Sarah gave me a writing challenge. Here it is:
There are many aspects to great storytelling that draw the reader into the action. One of the most effective methods to grabbing the reader right from the start is creating an opening sentence that expresses a sense of intrigue. One well-known author once wrote that all stories should begin with the main character standing in the middle of a busy two-way highway. His reasoning was that the main character had to act or the story would be over. Your task today is to create ten single-sentence story openings. Don't worry about what the story that would follow would be, just create an opening sentence that would grab the reader immediately. "Once upon a time..." doesn't count.
(from Caffeine for the Creative Mind, Stefan Mumaw & Wendy Lee Oldfield, p. 235)
Here are my 10 sentences:
Andrew slammed the front door shut and stomped upstairs.
Sarah stared at the familiar scrawl on the envelope, “Oh, my god, how’d he find me?”
Julie clutched the faded black and white photo and began to cry.
Becky sat on the floor of her closet, crying and shoving potato chips into her mouth.
Allison wondered if the audience could hear her heart pounding.
Matthew dreaded the visit to his Mother.
Michael stared at the garvestone and whispered, “Why?”
Tommy handed Tara the binoculars, “Look, they’re burying something.”
“It’s your Dad,” Laurie sniffed, “there’s been an accident.”
Susan looked at John, “How are we ever going to explain this to her?”
Tuesday, August 12, 2008
Sunday, April 27, 2008
Ralph--chapter 3
Ralph nodded. “Yep. I’m Steven Byrd. Jenna was my wife. Someone murdered her and it wasn’t me. That buddy of yours thinks it is. The whole world thinks I did it. They always look at the spouse first.” He rubbed his temples.
“Most of the time it is,” Eric answered. He set the picture down on the coffee table. “Bert Hunter is doing his job. Why did you come here?”
“I took some time off from the magazine. My boss knows where I am. I had to go someplace where I could be left alone. I need to figure out who killed her. I can’t do that in Bow Creek. But, I didn’t want to be too far from Jenna. The Boss gave me six months. That’s next Saturday. I’m not farther along than I was six months ago. And neither are the police.”
Eric shook his head. “I still can’t believe it. Up until tonight I was pretty sure you were a jerk who killed his own wife. But now, man, I don’t know.” He picked up the picture of Jenna Byrd and stared at the smiling brunet. “Jeannie has one of her paintings. We bought it last spring at an art show in Baltimore. It’s a small one of hummingbirds. She wanted a big one, but I couldn’t affo---” He stopped and set the picture down again. “I saw your photography at the show, too. I really like your sailboats and sunsets.”
Steven nodded and Eric continued. “What are you going to do? Don’t you have a lawyer?”
Steven shrugged. “I don’t know. I’m losing my mind. When Bert walked into that bowling alley tonight, I freaked. I was sure he was after me. I’ve never been officially charged. They questioned me and then released me. I decided to take off to work on my own investigation and then my boss told me Hunter had come around looking for me. Leon told him he didn’t know where I was. I fired my lawyer. He thinks I’m guilty and should try to get off on an insanity plea, or something.” He threw his hands up in the air. His eyes blinked rapidly. “I loved Jenna. I would never hurt her. You have to believe me. I wouldn’t hurt her even if---”
Eric nodded. He finished the sentence. “Even if she had left you like they said.”
“Yes,” Steven answered. He rubbed his temples again.
“So, you came here and got a job at the paper.”
“Leon helped me there.” Eric looked puzzled and Steven explained, “Ken Taylor is the younger step brother of Leon Dalton. There’s quite an age difference and after their old man died, Leon became responsible for him. I don’t know how much you know about your boss, but he wasn’t an angel when he was a kid. Got into lots of trouble. His Mom gave up on him and left. Just packed her bags and left. Ken was only about 17. Leon came to his rescue over and over. Leon called his brother and arranged for me to come here.” He took a sip of his beer.
“I’m confused, though. Of course I read all about this case and I know she was seeing, um, well,” he cleared his throat, “well, you know. Anyway, what about him? They were questioning him, too, weren’t they?”
