Write Me into Your Daydream
A Spark
“You don’t have to walk me home you know,” Aleta said as she walked down the row of small boulders lining one of the houses in the neighborhood. I looked at her. She was looking at her feet, watching where her baby blue high tops connected with the slick surface she paced.
“I know,” I exhaled, looking back at my own worn out converse as I trudged through the melting snow. It was warm for a Minnesota winter and definitely too warm for early January. Black slush and salt lined the sidewalks and roads. I could feel it soaking into my shoes and the bottom of my pant legs.
“So why are you here?” she asked jumping off the last rock and into a shallow puddle a few feet ahead of me. A gust of wind swept through the street. Blonde hair swirled around my sister’s heart shaped face. Her blue eyes were full of an innocent curiosity that made me bookmark the scene for later use. Maybe I could work it into the story I was working on. Or a future one should it prove not to fit.
“What, you don’t want me here?” I teased and she rolled her eyes.
“Of course I want you here,” she smiled before giving me a pointed look. “But I have a feeling that you’re not just stopping by for a visit. You’re avoiding a deadline again, aren’t you?”
“I'm always avoiding a deadline,” I shrugged, tucking my hands into the back pockets of my jeans. “They were made to be avoided.”
“You’re being paid a hell of a lot of money to write a fiction story for a widely popular newspaper,” she pointed out, looking back over her shoulder. “And yet, you refuse to do it.”
“Oh I plan on doing it,” I smiled at her, “but for now I'm ‘brain storming’.”
“You knew what you were going to do before they hired you.”
I cocked my head to the side as I thought, “Like four years. It’s something I’ve been toying with for a while now but never got around to writing it. I guess I’ve been fond of this idea for so long that if I'm going to do it, I want to make sure it’s done right. Hence the extra brain storming and avoiding.”
“Is this the one where she has cancer but doesn’t tell anyone?”
“Yep.”
“And she dies.”
“Of course.”
She stopped walking and turned around to face me, “Why?”
I raised an eyebrow, “Why what?”
“Why do all your stories' end in heart break?”
I shrugged, pushing past her to the front walk of the house, “Because…” I began, looking back at her. “That’s how things work in real life. I'm not going to patronize my readers with fairytales.”
We got into the house and she made a b line for the couch which she then landed on like a ton of bricks. I walked into the empty kitchen and paused a moment. It was quiet, our parents were gone. The house was empty but for Aleta and me. On the counter behind me was a note addressed to the both of us. Apparently Dad was taking Mom to Duluth for a romantic weekend and wanted me to watch Aleta until they got back.
My eyes narrowed at scrap of paper Mom had torn from who knows what in her hurry to get out of the house, “It’s Wednesday.”
“They’re gone again, aren’t they?” I turned to see Aleta standing in the doorway.
“Go get packed,” I said tossing the note in the trash. “You’re coming home with me.”
She tried to argue, “I’ll be fine-”
“Aleta go get packed.” I ordered and she nodded, hurrying up the stairs to her bedroom. I pulled out my phone once she was out of ear shot and called my mother. She didn’t answer, I didn’t expect her too. “She’s fifteen,” I reminded a machine. “She’s fifteen and you’re supposed to be here. I'm not always going to be around-” I stopped knowing that, despite my orders, Aleta would be on the steps listing every word I hissed into the speaker. “Your place is here, for three more years. After that you can go on all the romantic weekends you want. Come. Home. Now.”
I hung up and set the phone on the counter, running my hands through my hair. I wanted to pull it out by the roots. I moved out a little over a year ago now. I wasn’t far away, just across town. But after the first weekend that Aleta stayed with me they’ve been taking off. Leaving a note with a half-assed excuse about why they were gone. It’d gotten to the point where they didn’t even give us notice when they were going. They just left. A couple times I would come over to find my sister alone in the house. She was fine, she can take care of herself, but she shouldn’t have too.
“Lux,” I looked up to see her back in the threshold. This time she had a heavy coat, her backpack, and a small suit case. “I'm ready.”
“Uniform too?” I asked. “You still have two days of school left this week.”
“Of course,” she rolled her eyes. “I'm not an idiot.”
I smirked, “I know, get in the car.” Aleta got to pick the music as we drove to my apartment complex. She always did when she came over.
“You know she won’t get that voice mail till Sunday,” she said landing on my couch and reaching for the remote.
“You need to stop listening to my phone calls.” I said entering the kitchen and opening the pantry. “Now do you want stale chips n’ dip or Mac & cheese for dinner?”
She peered over the back of the couch, “Both?”
“Both is good.” We made dinner while the TV played in the background. She told me about school and I elaborated on my story a bit. I don’t really like talking about works in progress so I kept that conversation short. After dinner she did her homework. I dicked around on the internet, avoiding responsibility as was my MO.
She stood up to stretch after she finished and walked around to sit with me on the couch. Those big blue eyes of hers smirking as she sat down. “That’s a good start, you opened Word.
“The page is taunting me.”
“Just write it.”
