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artificialqueens · 5 years ago

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Level Up, Chapter Seven (Branjie) - Holtzmanns

“Mom, I’m not going on a date with your financial advisor.” Vanessa has to resist the urge to roll her eyes, knowing that her mom won’t hesitate to rip her a new one for it if she catches her.

“He’s young and tall and wears a suit.” Vanessa’s mom points the spatula in her hand in her direction. “Don’t you wanna date a suit?”

“I’m pretty sure it’s you that wants to date a suit.” Vanessa raises an eyebrow as she hops onto the counter, her legs dangling.

AN: New chapter time - thank you guys for being so patient and waiting for this one. Writing is going a bit slow for me these days, which means slower updates. To anyone who’s left a review on this story, hi I love you, thanks for being great and giving me even more motivation to write. Seeing people are actually reading and enjoying a fic because they say so is a good kick in the butt for any author’s muse. Let me know what you think of this chapter, too. As always, thank you writ for betaing <3

“Absolutely not.”

“Why not, he’s cute! And polite too, you know how much I like that.”

“He’s young and tall and wears a suit.” Vanessa’s mom points the spatula in her hand in her direction. “Don’t you wanna date a suit?”

“I’m pretty sure it’s you that wants to date a suit.” Vanessa raises an eyebrow as she hops onto the counter, her legs dangling.

Vanessa’s mom shrugs her shoulders. “Just tryna help you out, baby. You haven’t dated anyone in a while, have you? Who was the last one? That ugly looking-”

“No need to roast my exes.” Vanessa makes a face when her mom snickers.

Vanessa appreciates her mom’s intentions, but sometimes they’re a little off the mark. Or a lot off the mark, from the guys that she’s tried to set Vanessa up with lately.

It’s not as if Vanessa isn’t out to her mom. She is, or rather, has tried to be. Multiple times. The first time was in high school, when Vanessa had kissed her best friend and cried about it to her mom after her friend had started to avoid her, and her mom had told her that it was a phase that she’d grow out of. And then there was college, where Vanessa’s mom would meet her various girlfriends with brightly coloured hair and piercings and eclectic fashion senses, only to call them her close friends. It’s the difference in how Vanessa’s mom has treated her ex-boyfriends versus ex-girlfriends, paying way more attention to the boys even when they hadn’t been anything to write home about.

Vanessa’s tried. But it’s hard to make the point stick when her mom laughs off the idea of having a girlfriend, changing the subject a little too quickly. But hey, it’s better than her mom wanting to disown her. Vanessa will take it.

A knock on the door gets Vanessa out of her head and she hops off the counter to pull it open, as her mom sets the dishes on the table. The pastry box in Alexis’ hands makes Vanessa light up and she grabs it, bringing it to the table while Alexis follows her inside.

“Nice to see you, too, Vanj.” Alexis sits down across from her, sticking out her tongue.

Vanessa sticks hers out right back. “I saw you earlier today at our place, chill. Didn’t even have time to miss ya.”

Their mom, at the head of the table between them both, waves her hands. “Shh. Don’t ruin the family dinner ambiance.”

Alexis snickers. “As if we don’t get into at least two arguments every time we all have dinner together.”

The monthly dinners remind Vanessa of a simpler time when the three of them were always under one roof. Her mom would make an extra effort to get home from work on time, cook them something that they could all eat together rather than something for Alexis and Vanessa to reheat when they got home from school. It’s nice that no matter how old they get, the dinners have stayed the same. The dishes are the ones that Vanessa’s enjoyed since being a kid, ones that she’s tried to replicate in her own kitchen with little success. But at least she still gets to enjoy them now, as an adult, at her mom’s.

“Pass me the rice.” Alexis holds her hands out, wiggling her fingers, and Vanessa’s about to reach for the corningware before noticing the glinting on Alexis’ wrist.

“Where’s that bracelet from? Damn, Rob splurged. Good for him.” Vanessa has to admit, Rob doesn’t have bad taste. The bracelet on Alexis’ wrist is delicate, the stones on it sparkling under the light.

“It’s from dad.” The nonchalant tone of Alexis’ voice makes Vanessa’s fork clang harder on her plate than she intends it to.

She has to resist the urge to roll her eyes. “Really? He’s buying your love now? That’s what it’s come to?”

“Don’t be jealous that he’s buying me gifts and not you.” Alexis sniffs, before taking another sip of her drink. “At least I’m making an effort with him.”

“I’m not jeal-”

“Stubbornness doesn’t get you anywhere. He says he misses you, ‘cept you won’t give him the time of the day.” Alexis shrugs, and Vanessa can feel her hands balling into fists.

“‘Cause he doesn’t deserve it, that’s why.”

“Not that he’d want you around with that attitude anyway.” Alexis raises her eyebrows, and Vanessa’s seeing red, she really is, because fuck her sister-

Vanessa’s mom’s hand is up at her shoulders, blocking her from standing up before she can do so. “Don’t punch your sister.”

“I’m going.” Vanessa growls out, trying to scoot her chair back because she hates it, the smugness radiating off of Alexis for absolutely no reason. When she has nothing to be proud about.

“No you’re not. Sit down and eat your food.” Their mom looks tired as she takes a drink of her wine, nearly draining the glass.

Vanessa scowls. “How do you not care about this? Doesn’t it bother you?”

Because heaven knows, it bothers Vanessa. It doesn’t make sense, their dad wanting to connect now after not giving a shit for so long, and why is Alexis playing right into it? Why should their dad just get whatever he wants whenever it’s convenient for him?

Their mom sighs. “Because I am an adult, and so is Alexis. And so are you, if you’d mature a bit. It’s not a bad idea to give people second chances.”

“He’s not buying my affection back. Fuck that.” Vanessa crosses her arms. “How’d he even afford that bracelet, anyway? He’s never been the type to be financially stable.”

“If you’d ever talked with him, you’d know he’s turning his life around. He’s doing better.” Alexis’ smug tone is nauseating, enough to make Vanessa’s skin crawl.

It all sounds so fake, so put on. Like their dad’s trying hard to impress them and the fact that Alexis is buying into it? Pathetic, in Vanessa’s opinion.

She can do better. They all can. Not that Alexis seems to want to do so.

Vanessa’s brain feels like it’s floating inside of a dark cloud as she leaves her mother’s apartment with Alexis. The subway is only a few blocks away, but it feels so much longer to Vanessa while trying not to talk to her sister, as to not give her the satisfaction she wants. Because she knows Alexis thinks she’s in the right, and that she always is, as the older one. That Vanessa’s eventually going to give in and follow her advice.

Her phone buzzes as they wait at a busy intersection, and Vanessa almost misses the signal to cross when she sees the picture that pops up on her screen.

It’s a cat so fluffy that it’s reminiscent of a mountain lion, and Vanessa can’t help but squeal. Brooke’s mentioned her cats before but Vanessa’s never seen pictures of them, because she’d definitely remember such a sight.

The cat in the picture is stretched out on a couch, his paws up in the air as he sleeps. Vanessa hits the text notification that follows, trying to ignore the smile growing on her own face.

BLH: Henry’s as excited for our practice tomorrow as we are. His hands are already protecting his face.

VVM: WHY IS YOUR CAT SO CUTE

VVM: sorry no caps lock

VVM: but also yes caps lock

BLH: You should meet him and his brother sometime!

VVM: PLEASE

“Alexis? We should get a cat.” Vanessa nudges her sister as they descend the steps towards the subway.

Alexis rolls her eyes. “Oh, so you’re talking to me now?”

Vanessa doesn’t respond right away, in favour of looking at the second picture that pops up on her phone, the grey cat sleeping on Brooke’s coffee table. “Bet Rob would like one.”

“He already gets enough p-”

“Don’t complete that sentence, ew!” Vanessa pretends to dry heave as her sister cracks up, the ice that has been building up between them the entire evening breaking into pieces.

Vanessa knows Alexis and her will be fine because they always are, for how much they bicker. It would just be easier if neither of them were so stubborn. Not that Vanessa’s going to be the one to give in this time.

Brooke’s already in the gym when Vanessa pushes her way in the next morning, trying to hide the yawn behind her hand that betrays the fact that it’s 6:45 and the sun still hasn’t risen outside. Vanessa’s eyebrows push together when Brooke spins almost comically to face her, coffee in one hand and breakfast burrito in the other.

“Why are you so perky this morning?” Vanessa herself isn’t, that’s for sure. Not when she’s used to pressing snooze on her alarms until the last possible moment before she has to get up for work.

Brooke shrugs, though her energy is nervous, her foot tapping on the floor. “This is our first training session.”

