Chapter 15
Saturday morning came around, and Oscar stared at his unlimited yearly transport pass as he rode the subway. It was a teal, hexagonal-patterned card, with a smiling train conductor giving a friendly wave on the bottom-right corner. Oscar used to resent the man’s face, interpreting it as a mocking gesture from the subway company, meant to make him feel worse about purchasing an unnecessarily expensive, non-refundable card almost five months ago, with little cause or reason. But with an actual destination ahead, Oscar saw a newfound warmth in the man’s face, and even found the waving gesture to be cute and inviting.
He walked up to an unassuming library entrance with a green, metal-plated façade. The entrance bore the name ‘ANDREW HEISKELL LIBRARY’ in golden letters. The interior was dimly lit and sparsely decorated with monochrome furniture. White tables, white chairs, and white bookshelves aplenty. White hairs covered the head of the librarian, who was busy organizing a box of wired headphones.
“Hi there.” Oscar stated, trying to get the man’s attention.
No response.
“Hi,” Oscar waved, “Good morning.”
Still, the man continued working on wrapping the headphone wires in front of him.
Oscar’s tentacles curled nervously as he mustered up the courage to tap the man’s shoulder as he muttered a delicate “Excuse me.”
Finally, the man jumped and turned to face Oscar.
“Oh, good morning, good morning! I didn’t see you there.”
“No worries!” Oscar chuckled anxiously, “Is this the right place for the writing workshop?”
The man made a strained face and quietly mouthed words as Oscar spoke.
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry. I’m having a bit of trouble understanding you.” The man pushed up the glasses on his nose, “Think you could say that again, without covering your mouth? Your tentacles are in the way and I’m only good for reading lips.”
“Oh.” Oscar turned red, pulling his tentacles up with his hands, “I’m sorry sir.”
The old man laughed and turned his hair towards Oscar, “Don’t be sorry. I’m used to it. How can I help you?”
“Well, I saw a post online for a writing workshop here at the Andrew Heiskell Library at nine A.M. Am I in the right place?” Oscar said, struggling to keep his mouth exposed as the tentacles slipped out of his hands.
“Why, yes, yes, of course! It should be starting any minute now… just head up to the second floor and get to know the others. There should be a few folks here already.”
With that, Oscar made his way upstairs, feeling reassured by the librarian’s welcoming demeanor.
The second floor featured more white bookshelves and a large clearing with a long white table in the middle.
An older woman with incredibly thick glasses and a small afro was the first person he saw, seated by the entrance, typing on a laptop with her face nearly pressed on the screen. Across her, sat another old woman with red, curly hair, staring into the distance with a pen and notepad in front of her. A few seats along the same row, sat a middle-aged man typing away at his laptop, breathing heavily through his nose. Across from him, sat a woman about Oscar’s age, wearing a black turtleneck and matching face mask, with a notepad and pencil bag filled with a couple of gel-pens, a lollipop, a small can of pepper spray, and other discernible items. On a solitary table a few feet away, sat an old man with a full set up of pens, papers, refillable coffee cup, and laptop quietly typing away. Oscar made his way to the end of the long table and sat facing the entrance, perpendicular to the other attendees. The perfect seat for a people-watcher.
Oscar took his time arranging his writing space, neatly placing a pen, notepad, and thermos in front of him, before finally unfolding his laptop.
Suddenly, a loud “Hey baby, you got a match.” blurted from his laptop. Mortified, Oscar scrambled to press the mute button.
Damn FreakFinder notifications… Oscar muttered to himself, scanning the room to see if anyone noticed, his head turning every shade of crimson and pink imaginable. The coast felt clear, except for the turtleneck-wearing girl next to him, who seemed to chuckle and shake her head. Waiting for the workshop to start, Oscar meticulously closed his internet browser tabs to prevent any further distractions and realized that he hadn’t used his laptop since he ‘quit’ using FreakFinder.
Minutes passed, and the librarian eventually made his way to the top of the steps with a box of well-organized headphones.
