The Fortunate One

  There is a balance to the universe.  A cosmic scale weighs the good against the bad.  I had always subscribed to this premise, understanding that for every unfortunate occurrence in your life, there is an equal amount of wonderful.

   However, I very rarely remember this rule when I'm suffering from a heartache or disappointment, or equally when I'm ecstatic over some positive aspect.   When I'm depressed I don't sit there and say to myself "Well at least I still have all my teeth."  And, when I'm overwhelmed with joy or just drunk and having a great time I don't say"Yes but you still haven't paid off your car."

  Why would I?  When I'm down I milk that sorrow like a cows teat, and when I'm happy I wallow in my ecstasy like a warm bath filled with frothy bubbles.  

  I only really paid attention to balance of things when life was in neutral, when I could sit back and observe my existence without any heavily influencing emotions clouding my judgement.

  But my ability to compartmentalize my weights from the universe, failed me when I met Carter.  What kind of a name is Carter anyway?  Is it a first name, a last name?  Is it the beginning or the end.  I never did get the answer to that, as he was only in my life for twenty minutes.
  He, however is not the beginning of my story.  His brief adjournment into my life was only the pinnacle.  The beginning came about rather innocuously at a fair.  

Scene for a story I am writing

So I have story wandering around in my head. I have some of it mapped out, but have not completely got my outline sorted.  I do however have a scene from it that has been rolling around up in the noggin that has been itching to pop out like number ball from a bingo bowl.  I don't want to give to much of the overall plot away, but this would happen somewhere between the beginning and middle of the story.  Premise of the characters the girl loves to laugh and have fun in any aspect of her life, mostly to cover up things she would rather not deal with.  The guy struggles with letting loose and tends to be bottled up also to cover up things he would rather not deal with.  In this scene we see the girl (who has not realized she likes the guy yet) trying to help the guy loosen up a bit.  It is in very rough stages, no editing or revisions, which it would need a great deal of in the future.  Please note none of the characters have names yet.

Good grief its cold, why are we walking around aimlessly on a day like this, why?  It's just stupid.  Maybe I'm just a wimp, I still have not acclimated to this weather.  It's not just cold, it's damp cold.  The type of cold that doesn't just nip at your face, the moisture in the air actually slithers past all three layers of clothing, seeps into your skin, and slaps you senseless.  I feel like I'm being electrocuted by icicles
"Are you cold" Mr.R asks.
"Nnnnnnnooooo, I'mmmm ok."  I reply through chattering teeth.  I'm not sure why I said that,  I am freaking cold, and oh my god I just want to be inside.  I should have said damn right it's cold what the hell are we doing?  Why am I trying to be brave?  He begins to chuckle.  He can tell I'm lying.

   "Here why don't we go in here and get some coffee, we can warm up inside."  Mr. R suggests as we pass a coffee house.  I can tell that he is trying to supress his laughter.  Oh thank you lord, I think as we step into relieving warmth.  I sneak a look back at Mr. R and his eyes are full of mirth at my expense.  How rude.  How would he like it if I smirked at him,  he wouldn't appreciate it.  Hmmm.

"You find me funny Mr. R?" I ask him as we take our seats.
"Well to be honest yes. You're obviously cold and yet you seemed determined not to let on that you're uncormfortable. What is it exactly you're trying to prove?"

That I'm not fragile, or a child. That I will make the best of living here, even though the weather sucks and I'm a wimp. Wait why do I care what he thinks about me?  Forget that

"You're right, I was cold.  I hate the cold.  And I didn't want to admit it."

"Why not?" He asks through another rumble laughter."

I decide that I will, with a smile and candor, come clean "Trying to convince myself I guess.  I know it's stupid, I fail. And now you know I'm wimp who can't take the frigid temperature of this wretched climate and apparently a liar as well."

The waitress  the table to get our orders before he could make his response.   Mr. R ordered us two coffee's and waited for her to leave before he turned back to me.

"Thats a rather telling confession Ms. E.  So not only are incapable of tolerating our harsh winters, but you are also unable to admit it."

"I did admit it, just now."

"Only after you have been caught in your lie. Of all the things to deny. Of course you're cold, its miserable out there."  His smile broadens and he snorts. He is very irritating.

