PROMPT #1
Start a (true) story with the words the first time or the last time. The fourth word of your story can be anything except a first-person pronoun (I/we/my/our).
Get down as much of the story as you can in 20 minutes. Stop for the day.
The last time Charlie broke a bone, he was climbing over the fence in our backyard. At least that’s what we think he happened. One summer day, he showed up on the rug inside the back door and looked injured. He couldn’t stand without holding up his back leg and seemed to be in pain. How do you tell a cat is in pain? They wince when you touch their leg. They cannot move very far without great difficulty. Beyond that, they don’t tell you. They don’t even yowl. We took him to the vet, where he received x-rays confirming the break and a cast that extended from his upper thigh to his ankle. He wore this cast for about a week. Then he wore a shorter cast for about a week. Then an even shorter cast for about a week. (I could be wrong about the amount of time he spent in each cast, but I do have photos of his various casts, in various colors and patterns.) The most difficult part, for us, was keeping him inside and feeding him. He customarily ate on the bar counter, so the dogs couldn’t reach his food. We had to close him in the laundry room when he ate. Neither he nor we liked this arrangement because we had to schedule feeding times rather than leaving his kibble out for him to eat when he needed or wanted to eat. But eventually he recovered and gradually regained almost full use of his leg. He still has a scar and the injured leg remained smaller than the uninjured one. At times, the leg seems to bother him: jumping on and off of furniture, walking up and down the stairs. He also avoids lying on the bad leg. The older he’s become, the more he appears to experience pain. We now give him biweekly shots of medication intended to alleviate arthritis pain. After he’s received a shot, he seems happier. How can you tell if he’s happy? He doesn’t yowl as much in the early morning. He’s more playful. He moves around more easily. When the shot wears off–usually the 12th or 13th day after the previous one–he becomes noisy, plays less, and moves stiffly. We’re happy that the shot helps, though it’s no fun to administer. Dave gives it to him, since he’s used to injecting cats (his cat Lucy needed twice daily shots for various maladies). We try to find a time when he’s relaxed–lying on the couch or in a chair–and when we don’t have to rush anywhere. In other words, we wait until everyone is calm, relaxed, stress-free. Dave approaches Charlie, reassures him through pets and speech, then pulls up the skin from the scruff of his neck, finds a spot with plenty of room, and administers the shot. Once done, Dave massages the spot and reassures Charlie again. The injection usually goes smoothly, only causing Charlie to meow a couple of times. We think he’s startled more than in pain. How do you know when a cat is startled? They will meow loudly. They will claw at you. They will run away. Only occasionally has Charlie meowed. He’s never clawed at Dave while being injected. And he’s never run away.
PROMPT #2
Write a letter to someone—other than your parents—who will (probably) never read it. You might be writing this letter to share some feelings, but you should also focus on the event or interaction that caused the feelings. What did this person do or say to inspire this letter? What do you want them to remember or understand?
Get down as much of the story as you can in 20 minutes. Stop for the day.
Dear Marcia Whipps,
I don’t know if you’ll remember me, but I was in your junior AP English class at East High. It was my first year in Utah–new school, new students, new everything. You provided a structure that I probably needed at the time. You graded us on each period, comma, semi-colon, etc. Whether used or not used. Correctly or incorrectly placed. How did you have time to read all of our papers? Let alone mark them up so carefully? Some of my classmates claimed that you added booze to your thermos of coffee and thus “powered” your way through the day. I never saw you nod off though. Not like Mr Weeks–Calvin Weeks–who taught AP Chemistry, sat at his lab bench, and frequently dozed off in the middle of a lecture. We sat in our seats, reading or doing some other individual activity, until he woke up. He used to say he worked nights at the Wonder Bread factory and thus was tired during the day. But you did not sleep. You kept watch over us during class then graded our papers at night. I remember you came to one of our high school reunions–maybe the 10th? The student body selected you as the most beloved teacher. You walked with a cane. We greeted you, happy to see you. I never knew if you were married, had children, grandchildren, pets. I knew nothing about you. I remember you wore lipstick, smoked cigarettes–I could tell by the smoky fingers, bloodshot eyes, and ashy papers you returned to us–and drank coffee. And probably liquor. I’m not convinced you drank during the school day. Though who could blame you if you did. By the time I took your class I had tasted alcohol many times. I’d gotten drunk on screwdrivers with friends on Long Island. I’d gotten stoned and walked on the beach with those same friends. Sometime during junior high. But I hadn’t gotten drunk in Utah yet. That would happen during my senior year, after I’d made friends. I’ve never wanted to drink during work. Maybe I wanted to a little bit during the early months of the pandemic. I didn’t do it though. Too scared. If you did drink during the school day, were you ever worried that you would get caught? Had you thought through the consequences? If you were an alcoholic, you probably thought you could get away with it. Substance first; consequences last. You would have rationalized the behavior…”I need something to help me get through the day. These teenagers are awful. Stinky, noisy, ungovernable. I only have a little bit with my coffee. When I get home I can have a real drink. Besides, it’s just a little day drink to make the time go by, to soften the edges, to help me control my anger.” You did seem angry sometimes. Because you were coming off the booze or not yet on the booze? Or maybe you just got angry, as any normal person would. I never wanted to teach high school English. You may have an influence on me there. I knew I couldn’t handle it. I knew I’d probably start drinking too. Now look at me! Professor of English with my own addictive tendencies. What do my students think of me? Do they wonder if I drink, smoke, abuse substances? Like I’ve assumed about you. Rumors. What rumors do they have about me? I’m sorry if I’ve perpetuated a lie. I’m sorry if I’ve misrepresented you. I’m sorry you had to endure so many years in the public school system.
Thank you for everything you taught me,
Becky Jo Gesteland
BJ's Blog 