catalogues. ‘Sorry,’ he says. ‘I’m not running on an adequate amount of sleep at the moment.’
Riley decides that he will revise his first impression. ‘Not at all, not at all. Sit down, let’s talk.’
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
People have a lot of associations with the coming of the Messiah: fire, brimstone, locusts and all that. John doesn’t believe a word of it, mostly because Joanna can’t stand bugs. ‘Mother forgive me for saying this, because I know that there is purpose to everything, but I dearly wish that some other purpose could have been found for insects,’ she says one day while they walk through Central Park with their family, as she swats a gnat away from her face.
‘But that would disrupt the entire ecosystem,’ says Jamie. ‘It all depends on ants and bugs and other small animals.’
John doesn’t roll his eyes, because that would be unholy, and Joanna constantly stresses the importance of being forgiving. ‘That’s the point she’s making: if you’re so all-mighty and powerful, and you know that one day you’re going to send your daughter to go muck around on Earth, why bother with little gnatty things that you know she hates? It’s rude, is what it is.’ He slides his fingers through Joanna’s and swings their hands back and forth as they walk. ‘Aren’t I right?’
Joanna shakes her head and smiles indulgently. She has this way of smiling that makes John feel like he’s woefully inadequate, but also like maybe that’s okay, that being perfect is something only she can truly achieve, so it’s fine to slip up every now and then. ‘It’s a metaphor.’ Joanna crouches down on the ground; a moment later, she comes back up with an ant that skitters around her fingers. Their brothers and sisters gather in around her to listen while she speaks. ‘See this ant? This ant, right here, with the community of its siblings and anthill, does more for the continuation of this earth than any of you ever will, simply by going about and doing its duty. Without this ant, the world as you know it would not function. And the bacteria, they will do more for the continuation of this earth than this ant ever will. In this way, the smallest have the capacity, when working together, even to tower over the giants in their accomplishments.’
The ring of people in the path contemplate the tiny creature wandering around the Messiah’s hand in silence. John wonders if this means that he’s more powerful than Jamie or Judas, or even Patricia. In his own way.
‘Only if you work with your fellows,’ says Joanna to the ant, but her eyes flicker to John for a split-second before she puts the ant back on the ground and wipes her hand on her jeans.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The thing is, John doesn’t like Jamie, and he doesn’t think that she deserves to stay with Joanna and her crew. (They would call themselves the Apostles, but Matt thought that sounded too much like a B-rated horror movie, and nixed the Children for the same reason. Currently they’re ‘the crew’, although Judith is looking into etymologically significant last names for them to adopt.) When Joanna found him, he was living off of Emmanuel’s couch, failing high school, and with zero support from their parents. She’d been a lifeline for him, a chance to have a new family where he pitched in and got back in equal amounts. He wasn’t a burden, and he was able — encouraged — to forget his past.
And then there was the whole thing with the Castella’s wedding, and suddenly Jamie shows up outside of the apartment he shares with Patricia, Joanna, and Andrés, while they’re in the middle of dinner.
‘Hey John, how’s it been?’ Jamie asked. Her professional, polished outfit — she’d probably just come off work, to go by her shoulder bag — stands in sharp contrast to the dingy hallway outside their apartment with its thin layer of grime. She tries to peer over his shoulder into the apartment; John closes the door on himself to block her view.
‘What’re you doing here?’
Jamie shrugs. ‘I saw your friend on local news the other night. Joanna, right? And then they showed you in the background, listed under ‘Joanna’s family’ along with that white tranny and the Mexican dude, and I thought, well, looks like my little brother’s found himself some peeps. Let’s check that out, huh?’ She leans in to whisper. ‘So which one of them is your boyfriend?’
John trains his face into blankness, so that he doesn’t punch his sister in the face. ‘No one’s my boyfriend. They’re my family. They don’t care who I fuck, and they stick up for me when I got shit to deal with at school. It’s more than I can say for any of you.’ He starts to close the door in her face.
‘John, who are you talking to?’ Patricia calls from the dining room table.
‘No one.’ He tries to shut the door. Jamie sticks her foot in the way. ‘Get out of there,’ he insists.
‘I came to talk to you, you ass,’ she says. ‘Let me in, I’m not going to embarrass you.’
‘John.’ Joanna’s voice is steady and, as always, implacable. ‘Let her in.’
