END

Casey darted quickly down the sidewalk on Green Street, brushing swiftly past her fellow students. It was the first nice day after weeks of cold, gray central Illinois winter and campus seemed to buzz with excitement and life for the first time in months.

She tried to ignore the nervous flutter in her heart as she attempted to step around a group of guys walking slowly front of her. A wall of white baseball caps, slouchy khaki pants, and North Face fleece jackets clogged up the sidewalk. “Excuse me,” she mumbled softly, looking down at the toes of her tennis shoes. They ignored her, chatting fiercely with each other about the keg stands and beer bongs on the tap for the evening, slinging f-bombs and dudes and loud, cackling laughter back and forth. Casey’s hurried walk slowed to a crawl as she searched for an opening so she could pass.

One of the frat idiots tossed a mangled, slobbery straw he had been chewing on over his shoulder. It hit Casey square in the forehead, her punishment for following too closely to campus royalty. Such an appropriate symbol for the kind of week it had been – A real slobbery straw to the face kind of week. She huffed quietly to herself, afraid to speak up. She wished she didn’t believe that these guys were more important than her, but she did. Casey never put her feelings before others, not even when it came to jerky strangers.

She glanced nervously at her watch after finally elbowing her way through the fence of frat guys. Her boyfriend Jake called earlier that morning and asked her to meet him after her 4:00 p.m. class. His voice sounded different – cold, but apologetic. Anxious, but calm. She certainly hadn’t turned a blind eye to his different behavior over the last few weeks, but she’d been successful at putting it out of her mind most of the time. It seemed easier that way.

She rationalized. He’s just really busy with classes this semester.

She made excuses. Yeah, I’m not going out with Jake tonight because he’s totally wiped after his Finance exam. Maybe tomorrow.

Casey and Jake met after a first day of class ice breaker exercise in a Poly Sci discussion section two semesters earlier. Casey shuffled nervously around the room, glancing down at a paper filled with meaningless sentences. She could have cared less about learning more about her classmates this way. Except for one cute guy with a shy smile and scruffy dark hair. When Jake scribbled his name next to “I’m a huge Cubs fan,” Casey casually mentioned that she had been on TV during the seventh inning stretch at Wrigley when she was eight. Jake was immediately taken with her smile and humor. She loved his work ethic and his laugh. They became inseparable almost immediately and had been dating ever since.

Casey paused at the door to the bar, placing her hand carefully on the handle. She took a deep breath, hesitating to take those first few steps inside. She willed away the sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach. We’ll just talk and have a drink, she told herself, just like we used to. A Thursday happy hour wasn’t an uncommon thing for Casey and Jake. They were going to graduate this semester. They talked about moving in together in Wrigleyville. They were supposed to get married. She just couldn’t shake the feeling that in the next ten minutes, her life would change drastically.

Jake sat stiffly in a stool at the bar, waiting for Casey to walk through the door. His eyes darted back and forth between the door and the puddle of condensation that had gathered at the bottom of his pint. He rehearsed his words again and again in his head. I need some space. We’ve grown apart. You deserve better than me.

His foot jumped nervously, jangling the change in his pocket. The bartender made a wise crack about switching to decaf but Jake ignored him, glancing at the door again and thumping a thick finger against the bar in frustration. His stomach knotted and his head began to pound as guilt surged through his veins. He didn’t want to believe it but, in reality, he’d invited Casey to meet him at her favorite bar so he could break her heart.

Jake had his eyes cast down, pulling long pools of water away from the bottom of his glass with the tip of his finger. An assault of light across the dimly lit room made him snap his head back toward the door. Silhouetted by brilliant afternoon sunshine, the shadow of Casey stepped into the dark, dingy, smoke-filled room. She glanced around the bar looking for Jake. She blinked, trying to adjust her eyes to the sudden darkness as the door shut silently into its frame behind her. The unmistakable scent of cigarettes and alcohol had always been something she associated with fun weekends with Jake and her friends. That day it just made her eyes burn and her stomach turn.

They locked eyes across the room at the same time. He waved. Freebird came on the jukebox. Again.

He watched her walk toward him and remembered how pretty she was, with her dark curly hair and smattering of freckles across her nose. He wondered if would end up chickening out.

“Hey,” she said in a thin, breathless voice as she tossed her bag onto an empty stool and settle down next to him.

She locked onto his eyes with hers, smiling carefully. His eyes, once a warm, ocean blue that shined with light and love, had turned a cold steely gray. He leaned over and kissed her quickly on the cheek. Forced and stiff, the kiss nearly made Casey shiver.

“Hey,” he replied quietly, taking a long sip from his pint. He pointed to it and she nodded. He ordered her the same and slapped a five dollar bill down onto the bar. It was the least he could do.

“So how are you?” she asked as the bartender sat the glass down in front of it. He noticed she didn’t even touch it.