“Oh my, my, my, everyone!” the man exclaimed, “Have any of you started writing yet? I’m not seeing any pens on paper!”
The older woman with an afro looked up at him, “No sir, I think we’re waiting for someone to kick things off.”
“Well, maybe we can start with some ice breakers, so everyone gets to know each other. Ernestine, would you like to lay out the rules and start?”
“I’d love to,” said Ernestine, closing her laptop, “Hi everyone. My name is Ernestine. I’m sixty-seven years old, and I’m a frequent visitor of the library. I always wanted to write growing up, but never had much of a chance since I had to work and then I had kids… but I’m old now, and I have a lot of free time, so I like to come here and get the creative juices flowing. And I like talking and meeting new people since I don’t have much of a chance to do so at home, since I live by myself. I have an apartment downtown and I’ve been living there since—”
“Alright, alrighty, Ernestine.” The librarian interrupted, “We’ll have time to talk about this more later so let’s keep this short. How about you explain how this usually goes down for the first timers here?” The librarian looked at Oscar and gave a reassuring nod.
“Thanks Fred,” Ernestine started again, “You know how much I like talking, once I get started, I can’t stop myself from blabbering… but anyways, welcome everybody to our weekly creative writing workshop. It’s nice to see—and hear you all. We usually wait for someone to take the lead and pick a topic for us to get started. During this time we go through a writing exercise or two, where someone proposes a prompt and we write in silence for twenty minutes. Then we go around the table and read what we wrote, if we’re comfortable with sharing, and we can give each other critiques or compliments if we have any feedback to share.”
“And please, please remember—” Fred interrupted, “Let’s be respectful to each other even if we have differing opinions. This is a safe space, and we should treat each other with respect.”
“Thank you, Fred, that’s right. This is a safe space. Nothing bad can happen here. So enough about me, does anybody want to go next?”
Ernestine’s eyes stared forward blankly as silence permeated the room, and Oscar felt a large pressure to break the silence.
“Hi everyone.” Oscar started, his tentacles clenched in tight coils, “My name is Oscar, some people call me Ozzy. I don’t really write much, and I didn’t do it much growing up, so sorry in advance if I’m not too good…”
Fred watched him across the room with his arms crossed and gave Oscar a smile and a nod.
“But a friend recommended I start looking into writing, so I figured, ‘Why not?’. And I found this event online and thought I’d check it out. I love observing people on the subway, so I thought I’d start documenting it, and figured this would be a good place to get some practice.”
Oscar eased up and released his curls, “But that’s it about me. Nice to meet you all.”
The painful silence returned once again, until the turtleneck-wearing girl let out a sigh and slapped the table with her hand.
“Hey everyone, my name’s Mona. I saw a flier for this on the subway. It sounded cool, so I showed up. Now I’m here. That’s it.”
Oscar found humor in the resoluteness in her statement and couldn’t help but let out a quiet chuckle. Mona squinted her eyes and cocked her head at Oscar’s following his reactions, but he pretended not to notice.
The silence returned, this time longer and more painful.
“Does anybody want to go next?” Oscar asked but received no response.
“What about you?” asked Oscar, indicating the older lady across from Ernestine with an open palm, but received no response.
The awkward silence was palpable, and Fred helped redirect Oscar’s question to the man with his own table.
“How about you, Clément? Would you like to give an intro to some of the newer people here?” Clément let out a sigh and started.
“Hello everyone, my name is Clément. I am a published author and have written one book about poetry and three other fiction novels. I am here because I like writing. That’s about it.”
“Very, very good, nice to see you again Clément; thank you for coming.” Fred clasped his hands together, “And last but not least, sir, would you like to wrap up the intros?”
“Yes, of course,” started the heavy-breathing man, “My name is Steven, and I’m forty-nine years old. I got sick last year and couldn’t leave the hospital for six months. During that time, I started writing an autobiography so the world wouldn’t forget me. I haven’t had much luck getting published, so I got a writing coach and they recommended I go to some writing workshops. So now I’m here.”