“You’ve been training me for months.” Vanessa replies, raising an eyebrow as she does, and Brooke shrugs.

“Yeah, but this is the first actual session. I’m coaching you. Trying to get things into your brain.”

“You’ve done that plenty with your terrible singing. There’s no way I can get that belting out of my brain, ever.” Vanessa snickers, reaching out to pat Brooke’s shoulder as she pouts. “Kidding.”

“I’m a great singer. I got the gumption,” Brooke sniffs, “I can’t help it when Celine is on.”

“Is that why your workout playlist has so many ballads?”

Vanessa ducks out of the way when Brooke grumbles, reaching over to shove her shoulder. “Tell me why I should coach you again?”

“‘Cause I’m a delight, and you know it.” Vanessa grins, batting her eyelashes, and Brooke rolls her eyes.

“Go get changed, you delight. We have stuff to do.”

Vanessa pauses at the locker room doors once she’s in her workout clothes at the sight in front of her. There’s a mosaic of pages ripped out of notebooks scattered along the floor, interspersed with diagrams drawn on chart paper, all neatly arranged while Brooke sits in the middle.

“Wanna explain?” Vanessa’s not sure if Brooke hears her at first, from the way she’s furiously scribbling on the page in her lap, but then Brooke’s head comically bobs up as her fingers tap on her knee.

Brooke shifts in place. “Okay, so I didn’t exactly know where to start. I mean, I was thinking I could try and think back to how my dad used to coach me but that’s not a box worth opening right now, y’know? I mean I could, but repression is way more tempting. So then I was looking up coaching methods and what works for one person may not work for another, and then I started thinking about how I really didn’t know what style worked for you best and what would be the most effective way for us to collaborate and…” Brooke cuts herself off as she takes a breath, weakly pointing to the mess around her. “So we have this.”

Vanessa whistles, crouches down beside Brooke while trying not to rustle any of the papers. “There’s a lot to untangle here.”

“We can’t go wrong with being too prepared, right? At least we can try everything and then maybe one thing is going to work and I’ll actually be useful as a coach.” Brooke shrugs sheepishly.

“What are you out here talking about, useful as a coach? You’re plenty useful. Look at how much I’ve improved over the last few months.” Vanessa throws a look at Brooke, who for once, looks slightly self conscious, from the way she fiddles with her sleeves. “You’re telling me our practices together haven’t made a difference in my fighting skills?”

“Maybe a little,” Brooke admits, “but how do you know any of it was me? You’re taking classes at the same time, you’re building that muscle memory. That plays a big part.”

“And how would I build muscle memory if it wasn’t for our practices?” Brooke looks unconvinced, so Vanessa carries on. “Look. I ain’t asking you ‘cause I think you’re an Olympic champion boxer, or anything like that. I’m asking you ‘cause you know your shit and you can handle me in the gym and know how to get me to cool down. I need that.”

Vanessa thinks back to their last practice, when all Brooke had to do was hand Vanessa a granola bar to give her some sugar and Vanessa found herself able to focus, less frustrated during their drills. It’s almost like Brooke is learning the little parts of her that don’t necessarily come up in conversation, more so the ones that only become obvious when you truly pay attention.

She nudges Brooke’s side. “I don’t care if you haven’t coached before. I’ve never been a boxer before any of this shit. You think I know what I’m doing? I don’t care if you don’t know what you’re doing.”

“Okay, but I really, really, don’t know what I’m doing-”

Vanessa shrugs. “Well then, we make a good team. If we’re gonna do this blindly, at least we’ve got each other for the journey.”

Brooke gathers up some of the papers around her, holding them out in front of Vanessa. “We won’t be doing it completely blindly, though, I was thinking we could try out methods that are evidence based and see what works the best and what leads to carryover-”

“I don’t know why you’re bringing up some academic shit right now, in a gym of all places, but what we’re gonna do is try shit until something sticks.” Vanessa grabs the pile of papers in Brooke’s hands, smoothes them out.

Brooke snorts. “That’s basically what I said.”

“Be less boring about it, then.”

It’s enough to get Brooke smiling, though, reducing the nervous energy that is radiating off of her in waves. “Get your gear on. We’re going to get to work.”

“That’s more like it.”

And so it begins. Vanessa’s alarm clock is set an hour and a half earlier every morning, the sun rising in tandem with her body heat during her first workout of each day. Brooke doesn’t pull any punches with the conditioning routines that she drafts every morning - Vanessa had thought in the past that Kameron was bad with the cardio and strength outside of the ring, but Brooke’s making her feel like she’s a beginner again, from how much her muscles are complaining with every move she makes.

Take today, for example. The circuit that Brooke’s written out on her clipboard is torturous, positively torturous, and Vanessa knows that she has to get through it eight times, but she’s only on her third round and she’s already about to collapse, never to get up again. She wipes the sweat off of her forehead before resting her hands on her knees, bending over in half to try and catch her breath, before Brooke’s voice behind her rings like a bell.

“Mountain climbers, let’s go! No stopping.”

“Bitch, do you want me to die?” Vanessa pants out as she gets on all fours nonetheless, her arms shaking as she presses her palms into the ground.

“No. But what I don’t want is for your endurance to putter out during a match at the worst time. You’re gonna have to build it, and not only that, but learn to push through when it feels like you can’t.”

Maybe if Vanessa wasn’t currently dripping sweat onto the mats below her, her arms about to give out, then she’d be moved by the almost poetic words. But she’s too out of breath to care, especially when all she can focus on as she stands back up is the way her legs feel like jelly and her arms like anchors that are about to break off.

Brooke’s look is sympathetic as Vanessa rolls out her shoulders, preparing to do her set of burpees next. “It’s not always going to be this difficult. Your body is going to build and build and build that strength and endurance and soon, you’ll be able to do all of it without breaking a sweat.”

Vanessa has to pause as she crouches down to shoot Brooke a look. “See, I’d believe that, pants on fire, if you weren’t making the circuits longer and more intense every damn session. How’s it gonna get easier if you keep upping the difficulty?”

“You haven’t died yet, have you?” Brooke sips on her iced coffee almost languidly, not a hair out of place, and Vanessa has to hold back a grumble.

She’s going to kill Brooke one of these days, she really is, if Brooke doesn’t kill her with these workouts first.

But Vanessa does trust Brooke, and so keeps pushing herself, follows each routine as best as she can and not skipping reps if she can help it. Sure, she can’t move her muscles without pain, and Silky and A’keria look at her funny even though she swears that her waddling isn’t because she’s getting some good dick, she’s just working out, that’s all, but…it’s worth it. It has to be worth it, Vanessa isn’t going to allow herself to believe anything else. She’s pushing her body to the limit for a purpose, and that purpose is to kick some ass in a boxing ring and feel good about it.

That’s what Vanessa tells herself at least, as more and more of her hours not spent at work become dedicated to training, going for massages for her sore muscles, and watching old boxing matches instead of Netflix whenever Brooke gives her boxers to research. It doesn’t feel like it’s a drastic change because it’s still fun to Vanessa, pushing her in ways that she’s never expected.

A’keria gives Vanessa an apprehensive look, though, when she hides one too many yawns behind her palm one day at work. She’s not necessarily falling asleep as she does the client’s makeup, but her morning workout today had been more grueling than usual, and having to stand for hours on end at the moment isn’t doing her sore limbs any favours.

“Can I ask you something, Vanj?” A’keria’s eyes remain on the client in front of her, the comb in between her fingers expertly parting the woman’s hair.

Vanessa squints her eyes as she blends the shadows on her client’s crease, trying to get both eyes to match. “Yeah, what?”

“Why are you doing all of this? The boxing, the gym?” A’keria looks up at Vanessa, the motions of her hands stalled. “What’s the point?”

“Didn’t I tell you at the beginning? Alexis made me so I’d stop blowing up in her face.” It may be the short answer, Vanessa knows, but it works for now.

A’keria sighs, and her eyes are too knowing, too willing to look into Vanessa’s soul. “Sure, I get a couple of classes here and there. But you’re running yourself ragged.”

Vanessa scoffs. “Am not.”

Because she’s not. It’s just what she needs to do, and how’s she going to get anywhere if she doesn’t? The next tournament is coming up soon, and if she does well in this one at the higher level then hey, maybe she can compete even more regularly and maybe have a proper match and-

“Just promise me that you’re taking care of yourself. And I don’t want an empty promise of you just nodding your head and saying yes, Kiki, I will, I want an actual promise that you’re gonna put yourself first.” A’keria points her comb towards Vanessa and she feels like she’s five, being reprimanded by her kindergarten teacher.

