Fishing trip, prt 1

It was three in the morning and Dad was shaking me awake.

"Hey Joe, it's time to go! Get Sam up too. We need to load the van."

In the split second between opening my eyes and realizing what was going on, I had the strong feeling that anything asking me to get out of bed was simply too absurd to be taken seriously. Then I remembered. Oh, yeah, fishing trip.


From the mattress laid out on the floor I reached up to shake Sam, or what I assumed to be Sam wrapped like a mummy in the heavy cotton blanket. "Sam," I told the mummy, "wake up. We have to get ready for the fishing trip." The mummy stirred -- away from my hand -- and went still. "Wake up," I said, "and get your clothes on." The mummy mumbled something. "That's no excuse. We have to load the van with the coolers and stuff. Come on. Off you go!"

I lifted my younger brother's body and pulled him down onto the mattress on the floor. Beneath his wrappings the mummy thrashed to free himself; Sam's head popped out of an opening, his sleep-scarred face wincing in the light from the hallway. He scowled. He said,

"Aaargagoorgeerargeegorrarr," and twisted like a contortionist in a violent stretch.

"Good morning to you," I told the mummy, and went downstairs to help load the van.

My older brothers Mike and Bill were awake, standing in the kitchen in flannel shirts and baseball caps, coffee mugs in hand. Dad was packing the last of the sandwhiches into the red cooler along with the mustard, maonaise, apples, Sunkist juice pouches, and cheese; he too had a flannel shirt and a baseball cap. He talked excitedly.

"If we can get up to New Hampshire by five-thirty we'll have plenty of time to meet Uncle Ray and have breakfast with him before the boat leaves at six-thirty. Wait'll you see the little seaside diner -- I was there a few years back with Uncle Barney. They serve you an enormous breakfast, eggs, ham, and a mountain of hashbrowns. The waitress is a big German lady named Trudy, and when she put the plates in front of us she said, "Now you better eat ALL of that or you're not coming back in here again.' She meant it, too."

"So did you eat all of it?" Mike asked over the rim of his mug.

Dad chuckled. "Well -- yeah." We laughed as well, imagining Dad and Uncle Barney, both with good appetites, hurridly eating a mountain of hashbrowns under the glare of the German waitress.

Sam shuffled in, wearing a flannel shirt and a baseball cap. He went for the coffeepot.

"Good morning, Sam," Bill said with a teasing edge in his voice. "What, coffee? You can't have coffee, I'm afraid, sir, you're too young. But we have some delicious -- soymilk, if you want. We just have to, you know, milk the soycows first."

"Mmmm." Sam said. He poured coffee into a travel mug and slipped on the lid. "Are we stopping at Dunkin Donuts on the way?" he asked.

"Once we get in New Hampshire," said Dad, heaving up the cooler. "All right, boys, let's get going!"

"Can't wait to sleep once we're in the van," Mike murmured, as we filed out the back door into the darkness of morning.

Screenplays

I understand the purpose of my blog is to capture what growing up is like in a large family from my own point of view. I will definitely be adding onto the adventures, but here's a little break from the tales of Powell Days and a sneak peak into the fictional spiral of my own mind.

The following is a short screenplay I had written for Bentley University for Professor Speca. He was a literary and social genius. I have great respect and admiration for him.

Enjoy.

Candy Hearts

ext. Carl’s Candy Shoppe- day

A bright and enjoyable day, cloudless and sunny. A quaint town, the corner of Pleasant Street and Morning Glory road.  A small, colorful candy shop sticks out among the buildings there. The front windows are decorated with vibrant and cheery candy-shaped print, “Carl’s Candy Shoppe.” Directly by the door are striped and polka-dotted balloons tied to an old fashioned bench. They are assorted in color, dancing playfully.

Two young girls in pastel dresses, about 10 years old, push the door open from inside the shop, a bell jingling, and scamper out onto the sidewalk. Each is grinning, a sizeable lollipop in hand. They grab each other’s free hand and skip away giggling, blonde curls bouncing. A petite woman comes into view from around the corner. She is dressed in a lavender dress and a matching bonnet, a strand of blonde hair escaping, a basket of long-stemmed flowers on her arm. She smiles gently at the two girls skipping away and turns to the shop’s window. She stokes the glass, looking down at the array of candies displayed inside. She then turns away.

int. carl’s candy shoppe- same moment in time

Same woman is seen from inside the shop, turning and walking from the front windows. The shop is filled with candied splendors: glass jars with gum drops and jaw breakers, lollipops and twizzlers, twists of gum and chocolate chunks. A small boy stands by a bin of chocolate, filling a paper bag with goodies. Laughter can be heard throughout the small, lit store.

A man, CARL, stands behind the counter, a dapper gentleman, balding slightly. He is wearing a red and white striped apron over a starch white collared-shirt, white creased pants, and smudge-free white tennis shoes. He watches as the woman walks from his window, a longing in his eyes. He places a hand on his heart and softly sighs as she walks away from his viewpoint.

The child with the brown paper bag bounces over to CARL and sets his bag on the counter, tippy toed. CARL immediately focuses on his customer. The boy takes out a nickel and slides it as far as his little arm will reach. CARL takes bag, weighs it on the scale, and then picks up the nickel. He winks at the child, ringing up the purchase. The cash register dings delightedly as it opens, and CARL takes out two pennies and slides them to the young boy. Excited, the boy grabs the pennies and the candy bag and dashes out of the store, the door’s bell tinkling as he leaves. CARL looks around at his shop and forces a smile on his face. His eyes automatically shift to the window. He sighs again, quietly and mouse-like, bends down beneath the counter and flicks on a radio. The sound of Frank Sinatra surfaces and he hums along to the tune, soft and fluffy.

int. Carl’s Candy Shoppe- Later that evening

Sun is setting outside the candied window and CARL is sweeping his shop. A “CLOSED” sign hangs on the door. He finishes, places the broom behind the counter and proceeds to take his apron off. He hangs it on a small hook off to the side and opens a door next to the hook, revealing stairs going upward. He looks to the front window once again, brings his hand to his lips, and blows a gentle kiss toward the window. He stands for a moment, lost in reverie, and begins to hum the same Frank Sinatra tune from earlier that day. He turns back to the stairs and exits, shutting the door softly behind him.

int. Carl’s Candy Shoppe- next day

CARL stands behind his counter once again. The store is once again filled with life and children. He holds a box of chocolate on his hands. He nervously fidgets, eyes focused on the store window.

The same woman from the previous day walks into view, stopping at the store window to look at the treats. She then looks up and catches CARL looking at her. She gently smiles and curtsies. Without taking his eyes off the woman, CARL walks to the door, opening it and stepping out to the woman.

ext. Carl’s Candy Shoppe- continuous

The woman smiles gently at CARL. He holds out the candy box nervously. She takes the box and brings it to her face, taking in the chocolaty aroma. Plucking a flower out from her basket, she hands it to CARL, who accepts it timidly. She curtsies once more, and walks away, CARL standing alone and watching as she leaves. He places his hand with the flower on his heart and sighs.