“Great, so let’s get started—”
“Wait, before we get started,” Steven interrupted, “Clément, could you give us some tips on getting published? I’d really love to know…”
Clément scoffed and rolled his eyes, “This isn’t the place for that, sir. Maybe we can talk about that after, but not now.”
Steven blushed and looked down, breathing heavier than before, “Oh, okay…”
This time, Fred gave Steven a reassuring smile and started again. “Great, great, so let’s get started! Maybe we can come up with something together. How about a haiku? Does everybody know what a haiku is?”
Oscar shrugged, “I vaguely remember learning about it once, but maybe we could start with an example?”
“I got it,” jumped in Ernestine, nearly pressing her face on the screen again. “Here’s what I found online: ‘A haiku is a traditional form of Japanese poetry consisting of three lines. The first and third lines contain five syllables, while the second line contains seven syllables. Haikus often focus on nature and the passing of seasons. Here is an example of a haiku:
There is a spring breeze
Gently rustling through the leaves
On the cherry tree.’”
“That’s great Ernestine, thank you.” Said Fred with a warm smile, “If the instructions are clear to everyone, let’s get started. Does anybody want to set a timer?”
“I got it.” Stated Mona, rustling through her pencil bag and fishing out her phone, tapping loudly on her screen and eventually setting the timer face-up on the table.
The minutes flew by, and Oscar only managed to type up three haikus before Mona’s phone rattled loudly on the table, with the sound of a screaming woman.
“Jeez! Why is that your alarm sound?” asked Steven, startled and breathing heavily.
“What? It’s the only sound that can wake me up. Don’t judge…”
“Okay, okay, time’s up!” interrupted Fred, “Any volunteers…? No…? Okay, how about you start, Oscar?”
“Sure!” Oscar cleared his throat and tried easing his nervous tentacles, “It took me a while to think of something, and my mind kept going back to my childhood home and my pet dog from when I was a kid. Here goes…
In the park they play
Dog's boundless joy on display
Nature's blissful day
Subway windows frame
Life's stories in fleeting glances
Strangers' tales untold
No thoughts, head empty
I lay in bed wondering
Where the day went by
“That was great, Oscar! Any feedback?”
Ernestine jumped in, “Thank you for sharing, Oscar, that was lovely. I liked the part about the dog park, it was really sweet. It made me think of the dog I had at home growing up too, his name was Scrappy because he always ate the scraps from our table…”
“Perfect!” Fred intervened before Ernestine trailed off again, “How about Steven? Would you like to go?”
“Well sure,” started Steven, letting out a heavy sigh, “but I didn’t write any of that haiku crap. I want to read from my memoir, if that’s okay…”
The attendees shrugged their shoulders muttering ‘sures’ and ‘okays’.
Between heavy breaths, Steven read:
‘I remember the day I received the news like it was yesterday. I had gone in for a routine checkup, expecting everything to be fine. But when the doctor came back with the results, he had a grave look on his face.
"I'm sorry to tell you this," he said, "but you've been diagnosed with a rare and life-threatening heart disease."
I was in shock. I couldn't believe what I was hearing. My whole life, I had always been healthy. I had never had any serious medical problems. And now, out of nowhere, I was facing a diagnosis that could potentially end my life.
At first, I was terrified. I didn't know what to do or how to cope with the news. The days went by, and the doctors wouldn’t clear my release. I took test after test, only to find more questions and examinations they had to conduct.
It wasn't easy. There were moments when I was overwhelmed by fear and anxiety. Other people would wallow in their self-pity, rotting away in their beds. But not me, no sir, I was not going to let my disease get the better of me. I've always had a passion for wooden figurines. Hand-carved decorations and such.
I got my hands on a few blocks of basswood and carving knives and started whittling like there was no tomorrow. I started making small wooden figurines of people, dogs, cats, birds, and other small animals. Spoons and spatulas. Pencil holders, jewelry boxes, desk organizers. Keychains, ornaments, and bookmarks…’
“And that’s all I got to write before the timer went off. I’m reworking my intro…”
Unsure of what to say, Oscar looked around to pick up on any social cues for what to say. He eventually made eye contact with Mona and the pair struggled to hold in their laughter.
