Writing Prompt

April 27, 2016

 

A small outdoor table with four chairs sits on my brick patio. All these many red-purple bricks are being overrun with grasses and weeds.  A metal fire pit sits off to the side, quietly rusting. On my left at the far edge of my yard rests a vine covered canoe that has not be used in years.  Closer in is a hammock with two comfy looking green pillows.  Seeing the yard one would note it is a bit of a disaster.  Some purple border plant is making like Sherman across the center of the greening grass like Sherman heading for the sea.  A Rubbermaid shed needs reassembling a windstorm having laid it low.  Not tonight.

 

Last night when I was at a bookstore I saw for the price of a mere $9.99 a book of writing prompts.  For a second I was tempted.  I picked it up, per the cover the bound volume contained over a thousand first lines and/or suggestions like “It is you first night on the cruise. What is the most surprising thing you have seen?” Didn’t float my boat.  If there had been a sense of even the tiniest bit of imagination in these opening lines I might have picked it up.  Yes I hit road blocks when I write.  Sometimes a simple prompt will get the worlds flowing, sometimes not. There are simply days when I wonder if I haven’t used up all my good stories.  Still I find a way back to the keyboard.

 

Sitting at this pale blue table I think I have created my own writing prompt.  I will try to answer the question of who should fill one of the three empty chairs with me.  I will try to do it in my favorite style, ala one, two, fiver. In that style you start with one word, then two, then five, then ten, then well you get the idea. What follows next is my self-initiated writing prompt.

 

Who should take this seat next to me?

 

You. Of course.  Nobody else needs ask.  Too long has passed since you and I have talked, really talked. Tonight the evening is filled with cool air and above lays a clouded sky. This night would be the perfect time for the two of use to go one on one.  As I think about my role as your host I am sure I have a bottle or at least a few shots from a near empty bottle of your favorite scotch tucked away.  You know the one, an aged whiskey with a smoky peaty taste but mellowed because this liquor was aged a second time in rose soaked wine barrels. 

 

We can sit here for the next hour or so wearing just light jackets and sipping the scotch whiskey for warmth.  Things forgotten can come to light, for surely you will remind me of this and that like the day the old judge just started bellowing about the idiocy of the attorney up before him. And I will remind you of the talks and conversations we used to have about the Lemonheads and G. Love and whoever the band de jour was.  As we finish our first drams our talk may to turn to those now gone for good or just gone from our worlds.

 

As the scotch settles into our systems barriers should drop and the conversation will range far afield.  From the philosophy of what constitutes a real person or entity to those political views what seemed to have recently gotten some tractions.  Our era might be a time of xenophobia or imperialism.  Maybe we will eventually get around to things like the nastiest personal sex stories we have. I always win when I talk about that lass who horked up one very expensive steak dinner on my rod when her gag reflex kicked in. Or maybe we will talk about the one great love that was lost. 

 

I well excuse myself to see if I can scrounge up a little more of the good scotch.  I think there might be the remnant of another single malt and maybe two.  Time has long passed since I drank regularly.  Time has long past since company stopped over on a regular basis.   The fact that you are here has cheered me, it means I am not forgotten.  Oh I know my family still depends on me but my social circle is very small these days.  On a rare Friday night I will sneak out for a solitary beer with a friend or three.  Half the time those outings turn into situations where people are plumbing the depths of my knowledge for free advice.

 

We talk some more about the choices we made.  Did we really marry for love or did we marry out of expectation. Have we achieved what we ought to have achieved.  If I were twenty five years younger it would be at this point I would light up a small bowl of hashish.  But those days are so long ago.  Funny I asked my cardiologist about whether a toke off a joint would kill me.  He didn’t seem to think so.  However he said it was a bit of a mixed bag.  The learned man opined that t was an even odds chance that I would become the most relaxed person in the world or the most paranoid. Methinks he is right, the odds at 50/50 are not something I am willing to roll the dice on these days.

 

The scotch is now gone and the sky has gone full black.  There is some odd light from the city reflecting down from the cloud cover but mostly this pace has gone black.  We have talked and talked and talked and we have been open and honest and there is a connection that remains real and vibrant between us.  Let us not let so much time slip away before we meet again my old friend. Life is too short.  Our hearts last only the length of a song.  Understand I am not just talking about that muscle in our chests and pushes blood to every vein and artery it can reach.  I am talking about our spiritual hearts.  Eventually we run out of tears and laughter of lust and love of hatred and passion.  I want to see you again before the darkness really falls.

 

Yes you should be in the chair next to me right now. How is that for a fucking writing prompt?