“I am putting myself first. Have you seen my guns? That’s self love, baby.” Vanessa flexes her bicep, pretends to give it a kiss and it’s worth it when the client in front of Vanessa lets out a giggle, and even more so when A’keria rolls her eyes.

“Tell me why I still care about your stupid ass.”

Vanessa doesn’t miss a beat. “‘Cause you love me.”

“Somehow.” A’keria mutters, turning back towards her model. “But if you don’t take care of yourself while doing this boxing nonsense, I’m gonna have to whoop your ass.”

“Duly noted.” Vanessa snickers, and it’s enough for A’keria, whose frown lines smooth out between her eyebrows. “Didn’t know you were so worried ‘bout me.”

A’keria shoots her a look. “Why wouldn’t I be? You’re one of my best friends. And who else would listen to me griping about my man? You think Silky pays any attention to anything but Jerry Springer on the TV?”

“You’ve got a point there. So, update me,” Vanessa leans towards A’keria, a conspiratorial tone in her voice, “are y’all back together yet? Or are you still leaving him on read for exactly seventy two hours before texting him back? Which, by the way, makes no sense as a strategy.”

“It’s kept him for this long, hasn’t it?” A’keria shrugs her shoulders, a proud smile playing on her lips. “He always comes back. It’s like I have him on a rubber band that always snaps back into place. Never fails.”

“That makes no damn sense, and you know it. But men never do.”

Vanessa’s glad she’s not with a guy for now. She’s always found it so confusing, with the games and the signals that inevitably get crossed and the misunderstandings and it’s much easier, really, hearing about it secondhand from her friends.

Not that being interested in girls can be any better, from what she notices at their next practice before the next tournament. Vanessa had her session with Brooke in the morning and she’s back now hours later in the gym, a place that she feels like she never leaves anymore, curled up on a bench in the locker room and watching the scene that’s unfolding in front of her.

To any ordinary bystander, this scenario would be representative of any millennials - a girl swiping through Tinder with her friends providing commentary beside her. But what Vanessa really sees is Monique showing off the various pictures that pop up on her phone, while remaining completely oblivious to Monet sulking on the bench that is perpendicular to her. Sulking may be a stretch, but Vanessa can tell that the force with which Monet tugs on the zipper of her gym bag isn’t typical - it’s a sign that she’s unhappy with the situation.

“What about this girl? She put a quote from Shark Tale in her bio. And she lives on the east side. Imma swipe right.” Monique holds up her phone, and the brunette on her screen is cute, yes, but Monet’s shoulders slump a little and it becomes just a little bit harder to react in a blase way.

“Uh, yeah. Super cute. Love that.” Vanessa gives Monet a thumbs up, and she can feel Asia’s elbow in her side because of how unconvincing she is but hey, she’s trying.

She scoots down slightly on the bench, leans over to whisper. “What do you expect me to even say?”

“I dunno, but flashing a thumbs up ain’t gonna do the trick.” Asia mutters under her breath, jerking her head towards Monet, who’s begun to braid her hair with a scowl on her face.

Vanessa shrugs her shoulders, trying to keep her voice from exploding as much as it wants to. “So what the hell do we do?”

“What do you mean, what do we do? We don’t do anything because they’re adults, and they can sort it out themselves.” Asia’s look is pointed, one that Vanessa delicately chooses to ignore.

“We can’t do that. They’ll be miserable. Neither of them even realizes how much they like each other, and they’ll just keep doing this stupid dance.” Vanessa chances a glance towards Monique, who’s slowly lowering her phone back towards herself after Monet turns away with a curt nod. “This is ridiculous.”

Asia sighs. “You think they’re gonna hear a word we say? Hey, dumbasses, you both have a crush on your best friend, spoiler alert, it’s each other. They’re gonna tell us that we’re being silly and they’ll be in even more denial.”

Vanessa bites her lip, because the jealousy that’s radiating off of Monet is hard to miss, except apparently for Monique, who shuts off her phone and sighs as she stands up. “Ugh. You’re right. Doesn’t make this shit easier to watch.”

Vanessa keeps an eye on them throughout the class, nearly catching a jab in the face from Asia in the process. Monet and Monique seem to be back to their normal selves, bickering as they practice their drills but Vanessa doesn’t miss the lingering glance from Monet as Monique fills up her water bottle, or the way that Monique opens up her mouth to say something, eyes wide, as they finish an exercise before abruptly closing it. Vanessa feels like she’s watching a movie where she just wants to yell at the main characters to kiss already, except it’s two of her friends who should be together but are only now beginning to realize how much they like each other.

“Don’t do it.” Brooke’s holding back a smile at her desk when Vanessa falls into the chair across from her once the class is over, after regaling Brooke with Monique and Monet’s situation.

“Not doing anything. But I want to.” Vanessa slouches in her seat, resting her cheek on her palm. “Those two clowns are perfect for each other. Hell, I thought they were already together when I first started here.”

It’s not a lie. Vanessa remembers the way that Monique and Monet would always finish each other’s sentences, and be holding on to each other in some form or another. They still do, though Vanessa does notice more hesitancy lately in the way they reach out, more tentativeness in their words.

Brooke shakes her head, leaning forward on her desk. “You have to let them work it out themselves. Forcing something between them when neither of them seems fully ready is only going to lead to a mess.”

“You say that as if we’re all not already a mess.”

Brooke snorts. “True. You most of all.”

“Rude-”

“Kidding.”

“Good, you better be.” Vanessa sniffs, though she can’t keep a straight face for long, not when Brooke’s already holding back a laugh.

Brooke shrugs, thumbing through a pile of papers on the corner of her desk before pulling one from the stack, turning it towards Vanessa. The flyer for the upcoming tournament is a bit of an eyesore with the neon colours, but Vanessa tries to ignore the attempts at graphic design as Brooke points at the upcoming date. “Isn’t the tournament that you all signed up for coming up soon, anyway? It’s at least a three hour drive to get there. Maybe the two of them will talk it out during the ride.”

“Or they’ll ignore the huge elephant in the room and just pretend like absolutely nothing is going on.” Vanessa shrugs. “I feel like it could go either way.”

“Sooner or later, they’ll reach a point where they have no choice but to confront it. And when they do, they’ll see what’s been in front of them this whole time.” Brooke leans back in her own seat, and Vanessa can’t help but raise an eyebrow.

“That’s somehow the sappiest thing I’ve ever heard you say. Are you a secret romantic?”

Brooke makes a face. “Most definitely not. I’ll take a comedy over watching something like The Notebook any day.”

Vanessa’s mouth drops open. “You take that back. That’s my favourite movie!”

“The Notebook? Really? You can’t call me sappy if that’s your favourite. Do you cry every time you watch it, too?”

“Maybe?” Vanessa raises her hands in surrender. “I can’t help it! It just tugs on the heartstrings.”

“Why watch it if it just makes you sad?” Brooke has confusion written across her face, and Vanessa has to pause while she thinks of an answer.

“I dunno. It’s sad but it’s a good sad, y’know? The kind that makes you feel something ‘cause even if there’s loss they still had so much love, and those moments are the ones that make everything else worth going through.”

Vanessa can’t help the longing in her voice because as silly as it sounds, she wants something like that. Something worth fighting for. Maybe it’s cliche, maybe it’s the thoughts of a teenage Vanessa from all those years ago who’d watched the movie for the very first time, but she still wants that feeling.

But who knows. Teenage Vanessa had also wanted a perm back in the day, and that had been a mess that had taken years to grow out.

“You’re the secret romantic between the two of us.” Brooke tilts her head and Vanessa shrugs, because she can’t deny it, not really.

“Who said it was a secret? I got taste between the two of us.” Vanessa can’t help but snicker at Brooke’s mock offended face.

“Just for that, we’re starting half an hour earlier tomorrow for training.”

Vanessa though, is unperturbed. “Liar. You hate waking up early as it is. I know you too well.”

“Maybe.” But the way Brooke’s eyes are glimmering, the way she has a grin of her own, somehow makes Vanessa want to know her even more.

#rpdr fanfiction #brooke lynn hytes #vanessa vanjie mateo #branjie #lesbian au #level up #holtzmanns

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thelastspeecher · 6 years ago

Note

The AU where Stan goes through the portal— Stan and Angie’s first holiday season without each other

I cheated a little bit. This isn’t their first holiday season without each other, since the first holiday season would be while Angie is pregnant, and I wanted this to take place after the babs had arrived. Also, this became REALLY long and I apologize for that, but I was struggling to find a good way for it to end, so.