“I'm trying.”
“I’ve been watching you for the better part of an hour; no, you’re not.”
“I have things on my mind.”
“Like?”
I looked at her, should I tell her? No, she’d think I was stupid. But she’s my sister. She’d still think I was an idiot she’d just have to continue loving me after she found out. But should I tell her? Yes- or I could not and be happy with that. Or I could and we’d both get a laugh out of it. OR I could just keep it to myself and laugh about. Just tell her- no! Yes! Ugh!
“Lux,” she snapped her fingers in front of my face, “what’s up with you?”
“I had Megan send Mark Gatiss my fanfiction for ideas about season 3,” I blurted out and then clapped my hand over my mouth.
Her face was blank, “Megan… as in the agent lady who yells at you a lot?”
“In fairness, I give her many reasons to yell at me.”
A thoughtful frown appeared on her face, “huh.”
“Yeah.”
“When did you do this?”
“A couple weeks ago,” I admitted closing my laptop. “Two weeks before Christmas.”
“And?”
My eyes narrowed, “And what?”
She raised an eyebrow, “Has he gotten back to you?”
I swallowed, “Well no but-“
“Then why are you so concerned about it?” she rolled her eyes as she stood up and walked into the kitchen.
“I put myself out there!” I said leaning against the back of the couch. “I sent him my story of which I am very proud of! He could tear it apart and call it rubbish-“
“Do the Brits really say rubbish?”
“Yes, of course they say rubbish.”
“Huh.”
“But I'm really freaking out about this-“
“You’re worried about Brits people saying rubbish?”
“Aleta!” I moaned sinking down against the counter.
“Oh calm down,” she laughed opening the fridge to grab the milk. “I was kidding. Honestly Lux, he’s more likely to never even know you sent it. It probably got sent to his spam.”
I sighed, tucking my chin into the cushion, “I know.”
“And, hypothetically, lets say he does read it,” she began as she filled her cup, “but he decides it’s not a good fit for the show… what will you do?”
I raised an eyebrow, “I’d probably die of humiliation.”
She rolled her eyes, “Sorry, the correct answer is you’ll be a little bummed but get over it.”
“You’re the one who said hypothetically.”
She gave me an irritated look before continuing, “Now let’s say he loves it. He contacts your agent and demands to know the master mind behind the words he just finished reading. What do you do then?”
My eyes narrowed. I hadn’t thought about it. I was so caught up with the thought that Gatiss would hate my work and me for it. But what if he liked it? What if he actually wanted to use it? Why would he- that doesn’t matter. Why he would or would not like it doesn’t matter. If he decided to use my character and story for season three… what would I do?
“I know,” I exhaled, looking back at my own worn out converse as I trudged through the melting snow. It was warm for a Minnesota winter and definitely too warm for early January. Black slush and salt lined the sidewalks and roads. I could feel it soaking into my shoes and the bottom of my pant legs.
“So why are you here?” she asked jumping off the last rock and into a shallow puddle a few feet ahead of me. A gust of wind swept through the street. Blonde hair swirled around my sister’s heart shaped face. Her blue eyes were full of an innocent curiosity that made me bookmark the scene for later use. Maybe I could work it into the story I was working on. Or a future one should it prove not to fit.
“What, you don’t want me here?” I teased and she rolled her eyes.
“Of course I want you here,” she smiled before giving me a pointed look. “But I have a feeling that you’re not just stopping by for a visit. You’re avoiding a deadline again, aren’t you?”
“I'm always avoiding a deadline,” I shrugged, tucking my hands into the back pockets of my jeans. “They were made to be avoided.”
“You’re being paid a hell of a lot of money to write a fiction story for a widely popular newspaper,” she pointed out, looking back over her shoulder. “And yet, you refuse to do it.”
“Oh I plan on doing it,” I smiled at her, “but for now I'm ‘brain storming’.”
“You knew what you were going to do before they hired you.”
I cocked my head to the side as I thought, “Like four years. It’s something I’ve been toying with for a while now but never got around to writing it. I guess I’ve been fond of this idea for so long that if I'm going to do it, I want to make sure it’s done right. Hence the extra brain storming and avoiding.”
“Is this the one where she has cancer but doesn’t tell anyone?”
“Yep.”
“And she dies.”
“Of course.”
She stopped walking and turned around to face me, “Why?”
I raised an eyebrow, “Why what?”
“Why do all your stories' end in heart break?”
I shrugged, pushing past her to the front walk of the house, “Because…” I began, looking back at her. “That’s how things work in real life. I'm not going to patronize my readers with fairytales.”
We got into the house and she made a b line for the couch which she then landed on like a ton of bricks. I walked into the empty kitchen and paused a moment. It was quiet, our parents were gone. The house was empty but for Aleta and me. On the counter behind me was a note addressed to the both of us. Apparently Dad was taking Mom to Duluth for a romantic weekend and wanted me to watch Aleta until they got back.
My eyes narrowed at scrap of paper Mom had torn from who knows what in her hurry to get out of the house, “It’s Wednesday.”
