The Notebook and the Vomit
|
At the age of 23 Peter had never spent a birthday alone before. Suddenly, it was what he wanted to do more than anything. He wanted to celebrate himself. He wanted to spend the day alone. There was something deep inside himself that he wanted to connect with.
His girlfriend Julia was rather put off by this when he told her. Why was he shutting her out? She had never spent a birthday alone and had no desire to ever do so. To her, that was the worst possible way to spend a birthday. Why the hell would Peter want to do this? Peter tried to explain his desire to her but he was unable to convince her of what he wanted. “Look, I have three days off from work; my birthday and the two days after that. I just need my birthday to |
myself and then the next day will be all about you and me…. okay?”
“Yeah, okay, whatever. Have your goddam solitary celebration but I have a couple of birthday presents for you that I have carefully selected and you had better give me that next day so we can celebrate together, okay?!”
“Yes, yes, absolutely. I promise the day after my birthday will be just you and me. Hey, I’ll cook you a romantic dinner and you can give me your presents and we’ll do whatever we want…. just you and me. Okay?”
So Peter spent his birthday all alone without talking to another single human being. That is exactly what he wanted. He was 23 years old and desperately needed to figure out what he was going to do with his life. His life was not working out the way he had envisioned and he desperately needed a full day of introspection in order to make some decisions.
Of course, Peter really knew exactly what he wanted to do with his life. He wanted to be a writer. He had known that since high school. His parents had laughed at him when he told them that. “With your terrible grades in school you think you want to be a writer?” his mother responded. “Hah!”
“You might consider trying to get a job with the railroad or the post office. Plumbers make good money,” his father chimed in.
“Writing isn’t a job!” his mother continued, “Writers just end up living off other people and they all turn into alcoholics! Only one in a million writers are ever successful. You’ve got to think of a way to earn a living and support yourself, not live in some fantasy world!”
Every single person Peter ever confided his desire to be a writer to had reacted negatively. Most of them laughed, “You? A writer? Hah!”
Slowly, Peter stopped telling people that he wanted to be a writer. Unfortunately, he revealed his secret desire to his girlfriend Julia.
“Yeah, okay, whatever. Have your goddam solitary celebration but I have a couple of birthday presents for you that I have carefully selected and you had better give me that next day so we can celebrate together, okay?!”
“Yes, yes, absolutely. I promise the day after my birthday will be just you and me. Hey, I’ll cook you a romantic dinner and you can give me your presents and we’ll do whatever we want…. just you and me. Okay?”
So Peter spent his birthday all alone without talking to another single human being. That is exactly what he wanted. He was 23 years old and desperately needed to figure out what he was going to do with his life. His life was not working out the way he had envisioned and he desperately needed a full day of introspection in order to make some decisions.
Of course, Peter really knew exactly what he wanted to do with his life. He wanted to be a writer. He had known that since high school. His parents had laughed at him when he told them that. “With your terrible grades in school you think you want to be a writer?” his mother responded. “Hah!”
“You might consider trying to get a job with the railroad or the post office. Plumbers make good money,” his father chimed in.
“Writing isn’t a job!” his mother continued, “Writers just end up living off other people and they all turn into alcoholics! Only one in a million writers are ever successful. You’ve got to think of a way to earn a living and support yourself, not live in some fantasy world!”
Every single person Peter ever confided his desire to be a writer to had reacted negatively. Most of them laughed, “You? A writer? Hah!”
Slowly, Peter stopped telling people that he wanted to be a writer. Unfortunately, he revealed his secret desire to his girlfriend Julia.
* * * * *
Peter began writing in high school. He wrote by hand with a pen in spiral notebooks. He bought fat, 5-subject spiral notebooks and wrote in them almost every day. By the time he turned 23 he had filled five 5-subject spiral notebooks and had just recently started his sixth notebook.
His writing changed with this sixth notebook however. Instead of just writing his thoughts he began writing fiction. He had no earthly idea what he was doing but he figured that the only way to learn how to write fiction was to do it. The price of a 5-subject spiral notebook was a tiny educational investment.
And that is one of the reasons Peter wanted to have his birthday to himself. Working a full-time job and having a full-time girlfriend left him little time to work on the fiction that he had started in the notebook. Ever since he had started his fictional story in the notebook he had been feeling a joy slowly building within him. He felt like the story he was writing was taking him over and he loved that. He wanted to commit himself fully to that story.
