Post by flapjack on Apr 3, 2009 22:08:05 GMT -5
Here's on decision for the beginning of the first chapter of my new book Privileged to Witness. There are several that I'll be typing up, but critique this one for now and tell me what you think. It would really help me.
CHAPTER 1
(Tuesday, May 27th – Wednesday May 28th, 2008)
I was at the dining room in the Pancake House only ten days before, a cramped but aromatic foyer, accompanied by several of my companions from English class. We were seated at a freshly waxed elm slab encircled by a number of small chairs from the same make for a genial Saturday banquet. I was sporting a first-rate crimson sunburn from playing football the previous day. We dished out our anticipations for the final assessments as well as our arrangements for the long-awaited summer holiday.
I can’t consider precisely why we happened to be there. I deem the main reason to be jesting a funeral meal for a character in Brave New World, the book we finished the week before. I think it was for the woman, Lenina, whose authenticity of dying was debated numerous times in the classroom.
A waitress appeared with each of our own servings of affectionate meat omelettes, creamed coffee and bread desserts. I recall plucking at my ham and egg tortilla with a fork and stealing a few sudden glances at the cutest girl in class, Taylor Lasher. She was wearing a charming pair of dark-violet corduroy overalls, complimenting a striped shirt underneath. I despised my unsightly appearance with the sun kisses and attempted to at least insure the appeal of my garments – my unaligned black buttons adorning the front of my bosom, and a navy blue hooded sweater that I wore quite often. I liked to call it my “lucky” sweater, though there wasn’t much good fortune to it all. I bought it at Old Navy, eventually losing it in the back of my closet for over a year and it seemed that nearly every time somebody would try to scratch a brawl with me, I was nearly always wearing the sweater. Still it had a fortunate aura surrounding its cotton and polyester fabric, as if the scarlet letters making out “Chaps Denim” contained a sort of luck that would emerge when I didn’t expect it to.
I inadvertently knocked the tip of my shoe against the front of Taylor’s slippers. Eager that she didn’t notice, I felt compelled to speak unapologetically. “I certainly hope that these omelettes will be just as good in France as they are here in the States.” She didn’t answer straight away at first; just turned her gorgeous head and beamed at me.
“You are going to France aren’t you?”
“Yea, I’ll be catching a plane out of Denver – Wednesday after this one.”
“Oh you will remember to tell me all about it when you get back won’t you Jason?
“Sure. I’ll make sure I tell the entire world when I return.”
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
That was ten days before, and time had finally proven itself to pass to Tuesday night; the night before I would be leaving for the other side of the world. I had never left the continent before. In fact, I only left the country once on a visit with my father to see Tijuana.
Nevertheless, life was treating me better by that Tuesday. The final exams were finished and shone bold A’s on my report card. The sunburn had completely diminished and the smell of fresh summer nights crept through the window. I had a large red suitcase, all packed, lying in the corner of my room adjacent to a recharging photograph-machine that my father gifted me with the prior Christmas. The good stuff was all packed and stored including the midday snacks, my clothing and the music player. I lied down upon the ruffled bed sheets and tried to envision what the next couple of weeks would appear to be like before slept. I had been waiting for this day for over a year and a half after I had heard this opportunity announced in my first French class during my first week of high school. That was back in Widefield though; struggles with their methods of teaching led me to switch to James Irwin Charter High in the middle of my sophomore year. Now I was in the early summer before my junior year. I no longer had any friends from Widefield High; I barely had any strong friendships at James Irwin. I didn’t care much for dating either. Nothing past a movie, a concert, or a sweaty handhold.
By now, I was doing exceedingly well in my French studies and I had nearly mastered every tense though I was still a tad bit rough on slang and my overall vocabulary. I knew I wouldn’t be in communication with any of my friends for the next two weeks. I hadn’t remembered to tell most of them that I would be gone with the exception of my close friends. Those of which, I happened to have very few of. The phone would be staying at home and I would be in a crowd of teenagers I probably wouldn’t even know on the other side of the planet. I couldn’t have been more excited…
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The twilight of Tuesday’s dusk transitioned briskly into dismal summer daybreak. The sun was not clearly within sight of anybody walking the dirt. There was light outside the door but not a shadow to haunt anything with. The jack-in-the-pulpits consumed the blessings of the night’s obvious shower and dropped whatever was left off their leaflike spathes. The rain disappeared into the slender labyrinth of ground beneath the roots of the bloodworts and the tickseeds. The nimbus clouds journeyed to the East towards the vanishing point of the distance from the mountains. Momentary patters of water would beat against the windowpane and cleanse it of the beetle livers and lark blessings. The rocky coronet of the mountain of Cheyenne would claw at the fragile clouds and make them bleed all over the mountainside villages.
I roused at the piercing shrill of the clock’s alarm. Naturally, the veins in my eyes tried to massage the lids of my eyes back together but I endured the fatigue of the previous night’s pondering. Despite the fact that it was 9:00 am, I was the only person awake in the house. My brother was sleeping and would probably not see me on my way out the door. My mother was sleeping in; she would go to work later after she dropped me off with the Widefield kids. A paper that I received from a meeting two weeks before prompted us to meet at Widefield High School’s parking lot by noon for a transport bus to take us to the Denver International Airport. Three more hours until I was expected to be at Widefield.
I boiled a pot of green tea with my breakfast: two bananas and a small bag of unsalted almonds. I finished my breakfast fairly quickly before I decided to shower and dress myself.
I removed everything I needed from my bedroom and carried it to the base of the stairs. The red suitcase had all the clothes, food and toiletries. There was also a blue-and-orange backpack that EF Tours gave me for free at the meeting two weeks ago, inside the suitcase. I brought it just in case though; I planned on using my red schoolbag as my carry-on instead. The only items in there were an iPod, a mechanical pencil, and a sketchbook. I left the camera out on a table so as not to forget it when I was ready to leave.