“They’re gone again, aren’t they?” I turned to see Aleta standing in the doorway.
“Go get packed,” I said tossing the note in the trash. “You’re coming home with me.”
She tried to argue, “I’ll be fine-”
“Aleta go get packed.” I ordered and she nodded, hurrying up the stairs to her bedroom. I pulled out my phone once she was out of ear shot and called my mother. She didn’t answer, I didn’t expect her too. “She’s fifteen,” I reminded a machine. “She’s fifteen and you’re supposed to be here. I'm not always going to be around-” I stopped knowing that, despite my orders, Aleta would be on the steps listing every word I hissed into the speaker. “Your place is here, for three more years. After that you can go on all the romantic weekends you want. Come. Home. Now.”
I hung up and set the phone on the counter, running my hands through my hair. I wanted to pull it out by the roots. I moved out a little over a year ago now. I wasn’t far away, just across town. But after the first weekend that Aleta stayed with me they’ve been taking off. Leaving a note with a half-assed excuse about why they were gone. It’d gotten to the point where they didn’t even give us notice when they were going. They just left. A couple times I would come over to find my sister alone in the house. She was fine, she can take care of herself, but she shouldn’t have too.
“Lux,” I looked up to see her back in the threshold. This time she had a heavy coat, her backpack, and a small suit case. “I'm ready.”
“Uniform too?” I asked. “You still have two days of school left this week.”
“Of course,” she rolled her eyes. “I'm not an idiot.”
I smirked, “I know, get in the car.” Aleta got to pick the music as we drove to my apartment complex. She always did when she came over.
“You know she won’t get that voice mail till Sunday,” she said landing on my couch and reaching for the remote.
“You need to stop listening to my phone calls.” I said entering the kitchen and opening the pantry. “Now do you want stale chips n’ dip or Mac & cheese for dinner?”
She peered over the back of the couch, “Both?”
“Both is good.” We made dinner while the TV played in the background. She told me about school and I elaborated on my story a bit. I don’t really like talking about works in progress so I kept that conversation short. After dinner she did her homework. I dicked around on the internet, avoiding responsibility as was my MO.
She stood up to stretch after she finished and walked around to sit with me on the couch. Those big blue eyes of hers smirking as she sat down. “That’s a good start, you opened Word.
“The page is taunting me.”
“Just write it.”
“I'm trying.”
“I’ve been watching you for the better part of an hour; no, you’re not.”
“I have things on my mind.”
“Like?”
I looked at her, should I tell her? No, she’d think I was stupid. But she’s my sister. She’d still think I was an idiot she’d just have to continue loving me after she found out. But should I tell her? Yes- or I could not and be happy with that. Or I could and we’d both get a laugh out of it. OR I could just keep it to myself and laugh about. Just tell her- no! Yes! Ugh!
“Lux,” she snapped her fingers in front of my face, “what’s up with you?”
“I had Megan send Mark Gatiss my fanfiction for ideas about season 3,” I blurted out and then clapped my hand over my mouth.
Her face was blank, “Megan… as in the agent lady who yells at you a lot?”
“In fairness, I give her many reasons to yell at me.”
A thoughtful frown appeared on her face, “huh.”
“Yeah.”
“When did you do this?”
“A couple weeks ago,” I admitted closing my laptop. “Two weeks before Christmas.”
“And?”
My eyes narrowed, “And what?”
She raised an eyebrow, “Has he gotten back to you?”
I swallowed, “Well no but-“
“Then why are you so concerned about it?” she rolled her eyes as she stood up and walked into the kitchen.
“I put myself out there!” I said leaning against the back of the couch. “I sent him my story of which I am very proud of! He could tear it apart and call it rubbish-“
“Do the Brits really say rubbish?”
“Yes, of course they say rubbish.”
“Huh.”
“But I'm really freaking out about this-“
“You’re worried about Brits people saying rubbish?”
“Aleta!” I moaned sinking down against the counter.
“Oh calm down,” she laughed opening the fridge to grab the milk. “I was kidding. Honestly Lux, he’s more likely to never even know you sent it. It probably got sent to his spam.”
I sighed, tucking my chin into the cushion, “I know.”
“And, hypothetically, lets say he does read it,” she began as she filled her cup, “but he decides it’s not a good fit for the show… what will you do?”
I raised an eyebrow, “I’d probably die of humiliation.”
She rolled her eyes, “Sorry, the correct answer is you’ll be a little bummed but get over it.”
“You’re the one who said hypothetically.”
She gave me an irritated look before continuing, “Now let’s say he loves it. He contacts your agent and demands to know the master mind behind the words he just finished reading. What do you do then?”
My eyes narrowed. I hadn’t thought about it. I was so caught up with the thought that Gatiss would hate my work and me for it. But what if he liked it? What if he actually wanted to use it? Why would he- that doesn’t matter. Why he would or would not like it doesn’t matter. If he decided to use my character and story for season three… what would I do?