Writing Club

Seven girls writing
Discussing
Thinking

Drawing cartoons
Writing their dreams
Wishes
Loves
Hopes

Writing on paper
Not writing on computers
Fiction and poetry
Talking about books and 
Disney movies

The quiet half of the room 
And the noisy half
Thinking out loud
Thinking deeply

But maybe NOT writing...

"I'm not a liar; 
I just have a very 
expressive face."

"I need a name..."

"Astrid."

"You'll have 
to pay for that."

Writers tell stories
Craft lies
Exaggerations
Inspired by books,
Authors and

Each Other!

Write a poem that includes the following elements: dancing, a pitch-black room, and the smell of lilacs

 The Madness of the School Dance

Twilight turned to night
Nerves reaching their breaking point
Dresses swishing and shoes pinching
Ties and cummerbunds itching

Spotlights pierce a pitch-black room
Party lights glow softly
Music pulses through the air
The beat driving a maddened frenzy

Dancing, twisting, sliding
The mob contorts themselves wildly
Moving mindlessly and awkwardly
Mechanical shapes in the darkness

He abruptly freezes
Drinking in the wafting smell
Of lilacs which drifts across the room
From a girl in a lavender dress

She floats toward the door
Away from the crowd
And he follows, helplessly,
Unable to resist the lure of her

She turns as if suddenly aware
And he moves forward
Quick as a shark
Hope shining in his eyes

Some writing using my school students' vocabulary words.

               Thinking back on the whole day, I can’t even remember when everything started to go so wrong.  Was it when I woke up 45 minutes late after turning off my alarm clock off accidentally? Could it have been when I passed through the kitchen and saw the box of delectable donuts on the counter only to find out it was empty?  Maybe was it when I glared at the dark, ominous clouds and jinxed myself by saying it wouldn’t rain on my way to school?  Or was it the appalling looks I got the office staff as I arrived at school, soaked through, hair frizzed uncontrollably, and shivering?

                None of that really matters.  What matters is what happened after I got to school, dripping wet and as perturbed as a cat being forced to take a bath.  I slammed my locker shut a little more forcefully than necessary and quickly walked toward my English classroom.  I was almost there when I was stopped by Mrs. Wilkins, the hall monitor.

                “Tardy pass?”  She growled at me, holding out her hand.  She was a meticulous woman who believed that any student out of class, should be returned to their designated room immediately.  She often said she enjoyed dotting every I and crossing every t – whatever that means. 

                “Um, sure,” I said congenially.  Trying very hard to smile, I dug through my soggy pockets for the pass.   It wasn’t wise to make Mrs. Wilkins angry.  I pulled out the smeared and damp pass, and gave it to her.

                “Woke up late?  What kind of excuse is that?  School starts every day at the same time.  It is the least you can do to show up at that time.  Punctuality is very important,” Mrs. Wilkins looked at me disapprovingly.

                I didn’t plan it, but when I opened my mouth, the words escaped in a perfect emulation of Mrs. Wilkins’ nasally tone, “Woke up late?  What kind of excuse it that?” 

                “I don't have to take your sass!”  Mrs. Wilkins glared at me, and she whipped out her detention forms and began diligently filling it out.  She ripped the form off of her clipboard, and handed me a copy of my after school detention for the next day.

                I sighed despondently and lowered my eyes to my soggy shoes, “I’m sorry Mrs. Wilkins,” I mumbled sadly.  “Can I go to class now?”

                “Yes, yes, of course,” Mrs. Wilkins snapped.  “Off you go.”  She marched off down the hall ecstatically looking for other tardy students. 

Tell the story of your most embarrassing moment in 4 paragraphs. To make the telling easier, use a 3rd person narrator.

Many years ago, a young, unseasoned teacher was the Forensics coach at her local middle school.  That year, the team had done pretty well in the city-wide division and had won third place overall.  At the conclusion of the season, all the students and the coach had come back together for awards night along with the other spring sports of softball, baseball, and field hockey.

The auditorium was packed with parents, school officials, teachers, and students, and the teacher was nervous.  She was not very good at delivering speeches and off the cuff remarks in front of a crowd which was ironic since she was the Forensics coach.  Nevertheless, she was trying not to squirm in her seat and project a sense of calm and an aura of effortlessness. 