Standucked into an alleyway. He stoodstraight against a brick wall, waiting for his pursuers to pass him. After a few minutes, the footsteps hadsufficiently faded. Stan slumped inrelief.

Thank god. It’s getting tougher and tougher to lose those guys. He rubbed his face. I needto get outta this dimension. Stanslid down the wall. I need to get home. He dugout his wallet, where he had stuffed a piece of paper with numerous tick markson it. He unfolded the piece of paper.

“Twenty,one hundred…” he muttered to himself. Heleaned his head back. “I’ve been gonefor over a year.”

It’s already December back home. I’m missing the holidays with my kids. Not just any holidays. The baby’s first ones. And unless there’s some sorta miracle, I’llmiss the baby’s first birthday, too. Stan swallowed. He took out oneof the other few things in his wallet, a photo of Angie and the girls fromHalloween. Angie was wearing a queencostume, while Danny and Daisy were dressed as princesses. He smiled. I wonder what they dressed up asthis year. Maybe Angie got a frogcostume for the baby like she wanted to for the girls. His smile faded. Thebaby. He looked at the photoagain. Without me around to be the voice of reason, she probably named itPosey. He stroked the photo. Posey’sprobably got Angie’s eyes. My ears. A snowflake drifted onto the picture. Stan sighed.

“MerryChristmas and happy Hanukkah, kids. Sorry I couldn’t be there.”

-----

Lutestrolled into the living room, bouncing Emory in his arms.

“Theworld’s cutest lil reindeer has been changed,” he sang. He looked over at the fireplace, where Angiewas hanging up the stockings. “Banjey,aren’t ya goin’ to look at yer lil boy?”

“Gimme asec,” Angie said. She stood on hertiptoes and carefully slipped the last stocking on a nail. “Okay.” She turned. “Aw, my goofy lilboy,” she cooed, crossing over to Lute. “Emory, yer such a looker!” Angiecarefully took Emory from Lute. Shekissed the top of Emory’s head. “Thankyou fer changin’ his clothes.”

“Noproblem. I’m happy to put him into thecute outfit Ma ‘n Pa sent.” Lute lookedaround. “Is Emmett in the playpen?”

“Yep. The fussiest snowman to ever exist is playin’with his teddy,” Angie said, continuing to nuzzle Emory. Lute walked to the playpen. Sure enough, Emmett was sitting in there inhis snowman onesie, excitedly tugging on a teddy bear.

“Hereally likes that stuffed animal,” Lute remarked. “Where’d ya get it from, again?” Angie took a while to answer.

“When thegirls were born, Stan’s mom sent us his old teddy bear,” she said quietly. “Danny ‘n Daisy weren’t too fond of it, butwe held onto it anyways. Turns out itwas the right thing to do, since it’s Emmett’s fav’rite thing.”

“…Oh.” Lute cleared his throat. “Well, uh, Ford ‘n Fidds ‘ll be here soon to helplight the menorah. Did ya…” He caught sight of the menorah resting on thefireplace mantle. “Oh, good. Ya did put it out.”

“We’llmove it before we light it, but I set it there while I was hangin’ thestockings.”

“Why’d yahang the stockings so early?” Lute asked. “It’s not even the Advent yet.”

“Lastyear when ya took down the decorations, ya packed the menorah with thestockings.” Angie shrugged. “Figured I might as well put ‘em up.”

“Makessense.” Lute eyed the stockings. Each one had an embroidered name on it. “I don’t have one up.”

“Ma ‘n Pasaid they’ll send yours in the mail, since it looks like you’ll be stayin’ hereto help with the kidlets fer longer than we first thought.”

“Good.” Lute’s gaze landed on the stocking hung nextto Angie’s. He sighed. “Angie…”

“What?”Angie asked. She joined Lute by theplaypen.

“Stan’snot here.”

“I know,”Angie said shortly. She set Emory in theplaypen. Emory immediately crawled overto a set of plastic toy keys, grabbed it, and began to chew on it.

“Why’d yaput up his stocking, then?” Lute asked. Angie’s face hardened.

“I puthis stocking up last year, too. Yadidn’t say anything back then.”

“You werea wreck. Even sayin’ Stan’s name made yaspiral. I didn’t have the heart to bringit up.” Lute rested a hand on Angie’sback. “Yer in a better place now.”

“I won’ttake it down,” Angie said. Her handsgripped tightly on the fence of the playpen. “Ma made him that stocking the first Christmas after he moved toGumption. I’ve put it up every yearsince. I ain’t liable to change that anytime soon.”

“He’s nothere. There’s no reason to-”

“No. If I take down his stocking, thatmeans-” Angie’s lips quivered. She set her jaw firmly. “That means I’m movin’ on, abandonin’ thepossibility of his return. And he will come back.”

“Banjey,I don’t think that-”

“Drop it,Lute,” Angie snapped. She glared athim. “I mean it. I’m not takin’ the stocking down.”

“Fine,”Lute mumbled. He looked down at Emory andEmmett in the playpen. “I’ll drop it.” The front door opened.

“Mama!”two voices shouted. Angie’s frustratedexpression was wiped away. She turnedand beamed at her twin daughters rushing to her.

“Howdythere, my babies,” she crooned, crouching down. Danny and Daisy embraced her. “Did ya have a good time at yer uncles’ house?”

“Yeah!”Danny enthused.

“UncleFord tried to make latkes and burned everything,”Daisy said with relish. Lute looked overat Ford, who, with Fiddleford and Tate, had entered the living room behindDanny and Daisy.

“Thattrue, Stanford?” he asked, amused. Fordturned pink.

“I don’tknow where I went wrong. I made themsuccessfully last year,” Ford said.

“We havedif’rent definitions of the word ‘successful’,” Lute said.

“Angieate them!” Ford protested.

“Angiealso ate a country-fried steak last December,” Fiddleford pointed out. “The food she hates most in the world. Ya can’t judge a food based on whether or notsomeone who’s pregnant would eat it.”

“Youdon’t like country-fried steak?” Ford asked Angie. Angie stood and shook her head. “And you didn’t like my latkes, either?”

“Honestly,Stanford, the best that could be said about yer latkes last year was that theywere edible,” Angie said. Forddeflated. “What if I help ya out? Did ya bring the recipe with ya?”

“Uh,yes. I did.” Ford beamed. He held up the bag he was carrying. “I also brought dreidels and gelt. The girls are old enough now that I think they can learn the rules.”

“Thatsounds like fun,” Lute said. He smiledat Angie. “Don’t that sound fun? We can all learn how to play withdreidels.” Angie crossed her arms.

“Don’ttake that condescending tone with me,” she hissed.

“Somethin’wrong?” Fiddleford asked.

“No,just- Lute and I had a lil bit of a tiff ‘fore y’all showed up. That’s all.”

“Overwhat?” Ford asked.

“Thestockings,” Lute said. He rubbed theback of his neck. “We- we had adisagreement over whether all of ‘em should get put up.”

“What doyou-” Ford started. He looked over atthe fireplace. His face fell. “Oh.”

“I thinkwe should revisit the stockings at a later time,” Lute said. Angie stormed out of the living room. Lute sighed. “I’ll go talk to her.”

“No, I’lldo it,” Fiddleford said, starting to go after Angie. Ford shook his head.

“Let me.”

“You?” Lutesaid. He crossed his arms, scowling. “I think you’ve done enough to Angie.”

“What’sthat mean, Unclute?” Daisy piped up. Lute looked down at his niece like he’d just now realized she was stillthere.

“Uh,nothin’, sugar cube.”

“What didUncle Ford do to Mama?” Danny asked. Lute ran a hand through his hair.

“Oh, geez,”Lute mumbled. While Lute fumbled throughan answer for Danny and Daisy, Ford headed into the kitchen. Angie stood in front of the sink, her handsgripping the counter so tightly her knuckles were white. Her shoulders shook. Ford took a nervous step back.

“What isit, Stanford?” Angie choked out. Hervoice was thick with tears. Ford clearedhis throat.

“Ithought I’d offer comfort, but I’m beginning to think that I might not be theone best suited for that. I’ll getFiddleford.”

“No.” Angie let go of the counter. “No, it’s fine. I’m fine. I just-” She rubbed her eyes. “It’s the most stupid thing fer me to blow mytop over, but I can’t let it go.”

“What is?”

“Thestockings. Normally they wouldn’t evenbe up this early. Lute just packed theboxes wrong last year, and stuck ‘em in with the menorah. It would be so, so easy to just take downStan’s stocking.” Angie’s headdrooped. “But I can’t.”

“I’mgoing to bring him back, you know,” Ford said softly. Angie nodded.

