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#1
Old 06-14-2007, 01:28 AM

Hello thar :B

I'll be posting bits and pieces of my stories here. I'll try to update them as much as possible, so please feel free to comment and critique. Mind you, these are really rough; I'll be posting things that I haven't yet polished.

Thank you~!

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#2
Old 06-14-2007, 01:34 AM

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Last edited by Kaldeagirl; 06-24-2008 at 11:52 PM..

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#3
Old 06-14-2007, 01:39 AM

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Last edited by Kaldeagirl; 06-24-2008 at 11:52 PM..

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#4
Old 06-14-2007, 01:42 AM

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Last edited by Kaldeagirl; 06-24-2008 at 11:52 PM..

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#5
Old 06-14-2007, 02:01 AM

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Last edited by Kaldeagirl; 06-24-2008 at 11:52 PM..

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#6
Old 06-14-2007, 02:24 AM

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Last edited by Kaldeagirl; 06-24-2008 at 11:53 PM..

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#7
Old 06-14-2007, 08:26 AM

A GEISHA'S TALE - Part 1.1

Note: This one is about three years old, so prepare yourself for sucky sentence structure and underdeveloped plot! :lol: I'll probably be editing it later.

Kimiko woke up to the sound of girls gossiping in hushed voices and the rustle of exquisite garments. Even though this happened every morning, she still felt like a stranger to it all each time she woke up. It surprised her to wake up to this strange feeling every day. Perhaps this was because her dreams were more real than her life awake, or perhaps it was because she never got enough sleep. Nevertheless, Kimiko sat up, rubbing her crusty eyes with her slender fingers and puffing out her humble chest like a rooster.
"Ah, Kimiko-chan, you're awake!" Kimiko opened her eyes to find two enormous balls of black looking back at her. "Oh, good morning Ririko." Ririko sat down on Kimiko's futon and pouted. "I didn't scare you?" Kimiko covered her mouth wither her hand as she giggled, a trained reflex to be sure. Ririko was as old as she was, but she never acted her age. It wasn't all bad though, as her cheerful and naive disposition netted her in a good sum of patrons. Ririko, unlike Kimiko, had become a true geisha already, and proudly wore her red under-kimono, showing men that she was not as innocent as she seemed. Ririko looked intently at Kimiko. "I haven't told you about last night yet, right?" Kimiko shook her sleepy head. "You know Yamada-san? The one with the face like a pig?"
How could she forget Yamada-san? Kimiko had entertained him a fortnight ago, and he fell asleep drunk in her lap after too much plum wine. The geisha-mistress had to drag him onto the street after the session was over. "Yes, I do."

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#8
Old 06-14-2007, 08:37 AM

A GEISHA'S TALE - Part 1.2

"Well, it seems that the pig has squealed! He's as dead as my great grandfather's grandfather!" Ririko squeaked a laugh at her joke.
"Ririko!" Kimiko lightly swatted her hand in a scolding manner, but she was secretly pleased. She had almost been fixed with the old goat for her geisha initiation. "It's not like it was my fault," Ririko grinned. "He stuffed himself with sake until he popped." Ririko nodded her head toward the wall behind her. Hung on the wall was a kimono printed with blue flowers and birds. Kimiko could see a stain of vomit on the right sleeve. It would never come out. "Oooh, Ayame was soooo mad! She looked like she might turn into a fire demon!"
Before Kimiko could comment, the geisha-mistress walked into the room. She was solidly built, with a stiff upper lip, and salt & pepper hair. She clapped her hands. "Girls!" All of the maikos and geishas stopped talking at once, scrambling to get in line against the wall. Ririko stood up, placing her pale hand for Kimiko to take. "Oh no, Ririko, I haven't prepared for the day yet!"
"Hurry!" The geisha-mistress bellowed again, her face folding into a sea of wrinkles. Ririko dragged Kimiko out of her futon and pulled her up against the wall. Kimiko tried to protest, but Ririko's unusually stern look prevented her from doing otherwise. The geisha-mistress walked down the queue, starting with the end opposite Kimiko. "Sakura, your face needs more powder. Kanna, straighten your wig. Ayame, wipe that scowl off your face. Tanaka, what did I say about your kimono?! Tying it like that is crass! Redo it now!"