Peter felt an excitement on his 23rd birthday that he had never felt before.
The day before his birthday Peter had gone to the nearby Sears store and bought himself a birthday present. It was an electric typewriter. The Seventies had just ended and the Eighties were now in full swing. It was time to go high-tech. It was time to go beyond spiral notebooks.
Peter also bought a ream of typing paper.
On his birthday Peter wanted to get the typewriter out and start typing but he put that off because he wanted and needed to get in touch with nature. So he put his favorite pen in his pocket and grabbed the spiral notebook.
Peter walked to a nearby lake. He did not know it at the time but years later he would learn from an astrologer that his specific chart showed that for inspiration he needed to be near bodies of water. To him, as he turned 23 years old, it was just a natural instinct to go spend some time near water when he really needed to think about his life.
With pen and notebook in hand, Peter spent the better part of his birthday at the lake. He walked around the lake numerous times. He released all his cares and just focused on the bountiful wildlife and the serenity of the water. He sat and watched the birds. He sat and felt the breeze washing over him and watched the ripples in the water of the lake caused by the breeze. He looked up at the clouds and at the trees moving gently in the breeze. He watched a frog sunning itself at the water’s edge. He gazed at some ducks floating on the lake and imagined himself floating so carefree through his own life. He thought about his life, his ambitions, his desires, his goals, his frustrations. He thought about what he wanted his life to be like on future birthdays.
He kept going back and forth between his thoughts and the natural world that was oblivious of his thoughts. It felt so good to lose himself in nature but he kept being pulled back into his thoughts.
Back and forth. Back and forth. Peter spent the day at the lake and he never once opened up the spiral notebook.
His writing changed with this sixth notebook however. Instead of just writing his thoughts he began writing fiction. He had no earthly idea what he was doing but he figured that the only way to learn how to write fiction was to do it. The price of a 5-subject spiral notebook was a tiny educational investment.
And that is one of the reasons Peter wanted to have his birthday to himself. Working a full-time job and having a full-time girlfriend left him little time to work on the fiction that he had started in the notebook. Ever since he had started his fictional story in the notebook he had been feeling a joy slowly building within him. He felt like the story he was writing was taking him over and he loved that. He wanted to commit himself fully to that story.
Peter felt an excitement on his 23rd birthday that he had never felt before.
The day before his birthday Peter had gone to the nearby Sears store and bought himself a birthday present. It was an electric typewriter. The Seventies had just ended and the Eighties were now in full swing. It was time to go high-tech. It was time to go beyond spiral notebooks.
Peter also bought a ream of typing paper.
On his birthday Peter wanted to get the typewriter out and start typing but he put that off because he wanted and needed to get in touch with nature. So he put his favorite pen in his pocket and grabbed the spiral notebook.
Peter walked to a nearby lake. He did not know it at the time but years later he would learn from an astrologer that his specific chart showed that for inspiration he needed to be near bodies of water. To him, as he turned 23 years old, it was just a natural instinct to go spend some time near water when he really needed to think about his life.
With pen and notebook in hand, Peter spent the better part of his birthday at the lake. He walked around the lake numerous times. He released all his cares and just focused on the bountiful wildlife and the serenity of the water. He sat and watched the birds. He sat and felt the breeze washing over him and watched the ripples in the water of the lake caused by the breeze. He looked up at the clouds and at the trees moving gently in the breeze. He watched a frog sunning itself at the water’s edge. He gazed at some ducks floating on the lake and imagined himself floating so carefree through his own life. He thought about his life, his ambitions, his desires, his goals, his frustrations. He thought about what he wanted his life to be like on future birthdays.
He kept going back and forth between his thoughts and the natural world that was oblivious of his thoughts. It felt so good to lose himself in nature but he kept being pulled back into his thoughts.
Back and forth. Back and forth. Peter spent the day at the lake and he never once opened up the spiral notebook.
* * * * *
Julia showed up the next day with a sizeable package under her arm that was wrapped in burnt orange wrapping paper with a big red bow on it. There were pairs of red lip prints drawn all over the package.
