Ellen.... a story tell you stuff

So I wrote this when I was drunk. Check it out.




Ellan Chapter 1

I sat alone in front of my computer screen wondering what to write. The lights were off and ideas came as fast as they went. Sure the occasional story came to mind but it was all too short for what I needed. I had a month to write a novel, fifty thousand words and not a word to short. I had already failed to write an adventure story that took up a week of my time. This was my chance to prove that I could be something more than that guy at the gas station, maybe I was wrong. I was twenty with no job, no place to call my own, and no future in site; my pride was hurt. I was lucky enough to have a wonderful aunt who would let me stay with her but my situation was anything but permanent. As I sat in my chair writing silly paragraphs, pages, occasionally chapters I couldn’t help but feel this nagging sensation in my stomach. You know that feeling reminding you that you’re going to fail and that everything was in vain.
This of course made me contemplate over my life, my family, and my expectations. I am that kind of boy who overthinks everything and has expectations that reach the sky. When I was a boy I always believed I could be somebody, but somewhere along the way I adopted a “But I am only me.” Copout when I was expected to do anything or become something that seemed larger than life. I wanted to be an author all my life; I also wanted to be a cook, firefighter, cop, superhero, and singer. One by one each of these dreams fell apart. For me it started with realism and then other things joined in. Like when I found out I didn’t have the talent to sing, or the bravery to run into a burning building. At first I blamed my parents, then my teacher, and finally society. However, sitting here in front of my computer screen I finally had no choice but to admit the truth; it was all entirely my fault.
I typed some words out to tell a small story; maybe it would turn into a big story. About an hour went by and I had managed to make a mess of words. I contemplated going back to my old story that I had already written ten thousand words for and had somewhat of an idea on what to write next. The thing is I didn’t like that story because like the one I just wrote it was all a mess of words. It was poorly thrown words onto a screen with bad plot ideas as I desperately try to hit the word mark every day. I was in a program called Nanowrimo and it gave you a month to write an entire novel. I was using this as a way of seeing if I could become an author and more importantly could I finish something that I started. I had a horrible habit of never completing anything I started and it upset me. It wasn’t that I didn’t want to complete the things I started writing. It was just that things got in the way. Well I guess it was more like I allowed things to get in my way.
All this thinking was driving me nuts and I sat up and removed my laptop from my lap so I could get up and get something to eat. I left the small mess that I call a room and went to make something quick to eat. I opened the door and the lights from the kitchen irritated my eyes. I walked past the bathroom and into the kitchen to take a look inside the fridge. I could hear the cats scatter everywhere as if their lives depended on it. Somewhere in the darkness was a “Hey Son are you hungry?” It was my mom she also lived here and usually slept on the couch. I wondered if I had awoke her since the living room lights were off. “I’m getting something.” I replied and she acknowledged. I hated talking to my mother even in short bursts like this. She was a reminder of what I would become if I didn’t pull this off. I grabbed some bread, ham, cheese, and mayo then made a sandwich. I looked to the clock to see the time. It hanged on the wall above the stove and read twelve fifty eight.

I had been up all night thinking of what to write and still I didn’t have anything to work with. The pressure was building. I grabbed my sandwich then proceeded to head back inside my cave. Somewhere in the distance I heard a good bye from my mother I didn’t reply. I began writing about random crap hoping it would all come together but it didn’t; it never did. It took a while but I finally gave up for the night and headed off to dreamland. I enjoyed my dreams because in my dreams the stress of being a failure wasn’t usually present.
