Don't Even Think of Parking Here

Earlier this year, I had the opportunity to join a writing salon offered by the Charleston Library Society.  Now, what exactly is a writing salon?  Well, it's simply a relaxed writing class. Leading this class was Bret Lott, author of Jewel, an Oprah's Book Club selection which was also made into a movie. The ten-week salon was wonderful.

We were given weekly writing projects that were critiqued by Bret and our fellow salon attendees.  The following is the first page of a story I was required to write.  The only instruction for this story was it had to start with the following phrase: "Don't even think of parking here."  (Please note: this is a work of fiction)

“Don’t even think of parking here!”

I just stared at Pete.  Nothing has really changed since Woodbridge High School.  The jocks are still jocks, the nerds are still nerds, and the bullies are still bullies.  Pete, well, he’s still an asshole.

“Well, you gonna move it, or do you want me to yank you out of that piece of crap and move it myself?” His face contorted as he spoke and he looked like a snarling pig.  I almost laughed.  Back at Woodbridge High, I made the mistake of laughing at that face once.  That earned me a couple of days at home; let’s just call it therapeutic rehabilitation.

"If you’re feeling froggy, jump!"  That’s what I wanted to say.  Instead, I reverted into timid high school student Dave.  Don’t make waves Dave.  That was me.

“Yeah, whatever,” I said softly, trying to sound casual and untroubled.  Who knew what my face looked like; I was hoping it was an ocean of serene unconcern.  I put the car in reverse and rolled back slowly.  Since I wasn’t fully in the parking space, I only had to back up a couple of yards.

Pete revved up the throttle of the motorcycle he was sitting on.  A loud roar escaped from the tailpipes.  His way of saying hurry up and move.  I purposely took the most time I thought I could get away with.  The motorcycle thrummed as it waited; a guttural growl continually escaping its chrome pipes, a hungry beast waiting for me to make a mistake.  I drove the car slowly past Pete in a show of defiance.  I wasn’t scared of him or his beast.

As I walked the two blocks to the office, I thought about high school.  I was the guy that was always in the background of all the year book photos.  I was never really in the photos, just a part of the background.  The only photos that did have my name under were the individual shots for each grade.  Dave Adam Smith written under each picture.

I like to think that I had changed since then.  Not to become the life of the party or anything, but that I was not the same, insignificant, backgrounder.  I have a wonderful girlfriend, close friends, a good job, and get along great with my coworkers.  I’m very happy and pleased with where I’m at and what’s happening in my life.

So why do I revert back to that insignificant backgrounder every time I encounter Pete?  I’ve had a couple of run-ins with him over the last six months and each time, I become a scrawny, timid fifteen year old kid.*

(please note: this is a work of fiction)

I hope you enjoyed that preview and want to read more.  Maybe I'll post all of it out on the web and provide a link to it from here.

* Bullies are not limited to children, teens, or the school yard.  There are adult bullies in the world as well.  If you know of someone being bullied or you are being bullied, please seek out help and don't give up hope!