The Story

It was the first time that writing a story had ever occurred to him.  He immediately started writing down the story line.  He wondered what he should do next, start an outline, just start writing or simply think about it some more.

He decided to simply sleep on it.  Next day, on getting out of bed he experienced something like an epiphany.  It came to him like lightning hit a pointed rod.  His room was dark and almost barren. He turned on the rose colored bedside table lamp and began to think about that story again.  He put on his green corduroy slacks, with freshly ironed creases, his dirty white tee shirt, and his camouflage jacket.  It fit so loosely that he almost tried another shirt.

Of course, if he did write down that story, he'd have to fill in more details than his simple story line contained.  How would he accomplish in between work, exercise, and watching TV with his girlfriend.  He loved her and longed for her.  He couldn't wait to see her tonight and attack her in a very nice way.  He loved their sex and longed for it often.  He decided that the story can wait until he had more time to digest exactly what writing a story entailed.  Could he even get money for the story or have someone turn it into a screen play or something?

Midnight that night, he couldn't sleep even though his silken clad girlfriend was next to him in bed fast asleep.  He got up carefully, went to the kitchen following the yellowish nightlight in the hallway.  On reaching the old cream colored, battered fridge, he suddenly realized he was dying of hunger.

Once in front of that old beat up refrigerator, he opened the door, found some almost green salami and started to build a simple three bread slice sandwich with mayo, mustard, wheat bread, lettuce and sweet pickle.  He thought that kind of sandwich might be just what a pregnant lady might want, to stop her squealing stomach.  Once he ate the thing he needed to pee.  Down the lighted hallway he went, once more.  He did his duty, sitting on the potty, thinking about his story's possibilities.

Still confused and not knowing how to start writing, he went back to that very soft cozy king sized bed and quickly feel asleep. Come Saturday, he was up early just as the sun came up.  He realized he was starting to be obsessed with this story and just how to write it.  He thought he should start a chapter by chapter outline or at least identify who the characters are in the darn thing.  That can wait, he thought till after breakfast and a brisk walk out in the clean air near his home and almost on top of the university.  The university was a big one with something over 30,000 students and a campus the size of a small city.

After walking and jogging, it started to drizzle lightly and he came home pretty wet.  That dampness gave him some more ideas for the story. He started to get more and more into his imaginary story, then decided he best get in front of his mac computer and jot down some of his new ideas.  He knew he might forget some of these newer ideas and was afraid he might be getting just bit manic about this crazy story.

His teaching assistant job at the university was so easy for him he almost never thought about it.  But, one of his new ideas was to involve a fictional version of that sexy blonde who sat in the front row of his discussion group.  She would be just the perfect heroine or at least the most engaging character in his story.  With her in mind all he had to do now was generate one or two more characters outlines, then he could seriously get down to writing up the whole story.  Well, he thought, he must be getting somewhere now with this wonderful story.

On Sunday he slept in till almost noon and was wakened up by Gloria who brought him coffee and a chocolate glazed donut in bed, where he had absolutely no clothes on and had to urinate, very badly.  He told her to just sit the gift of sustenance down, he rapped the top sheet around himself and almost crawled into the nearby bathroom.  Gloria was the sexy girl from his teaching section Old English Poetry.  She would become the main character in his story he had decided.  He sure hoped his girlfriend didn't find out that Gloria spent Saturday night with him in the dark of his tiny bedroom, where there was only room for the king sized bed, a nightstand and a table lamp.

All of a sudden, he heard a knock at the door, could it be Cynthia?  He would just die if that was her.  What could he do?  Could he escape out the kitchen's back door?  But, that would leave Gloria behind in his apartment -- ugh, he was stuck again.  He fell into a sweaty almost coma when confronted with these awful decisions.  Would he ever get over this seemingly impossible confrontation?  Could he get back to thinking or doing something about his story, or was he doomed for at least the next semester?