Excerpt : Call me Lucy, I'll call you Benjy

     Normally, I don’t really like to share my writing unless forced. I much rather keep it between me, Dell, and word. They don’t ever judge me, and they don’t mind if it takes me two hours to write a paragraph. But gosh darn, through all the dreadful work shopping and critiquing of my papers that I’ve had to do in grad school so far (and it’s only my first semester…crap), I’m learning that putting myself out there is beneficial in the long—though right now it causes me anxiety and mental breakdowns. For now, I’ll just sit there crying inside, while I wait for the nice people to raise their hand. EEK. So here goes, an excerpt from the novel I’m working on for my “Writing the Novel” class, Call me Lucy, I’ll call you Benjy.

           After I’m done I decide I need something much stronger. I roam around the kitchen for a while looking for something other than vodka and beer and spot a bottle of Jack Daniels in one of the cabinets. I stare at the bottle for a while and then open the lid to smell it. The smell makes me want to gag immediately and sort of reminds me of a 65 year old retired man, so I put it back. But just as I’m closing as the cabinet, Vick appears right next to me. I can’t stand Vick. In fact, I like to think of him fondly as, “Vick the Dick.” He is ridiculously arrogant and rude, and if he could marry himself he probably would. Other than the fact that he could probably buy this school and maybe two more if he wanted to, he has absolutely nothing to offer. He might just be the most unfortunate looking guy at this school. His face is hideously decorated with acne from forehead to chin that matches his equally grotesque bushy eyebrows that go on for days in a straight line. He wears black Armani glasses, which he thinks makes him look “sophisticated” and “intelligent” but, it might as well be a Halloween costume.  In actuality, he is one of the dumbest people I’ve ever met. You will almost always find him in a sweater vest, black or blue. Sometimes he likes to spice it up with a tie.  I will never comprehend why the guys are friends with Vick the Dick.

     “I see you found my secret stasssh.” The way he overstates the "S" makes me want to vomit.

     “It looked more like one bottle, than a stash.” I reply dryly.

      “You’re funny Kim. You know all you gotta do is ask, if you want a taste.” He says winking.

BARF. 

     “Uh, I’m good. It’s all yours.”

       I start to walk over to Cam and Zoe, but Vick the Dick pulls me back.

     “Hey, where you going so fast?? Now that you found it, why don’t you have a drink with me??”

     I’m about to say hell no, and that I’d rather go start on my 10 page essay due next week for my criminal justice class than drink with him, but I’m interrupted by his voice.

    Ray barges in the door as if he is ready to beat the crap out of someone and my heart begins to race uncontrollably. His eyes are blood shot red and swollen, his cheeks look as though he has applied some blush on them, and I wonder if he’s actually been crying. The party goes dead silent. I’m afraid to even move.

     “You alright buddy?” Ryan asks.

      “Don’t ask, man, don’t ask.”

     Ray goes to his room, and slams the door shut.

      “I got this. Excuse me sweetie, I’ll take a rain check on that drink.” Vick the Dick says before he disappears to Ray’s room.

      “I’ll join you” Ryan adds.

     I need answers, my brain is asking for them. So I do the most logical thing, and go to the bathroom right next to Ray’s room even though I don’t really have to go. I place my ear against the cold white wall and try to spy on their conversation, but only hear bits and pieces.

    “ … messing around…dude… fuck him up..”

     “…drama. I’m done...”

     “…leaving. morning…”

     I hear the door slam open. I’m frozen and don’t know what to do. The logical part of my brain tells me to stay put and forget that I heard anything. Stay put, stay put, and enjoy the rest of the party. But the stupid part of my brain tells me to run after him, plead for him to tell me all about it, and to give us another chance. Now that it seems evil bitch is out of the picture, this is my chance. I wait 2 more minutes and leave the bathroom.

      I spot Zoe making a drink in the kitchen and whisper in her ear, “Ok, don’t hate me, but I have to leave.”

     “Where are you going? You’re not going where I think you’re going, right?”

     I don’t answer. I just look at her with guilt spread across my face like butter.

     “Kimmie, don’t. I think he just needs to be alone right now.”

I try to respond, but nothing comes out of mouth. Eventually I manage to say,

     “I’m sorry Zoe, I have to.”

I leave before she can say anything else.

     I nearly run outside, and see Ray making his way to the parking lot. It’s now, or never. I swallow hard. I can do this, I can do this. But before I can scream his name, I see a short blonde haired girl run up to him. She is wearing gym clothes complete with sneakers, black leggings, and a red loose tank top.  She tries to catch her breath when she stops as if she has just run a marathon. By the look of urgency on her face, I know immediately that I have just met evil bitch. Out of panic, I squat down behind the nearest bush and don’t dare to even breathe.

     “Ray, what has gotten into you?? Did you seriously go beat Brad up??”

     “What the fuck was I supposed to do Sarah?? I wasn’t going to let that asshole get away with that.”

     “You’re unbelievable, you know that?? Brad and I never did anything, ok?? I made it up!”

     “Why the hell would you make something like that up??”

     “I don’t know, ok. I’m so frustrated. Do you know what it’s like knowing that you’re going to the same school as your gorgeous ex-girlfriend?? It’s seriously driving me nuts thinking of the two of you hanging out at the same place, and getting back together. I wanted to get a rise out of you. I..” She starts sobbing before she can continue.

     Through the tiny hole in the bushes, I can see Ray put his arms around evil bitch, trying to soothe her.

     “Look at me.” I cringe at the familiarity of his words.

     “Kimberly means nothing to me ok, she never did. It was just a fling; you are so much more than that. You are what I want. Ok?”

     “Really?”

     “Does this prove it?”

     I close my eyes because I know what’s happening. I put my head in between my legs and do my best to hold back my tears until I know for sure that they have left. When parking lot grows silent, I begin to sob uncontrollably. I want to run away. I want to be anywhere but here right now. I think that if someone came over and kicked me in the stomach three times, punched me in the face, and spit on me, it would hurt less than the pain that fills my whole body right now. Crying behind a bush is not exactly how I thought this night would end.

     “Kim? Is that you?” I hear a familiar male voice ask.

I want to die when I realize it’s Vick the Dick.

     “What are you doing out here?? Are you crying??”

     “No, I’m just enjoying the texture of this lovely bush, what does it look like I’m doing?”

     He squats down next to me, and my sobbing gets worse. I’m unsure if my tears are for Ray at this point, or because of the fact that Vick the Dick appears to be the only one to notice me on this dreadful night.

     “Get up beautiful. Let me help make your night better.”

     “No thanks, I think I’m just going to go to bed.”

     “Come on, the party hasn’t even started yet.”

     “I really do not want to be around people right now. Party is over for me.”

     “So then let’s make it a smaller party, and continue at your place. Look what I snagged for us.”

     He opens up his coat and reveals the bottle of Jack Daniels from the cabinet. Vick the Dick is the last person on earth I want to be with right now, but I desperately need a drink, I need to forget.

   “Whadda ya say?”

    I hesitate briefly before I respond, “Why not.”

     It’s times like these when I’m grateful for everyone I’ve encountered in my life that have inspired my writing—most especially, the Ray's and Vick the Dick’s. It's funny the language we can create from mere experience. It’s funny how nonfiction can subconsciously creep into our fictitious words.