“Not everybody at once…” muttered Steven, raising his eyebrows, “Nobody has anything to say? Really?”
“Well…” Oscar took a moment to continue, “It was great, thank you for sharing your story.”
“Thank you!” Steven exclaimed, slamming his hands on the table.
Clément rolled his eyes in the corner.
Ernestine interjected, “You know, I used to have a small wooden ornament when I was a kid. It was my favorite thing to hang up during Christmas. It was a wooden top with some symbols on it, I think people call those dreidels, and that they’re used during Hanukkah. Now I’m not Jewish, but that won’t stop me from hanging a nice decoration, especially a hand-carved one like that. See, my dad was a veteran in the army, and it was gifted to him by his best friend—”
“Who’s next?” continued Fred, clasping his hands, “How about the lovely woman sitting across Ernestine?
The woman stared blankly, indifferent to Fred’s question.
“I’ll go…” started Clément, raising his hand. “Like Oscar, I also made three haikus, but these all come together to paint a short story…
The world’s a wasteland
Starving children roam the streets
Hope is hard to find
Destruction and pain
Leaves a path of shattered hearts
Life's joys torn apart
Political unrest
Equatorial south, raped and raw
What future awaits?
Clément leaned back on his chair and crossed his arms, waiting for feedback.
Mona immediately snapped her fingers in response. “Woo! Loved it. Best one yet. Great job.”
Clément bowed his head with a smug expression.
“Yeah, I really liked that last part about Ecuador,” started Ernestine, “It’s a really nice country. My neighbor growing up had a lot of family in Ecuador. I always wanted to visit but I never had a chance to go…”
Clément shrugged and roved his eyes towards Oscar.
“I’m speechless, Clément.” Said Oscar, his tentacles zigzagging across his shirt, looking for a coherent thought, “I like that it was an actual story and how they’re all related to each other.”
Clément bowed once more, “Thank you.”
“Thank you, thank you, Clément, great work as always!” Fred checked his watch. “Given our late start, we only have a few minutes until our braille study group comes in, so how about we wrap up with a short, five-minute prompt. Does that sound good?”
“Sounds good, Fred!” Ernestine exclaimed, “Can I give the next prompt? I have an idea; let’s write about happiness.”
Fred clapped his hands. “Wow, wow, wow. That sure is lovely, Ernestine, thank you so much! If there aren’t any objections, Mona, would you like to set the clock?”
“Wait, I have an objection!” blurted Ernestine, “I forgot to mention something about Fanny!”
“Who’s Fanny?” asked Steven?
“Oh gosh, I should’ve mentioned this during the introduction…” said Ernestine hesitantly, “Fanny is my neighbor. I convinced her to come all the way out here with me, but you see… she’s deaf, and can’t understand you unless she can see your mouth. Like you, Fred!”
Oscar felt mortified and placed his head on the table.
Mona interjected with laughter and faced Ernestine.
“Okay, I’m curious. Why didn’t you mention this before? Why didn’t you tell her the prompt? It’s almost been an hour, and how did your friend not speak up? You’re crazy. And your friend is crazy. And I love you for that.”
Ernestine smiled and laughed, “Oh, you’re such a nice girl, thank you for putting up with me. I can be a little forgetful sometimes…”
Ernestine eventually got Fanny’s attention and shared the prompt; Mona set the timer. Oscar watched her phone as the seconds quickly passed, and Oscar scrambled to come up with an answer. Well, happiness is ultimately a bunch of neurochemicals released by the brain, but this is a creative writing workshop, so I’m not going to write about that… He looked at Mona moving her pen rapidly across the page, her wavy brown hair serving as a cover as she bowed over her notepad. Eventually, Oscar scraped a short story together, full of typos and incorrect spacing in a race against the clock. The screaming voices blasted once again, shaking the table.
Cutting the pleasantries, Fred asked Fanny to start.
“Thank you everyone for bearing with me…” started Fanny, “I made a short story about what happiness means to me. Here goes…”
Happiness is a short distraction from the nothingness around us.