Peter was in the middle of cooking a romantic dinner for the two of them. His mother had always said that the way to a man’s heart is through his stomach. Peter reasoned that the opposite must also be true; that the way to a woman’s heart must also be through her stomach. To this end he had planned an elaborate culinary feast which he had never made before.
How many guys his age actually cooked for their girlfriends? Peter liked being different.
Julia was also carrying a bag of charcoal.
While dinner simmered on the stove, Julia insisted that Peter open up his birthday present. After some kissing and groping he complied.
It was a small eighteen-inch high barbecue grill. “It’s not a full-blown grill or nothing,” Julia said, “but you can use it on your small enclosed porch. You can grill just about anything on one of these little things.”
Peter was not sure how to react. He wanted to — and started to — laugh but then he conjured up the biggest smile. More kissing and groping commenced.
“Anyhoo, that’s what this charcoal is for.”
After the long, drawn-out romantic dinner was over Julia got up from the dinner table and went to her purse that sat on the couch. She retrieved another wrapped present, this one also in burnt orange wrapping paper and festooned with drawn red lips.
“This is my real present,” she said.
Peter opened it. It was an expensive Bulova wristwatch.
Why did Julia not know that Peter could not stand anything around his wrists? That is why he never wore a watch. It was not because he was poor and could not afford a watch. He hated watches and bracelets and anything that was worn on one’s wrist. Why did she not know this?
Peter wanted to be a writer but suddenly he turned into an actor. He turned in an Oscar-worthy performance of gratitude. He smiled and he must have said thank you a hundred times. He beamed with excitement. (But he never put on the watch.)
It was very soon thereafter that both Peter and Julia were naked making love in Peter’s bed. It was perhaps the most passionate love-making session of their five month relationship.
And it was soon after that when the world turned upside down…..
Peter was in the middle of cooking a romantic dinner for the two of them. His mother had always said that the way to a man’s heart is through his stomach. Peter reasoned that the opposite must also be true; that the way to a woman’s heart must also be through her stomach. To this end he had planned an elaborate culinary feast which he had never made before.
How many guys his age actually cooked for their girlfriends? Peter liked being different.
Julia was also carrying a bag of charcoal.
While dinner simmered on the stove, Julia insisted that Peter open up his birthday present. After some kissing and groping he complied.
It was a small eighteen-inch high barbecue grill. “It’s not a full-blown grill or nothing,” Julia said, “but you can use it on your small enclosed porch. You can grill just about anything on one of these little things.”
Peter was not sure how to react. He wanted to — and started to — laugh but then he conjured up the biggest smile. More kissing and groping commenced.
“Anyhoo, that’s what this charcoal is for.”
After the long, drawn-out romantic dinner was over Julia got up from the dinner table and went to her purse that sat on the couch. She retrieved another wrapped present, this one also in burnt orange wrapping paper and festooned with drawn red lips.
“This is my real present,” she said.
Peter opened it. It was an expensive Bulova wristwatch.
Why did Julia not know that Peter could not stand anything around his wrists? That is why he never wore a watch. It was not because he was poor and could not afford a watch. He hated watches and bracelets and anything that was worn on one’s wrist. Why did she not know this?
Peter wanted to be a writer but suddenly he turned into an actor. He turned in an Oscar-worthy performance of gratitude. He smiled and he must have said thank you a hundred times. He beamed with excitement. (But he never put on the watch.)
It was very soon thereafter that both Peter and Julia were naked making love in Peter’s bed. It was perhaps the most passionate love-making session of their five month relationship.
And it was soon after that when the world turned upside down…..
* * * * *
After the lovemaking was over both Peter and Julia laid back against the headboard then reached to the side tables for a smoke. They both smoked the proverbial post-coitus cigarette in utter silence.
Sucking the smoke deep into his lungs, Peter was thinking that perhaps this was his best sexual performance ever. Man, that cigarette was good!
Who knew what Julia was thinking. But about two-thirds of the way through her cigarette she turned to Peter and said forcefully, “You know what, Peter?”
“Uh…. what?”
“We’ve been together for five months now. From the very start you said to me that you were a writer. I thought, ‘Whatever.’ But after all this time you have never shown me any of your writing. You claim to be a writer but I’ve never read a single word that you’ve ever written. What the fuck?”
