Note: This is part two from last week's Write On "Writing Workout" session. We had to choose from one of the below prompts. I actually had a couple false starts before going with the first entry.
Fiction/Nonficiton – 30 minutes
Write a flash fiction piece featuring a non-romantic relationship between two characters who love each other.
Write a nonfiction piece about a nonromantic relationship in your life.
Write a book report-style essay about love.
Three Things about Billy
I met Billy when I was seventeen. He was tall and lean, but never really mean.
I worked at the library back then, reading to children on weekend mornings and blind seniors during the late afternoon after school. When Billy found out, he said: “You know, I think I once heard of a book.”
I thought he was a blockhead. This lumbering giant of a boy that moved in next door. Not handsome, necessarily, but he had an honest look that was charming. I was bookish, not meant for beauty pageants or the prom queen. He never asked me out, and I never wrote his name in my diary with a heart around it. But until Billy died a few weeks ago at the too young age of thirty-six, I never met anyone that made me happier.
Here are three things about Billy and Me:
1. Billy chased his dog around the yard like no one else in the world could see him. You know the phrase: “Dance like no one is watching.” Well, that’s how Billy played with his dog from the time I met Billy when he was seventeen, until that cute little spaniel died when Billy was twenty-six. He first noticed me while playing with his dog. I couldn’t help it, it was like trying to catch a glimpse of a car wreck, I couldn’t look away. He waved me over, and that’s how I met Billy and his dog.
2. He called me every Sunday night at 8:15 PM sharp for 16 straight years. His first words every time was a lewd question about if I was regular. He stole that from his grandmother, who asked the same question every time she called anyone in the family. Apparently, bowel movements were important to her. We talked for exactly fifteen minutes each call. The first calls were mostly Billy, prattling on about silly things that happened at school or a face his dog made. Later, I told him about books I was reading and how I dreamed of writing the next great novel. And, you know what, he never laughed at that. In fact, he made me tell him about stories I wanted to write. Which made me think about stories I wanted to write. Which led to me writing stories. It’s funny how someone can spur you on by just taking an interest.
3. When he became engaged to Laura, he threatened to call the whole thing off when she refused to let me be his best man. I was his best friend, he told me, and if she couldn’t have me be that in the wedding party then how would Laura ever be able to handle me being in his life. They fought about this for weeks, I know, but he never budged. Laura eventually gave in, and I walked down the aisle in a mint green tuxedo that Billy had especially made to fit my female frame. If I had known about the tuxedo ahead of time, I would have rejected the entire notion to begin with. Not really. I never felt more comfortable having every eye in the place on me. Who was this woman in a green tuxedo claiming to be a best man? My first novel borrowed this premise, and it sold three million copies.
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