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#9
Old 06-14-2007, 08:44 AM

A GEISHA'S TALE - Part 1.3

Kimiko felt hot. The geisha-mistress was drawing nearer. "Aoi, don't slouch. Ririko, your eyebrows need more plucking."
What would the mistress do? Kimiko hoped she wouldn't- "Kimiko! Why are you not dressed yet? Where is your makeup? Aha! I can see the sleep in your eyes! You just woke up, you lazy fool!" Kimiko bowed deeply. "I am most sincerely sorry, Yoko-sama-" Kimiko was cut off by Yoko's hand, which had landed a tremendous slap on her face. Kimiko placed her hand on the searing sting. Yoko peered at her balefuly. "Your apology is not accepted. Kimiko, you are on cleaning duty today." Nobody said anything, even though cleaning was the tamagos' responsibility.
"Good day," Yoko grunted as she bent stiffly at the waist. All twenty girls returned the bow and scurried back into their little corners to gossip again. "Cleaning duty," Ririko whispered in disbelief. "Cleaning duty."

************************************************** ********

Kimiko scowled silently as she scrubbed the bathtub. It was filthy work, as mold and dust and other unidentifiable debris were nestled into every nook and cranny of the cyprus woodwork. Nobody had given the bath a decent wash in a while. Kimiko wasn't mad at Yoko. She was mad at herself. She berated herself for sleeping in. She berated herself for indulging in her dreams. She berated herself for wishing she was home.

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#10
Old 06-14-2007, 08:57 AM

A GEISHA'S TALE - Part 2.1

The sun was high in the sky already when Kimiko woke up. She moaned as the sun's rays caught her in their grasp, and she turned in her futon a grand total of six times before she finally got up. Rubbing the crusty slep out of the corners of her eyes, she put away the bedding and walked into the main room. "Kimi-chan! You're finally awake you sleepy head!" Her mother smiled at her warmly as she cracked raw eggs over a bed of rice. "Good morning, mother," Kimiko yawned. She grabbed a cushion and slid it over to the low laquered table. "Kazy and Tomiyo have already left for the day," Kimiko's mother hummed. "They should be back by nightfall." She served Kimiko her breakfast, and after Kimiko finished, sent her out to wash the laundry. Under the waterfall she sat and scrubbed at the mud stains on her brothers' clothes. She felt so serene and happy with the promise that every day would be like this.

************************************************** ********

"Kimiko!" Yoko knuckled Kimiko's unclothed head. Kimiko screamed, more due to her shock of being torn from her precious memories than due to pain. "What do you think you are doing?" Kimiko looked down at the bathtub. She saw white suds leaking into the sealing of the woodwork. "What are you trying to do, remove the bathtub?!"
"Oh, Yoko-sama, I didn't mean..." Yoko slapped Kimiko's face repeatedly until it turned the color of ripe cherries. "You've wasted my time long enough. Go back to the theater and receive your lessons." Yoko wrinkled her nose and pulled Kimiko up by her sleeve. "Your parents should have sent you to become a prostitute." Kimiko felt a pang of longing. Things might have actually been better had she been a prostitute. There wouldn't really be training, she would have more friends, and the competition wouldn't be as fierce. And it wasn't like prostitutes were less opulently dressed than geisha. Actually, the brightness of their robes made those of the geisha seem dull. Of course, being a prostitute wouldn't assure her wellbeing for the rest of her life, and if she stayed a geisha, she would have her pick of rich men that would treat her like a princess. After Kimiko was fully upright, Yoko sniffed and strutted away to look for someone to repair the bathtub. Kimiko sighed and rubbed her tender cheek until it stopped stinging.

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#11
Old 06-14-2007, 09:04 AM

