Writin Wednesday

Thank you all for the very kind words after my last manipulative post. I admit I will be reading your comments repeatedly whenever I'm feeling down on myself - maybe this will keep me from posting any more pity parties? Let's hope so. I felt so Anthony-Michael-Hall-in-Sixteen-Candles desperate (remember the part when he mounted Molly Ringwald in the broken-down car in the shop room?).

I've been squeaking in a few minutes here and there to freshen up a story I wrote a couple years ago, so here's the revised first bit of Cherry.

Cherry, Part I

I tell Ron I need my purse, my nail file. He waves at me to be quiet, I am interrupting Matlock. I walk out into the rain and around the back of the motel to where he’d parked an hour ago. From across the parking lot, I can see our big white pickup, alone – by itself. The cable that provided power to the trailer rests on the ground below the hitch, and the silver ball shines in the street light. My stomach knots. Now I have to go tell Ron the car is gone, but first I unlock the passenger door and retrieve my bulging purse. The rain blows into the side of the truck, slamming the door shut after I step down.

I tell him, when I get back in the room, and I try to sound sad, but he doesn’t notice if my voice shakes or I don’t look suitably shocked. He just rushes out the door in his underwear, pushing me out of the way. When he comes back he’s irate and immediately calls the police, shouting at them. Demanding. Then we wait.

He is sitting on the bed, his head in is hands, talking to himself about how to get it back. He tells me to refill his water and fetch his cigarettes. He looks at me as I hand him his lighter and he’s been crying. He asks me why this happened, what he can do to get it back, but I just shake my head. My suitcase is still packed, sitting on the little table by the door. I’m set to go. To leave him. For the last 25 of our 33 years together I’ve been just another spare part. Like those ugly little tires you’re forced to use when you get a flat. My son has a family of his own, my mom’s gone, and Ron is Ron. But maybe I should start over with this thing. I don’t want to give the wrong impression about what I’ve done. I’m not a cruel person, but I was deceived. I had to do something. That’s what it was, an act of self-preservation. Who can argue with that? I won’t let Ron take all the blame, but I will explain why I had to hire a man to steal my husband’s one true love.

Some other stuff...
Have you ever seen a movie that disturbs you so much you never want to see it again, but realize deep down it is a truly amazing work? (Somehow Sixteen Candles made me think of this, although I can't say I was particularly disturbed by Anthony Michael Hall - maybe it was his headgear?) Here are my few:

Requiem for a Dream - The climactic scene is over-the-top amazing, but something I never want to see or think of again.
Chuck and Buck - Whoa. How nasty is Mike White? Nasty and smart, I guess. Kinda like all the boys that used to ask me to dance in high school.
Trainspotting - Some HaHa parts, but really just mostly stomach-turning.
Thirteen - SO scared of 8th graders, all of a sudden.
River's Edge - Is this disturbing because of the dead-faced appearance of Keanu Reeves or the mere fact that it featured both Dennis Hopper AND Crispin Glover. I remember looking in my lap at some point in the movie, saying, Whoa, what in the HELL is in this popcorn?

What are yours?