Morning came and I woke up to my aunt nagging at me. “Luis are you going to get up?” “You need to get up earlier!” I staggered to my feet and sat in my chair. “I am up!” I yelled to make sure she could hear me. I carried a vicious headache and was in no shape to continue writing. I looked around the mess I called a room. Cloths scattered on the floor, old toy boxes stacked in the corner, and a small walkway from my bed to my door. I grabbed a new set of cloths from my clothing rack and went to take a shower. I always loved taking showers because they helped my muscles relax and allowed me to escape the cold. Occasionally I would moan in the shower if I thought no one was listening. I usually do weird things like that. I slept on nothing more than a mattress and that had the negative side effect for a stressful back. A warm shower was the only cure I knew of how to fix it. Sure you could get a bunch of medicine but why pay so much money when a shower is more enjoyable. I had the annoying habit of taking showers three or four times a day. Especially if it was winter.
I figured I might as well take to the streets today and who knows maybe I will find inspiration along the way. I grabbed my jacket and headed outside; it was cold. We were coming up on winter and in Maine the winters can get really cold. Well I guess it probably gets cold everywhere but I really hate the cold so I naturally don’t like winters. I walked along the ramp leading from the broken down porch. It was a mess with trash bags all around and cans decorating the lawn. It wasn’t always like this. When I was a kid this place was spotless but I guess my aunt has gotten too old. I stopped to imagine the lawn during its glory days and then moved on. It would be worth noting that my aunt is actually my great aunt. I felt bad for leaving without saying a word to her but lately I just didn’t have the courage to talk to anyone, especially family.
I walked down the street looking at all the houses. I couldn’t help but love the variety of color they used on their houses. Some were green others red, white, or blue. I always wanted a house of my own and I always wondered what color I would paint it and what decorations would I hang by it, especially during the holidays. I doubt I would ever get my own house but it didn’t hurt to imagine the possibly; maybe it did but I wasn’t going to stop. Sometime after I turned on the main street I heard a “Yo, wait up?” from behind me. I turned around to see who was talking to me. It was that Trevor kid. He was very social and loved talking more than anything else. We didn’t know each other that well but he loved talking to me as I went on my walks. I waited for him to catch up. He was in a red t-shirt and wore those ripped jeans people buy these days. I never understood why they buy their jeans pre-ripped. Also why the hell was he in such casual gear. It was winter and more importantly cold! Truth be told snow had not yet descended to the ground but the wind still carried an icy tip to it.
“Hey, I was trying to get your attention down the road?” he gave out a chuckle and I gave out an apology, “Sorry.”
“Don’t be sorry I just wanted to talk is all.”
“Cool.”
“So where are you heading.”
“The gas station.”
“Which one, wait don’t tell me, Irvings.”
I wasn’t that shocked that he knew as we have walked together before but was I really that predicable? I gave a sigh and let out a forced, “Yup.” Hoping he would run off and get distracted by something else, maybe an ice cream truck. Usually I don’t mind his pointless conversations but I wasn’t in the mood today “So when are you going to ask that Sara chick out?” He had a goofy smile on his face and I was caught off guard. “Wait, what?” “I’ve seen you and Sara talk and I know you like her.” I was a bit turned away about the lack of tact he had and how much he had been paying attention to my life. I almost expected him to turn around and say something like you should stop staring at a computer screen in the dark its bad for you. “I have no interest in dating.” I tried to deny it but I couldn’t lie to myself she was cute but she was also to damn new and that made me nervous. “You mind if I ask her out?” “I don’t mind.” I had no idea how to answer Trevor’s question right but I figured if Sara liked him then she liked him and there was nothing more to it.
We walked on the sidewalk next to each other. He did most of the talking as I just acknowledged. He was really annoying but still I didn’t hate him. In fact I would say I actually enjoyed his company on most days. He was the only person who would start a conversation with me first. The only exception being authority figures. Even if it was about assumed crushes that I may or may not have and terrible jokes that required an audience. Although my headache did made it hard for me to stand his awkward laughter and jokes. He was basically a comedian without the job. He would run around telling people jokes he heard or thought was funny. Some of them were funny and some of them were lame and awkward. I think the lame and awkward ones was his favorite since he got such a kick out of people’s reactions. Eventually we came to a stop sign and I stopped to look both ways; he just crossed.
