Day 22: Supposedly Ernest Hemingway wrote standing up. On the other hand, Mark Twain wrote while lying in bed. Could standing up while you write give you extra energy? Could writing in bed help to relax your mind so that ideas flow more easily? Today, try doing one or the other and see if the physical change makes a difference in your writing . . .
He stretched his fingers across the keyboard preparing to type. He tapped away at the keys waiting for the inspiration to wash over him. He frowned at the screen, at the work he wasn’t producing when the phone rang. With one long exasperated sigh he stretched over to his bedside table and grabbed his cell phone on the last ring. 1 missed call from Deidra. He immediately rang her back.
“Anthony?” Deidra answered after the first ring.
“What’s the matter?” Anthony asked suddenly startled by the urgency in her voice.
“Its Charlie, he’s been in an accident.” Charlie was Anthony’s best friend and Deidra’s fiancé for over a year now.
“How bad is it?” Anthony asked after a moment’s pause.
“He’s unconscious Tony. He has a couple broken bones, and swelling on the brain so they put him in an induced coma. You have to come, Tony, come see him. Please.” Come comfort you, you mean, Anthony scowled at the phone.
“I’ll be there in a bit.” Anthony disconnected the call and returned to his laptop. I guess it’s another emergency, he explained to the laptop and the book he’s supposed to have started.
Anthony made his way through the hospital trying his hardest to remember the details of the directions. After the third step in the directions he lost track of the nurses’ instructions and thought he would wing it from there. It was a miracle he found the ICU wing and Deidra curled up in one of the visitors seats in the waiting room. When she caught sight of him she ran toward him and flung her arms around his neck. Anthony reluctantly reciprocated and involuntarily leaned in to smell her hair.
“Oh Tony,” she nuzzled his neck and he immediately pushed her away.
“Stop it.” He growled at her. She frowned. “Where is Charlie?” He asked straightening his shirt which was now wrinkled from the hug.
“Right. This way.” Deidra turned and headed through a double door into the ward where they kept Charlie. She carried him down a corridor lined with doors and huge windows on either side of the passage. Deidra turned into the second to last door on the left and entered Charlie’s room. On the bed laid Charlie, gaunt and lifeless, with strings of cables and vines connecting him to the myriad of monitors and machinery beside his bed head.
Anthony leaned over to Deidra as they stood in the door post to the room, “If I’m ever in this situation, put me down.” He whispered to her then made his way over to Charlie.
Anthony stood beside the bed staring down at his unconscious friend for life. Charlie was very much Anthony’s brother as much as any of his biological siblings. He knew him for as long as he could remember. When Anthony was about 6, he and his family moved into a new neighbourhood and within a week of living there, Anthony met Charlie. They spent a lot of time together after school and on the weekends. As they grew up, they attended different schools, Anthony’s family moved again when he was 14 and Charlie migrated for school for a couple of years but they found each other when Charlie returned. Everything went sour with them once Deidra entered the picture. Anthony didn’t like nor did he trust Deidra as Charlie’s girlfriend but decided to maintain the peace by saying nothing. As he stood watching his friend breathe, Deidra snaked her arm through Anthony’s and snuggled up to him.
“What are you doing?” He asked.
“Seeking solace from a friend.” She sighed against his shoulder.
He shook her off. “Are you insane?” He hissed at her. “Your fiancé is on the bed in front of us.”
“And?” She asked incredulous.
“Do I need an and? Charlie is unconscious, not deaf. Have some . . . respect.” He scowled at her.
“You didn’t think of respect last Thursday night.” She replied smugly and with that Anthony turned and walked straight toward Deidra as she recoiled into the far corner of the hospital room.
“If you don’t stop, so help me,” He grabbed her face but in that moment, when he looked into her over-large hazel eyes, her freckled face, shrouded by her glorious mane of curly brown hair, his anger was replaced by lust and he succumbed and kissed her deeply, forcing her up against the wall. She didn’t shy away, she reciprocated very much and returned his kiss, forcibly. She moaned into his mouth as he pinned her with his pelvis. Then he stopped, just as abruptly as he started.
He rested his forehead against hers, breathing deeply. “I can’t . . . this isn’t right.” He whispered.
“But it feels so . . .”
“But its wrong. Charlie is my friend. My Best friend. I cant do this to him.” He pushed himself away from her but she grabbed his waist and leaned against him even as he backed away.
“What if I told Charlie? Told him to call off the wedding? Told him I loved you?” She grazed her lips across Anthony’s as he tried to restrain himself from resuming the kiss.
“You will do no such thing. If you want to break it off, find another reason that does not involve me.”
“But it has everything to do with you, Tony.” She wrapped her arms around his torso and squeezed him against her as she nuzzled his chest.
“That was a mistake.” He tried to pushed her away but was futile.
“Was it? Or was me being with Charlie a mistake?” She looked up at Anthony just as the heart monitor chirped rapidly. They turned toward the machines and found Charlie sitting upright, staring at the two in the corner of his room, wrapped up in each others embrace.
Whew, finally. I felt like I squeezed that one out. I did this challenge lying in bed as they suggested Mark Twain did, but I can tell you, changing position or location does nothing for me. See The Architect and the Gardener.