“I know.”

“You don’thave to worry about the symbolism of the stockings. Stan will be back soon enough to put help putthem up again.”

“It’s theonly thing I can do, Stanford!” Angie said fiercely, slamming a fist down onthe counter. Ford took another stepback. “I can’t help with the portal, ‘causeyou and Fidds refuse to allow me down there. I had to take a sabbatical from my research fer my mental health. I can’t even take care of my children alone.”

“What doyou mean, it’s the only thing you can do?” Ford asked.

“It’sstupid.”

“I’veknown you for years. You’re many things,but stupid is not one of them.” Ford steppedcloser. “Explain.”

“If Imove on, if I take down the stocking, put away his clothes, he won’t come back,”Angie whispered. “He needs a beacon tobring him home, and severing my ties to him will just ensure he never finds usagain.” She shook her head. “It’s stupid. He wasn’t here when the boys were born. There’s nothin’ I could do that could bring him back, if that didn’t.”

“All Ihave to say about Stan not being there when the boys were born is that I knowhe wanted to be,” Ford said after a moment. “But that thing about a beacon…” He dug his journal out of his coat. Angie sighed. “I believe Stan tobe hopping from dimension to dimension, on his journey. Where he arrives is random, each time. But his destination could be swayed byoutside forces.” Angie eyed him.

“…Go on.”

“Stan’smolecules will want to return to their home dimension. That’s why he hasn’t stayed in one spot. Every fiber of his being is being drawn tothis reality. He won’t be content to stayin one place until he returns. But hismolecules aren’t certain of how to return.” Ford flipped his journal open to a specific page and handed it toAngie. She took it from him cautiously. “Your fondness for Stan could serve as a beacon,indicating to his molecules that this is where he is from.”

“Stanford,how would my love fer Stan be a beacon?” Angie asked flatly. She handed his journal back. “Yer tellin’ me empty platitudes in anattempt to cheer me up.”

“Strangerthings have happened,” Ford said. “You’vebeen there for some of them.” Angieshrugged. “And if I know one thing aboutStan, it’s that he’d do anything for his family. I wouldn’t be surprised if the mere presenceof his family in this dimension is what guides him home.” Angie managed a small smile.

“That’strue. Stan would move heaven and earth ferhis fam’ly.” She cocked her head. “Hang on, you did the opposite of what Iexpected.”

“What doyou mean?”

“Iexpected to be talked into takin’ the stocking down. All you’ve done is convince me it needs tostay up.”

“Whywould I convince you to do something I wouldn’t do myself?” Ford asked. Angie chuckled. “So, how would you feel about attempting mymother’s latke recipe with me?” Angiefinally grinned.

“I’d loveto, if it means you’ll keep tellin’ me I’m right.”

#normally this would be under a read more bc it is LONG #but it's also an ask and I don't like putting asks under read mores #anyways I hope y'all enjoyed Ford and Angie bonding a bit in this AU #Reverse Portal Stanley McGucket AU #Stangie #Lute McGucket #Angie McGucket #Fiddleford McGucket #Stanford Pines #Stanley Pines #Danica Pines #Daisy McGucket #Stangie Family #ficlet #my writing #ask #Anonymous

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shortnsweettingz · 5 years ago

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Nicotine Dreams

Another day of making café americanos for the overly busy men that check their watches too often, and the wanna be Carrie Bradshaws with their high heels and good fortune. I didn’t mind working at this quirky coffee place when I first moved to the city. I was just pleased to set eyes on streets with people walking them. My home town had people too, but not anybody that would order a café americano. I had bigger dreams than home had for me, dreams of being an actress, but the city had all but squelched them. Auditions were plenty, but call backs were rare, and self-doubt became ever-present.

I was itching for a cigarette and realized my most “loyal” customer and roommate, Abigail must be late again for her daily afternoon smoke and chai tea latte. I met Abigail not long after I got here, at one of those intensive yoga classes that neither of us had business signing up for. We became quick friends, and she convinced me to give up yoga and take up nicotine. Filthy habit, but my dad smokes them, so it reminds me of home. I clocked out, artfully made two overly sweet, overly caffeinated drinks, and made my way to our usual bench. 20 minutes late, like clockwork she rounds the corner, hard to miss with her oversized sunglasses and undersized clothing.

I handed her the latte and she gave me a cancer stick and sat down. “Stop looking at me like that Elouise, I’m sorry I’m late I was having a very interesting conversation with the cute doorman regarding speed-dating.” I rolled my eyes and laughed, “You’ll find a shortcut to anything, don’t you have enough dates already?” She scoffed, “almost had one with the doorman, but he was talking about going to this speed dating thing for “young singles,” and we’re so going.” I choked on my drink, “Oh no don’t drag me into this one, it sounds anxietyprovoking and I wanted to order Chinese food tonight.” She raised one of her expertly tweezed eyebrows at me, “Come on El, they’re just 5-minute dates, and you need to get out more. You can’t always end up falling asleep reading “The Bell Jar” at the end of every night. How many times have you read that anyway?” I pulled at the collar on my coffee stained shirt and tried to think of a good comeback. Oh how predictable I have become. I remembered the unjaded, diamond eyed, whiskey drinking thing I was not seemingly long ago. The hopeless romantic in me has been carefully placed on the back shelf for safe keeping, she’s a little once bitten- twice shy. I laughed sheepishly, “You just want to talk to the doorman, don’t make this about me. I really should just stay home and run through lines, I have an audition coming up in a few days.” Her shoulders dropped a little, along with her smile, I hated the Abigail pout. I sighed, “Fine I’ll go, but I don’t see the point in a 5 minute date.” She nudged me on the shoulder with a french manicured talon and said “just practice your acting skills or something if you won’t take it seriously, become a different person every 5 minutes.” I put my cigarette out. That actually sounded like an interesting little exercise. I could explore different characters, voices, make it up as I go along, maybe even have some fun with it. Then I wouldn’t feel as demoralized when I get another no call back. I told her it actually sounded nice to think about being someone else right now, and she convinced me this speed dating experiment was a good idea.

We shopped around town for awhile, Abigail had to find something to wear tonight, probably to impress the doorman. She tried to pick something out for me, but it lacked material and comfort. We went back to our yellow-painted apartment so that Abigail could sit in front of her ungodly mirror and “put on her face.” I was thinking about what faces I would be putting on tonight, playing with some ideas. I could channel my inner boss bitch, or femme fatale (that’s a laugh), or maybe a successful actress for a change. Stories of a thousand women filled my head as I helped Abigail recurl her bouncy locks. I went into my room and put on my cliché yet trusty little black dress that always stirred my confidence. I wore it in situations like this, and back when I drank more whiskey.

Once she decided she’d been in front of the mirror long enough, accountably twenty minutes late, she turned to me and said, “we clean up good, you ready?” I twirled and flashed my biggest broadway smile, “Ready to be a skillful shapeshifter, if I can become a different person every 5 minutes, maybe I’ll become one that can land an audition.”

“Elouise I was kidding about that, are you seriously going to lie to all these poor men?” “I’ll be doing them a favor, will be some nice entertainment before they get to you, I’m trying to have fun with this, leave me alone.” We went down to the street level and the cute doorman was still working, he opened the door for us as Abigail looked back at him, winked and told him she’d see him tonight. I laughed out loud at her gumption and hailed a cab for us. We were sitting in the cab, weaving through traffic and I started to get a little nauseated. I was getting nervous but actually a little excited, the same way I feel before an audition. Abigail must’ve noticed, she poked me with her talon again and said “you know, you could just be yourself and actually try to connect with someone.” I thought about it, but I put the hopeless romantic back on her shelf. “Yeah but then there would be no men left for you,” I laughed and looked out the window, it was time to get out of my own head.

We got out of the cab and walked up to a nice-ish restaurant where the hostess took us into a big room in the back. The room was dimly lit, slightly cold, and lined up with tables with two chairs. I realized I forgot a jacket as per usual, and decided I needed a drink to “warm me up” so to speak. I ordered a whiskey from the bar, and it was like seeing an old friend again. Abigail got some pink prissy drink and kept scanning the room for her doorman. A petite woman with a timer around her neck was making her way around handing out cards. The cards were for writing down your number if the date went well. Abigail grabbed a whole stack and I grabbed a few, and we sat down at tables beside each other. The woman with the timer introduced herself to the room and explained the rules which were simple. Five minute dates, ding ding ding the bell rings, the men will rotate, repeat. She told us to use our time wisely and remember to have fun. I accidentally laughed to myself, and proceeded to wait for my first suitor. For the first date, I was thinking I could be an investigator. Inquisitive, straight shooter, to the point. I took a deep breath, showtime.