The waitress returns with our coffees, and the cup warms my hand and loosens my muscles, but strengthens my resolve.  He's right it was silly of me to deny I was cold.  But at least I can admit it.
I laugh dryly at him and he studies me.

"Whats so funny?"

"You're right, it was silly of me.  I'm stubborn. I always have been, but at least I can admit my failings and  I've learned to laugh at myself for them."  I make a snort of laughter and look down at my cup.  Ooooo they made a design in the cream.  I love when they do that, and also hate it.  It makes me feel inferior because I can't do it.  I wonder if you can youtube that.  I'm going to look that up.  As I look up from cup I notice that Mr. R is studying me with a furrowed brow.

"What?"  I ask in a rather defensive tone.  He's staring at me like I have snot hanging from my nose. I quickly, touch my nose with the back of my hand to do a cursory check. Its cold but free of drainage.  That's a relief.

"Are you suggesting that I can't admit my faults?"  He challenges as his eyes narrow.

"Well I wouldn't suppose you would allow yourself to do anything that could be laughable. And if you did I highly doubt you would admit it." I smile innocently at him.

He leans forward to me and narrows his eyes further "Are you challenging me Ms. E.?"

A few more customers enter the shop and take the table behind me, I smirk as I lay out my plan.  Perfect.

"I think you take yourself to seriously Mr. R."

"Whats wrong with that?"  His face becomes quizzical as he ponders my assertion.

"Its rather stifling don't you think.  I don't think you're able to cut loose and have a little fun.  Just be a little silly."  I relax back into my chair and slouch, while keeping my eyes casually locked on his.

He mimics my movement, but crosses his arms and purses his lips keeping his brow furrowed.
"What would be the point in doing that exactly?"

"Aha!"  I begin to laugh.  "Thats just it, there is no point.  It's just meant for fun.  No agenda or benefit other than a wholesome chuckle.  If you are unable to grasp that concept, then you will never be able be silly and therefore reap the benefits"

"What are the benefits."

"I guess you'll never know."

He grows quiet, but I can tell I've stirred something in him.  He doesn't like being challenged and not coming out champion.  How childish.  My lips curl up as I let process what I have said.

Mr. R.'s face relaxes, but the corners of his mouth twitch"You may be right.  I don't see the point in being silly.  But then again I am an adult."

What an ass!    He will not get a rise out of me.  I shrug  "You wouldn't have done it any way, thats a shame.  I doubt you have ever done it before, not even as a child.  You must have been born 45."

"I'm only 38."

"Exactly."

He glares at me then.  Haha!

"Done what?"

"My dare."

Mr. R exhales sharply through his nose.  I can tell he wants to let it go, but he just can't.  He he he.

"What dare?"

Yes!

I lean forward to him and whisper to him in a conspiratorial tone "I dare you to blow a raspberry as loud as you can."

His brows shoot up and he chokes a bit on his laughter "What?"

"I dare you to make the rudest possible sound you can."

"Here?!"  he asks in a rather loud whisper.  He looks behind me then and I turn to see the two ladies behind us glancing quickly in our direction.  His face tightens a bit and he ducks his head slightly.

I turn back to him "Absolutely, right here, right now, and as loud as you can."

He lifts his head looks at me again "Thats ridiculous."

"And how!"

"Why?"

"Because its funny."

"Thats not funny its..."

"Childish yes, and hysterical."  I finish for him.

"How old are you?"

"Laughter has no age limit, and farts are funny at any age unless you're a prude.  And even then they're still funny, you just won't admit it."

He shifts in his seat.  I can tell he's uncomfortable.  Either way I win. If he refuses to do it then he's a prude and a chicken, if he does do it then I've convinced him to engage in the basest form of humour ala the potty!

"I'm not doing it."  He pratcially grunts at me, sounding more like a seven year old.

"You can't do it."

"Anyone can do it, I just refuse to do it."  His eyes lift in defiance.

I stick my tongue out at him, and his brows knit together as he begins to ask what. Then I very quietly blow and allow the sound to vibrate producing a very quiet rumble.  His eyes widen and he leans forward in attempt to shush me.

"Stop that."  His voice remains in a whisper but he chastises me as if I'm a child in  the back pew of a church threatening to disturb the service.

"I'm going to keep doing it, and get louder each time until you do it."  I stick my tongue out again the blow harder resulting in a louder rumble.

"Alright, thats enough"

I do it again, and again increase my volume.