CHANGING LANES: A MEMOIR - Part 1.1

We packed the last of the worn cardboard boxes into the 1996 Toyota Land Cruiser. A vacuum was stuck precariously in between various college debris, including clothes hangers, baskets of books that would never be used again, and CDs that served as keepers of sanity throughout the arduous academic year. It was a hot day, the epitome of summer. Unfortunately, my school had not ended yet as my brother’s had. Clad in a turquoise outfit coordinated by my mother, I glanced at the grey brick building covered by vines and moss. “Almost an Ivy League School,” my brother said, almost as if to console himself when he first got his college acceptance. Now four years of bliss, free from parents, had passed. Lawrence, my brother, was much quieter than usual. He gazed longingly at the flora of the beautiful campus, and at the friends he was leaving behind. “I’ll be back,” he said aloud, almost as if he was talking to his dorm. My dad, his hair slicked back in a decent imitation of Elvis, slammed the trunk door shut. We went on all road trips in that car. “Alright, let’s go Penn,” my dad sang. My mother sniffed from her allergies, and went into the front passenger’s seat without a word. My brother slouched, and sat beside me in the back. He looked down at his khaki shorts, deep in thought. I merely gathered my portable CD player and put the ratty headphones on. “Reptilia” by The Strokes played at volume 6 of my burned CD. As my dad pulled out of the shady lot, the CD started to skip. “Y-y-y-yeah, the night’s not over, you’re n-n-n-n-no-no-not trying hard enou-gh-gh-gh-gh-gh, our lives a-a-a-a-a-are changing lanes...” Annoyed, I slammed the player against my seat. That did nothing. I tinkered with the controls for a while until we drove to the entrance of Quagshire College. A short, adorable Chinese girl resembling a panda walked towards us, her dirty, yellow polka-dot purse swinging. I opened the door and felt the oppressive humidity hit me. She placed her slim black luggage in the tiny space that was left in the trunk, and I sat in the middle. My brother and the girl, Chao, engaged in a quiet conversation about leaving beloved Quag behind. Chao still had two years to go, though. I leaned forward in attempts to hog more of the air conditioning, but that was futile. The vents seemed to be emitting warm air. I was about to lean back, but I realized that my brother and Chao were holding hands behind my back, so I picked up my CD player and tried to make it work again.

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#12
Old 06-14-2007, 09:09 AM

CHANGING LANES: A MEMOIR - Part 1.2

We opened the door to Paneras. A warm, bready smell and cool air hit us simultaneously. My mother picked out a booth for us, and the rest of us ordered. It really didn’t matter to me that it was 80 degrees outside. I ordered a French onion soup in a bread bowl, anyway. We sat down with our orders, and I greedily gulped my lemonade. My dad kept looking at the golden watch on his left wrist in between bites. Chao, on the other hand, slowly moved her spoon from the cream of broccoli soup to her mouth, patting her lips dry every few gulps. My father looked at his watch again. The ceiling lights reflected off of it onto his glasses, completely concealing his eyes. “Okay, we need to get going.” Chao’s eyes bulged slightly as the spoon ceased its shift from the soup to her mouth. She started shoving spoonfuls of the yellow-green suspension into my brother’s mouth. “Mrrghhhbbgh!” he exclaimed. My mother didn’t say anything. Maybe she hadn’t witnessed the event, or maybe she just didn’t approve of them sharing a spoon. Either way, it was Lawrence who said, “why don’t we just pack your sandwich up, and you can eat it at the airport.” Chao complied, and I sighed, kind of glad that after this, I wouldn’t have to make that tedious six-hour trip to Reading ever again.
It wasn’t until we were five minutes from the airport that my brother started sobbing. This was the first time I’d seen him cry since high school, and his puffy red eyes made me want to cry, too. Chao held him, and I could only make out a “you can always visit,” and “you guys will keep in touch,” every here and then. Wails and shuddery breaths filled the air of the humid Land Cruiser. I wanted to reach over and pat him, but the car was so packed, that task was virtually impossible. Lawrence had five more waves of sobs before we arrived at Chao’s terminal.

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#13
Old 06-14-2007, 09:13 AM

CHANGING LANES: A MEMOIR - Part 1.3

He dried his eyes long enough to get out of the car and escort Chao to the automatic doors. I looked out the window, and saw him standing there between parked cars, looking absolutely miserable. His eyes were swollen half-shut, his nose was slightly scrunched and dripping, and his eyebrows were furrowed in despair. Lawrence zig-zagged his way through the incoming cars trying to park, hands in his pockets all the while. Were it not for the fact that my brother was in such a state, my mom would have lectured him on the dangers of putting your hands in your pockets while walking. He opened the door and sat next to me. The sound the door made when it closed was so definite, it was as if the door was the door to adulthood, and not that of the car. I opened the window to let the breeze in, as our car was unusually warm despite the fact that we had the air conditioning on as high as it would go. Ribbons of wind blew into my face and tickled my neck. I turned to my brother and rubbed his back gently, like I imagined a mother would. I stuck to repeating the things Chao said. “You can always get together later.” My parents echoed my words as my dad managed the wheel in almost mechanical motions. But I knew it would never be the same. He would never be able to live with all of them again in that little haven in the suburbs of Reading. Almost as if he read my thoughts, Lawrence started to cry and moan louder. “Be aware of your feelings,” my dad preached. “Just let go.” I can’t count how many times I’ve heard my dad say that when I was in a mood. It annoyed me even more, and apparently it annoyed my brother, too. “I know!” he yelled. “Just let him cry it out,” I said, continuing to rub his back. Ten minutes of silence minus my brother crying passed.