A man with thoroughly combed hair and really white ankles approached my table with a smile. He told me his name that left my head immediately out of nerves. I narrowed my eyes at him, “The name’s El, come here often?” Good one El. Real original. He seemed kind of puzzled, but answered with “uh no actually, I’m kind of new to this sorta thing.”

“Are you sure about that, how new?” I raised my eyebrow at him like Abigail does. “Sorry, I’m used to questioning people, I’m a private investigator.” He turned white as a sheet and I could see him getting uncomfortable. I wondered if he believed me, I had great posture like an investigator would. He went on to nervously ramble about his boring job as a tree trimmer and his kid that had a piece of shit mother, but she went missing years ago and they never found her thankfully. My immediate thought was jeeze, did he kill her or something? I ran with it. I questioned him hard, keeping in character, about the kid’s mother and he seemed to be shaking in his boots. This was amusing, he thinks he’s on trial. I asked him burning questions about his supposed tree trimming job and then remembered I had to use my time wisely. “Did you kill her or not buddy?”

Ding ding ding

Dammit. Right before the finale. He quick as spit made his way to the next table. Well that went well. I gave myself a generous six out of ten and looked over at Abigail. I gave her a thumbs up and she rolled her eyes at me then checked her lipstick in a pocket mirror.

Onto the next El. This time I thought I’d be a “daddy’s money” type of girl. Big attitude, big bank account, little regard for honest work. I introduced myself to the next man loudly as “Miss El Sterling” who enjoys champagne brunches, country clubs, and long walks on the beach. I batted my eyelashes and held my head high. He told me his name was Bill and that he was an accountant, but I quickly changed the subject back to Miss El. I went on boasting about the summers spent in Europe and described the “bluest” waters and white buildings of Greece and looked off into the distance as if I could see them myself. I looked at him to see how he was fancying his date, and he might as well have had dollar signs in his eyes. He asked me what I did for a living.

Ding ding ding

Done with round two. I didn’t learn much about Bill, he could barely get a word in. Miss El was so self-absorbed. But he did end up writing down his number, probably thinking he just found a sweet sugar mama deal. I kind of felt guilty, but I was also pretty proud of myself. I glanced at Abigail’s table and saw the doorman moseying up to her. I smirked, she was finally getting her date with the doorman. I was so distracted by Abigail’s table that I almost didn’t noticed the next date sit down in front of me. His hair was kind of messy and his shirt squeezed his shoulders, and he had a whiskey in his hand. I thought on my feet. I decided quickly on a confident yet struggling artist: Inspired. Quirky. Worldly. Romantic.

“Good evening mister, I’m El, care to be my muse for five minutes?”

I attempted a smolder and he attempted a smile, which came out a little goofy. He answered with “The name’s Mack. Great line, are you an artist or something?” I got into character. I talked with my hands a lot and told him nonsense about how water color is superior to acrylic, and I uniquely preferred Andy Warhol to Van Gogh. But he interrupted me with a laugh, “we only have five minutes, and you want to discuss water colors?” I froze and pushed my hair behind my ear. I continued with my creatively inspired yet odd childhood and how I would paint until my fingers bled, then chuckled and told him it made for nice finger paintings. He had a funny look on his face, but he laughed too, so I kept going. I described my money- hungry parents who made money off of my talents as a child, and auctioned off my beautiful paintings one by one almost as quick as they were painted. I was trying to get lost in the character but couldn’t help but to notice the way this man was looking at me, like he saw something behind me or something, and he hadn’t said a word since he complained about the water colors. There was an oddly charged moment of silence and he never took his eyes off of me, which made me squirm in my seat a little nervously and he just smiled again. Still goofy, but oddly comforting. Abigail’s laughter filled the silence and I broke the eye contact to look over and see her and the doorman playing footsies. These five minutes seemed the longest so far, but I for some reason dreaded the three dings.

Ding ding ding

I was expecting Mack to quickly shuffle over to the next table, but without a word he just wrote something down and slid it across the pristine tablecloth and left the room. The girl at the next table looked pissed, but I looked down at the card.

Let’s get outta here. You look like you need a cigarette, and then you can tell me who you really are.

#writers on tumblr #writing #short story #love #words #stories #fiction #write #inspiration #lovely

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bentonpena · 6 years ago

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How to Read Long and Difficult Books

How to Read Long and Difficult Books http://bit.ly/2NQBd1W

In the last year, I’ve managed to finish a number of lengthy, sometimes hard-to-read books. Ron Chernow’s 900+ page tome on George Washington. 600+ dense pages on James Madison. Andrew Roberts’ massive biography of Winston Churchill. (Yes, I’m into biographies.) A couple of Dickens’ novels — they’re all big. Melville’s American masterpiece, Moby-Dick. Robert Caro’s legendary, epic series on Lyndon Johnson. And most recently, all 1,400+ pages of Les Miserables.

Even though these books were enjoyable, and I had a genuine interest in the subject matter, they were often hard to read, if for no other reason than their sheer volume. Large pages, small fonts, tiny margins. Les Mis, because of its actual weight, had to be read sitting up, and often in a chair with an armrest because the thing was so dang heavy and unwieldy. (While I could have read an e-version, as I’ll explain below, I often prefer hardbound copies of classics, even if they’re harder to wrangle.)

While Hugo and Dickens are a delight to read, the reality is that their language is so different from today that it takes brain power to really digest. And while those biographies I mentioned aren’t necessarily old, they are dense with facts, especially when you’re new to that person/time period. They’re just intimidating for folks who aren’t used to that type of reading which requires sustained focus and a bit of endurance.

Before the last year or so, I would have probably counted myself in that camp. I had tried to read Washington: A Life and gave up after a few hundred pages. I’d tried Moby-Dick and met a similar fate. The allure of a big, meaty book was great, and yet I couldn’t find the stamina to actually finish many.

So what was it that finally put me over the top and allowed me to get all the way through these hefty tomes? (And then to keep going too!) At the time, I wasn’t quite sure why. I figured it was some combination of having a plan and finally having the gumption to just keep flipping the pages. But after thinking about it, I realized that there was some innate method to how I was accomplishing it. There’s no need to be intimidated by old books, long books, or just plain hard to read books. It really is a skill to be learned in our Smartphone Age.

Here’s how I did it (and continue to do it), and how you can too:

1. Make a plan for yourself.

Without a doubt, part of my success in reading at least a few of these books was that I had embarked on a couple different reading projects. One was to read a biography of every US president; the other was to read all of Dickens’ novels. (Both were set with indefinite timelines so that I can read other things too.) Having an end goal sure made it easier to get through Chernow’s Washington and Dickens’ sprawling and loosely connected series of vignettes that make up his first novel, The Pickwick Papers.

Have a particular area of interest you want to explore? Is there a list out there that has really piqued your interest — perhaps AoM’s “100 Books Every Man Should Read”? Do you have a favorite author whose canon you’d like to explore in full? Make yourself a reading plan.

2. Set a small amount of time or pages per day that you’ll read.

One of the keys in achieving that plan is giving yourself a micro-goal. My plan to read 44+ presidential biographies (some of which are multi-volume) gives me helpful direction, but it’s too distant an end goal to sustain my motivation from day to day. Even focusing on simply finishing the next book in the sequence is tough, when that book is massive — presidents’ lives are often very well explored and documented.

So I go even smaller and set myself very attainable reading goals. I often flip through the book first to get a sense of how long chapters are; with Washington: A Life I set out to read a single chapter a day. With chapters averaging just 10-20 pages, this was totally doable. For books that have longer chapters (like Caro’s LBJ series), I’ll set a time-based goal, usually 30 minutes a day.

Working from home, and not having a commute or anyone to disturb my lunch hour, I perhaps have more spare time to read than others. If you’re really cramped, give it just 10-15 minutes per day. You’ll get through those long and hard books far quicker than you’d expect, and when time and energy allow, you’ll often willingly do more than what you’ve allotted.

3. Engage/interact with the text.

One of the things that helps keep me engaged, especially when reading a long and/or difficult book, is making myself interact with the text. I almost always read with pencil/notebook at the ready, underlining interesting tidbits and writing one-sentence summaries of each chapter or important section. In James McPherson’s Battle Cry of Freedom — a classic history of the Civil War — I literally drew an illustration in my notebook when he mentioned the concentric circles of anti-slavery beliefs in the North. If you’re reading an e-version, underline and take notes in the same way. It’s a little harder (mainly for the notes part), but still worthwhile.

