Don't Follow My Lead

Everyone has an idea, of what would be a good book.   But they don’t follow up through with them.  I’m one of those people.   And even my premises seem lame.   If that’s something to be proud of.    But let’s see how much we can extract from as little information as we have.   And see where does that takes us.

An old friend stops by his former best friend once he’s back in town….unannounced.    (This is my premise)

That’s the original line I had at one time.   But then you need to start asking questions to know who this people are.  And I’ll tell you how far I took this idea (not far).

They are young, early 20’s.  21, or 22.   Senior year of college, or recently graduated.   This is the dialogue scene I have had in my mind since I came up with this idea, I’ll try to write (finally asshole, I’ve been reading now for 2 WHOLE days!) this scene and see what else (you know, besides, plot, character development, turning point, resolution, etc.) is needed to make this specific scene work.

This is my resemblance of a story, read at your own peril:

Jon has had a long day, taking care of his dad, has been specially difficult this last few months.   Pops is not the man he once knew anymore.   Trying to get this haunting thoughts of his mind, he surfs through the channels looking for a distraction, til he turns off the T.V.  Whatever it is he’s looking for, is not playing right now.  Flips the remote into the couch, before remembering to pick it up and put it back on the table.   Easy access for his dad to find.   Funny how is this little changes, the ones no one would notice that proves to himself, that he’s maturing.   In a different era he would be already old, and with a family, hell, even in some cultures he’s already behind the eight ball.   This thoughts follow him through the kitchen.   He doesn’t have any answers, just more questions.   Walking around his house helps push thoughts away, however the moment he stops, they catch up to him, This monkey is fast.  He Thinks.

He tries walking past his parents bedroom, but thinks better of it, he checks on his Pops.  Door is ajar, and he sneaks his head through the gap, he will always feel guilty walking into his parents bedroom, age be damned.   Surveys the bed, nightstand, a clock that marks 4:42pm, the burrow til he finds him.  Watching out the window.

“Hey Pops, how are you?”  No response.  His body follows the head into the bedroom, stepping a little harder, trying to call the attention of his father.   No response.   Clears throat.  No response.   Finally he calls again: “POPS!” a little harder than he intended, for a moment he thought it wouldn’t be enough.   Dad turns around, he’s been watching out the window, lost in his own thoughts, is it?

“Hey Jon.”  Words come out slowly, not quite a question, not quite a statement.  Jon can’t help but think at least someone is in the house today.  He mentally kicks himself, so much for maturity.    “Pops, how are you?” he repeats.

“I’m good Jon, just watching for birds I thought I saw a cardinal today.”

“That’s nice.  Just wanted to let you know I’m in the house, been here a while actually.  I’ll be downstairs if you need me.”

“I’m fine son.” This time a little more alive, he even adds an old smile that breaks Jon’s heart.   Haven’t seen one in a while.   It’s a good day afterall.

********

Downstairs is just a never finished basement.   An ongoing built, that even in better days, it wasn’t going to be finish.   His bedroom really, without a formal bed, he has spent so much time down here, even the couch has the indentations to prove it.   Black cushions on metal, with very little padding, a killer for your back, yet, is the most comfortable place there is.

He turns on the mp3 cradle, speakers roar to life, deafening loud, 311 is playing, it’s been a while since he’s been down here.   He lowers the volume, the music goes through him, an oldie song but still very much so a goodie.     Jon’s thoughts are drowned by the music, a very welcomed relief.   The song jumps randomly to the next track.  Something newer, Mumford?  No, no, no, that’s Deertick.  Time past as the tunes flow.   One after the other, greatest hits of his life or even before his life.  His musical taste exceeded his age, and like his father said: “A classic knows no boundary”.

By the time Journey comes he’s singing loud, the speakers are back to their original setting, this time without a bother in his ears.    Some dance moves are encouraged, and the body replies back with movement.   He’s lost in this moment, his problems cease to exist, by the time he’s singing about streetlights all inhibitions are lost.

“Nice moves Beyonce.”  A voice breaks through the ending of the song.

Jon can’t quite place the origin of the voice, he let out a yell, and instinctively grab the closest thing he could use as a weapon.  A pillow.  Fuck!  He searches frantically for the voice, and he notices a shape by the stairs.  It takes him a moment to place the face with a name.  He couldn’t believe his eyes.

“Matt?”

“Ah-hu” the voice replies back.

“Oh you, son of a bitch.  You scare me!”

“Not as much as you scare me with those moves.”

“How long you’ve been there?”

“Enough to not sleep tonight after that display of UNcoordinated twitching.”

Jon flips the finger to his old friend.

“When you got back?”

“Just tonight, I came here to see you.   Heard the music coming from down here, so I knew you were down here.  I wanted to say hello to your dad, but couldn’t find him.”

“Well, is good seeing your ugly face ar…wait, Pops wasn’t upstairs?”

“No, why?”

“Fuck.  Help me find him.   He’s not doing well lately.”   Moving quicker to the stairs, padding his friend in the back, as a hello as he climbs.

“What’s the matter with him?”

By then Jon is at the top of the stairs.  “Let’s find him first, I’ll tell you.”

Matt looks confused, but follows his friend.

End of Chapter.

So, this is as far as I have thought about this story.   This time actually, putting it down on paper help give it a little more shape, is not a finish product by any means, and in fact, might never be.   But I guess that’s what makes it interesting for me.   I have always wondered why Matt (just gave the name today) has come back.   He hasn’t been in town in at least 4 years.  I don’t know why he left either.

Another thing I have come to notice about my stories, at least the one from yesterday and today, is that, there’s no Mom figure in either one.   Guess Freud might have a field day with that one, but is not done on purpose, that much I can assure you.

So, I guess this is how you build a story, you ask questions, and you try to find the answers.   What’s wrong with Jon’s dad?  Depression? Alcoholism? Does it matter to the overall of the story?

As far as Matt is concerned, like I said, I don’t know why he come back, but I know he didn’t go to college, or if he did, he didn’t finish.   I know he smokes weed, so did Jon, but he also has experimented with other drugs.   So I think that’s part of the reason for his comeback.    Where is the rest of their respective families?  Why come to Jon?

Another day of blogging, and all I give you are more questions.   If you want the answers, well, good luck, because I don’t know them.    That’s why this post is about premises.   Is just an idea put in paper (or blog) form.   The story is what follows and a good storyteller will be able to follow through those doors.   Can I cross that door frame?   We’ll know soon.

Thanks for reading.   Comments are encouraged.