Chapter Eleven: Bigger

Todd stood in front of the room, sat at the stool and opened an old notebook. It was tattered, with a read cover, spiral bound.

"I wrote this poem recalling my teen years, struggling to find love and real connection. Most writing about teenagers from people who have long passed those years seem to lack an understanding of how hard they can be. I hope I did a better job."

Worth What
sunburned skin begins to melt
heart of the girl who felt
you were more than just a guy
questioned look of passers by
now you stand upon the ledge
saying goodbye to your friends
wish that momma wouldn’t see
all those things you’d never be
chilling thoughts begin to swirl
recipe to save the girl
filling holes here or there
lose your step die in despair
mirror was your greatest foe
ugly, lonely, loser, slow
you said you would save the world
see those eyes below those curls

clipping toenails in her room
smell her perfume, say it soon
he’ll always stand in your way
“you’re a loser, you are gay”
find her walking alone at night
words escape with every fright
she knows all about daddy
can’t escape the family

find the warmest place inside
crawl in there you have to hide
write down your very best words
before your view lies with the birds
sunburned skin begins to melt
heart of the girl who felt
there is no place left for me
how did all this come to be?

The audience sat amazed that their host had held so much angst inside him. And also that is words could cut so deeply into one's emotions.

Clearly sefl-conscious, Todd quickly began to close the session.

"Thank you all for coming. Next week, we will be honored to have our very own Ms. Henderson, whose work was recently published in Atlantic Monthly."

He knew all along! Ms. Henderson thought. No wonder he wasn't going to have her read this week, he had scheduled her for next week as a surprise.

Chapter Ten: Big

This is going to be big, Todd thought. In fact, he further thought, this is going to be bigger than big. Clearly, Todd was very excited.

There was a large group at the Lit Snob tonight, all waiting, Todd was sure, with baited breath. He took a deep, deep inhale and stood before the crowd.

"It is my joy to announce tonight's reader - me!" Todd glowed. The crowd looked confused.

When they had read "Famous surprise guest reader" on the sign outside the Lit Snob they had assumed it was going to be a local fame. You know, James Tate or someone like that. They tried not to look too disappointed out of the modicum of politeness that they still maintained. Mrs. Darson's knitting needles clicked in a slightly aggravated manner. The MFA students collectively pushed their heavy black glasses to a better resting position on their noses.

Ms. Henderson, the janitor, stood in the back corner as she always did. She uncrossed and then recrossed her arms crossly. Earlier that week she had asked Todd if perhaps she could be the reader this week.

"You know Todd," she had said, "I have some stuff that I've written and I was wondering if maybe, you know, I could read it next week."

The mop in the bucket pendulumed from left to right in front of Todd's face.

"Well, um, sorry, no," he had stated briskly with no explanation. Not even allowing Ms. Henderson to tell him that the work she wanted to read had been published in Atlantic Monthly earlier that week.

And now here Todd, that dolt!, was reading his own work. This had better be good, thought Ms. Henderson, crossing her arms again as Todd began to speak.

Chapter Nine: Eat Up the Plagiarism

The janitor's mop swirled back and forth along the messy tile. It didn't seem to clean anything, only smear it, the mop only pushing the filth further into the grout. He watched the mop as it neared his feet - when it did, Todd looked up into the eyes of the cleaning woman. She feigned a smile and then slowly shook her head - her eyes closing for effect - as she continued on her way across the room towards the stage. Once their gaze had broken, Todd's eyes fell to the floor once more as his hand brushed away more wetness on his face.

How could this have happened? He asked himself with anger and disdain.

How are we going to recover from this? The memories of the night again began to flood into his consciousness...

***

He was running around like a madman, and he knew it. It just didn't matter. It was only thirty minutes until the reading was to begin, and his reader had called out. Understandably, the death of Kurt Vonnegut had taken a toll on the literary community, and they were all taking the night off to reminisce and honor Mr. Vonnegut's genius with closed-door readings between authors - no public allowed. This had placed Todd in a terrible position. He didn't want to cancel again, because he had to do that two weeks ago. Instead, he was running around talking to every patron, trying desperately to find an author before show-time. So far, no dice. He was beginning to lose his mind when Todd spotted a young man enter the Lit Snob. He looked to be college age, was freshly shaved, and certainly dressed the part with his brown blazer, pressed slacks, and professional-looking shoes. Todd approached the young man and asked him rather directly,

"Sir, are you an author?"

Apparently, the young man thought that Todd was talking to someone else, only realizing that he was on the spot when Todd tapped his shoulder.

"Who me? Ah, um, yeah, I'm an author - why?"

Todd's face lit up with dual excitement and relief. He eagerly shook the man's hand and began to explain to him his predicament. Once he had finished, the young man looked a little nervous.

