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The Homework Assignment:

Upon getting home from class, I popped a Dr. Pepper and started reading Gail’s “Interlude.” Here is a passage…

“…Winter was a time of healing, of grace. I had finally bridged the gap between two shores, in the midst of which lay a sea of limbo. One shore was inexorable grief, the other, a light I strained to reach for two years. Somewhere during the last leg of that journey I encountered you, struggling between your own shores, nearly shipwrecked. But we didn’t seem that way at first. The recognition of mutual darkness, the incomplete union of our tenebrous, war-torn selves did not occur till later. I imagine that is when I almost fell in love with you. This was a funny turn, one I try to avoid contemplating now, as I scour the streets of Brooklyn focusing on debris that offer no clues...”

Okay, enough of this, I thought to myself. After a day of work and a three-hour writing class, there was no way I was going to wade though Gail’s tome. Exactly as I’d feared, it was poetic, profound and perplexing. There wasn’t a hint of humor. Even when the word “funny” was used, it was meant ironically. If ever there was a need for a Metaphor to English Dictionary, this piece was it. Tenebrous, war-torn selves? Good grief.

* * *

I threw “Interlude” to the side and picked up “Juicy,” which was a 13 page coming-of-age excerpt from Juanita, the 40-year-old Spanish woman. As I read it, I made grammatical and spelling corrections. I stopped after the second paragraph because I thought my pen would run out of ink. “Juicy” was incoherent, incomprehensible and in two languages. Still, I was enraptured (I’ll spare you the cliched “car accident” metaphor – whoops!). I read all 13 pages without looking at my watch once. The only time I stopped reading was when I felt the need to call my girlfriend Bronwen… that happened four times.

“Hi, it’s me…again,” I said for the second time that evening.

“Okay,” Bronwen started and continued with a hint of annoyance, “What’s so funny this time?”

“I swear I won’t bug you again, but you’re not going to believe this!” I proclaimed.

“Okay, whatcha got for me?”

“Page four – ‘Juicy was so small no one noticed Juicy. Yvette sat on her but she did not cry. She was found out by mama. Mira! Mu-cha-cha! La nina, la vas a mar tar! Yvonne looks her over making sure every little bone in her body is in tact.’ By the way, intact was two words.”

“And you were worried you’d be out of your league. Feel better?”

“Not really. Now I feel like I’m in a remedial class.”

“Ugh, anyway, I’m going to bed. G’night.”

“G’night.”

Five minutes later….

“Okay, I’m sorry but I had to call…you weren’t sleeping yet, were you?”

“No…I’m lying in bed trying to get to sleep!” Bronwen answered, definitely annoyed.

“Great, so as I’m sure you recall from my previous calls, not only is the story unintelligible and the grammar unbelievably poor, but right here on page six in black and white, she introduced a…are you ready?”

“Yes, what?”

“Now remember the character is like eight years old.”

“Fine…the character’s eight…what happened?”

“Are you sitting down?”

“Yes! I’m sitting! I’m freakin’ lying down! What happened?”

“Well, on page six, Juicy’s friends were over when her mom went shopping. They decided to play house and before she knew it… a porn scene erupted!”

“Nooooo!”

“It’s right here…listen to this, ‘She waited outside of their bedroom until she was prompted to enter. And to her surprise, here she is walking into a kitty feast! There were a bunch of girls rubbing their pussies, squeezing their lil’ tits and asses humpin’ each other up against the wall.’”

“Oh…my…God.”

“I swear, it’s right here. I threw up in my mouth when I read it.”…”Wait! Wait!” I exclaimed, glancing down at the manuscript, “‘She started rubbing her size 32A’s underneath her tee-shirt. Her head was buried in her neck giving her soft kisses.’ Lot of ‘her’s’ in there, huh?”

“Wow, that’s more than a little gross. Read me more.”

* * *

I finished “Juicy” that night and read “Interlude” a few nights later. Actually I read “Interlude” several times to understand what was going on. Something about a failed love affair, maybe a love affair that wasn’t a love affair, or maybe it was just about a couple of warships that ran aground in Brooklyn. I don’t know.

* * *

And then there was my own story, “Night of the Living Jews,” detailed my experience in going to a Jewish singles event. I spend much of the time making fun of the other attendees, but get my comeuppance near the end when a “hot” girl I hit on rejects me because I’m not “cool” enough for her.

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© 2004 Me Three