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#14
Old 06-14-2007, 09:16 AM

CHANGING LANES: A MEMOIR - Part 1.4

We hit the highway to get out of Reading, and I recognized the Macintosh Hotel. The tan building with the red apple for an electric sign stood out among the pure blue of the sky. When the surrounding began to look the same, for there were only foliage and nondescript cement walls on that part of the highway, my brother’s breaths became more equal. And his cheeks dried. I removed my hand from his back, which in truth had begun to ache, and retrieved my broken CD player. I toyed around with it, skipping a few songs, and found that some songs skipped while others didn’t. I made it a point to memorize the lyrics of the clean songs, and was working on “Dragostea Din Tei” when a brown minivan pulled up beside us in the left lane. A brown haired man, about 19 or so, rolled down his window and leaned out. My dad quickly rolled down his own window, and the man said, “your car is smoking.” My first thought was “dude, this is a 1996 Land Cruiser, not a 1956 Chevy convertible.” But he continued. “There’s smoke coming out the back of your car.” It was then that the car began to shake violently. Books and coat hangers began to vibrate, and my heart rate quickened. “Oh!” my dad exclaimed. “Thank you!” The brown minivan drove ahead and I figured that it was trying to get as far away from us as possible in case the car blew up. “We need to pull over!” I yelled, my voice quivering. “How fateful it would be,” I said to myself, “if I died before my 8th grade graduation.” Actually, I began to mentally compile my will, and was distributing my property among the last of my friends when we pulled into the mini parking lot by the tollbooths. “Turn it off, turn it off!” I screamed, about ready to have cardiac arrest. “Calm down! You’re freaking me out!” my brother cried. I shut up, unlocked the door manually, and ran twelve feet away from the car. My pulse didn’t slow down until my dad had removed the key. That was when I heard a woman on the speaker in the tollbooth. Over the PA, she said, “that car is smoking. Someone needs to tell them that’s their car is smoking!” Of course, that just made me jumpy all over again, and the serene blue sky did nothing to calm my nerves.

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#15
Old 06-14-2007, 09:21 AM

CHANGING LANES: A MEMOIR - Part 1.5

My mom, face relaxed, rescued the black camcorder bag and my brother’s diploma from the back of the car. “Just in case the car blows up,” she smiled. Twelve feet away, I laughed weakly. I looked skyward, and saw a fleet of grey clouds float into the azure. It was getting late. I peered at my blue watch with its miniature stars revolving around the face, and it read ten minutes past four. A few yards away from us was a small brick building, presumably housing a bathroom and a payphone. My dad, mouth folded in a light frown, unloaded some of the Travelpro luggage from the trunk, and instructed me to bring it into the building. So I went into the cramped 6 by 7 with Lawrence, and was greeted by a large map of Pennsylvania on the wall, red lines indicating the PA Turnpike. I leaned against the marble ledge, and gently kicked the carry-on, handle still extended. Lawrence and I just laughed nervously. “What a turn of events,” he said with a small grin. I suppose I really didn’t care, just as long as I got home by Monday night. I sighed and leaned there a while, just examining the scuff marks on my shoes. The marks were starting to blur together when my mom burst in through the glass doors and said, “they’re going to call a tow truck for us.” I felt like making some sarcastic remark, but I was at a loss. My muscles ached from standing up through the graduation ceremony, and I needed some sleep. “How long will it take for them to get here?”
“Uh, forty-five minutes or so.” I had a nagging urge to whine, but I held it in like vomit. Forty-five minutes passed in inactivity. I watched the sky bleed, and went to the bathroom.