When the time came for her to mount the stairs to the stage, her hands were clammy, and butterflies were crashing into one another in her stomach.  She reached the podium and called her students up on the stage, and began to give out her awards.  Just as she was congratulating herself on pronouncing the last student's name correctly, she noticed the students waving at her and pointing.  This seemed a little strange, so she glanced in the direction they were point near her legs and saw her slip sagging slowly down her calves way past her skirt.

Cheeks heating with embarrassment, she knew she couldn't hike up her slip on the stage, nor could she walk away from the podium without it falling around her ankles.  In a moment of desperation, she bent at the knees and yanked the end of it, so that it dropped to the floor, and she kicked it underneath the podium.  By this time, all of the students were laughing hysterically.  Quickly she finished the award presentation and headed back to her seat in the auditorium.  Much later, after all the awards had been given out and all the parents had carted their children home, she went back and fished her slip out from under the podium, and she threw it away on her way home.

Write a poem that includes a tombstone, a first kiss, and a butterfly collection.

A boy and a girl
Walking home from school
Holding hands 
As the sun sets behind them.

Taking the shortcut 
Through the tombstones
Of the old cemetery
On the hill.

Reading the stones
Collecting names 
Like a Lepidopterologist
Collecting butterflies.

She stops at a stone
Crooked and worn
By weather and time
Tears gathering in her eyes.

The girl buried at thirteen
Gone for close 
A hundred years
Left behind a loving family.

She recognizes the name
As hers and wonders
What else do they  
Have in common?

The boy hoping to comfort her
Draws her close 
And kisses her gently 
For the first time.

As the sun sets
And shadows grow
They walk toward home
Holding hands. 

Your character moves into a new apartment. On the surface, the place seemed ideal, but his/her first night there, your character discovers a terrible problem with the place that he/she didn't take into account...

The boxes were all inside, the moving truck was finally gone along with the sweaty movers, and were were finally alone in our first cozy home.

I let the cats out of their crates, and picked up the baby and did a little jig of happiness.  This place was perfect.  

It was a small house for the three of us, but it had a big kitchen and a beautiful backyard which led out to a public park with a small forest and a pond.  Big beautiful windows looked out at the yard which was in bloom with spring flowers.

I put the baby down in her swing in the middle of the kitchen an cranked the handle letting her go for a ride as my husband came in from the garage.

"Looks like it might rain out there.  Good thing we got it all in when we did," he said smailing at the baby and giving her swing a little extra push.

"I guess we need to tackle some of these boxes," I said looking at the boxes stacked up along every wall of the house.

"I'm going to set up the crib first, and then get some dinner," my sensible husband said as he moved toward the baby's room.

I settled in to unpacking boxes in between cranking the baby's swing all the while singing and talking to her.  Our cats had finished their inspection of the house and had come in to the kitchen to check out what was going on.  Outside the sky opened up and then rains hammered down, but we were safe, and warm, and dry inside.

"Hey," My husband caught my attention, "Have you gotten any bites in the last little bit?"

"Bites?"  I asked alarmed, "No, what are you talking about?"

"Look at my legs," he pointed to his calves, bare above his socks because he was wearing shorts.

I noticed his legs were covered with red bumps.  I looked down at my legs and saw that I too had red bumps which hadn't been itchy until I noticed them.  Now they were begging to be scratched.

My husband was scratching his legs, "I haven't seen any bugs, but there must be something.." he turned to look at our cats who were suddenly consumed with scratching, licking, and biting their fur.

"It's --" he started.

"Fleas!"  We both exclaimed. 

The previous owners had two dogs.  Both had always worn flea collars whenever we had seem them, but the house had been unoccupied for a week since they had moved out.  Obviously the fleas had multiplied and were very hungry.

I picked up the baby and noticed some pink bumps on her little legs and feet.  

"What do we do?" I cried staring down at my poor kitties and our legs.  "We can't stay here!"

My husband stopped scratching, and met my eyes, "Put the cats in their carriers.  Call the vet for an emergency flea dip.  I'll call an exterminator, and have them come out on an emergency call."  