4. Get an edition that you like.

This can make a surprisingly big difference in your reading experience. Reading can be a far more kinetic activity than you’d think. The weight of the book, the styling of the font and the design of the text, even the cover art — if a book is nice to look at and easy to hold, you’re more likely to pick it up.

Tangible and tactile, and free from the distractions built into my phone, I prefer paper copies for most of my reading, and often hardcovers specifically. Paperbacks are more portable, but the text is often a little harder to read with darker, smaller font size and tighter margins. And while I enjoy used bookstores as much as anyone else, I don’t like reading copies that have any notes or underlining in them already. It’s too distracting. So I always make sure to get a clean copy.

When it comes to classic literature, you often have a ton of choices. Old versions are sometimes fun to have, but often harder to read, with small margins and overly dark text. I also like explanatory endnotes and lengthy introductions, which older versions almost always lack. Penguin Classics is the gold standard in my opinion. I have a few handfuls of those black paperback covers staring at me from my shelves. If I’m really feeling like I want a hardcover for whatever reason, I also really like the Everyman’s Library editions.

In spite of the above, I’m also slowly getting back into reading with my Kindle. I tend to go in for an ebook when it’s not a volume I’m collecting, or that I desire taking up shelf space, or there’s simply a Kindle sale going on that’s too good to pass up. Certainly, when it comes to comfort, reading on a couch or in bed with a lightweight Kindle is hard to beat. I can read a weighty biography with a single hand, and even still chase kids around the house if need be. Plus, it doesn’t have the glare or distractions of a smartphone or tablet. And one final benefit of reading on a Kindle: free classic books! Anything published in 1923 and earlier can be had for free and downloaded within seconds.

Ultimately, find what you like. Whether it’s a cheap used paperback, a new hardcover, or the ease of a Kindle edition, find the book version that you most enjoy reading.

5. Have a dictionary/encyclopedia handy.

When it comes to long and difficult books, part of the struggle is just that they can make us feel dumb when we don’t know certain words or don’t have the contextual knowledge that would make it easier to understand. When I started to delve into Civil War reading, I got myself an atlas of Civil War battles and movements. When I read Les Mis, I kept my phone nearby to look up French phrases, antiquated and out-of-use words, and facts about the Battle of Waterloo (a section of text which nearly killed me).

You’ll likely find it helpful to keep your phone at hand too; while you could invest in a hardbound dictionary, you’ll often need to access various resources to investigate various references (historical, cultural, etc.). Looking things up on your phone can invite the temptation to browse other apps, of course, but just fight past the Instagram itch. If that’s too difficult to do, block distracting apps during your reading time (here’s how).

6. Just get through the hard parts.

With every long and/or difficult book, there’s bound to be a part that disengages you and makes it hard to pick back up. My encouragement to you: just get through it, even if it means skimming or (heaven forbid!) skipping chunks if needed. When reading the aforementioned Churchill biography, I skipped a section on his experience in the Boer War since I had already read Candice Millard’s spellbinding account on that same time period (and listened to her interview with Brett).

Even if you don’t already know something, don’t worry about missing things. The first time you read a book, especially a long or difficult one, you’re going to inevitably miss things anyway. If it’s a novel, you’ll catch up to the plot quickly enough; if it’s non-fiction, you’ll survive missing a few facts — if they’re important enough, they’ll come back up. Trust me: It’s okay to skim things.

7. Take advantage of the momentum!

Part of why I’ve been able to read a lot of long books in the last year, I think, is simply that I finished Chernow’s Washington, which is a book I had previously given up on. Turning the final page and closing the back cover was quite gratifying. I knew that I could read the next hard book, whatever it might be. (It was David McCullough’s John Adams; McCullough is a great storyteller, but even he had a hard time making Adams’ decade in Europe exciting. Nevertheless, I got through it easily.)

The same was true of Les Mis. After 1,432 pages and two months of reading most days, I was rather proud of what really felt like an achievement (perhaps more than it should have!). Finish one big, hard book and you’ll have momentum on your side. Really all it takes is one “win” to bolster your confidence in your reading capabilities.

I know now, moving forward, that I can read and finish just about anything you put in front of me. With a little bit of daily diligence, intentional engagement with the text, and some strategic skimming and skipping if necessary, you can do the same.

You can follow along with what I’m reading — plenty of long books included — by signing up for my weekly newsletter: “What I’m Reading.”

The post How to Read Long and Difficult Books appeared first on The Art of Manliness.

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flauntpage · 7 years ago

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Hak My Life – Thoughts on Finding a Way to Win at Home After Flyers 5, Coyotes 4

Dave Hakstol called a timeout. Asked about it later, he said he wished he would have taken it sooner. But the timeout, itself, was irrelevant.

The Flyers had just allowed two shorthanded goals – on the same power play. Their two-goal lead from a quick start was gone and replaced by a sudden two-goal deficit.

Hakstol didn’t want to say much. His players knew the gravity of the situation.

Here they were, melting down on home ice, in front of their fans… again.

Twitter was ablaze. The calls for Joel Quenneville to be the new coach were fever pitched.

But there was one message from the coach. One that apparently has to be reiterated to this team whenever they play in front of their fans:

“It’s a matter of getting back together. Getting your brains settled down. Calm down. Worry about the next shift. Don’t worry about everything else going on on the other side of the glass. We’ve had some struggles in this building, so get the focus on the ice. That’s the only message.”

The Flyers were able to block out everything else and find a way back to win the game. They scored third period goals with the fourth line and the third line on the ice. Scott Laughton (two goals) and Dale Weise were the guys who tied it and Shayne Gostisbehere won it with an overtime goal.

That’s good and all, but I want to get back to what Hakstol said for a minute…

“Don’t worry about what’s going on on the other side of the glass. We’ve had some struggles in this building so get the focus on the ice.”

Sure as hell sounds like he’s saying his team is frequently unnerved on home ice by the fans being a bit negative.

Am I crazy? Please tell me I’m crazy.

I’m not crazy. It’s absolutely why the Flyers seem to play much better hockey on the road than they do at home. It’s the antithesis of everything you expect in professional sports. Flyers home games used to be the greatest home game advantage in professional sports.

Opposing players would often get the “Philly flu” when coming to play the Flyers. They dominated games at the old Spectrum.

Now, home ice has turned into a house of horrors for the Flyers, and it sounds like they crack under fan pressure.

The good thing is, they didn’t completely crumble against the Coyotes and found the gumption to come back and win the game.

“The bottom line is sometimes you just got to sack up and get a character win,” Hakstol said. “That’s what tonight was. … Having success [on the recent road trip] helps. It helps you believe in what you are doing. That was a big part of tonight. We didn’t start cheating on things. We didn’t start pressing. We went out and played. We played a little harder. We played a little better. We didn’t start winging it out there and cheating the game – and that’s real important in a situation like that.”

As a side note, candid Dave Hakstol has been the most pleasant surprise of this season.

The fact of the matter is, the Flyers used their recent run of success to trump whatever bad mojo they seem to think hovers over them like a perennial rain cloud at home. But there has to remain a modicum of concern that there is a mental block with this team when it comes to playing in front of their fans.

Candid Dave elaborated further:

“We have to do that [get the fans back on our side]. That onus is on us. Our effort. Our intensity. Our play. You saw what the place was like in the third period.”

But is this team the confident team that we saw in the third period pull a victory from the jaws of defeat? Or are they still a fragile collective, who have rabbit ears when it comes to fans in their own building?

“We’re a confident team,” Hakstol said. “I believe it. Whatever word you want to put on it, the guys in the room are tight. You either blow apart when you go through some tough situations or you come together. And we’ve come a little closer together.”

As for the game, it was like three games in one. The fast start. The epic collapse. The unexpected comeback.

Here are the characters who played a huge part in those three stories:

1. Dale Weise

Russ spent a good amount of time talking to Weise, who had the play of the game – a breakaway goal late in the third period to complete the comeback.

It was surely an unexpected hero for the Flyers – and I’ll let Russ dive into the details, but I wanted to say one thing about it…

Weise has been one of the most consistent Flyers this season. He’s been really good and a moment like this has been on the horizon for some time.

Good for Weise, who five weeks ago wasn’t even sure if he’d have an NHL job this season, and now is contributing at a level far beyond anyone else’s expectations.

2. Scott Laughton

Laughton admitted after the game that while his team was playing well on the recent road trip, he wasn’t at his best.

It actually goes back further than that.

Yes, Laughton has been scoring goals, but his advanced metrics have been pretty meager.

His CorsiFor% is 43.17, worst on the team (not counting Andrew MacDonald, who has been rooted to the press box for most of the past month). It’s one of the reasons Laughton was demoted from the third line and replaced by Weise.

