Thursday, March 8, 2012

Storymatic #1: Watching Celia

For my birthday, Zoe sent me a pack of cards called "The Storymatic." Half of the cards (which are written in all lower case in an olde timey typewriter font, which is totally how I roll) have some kind of description for a character, the other half have information that will help inspire a story for that character. There are two rules: 1. Your main character must change from the beginning of the story to the end. and 2. Do not kill your main character. They recommend drawing two of each card to begin.


I've decided to give it a shot. Here are the cards I drew:
babysitter, hitchhiker picker-upper
broken promise, medicine isn't working


Ready? Go!


Celia cries constantly. She's eight years old, so I guess it's not entirely out of the ordinary, but I thought it would stop by now. She cries when it's time to wake up, when it's time to sleep, when she has to eat something she doesn't like, when she has to take a bath, when I brush her hair. She cries when Elmo laughs and when things get too intense for Ariel during her nightly viewing of The Little Mermaid. And I get to babysit her Monday through Friday from 5 pm to 10 pm while her mom works at a diner in the city.


I'm a dude. Babysitting is probably the least manly occupation of all time, but I'm in college and the hours are flexible. I think I'd be cooler with it if I could take her to the park or something and use her to meet women - she's really freaking cute - but her mom won't let me. I'm supposed to stick around the house, feed her dinner, and generally just mop up her constantly flowing tears. I'm usually down with this arrangement. I use the hour when things are going well for Ariel and Flounder to do my homework (I've recently discovered that "Under the Sea" really helps me think), and I study after our battle of the bedtime. It worked out perfectly until Spring Break.


Spring Break makes college students stupid and impulsive. That's my only defense. All I know is that my friends were off partying in their home towns or on beaches in Florida or Mexico, and I was stuck in Evanston Illinois watching King Triton destroy a sweet collection of gadgets and doodads for the 63rd time. With no homework to distract me, I was about to start competing with Celia for best crier, when I decided it would be better to just break some rules and go for a drive. I snap her into the back of my '97 Corolla and peel out of there with no idea as to where we were going.


"Where are we going?" she asks.
"I have no idea," I say.


She starts crying.


We drive for another 20 minutes like that - me staring ahead, searching for inspiration; her staring ahead, weeping. We arrive at my campus, and I notice that we were approaching my dream girl. She sits on a curb by a stop sign holding a piece of cardboard with "BORED" written in purple Sharpie. She wears cutoff jeans and a billowy shirt and Keds and her hair is in Shirley Temple ringlets - it looks like she was trying really hard to look like she hadn't tried, and I like that. So I pick her up. She's bored, I'm bored - we're perfect for each other.


As soon as she gets in the car, Celia stops crying. 


"What's your name?" asks Celia.
"Mernie. What's yours?" says Mernie (apparently).
"Celia. And that's Marty. He took me from my house." Her ducts open again. The kid is seriously a faucet.
Mernie's eyes widen, and the rest of this just happens in a blur:


"I don't know what I was thinking. You can let me out here. And maybe you should let me get the child back to her home. I won't even call the police, just let us out!" She starts to panic, and Celia clearly finds this fun and plays along.
"Yes, Marty, let us go! I want my Mommy! Help!" She's a terrible actress, but Mernie believes her and continues ranting, pleading with me for their lives.
"No, you don't understand. I'm her babysitter. It's true I'm not supposed to leave the house with her, but I was bored, and..." I realize that I sound way too rushed, and I have one of those moments where I know I'm telling the truth but I feel like I'm lying. 


Mernie starts to hyperventilate. She pulls out an inhaler and tries to use it, but nothing comes out, and she hyperventilates even more, and I feel like this is some kind of joke.


"LOOK," she's all up in my face now, and I notice she has bug eyes and the jaw of a bull dog. "Get me to a hospital now, or you will be a kidnapper and a murderer."


I'm freaked out, but for some reason I start to laugh. I mean, I brought this on myself. I wanted entertainment and adventure or something. And look where that got me. Crazy town.


I drive to the nearest hospital, and she leaps from the car before I even come to a complete stop. She doesn't look back, and I can't help but think she's a complete jerk for not trying to save Celia, even though Celia doesn't really need saving. The good news is that we get home in time to watch "Part of Your World." I love that song.


Theee end.


Okay, I don't love how that turned out, but it was better than my first draft:


I'm a babysitter. On my way to work this evening, I promised to pick up my sister from school. I broke that promise and picked up a hitchhiker instead. He died in the car because his heart medication didn't work. The end.

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