 "Knock it off damnit." his ire rises as does his voice.

I take off my jacket and begin to role up my sleave to gain access to the crease in my arm.

"What are you doing?"

I don't answer him, but instead very slowly keeping my eyes locked on his I begin to lower my lips the crease in my arm.  I inhale sharply.  His eyes bug out and he grasps my arm.

"Fine! You've made your point."  He surepticiously surveys the cafe and exhales in defeat.  Then looking down he allows a very small portion of his tongue peak out and blows.  He produces a pathetic ineffective sound.

I sneer at him "That was week.  Boo!"

He glares at me, and I blow a raspberry in response.

He exhales again, then makes another feeble attempt.  His sound increases a fraction.

I glower at him.  "You're going to have to do better than that."

"This is absolutely ludicrous!"

"If you give me one good juicy sound, I will not only never ask you again but I will also pay for the drinks and buy you a croissant."

"With the salary I give you"  he lifts his left eyebrow at me.

"If you don't do it then you're a prude.  And you are afraid."

His face becomes churlish. He starts to stick his tongue out again and I stop him.

"Here, if you want to make a really satisfactory sound then you're going to have to use your hand."

I demonstrate where to place his lips in his palm, and I tell him to puff his cheeks. Mr.  R follows my directions and creates a sound that  resonates through the entire cafe.  Before he lifts his head I very loudly make a disgusted ugh sound and give him a face full of revulsion.

"You are disgusting!"  I yell at him.

He stares at me completely flummoxed.

"If you need to do that, go to the bathroom.  That was entirely inappropriate."
  The ladies behind us shift in their seats to turn to stare at him, their faces full of horror.  The waitress is now behind the counter and she too peaks over to look at him, her mouth agape.  I pick up my jacket and cross to the counter.

I look at her apologetically and say "I am so very sorry for that horrid display.  I'll be paying for our coffees, and may I please have one of those yummy croissants?"  I pay, and then walk past our seats to see Mr. R.  frozen in his chair.  I drop the brown paper bag containing the croissant onto the table in front of him.  I lean down and whisper

"Well done.  Mrs. F wanted me to remind you that your dinner will be ready at six, don't keep A. waiting she's looking forward to having dinner with you this evening." He doesn't move and as I rise up again I say in decidedly loud tone "Honestly" for the benefit of all in the cafe.

He may not have found it funny, but I thought it was hilarious.

Ok I'm going to say it.  There is a word I absolutely can not say without laughing.  POOP.  Today with friends I attempted to diagram exactly why it is that this word is funny.  I decided that the letters themselves have a lot to do with it.  Explosive P's and the liquid U in the middle definitely play their part.  And then the feeling of the word as it leaves your lips, having a satisfying lingering effect, making your mouth pucker and release into, even if it is unintentional, a smile upon your face.  And after all of this dissection of phonetics and mechanics of spelling, I thought aw hell poop is just funny!

It's funny what age can do to you.  Unintentionally, you become more cautious and reserved, resistant to branching out.  How does that happen?  I can remember being willing to make a complete ass of myself in the pursuit of a laugh, now I find myself apologizing for laughing too loud.  In some ways I'm thankful for my ability to predict possible outcomes and my avoidance of unsavory results.  But, there are times where I wonder, have I lost something?  Perhaps it's a sense of tenacity or a boldness that disregarded others opinions.  Maybe I just need to find a channel for my former self.  I have started to do theatre again, which has revived some of my youthful daringness.  But, I feel as if I'm still hesitant to make bold choices, such as auditioning for the professional theatre.  I pray that my verve begins to come back even if its slow.  One day, one day I hope to do at least one professional gig then I can say yeah thats right I'm bonafied.

In writing this I almost deleted it, in the fear that others would read and therefore feel sorry for me.  But I am going to publish it, I don't want sympathy I want to use it as a coming out.  First attempt to regain hutzpah, in the form of honesty.

Taking a cue from my cousin Hillary, and starting a blog, I really don't care if anyone other than her reads this.  She and I started sharing letters and emails in our childhood, and  I thought I might start that again.  We would entertain ourselves for hours making up stories and poems so I'm going to revisit this pastime.  Please excuse the grammatical and spelling errors, keep in mind I only have a minor in writing and I never spent much time focusing on the mechanics of a well written piece.