Peter erupted into a small coughing fit. Once it was over he put out his cigarette and got up out of bed. Naked, he walked over to his desk and picked up the 5-subject spiral notebook which contained his recent fictional writing. He walked it over to Julia’s side of the bed and handed it to her. He then walked around the bed back to his side and got back into the bed and lit another cigarette.
Julia lit another cigarette, too. For the next twenty-five minutes the bedroom was eerily quiet except for the occasional sound of turning pages and the inhaling and exhaling of cigarette smoke.
Peter had not shown his writing to anyone in years. He was sweating bullets. Can a writer get any closer to their reader than lying naked next to them in a bed? A torrent of thoughts raced through Peter’s mind as he smoked and coughed and waited.
Sucking the smoke deep into his lungs, Peter was thinking that perhaps this was his best sexual performance ever. Man, that cigarette was good!
Who knew what Julia was thinking. But about two-thirds of the way through her cigarette she turned to Peter and said forcefully, “You know what, Peter?”
“Uh…. what?”
“We’ve been together for five months now. From the very start you said to me that you were a writer. I thought, ‘Whatever.’ But after all this time you have never shown me any of your writing. You claim to be a writer but I’ve never read a single word that you’ve ever written. What the fuck?”
Peter erupted into a small coughing fit. Once it was over he put out his cigarette and got up out of bed. Naked, he walked over to his desk and picked up the 5-subject spiral notebook which contained his recent fictional writing. He walked it over to Julia’s side of the bed and handed it to her. He then walked around the bed back to his side and got back into the bed and lit another cigarette.
Julia lit another cigarette, too. For the next twenty-five minutes the bedroom was eerily quiet except for the occasional sound of turning pages and the inhaling and exhaling of cigarette smoke.
Peter had not shown his writing to anyone in years. He was sweating bullets. Can a writer get any closer to their reader than lying naked next to them in a bed? A torrent of thoughts raced through Peter’s mind as he smoked and coughed and waited.
* * * * *
Finally, Julia finished reading what Peter had written in the notebook. She closed it very softly then got out of bed. She then violently threw the notebook down onto the bed and turned to go into the bathroom. Without closing the door, she knelt down on the bathroom floor and vomited into the toilet.
Peter abruptly sat up in the bed.
What the hell?!
After she was done vomiting Julia stood up and washed herself off. She then came back into the bedroom and silently got dressed.
Peter was so dumb-struck he could not say a thing and just watched her with jaw dropped.
Once fully clothed Julia looked at Peter and pointed a finger at him as she yelled at the top of her lungs, “Peter, don’t you ever, ever, ever let me read anything you ever write again! Got that?!”
With this she left the bedroom headed for the front door of Peter’s apartment. Peter quickly got out of bed and followed her. By the time he made it out to the living room Julia was exiting the front door and violently slamming it shut behind her.
Peter stood in the middle of his living room with his arms outstretched and his jaw dropped.
What the hell?! What the fuck?!
Peter had no earthly idea what prompted that extreme reaction from Julia to his writing. The story in the notebook was a very soft and gentle coming-of-age story about a young girl losing her virginity. There was nothing violent about it. There was nothing heinous about it. There was nothing crude about it. It was very loving. It was beautiful. There was certainly nothing in the story that could possibly induce vomiting.
For a long time Peter stood in the middle of his living room in utter bewilderment and shock. He was hoping for a strong, favorable response but was not even remotely ready for the violent reaction he got from Julia. He simply did not know what to think.
Eventually, he shook his head and came out of his shock — and realized that he was standing in the middle of his living room stark naked.
Peter abruptly sat up in the bed.
What the hell?!
After she was done vomiting Julia stood up and washed herself off. She then came back into the bedroom and silently got dressed.
Peter was so dumb-struck he could not say a thing and just watched her with jaw dropped.
Once fully clothed Julia looked at Peter and pointed a finger at him as she yelled at the top of her lungs, “Peter, don’t you ever, ever, ever let me read anything you ever write again! Got that?!”
With this she left the bedroom headed for the front door of Peter’s apartment. Peter quickly got out of bed and followed her. By the time he made it out to the living room Julia was exiting the front door and violently slamming it shut behind her.
