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Topic: Satisfied (10/11/04)
TITLE: The Coffee Cup Dragon By Erwin Robledo 10/18/04 |
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Writers. Artsy types. Go figure.
I took a sip from my cup and found the black decaf cooling. Lara hadn’t touched her coffee yet. I guessed what was wrong.
“You didn’t use up your ball pen?” I asked. She took out a pen from her handbag and gave it to me. It was three-quarters full. Bingo. This is what happens when you promise the moon. I couldn’t imagine how anyone can use up a pen in a month, unless you were something like a best-selling author, not someone who decided to take writing seriously a month ago. I tried telling her but did she listen? No. ‘You’re not a writer,’ she said. You don’t understand,’ she said. ‘It won’t happen to me,’ she said. And now she was depressed. I guess I could’ve rubbed it in her face, but I asked for the pen instead.
“What for?” she said without looking.
“You’re going to throw it anyway.” Maybe she was, maybe she wasn’t, I didn’t know. But she gave it to me and slumped back in her chair, pouting. I hated that. Not the pout, but that she looked cute even when making a face, or slouching, or depressed. When I’m depressed, I’m a wreck. No wonder she doesn’t have problems with boys. What did I have? Beautiful lips? Beautiful lips on a monster don’t make someone beautiful. I wish I had just half her beauty - her straight, golden hair, glazed, umber eyes and orange-tinted silk skin. I won’t tell you what I look like. The beautiful lips are enough for now.
Was it hard to write? I took out a piece of paper and wrote. ‘Once upon a time there was a very beautiful princess who didn’t know how to smile.’ That wasn’t hard. ‘She took her best friend to a garden and had fairies brew them coffee. The coffee tasted good and her best friend was delighted, but the princess kept a straight face.’
Lara got curious and looked at the paper. “What’s that?” she asked.
“What, I can’t make a story because I’m not a writer?” I teased.
She read the paper, smiled, and wrote something below my writing. I read it.
“Then a dragon sprang out from the ground, large and soot-black with fire burning in its eyes and mouth, its claws trembling from an uncontrolled madness that threatened to destroy the earth that birthed it. The two friends could not but hold each other in fear.” I was impressed. I guess she could be a writer.
It was my turn. I wrote my line and let her read it.
“Then Sir Darren the Knight rode fast and confronted the dragon. Darren? That guy from high school?” she asked. Yeah, Darren, that muscle-rich varsity swimmer with the wavy locks of hair and deep baritone voice. I thought I saw him two days ago in the subway, but I got too shy to approach him. If only I looked a little better.
It was a wicked thing that she wrote back. “The dragon snatched the knight from his horse and grabbed him with his clawed hand, crushing steel and flesh and bone and hope in one stroke? Hey, that’s not nice!”
She smiled. “Well, do something about it.”
I had to do something about it, taking on a good-looking writer friend. ‘However, the knight was able to draw his magic sword and hit the dragon, sending poison into its body.’ I showed it to her. Her face said she didn’t like me messing up her dragon.
We had a good time working out our replies. It ended with Darren dying in the best friend’s arms, the dragon returning to the earth and the princess still not being able to smile. Lara said it was a good story, and I thought so too. She mentioned revising it later and submitting it to a publisher. I liked that idea. I, Michelle, was co-authoring a book. Maybe I could show it off to Darren, or anyone for that matter, and get a date. Or, screw the date. Seeing your name in print...that thought alone was exciting!
I took a sip from my cup. The coffee was cold, but much sweeter.