“Okay,” he said, nodding. “Busy. I’m working on an accounting case study right now that is just kicking my ass.”

She nodded and looked away, focusing her eyes on a neon beer sign on the opposite wall. The awkwardness of the conversation made Jake cringe. They never had to force small talk before. He was the cause of the tension between them, he had brewed it and stewed it himself with his distance and coldness the last few weeks. He need a knife to slice through his creation. Jake needed to get this over with and quick.

“Oh!” Casey brightened suddenly, turning her bar stool toward Jake so that her knees rested on his leg. “I’m going to make a cake for Sara’s birthday on Saturday. You want to come and help me?”

He chuckled quietly. “I’m not much of a baker, Case.” He hoped she didn’t notice the red creeping up his neck and into his face when she mentioned Sara. His heart thumped wildly in his chest. Guilt. Shame.

“Oh, I’m not either,” she laughed, putting her hand on his shoulder. “It’s from a box. You can help me by licking the bowl.”

“Yeah, maybe,” he said smiling with eyes focused on his condensation puddle again. “Sounds fun.”

Casey picked up on the distance in his voice and quickly drew her hand away from his arm. “Okay, well, only if you want to. Or not. You can just let me know. Or whatever.” She turned her stool face the bar again, her ears burning with embarrassment.

Jake couldn’t take it anymore. He had to get this over with before he lost his nerve. He really didn’t want to hurt her but for him, the spark was gone.

“Casey?”

“Yeah.” She didn’t look at him.

“Um, have you noticed anything, like, weird between us lately?”

She shrugged, still not casting her eyes in his direction. Her heart began to pound in her chest. “Have you?” she asked.

He shrugged. “I don’t know. Maybe.”

“Mmmm hmmm,” she mumbled into her glass, taking her first sip of beer. The bitter, fizzy liquid made her stomach turn. She shuddered and pushed the glass away.

“It’s just that, I don’t know…” Jake let his voice trail off.

Casey’s heart felt like it was about to explode. She could feel it tearing, breaking into a million pieces. Jake was about to leave her. Over cheap beer in a dirty, smelly, disgusting campus bar. She felt sick.

“It’s just what, Jake?” she asked angrily.

Jake raised his eyebrows in surprise, completely taken aback that she raised her voice. Casey never raised her voice. He threw up a defensive wall, determined not to let her anger upset him.

“There’s, like, nothing between us anymore,” he said. “The chemistry is gone. And I’m, like, super busy. This semester is brutal. I need some space to focus and stuff. I just don’t have time…”

“For me,” she jumped in, cutting him off. Casey’s eyes filled with angry tears. “You don’t have time for me.”

“Case, it’s not like that,” Jake tried to argue back. He didn’t mean it come out that way. He was never one to be confident with words. Numbers, equations, logic, he was great with those things. Words and feelings – they never came out right.

“So, what’s it like then?” she asked, standing up. Casey grabbed her purse and started to back away from Jake, ready to turn her back on the last year of her life, the only thing in her future she thought looked clear. “Is it me? Did I do something…” Her voice trailed off and she paused for a second. With anger flashing in her eyes, she spoke again. “Is there someone else?”

Jake snapped his head up and looked Casey straight in the eye. “No, it’s not you and no, there is no one else. I promise you,” he paused and watched her lower lip start to tremble. “I just don’t think we’re meant to be together anymore. You’re better off without me.”

Casey didn’t know just how true those words would turn out to be.

“So are we, like, done here?” She asked. “For good?”

He stared at her. He wished he could say more, something to comfort her. He wanted to say they could be friends, he wanted to say he would see her around. The words got stuck in his throat. He couldn’t tell anymore lies. They choked him.

“Well, I got my answer,” Casey said, her voice breaking. A lump rose in her throat, tears stung the corners of her eyes, ready to spill over. Embarrassed and utterly heartbroken, Casey bolted from the bar, leaving Jake and full pint of beer behind her.

Jake sighed and dropped his head. He thought he’d feel a weight lifted off his shoulders, but instead the guilt of what he was about to do next weighed him down. He reached for his phone in his pocket and with two quick flicks of his thumb it rang through to the next phase of his life.

“Hey Sara, it’s Jake,” he said into the voicemail of Casey’s best friend. “It’s done, so if you want to hang out tonight or whatever, just let me know. Later.”

First, a little background on this sorry excuse for a poem:
Originally Written: Spring ’09
Because: I had too. It was an assignment for a creative writing class I took. If she didn’t FORCE us to write a poem, I never would have done this.
Why I like it: It’s SO me. This poem is has my personality written all over it. So I just have to smile when I read it.
Why I hate it: It is lame. Very, very lame. Oh, and dumb too. And it rhymes, so I think it probably automatically sucks for that reason alone.

ENJOY!