He picked up the baby and grabbed his cell phone while I wrangled the very grumpy cats back into their carriers.

The pouring rain outside felt very welcome on our itchy skin as we rushed to the car to make our phone calls.

Write a poem about the feeling of getting lost in a book

Smooth, glossy pages
Slip between fingers
Eager to turn to the next

The soft smell
Of ink...
And press...
And age...
Unique to all libraries,
Book stores, and bookcases

The first sentence
Drags me in
Catching my attention
Pushing the world away

The sounds
Of battle...
Of adventure...
Of romance...
Fill my head
Forcing reality's
Humdrum issues away

Experiencing the
Hopes...
Sadness...
Fears...
Struggles...
Of lives lived only on
These pages

Watching them
breathe and stretch
Becoming more human
Than myself for a time

Write a poem that includes the words -- pea, mirror, bikini

Staring in the mirror
What do I see?
Months of eating nothing
Except salad and some peas.

I have been on a diet
All my life is seems
Hoping to fit into
The bikini of my dreams

But have I really done it?
Am I small enough?
Will others even notice
I look pretty buff?

I pull on my bikini
I'm heading toward the lake
But why, I stop and wonder,
Not first eat a slice of cake?

Write a poem that is only fifteen words long.

Fifteen going on Sixteen

child, daughter
growing up 
in a blur of motion
baby, adolescent,
almost sixteen
My heart swells.

On Facebook

Ingenious
Connections

Friends 
Friends of friends
Acquaintances
Co-Workers
Strangers

Commenting
And liking
Posts and Re-Posts
Memes and rumors
Legends and myths
Lies and facts

Crafted truth
Focus and refocus 
On life -- A gilded reality
Of pictures and pokes
Comments and likes

Do we live these lives
Or is this
merely
performance art?

Back to School

Nerves biting
At my stomach
Monarch Butterflies
Migrating
At the end of summer

Expectations and fears
Gather together
Gaining strength
Until I can't sit still
Ants running up my legs

Ready early
Costume picked out
Ahead of time
Mask and smile
in place

Will they notice
That I am nervous too?
It's like starting a new job
With new
Adolescent bosses

This is my
44th year of school
The last 27 of which
Were spent
In 7th and 8th grade

You'd
Think
I
Wouldn't
Be
Nervous!

Write a poem that is a letter addressed to a stranger.

Dear Foodlion clerk,

Once a week
Sometimes more
We meet at the cash register 
At the Grocery store.

"How are you?"
"Paper? Plastic?"
Is there any way you could
Be less enthusiastic?

I try to start a conversation
"Yes, Ma'am" 
You reply, and I suddenly
Feel older than Birmingham.

You take my coupons
You fill my bags
With soulless, hopeless eyes 
Waving a silent white flag.

"Have a nice day," you say 
But you aren't talking to me
You are on autopilot
Your eyes don't see.

I want to connect
I want to say,
"Your life can't be that bad
There will come a brighter day."

But I say instead,
"You too."
And I fall back into my own life
Until next week when I see you.

You are the Middle C Key on the piano. Write from the key's point of view. Start with "Whenever she sits down on the bench..."

Whenever she sits down on the bench I cringe.  No one should start piano lessons at age four unless they are a prodigy, and this kid, trust me, isn't.  All she does is BANG on me and my brothers and sisters making such a discordant noise, that we all just pray for the lid to snap shut on her.

I don't know how Madame Russo can stand it!  Every lesson she tries to stop her from pounding away.  She tries to teach her correct hand and finger positioning, but nothing helps.  "Chopsticks" becomes "Drumsticks." The child knows nothing but forte.  Loud, loud, louder.  

Truly I weep at the thought of her coming to class.  On Wednesday afternoons at 2 pm, I want to slam the lid closed and become a clam, holding the lid down until Madame gives up. I suppose Madame likes the money her parents give her to "teach" her how to play, but my goodness, no amount of money will turn that girl into a pianist!

Is that the doorbell?  What day is today? WEDNESDAY?!

Oh no!  SHE'S COMING!  Here it comes, the longest half an hour of my life. I consider breaking my strings, so I won't work, but that sounds a little drastic and painful.  Maybe I should find something sticky to hold me down.  That could stop her.  Too late!  She's sitting down on the bench.