Joanna is not a woman to be disobeyed. Neither is she a deity to be disobeyed. John lets up the pressure on Jamie’s foot, and opens the door with a sinking feeling in his stomach. ‘It’s my sister. Jamie.’
‘You have a sister?’ asks Andrés, in that perpetually confused tone of his that John normally finds endearing.
‘You didn’t tell them you have a sister?’ Jamie sticks her hands on her hips and scowls at him. ‘What kind of little brother are you?’
John very nearly shouts at her that he’s the kind of little brother that doesn’t get mentioned at family get-togethers anymore because he’s going to Hell, but he doesn’t, because at that instant, Joanna gets up and puts a hand on his shoulder. ‘Hello. I’m Joanna. I’m John’s older sister. May the blessing of the Mother be with you always.’
John shuts his eyes and waits for Jamie to implode. She is silent. He hears the sounds of chairs scraping as Patricia and Andrés get to their feet, then footsteps. ‘Patricia McMillan. John’s aunt.’
‘Andrés Rodriguez. I am John’s uncle. Blessings of the Mother.’ His calloused hand rests on John’s other shoulder.
John’s insides seem to be doing a very funny thing. His stomach stops sinking, and something inside his chest expands, and then everything seems to disappear completely. And if it does exist, then he stops being aware of it. He is conscious only of a floating sensation, like being wrapped in layers and layers of soft blankets on a cold morning, and he would pull his housemates into a hug if he could fit all three of them at once.
He opens his eyes. Jamie is staring at him with eyes bugging out of their sockets as they travel from Andrés’ prematurely wrinkled face, to Patricia’s broad shoulders and sundress, to Joanna with her hooked nose and authoritative aura. Jamie clutches at the strap of her briefcase.
‘My family,’ John repeats. The words come out thicker than he meant them to.
Jamie looks away, over at the wall where they’ve hung a painting that a street artist named Tom did of Patricia and Andrés. Her faces goes through a series of complicated expressions. John tilts his head back and meets Joanna’s eyes. No one speaks.
Finally, Jamie looks back at John, and straightens. ‘Hey, John’s family. Do you mind if I talk to John for a bit?’ She gives them a smile through gritted teeth.
John crosses his arms across his skinny chest. This is, he knows it, a deciding moment. He can step up and be the better person here, like Joanna would want him to do — like he wants himself to be able to do — or he can tell her to get the hell out of their apartment, and stop acting like a few sentences are going to change the way his biological family has treated him for the past year and a half.
Joanna hums a hymn under her breath. Andrés squeezes his shoulder; John reaches up to place his fingers over the older man’s hand. He takes a deep breath. ‘You can sit at the table with us while we eat.’
‘You may eat with us, if you would like,’ Joanna adds.
John glances at her quickly, frowning. All right, they weren’t starving, not right now, but he’d worked hard to put that food on the table — they all had. Jamie is perfectly capable of feeding herself, these days, and she’s probably got better food than they do. He doesn’t want her getting a free meal out of their meager supplies; she should have to work for it, too.
Which is exactly what Joanna would tell him is being selfish. Not selfless. ‘A true devotee of the Lord cares for all under their roof, and does not turn anyone away from table, no matter the circumstances.’ John snorts. ‘Yeah, come on in. We’ve got beans and rice,’ he says.
‘It’s no real arroz con frijoles, but you will not go away hungry,’ says Andrés.
Jamie smiles uncertainly. ‘Thank you, so much, but I’ve got enough of my own food at home. I wouldn’t impose. I’ll just sit down.’
‘You may have my chair,’ says Joanna, as Patricia and Andrés move back towards the dining table.
‘Oh no, I couldn’t possibly,’ —
John has to snicker at that. ‘She’s just using it as an excuse to sit in Andrés’ lap. Don’t flatter yourself.’
Jamie looks as though she’s not sure whether she’s allowed to be in on the joke and laugh, or not; she lifts one corner of her mouth and both of her eyebrows, but in the end just sits down in Joanna’s chair and passes the chipped cracked plate of Joanna’s food over to Andrés’ side of the table. The dinner continues, but the thread of conversation and easy camaraderie that John associates with this apartment is strained by Jamie’s arrival.
‘So,’ says Patricia. ‘What brings you to this neck of the woods?’
John watches as Jamie’s face contorts, her gaze darting around until it settles on Johanna. ‘I was watching the local cable news channel a few days ago …’ she begins, and Joanna smiles.