“Max Conrad is a big time publisher and makes a lot more money than I do. He can afford a good lawyer and unfortunately, I’m the husband. And, we had an argument. A public one.” Steven gulped the rest of his beer and crushed the can with his foot.
Eric looked at the floor, “I know.”
An awkward silence filled the air. Steven grabbed the empty cans and walked to the kitchen. “Anything else to drink?”
Eric glanced at his watch. “No, I really need to get home. Tomorrow is a work day.”
Steven grabbed another beer for himself, opened it, and took a long drink before setting the can down. He caught Eric staring at him. “I know. Ralph isn’t much of a drinker. But Steven is. You know, I’m glad you found out, I do miss being Steven.”
“Well, I’m still trying to take this all in. Up until a couple of hours ago, I thought you were this shy, new guy in town who I felt sorry for because his wife died. Now I find out you might be a guy who murdered his wife. I want to believe you. I really do. How much information do you have?”
Steven stood up and said, “This way.”
Eric followed Steven down the hall to a large master bedroom. Steven waved his arms in the air, “Now this is Steven’s room. Out there is Ralph. This is my room.” He watched as Eric looked around the room and took it all in. There was a bed in one corner and a dresser squished up against the wall right next to the bed. The comforter was rumpled and newspapers were strewn across the bed. The rest of the room was taken up with a table, filing cabinet, a computer and a combination fax, copier, printer. The walls were crammed with Jenna Byrd original paintings and Steven Byrd’s photography. The table and floor were covered with papers and newspaper clippings.
Eric walked over to the table and picked up the now famous photograph of Jenna. He studied it for a minute then set it down next to other family photos on the table. He pointed to the picture of Jenna’s parents. “They seem like nice people. They came across as nice people in the interviews. They believe Steven is innocent.”
Steven nodded, “Yes, I’m very grateful for them. And to my family, too. If it wasn’t for their support, I’m not sure I’d be here now. My mother-in-law helped me with this.” He ran his fingers through his hair.
Eric slipped his hands in his pockets. “So, this explains why Ralph is so antisocial. He’s busy investigating at night.” He opened his mouth to say something then looked at the phone hooked to his belt. “Excuse me. Hello?” He was quiet for a minute then said, “I’m still at—Ralph’s. No-no—I’ll be home soon. You go back to sleep.” He put the phone away. “I’m sorry.”
“No, it’s ok. It is late. I’ll see you tomorrow at work.” They walked toward the living room. The doorbell rang. Steven looked at his watch. It was nearly midnight. The men exchanged looks.
Eric tapped his chest. “I’ll look.” Steven nodded gratefully.
Eric walked to the front door and looked through the little hole in the door. “Oh, my gosh,” he spun around and looked at Steven. “It’s Bert Hunter.”
“Most of the time it is,” Eric answered. He set the picture down on the coffee table. “Bert Hunter is doing his job. Why did you come here?”
“I took some time off from the magazine. My boss knows where I am. I had to go someplace where I could be left alone. I need to figure out who killed her. I can’t do that in Bow Creek. But, I didn’t want to be too far from Jenna. The Boss gave me six months. That’s next Saturday. I’m not farther along than I was six months ago. And neither are the police.”
Eric shook his head. “I still can’t believe it. Up until tonight I was pretty sure you were a jerk who killed his own wife. But now, man, I don’t know.” He picked up the picture of Jenna Byrd and stared at the smiling brunet. “Jeannie has one of her paintings. We bought it last spring at an art show in Baltimore. It’s a small one of hummingbirds. She wanted a big one, but I couldn’t affo---” He stopped and set the picture down again. “I saw your photography at the show, too. I really like your sailboats and sunsets.”
Steven nodded and Eric continued. “What are you going to do? Don’t you have a lawyer?”
Steven shrugged. “I don’t know. I’m losing my mind. When Bert walked into that bowling alley tonight, I freaked. I was sure he was after me. I’ve never been officially charged. They questioned me and then released me. I decided to take off to work on my own investigation and then my boss told me Hunter had come around looking for me. Leon told him he didn’t know where I was. I fired my lawyer. He thinks I’m guilty and should try to get off on an insanity plea, or something.” He threw his hands up in the air. His eyes blinked rapidly. “I loved Jenna. I would never hurt her. You have to believe me. I wouldn’t hurt her even if---”
Eric nodded. He finished the sentence. “Even if she had left you like they said.”