I hear Madame talking, "Melanie, it is your birthday.  Let's be gentle today, hmm?  Since you are so grown up now."

"Gentle," I scoff to myself.  "That will never happen."  

"All right, Melanie," Madame murmurs, "Thumb on C, yes, yes.  Remember your wrists should be firm, and let your fingers do the work.  Gently though."

"Yes, Madame," she agrees, but I know what will happen next.  Bang, POW, Pound, but...what's this?

"I've been practicing," Melanie says as she gently presses on me.  "Mama said I was giving her a headache, and I might wake my baby sister, so I've been trying to play more softly"

"Yes, yes," Madame applauds as Melanie continues to tickle me and my brothers and sisters.  All of us come out from hiding, and actually try to work with her to create the melody. 

"Happy birthday to me," she sings along with us as we play the simple melody together.  

Maybe she IS a prodigy after all!  

Write a story which includes the following: an actor, an engine, a tangerine.

I watched the tangerine moon rise as I waited for him, and of course, he was late.  I hate it when he is late, and he knows this, but he's an actor and sometimes things prevent him from being on time to, oh say, EVERYTHING!

So I'm sitting in the little local pub near my apartment waiting for him, and I'm starting to wonder, is it all worth it?  Is he worth it?

My friend, Stacy would say as soon as you ask yourself that question, the relationship is basically dead because you don't love him anymore, and you probably never did.  I can practically see her blonde head shaking sadly at me and hear her tsk-tsking me that I'm still in the pub and still waiting.

I hear her voice in my head saying, "Get out now," and I stand up and head to the cash register to pay my tab.  

"Glen didn't show, huh?" Barb my waitress says as she rings me up. Just like they said on the TV show Cheers, one of the best things about a local pub is everyone knows you name. Barb and I have known each other for a year or so since I started coming to the pub, and I've met Glen here lots of times over the past six months.  I've also waited here for him a lot.

"He must have gotten caught up," I say vaguely, and I realize that I'm defending him.  He stood me up, and I'm making excuses for him.

"You know what, Barb," I say.  "If Glen shows up looking for me, and he probably won't, tell him that I say we're through. In fact, I'm done with all actors.  They are terrible boyfriends."

Barb looked at me and smacked her gum, "You sure about that?"

"Definitely.  I'm done with egotistical, self-centered men who only want me to pump up their egos and cheer them on. I can get along just fine, even better, without Glen."

"Sure, Sweetie, I'll be sure to tell him all of that.  He's a real jerk for treating you as if you aren't as important as his career," Barb smacked her gum again, and turned toward the next customer.

I walked out of the pub feeling lighter than I had in weeks.  I should have done this weeks ago. The cold, Chicago wind made me wrap my tangerine colored coat tighter around me as I walked the block and a half to my apartment building.  The sound of a motorcycle engine cut through the busy traffic sounds, and I turned to watch the bike pass me by.  

The guy on the bike was dressed in jeans and a leather jacket.  He was probably a construction worker.  I could defiantly date a construction worker.  Or he might be a lawyer. I would even date a lawyer, but I was never dating another actor again.

Feeling like I had made a decision I was happy with, I hurried up the steps to my apartment building.  In the foyer I checked my mail quickly, retrieving the catalogs and bills from the box, and then I headed to the elevator.  After a few minutes the elevator opened, and I got on alone.  The doors were just closing when the engine powering the elevator gave a high pitched whine, and the door froze open just a crack.  The lights went black, and I was standing in a pitch dark elevator.

"This day is just getting better and better," I muttered sarcastically as I tried to force the doors open, but they were stuck stubbornly open just a few inches.

"Can I help you?" a man's voice from the outside of the elevator called.  "Is anyone in there?"  

"Yes," I shouted, "I can't get the doors open."

Suddenly two strong arms appeared in the space between the two doors.  They bunched muscularly inside he sleeves of his oxford shirt as he applied pressure, and the doors slid smoothly open.  He reached a hand in and helped me out of the dark elevator into the light of the foyer.

"Are you okay?" he asked as he picked up his leather coat from where he dropped it on the floor.  

