Slice of Life: Day 16: Pieces of Another Puzzle: 002

I almost became a ghostwriter - a gig that could definitely put some layers of Benjamins in your wallet. For someone who wants to be published, a chance to get my name out to a broader demographic. I spent a lot of time writing my sample, knowing exactly where, how and why it would fit. Unfortunately, it didn't work out. Things don't happen for a reason, but God continually works to make things good. Romans 8:28.

While He's working, the one good thing I can extract from this situation is that I now have a piece of writing I can use for another story. I worked over twenty hours on these Another Puzzle blog entries...and there's still work to be done. It's the life of a writer.

Another Puzzle shows how relationships are formed in various ways - some lasting longer than others. Some with greater expectations. The point was to show how the protagonist, until going to boot camp and eventually war, never experienced a powerful friendship that'd be better referred to as a brotherhood.  

Ghostwriting Scrap Part 2:

fiction

...continued

    When I asked Mom what all that meant, she said, “Young love.”

“Love? So soon?” I slurped my Cocoa Puffs. “No way.” Milk dribbled down my chin. “And it gives you extra strength?”

“Oh, for sure,” she chuckled.

“Sounds hokey to me, Mom.”

“And there are many stages.”

"Of love?"

"Yes."

I half rolled my eyes and refilled my bowl. This could be long.

“Young love is…exciting,” she said, staring, lost in a moment. “And can be much less complicated.” She smacked a small stack of envelopes on the counter and sighed.

“How so? Because I prefer not complicated.”

“It may not seem like it, but to be honest, at this point in their lives, kids think love is two-dimensional. It’s so much more.” She swiped through some more mail before picking up a magazine.

“How so?”

“Well, it’s more than kissing and…putting your hands all over each other.”

“Mom! I’m eating.”

“I’m just being real. You’re old enough for that, aren’t ya? To talk real?”

“I suppose.” I took a long sip of my orange juice, trying to flush the newly branded images in my head. “So, what is it all about?”

“It’s rooted in sacrifice. You give up a lot when you commit yourself to someone else. And if you are with the right person, they do the same for you. For now, though, have fun and don’t,” she walloped me on the side of the head, “do anything that could make me grandma. Ya, hear me?”

“Loud and clear, Mom.” I swallowed before chewing, wishing I had paid more attention in health class. A flood of locker room conversations came back to me. I was probably the only senior that didn’t know how it happened. My sex-ed teacher tiptoed around the whole idea, never getting to the fun stuff. And I didn't think I could trust the so-called "experienced" guys in the locker room.

Of all my conversations with my parents, that one sticks out the most. I never forgot it. I had been to church where they talked about Christ’s sacrifice, but I could never wrap my mind around it. It was foreign, way beyond my scope of Mom making breakfast each morning and Dad slipping me a few bucks for gas and movies – sacrifices I didn’t appreciate until later in life.

My conversation in the snow with Samantha led to double dates at the drive-in and eventually our own dates - just the two of us. Eventually, like most dating relationships in high school, it fizzled out. The late-night talks over the phone or out on the front sidewalk on the side of the hedges separating the cement slabs from the green grass ended abruptly. The making out, the details of what our kids would look like dissipated, hitching a ride on the next breeze blowing by.

Samantha was on someone else’s arm a couple of weeks later. I chose to hang out with the guys or help Dad with yard work. We’d pass each other in the halls or see each other out and about, a friendly smile on our faces. Life is funny. During the rest of high school, good friends became acquaintances, and strangers became shoulders to cry on. Ebbs and flows.

rg