Being a writer can be hard. Not in the sense that I can’t find the words to express what I’m writing. The difficulty lies in being able to mentally get your ideas and messages across.
Writing also takes a lot of time and effort which means a lot of isolation. It can cause a person to feel like they are going crazty if they aren’t careful.
The article I was currently working on was giving me that crazy feeling. The angle just wasn’t working and I couldn’t wrap my brain around what was missing.
Placing my pen down, I read aloud, “…putting your words into action is the key to getting your message out. You must create a movie in the mind, stimulating each part of the brain. Words create characters, scenery, and conversations…”
Where do I go from there, I thought.
I looked over at the clock on my dining room wall.
“I’ve been at this for 4 hours,” I said to myself realizing that it was no longer light outside as it had been when I started.
Sighing loudly, I grabbed a cigarette from the pack that sat half-open next to my laptop. I lit it and inhaled slowly, allowing the smoke to ease into my body.
Leaning back in my chair with the cigarette dangling between my fingers, I looked around at my table. The books. My binders. The laptops. My millions of pens scattered all over the place. The half-gone pack of cigarette I know I shouldn’t be smoking.
The partially written article sat on my computer screen. The cursor blinking as if to mock me. I could feel a slight headache approaching.
“Who the hell is ringing my doorbell this time of night?” I asked no one in particular, glancing at the clock again before rising out of my chair.
“Who is it?” I yelled through the door, cigarette in one hand and baseball bat in the other.
Figures, I thought putting the bat down.
Darrell seemed to have no sense of time that you should ring a person’s doorbell. Be it early in the morning or late at night, his timing was almost never good.
Opening the door I said, “What’s up?”
“My bad Cam,” he said as usual, “do you have another cigarette? I’m stressin’.”
Leaving the door cracked, I walked back to the dining room and slid another cigarette out of the pack.
“What the hell is wrong with you?” I asked, partly concerned and partly annoyed as I handed him the unlit cig.
He lit the cancer stick and took a bunch of puffs before finally saying, “Melanie, man!”
I just watched as he paced back and forth on my steps, waiting for him to say anything else. When he didn’t I pressed further, “Uh, what about Melanie?”
“This bitch just pulled a knife out on Dom!” he exclaimed waiting for my response. I guessed he thought I would be as pissed as he was.
“Okay. So what did Dom do to her?”
“What the fuck you mean? She pulled a knife on him.”
“I got that part. But what did he do for her to pull a knife out?”
“Nothing,” he said coolly, blowing smoke in the air, “She just pulled a knife.”
I put my hands on my hips, “So you mean to tell me, that Melanie pulled a knife on Dom, for no reason? That makes no sense.”
“She’s fuckin’ crazy Cam. A real nut. I wanted to punch that bitch in the face but I don’t hit women. So I grabbed her a threw her out the house.”
“Okay. I’m still confused why she pulled a knife out in the first place. She doesn’t seem crazy, but I’ve never really talked to her aside from ‘hi’ when I walk pass. And you still shouldn’t have put your hands on her. Why didn’t you just call the cops?”
“I ain’t callin’ no cops!”
Typical, I thought.
“So where is she now?”
“Sitting on the steps mad as shit cuz I won’t let her back in the house. She gonna be on that porch all night cuz she ain’t coming back in MY house.”
“I thought it was Dom’s house?”
“I live there though.”
“I guess,” I said sarcastically as possible.
We stood in silence for a few moments. I looked around the darkness, searching for the proper words.
“Well look,” I started, “I’ll talk to her. See where her head is at.”
“Nah! She not gonna listen to you. I’m tellin’ you – the bitch – is – crazy!”
“I’m still gonna try. There has to be something wrong if she’s just randomly whipping knives out.”
“Suit yourself. That shit is gonna be a lost cause.”
With that, Rell walked down my steps and headed down the pathway.
“I’ll see you tomorrow,” he yelled behind him.
“Sure,” was all I could say before closing my front door.
I knew full and well Rell was probably leaving a lot of details out. I knew Dom would more than likely come talk to me about it. I also knew that I would go and talk to Melanie because that’s just the way I am.
Right now, I wasn’t going to worry about any of that because something else I knew was that I was stuck on my article that needed to be finished. I was a tad bit irked by Rell’s mindset too.
To bed is where I needed to go. I would figure it all out tomorrow.