"Thanks, yes, I'm fine," I stammered as I looked up at a very handsome man.  He had curly dark hair, a crooked smile, and was that...  Oh yes, DIMPLES!  He was dressed in jeans and now with his leather coat on, I wondered if he was the man who I had seen on the motorcycle.

He took my hand and shook it,"I'm really glad.  I'm Brett, by the way, I live on the 6th floor."  I must have been staring at him because he smiled and flashed those dimples again.  "And you are?"

"Oh!" I felt my face get warm with embarrassment. "I'm Mags, um Maggie, and I have been having the most rotten day.  What did you say you did for a living?"

He laughed quietly, "I didn't say, but I'll be happy to tell you.  I'm an actor."

"Of course you are," I said as the overwhelming sense of irony practically smacked me in the head.

Outline a story that takes place all in 1 day. Chronicle each event that happens in half-hour increments from morning to night.

8 am: alarm blares repeated waking me up, she hits snooze
8:30 am: she's up, drinking a cup of hot tea and eating a bowl of cereal
9 am: phone rings while she has headphones in while running on treadmill; she misses the call
9:30 am: phone rings while she's in the shower
10 am: I grab keys and run out of the house; phone rings just after she leaves
10:30 am: At work, I look at phone and notice missed calls
11 am: back in car racing toward hospital
11:30 am: Hospital waiting room, pacing, waiting for doctor
12 pm: Dr. approaches, hushed discussion, crying
12:30 pm: Waiting room, pacing, drinking bad coffee
1 pm: Waiting room, napping uncomfortably
1:30 pm: Waiting room, feeling guilty for not being there when first call was made
2 pm: Waiting room, joined by ex-husband, tense but quiet argument 
2:30 pm: Waiting room; looking at pictures of kids with ex-husband on phone, reminiscing
3 pm: Nurse comes out to talk with us, things a re progressing slowly, but no problems
3:30 pm: Younger daughter arrives at hospital; gives parents grief about not being good parents, is allowed back into hospital room
4 pm: Waiting room; "Were we bad parents?" "What did we do that was so bad?"
4:30 pm: Waiting room: Younger Daughter returns, argument over why parents are not let back into the hospital room
5 pm: Waiting room, no one is talking to one another
5:30 pm: Nurse returns, looks like there are some complications, doing a C-Section
6 pm: Waiting room: Everyone is tense and worried, holding hands
6:30 pm: Nurse returns: It's a girl
7 pm: Celebrations continue, buying presents in the gift shop
7:30 pm: Younger daughter goes back into the hospital, parents discuss all they did wrong
8 pm: Discussion continues and ends with a promise to do better for this next generation
8:30 pm: Younger daughter returns and takes parents in to see their granddaughter

Think back to all the many kisses that have been planted on your cheek. Tell the story of one of those kisses.

Bright, blinding cold
Winter snow
Hard, blue icicles
Dripping onto the ground

A pink snowsuit
on top of warm layers
Purple snow boots
Arms out like a star

Following toddler footprints
Crunching in the snow
Laughing as flakes
Touch a tiny pink tongue

Wrapped muted silence
Making a snow-angel
My angel giggles
Cheeks pink, eyes dancing

Leaping up
Dashing over to me
She puts cold, wet mittens
Against my face

I shiver and shriek
"Poor mama," she says
Laughing eyes meet mine
She pat my cheek again

Then with warm, soft lips
She pecks me sympathetically
on my rosy cheek
then darts away

I'm left wishing
She would never grow up
So I could have a hundred
Snowy days just like this

Start with this-- "The computer kept spitting out data that made no sense. It was as if ..." Include words and/or phrases that describe an orange in your writing.

The computer kept spitting out data

It made no sense!

Had the computer lost its mind?

My account was empty -- not one cent!

I checked my account balance carefully

Where had it gone?

There were thousands there yesterday

Maybe not millions, but not withdrawn!

I've been hacked -- my identity stolen

Good-bye nest egg

Goody-bye juicy, ripe, crisp bills of dough

My life has turned into a powder keg!

This must be some horrible mistake 

I'll call the bank

A sweet, fresh-faced, teller will find it all

This has to be some kind of prank!

