Term Paper on "Rock Decided to Meet Lucas"

Quoted Instructions for "Rock Decided to Meet Lucas" Assignment:

Guidelines - here is what my professor told me after grading my short story:

Kristin,

The final twist in your story makes for a promising dramatic moment, but I would suggest stripping away much that comes before and just focusing on her trip to Miami, to reunite with Lucas.

The introductory monologue, in which the narrator explains herself to us, does not move the story forward. The narrator repeats herself, rather than deepening our knowledge of her character. Then the scene at the farmer’s market introduces a narrative involving the mother, but this narrative line in completely discarded when we move back in time to the camp crush scenes. The camp scenes focus on the conflict between Isabella and Nicole, but Nicole is another red herring. She is simply dropped, and anyway nothing of importance happened at camp except that she met Lucas, which could be explained in a sentence…Then, the scene when Lucas asks her to carry his/his partner’s child comes completely out of nowhere. She hasn’t seen or talked to him, as far as I can deduce, in ten or twelve years. So that final scene is not believable. You have spent your time prior to that scene on unrelated topics. In this shuffling around, Isabella’s character has become muddled. What your story needs to do, I think, is narrow its focus and work on making us believe in the dramatic irony of that dinner scene. If you can make us believe that she thinks she is reuniting with Lucas, while he thinks she knows he is gay and feels that he has found, in her, the perfect person to give birth to his child, then I think your story could be very successful. The irony is rich.

Maybe try the following:

The story opens with her arriving at her hotel and putting in the first phone call to Lucas. No explanation of her marital status, etc,: let that come out through the events. In the next couple of scenes (which should probably occupy the bulk of the story), she and Lucas become reacquainted with one another, and Isabella begins to see potential in him. We, as readers, begin to see that all is not as it seems, that Isabella’s view of the situation is too good to be true, but we don’t quite know what the truth is. Isabella, it becomes clear (to us but not to her), is blinded by her intense desire to reclaim the one that got away. Then, she suggests a romantic dinner out, and he agrees avidly, and we see that they both have big expectations, but entirely different ones, and then…the revelation.

Grade: C+

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The assignment is a 8-16 page short story on a topic of our choice. Here is the story:

“Under a Rock”

Over the years, my life has become one big rock. Well, maybe not a "big" one, considering the fact that I really haven't lived all that long, but anyhow, it's still a rock. Majority of the time, I either find myself dying to crawl under one or coming to the tragic realization that for what seems like an eternity, I have been living under one. The latter tends to be slightly less embarrassing, less intentional and I guess, just a tad bit reassuring. Reassuring in the sense that I do not know it all, although I fool many people into thinking I do. Could it be that I was very sheltered growing up? It must be because I am going on 29 and not yet married.

Life under the rock gets lonely sometimes. I've wanted to get married for about, hmm, 29 yrs. now? No, it's got to be more than that. I am quite curious as to where my white horse, my red roses and my pathetic but wonderful attempt at a down-on-one-knee wedding proposal happens to be hiding? God must have forgotten about me. I'll bet your bottom dollar that he is most definitely punishing me for breaking too many hearts and tricking one too many men into thinking that, they in fact, were Prince Charming. Some have permanent reservations at my heartbreak hotel, while others, well, went out with the trash. Those that reside in the soft spot of my heart, were all lovely, but lacked a few key requirements.

So that leaves me, Isabella Evans, all alone in my miniature, but quite classy, one bedroom apartment. Did I forget to mention just how miniature it really is? Yes, well, the bedroom and the kitchen are closerthanthis…what a good thing not much traffic comes through these parts. My little midget, but posh apartment, also happens to be right smack in the middle of Humungous House Land, also known as Bellevue, Washington. How the hell did I get here anyway? Oh that's right. I grew up in sheltered island paradise, dawdled around in Miami for awhile, and, how the hell did I get here? Who knows? Not I.

