Story - Sam Fails To Tell A Love Story

Ciao, Tutti!

The secret's out. Sam goldsmith spends his Saturday nights cooped up in his dorm room writing endlessly while all his friends are at concert or parties or operas and all having a ball of a time. And I know what you are thinking, but it's okay. There's no need to be jealous.

I am doing National Novel Writing Month, in which I am writing the second book in my trilogy that has the angsty working title, "The Nameless Face." I hope to change that working title soon. The point is that I had an amazingly productive day (36 words per minute, obliterating my 25 wpm average) today and I am so pumped up about it that I can't sleep. Yes, I know I can't sleep normally, either, but that's not the point.

Before November started and I was set to begin my novel there were about two weeks when I produced a lot of rough drafts of short fiction, two of which ("The VideoMag Proposal" and "Cliche Central") you have already seen or can find in my archives. So I have been able to post stories even though I am wrapped up in my novel because the material for these stories is already there, in need only of re-writing. When I break from my novel but still find myself with extra time I edit the old works. And, being pumped up as I was about writing over 3,000 words of high-quality writing in under an hour and a half, I figured I'd use the adrenaline to edit another short fiction for you all.

Where to find the other stories

The other stories are in the archives somewhere along the left-hand side of my blog, intermingled with the pictures I took in Europe and shameless self-promotion.

"The VideoMag Proposal" is under the post entitled The Day Before November in October. It's a long post and the story is near the bottom.

"Cliche Central" is under the post entitled Art Sharing Day in October.

From now on I will label story posts with the word "Story" at the beginning. Like I did with this one. Why I didn't think of this earlier I have no idea.

Sam Fails To Tell A Love Story

1590 Words


Everyone cheered as the six friends stood arm in arm at the front of the courtyard, rain falling endlessly on their unprotected heads. All the warriors who had bravely fought in the unending war were finally seeing their dreams of a peaceful world come true. A boy in a wheelchair and his muscular father next to an elegantly dressed man with a goatee hollered gleefully, their open umbrellas forgotten on the cobblestones. Foot soldiers dressed in blue with empty gun holsters clapped enthusiastically, some cheering, some crying. Only Tarah’s parents were still and speechless, unable to believe that their colorblind daughter was one of the best fighters the world had ever seen, forever to be remembered as a national hero. People embraced all around the courtyard, hugging soaked friends who had once been mortal enemies. It was over. The plot had been resolved.

The heroes stepped forward to greet the crowd but Zack was pulled back. Alana was tugging on his sleeve. “Can I talk to you for a second?” she asked, beckoning him away from the scene. They walked off to a deserted wing of the courtyard where no one could disturb them, huddling under the umbrella more closely than they needed to be.
She turned to look at him once she was sure they were alone. “I liked your speech,” she said, smiling sweetly at him.

“Thanks,” he said sheepishly.

“I am so happy today,” she said, her eyes dodging the young soldier. “This war has made the world so hurt and I am so happy to see it all end.”

“I am, too,” said Zack, his eyes planted on her smile. “It’s amazing that we can finally tell people peace is here.”

“I’m so glad this moment has finally come,” she said.

“So let’s share it with our friends,” said Zack, taking her by the hand.

“I mean I’m glad to share this moment with you,” she said, blushing as she made eye contact. She began to lean towards him.

“Alana,” said Zack, closing his eyes, “I love you.”

“I love you too,” she whispered. The love-struck pair leaned towards each other, waiting for the passion-engulfed kiss they had been dreaming of. They could smell each other’s skin and knew that their love would finally be sealed, just like the war’s finality had been sealed. They wrapped their arms around each other’s bodies, drawing still nearer, and…

And…

“And?” yelled Alana.

“What’s going on?” asked Zack.

“We should have kissed by now!” she complained, letting go of him. “Seriously, why are we stopping?”

“I’m sorry,” I said, looking at the ground while my hands fiddled nervously behind my back. “I just can’t write love scenes. I’m really bad at them.”

Zack let out a loud, frustrated groan.

“We were so close!” Alana cried. “All you had to do was move us an inch closer and we would have been kissing! It’s really not that hard!”

“It’s hard for me,” I said timidly. “I don’t know how to do a kissing scene. Usually when there’s a kiss I just look away.”

“Oh, so you can have us confess our love for each other but you can’t have us kiss?” demanded Zack.

“Actually I didn’t like that part very much,” I said to the medal collage on his uniform. “Look, I just don’t know how to do this, okay?”

“No, it’s not okay!” exclaimed Zack. “I’ve been waiting to share a kiss with Alana for over a year and now you’re telling me you can’t write it?”

“Look, it’s really simple,” Alana explained. “You have us lean in and kiss in youthful
bliss or something like that. We can wrap our arms around each other and pull ourselves tightly together, the warmth of our bodies pressed against each other making us light-headed. Then we can release our lips and slowly open our eyes to gaze at each other longingly. Then Alex can come in and interrupt us and Zack can open his umbrella between us for privacy as we lean in again.”

“That’s sounds good,” said Zack.

“I think I’m going to throw up,” I said.

“Alana! Zack!” came Alex's voice from around the bend. “Come on! It’s time for Marco's medal ceremony!” He entered the area and screamed dramatically, covering his eyes. He peeked through his fingers. “Wait,” he said, straightening up. “You’re not kissing.”

Alana sighed. “Yes, I know that, genius.”

“Wait, this doesn’t make sense,” said Alex, scratching his head. “I’m pretty sure you’re supposed to be kissing right now.”

“Yeah, me too,” muttered Zack, glaring in my direction.

“This moron doesn’t know how to write it,” said Alana, jabbing a thumb at me.