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#16
Old 06-14-2007, 09:23 AM

CHANGING LANES: A MEMOIR - Part 1.6

A large pick-up truck pulled into the lot. The first thing I noticed was that it had no ramp on which to hoist the car. However, my fears were dispelled as soon as an amiable, brown-haired man emerged from the car. He was neither obscenely fat nor unhealthily lanky as I had suspected. He jingled with every walk, his utility belt filled with screwdrivers, cables, and some unidentifiable junk. He held a plastic clipboard with a yellow pen. A cheery color, I noted. He introduced himself and shook my father’s hand. In my dad’s routine mumble, he explained the situation. “We uh, were driving, uh, and th-there was smoke coming from the back of the uh, car. I took it to the shops er, a few days ago to uh, get th-the oil changed. They said uh, that they could change some more parts, so I er, had them do that.”
The mechanic nodded briskly as if he knew precisely what my dad was going on about. He made a lap around the sorry Land Cruiser, and inspected his underside as if he were trying to determine its gender. The air around the car smelled of gas. He also slid his finger across the door handles, and sniffed the drops that his finger picked up. He furrowed his bushy brow, and returned to the circle of my family. “Did they tinker with engine?” “Uh, I think they did.” “Ah, you see, I suspect that the pistons and engine aren’t working correctly, and…” At that point, my eyes glazed over from the technical mechanic talk. My dad nodded and said “mmhmm” after his every sentence. The mechanic also went into some detail about the chemicals in the smoke, and how the smoke might turn blue. He also told us that there was condensation on the door handles, and that symbolized a breakdown of the cooling system in the car, which caused our car to overheat.

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#17
Old 06-14-2007, 09:28 AM

CHANGING LANES: A MEMOIR - Part 1.7

All he said that really stuck with me was, “this car is done. Those mechanics were probably trying to cheat you by tinkering around with unnecessary parts. The car was probably shaking because the pistons weren’t quite fitting correctly.” He shrugged and shook his head sympathetically. “All I can really say is that it’s a good thing you stopped when you did. If you kept going on at a highway speed, your car would have probably exploded and gone up in flame.” I internally chuckled. “Alright, let’s see what I can do for you.” The man whipped out his yellow walkie-talkie, and sent several messages over the airway to send in for a tow truck. I went to use the bathroom again, and when I returned, he had arranged for the truck to pick us up in approximately four hours at the nearest hotel parking lot.
We thanked him profusely for his help, and he had a little conversation about my brother on his future plans. “So you’re going to study to be a doctor?” “Well, I’m not sure yet. Hey, do you think you could get me a job doing this?” The mood had switched from one of utter shock to one of relaxed frivolity. He got back into the truck, and pulled out. My mom was babbling about how fortunate we were to have encountered such an intelligent and helpful man. But what I wanted to say was, “how are we getting to the hotel?”
I found myself in the car, chugging along at forty miles per hour. I was really on edge. I crumpled myself in my seat as if doing so might save me from the impact of the explosion, but Lawrence was all stretched out, and attempting to fall asleep. The car started to shake again, and I did with it. “Mom, it’s shaking again!” “Oh, don’t worry. We’re not going that fast.” “Don’t be so nervous,” my brother chuckled. I frowned, and continued working on my will.

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#18
Old 06-14-2007, 09:35 AM

CHANGING LANES: A MEMOIR - Part 1.8

An eternity later, we arrived at a little block of hotels. With the black abyss of a sky over us, we parked in the lot of the Best Western, and I ran off into the building. The smell of chlorine hit me like falling safe. The dim light of the hotel revealed a pool on the floor below us, and a ceiling with a dizzying geometric pattern. My family fell into the tacky sofas facing the television, and my mom bared the banana-filled bag she was carrying. “Anyone hungry?” she chirped. I grunted a “no” and put my head on the arm of the sofa. CNN played some article about a crisis in a foreign country. I fell into a rather unpleasant daze. My mind became detached from my body, and I wondered why on earth I wasn’t in bed at home, squinting at the bright light peeking through my curtains. My dad had his hand firmly around his chin, watching the news with mild interest. My brother glanced up at the screen every now and then while checking messages on his pitiful excuse for a cell phone. My mom sniffed from allergies. It was probably the overwhelming odor of pool chlorine. “Hmm,” my dad commented intelligently at the news. “Beep,” said the cell phone. “Fnnnn,” my mother sniffed. Hmm. Beep. Fnnn. Hmm. Beep. Fnnn. Hmm. Beep. Fnnn. I broke the cycle by raising my head and pulling back an aqua blue sleeve to look at my watch. “It’s 8:30,” I said. “Let’s get dinner then,” my mother said, stretching out of her seat. Or at least trying to, anyway. “Hmm,” my dad said. We walked down to the restaurant level. A blonde woman with a black uniform greeted us at the podium. “Tonight, we have a buffet,” she smiled. We decided to take a look around, and a sea of silver lids and floating fat greeted us. Opening up a platter of home fries, my brother looked to me. “What do you think?” “Hey, I don’t care. Whatever’s fine.” I opened up a platter of chicken fingers, and one of mashed potatoes. The smell made my mouth water, but my parents strolled over to us with slightly disgusted faces. “Let’s not eat here.” I could understand. They were both lactose intolerant, and the buffet was basically a deathtrap for their intestines. “How about McDonalds?”