Miami was where it all happened. I dated then. I guess you could say I had a life. Back then, if I were to be living under any rock, it had to be a very beautiful one, such as limestone, the kind of limestone that grew in small crevices on the road leading up to my grandfather's home on the island. The kind that was so dazzling, it hurt to look too long. By the way, is limestone even a rock? It is most likely a stone of some sort. Is there a difference? Oh hell, whatever. I was after all, under a rock, so don't look to me for any answers.

I am assuming that, perhaps, my obsession with marriage was conceived in Limestone Land, also known as the childhood home of my mother. It was a breath-taking home. It was the kind of home that had gardens you could wander in for days. Of course there was a catch. While wandering around in the sweltering heat and taking in the pungent smell of tropical flowers, you had to sore your ear drums by listening to the family parrot, Cockybird, ranting and raving his own name, and those of family members. Sometimes it appeared as if you had made a deal with the devil, other times, you just accepted the bad with the good. Mind you, this was a third world country, so while taking in the beauty you had to be careful not to stumble upon any criminals. Besides that damn annoying bird, and the murderers, the home was grand and each family wedding reception that took place there was even more lavishing than the one that preceded it.

Marriage reminds me of a miniature garden. There is a nice combination of Cockybird and tropical flowers. Unfortunately, more and more society walks the fine line between appreciating the beauty and not noticing it is there. Married couples used to suck it up, now they just move on. Prince Charming will come, eventually. When he does, he isn't going anywhere. After all, I am amazing, he must just not have received the memo quite yet. You just wait, and I guess, I'll wait with you.

“Getting up in this millennium Belle?” Oh Christ! It’s Saturday. I'm awakened by a loud but lovely accent that tends to be fighting with the midget front door that belongs to my midget apartment. My mother, who also happens to be my best friend, has arrived, just as she always does, at the crack of dawn. On Saturdays we go together to the Farmer's Market. We buy some fresh flowers and talk with some bystanders who look like they haven't seen a shower in decades, but mostly, we are there for the strawberries. As we dodge crates and careless children I hear, “Engaged yet dear?” She is truly evil.

“That would mean I would have to be dating someone mother, and well, hmmm, I'm in a bit of a boyfriend drought.” Ha, take that!

“Well, what about that one fellow? The doctor?” Ok, I'm down for the count. She must seek pleasure from my pain. The one that could have been, but well, I lost interest.

“He was such a nice guy, I really enjoyed him.” Good mother, I am thrilled.

My sweet meddling guidance counselor is referring to a doctor of something that I dated for less than a second. He was a doctor, brownie points. He was tall, double brownie points and well, I got bored. I did carry on our relationship in my mind, if it was even that much, after it ended. Sometimes I think of him. Especially when I run into snotty old friends that I get immense joy from making jealous.

“How are you“? Oh God, this is when I need that rock.

“Fine and you?” I reply with a smile that resembles a museumgoer who has just sat to take a rest and realized that her bench is in fact an important piece of art..

It was Cynthia. We had attended high school and college together and I swear she followed me up here. She never liked me much. Her boyfriend in high school fell in love with me and well, she took it out on me. Bitch. Fortunately for me, at this time, I was wearing my gigantic yet very fake wedding ring. I wear it around town sometimes in the hopes of warding off smelly bystanders and creepy critters who feel like they need to be part of my life. Score, she noticed.

“Belle! You're engaged?”

I was tempted to respond with, “Married actually, to your ex from high school”, but I didn't think that would fly.

“Yes, can you believe it?” God forgive me.

“To who? Do I know him?” Do I?

“I don't believe so. He's a doctor, just moved here from New York. We will have to get together so you two can meet.” This is of course after I meet him.

“I'd love that, we could do Luckys for drinks.” Oh hell. Luckys happens to be the posh restaurant in my neck of the posh woods where people gather to eat posh meals that cost more than my not-so-posh monthly income.

“For sure, I'll catch up with really soon Cynthia.” Yes, after I find him, and I am able to make you insanely jealous of him.