Realizing that I had stop Trevor stopped dead in the road. He must have felt the need to say something. “Hey man what are you doing we are not in town yet?” He gave out a cocky laugh like being careful was a bad thing. “What do you mean I am just checking to see if there are any cars?” There wasn’t any and we crossed the road. “Yea but there are never any cars this town is dead.” He had a point we were still in the outskirts of town where people lived. You only saw cars during the early morning when they left for work or when they came home late in the evening. Also the town was so small there wasn’t even a Wal-Mart to be found. It was noon time and none of those things were happening. It was a shame I liked seeing cars on the move. It made the area feel more alive after all traffic was the sign of an important area. “You are just too careful all the time.” I agreed rather than risking a fight.


A sharp wind blew into town and I tried to fight shivering. I was afraid of another stupid comment from the Trevor. However, it was clear he was shivering and I decided to give a comment for a change. “You should have worn more cloths or maybe a jacket.” He gave a laugh, “You are right.” We laughed at each other’s silly flaws down the road and my headache became all the more distant. We made cracks at my caution and his lack of caution and in many ways we were as opposite as black and white. That sounded like a racial comment being that he is black and I am white but I didn’t share it with him. Otherwise he may go off and tell the world that I came up with this joke and then I wouldn’t dare to show my face in town again.
We arrived down town where I turned into the gas station to get a fountain drink. Three cars were parked out front which meant somebody was in town today. An old man sat at the bench reading a book, “The Catcher in the Rye.” And I couldn’t help but make a conversation. That was my favorite books and I never met someone with an interest in it before. Most people treated it as that book they were forced to read in school and I have never seen someone reading it outside of some program that made them read it. “Hey, how do you like the book?” The elderly man raised his finger to signal me to wait for a moment. He was a small man only about five feet and five inches or maybe I was tall at six feet and two inches, either way he was very well dressed. He wore a fancy jacket that was black with white stripes that looked as if they were stitched in. He also wore a wonderful black hat one of those classical hats. You know those kinds of hats you would see in history books about the twentieth century with that round oval top.
He also wore some big round glasses that were bifocals. I guess age can be hard on the eyes. I also needed glasses for my short sightedness but I never bother to put them on. I always take them off when my ears start to hurt and forget where I would put them. The man placed his finger on a word and said it under his breathe, “Sort of.” Well I guess that was a phrase but I thought it was kind of funny that he would try remembering this phrase out of all the others. ‘Sort of’ appeared a lot and while I didn’t know how often it was used in that novel I knew it was a lot. The man closed his book and gave me a smile, “I enjoy it but the poor lad never dares to see the world.”
“What do you mean?” I asked the old man skipping pleasantries. I was just too damn curious to know why but after I asked I feared that my eagerness would upset him; he didn’t seem to mind. “The poor lad is so afraid of losing his innocence and stopping time he doesn’t take the risks to live, oh but how rude of me I forgot my introductions my name is Ellen.” Ellen closed his book and stuck it in his pocket. It looked like one of those pocket things that you used to carry a phone inside. To be more specific one of those cell phones that people carried around. “My name is Luis Evergreen.” I couldn’t help but give a smile. He moved over to let some room for me to sit down “Luis would you like to sit and chat with an old man?” There was something about Ellen that was up lifting and Trevor had already gone inside to chat up Sara. I figured I would get nothing out of talking to them besides being a third wheel. “Sure!”


Ellen carried most of the conversation talking more about the books writing than its content. He argued that the greatest gift of the novel was not the plot but the text. The writing and words the author used to reach his audience in a way that some other books choice not to do. In this modern time we get so caught up in the plot, action, and drama of a story that we stop paying attention to the words. I agreed. We talked about what it meant to be a Catcher in the Rye and why would someone want to be one. And most importantly he had a way of asking questions about the book that seemed like he was asking questions about me. One such question really got me thinking, “If it is impossible to stop time does that make wanting to want to stop time pointless?” At the time I said, “Sort of.” but I hadn’t given it much thought. Still he didn’t challenge my answer or even asked why, it was kinda nice. I think the best part of talking to Ellen was it was like I had someone who understood me and in a way he was like the grandfather I never had.