This time, Ernestine grabbed Fanny’s hand and snapped softly with her free hand.
“Nice one, Fanny, thank you for sharing. Could you please explain it a bit more? I’m having some trouble understanding it…”
“I don’t have much else to add to that.”
“Alrighty then…” answered Ernestine, the room filling with silence. “I’ll go next if that’s okay with everyone.”
The group nodded and Ernestine continued.
“Well, I wanted to write a little about the small things in life that matter the most.” She pressed her face against her laptop screen and began to read:
To me, happiness is watching the sunset on the beach, and feeling the warm sand between your toes. It’s sitting in front of a fireplace on a snowy night. It’s the smell of rain outside. It’s eating a fresh-baked cookie with a cold glass of milk.
Happiness is all around us, and there’s enough of it to go around. There’s enough for you. There’s enough for me.
Ernestine removed her face from the screen and smiled. “Thank you everyone for listening.”
Oscar clapped softly, “Ernestine, I really liked it! It was to-the-point, but I understood it clearly. Appealing to all the senses made it very relatable too.”
“Yes, I agree with him.” Inserted Steven. “I think that happiness is a decision. Like me, I could have been all sad in the hospital all day, but I decided to dedicate myself to whittling. And now I’m a writer. And a whittler. I think more people should focus on little things so that they could be happier, or everyone would be walking around depressed all day…”
Clément raised his hand with an open palm to interrupt. “Everyone, let's remember that this is about writing and providing criticism and feedback. We are not here to discuss the philosophy of happiness. We are here to talk about Ernestine’s writing.”
Ashamed, Steven lowered his head. In turn, Mona raised her hand and began to speak as well. “And didn’t Fred say something about not being an asshole when someone else is speaking?”
Clément’ eyes bulged, “How am I being an asshole? You are rude and that man is an idiot who did not contribute anything to the session. I am simply telling everyone to focus.”
Ernestine shook her head and muttered, “Tsk, tsk, tsk.”
Clément made a dismissive gesture with his hands and excused himself to go smoke a cigarette.
“Yeah, no wonder your breath stank. Go write and talk about the end of the world or whatever it is you like to do, weirdo.”
“Everybody, everybody, simmer down…” said Fred, “Remember, we’re talking about happiness here. This is a fun activity, and we came here to encourage and support each other… Mona, would you like to go next?”
“No.” said Mona, crossing her arms and kicking her feet up on the table.
“That’s quite okay, Mona, thank you. Sharing is always optional, and nobody should feel any pressure to read their writing out loud.”
The room was silent, except for Steven’s breathing which had only grown heavier. Steven packed up his items and quickly exited the room “I think I should leave… thanks everyone.”
“Well thank you, thank you everyone for participating today. Hope to see you all next week.” Fred concluded the session with a nod, clasped hands, and a warm smile.
Oscar and Mona shared the elevator on their way out. Oscar broke the ice first.
“So… did you like it?”
“It was alright.”
“Why’d you come?”
“I already told you, because it sounded cool.”
“Yeah, I got that… but is that the only reason?”
“Why do you do anything else in life? You do things because you like them.”
“Except for eating and going to the bathroom.”
“You really don’t have to do those things.”
“Yes… you do.”
“Okay, you’re right, but you only do them in the moment that you do because your body tells you that you want to.”
The elevator opened and Oscar followed her out.
“What did you end up writing about happiness?”
“I didn’t write anything.”
“Really? But I saw you writing.”
“I wasn’t writing, I was doodling. I couldn’t come up with an answer.”
“Me neither…”
“These prompts were awful. I hate talking about things like that. I just live and do what I want, that’s what life is about. Why would you do something you don’t actually feel like doing? It’s nonsense.”
“Yeah. I feel like we were all on different wavelengths. Like we were talking to each other in two different conversations…”
Mona stared at Oscar with a raised eyebrow, waiting for him to finish. “Plus, it was great watching you respond to that French asshole.”
“Did you really care that much?”