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#19
Old 06-14-2007, 09:38 AM

CHANGING LANES: A MEMOIR - Part 1.9

The hum of the soda fountain filled my ears as I forced a Chicken Select down my throat. “Mmm,” my mom said in between bites. “This is much healthier than the chicken nuggets.” I slid the impossibly large cup of Pepsi towards me and took a hearty gulp. The clock read 10:05. “The truck’s late,” I said, starting to shiver. “Don’t worry, it’ll come.” The shiver turned into a shake. My hands began to tremble involuntarily. My dad looked at me as if I was Exhibit A. “It’s post shock syndrome,” he said, without blinking. My mom handed me her Lipton tea, and I took several sips. That didn’t do me much good, though, as my hands were still shaking, and I managed to spill tea all over the table. I sighed; feeling rather resigned, and shakily dug a peppermint out of my purse. I stared almost balefully out the window, and I saw the reflector lights of a tiny truck attached to a ramp.
I yawned, a skinny blonde man with buckteeth and a trucker hat standing in front of me. He talked rather excessively, but at that point I really didn’t care. He instructed my dad to drive the car onto the ramp. I got back, and saw the white smoke coming out of the back clearly against the black of night, and I held my breath, half expecting the car to burst up like fireworks. To my relief, the car made it onto the ramp safely, and my dad hopped out. The truck driver pulled down some metal chains as thick as his arms, and clamped the car securely to the ramp with large hooks. Slowly, the ramp became steeper and steeper until the car was at a 45 degree angle to the ground. I wondered how the goods still inside the car were faring. That went out the window when the truck driver opened the back door and invited us in. It was only supposed to fit three people, but we were going to make it work. My brother went in first. When sitting on the black leather, his knees came up to his bellybutton. He smirked as I entered on all fours. The floor was completely covered in jump cables tangled like intestines, and wrenches strewn amongst it all. I clutched my broken CD player, and managed to wedge myself in a somewhat comfortable position. My mother squeezed in beside me, and my dad, naturally, took the roomy front seat.

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#20
Old 06-14-2007, 09:43 AM

CHANGIN LANES: A MEMOIR - Part 1.10

“So where are we headed?” asked the driver in a voice that nearly broke the windows. “Philadelphia,” my father replied in a tone that suggested he thought the driver was deaf. “Alright,” the driver said, looking at the red LED display. “So we should get there around 3AM.” A sudden feeling of calm came over me. Maybe I was just tired, or maybe it was the beautiful darkness of night that soothed me, but whatever it was, I turned on my CD player to the working songs and stared blankly ahead. In attempts to sleep, I contorted my body into a zig-zag position, the uneven floor making reclining difficult. Lawrence leaned against the window, and my mom ducked her head, her mouth already ajar. As we reached the main highway, I felt myself being sucked into the abyss that lay ahead of us. Quite frankly, I didn’t really care if I died at that moment. I felt so at peace and unafraid of what might be that it just didn’t matter. All that I could was move forward, forever into that beautiful black unknown. I pressed the double arrow button on my CD player. “Yeah, the night’s not over. Our lives are changing lanes.”

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#21
Old 06-14-2007, 04:52 PM

