...since I apparently have absolutely nothing better to do
, I decided to reread ALL my short stories, quite naturally making some edits along the way which, also quite naturally, led me to realize that I really should update them on my journal. But, instead of doing that some easy way, I tore everything off in a fit of misguided organization and am now in the process of reposting which, again quite naturally, means I will be spamming your journals over the next few days. Forgive me!!
For anyone new to my journal, all my short stories were done for various challanges --Hurt/Comfort --Road Trip!!! --What If?-- or for Christmas gifts.
This first one, Taking Care of Justin,
a multi-parter taking place over the span of twenty years
_______________Taking Care of Justin
You Save Yourself_You Find Your WayA working-class Pittsburgh neighborhood_1984
Sunlight slanted through a dusty window, scattering across a linoleum floor faded with time, lessening a little the gloom of the original-to-its-core 1950’s Carnegie-built library. Drifting then over scuffed boots and jean-clad legs, warming scraped knees that shown through the well-worn denim, its light finally disappearing under the tall wooden book-stacks that stood protectively around him, guarded him from view.( Collapse )Do You Remember When We Believed, When We Dreamed?_Do You Remember When We Were Young?
Gino’s Bistro near Pennsylvania State University_1989
Words soared and glimmered, weaving dreams that intertwined from one to the other across the small table covered in woven red and white checks. Ideas that followed along with the rhythm of the table’s flickering candlelight as the candle itself steadily melted over the grass-green wine bottle now only barely visible beneath a many-hued coat of wax. As yet another layer of streaky color was added to those that had already been left behind from other candles that had melted while other dreamers had dreamed.( Collapse )Dreams Change, When They Have To_When Only The Essence Remains
Fine Art’s Department at Pennsylvania State University_1992
He watched Lindsay draw, the large sheet of newsprint surrendering its self to her assured touch, the strong and delicate lines of charcoal in balance, some clear, some smudged, giving the Raphael-like model posing for them real subsistence. Each line showing the proper weight, the proper perspective, the proper energy, the subtle dance of shade and light and it was totally her own, her style distinctive from any other student’s. And she was lost in it, only stopping when the model left the platform. Only stopping when she had to.( Collapse )I Have To Let It Go, I Have To_When Even The Essence Changes
Lindsay Peterson & Melanie Marcus’s first apartment in Pittsburgh_1995
“It’s bullshit, Lindsay, and you know it.” Brian said, standing in the middle of her and Melanie’s living room, uncomfortable.
Standing quietly beside him, she said, “It’s not Brian; it’s a wonderful opportu--”
“What was the point then?” he said, glaring at her. “Why’d you bother getting your degree, just so you could throw--?”
“I’m not throwing anything away; it’s only for a couple of years,” she said. “Not forever.”
“Bullshit.” He looked away from her, glaring at Melanie instead who, from her centrally-located position on the couch, just shrugged.( Collapse )Knowing Where We Are, Not Where We Dreamt Of Being_Accepting The Boundaries Of Home
Lindsay, Melanie, and Gus’s house in Pittsburgh_Slightly AU 2002
“You really think this is going to make a difference, Linds?” Brian said, standing with her in the just-finished attic space.
“I don’t know…could. It’s worth a try. I have to do something, Brian, I don’t know…something.” She sighed, smoothing her hand over the freshly-painted snow-white surfaces. “And I promise, no watercolors of sand and surf, okay? No hydrangeas and roses painted by-the-number.”( Collapse )Now We Dream Only For Him_Taking Care Of Justin
An Italian bistro in downtown Pittsburgh_Spring 2005
Just before Brian & Justin agree not to marry
“Remind you of anywhere?” Lindsay said with a sweep of her hand as Brian approached the table covered in red and white checks.
“You know I’m fond of Italian bistros, Linds, and you know why so, yeah, it does remind me of Gino’s a little,” he said, taking the seat across from her. “The question is why. Why‘d you ask me to meet you here? We haven’t done this in years.”
She folded and unfolded her hands, obviously nervous. “We need to talk.” She smoothed the wrinkles from the tablecloth, trying and failing to make them disappear.
“Relax.” And placing his hand over hers, Brian said, “Okay, you’ve got my attention so…speak”
It’s about…Justin.”( Collapse )