Friday, November 02, 2007

Nanowrimo, part II

Nanowrimo, part II

Written this morning. I'm gonna have to pick up the pace.

Here's Part I. This is a continuation of the "chapter."

Remember. First draft, and all that.

There were no naked pictures. Raymond Saffles considered himself a lot of things, but he didn't consider himself a fool. And that should be noted, because it was not that he didn't know that "Lacy Lee of Greensboro" had a site up intended to offer herself up for prostitution that kept Raymond on the site. Rather, it was his irritation at such racy material being at such easy access to children.

Naked pictures. That was the first thing he looked for. Not because he wanted to be titillated so much as he wanted to make a log of any material that might be at easy reach of any small child who should go looking for the statistics of a veteran baseball player whose career ended years before.

To something of his surprise that Thursday afternoon, he found none. In general, the photos online were tame. A pretty, if skinny, brunette wearing a sweater. Leaning on a tree. Sitting on a picnic table, laughing. There were eight pictures in all, and of them, the most suggestive was this girl with the brown eyes Raymond might fall in to, lying on her stomach on a park bench, the barest hint of cleavage showing, again, laughing joyously at the person taking the picture.

It was this last picture that held his attention.

Those eyes, he thought. Those eyes, and that smile. Simply the most disarming thing he'd ever seen. He stared into those eyes, which followed him around, no matter which way he moved, just like the Jesus statue up in Gatlinburg, he noted. He stared into those pools of green, entranced. And the Reverend Raymond Saffles, for possibly the first time in his 41 years, fell headlong into the throes of lust.


Raymond Saffles did not stray from his duties to his marriage. Not at first, and not for a long time. All that afternoon, he would attempt to begin some work--perhaps preparing the next week's sermon, possibly corresponding with a missionary from the church serving in far off Ouagadougou (at least, he thought it was Ouagadougou). But he kept returning to that one page, and would spend minutes at a time staring across the digital ether into the eyes of somebody calling themselves Lacy Lee of Greensboro. After one particular bout of falling into those green eyes, he heard a yell. And another. A yelp, almost.


He shrunk back into the faux leather of his office chair.

Apparently paralysis had done little to the wind capacity of his beloved wife. Raymond took one last look at the brunette on the screen, composed himself, and turned the computer monitor off. He called himself a foolish old man for taking so much time looking at this woman across the internet, and trudged up toward the trailer where his wife waited.


But eventually, Raymond Saffles did stray. It was not, though, at first, a prurient interest. It was want of conversation. After six months of changing the diapers of a 300 pound woman whose disposition had wandered the range from ornery all the way to petulant, self-righteous ass, who had little positive to say except complete and utter blame, Raymond went looking for friendship.

At first, he started coaching his church's slow-pitch softball team. He found little joy, though, in taking the church's young men (and Robert Dooley, who at 61 could still outrun 90 percent of those in the league) out to get squashed by the local dairy, or the local sparkplug plant's teams. And most of the team disbanded after Robert Dooley ran afoul of the 6'5," 260 lb. first baseman for Chilhowee Paper Mills, who Robert felt was blocking the basepath. And indeed, that first baseman may have been, though not for any intent of malice--a man that size simply was in the basepath by way of standing where he did to field of position. That game (Southern Home Reform Baptist's lone win of the season) came as the Chilhowee Paper Mill was made to forfeit. It was also Robert Dooley's retirement game. No charges were filed after Dooley unfolded himself from his pretzel shape. He did however never have to pay for paper the rest of hi slife.

He also attempted to find friends within the Lions and Elks clubs, but was not long after forced to bring Dorothea with him to these meetings, after Raymond's kind-hearted offer to let the Elks use the church grounds for their annual Car Wash to Benefit Downs Syndrome, unfortunately on the same day that the Reformed Baptists Lady's Auxiliary held their bake sale and Dog Show. Accounts differ, but all can agree that it began with confusion as to whether the bake sale goods were intended for the Downs' children in attendance, and the day ended with wet piles of what was once Millicent Daniels' Cranberry Banana Walnut Bread having to be scrubbed from every nook and cranny of the church, and the fire department on the premises to corral a dozen barking pomeranians and pugs, and pull an unsaid number of children in Pete Rose haircuts out of the trees.....

He even manned the town's suicide help line for a time, and thought he was doing relatively well at that vocation, confident that he'd saved one or two lives at the very least. He could not shake the feeling, though, that he was convincing people to stick with their lives, only because the man they were talking to was spending his days at the beckon call of his wheelchair bound bear of a wife, and he seemed to be making it fine....


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