“Yes,” Steven answered. He rubbed his temples again.
“So, you came here and got a job at the paper.”
“Leon helped me there.” Eric looked puzzled and Steven explained, “Ken Taylor is the younger step brother of Leon Dalton. There’s quite an age difference and after their old man died, Leon became responsible for him. I don’t know how much you know about your boss, but he wasn’t an angel when he was a kid. Got into lots of trouble. His Mom gave up on him and left. Just packed her bags and left. Ken was only about 17. Leon came to his rescue over and over. Leon called his brother and arranged for me to come here.” He took a sip of his beer.
“I’m confused, though. Of course I read all about this case and I know she was seeing, um, well,” he cleared his throat, “well, you know. Anyway, what about him? They were questioning him, too, weren’t they?”
“Max Conrad is a big time publisher and makes a lot more money than I do. He can afford a good lawyer and unfortunately, I’m the husband. And, we had an argument. A public one.” Steven gulped the rest of his beer and crushed the can with his foot.
Eric looked at the floor, “I know.”
An awkward silence filled the air. Steven grabbed the empty cans and walked to the kitchen. “Anything else to drink?”
Eric glanced at his watch. “No, I really need to get home. Tomorrow is a work day.”
Steven grabbed another beer for himself, opened it, and took a long drink before setting the can down. He caught Eric staring at him. “I know. Ralph isn’t much of a drinker. But Steven is. You know, I’m glad you found out, I do miss being Steven.”
“Well, I’m still trying to take this all in. Up until a couple of hours ago, I thought you were this shy, new guy in town who I felt sorry for because his wife died. Now I find out you might be a guy who murdered his wife. I want to believe you. I really do. How much information do you have?”
Steven stood up and said, “This way.”
Eric followed Steven down the hall to a large master bedroom. Steven waved his arms in the air, “Now this is Steven’s room. Out there is Ralph. This is my room.” He watched as Eric looked around the room and took it all in. There was a bed in one corner and a dresser squished up against the wall right next to the bed. The comforter was rumpled and newspapers were strewn across the bed. The rest of the room was taken up with a table, filing cabinet, a computer and a combination fax, copier, printer. The walls were crammed with Jenna Byrd original paintings and Steven Byrd’s photography. The table and floor were covered with papers and newspaper clippings.
Eric walked over to the table and picked up the now famous photograph of Jenna. He studied it for a minute then set it down next to other family photos on the table. He pointed to the picture of Jenna’s parents. “They seem like nice people. They came across as nice people in the interviews. They believe Steven is innocent.”
Steven nodded, “Yes, I’m very grateful for them. And to my family, too. If it wasn’t for their support, I’m not sure I’d be here now. My mother-in-law helped me with this.” He ran his fingers through his hair.
Eric slipped his hands in his pockets. “So, this explains why Ralph is so antisocial. He’s busy investigating at night.” He opened his mouth to say something then looked at the phone hooked to his belt. “Excuse me. Hello?” He was quiet for a minute then said, “I’m still at—Ralph’s. No-no—I’ll be home soon. You go back to sleep.” He put the phone away. “I’m sorry.”
“No, it’s ok. It is late. I’ll see you tomorrow at work.” They walked toward the living room. The doorbell rang. Steven looked at his watch. It was nearly midnight. The men exchanged looks.
Eric tapped his chest. “I’ll look.” Steven nodded gratefully.
Eric walked to the front door and looked through the little hole in the door. “Oh, my gosh,” he spun around and looked at Steven. “It’s Bert Hunter.”
Saturday, April 19, 2008
Ralph part 1
To read chapter one of Ralph, click the link below:
http://mdskiswriting.blogspot.com/2008/03/writing-exercises.html
http://mdskiswriting.blogspot.com/2008/03/writing-exercises.html
Ralph--chapter 2
As they left the bowling alley, Eric said, “Let’s go to your place. Jeannie will be putting the kids to bed by now.” He pulled his cell phone out of his pocket. “Hon, I’ll be a little late. Um—something came up, I’m going to Ralph’s for a little bit.” He was quiet for a minute, “no, I’ll talk to you later. Bye.” He snapped the phone shut and climbed into his truck and followed Ralph out of the parking lot.