“No, I just wanted to start something, I was getting bored.”
Without noticing, Oscar made it to a nearby bus stop with Mona.
“So, are you just going to follow me all the way home or what’s your deal?”
“Sorry, we were just talking, and I didn’t notice…”
“Shouldn’t you be paying attention to where you’re walking? I could’ve walked us into traffic or been a murderer leading you into an alley.”
The rushed conversation caught up to Oscar now that he stopped walking along with her, growing more agitated with each response.
“Are you coming back next week?”
“No, I hated it. Plus, didn’t you see it was a library for the deaf and blind? They didn’t say anything about it on the website. I felt like we were invading their space.”
“Really?”
“Yeah, didn’t you read the sign?”
Mona pointed at the entrance towards a bronze plaque near the front door. ‘ANDREW HEISKELL LIBRARY. FOR THE BLIND AND PHYSICALLY HANDICAPPED.’
“I feel dumb now.”
“Yeah, you should.” Said Mona, laughing.
Oscar’s tentacles grew pointed with red tips, irritated.
“Alright, bye, then. Nice meeting you.”
“Bye.”
Oscar walked up the street in the opposite direction towards the nearest subway station. The farther he stepped, the stronger he felt a tug pull him back, as if an invisible string was tied between his navel and Mona. He turned the corner with great difficulty before stumbling back.
What the…? wondered Oscar, lifting his shirt only to find his bare torso.
Should I get her number? He asked himself. No… she’s too annoying. Plus, I still can’t get my mind off Ada…
A few more steps, and Oscar fell once again.
What is going on!? Oscar asked himself, taking a few steps back and feeling the pressure in his navel go away slowly but surely.
I mean, it’s not like we’re dating or anything… A few more steps back. And how much different is this from meeting someone on FreakFinder?
A few more steps and the pressure faded further. Plus, I said I’d quit FreakFinder anyway, so this is even better.
With enough self-convincing, Oscar turned around and took full strides towards Mona with an ever-increasing pace, turning the corner with impulse, as if to lift the concrete beneath him.
There she was, still at the bus stop, wearing a black turtleneck, black jeans, black mask, and a hand-knit tote bag where she presumably packed her pencil bag and notepad.
“Hey.” Oscar said, unsure of how to continue, the words simply stumbling out of his mouth. “I don’t mean to bug you, but I was kind of hoping to hear that you’d be coming back next week.”
Mona faced him with crossed arms.
“Is that it?”
Oscar hoped for a nicer response but continued, “But given that you’re not coming, I was wondering if I could have your number…”
“Why?” asked Mona, smiling. “So you could keep asking me a bunch of questions?”
Finally, a smile. Oscar felt a rush of warm air rise within him.
“Yeah, we’ll go out somewhere. Sit together. I’ll ask a bunch of questions and tell you how pretty you are.”
Mona rolled her eyes and shrugged, “That’s the point of a date, isn’t it? So you could fawn over me and tell me how pretty I am?”
Oscar laughed and smiled like an idiot.
“986 662 4252.”
“Wait, wait! Let me write it down…”
Oscar pulled out his phone and typed the number.
“Your phone number has 666 in it, spooky…”
“My dry-cleaning lady says it’s cursed.”
“I don’t recognize that area code. Do you live in the city?”
“Yes, about ten minutes away from here. 121 Northeast 170th Street, Apartment 403. Now give me your address.”
“No.”
“I just gave you mine. It’s only fair.” Mona stepped closer to Oscar, the tips of her black boots barely touching his own shoes.
“But what if you’re a murderer, like you said?”
“I’m not.”
“647 East 11th Street. Apartment 9H.”
A few moments of silence.
“You’re not going to write it down?”
“I don’t need to. Only men can’t memorize a few words and numbers. Like you.”
Oscar rolled his eyes, and turned away, feeling the warmth wash away and be replaced by the same annoyance as before.
“Don’t be surprised when I pull up.” Yelled Mona as Oscar turned the corner, walking back home, no longer feeling the tug of that invisible string.
Previous Sample
Next Sample
Home