I reluctantly wrap my arms around her with a weighty left arm, permitting her to take note that the skating rink I am carrying around is just too heavy and just a nuisance to lug everywhere. Whew, thank God that is over. My mother and I head back to her place. My ecstatic father greets us at the door with a euphoric, “Hello ladies, how was the market?” He has always been such a kind soul.

“Fabulous, I ran into Cynthia and told her I was getting married.” I say nonchalantly as I enter the house.

“You did? Belle! How could you?” Oh shit, guilt trip, once again.

“She deserved it; she was awful in school and always had a much better body.”

He becomes suddenly uninterested in my web of lies as he starts eyeing the strawberries in my hand.

“Lovie, would you be a dear and make some strawberries and cream?” He motions towards my mother. By this point in time, I've long convinced myself that my poor father wishes, more than anything, that he was of British decent.

“When did I become the maid?” She retorts, but in a heartbeat starts slicing and dicing for my father’s strawberries and crème de la crème.

My father and I take a seat out on the patio. My parents have always had an amazing garden and it was one of those days. There was a bit more wind than I cared for but I could feel the sun blistering my shoulders. My father will lay out once in awhile to work on his tan. He has always done really well with multi-tasking. While he lies out, he has the ability to pet the family golden retriever with his left foot, wipe the dripping sweat of his forehead and potbelly with his right hand, and turn the pages of the latest Time Magazine with his left. It was always nice having someone to look up to.

“I'm heading back to Miami next weekend.” I say while throwing back some orange juice.

“Oh really dear, why is that?” Why is that? Um, hello. Quite possibly because everyone and their second cousin is down there, and well, sometimes it’s nice to see your old friends, and perhaps visit and old love.

“You're not going back to visit that one guy are you?” That one guy just happens to be my Prince Charming, remember? The one that never received the memo?

His name is Lucas Walker. We are in love, somewhere, in the back of my mind. I met him when I was 17, the summer before I became a freshman at Hippie University, the most granola university in the universe. He had the most beautiful smile. He had a radiant tan and wore a baseball cap that looked like it had belonged to his great-grandfather. He was a supervisor at a nannying camp where I spent my summer days working.

I had been away from the camp for a few days, God knows where. I returned bright and early to the shrieking children just in time to catch the latest camp gossip.

“He is beautiful, how will I get him?” It is way too early to be so bubbly, and quite frankly, Nicole has never been much of a bubble.

“Who? Did I really miss that much? Stuff always happens when I'm away.” I shrug, as I walk beside Nicole, towards the check-in desk.

“Lucas! We always thought he was super cute, but I really got to know him while you were gone.” Excuuuuuuuuuuse me? Nicole is the one that must have missed the memo.

“Nicole! I have only loved him, for, hmm, ever!” I shrieked as the words flew out of my mouth. She had a smile the size of my ego, planted on her face. She really must have a few screws loose. Did everyone not know that I had the biggest crush on him? This is ridiculous. I wanted to slap the smile off her face and proceed on with my day.

I've always had a thing, somewhat of a phobia, about approaching the male species. Remember my ego? Well, it was huge and I didn’t waste much of it on men that didn’t want me enough to initiate conversation with me. The strange thing is, he did speak with me, and he did give me every indication that he was interested. He just didn't really make it much more.

Back then, I had what one would call a "winning streak." Pretty much any guy I sunk my teeth into, would fall head over heals…whether they wore heals or not. ***** didn't appear to be one of those poor guys. He was unattainable and stunning. Being that I was Belle and I did have that one annoying phobia, amongst others, I spent the rest of the summer hanging out in the sun, making small talk where I could. Lucas would invite me out every so often. To the movies maybe or just over to hang out. Not that I ever did accept. For the first time, I was scared, uneasy and embarrassingly inexperienced. He was, by the way, a bit older and did have that dazzling bronze skin. I regret it to this day, that I never went out with him. We would spend hours talking, but nothing more. It was always a bit intimidating, being that I, a beautiful girl, and Lucas, being of equal or quite possibly more beauty, wanted to spend time with me. I desired, so sincerely, to just…well, spend the rest of my life with him.