What?  There's no mistake? I'm over-drawn?

How could I forget?

I bought this delicious, orange computer

Which has left me with sections of bad debt!

*words in italics describe oranges.

Start with "I imagined" and finish the story.

I must have imagined the sound coming from my bedroom.  No one was at home with me, I had no pet to make that unearthly yowl which I had just heard, and I was not going to entertain the idea of the supernatural.

Nope.  Not going to even think of the supernatural.  Drat!  I'm thinking about it, suspecting it, even starting to fear it now.

I crept down the hall from my living room toward the pitch dark bedroom flipping on lights as I went.  I came to the spare bedroom which I use as an office and flipped on the overhead light.  White light immediately filled all the darkened shadows in every corner, and I took a mental inventory.  My laptop sat on my desk buried in student papers.   I was supposed to be grading essays, not trying to debunk the supernatural tonight.

Feeling a little better, I turned from the office and continued down the hallway.  I got to my bedroom and stood in front of the closed door.  My heart was racing.  I NEVER shut my door, why should I?  I lived alone and had no reason to shut it.  Breathing hard, I touched the doorknob and slowly turned it pushing the door open.

As the light from behind me flooded into the blackened room, a loud howl of agony ripped through the air.  My skin erupted into goose bumps, and I hunched back away from the door.  What was in there?

I jumped forward and hit the light switch just inside the doorway.  I froze, eyes wide, mouth open and ready to scream, fists bunched and ready for a fight.  

Nothing.  

The room was empty.  

I felt a cold breeze across my face, and I my thoughts jumped back to the supernatural. I'd heard spirits trying to manifest sucked the energy out of the air and left cold spots. 

This was bad!  I was going to have to move.  I couldn't afford to move!

I gathered all my courage and stepped into the bedroom.  The curtains moved in the window, I braced myself for the worst, and crept forward to investigate.  I reached out to the yellow, flowered curtains and felt the breeze increase.  The window was open a few inches.  

Of course!  I remembered cracking the window this morning after my shower to let out the warm humid air that had filled the adjoining bathroom.  The breeze and cold air were easily explained now, and the door probably closed from the draft.  

I was relaxing and feeling pretty proud of myself for not running out screaming earlier like a big baby until I remembered the horrible scream I had heard earlier.

I reached out to the window and was about to close and lock it when the howl shattered the quiet evening again.  I jumped back, but I saw something on the outside of the window.

I stepped cautiously forward and peered out of the window.  There on the window ledge perched a small, black cat.  The cat dangled with the claws of one paw stuck in the window screen.  Its wide green eyes frantically met mine through the screen, begging me to help.

Quickly, I opened the window fully and used my fingers to push the cat's claws back through the screen to the outside, and he, or she, pulled its paw down onto the small window ledge.

"There you go, baby," I whispered.  Poor kitty.  I wondered how long it had been stuck outside the window.

The cat gave me one long look of what I assumed to be gratitude, jumped down to the grass below, and disappeared into the night.  

Use these sensory details in your writing: "the sound of clouds," :"the taste of a book," and "the feel of an echo." Start with the phrase "When I lifted my arm..."

When I lifted my arm
To swipe at the fog and mist
The ricochet of cloud on cloud
Deafened me with its silence

Standing at the cliff's edge
I bellow with frustration
And Echos back -- touching me
With unsympathetic coldness

Empty wishes for home
A comfy chair and roaring fire
Escaping into a world of fiction
Which tastes of sunshine and hope

Use these three made up words in your writing: "EVERAGAE", "SNIREK", "MOSNAR." Start with the phrase "The payoff seemed worth the risk..."

The payoff seemed worth the risk
MOSNAR was surrounded 
With people in need of food and water 
And no help from the outside

The Queen and her court was in despair
Her royal guard destroyed
When the plan was hatched to save them all
Or leave hopes battered on the battlefield

SNIREK was willing to accept the challenge
To scale the wall and attack
Even though he was gravely outnumbered
And would surely die in the attempt

EVERAGAE, the battle horn sounded
Armies clashed and fought
The Queen awaited victory or defeat
As MOSNAR's fate hung in the balance

SNIREK battled into the night
As men fell silent beside him
His wounds dripped crimson upon the ground
Where white chrysanthemums grew

And when the sun rose blindingly bright
And cast its gaze on frail MOSNAR
SNIREK lay shrouded upon the field 
Sightlessly meeting her golden eyes.