A GEISHA'S TALE - Part 3.1

Ririko stood over her best friend, examining the scarlet imprint on her face as her butt wiggled behind her like a kite. Ayame was seated in the corner, inspecting her nails. “Wow, she did you in goooood!” Ririko slapped a warm sponge on Kimiko’s cheek. Kimiko tried not to wince. The blow on her cheek was fresh. It was not that one that Yoko had so graciously given her earlier.
************************************************** ********
Kimiko bounded into the theater, which was already filled with her dancing peers. In the process, she tripped over her own large feet like a puppy, causing a horrible ruckus. Twenty-four pairs of red-and-black lined eyes were immediately upon her, with the addition of two dark and beady slits. “Kimiko,” the owner of the slits growled. “How dare you come in here late and cause such a racket.”
“I…I can explain, Hitomi-sama! Yoko-sama asked me to-”
“Excuses again? Your insolence and disregard for the breed of geisha cannot be tolerated.”
“I…I…am most sincerely sorry, Hitomi-sama…please accept my humble apologies.” Kimiko bowed down to the ground and nearly cried. She was sincerely sorry, since Hitomi was her favorite teacher, and she was a friend of her late mother. Yoko knew of this tender relation, and made it quite clear that Hitomi was not to give Kimiko preferential treatment. Hitomi obeyed like a brainless dog. She finally grunted, implying that the apology was accepted. “Now come to the stage and continue with the other girls.” Kimiko swore she heard Kiku and Himawari snickering as she took her place. “Okay, from the top!” The sad shamisen music began.
In the sweet of the night
The wind blows softly
In my ears
As the flowers glide off the trees
When I wake up
My sleeve is soaked
Was it a sudden rain?

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#22
Old 06-14-2007, 04:58 PM

A GEISHA'S TALE - Part 3.1

Ririko stood over her best friend, examining the scarlet imprint on her face as her butt wiggled behind her like a kite. Ayame was seated in the corner, inspecting her nails. “Wow, she did you in goooood!” Ririko slapped a warm sponge on Kimiko’s cheek. Kimiko tried not to wince. The blow on her cheek was fresh. It was not that one that Yoko had so graciously given her earlier.
************************************************** ********
Kimiko bounded into the theater, which was already filled with her dancing peers. In the process, she tripped over her own large feet like a puppy, causing a horrible ruckus. Twenty-four pairs of red-and-black lined eyes were immediately upon her, with the addition of two dark and beady slits. “Kimiko,” the owner of the slits growled. “How dare you come in here late and cause such a racket.”
“I…I can explain, Hitomi-sama! Yoko-sama asked me to-”
“Excuses again? Your insolence and disregard for the breed of geisha cannot be tolerated.”
“I…I…am most sincerely sorry, Hitomi-sama…please accept my humble apologies.” Kimiko bowed down to the ground and nearly cried. She was sincerely sorry, since Hitomi was her favorite teacher, and she was a friend of her late mother. Yoko knew of this tender relation, and made it quite clear that Hitomi was not to give Kimiko preferential treatment. Hitomi obeyed like a brainless dog. She finally grunted, implying that the apology was accepted. “Now come to the stage and continue with the other girls.” Kimiko swore she heard Kiku and Himawari snickering as she took her place. “Okay, from the top!” The sad shamisen music began.
In the sweet of the night
The wind blows softly
In my ears
As the flowers glide off the trees
When I wake up
My sleeve is soaked
Was it a sudden rain?

Kaldeagirl
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#23
Old 06-14-2007, 05:34 PM

A GEISHA'S TALE - Part 3.2

The girls danced stiffly around the stage, akin to plastic wind-up toys, their eyes blank of emotion. Except for Kimiko. Her movements were smooth and graceful, and her eyes were lined with unwelcome tears. She made one step too big and tripped into the girl in front of her. “Dammit,” she cursed under her breath. When she saw whom it was that she had bumped into, her expression changed. “Kiku-san! I am so sorry! Please excuse my clumsiness.” Kimiko hated the spoiled brat with all her heart and some other organs, but she knew better than to mess with Yoko’s pride and joy. Kiku sneered at Kimiko’s sad attempt at guilt. “You swore,” she smiled. At once, Kiku fell to the floor in an incredible portrayal of someone who had just fallen out of a tree and landed on a bed of spikes. “Oooh, Hitomi-sama! Ow ow oww!” Hitomi ran up onto the creaky stage and knelt by Kiku’s side. “It was…it was…Kimiko! She tripped me on purpose! And she swore, too!” Kiku blubbered in false baby sobs. Her caked makeup melted and poured down her neck onto her elaborate kimono. “And now she’s ruined my best kimono!” Kimiko wished she could prove that Kiku was as fake as a geisha’s wig, but who would believe her? Certainly not the nepotistic Yoko. Hitomi wouldn’t dare risk her job. Even though Ririko was her best friend, she was too airheaded to really care. She looked around at the other girls that had stopped dancing. They all eyed her accusingly as if to say, “what have you done, Kimiko? You’ve ruined the star of the show – our best geisha!” But off in the corner, Ayame looked at Kiku with what Kimiko believed to be hate. Come to think of it, Ayanme always knew what was going on behind the scenes – who was real and who wasn’t – but she didn’t make any friends, she never got drunk, and she never talked to any of the maiko. Her cold indifference was frightening, but Kimiko felt that maybe she was on her side.
After Hitomi got the “real” story out of Kiku, she scolded Kimiko severely, and gave her a beating with her bamboo stick that she would not soon forget. Kiku stuck her tongue out as Kimiko left the theater by order of Hitomi. Ayame discreetly removed herself as well, and silently followed Kimiko to the dorms.