Lucas and I would continue to speak casually through out the following school year, every once in awhile when I was in need of a soft voice that conveyed both sensitivity and longing. Nice combination….oh well. I would date here and there, break hearts and move on, get close to love and then escape but all while still wishing that Lucas was the one I was with. Everyone who was anyone, in my soap opera life, knew that I needed Lucas, knew that I longed for him on lonely nights, and maybe some not so lonely nights. So sue me. I found comfort in the fact that my ideal man existed…I lost control of my feelings and I never was too fond of that happening. Not that it happened all that often, because, actually, I don't think it ever did happen…at least not yet, on that level. I have never been a huge fan of loosing control, and even less of a fan of not getting what I want, when I wanted it. With Lucas it was different. The longing was true. He wasn't a possession or a conquest, more of a venture, into uncharted territory.

“There is another person, one from my past, that I have not been able to let go of," Lucas declared while treating me to a swanky steak dinner. Is he joking? Am I dreaming? I needed to wake up and fast. Beads of sweat are being born in every crevice of my body. There is a fire growing inside of me, only to be fueled by the beads of sweat. My hands are clammy, I reach for my glass of pinot noir and it slides unto the floor. I lean over to pick it up and take the candlelight with me. Is there a fire or is that just my insides again? This was supposed to be the first weekend of the rest of my life but instead, I felt as if I was being dumped. But wait, it doesn't count if we were never officially together right? Good, I am still 0 for hmm….6756408970896 on the dumping ratio. Wait, what was I thinking? You can't play love by numbers; you have to play it all by heart. Heart. That is what it is about! Heart and maybe face, which could use some saving right about now.

As these thoughts race through the mush up above, a tall, slender, modelesque gentleman walks over to Lucas and kisses him gently on the cheek. There is no way. Impossible. I always thought he worked at summer camp because he enjoyed the sporty atmosphere rather than the bonding with children.

“This is Brandon, my lover.” I look around to see if the steak knife is still on the table. “I wanted you two to meet. We are thinking about having a baby and we would like you to help us.” The cotton in my mouth has all of a sudden dried up the beads of sweat on my body. I always thought the marriage would come before the children, I guess in the real world it no longer happens that way. I begin to feel tingles throughout my body, as if someone is pouring acid through my veins. My eyes feel as if they are about to squirt tears all over the table and my heart is beating at the speed of light. Utterly mortified, I crawl under my rock and yell, “Check please!”

I can't breathe. My heart is beating a bit faster. Although I am out of harm's way, hidden safely under my duvet, I can't help but feel the tendency for heat stroke. Maybe it is time to crawl out from under the rock and show my face to the world. No, not quite yet. There was much revision and reflection that was necessary before a full and complete recovery could take place. I know, I will jot some notes down in my diary. Diaries are always good listeners; they never tell you that hind sight is always 20/20 or that you were a fool for falling or that the dress you wore to your last office party accentuated your tummy rolls rather than your tush. No, diaries are always good about those things. That's what I will do, I will write.

"Yikes," I screech and slowly return the diary to its home. I had forgotten one minor detail. Planted on the first page of my diary was the most painful, um, beautiful picture of ***** Pfeiffer. Not that ***** Pfeiffer really matters all that much, but what did matter was that she was modeling, for some exquisite magazine, my dream wedding dress. It was striking, chiffon with a touch of satin, layered in all the right places. Perfect for my tropical wedding. The wind would blow just right, the sun would set just in time and the fans in the little island church would all be working, for once. The reception would be luxuriant and lavish. There would be white lilies and ivory candles, loud music and even louder relatives. Wait, who am I kidding? I will die alone and be eaten by my cats.