The Queen had risked it all that night
And lost it all the same
MOSNAR's fate was cold and dark
As was SNIREK's unseeing gaze.

Based on the list below, describe the person who lost it, the crisis he or she is currently facing, and how he or she is going to fix it.

"Okay. calm down,"  I muttered to myself in the cold, windy, Wal-mart parking lot as I consciously tried to control my breathing.  Having a panic attack was not on my list of things to do today.

Thinking of the list, I reached into my pocket, and pulled out the folded piece of paper.  Handwritten in blue ink was the following list:

cb Gram, Ed
suit -- Cleaner
buy TP, PT
Bank Dep
wine
shoes for Wed
res. Hotel
car oil
don't forget --txt Melody re Sat!

Scanning the list, I shoved it back into my pocket.  This morning when I had found the list in Jack's jeans pocket, I hadn't given it much thought, but that was before the doorbell rang and everything turned upside down.

***

I decided to do the wash.  That was the decision that changed my world on that Monday morning.  I didn't have to be at my waitressing job until that evening, so I here was at 9:30 in the morning going through through the clothes in the hamper.  I always check Jack's pockets because he's always leaving cash and change in them.  Jacks' my fiance.  He moved into my little condo on the Potomac River about a month ago, and I was in homemaker heaven.  Oh, everybody had warning me that I was going to set a precedent that I was the only one who could cook, clean, and do the laundry, but I didn't care.  I loved taking care of Jack.

I wasn't surprised when I found the folded piece of paper in his back pocket, and after reading the list, I tossed it on the dresser.  It looked like fairly normal stuff, but I was excited about the hotel reservations and for whatever reason he had to clean his suit.  It was my 28th birthday on Friday, and it appeared Jack had big plans!

Smiling, I picked up the laundry basket and headed for the stairs down to the bottom floor of my condo.  I loved this little place.  It had big open windows that let in the sun, and I had painted the walls in pastel greens, blues, and yellows. Technically it was still owned by my father, but he had let me lease it when I started grad school at George Mason last year.

I bounced down the stairs and turned the corner toward the little laundry room tucked in beside the kitchen when the doorbell rang.  I put the laundry down and glanced down at my tattered T-shirt and yoga pants.  I wasn't really dressed for company, so I crept up to the door and peeked through the peep hole hoping to avoid some kid selling candy or magazines.

There was a woman standing outside my door wearing a black trench coat and pants. Her auburn hair was severely knotted at the back of her head, and her piercing blue eyes were staring directly at me through the peep hole.

"Devin McKenny?  I'm Special Agent Renee Haverty. I need to speak with you about matters of National Security,"  the woman spoke directly at the door, her eyes never leaving the peep hole.

"Sure you are," I barely breathed out loud.  I wasn't about to open the door to this scammer.  National Security?  I didn't have anything to do with National Security.  I was a waitress for god's sake!

As if she could read my thoughts, the woman pulled out an official looking badge and held it up so I could see it through the peep hole, "This is regarding your boyfriend, Jake Sprence.  I need to speak with you, Ms. McKenny, and I would rather not shout what I have to say through your door.  Here is my boss's direct number.  Call him if you'd like to check out my story."  She held up her phone to the peep hole displaying a number for Special Agent Monroe.

"Hold on," I mumbled and placed the call.  It connected with the assistant to the director of the FBI.  I opened the door.

Special Agent Haverty marched into my condo, her eyes moved every where looking at everything, but her head hardly moved at all.  I wondered if she had a crick in her neck.  She brushed past me and went to sit on my salvaged leather sofa.  Most people relax back into the soft leather, but Special Agent Haverty sat rigidly upright with a small notebook and pen in her hand.

I sat down on my red, flowered arm chair.  I had salvaged the frame from a dumpster, and reupholstered it myself.  I'd like to say I sat up straight, but I'm afraid I slouched a bit.

"Ms. McKenny, can I call you Devin?" Special Agent Haverty said authoritatively.