“Look, guys,” I said, “I just have a problem with resolving all the plot lines so neatly all at the same time. That’s not how real life works.”

“I don’t care how real life works!” yelled Zack. “I’ve been through too much not to get this kiss right now!”

“What’s with all the shouting over here?” asked Sally, following Alex into the area.

“Sam can’t write a love scene,” said Alex. “Seems like all we can do together is count sheep until he can figure it out.”

“I’ll bet Sam just needs to be kissed himself,” proclaimed Sally. “That way he’d know how to write about it.”

“No, I’m good,” I said, backing away.

“I think Sally's right,” said Alana. “We need to find someone to kiss Sam so that he’ll know how to tell our story the way it was meant to be told.”

“And it can’t be just anyone,” added Zack. “It has to be someone breathtakingly beautiful, almost as beautiful as Alana.”

“Oh!” exclaimed Alex. “I know! Mary Sue!”

“Guys, this isn’t a very good idea,” I stammered.

“Do you really think she’ll come up from South Carolina just like that?” asked Alana, ignoring me.

“I’m sure she wants to see the plot resolve just as much as we do,” responded Alex.

“Okay, maybe not as much as you and Zack, but I’m just saying.”

“That’s enough!” I yelled. Everyone turned to look at me. For a relaxing split second the only sound was the rain. “Look, I’ll just do what Alana said with the mushy passion stuff, okay?” I conceded.

Alana shrugged. “Sounds good.”

“Alex and Sally, can you be back here in a few minutes to interrupt them so Zack can block you off with the umbrella?”

“Sure thing,” smiled Alex. “I’ll go tell them to hold off the medal ceremony for another few minutes to buy us some time.” He and Sally walked out, Sally pecking him on the cheek. Alana let out a frustrated groan.

“What?” I said. “You don’t want a little kiss like that. You want more passion.”

“He’s right,” said Zack.

“I’m not even in the mood anymore,” said Alana flatly.

“I’ll see what I can do,” I said, following Alex and Sally into the courtyard.

Zack took hold of Alana’s hand, the feeling of his skin against hers causing her to blush wildly. Their eyes met and they knew the time had come. The love-struck pair leaned towards each other, anticipating the passion-engulfed kiss they had been dreaming of. They could smell each other’s skin and knew that their love would finally be sealed, just like the war’s finality had been sealed. They wrapped their arms around each other’s bodies, drawing still nearer.

“I love you, Alana,” said Zack.

“I love you, too,” whispered Alana.

They pushed their lips together and kissed in youthful bliss, pulling themselves tightly together. The warmth of their bodies pressed against each other and the long-awaited release of passion made them light-headed with elation. Zack cupped Alana's cheek in his palm and a single tear dripped down from her eye onto the back of Zack’s soft, warm hand. They released the contact between their lips and slowly opened their eyes to gaze at each other longingly, remaining close enough to touch noses.

“Alana! Zack!” shouted Alex, marching into the wing with Sally. “Hurry up! It’s time for Marco’s medal ceremony!” He froze in his tracks when his eyes fell upon the two lovers, jaw dropped. The four stared at each other for a moment, then Zack shifted the umbrella to block off the view, leaning in to kiss Alana again as the rain soaked their clothes, their silhouettes melting together behind the thin fabric.

“Okay,” Alex said, turning back to the main courtyard. “That was awkward.”

“I think it was sweet,” said Sally, giving Alex a quick peck on the cheek. “Come on, we have to tell them to hold off the medal ceremony a little longer.”

Sally walked out into the main courtyard to face their friends once again while Alex searched me out, finding me sipping a Thai iced tea with my back against a wall under an overhang.

“How’d it go?” I asked, watching Tarah hug her mother in the courtyard.

“It went perfectly fine,” said Alex. “Everything worked out.”

“Glad to hear it.”

“I decided not to do the dramatic scream, though.”

“That’s probably for the best,” I nodded, offering Alex a sip.

“So, what did you think?”

“I hated it,” I said, shrugging. “It was insincere and cliché. But it’s what they wanted, right?”

“They certainly looked happy,” said Alex, handing me a half empty glass.

“What about you?” I asked. “Do you need an over-the-top mushy love scene to make you happy?”

“Nope. I’m fine with everything as it is.”

“Thank goodness.”

Fine

So there you have it. I can't tell a love story. I love making fun of myself in these stories.

A few notes about this one. I wrote this before I wrote "Cliche Central," but the pair are more or less about the same thing. My mind has been on the status of cliches a lot lately. I've always been overly concerned with how to make myself different without losing touch with the world. Embrace the cliche! NEVER! Personally I like "Cliche Central" a tad more, but I don't really know why. Perhaps because I really can't tell a love story and it's getting to me. Again, I don't know why.

The characters are based off characters I didn't make up, which is a new thing for me. I changed their names and some things about each of them for the story, but someone with an eagle eye can probably pick out where they come from. This means the Alana character is not actually my cousin, just to avoid the confusion there. I actually wrote another story (again, about cliches) with the characters from High School Musical in it because that's just about as cliche as you can get, and it had a wonderful scene where I shout at Morgan Freeman. The rest of it stunk, so you won't be seeing it here.

I hope you enjoyed! Please write me some feedback. I don't ever post a finished work so that you can slash and burn it and I'll still be open to suggestions. Let me know what you think! Now! I mean, please!

Okay, now I think being up late is starting to get to me. Even if I'm pumped up and can write 36 words per minute for an hour and a half without stopping. Even if we just went through the most historic election I've ever lived to see. Even if I finally have a weekend with no/minimal homework. Even if I have good, new music to listen to. There's a lot to get pumped up about, and one of them is the prospect of falling asleep.

-Sam goldsmith