But Laughton had great jump and energy from his first shift against Arizona. He only ended up playing 9:17 in the game, but it sure as hell seemed like he was on the ice for a lot more than that.

That’s because he was a noticeable player every time he stepped on the ice.

He did this:

Determination and a finish! pic.twitter.com/rmYb3pVVI6

— Sons of Penn (@SonsofPenn) November 9, 2018

… and this:

LAUGHTON IS ON FIRE

He scores his second of the night to put the Flyers within one. pic.twitter.com/Mh8P5imedq

— NBC Sports Philadelphia (@NBCSPhilly) November 9, 2018

It was his second two-goal game this season, and believe it or not, the fourth line Flyer is now tied for second on the team in goals with six this season.

“I think from the first shift you can feel your legs going,” Laughton said. “I don’t think I had the best West Coast trip. The team played well but I feel like I could have played better and help this team. So, good effort by the team tonight, but the biggest thing is we have to follow it up on Saturday.”

3. Shayne Gostisbehere

What a crazy game for Ghost. He had a run-in with an official when things were falling apart for the Flyers, but then bounces back to set up Weise with the tying goal and score the game-winner.

First the bad:

There's the Flyers we know and love. pic.twitter.com/kgBWXCk6kx

— Sons of Penn (@SonsofPenn) November 9, 2018

We’ll get to the linesman being in the way in a second, but what you don’t see here is Ghost failing to keep the puck in at the point. That was a shocker because he’s probably the best in the league at keeps.

It’s gotten to a point where plays like this are the surprise and great keeps by Ghost are the norm. This was on a Flyers power play and the Arizona penalty kill is the best in the NHL and came into the game with seven shorthanded goals already. That’s a remarkable number.

So, they definitely pressure the puck at the point on the power play and force you to make mistakes.

Ghost also fumbled the puck initially in the neutral zone before corralling it for a brief second when the video above starts.

Now, the linesman, Michel Cormier, who is a veteran and has worked more than 1,000 games in his 10-year career, absolutely got in the way. Maybe he too was expecting a Gostisbehere keep and was surprised that the play suddenly was coming at him. Still, he’s got to get out of the way, and the effort he made, while valiant, definitely had him in the wrong position on the ice.

Linesmen used to hop up and sit on the end boards to get out of the way. Not sure what happened there, but they no longer do that. They try and skate out of the way and, well, plays like this happen more frequently than ever before.

Anyway, Gostisbehere was pissed after the goal. So much so that he immediately wet over to Cormier and started barking at him. Cormier was none too pleased and chirped back. It stuck in Ghost’s craw all night. He was even a little feisty about it after the game, albeit he did take a second to bring some needed levity to the situation:

Question: On a play like that where it gets caught in the [official’s] skates, what do you do on something like that?

“Aww man, It’s hard not to get mad right now, but it happened. Thankfully we came back and we won. We definitely made it a little harder, but we won.”

Question: It’s hard not to react at that point too?

“Yes, definitely. I have a weapon in my hand. … I’m just kidding. (Lots of laughter). It is what it is. It’s part of the game. I definitely got heated. He got heated. It is what it is.”

They won the game because Jake Voracek finally decided to have a good shift in overtime.

Kind of lost in the shuffle of the game (Voracek had the turnover that lead to the other shorthanded goal the Flyers allowed seconds later), Voracek made the game-winning goal happen, first with a great play to get a high-percentage shot on goal that Darcy Kuemper actually made a really nice stop against, before Voracek corralled the rebound and fed Gostisbehere for the game winner:

GHOST WITH THE OT WINNER pic.twitter.com/1lXs4e28IK

— NBC Sports Philadelphia (@NBCSPhilly) November 9, 2018

That’s two games in a row where the Flyers didn’t play great hockey and still found a way to win. Another big part of that was this guy:

4. Brian Elliott

He didn’t even start the game as he was still recovering from a minor injury. The Flyers really didn’t want him to have to play but Calvin Pickard had a rough night. He allowed four goals on 18 shots, and although his teammates hung him out to dry allowing successive short-handed goals (Arizona now has nine… that’s usually among the league leader in April, not November. It’s an insane number), he didn’t make the big stop.

Not to mention, he really should have had this one:

And we're tied pic.twitter.com/6Rmk9pyrmg

— Sons of Penn (@SonsofPenn) November 9, 2018

Yeah, there was a bad change by the Flyers that created this opportunity, but that’s a shot your goalie has to save.

Anyway, after the two shorties, Hakstol pulled Pickard and put in Elliott.

There was no margin for error for Moose, and he didn’t have any.

“You’re not thinking about letting in goals, you just want to get in front of pucks,” Elliott said. “The heartbeat gets going pretty quickly. Sometimes it’s a lot easier to just get thrown in and watch the pucks into your body. I had a couple shots right away and was able to get the feel of things and it makes it easier when guys are pressing down the other end and we got good energy and some goals.”

Elliott made 16 saves in 31:34 of ice time to earn the win in relief. And while none of those saves were highlight-worthy, there were more than a couple sneaky tough saves in there that often handcuff goalies, and Elliott did his part to keep the Flyers in the game when one more goal would have easily ended the night differently.

5. Penalty kill

This wasn’t good – again.

Something really has to change here. I don’t know what. The fans have been screaming for Ian Laperriere to lose his job as an assistant coach because the PK has gotten progressively worse. And it’s an understandable reaction – although I think Laperriere probably brings more to the coaching staff than just managing the PK – although that is what his top priority should be.

But the Flyers PK simply is terrible in front of it’s own net. They know it. The other team knows it. And it seems like every goal allowed by the PK is identical:

OEL gets Arizona within a goal. pic.twitter.com/AnhJbwKCjV

— Sons of Penn (@SonsofPenn) November 9, 2018

There’s a lot of standing around here. The most noticeable is Christian Folin. He basically just lets the screen set up shop right in front of Pickard and makes no effort to clear it away. I’m not sure what Ivan Provorov is doing here either. And Jori Lehtera’s attempt to block Oliver Ekman-Larsson’s shot was pretty lame.

Only Laughton looks like he was working here, and that’s a problem for the Flyers that never gets fixed. Successful penalty kills are all about effort, will and selflessness. It’s grunt work, but it’s important.

The Flyers penalty kill percentage is now 68.4%, 30th in the NHL. Only the Ottawa Senators are worse at 67.3% (You may have seen the Uber video).

Here’s the thing, the worst season in NHL history, since power plays and penalty kills have been tracked, was by the 1979-80 Los Angeles Kings. Their PK that season was 68.2%. So the Flyers (and Sens) are in rarefied air here with some of the worst units ever.

The fact that the organization continues to let this fester, now into a fourth year, is the most damning thing you can point out. It’s been bad for so long and nothing tangible has been done in an attempt to fix it.

6. Crazy Stats

Just some stuff for you….

The Flyers have now allowed a power play goal in nine straight games. This is the longest successive streak of that kind of futility since 2005-06 when they had a 10-game streak of bad penalty killing (Remember those halcyon days of Derian Hatcher and Mike Rathje? Good times!) The franchise record is 12 straight games, which has happened four times, most recently in 1993-94.

The Flyers had never won a game where they allowed two shorthanded goals on the same penalty – until Thursday. Granted, it had only happened twice before – in a 6-4 loss to Pittsburgh in 2012 and a 12-0 drubbing by the Chicago Blackhawks in 1969.

Claude Giroux played his 754th career game to move past Chris Therien into fourth place all-time in franchise history. He also recorded his second consecutive multi-point game (2A) after posting two goals and an assist on Monday night. It’s his seventh multi-point game of the season. He has had an understated start to the season. He has 19 points in 16 games, which has him in the top 10 in the NHL in scoring (tied for ninth) and only five points behind league leader Mikko Rantanen of Colorado.

The Flyers continue to dominate in the faceoff circle. They won 63% of draws against Arizona and are second-best in the NHL in faceoff wins at 55.4%.

7. Getting Gritty with it

Maybe the best moment of a Dave Hakstol press conference ever occurred after the game. When talking about what the fans expect out of his team he had this stream-of-conscience gem:

“I really believe that the people that are in the seats and are fans of the Flyers, they want effort. They want compete. And when they see that, it’s not just about the result. They want that gritty… I can’t believe I just used that word. (Laughter). Check please! I need to go home.”

It’s official, the Flyers mascot has forever impacted coach speak.

The post Hak My Life – Thoughts on Finding a Way to Win at Home After Flyers 5, Coyotes 4 appeared first on Crossing Broad.

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