MY MANICURED TOES

My manicured toes
are stuffed inside hose,
and cramped into shoes that pinch me.
My manicured toes
painted a sweet dusty rose,
are gorgeous and no one can see.

My painted nails
are just to frail,
breaking and chipping so speedy.
My painted nails
it just never fails,
long and beautiful they’re not meant to be.

My styled hair
the wind doesn’t care,
that’s it’s blowing all into my face.
My styled hair
now straight up in the air,
looks crazy and all out of place.

My credit card bill
just about made me ill
when I realized just how much I had spent,
on this silly vice
to look so nice,
I’m still ugly and I can’t pay my rent!

Ready? Okay, here’s my secret…

I am not good at anything. Seriously, I have no talents. I know, it’s shocking, right? You probably thought everyone was good at something – Painting, singing, quadratic equations, underwater basket weaving. Not me though. I literally have nothing to contribute. Last year, I experienced a major life change that forced me to sit down and take a good hard look at what I had to offer. After much consideration, all I was able to come up with was reciting quotes from Anchorman (“I took your mom Dorothy Mantooth out for a nice seafood dinner and then NEVER CALLED HER AGAIN!”) and matching cute accessories to my outfits. Nothing stellar, groundbreaking, earth shattering, or important. Hm. As someone who was very quickly passing from mid to late twenties, you would think I would have figured out what I was meant to do with my life. Realizing one has no talents is quite the traumatic experience.

I voiced my concern to my ever-supportive and loving husband, Eric:

Me: “Eric, what am I going to do now? I’m not good at anything!
Hubs: “That’s ridiculous, you’re good at lots of things.”
Me: “Oh, yeah…name one!”
Hubs: pause – Jeopardy music plays in the background.
Me: blink, blink
Hubs: “Your good at feeding me and making dessert. And you’re a good writer.”
Me: BWAHAHAHAHAHA!
Hubs: blink, blink
Me: “I most certainly am NOT a good writer. If I was a good writer, we wouldn’t be having this conversation.”
Hubs: “I’ve seen your work. You ARE a good writer. You’re always scribbling and scrawling about something. And you always got A’s on your papers in college.”
Me: “True…”

I pondered this for a while. I wondered if my ever-supportive and loving husband was simply confusing “good” with “like.” I *like* to write. But am I good at it? Ummmm. I also *like* to sing. But I’m so tone deaf and terrible I make even the most ridiculous Idol contestant look like Celine Dion. Just because I like something doesn’t mean I’m good at it, does it?

I still wasn’t convinced. I decided to test the waters a bit with my food blog, Milk & Honey. Cooking and baking and writing about it turned out to be a lot fun! It took a while for me to work up the courage to share it, but once I did my family and friends and friends of family and family of friends really seemed to enjoy it. I know the ladies at my mom’s office get a big kick out of it.

The posts in my food blog are lengthy – full of stories and commentary. In the food blog world, this is a love it or hate it kind of thing. Some people, I’m sure, could care less about my commentary. I can actually hear them yelling in frustration. “Put a sock in it, Windbag, and get to the GD recipe!” Sorry, folks…it’s stayin’ that way. If you don’t like it, I suggest you move along.

It quickly became apparent that the “story” that went along with whatever I was cooking was just as important to me as the recipe, if not more so. Wow, interesting. Suddenly, I got an urge to share MORE of my writing with people. Why? Because I’m all kinds of crazy, that’s why.

I thought about starting a “life” blog. Then quickly vetoed that idea after realizing I have no life. What would I say? Worked all week. On Saturday, I mopped the kitchen floor, made cookies and fell asleep at 10:30. Fascinating. It’s okay to roll your eyes. I just did. What else could I do that would feed this insatiable need to put the words in my head into sentences?

And so, the idea for Scribbles and Scrawls was born. This blog is devoted to my creative writing. Short fiction, poetry and everything in between. I’ve got YEARS worth of this kind of stuff around here. I’m going to edit and revise hidden gems in my collection and share them here. I’m going to turn my life experiences into short stories – maybe I’ll even share what happened that now infamous first night in NYC during spring break of my junior year. (Or, maybe not. Curious? I’ll bet.) And, of course, I’ll be writing new stories, poems and essays to share as well.

I’m doing this because…I want to write. I don’t claim to be good at it. Remember, I’m not actually good at anything. It’s just something I feel like I have to do. I’m not sure where this will go, if anywhere, but for now, I’m just going to start writing and start sharing.

You know, I’ve always thought of writing as the ultimate in hidden talents. No one knows you can write unless you share your words. It’s so personal and so close to your heart that sharing it seems damn near impossible. I’m still not sure writing is my “hidden” talent but I do know that it’s something I really and truly love. At this point in my life, I’m confident enough to go ahead and share mine. What have I got to lose anyway? Hope you’ll stick around and enjoy the ride with me.