Most of my life I had been different from the common crowd always feeling awkwardly out of place. The most common indifference between me and my classmates when I was in school was music. I am not a huge fan of music, especially modern pop, and when I did listen to music it was always melodies. You know artists like Beethoven, Mozart, and to name a more modern artist Lindsey Sterling. I was a book person who was also an invert which made me a good combination for a social outcast in a school who worshiped sports, music, and social gatherings. Still it is no one’s fault but my own. Looking back they were always a nice crowd. I was just distant.
Eventually though like all conversations it end and this one was no different. Trevor came outside and Ellen had to go. His ride was waiting. It was a classic black buggy with an old lady driving, must be his wife I thought. Their car seemed to be in great condition despite looking like it was from another generation. It looked like one of the cars made in the early twenties but was with just a few minor scratches. He seemed to have a theme about him. He waved good bye and I did the same in return. I turned my attention to Trevor who was eager to know who Ellen was. “Was that your grandfather?” He asked hoping I would tell him some epic stories. “No, just a friend” I said. I had wondered if I would ever see Ellen again. Did he move here or was he just passing through the area? He looked like the kind of man that would have business elsewhere. “Well what do you say we head back?” Trevor was excited about something. “You know Sara I got her number!” “You do you mind?” I was surprised that he actually got her number and was kind of jealous. Sara was pretty and kind and I had a crush on her ever since we first met her back in middle school. “No I don’t if she likes you, she likes you.”
I guess it didn’t matter after all I would never of had the courage to ask her. On our way back he kept talking about how he was getting lucky and I thought to myself, is that the kind of girl Sara was, of course that was the kind of girl she was. Everyone was obsessed with sex; everyone except for me it seemed. I was the 20 year old virgin and I think Trevor knew it. Although he wouldn’t dare to say anything about it, would he? He probably would if he knew and it didn’t matter I wasn’t ashamed. He eventually apologized by saying “Sorry man for stealing your thunder man but Sara and me just hit it off.” As if that was supposed to make me feel less jealous but it didn’t bother me because if I had his confidence I would have asked her out. What bothered me was how he talked about her as if she was some kind of trophy or achievement. I guess that was just how he talked; I guess that is just how everyone talked.
We went our separate ways and I found myself homebound. As I walked up the mess that was our front lawn and as I reached the porch I was greeted by my mom who was smoking a cigarette. Before she said anything she broke out in an insane laughter. She tried to mumble out some words. “Son, how is your littler walk?” My mom was a wonderful women but she couldn’t form a sentence right to save her life. It was for this reason I both pitied and hated her. “It was good I am going to my room.” I relied hoping to save myself the horror of communicating with her. I felt bad for it but I can’t understand her when she starts talking.
I went in to find my aunt asleep in the chair. She was always sleeping around but then again so was I at least she was retired and had a good reason. I figured I best get to writing otherwise there was no way in hell I was going to finish my novel. I also didn’t want Robin to get even further ahead of me. She was the one who got me into Nanowrimo and she had already reached over ten thousand words and counting. I often thought that Robin was the women version of me except she was going places and I was stuck at home standing still. Still she never ever mentioned anything about it and was always nice to me. She even shared interest in talking to me some more when we went our separate ways. Although she was a state a way so we only talked on social media sites like Facebook. I can’t call that a friend, can I?