They drove about 5 minutes and turned into the oldest subdivision in town. The houses dated back to the fifties and sixties. Ralph rented a second story apartment in the largest house on the street. He pulled into the driveway and drove around to the back of the house. Eric pulled in behind him. They walked up the stairs and into a small, two bedroom apartment. Ralph flipped on a light. “Beer?”
“Naw, better not. Had two already. Still have to drive home.” Eric pointed to the bare, white living room walls. “Still haven’t hung your pictures, huh? You planning to move soon?”
Ralph shrugged. “Just haven’t gotten around to putting anything up, I guess. My wife was the decorator.” He walked into the living room with a beer and a Pepsi. He handed Rick the Pepsi and nodded toward the black leather sofa. Grabbing a coaster, he slid it down under the Pepsi just before Rick set the can down on the coffee table. He grabbed another coaster for his beer. He shook his head. “Sorry, my wife used to have a heart attack when anyone set drinks on the coffee table without a coaster. I guess she drummed it into my head more than I realized.” He laughed.
Eric laughed. “Jeannie is the same. I’ll bet she would have loved your wife. They probably would have gotten along fine. Oh—I’m sorry.”
“No, it’s ok. It’s been six months. I have to get used to the fact she’s not coming home.” He stared across the room at the two large cartons, one stacked neatly on top of the other. “I—I only took out the essentials when I moved in. Never felt like putting the pictures and stuff out, I guess.”
Ralph knew Eric had noticed the bare walls, empty bookcase shelves and cheap white blinds on the windows. I guess I should’ve put out some books and things that didn’t matter. But, I never really planned on having people over. Besides, I couldn’t tell anyone why I couldn’t have those things here. Thank goodness Rick had never seen the Clairol Nice 'n Easy in the master bath. He noticed Rick glance at his watch. It’s time. He blew out a puff of air. Plants. I should’ve bought plants.
Eric leaned forward, resting his arms on his thighs, “Well, tell me. What’s up?”
Ralph sighed. “Well, um—music, do you want to hear some music?” He picked up one of several remotes from the coffee table and aimed at the state-of-art stereo.
“Ralph!”
“Ok, man, ok.” He turned the stereo off. “It will be easier to show you, I guess.” He walked over to the boxes and opened the lid on the top one. As he fished through the box he said, “It’s not Ralph.”
“What?” Eric asked.
Turning around, Ralph said, “My name, man, it’s not Ralph. Ralph was my Dad. He’s dead, so, I didn’t think he’d care if I used his name.”
Eric shook his head. “What are you talking about?”
“Steven. I’m Steven.” He turned toward the box and began to dig. Again, he felt Rick staring at him and it made him nervous. He pulled something out and walked across the room.
He handed the picture frame to Rick. “This is my wife.” His hands shook.
Eric’s eyes opened wide with astonishment as he stared at the picture in his hand. “This is—was your wife?”
They drove about 5 minutes and turned into the oldest subdivision in town. The houses dated back to the fifties and sixties. Ralph rented a second story apartment in the largest house on the street. He pulled into the driveway and drove around to the back of the house. Eric pulled in behind him. They walked up the stairs and into a small, two bedroom apartment. Ralph flipped on a light. “Beer?”
“Naw, better not. Had two already. Still have to drive home.” Eric pointed to the bare, white living room walls. “Still haven’t hung your pictures, huh? You planning to move soon?”
Ralph shrugged. “Just haven’t gotten around to putting anything up, I guess. My wife was the decorator.” He walked into the living room with a beer and a Pepsi. He handed Rick the Pepsi and nodded toward the black leather sofa. Grabbing a coaster, he slid it down under the Pepsi just before Rick set the can down on the coffee table. He grabbed another coaster for his beer. He shook his head. “Sorry, my wife used to have a heart attack when anyone set drinks on the coffee table without a coaster. I guess she drummed it into my head more than I realized.” He laughed.