I nodded.

"Devin, your boyfriend--"

"Fiance," I corrected.

"All right, fiance, Jack Sprence, has gotten into some trouble.  You are aware that he works as a government contractor and sometimes works at the Pentagon?"  Haverty consulted her notebook.

"Yes, I'm aware.  What is going on?"  I was starting to get that feeling in the pit of my stomach that something was wrong.

"Well, Devin, Jack Sprence did not show up for work this morning, and he has some classified information on him that we need returned to the Pentagon immediately."

"But, Jack left for work this morning around 7:30.  What do you mean he didn't show up?  Was there an accident?" The bad feeling in my stomach grew.

Haverty consulted her notebook, "No, there was no accident.  As far as I know Jack is fine.  We just don't know where he is, and we need to find him as soon as possible.  Do you have any idea where he might be?"  She looked up and met my eyes unblinkingly.  After a few seconds I looked away.

"No, no I don't have any idea where he is," I replied honestly.  "I'm sorry.  Now, I really need to get going.  I have a lot of errands to run this morning before work, " I stood as after a pause Haverty stood too.  She walked to the door.

"Here is my card.  It is imperative that you contact me if you hear from Jack," she put the card in the little dish on the table by the door.

"Thanks," I said, and I closed and locked the door behind her.

I grabbed my phone from my purse and texted Jack, Where are you?

I sat for five minutes, holding my phone, while my stomach tightened with worry.  No answer.

I pushed the call button.  It rang a few times and went to voicemail.  "Jack, weird stuff is happening, and I need to talk to you.  Call me back,"  I disconnected and waited another five minutes.

When nothing happened, I went upstairs to change my clothes, keeping my phone close in case Jack called or texted.  After I had put on jeans and a purple sweater, I sat down on the bed wondering what to do next.  I remembered the note. I grabbed it from the dresser and read it again.

cb Gram, Ed
suit -- Cleaner
buy TP, PT
Bank Dep
wine
shoes for Wed
res. Hotel
car oil
don't forget --txt Melody re Sat!


Nothing on the list would help me find Jack.  I noticed the two names, Ed and Melody.  I didn't recognize either of them, but then Jack knew a lot of people that I didn't know through his work.    

The more I looked at the list, the more confused I got.  Why would Jack need to pick up toilet paper and paper towels?  We'd just stocked up on those at Costco last weekend!  And why would he need oil for a car?  Jack didn't own a car.

And then I remembered a conversation we had in the parking lot of Wal-Mart one day a few months ago.

"Devin," Jack had said as we carried our bags toward the Metro Station.  "Have you ever noticed that billboard over there?"  He pointed to a billboard which showed a woman hurrying toward a Metro entrance.

"Sure," I said.  I'd seen it a lot of times.  It was advertising for the Metro.

"Advertising is subliminal.  It's the key," Jack said, and I laughed.  It was a weird thing to say, but he's always watching sci-fi, so I figured he was making a reference to the last movie we watched.  I don't really remember what the movie was called, I slept through most of it.

He looked at me seriously for a second and then he laughed too.  I's forgotten all about it, but now I wondered if it had been a message.

I texted him that I was going to Wal-Mart, and he should meet me.  I threw on my shoes, grabbed my purse, and locked the door behind me.

The trip on the metro was quick, and I found myself in the parking lot of the Wal-Mart staring at the billboard.  A giant woman was looking at the Metro map and exclaiming that it took here everywhere she needed to go.  

Looking at the list, I noticed the capitalization of the words was rather odd. Some words were in caps while others were in lower case.  I looked at the billboard and noticed that the billboard had unusual capitalization as well.  Was it a code?

I flipped over the paper an wrote down the Capital letter in the note -- GECTPPTBDWHMS

Then I looked at the words capitalized on the billboard:  Soon East Don't Cleveland Worry Go
Paper Meet to Bring He'll Toward Pentagon

They didn't make any sense until I moved the words around:  Go East toward Cleveland (Park?) to Pentagon. Bring paper Don't worry he'll meet (you?) soon.

Well, it appeared I might have a lead.  Or I might be crazy.  I started toward the Metro to find out which.

TO BE CONTIINUED