I turned off my light and closed the blinds. The sunlight had no problem shining through them though. I guess it was just one of those days that I couldn’t get my room dark enough. I don’t know why but I loved my room being dark. It made me think more and helped keep me entertained when silly Youtube videos just wouldn’t do it anymore. Also I found the writing I do in the dark was a thousand times better. I opened up Word and started to write some more. This time it was about some mythical dragon that was out for love. I was terrible at making a good plot and my lack of knowledge about dragons got me on Google which lead me looking up how dragons kissed, to can they shape shift? and finally to little kitten videos were kittens do cute things. My time on the internet worked that way and I thought of it being kind of funny. Here we have an infinite pool of information were a man or women with enough willpower and know how can learn more about history than those before its time ever could and yet we spent our time on Farmville or looking at cute kitten videos.
Soon after my time on Youtube one of our kittens came in. We called her Baby because she was so cute and small also she was blind which seemed to add to her cute behavior. I couldn’t help but feel that all of my complaining and despair was out of place and unnecessary. Well at least for the time when she was in my room sniffing my feet. You know those kinds of things kittens do. When my mom and aunt first brought them home I felt like this would be a disaster and it turned out that I was right. She had gotten a nasty eye infection and they didn’t want to take her to the vet because it cost too much money. Over the course of a month I tried telling them something was wrong and she needed medical attention but they wouldn’t listen until one day I laid down and put her on my chest and when I looked into her eyes I swore her eyes had scabs on them. My heart jumped a foot and I set her down and I went to give them hell. The point is she never squawked or cried and when she got help she was still kind of blind but she never seemed sad. Still it hurts to look into her eyes because she carries big blue stains from where the infection was. I made a habit to do so even though I felt guilty because she deserves it and if she could see I didn’t want her to see me looking away.
I held Baby for a while and petted her. She was always kind of timid and I don’t blame her. In that way we were a lot of alike. Like all cats she eventually went her own way and I went back to writing until dinner. This time I had the perfect plan to do a World War II story and maybe do some research on the event. After all if I am going to write in the time period of World War II having some facts to throw the history nerds would be great. After all I was one of those history nerds and I always drew more satisfaction when a story using facts I knew. After some “productive” time on the internet dinner was ready. “Luis come eat dinner is ready!” My aunt hollered at me I could hear her holler to my mother as well. I spent dinner at the table as my mother and aunt spent it in the kitchen watching television. I couldn’t help but prefer to eat at a table rather than in my own room or out in the living room. I never was allowed to eat in my room when I lived with my dad. For good reason I was extremely forgetful and would forget to take care of my dishes. Trust me take care of your dishes. Nothing is worse than the smell of food you forgot to take care off.
I went back to my room when finished and began to write my story. It was something to do with a private named John White. The interesting narrative to that story was that he had dark skin so yea I think you know why I skipped that idea. Although it lead to a series of idea like what would it be like being a mechanic in World War II to what it would be like being a women dealing with the layoffs after World War II. Still they were ideas that never made it past the first chapter. It wasn’t that I wasn’t getting inspiration I was always getting inspiration and ideas but for some reason it all just fell apart time and time again. Soon enough the night was upon me and I was off to bed earlier than usual. I just didn’t have it in me for another long night. Still I wondered if I would see Ellen again. I had hoped so and maybe I could ask him for some advice.
Morning came fast too fast. I tried to postpone wake up time by putting a pillow over my head to covering my head with my entire blanket. The sun was determined to get me up and eventually it won. When I got up I looked at the clock it read six o’clock a.m. I almost shit myself since I usually wasn’t up this early. What time did I get to bed? First I felt like I quitted to early yesterday but then I realized I was too hungry to beat myself up. I got up and began to make myself scrambled eggs, bacon, and toast. Someone once said to me that this was the American breakfast in which I replied no wonder we are getting fat. Both my aunt and mother were fast and I was finally the first to wake up. It wasn’t until I was finally done eating until someone got up. It was my aunt which was not surprising since my mother had to have gone to sleep right before I got up. Like me she was always up late.