Eric laughed. “Jeannie is the same. I’ll bet she would have loved your wife. They probably would have gotten along fine. Oh—I’m sorry.”
“No, it’s ok. It’s been six months. I have to get used to the fact she’s not coming home.” He stared across the room at the two large cartons, one stacked neatly on top of the other. “I—I only took out the essentials when I moved in. Never felt like putting the pictures and stuff out, I guess.”
Ralph knew Eric had noticed the bare walls, empty bookcase shelves and cheap white blinds on the windows. I guess I should’ve put out some books and things that didn’t matter. But, I never really planned on having people over. Besides, I couldn’t tell anyone why I couldn’t have those things here. Thank goodness Rick had never seen the Clairol Nice 'n Easy in the master bath. He noticed Rick glance at his watch. It’s time. He blew out a puff of air. Plants. I should’ve bought plants.
Eric leaned forward, resting his arms on his thighs, “Well, tell me. What’s up?”
Ralph sighed. “Well, um—music, do you want to hear some music?” He picked up one of several remotes from the coffee table and aimed at the state-of-art stereo.
“Ralph!”
“Ok, man, ok.” He turned the stereo off. “It will be easier to show you, I guess.” He walked over to the boxes and opened the lid on the top one. As he fished through the box he said, “It’s not Ralph.”
“What?” Eric asked.
Turning around, Ralph said, “My name, man, it’s not Ralph. Ralph was my Dad. He’s dead, so, I didn’t think he’d care if I used his name.”
Eric shook his head. “What are you talking about?”
“Steven. I’m Steven.” He turned toward the box and began to dig. Again, he felt Rick staring at him and it made him nervous. He pulled something out and walked across the room.
He handed the picture frame to Rick. “This is my wife.” His hands shook.
Eric’s eyes opened wide with astonishment as he stared at the picture in his hand. “This is—was your wife?”
Friday, March 21, 2008
Writing Exercises
I have several books with writing exercises for writers. One book I am using is A Picture Is Worth A 1,000 Words. By Phillip Sexton and photos by Tricia Bateman. It gives you a prompt to start and then you write a story. So, here we go:
Prompt: Based on the shirt at left, what can you determine about the man who wears it? Write a scene in which you use a description of this shirt to convey personality, status, situation, and attitude. Consider how other characters might react to the man, based on what's implied by your description.
Well, to start, since Ralph is written over the two tone pocket, one would presume his name is Ralph and his shirt looks like it belongs to a place where the employees wear uniforms. However, it is always possible that he had to borrow a shirt from the office because both of his shirts are dirty. Ralph could be a former employee, who left his shirt in the office when he quit. It looks like he could work at a number of places. McDonald's, 7/11, an auto repair shop or maybe a sporting goods store. The shirt looks a lot like a football referee shirt. Or, he could be on a bowling team, it looks like a bowling team shirt, too. He is skinny--or at least not fat. There are no signs of the fabric stretching to the limit. No wrinkles and it's very clean. So, I will eliminate an auto repair shop--his shirt is too clean. Of course, he could be the guy out front. He doesn't tuck the shirt into his pants. Youngish---30's--early 40's.
For simplicity sake, we will say his name is Ralph. And, I have decided, he is bowling with the guys. So....
Ralph cringed as he watched the ball roll slowly to the side of the lane and into the gutter. A gutter ball, I haven't gotten a gutter ball since I was in the 10th grade. He wiped his hands off on his crisp, clean shirt.
"Ralphy, boy! What's up? You've been bowling like crap all night. We're trying to win, in case you haven't noticed," Eric slapped his buddy on the back.
"I know. I just have a lot on my mind today. I should've had Pete fill in," Ralph walked over to the chairs and sat down. He could feel Eric staring right at him. His back felt damp and he hoped no one noticed the sweat had started to come through the cotton shirt. What am I gonna do? It's gonna end soon, they all will find out what a phony I am. He stared across the room. His stomach tightened. He recognized Detective Bert Hunter as soon as he walked into the bowling alley with his family. What is he doing here? We're at least 100 miles from Bow Creek. Why is he here? He glanced down and saw Ralph over his pocket. Even his two tone shirt was a phony. Two colors, just like him. His dark side was hidden by the fake clean side his friends knew. Why did I use my Dad's name? Stupid.