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#24
Old 06-14-2007, 05:44 PM

A GEISHA'S TALE - Part 4.1

“Any better?” Ririko asked. To be truthful, Kimiko didn’t feel any better, but she supposed it was more psychological than physical. “Yea.”
“Good! Now back to the theater.” Kimiko held back a wave of bitter tears. “No, you won’t.” Kimiko and Ririko turned to the back of the room to look at the owner of the cold, cutting voice.
“What?!” Ririko opened her eyes wide in shock.
“Ririko, leave now. You are not needed,” Ayame snarled. She shot a piercing glare at Ririko, who immediately scurried out of the room in her noisy clogs. All the while, Kimiko sat in anticipation, the threat of crying forgotten. She had a premonition that Ayame would help her.
“Kimiko.” Ayame’s eyes seared into Kimiko’s. She bent her head towards Kimiko’s round face, her lips slightly open. “They treat you like an untouchable, don’t they.” Kimiko could smell the putrid yet intoxicating odor of smoke on her breath. “Y-yes,” Kimiko stammered. She was both scared and in awe of Ayame. She maintained a stoic personality, and acted as if she were merely viewing the world – herself outside – and she found it all mildly amusing. Well, except for the night before, when a customer vomited all over her. People were surprised that she was still in business, as she possessed qualities reverse of the ideal geisha. While geisha listened to the problems of men and treated them affectionately, Ayame seemed to be unable to care less about the men, and looked absolutely revolted when touched intimately. Kimiko didn’t know how she had become that way, but there was a rumor that the man chosen for her initiation was abusive. Another rumor she had heard was that her parents gave her away because she was born on an unlucky day. Ririko believed that she was naturally like that.
Ayame removed herself from Kimiko’s personal space and started pacing around the room. “You want to leave this place behind.” She said it more as a question than a statement. Kimiko dipped her head in confirmation. “You want to see what else is out there.” Kimiko dipped her head again. “You hate the teachers.” Dip. “You don’t want to wear the ridiculous makeup anymore.” Dip. “And you want to live your own way, without anyone telling you what to do.” Kimiko gained some confidence and answered verbally. “Yes.”
“Then,” Ayame whispered, “let’s get out of here.”

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#25
Old 06-14-2007, 05:54 PM

A GEISHA'S TALE - Part 5.1

Kimiko’s head whirled around like an unattended parasol. ‘Leave the house?’ Kimiko mused to herself. She’d always wanted to leave and frequently thought about leaving, but she never thought she’d actually leave. “Leave the house?”
“Yes, leave,” Ayame said impatiently, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. “Isn’t that what you’ve wanted all these years?” “Yes, but…”
Ayame smiled for the first time. “This is going to be your only chance. Don’t worry, I’m going with you, too.” Kimiko’s heart beat badly. She would be glad to leave. What did she have to lose? Ayame tugged her obi down a notch to reveal bags of coins and jewelry to trade. “Get your most important things. Whatever you might be able to trade. Meet me in the rear courtyard in three hours.”
“Three hours? Why that long?” “I…have a few things to take care of.” Ayame bowed her head, hiding the dancing gleam in her eyes. Kimiko nodded, running out of the room. She was curious, but unsure if she really wanted to see what Ayame might do. Ayame sat down on the tatami mats and laughed long and hard, confident that no one was around.

No one saw Kimiko as she crept back into her dorm like a snake. No one saw her as she packed a pendant, a few coins, and a tattered part of the blanket from her parents. When they first gave it to her, it was well woven, but after Kimiko’s repeated uses, it degraded into a mere handkerchief. Her hands shook as she took a piece of gold into her hands, the only one she’d managed to gather aside all these years. All her clothes were with the geisha mistress, so that really was all she had. Kimiko sighed and put everything into a muslin sack.

 


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