We carried the usual formalities, “Good morning.” As my aunt made her way to the bathroom I cleaned up my dishes and went on my way. I got my cloths ready after she was done with the bathroom took a shower and got ready for the day. Today was another day I wanted to spend walking. I was hoping I would run into Ellen again but my hopes were kind of down about it. I had a battle in my head saying what if we met Ellen again but then challenging it like that is unlikely. In fact when this happens I feel as if by saying one or the other that the opposite of what I want will happen. As if my thoughts could alter the cosmos and change the world. If they could do that then I would be rich by now.
I rushed outside in nothing more than a hoodie, jeans, and t-shirt underneath. I was in a rush and didn’t give my outfit much thought until I was down the road. At that point I said it was probably too late. This time there was no Trevor and plenty of traffic. Even the local police were on the scene. It was early in the morning so it made sense. The cops usually patrolled during the night and day although one liked to walk the streets during the evenings every once in a while. I loved to stop and talk to him every once in a while. He was a good man and I don’t care what people say about cops.
I walked the street letting traffic go by and looking at the colors of the cars. I often wondered if someone ever picked a car by its color. I am sure they do after all companies have become quite good at production. I finally arrived at the gas station and no one was there. It didn’t surprise me after all what are the chances I would meet someone just because I wanted to. Still I sat at the bench and figured if he did show good and if not oh well. I waited for a half an hour tossing stories in my head as I contemplated on what kind of story would be good to write. It was the tenth and I didn’t have a word written so I had to come up with something fast or I would be doomed to fail. Ellen came by and I was so deep in thought I missed him as he went into the store. He said hello and I responded but wasn’t really with it. However, with the close of the door I snapped out of my thoughts. Still I didn’t want to rush in I thought of how it would look so I waited until he came out.
Ellen came out with a bag of groceries and a carton of milk. I smiled and waved and he opened a conversation, “What are you up to boy?” he gave that kind smile. “Nothing just thinking about stories and stuff.” I was nervous but I didn’t feel like Ellen was the kind of man to laugh at someone for what they were doing. “Really would you like to stop by at my place and share them?” I was taken off guard. Ellen was so open it was like he lived in a different time. Well come to think about it he was pretty old so I could see why he had a lot of old values. “Yea I would love to.” I offered to carry his groceries but he insisted he do it. He liked making himself useful he said. We walked down the road talking about simple things like the weather.
“How is your morning treating you?” he asked me.
“Mine is going well and yours?”
“Great! I always love the brisk air in the morning.”
Ellen had a walk to him and I wondered how he manages to stay so happy. Was he one drugs or does he live some sort of amazing secret life. When he arrived to his house I was surprised it was an apartment complex. I had always thought a man like himself would live in a classical house and his car was nowhere to be found. He must keep it in the parking lot out back or maybe it isn’t his. When we got inside his house he asked me to wait a moment as he put groceries away. His apartment from the outside looked like a hell holes but inside was like a paradise. It was well kept and his carpet was a red and green color with what looked like Christmas designs. His shelves were covered with nit knacks and all that was missing was a fire place. I guess he couldn’t have that and live in an apartment complex.
“Nice place you have.” I said as we placed out coats on the old style coat rack.
“Thanks I worked hard on it.” Ellen came out of the kitchen and sat down in one of the red chairs in the living room. There were four chairs two on each side with a stand and two lamps between them. I took the chair opposite from Ellen so I could face him.
“I am curious about your stories if you don’t mind me asking, do you write?”
“All the time.”
“Are you an author?”
“Ugh, no I don’t really have the talent for that.”
“Well I don’t see why you wouldn’t have the talent, would you like to share a story with me?”
“Well sure!”
Usually I was distant with my writing but I figured Ellen would be able to help. It seemed kind of crazy trusting a man I just met although I didn’t have much to lose. I told him about my World War II ideas and the dragon one before that. I told him how I tried to spice the details up but failed to bring anything to life. Ellen seemed to enjoy hearing my stories more than I enjoyed telling them. He seemed to enjoy everything more than I did.
“Your stories are fine it just seems like you need a little help is all, would you care to hear one of mine?” I agreed of course..