Peter stood in the middle of his living room with his arms outstretched and his jaw dropped.
What the hell?! What the fuck?!
Peter had no earthly idea what prompted that extreme reaction from Julia to his writing. The story in the notebook was a very soft and gentle coming-of-age story about a young girl losing her virginity. There was nothing violent about it. There was nothing heinous about it. There was nothing crude about it. It was very loving. It was beautiful. There was certainly nothing in the story that could possibly induce vomiting.
For a long time Peter stood in the middle of his living room in utter bewilderment and shock. He was hoping for a strong, favorable response but was not even remotely ready for the violent reaction he got from Julia. He simply did not know what to think.
Eventually, he shook his head and came out of his shock — and realized that he was standing in the middle of his living room stark naked.
* * * * *
Peter went back into his bedroom and got dressed. He then went into his kitchen where the remnants of his romantic dinner awaited cleaning. He fixed himself a bourbon and coke and then went back out into the living room where he lit a cigarette.
He looked round and round the room as though there was some answer to his confusion sitting somewhere. But there was no answer anywhere in the room or in his mind for the violent reaction Julia had to reading his writing.
Peter had experienced confusion throughout his life but this particular moment was surely the most inexplicable morass of confusion he had ever experienced. It made absolutely no sense whatsoever. Peter simply could not ascertain one single thing about his story that would induce vomiting.
The strange thing is that while Peter felt thoroughly horrible about the extreme negative reaction he received to his writing he was also experiencing a strange joy. He slowly realized that although his writing elicited a bewildering and inexplicable horrible reaction, it did, in fact, elicit a strong reaction. His words made someone vomit!
Okay, that is not what he wanted but the truth of the matter is that his writing reached deep inside someone and brought forth a strong reaction. Peter suddenly realized the power inherent in words. His writing had always been private but once he opened it up to a reader it had power! Peter realized that he could affect someone through his writing.
He felt powerful yet horrible.
Peter could not put his feelings together into something that made sense. In his state of confusion he went back into the kitchen to fix another drink. Back in the living room his vision landed on the box containing the miniature barbecue grill.
Putting down his drink, Peter went to the couch and opened the box. He then put together the little barbecue grill which he then took outside to the little porch outside his bedroom. He then went back inside to get the bag of charcoal. After dumping charcoal into the barbecue grill he realized that he had no lighter fluid. Looking at the bag which contained the charcoal he saw that it was self-starting charcoal. Setting the charcoal into a little pyramid in the middle of the barbecue grill, Peter took out his lighter and lit the charcoal.
He then went back inside to fix himself yet another drink. On his way back out to the porch he stopped at his desk where he picked up the five spiral notebooks that he had been writing in for the last seven years. He brought them, along with his drink and his cigarettes, out to the porch.
Sitting down on the cement slab of his porch, Peter waited until the charcoals were no longer flaming and were now burning red-hot coals. He then opened up his spiral notebooks and began ripping out pages and slowly feeding them into the fire. It took a couple of hours but he eventually fed all of his notebooks into the fire — even the new one with the new fictional writing.
As he watched seven years of his writing go up in smoke Peter grew ever lighter and happier. He was releasing it all; not just the writing but the years of his life that produced that writing. He was freeing himself from the past. He was moving beyond what he suddenly realized was his education. He was becoming naked, not to a lover, but to the world. He was stripping himself of everything that held him back.
It took a couple of hours — and several cocktails — to finally burn everything that he had ever written.
He looked round and round the room as though there was some answer to his confusion sitting somewhere. But there was no answer anywhere in the room or in his mind for the violent reaction Julia had to reading his writing.
Peter had experienced confusion throughout his life but this particular moment was surely the most inexplicable morass of confusion he had ever experienced. It made absolutely no sense whatsoever. Peter simply could not ascertain one single thing about his story that would induce vomiting.
The strange thing is that while Peter felt thoroughly horrible about the extreme negative reaction he received to his writing he was also experiencing a strange joy. He slowly realized that although his writing elicited a bewildering and inexplicable horrible reaction, it did, in fact, elicit a strong reaction. His words made someone vomit!