"Ralph! Earth to Ralph. Ralph?" Joe Sweeney rested a heavy hand on Ralph's shoulder. "You, ok?"
"Huh? Oh, yeah--yeah, I'm fine. I just---um, I'm fine." He looked around. Everyone on both teams were staring at him. He wiped his hands off on his shirt again.
"You're up," Joe said. "We need a strike."
Ralph nodded. He glanced in Detective Hunter's direction. He was busy with his family and wasn't paying attention to anyone else. Please let me hit something. Not a gutter ball, but another pitiful attempt. He dragged his feet to his seat and picked up his soda. His hands were shaking as he took a sip and some of the soda slopped out of his cup onto his shirt. He looked down at the spot on his shirt. I need to get out of here, the real me is starting to come out. He glanced again toward Detective Hunter. Still busy helping his kids bowl. Ralph sighed heavily. I need to straighten up. My team thinks I'm a nut. He massaged his temples. Please let this night end.
"C'mon, tell me, what's wrong?" Eric was looking at Ralph.
"It's what you said, I'm bowling like crap tonight," Ralph tried to smile. He took a napkin and dabbed at the spot the soda had left on the bright white fabric.
Eric shook his head, "No, that's not what I mean, and you know it."
Ralph continued to work at the stain. He wondered if the stain would come out. The good Ralph hated anything to be messy. "I don't think this will wash out," he mumbled.
Eric opened his mouth to say something, but stopped when he realized someone was approaching. He stood up and stuck his hand out. "Bert, good to see you. Jane said you were visiting. Hey, this is Ralph."
In his nervous rush to stand up and greet Bert Hunter, Ralph knocked over his soda, most of it hit his pants and shirt. His whole body was hot and he felt sweat rolling down his back. Bert Hunter firmly grasped his hand and pumped it up and down. Ralph managed to nod. It was over, he was finished. He couldn't stop brushing his hands on his shirt. What a mess. I must look like a slob.
"You look like someone I know. Ever hear of Bow Creek?" Bert asked.
"N--no. I--I'm--um, from New York. Just moved here a few months ago," Ralph answered.
"Well, welcome to town. We'll see each other. My wife's sister lives here. Married?"
"Um, no. My wife died about six months ago." Ralph was sure Detective Hunter could hear his heart beating. He twisted and untwisted the bottom of his shirt.
"Well, sorry about that. Here comes the family, we better go. Good to see you, Eric." Bert Hunter grabbed one of the kids and picked her up. He waved and they walked away.
The bowling alley was nearly empty. The manager was dimming the lights. Glasses clinked as the bar tender cleaned up. Eric glared at Ralph. "Ok, what the hell is going on? Look at you. You're sweating like a pig. You're shirt is a mess. You could barely talk to Bert. You didn't bowl worth a damn. Talk to me."
Ralph's throat felt parched. He reached for his glass, then remembered it was empty. "Ok, but not here. You're going to find out, anyway."
Prompt: Based on the shirt at left, what can you determine about the man who wears it? Write a scene in which you use a description of this shirt to convey personality, status, situation, and attitude. Consider how other characters might react to the man, based on what's implied by your description.
Well, to start, since Ralph is written over the two tone pocket, one would presume his name is Ralph and his shirt looks like it belongs to a place where the employees wear uniforms. However, it is always possible that he had to borrow a shirt from the office because both of his shirts are dirty. Ralph could be a former employee, who left his shirt in the office when he quit. It looks like he could work at a number of places. McDonald's, 7/11, an auto repair shop or maybe a sporting goods store. The shirt looks a lot like a football referee shirt. Or, he could be on a bowling team, it looks like a bowling team shirt, too. He is skinny--or at least not fat. There are no signs of the fabric stretching to the limit. No wrinkles and it's very clean. So, I will eliminate an auto repair shop--his shirt is too clean. Of course, he could be the guy out front. He doesn't tuck the shirt into his pants. Youngish---30's--early 40's.
