As I dive back into the writing life I’m revisiting the “vault,” also known as my childhood toy chest. I rescued it from the back of Mother’s closet and made it the designated repository for all things writerly. Over the years I’ve accumulated folders, and binders, and rubber banded clumps of the written word, along with a handful of flash drives containing every revision of every story. Notes from workshops, handouts from seminars, it’s all there!
It is at this point that I give a shout out to my husband, Melvin, who finances my writing life and never questions the investment of my time or his money.
While going through one of the flash drives I found the HENRY folder. His character dates back to 2002 as the love interest of another character, Veronica. The folder included all the scenes from their stormy relationship. In this scene he sees Veronica for the first time at the company picnic. He later writes his friend with the details.
I’d be interested to know, who do you see when you picture Henry? I admit to seeing a particular old flame who had a great deal of HENRY in him.What about you? A boyfriend? An ex? Or, how about someone from today’s world of entertainment? I would love to see how you picture this character. It would be great help to me as a writer.
Thanks in advance for your comment!
Henry meets Veronica
Here’s some news. Just came back from the company picnic. I’ve got a belly full of fried chicken and a new prospect for my love and affection. I’m telling you pal, the girl is something to see. She strutted barefoot through that grass, high-stepping it, with her gathered-up skirt and shoes in one hand, and a picnic basket in the other. Showing just enough above the knee to let you know there was a sweet set of thighs attached. Her eyes were focused on the ground and her body seemed ready to bolt at the slightest squeal or high-pitched noise. Like a fine, young filly. So this is Veronica, I thought. What a delicious piece of flesh she is.
I knew her name by the company she keeps. She walked behind her sister Sylvie, also known as Queenie, Ice Queen, and most importantly, Ernie Morrison’s girl. Ernie and Sylvie are the prince and princess of the company, him with an eye on the executive floor, and her with an eye on Ernie as an express ticket to the good life. Everyone knows the story. Not from Ernie, he isn’t the type to brag. The details come from water-cooler chitchat. Count on the office girls to have the scoop and be ready to dish it out.
The word is that there were three sisters, with a mother two years in the grave, and a father off to parts unknown. I know that story by heart, right friend? But this was different. When I looked at these two sisters I knew those basic family facts were the only resemblance between their situation and my history. These were no farm bumpkins. These were city girls.
And, I could tell the young one was ripe and ready for picking. She was sending out the signals loud and clear. The way she kept her chest up but her head down as she walked through the grass. She’d lift her eyes to scan like a searchlight to see who was looking. She didn’t think anyone noticed, but I did. She knew she was pretty, but I could tell she had no idea she was beautiful.
You know I love those tall ones, and this sweet peach can meet me eye to eye. She was wearing white and I don’t think it was a coincidence. Walking before me was a damsel dangling from the branch of virginity, and this farm boy knows all the tricks to gently tug her loose and right into my waiting hands. If Ernie Morrison could get him one of those fancy city girls, so can I. And, I bet this one isn’t an ice queen.
Three dates, that’s what I’m thinking. Get her confidence. Make her beg for it. You know the drill. I’ll keep you posted.