Okay, that is not what he wanted but the truth of the matter is that his writing reached deep inside someone and brought forth a strong reaction. Peter suddenly realized the power inherent in words. His writing had always been private but once he opened it up to a reader it had power! Peter realized that he could affect someone through his writing.
He felt powerful yet horrible.
Peter could not put his feelings together into something that made sense. In his state of confusion he went back into the kitchen to fix another drink. Back in the living room his vision landed on the box containing the miniature barbecue grill.
Putting down his drink, Peter went to the couch and opened the box. He then put together the little barbecue grill which he then took outside to the little porch outside his bedroom. He then went back inside to get the bag of charcoal. After dumping charcoal into the barbecue grill he realized that he had no lighter fluid. Looking at the bag which contained the charcoal he saw that it was self-starting charcoal. Setting the charcoal into a little pyramid in the middle of the barbecue grill, Peter took out his lighter and lit the charcoal.
He then went back inside to fix himself yet another drink. On his way back out to the porch he stopped at his desk where he picked up the five spiral notebooks that he had been writing in for the last seven years. He brought them, along with his drink and his cigarettes, out to the porch.
Sitting down on the cement slab of his porch, Peter waited until the charcoals were no longer flaming and were now burning red-hot coals. He then opened up his spiral notebooks and began ripping out pages and slowly feeding them into the fire. It took a couple of hours but he eventually fed all of his notebooks into the fire — even the new one with the new fictional writing.
As he watched seven years of his writing go up in smoke Peter grew ever lighter and happier. He was releasing it all; not just the writing but the years of his life that produced that writing. He was freeing himself from the past. He was moving beyond what he suddenly realized was his education. He was becoming naked, not to a lover, but to the world. He was stripping himself of everything that held him back.
It took a couple of hours — and several cocktails — to finally burn everything that he had ever written.
* * * * *
Peter awoke the next morning with a mild hangover. It was not too bad, though. As he got out of bed to go to the bathroom to pee he looked out onto the little porch outside his bedroom. He saw the cold barbecue pit. Blackened metal spirals were sticking up out of it. It was all that remained of his many spiral notebooks.
He smiled.
Dressed and ready to start the day, Peter realized that he had the day off from work and he smiled again. He went into the kitchen and got a pot of coffee started. He then went back to the bedroom to get the typewriter case. (He had not even shown Julia the typewriter he bought himself for his birthday!)
He brought the typewriter out and set it up on the dining room table. He then went back into the bedroom and fetched an ashtray and his pack of smokes and a lighter which he then placed on the right side of the typewriter atop the dining room table. Going into the kitchen he realized that the pot of coffee was finished brewing. He poured himself a cup and brought it out to the dining room table and placed it to the left of the electric typewriter. He then went to fetch the ream of typing paper.
Peter would break up with Julia two weeks later but Julia never even entered his mind as he sat down at the dining room table. He fed a sheet of typing paper into his brand new electric typewriter. He then put his right thumb on the little lever switch that turned on the typewriter.
He took a deep breath. And then another one. And then another one.
And then his thumb pushed the lever switch to turn on the typewriter. Peter placed his fingers over the typewriter keyboard….
And that is the precise moment when Peter began writing his first novel.
He smiled.
Dressed and ready to start the day, Peter realized that he had the day off from work and he smiled again. He went into the kitchen and got a pot of coffee started. He then went back to the bedroom to get the typewriter case. (He had not even shown Julia the typewriter he bought himself for his birthday!)
He brought the typewriter out and set it up on the dining room table. He then went back into the bedroom and fetched an ashtray and his pack of smokes and a lighter which he then placed on the right side of the typewriter atop the dining room table. Going into the kitchen he realized that the pot of coffee was finished brewing. He poured himself a cup and brought it out to the dining room table and placed it to the left of the electric typewriter. He then went to fetch the ream of typing paper.
Peter would break up with Julia two weeks later but Julia never even entered his mind as he sat down at the dining room table. He fed a sheet of typing paper into his brand new electric typewriter. He then put his right thumb on the little lever switch that turned on the typewriter.
He took a deep breath. And then another one. And then another one.
And then his thumb pushed the lever switch to turn on the typewriter. Peter placed his fingers over the typewriter keyboard….
And that is the precise moment when Peter began writing his first novel.
* * * * *
Copyright by White Feather. All Rights Reserved.