For simplicity sake, we will say his name is Ralph. And, I have decided, he is bowling with the guys. So....
Ralph cringed as he watched the ball roll slowly to the side of the lane and into the gutter. A gutter ball, I haven't gotten a gutter ball since I was in the 10th grade. He wiped his hands off on his crisp, clean shirt.
"Ralphy, boy! What's up? You've been bowling like crap all night. We're trying to win, in case you haven't noticed," Eric slapped his buddy on the back.
"I know. I just have a lot on my mind today. I should've had Pete fill in," Ralph walked over to the chairs and sat down. He could feel Eric staring right at him. His back felt damp and he hoped no one noticed the sweat had started to come through the cotton shirt. What am I gonna do? It's gonna end soon, they all will find out what a phony I am. He stared across the room. His stomach tightened. He recognized Detective Bert Hunter as soon as he walked into the bowling alley with his family. What is he doing here? We're at least 100 miles from Bow Creek. Why is he here? He glanced down and saw Ralph over his pocket. Even his two tone shirt was a phony. Two colors, just like him. His dark side was hidden by the fake clean side his friends knew. Why did I use my Dad's name? Stupid.
"Ralph! Earth to Ralph. Ralph?" Joe Sweeney rested a heavy hand on Ralph's shoulder. "You, ok?"
"Huh? Oh, yeah--yeah, I'm fine. I just---um, I'm fine." He looked around. Everyone on both teams were staring at him. He wiped his hands off on his shirt again.
"You're up," Joe said. "We need a strike."
Ralph nodded. He glanced in Detective Hunter's direction. He was busy with his family and wasn't paying attention to anyone else. Please let me hit something. Not a gutter ball, but another pitiful attempt. He dragged his feet to his seat and picked up his soda. His hands were shaking as he took a sip and some of the soda slopped out of his cup onto his shirt. He looked down at the spot on his shirt. I need to get out of here, the real me is starting to come out. He glanced again toward Detective Hunter. Still busy helping his kids bowl. Ralph sighed heavily. I need to straighten up. My team thinks I'm a nut. He massaged his temples. Please let this night end.
"C'mon, tell me, what's wrong?" Eric was looking at Ralph.
"It's what you said, I'm bowling like crap tonight," Ralph tried to smile. He took a napkin and dabbed at the spot the soda had left on the bright white fabric.
Eric shook his head, "No, that's not what I mean, and you know it."
Ralph continued to work at the stain. He wondered if the stain would come out. The good Ralph hated anything to be messy. "I don't think this will wash out," he mumbled.
Eric opened his mouth to say something, but stopped when he realized someone was approaching. He stood up and stuck his hand out. "Bert, good to see you. Jane said you were visiting. Hey, this is Ralph."
In his nervous rush to stand up and greet Bert Hunter, Ralph knocked over his soda, most of it hit his pants and shirt. His whole body was hot and he felt sweat rolling down his back. Bert Hunter firmly grasped his hand and pumped it up and down. Ralph managed to nod. It was over, he was finished. He couldn't stop brushing his hands on his shirt. What a mess. I must look like a slob.
"You look like someone I know. Ever hear of Bow Creek?" Bert asked.
"N--no. I--I'm--um, from New York. Just moved here a few months ago," Ralph answered.
"Well, welcome to town. We'll see each other. My wife's sister lives here. Married?"
"Um, no. My wife died about six months ago." Ralph was sure Detective Hunter could hear his heart beating. He twisted and untwisted the bottom of his shirt.
"Well, sorry about that. Here comes the family, we better go. Good to see you, Eric." Bert Hunter grabbed one of the kids and picked her up. He waved and they walked away.
The bowling alley was nearly empty. The manager was dimming the lights. Glasses clinked as the bar tender cleaned up. Eric glared at Ralph. "Ok, what the hell is going on? Look at you. You're sweating like a pig. You're shirt is a mess. You could barely talk to Bert. You didn't bowl worth a damn. Talk to me."
Ralph's throat felt parched. He reached for his glass, then remembered it was empty. "Ok, but not here. You're going to find out, anyway."
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