CHAPTER 1
(Tuesday, May 27th – Wednesday May 28th, 2008)
I was at the dining room in the Pancake House only ten days before, a cramped but aromatic foyer, accompanied by several of my companions from English class. We were seated at a freshly waxed elm slab encircled by a number of small chairs from the same make for a genial Saturday banquet. I was sporting a first-rate crimson sunburn from playing football the previous day. We dished out our anticipations for the final assessments as well as our arrangements for the long-awaited summer holiday.
I can’t consider precisely why we happened to be there. I deem the main reason to be jesting a funeral meal for a character in Brave New World, the book we finished the week before. I think it was for the woman, Lenina, whose authenticity of dying was debated numerous times in the classroom.
A waitress appeared with each of our own servings of affectionate meat omelettes, creamed coffee and bread desserts. I recall plucking at my ham and egg tortilla with a fork and stealing a few sudden glances at the cutest girl in class, Taylor Lasher. She was wearing a charming pair of dark-violet corduroy overalls, complimenting a striped shirt underneath. I despised my unsightly appearance with the sun kisses and attempted to at least insure the appeal of my garments – my unaligned black buttons adorning the front of my bosom, and a navy blue hooded sweater that I wore quite often. I liked to call it my “lucky” sweater, though there wasn’t much good fortune to it all. I bought it at Old Navy, eventually losing it in the back of my closet for over a year and it seemed that nearly every time somebody would try to scratch a brawl with me, I was nearly always wearing the sweater. Still it had a fortunate aura surrounding its cotton and polyester fabric, as if the scarlet letters making out “Chaps Denim” contained a sort of luck that would emerge when I didn’t expect it to.
I inadvertently knocked the tip of my shoe against the front of Taylor’s slippers. Eager that she didn’t notice, I felt compelled to speak unapologetically. “I certainly hope that these omelettes will be just as good in France as they are here in the States.” She didn’t answer straight away at first; just turned her gorgeous head and beamed at me.
“You are going to France aren’t you?”
“Yea, I’ll be catching a plane out of Denver – Wednesday after this one.”
“Oh you will remember to tell me all about it when you get back won’t you Jason?
“Sure. I’ll make sure I tell the entire world when I return.”
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
That was ten days before, and time had finally proven itself to pass to Tuesday night; the night before I would be leaving for the other side of the world. I had never left the continent before. In fact, I only left the country once on a visit with my father to see Tijuana.
Nevertheless, life was treating me better by that Tuesday. The final exams were finished and shone bold A’s on my report card. The sunburn had completely diminished and the smell of fresh summer nights crept through the window. I had a large red suitcase, all packed, lying in the corner of my room adjacent to a recharging photograph-machine that my father gifted me with the prior Christmas. The good stuff was all packed and stored including the midday snacks, my clothing and the music player. I lied down upon the ruffled bed sheets and tried to envision what the next couple of weeks would appear to be like before slept. I had been waiting for this day for over a year and a half after I had heard this opportunity announced in my first French class during my first week of high school. That was back in Widefield though; struggles with their methods of teaching led me to switch to James Irwin Charter High in the middle of my sophomore year. Now I was in the early summer before my junior year. I no longer had any friends from Widefield High; I barely had any strong friendships at James Irwin. I didn’t care much for dating either. Nothing past a movie, a concert, or a sweaty handhold.
By now, I was doing exceedingly well in my French studies and I had nearly mastered every tense though I was still a tad bit rough on slang and my overall vocabulary. I knew I wouldn’t be in communication with any of my friends for the next two weeks. I hadn’t remembered to tell most of them that I would be gone with the exception of my close friends. Those of which, I happened to have very few of. The phone would be staying at home and I would be in a crowd of teenagers I probably wouldn’t even know on the other side of the planet. I couldn’t have been more excited…
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The twilight of Tuesday’s dusk transitioned briskly into dismal summer daybreak. The sun was not clearly within sight of anybody walking the dirt. There was light outside the door but not a shadow to haunt anything with. The jack-in-the-pulpits consumed the blessings of the night’s obvious shower and dropped whatever was left off their leaflike spathes. The rain disappeared into the slender labyrinth of ground beneath the roots of the bloodworts and the tickseeds. The nimbus clouds journeyed to the East towards the vanishing point of the distance from the mountains. Momentary patters of water would beat against the windowpane and cleanse it of the beetle livers and lark blessings. The rocky coronet of the mountain of Cheyenne would claw at the fragile clouds and make them bleed all over the mountainside villages.
I roused at the piercing shrill of the clock’s alarm. Naturally, the veins in my eyes tried to massage the lids of my eyes back together but I endured the fatigue of the previous night’s pondering. Despite the fact that it was 9:00 am, I was the only person awake in the house. My brother was sleeping and would probably not see me on my way out the door. My mother was sleeping in; she would go to work later after she dropped me off with the Widefield kids. A paper that I received from a meeting two weeks before prompted us to meet at Widefield High School’s parking lot by noon for a transport bus to take us to the Denver International Airport. Three more hours until I was expected to be at Widefield.
I boiled a pot of green tea with my breakfast: two bananas and a small bag of unsalted almonds. I finished my breakfast fairly quickly before I decided to shower and dress myself.
I removed everything I needed from my bedroom and carried it to the base of the stairs. The red suitcase had all the clothes, food and toiletries. There was also a blue-and-orange backpack that EF Tours gave me for free at the meeting two weeks ago, inside the suitcase. I brought it just in case though; I planned on using my red schoolbag as my carry-on instead. The only items in there were an iPod, a mechanical pencil, and a sketchbook. I left the camera out on a table so as not to forget it when I was ready to leave.