"Gee, sir, I just don't know. I haven't done a reading in a long time. And besides, I don't think I even have any of my work on me at the moment."

"Please man, you've got to help with this. If I don't find a reader before the top of the hour, these people are going to leave. And they're never going to come back. So please ... and I'll even make an exception." Todd reached into his back pocket and removed his wallet. Examining the contents, he withdrew a hefty amount of money.

"Here, one hundred dollars. It's yours. Try to remember something - make up something off the top of your head - anything! Just put on a great reading!"

The young man eyed the wad of cash eagerly; then, realizing his obvious stare, he regained his composure.

"Well, if you put it that way, maybe I do have something in this bag of mine ... it's a deal."

The relief showered over Todd like a wave of heat. Handing the money over, he gave his new friend one last piece of advice.

"Be ready in five minutes. And be ready for a tough crowd."

The young man looked at him with an easy and casual demeanor.

"Don't worry, I can handle them. I've got pure gold."

***

The stage was set, and Todd has just explained the situation regarding the expected reader of the night, and had just introduced his newest friend and the night's new reader, Mr. Jacob Idlier. As usual, the claps and snaps came sparingly - this young grasshopper has not won their approval yet. Jacob climbed onto the stool, reached into his pocket, and pulled out a lone piece of paper - it looked like a page from a small writing journal. Clearing his throat awkwardly, he began.

"Hello everyone, this selection is from my poem, "She Ate a Bad Apple" - I hope you all enjoy it."

In the day we eat
Of this fair fruit, our doom is, we shall die!
How dies the Serpent? he hath eaten and lives,
And knows, and speaks, and reasons, and discerns,
Irrational till then.  For us alone
Was death invented? or to us denied
This intellectual food, for beasts reserved?
For beasts it seems: yet that one beast which first
Hath tasted envies not, but brings with joy
The good befallen him, author unsuspect,
Friendly to man, far from deceit or guile.
What fear I then? rather, what know to fear
Under this ignorance of good and evil,
Of God or death, of law or penalty?
Here grows the cure of all, this fruit divine,
Fair to the eye, inviting to the taste,
Of virtue to make wise:  What hinders then
To reach, and feed at once both body and mind?
So saying, her rash hand in evil hour
Forth reaching to the fruit, she plucked, she eat! --

Jacob was going to continue when he heard a noise. A noise that he immediately discerned was the sound of people gasping and in all other ways entering into shock.

Then a coffee cup hit him square in the face - luckily, it was only one-quarter full.

Then the obscenities began...

***

Looking down at the small piece of paper in his hand, Todd was faced with his own stupidity.

It was a page from the Norton Critical Edition of John Milton's Paradise Lost.

Jacob had instantly bolted for the door, taking his burned face - and Todd's $100 - right out there with him. When the police arrived, they were unable to find any trace of the young con-man All they found were upturned tables, coffee-stains on the furniture, and a hell of a lot of liquid on the floor. The same liquid that was now being driven into the tile by the janitor's mop.

Todd looked around at the pig-sty that had been the reader's corner of the Lit Snob. He realized that he had one week to come up with something big.

It was the only way that he could save his - and his business' - reputation.

Chapter Eight: Nonsensical Majesty

Things were beginning to get out of control at The Lit Snob, but luckily, this week's reader was going to be on time, and everything was getting back on schedule.

"Everyone, I'm glad to see you all back again," Todd said to the audience. "I'll just get right to it. This week's reader will be reading the first chapter of his latest autobiography."

"Thank you Todd. Hello everyone. I hope you enjoy the beginning of my story. I've written every chapter in a different style to challenge the reader to follow the story. It may fall flat or get really popular. I guess we'll see."

...

Birth:

His mother said when he was born in a hospital in Worcester that certain things would happen during his lifetime that would be different than the men from generations prior. When she brought him back the duplex in Grafton, he would be different than his father and grandfather and ...

He would get along with his brother, unlike the pairs of boys in the family for generations back as far as the eldest members of the clan could remember.

He would go to college, get a real education, and get out of this shithole suburbia that has reigned in the entire family as they become entangled in a web of low-paying temporary-fix jobs that disintegrate lives.

He would not become an angry, alcoholic bastard who betrayed his family by forgetting so often that he had one.

He would make his mother proud.

Childhood:

"Mommy what are you watching?"
"The Super Bowl sweety, the Bills and the Cowboys are playing. You want to watch? I know you love football."

"Mom, I don't want to move again. When you bought a house with Dad in Hopkinton, you went bankrupt and had to sell it and had to move to Ashland. Now you're buying another house in Upton with Kevin. It's not a good idea. I don't want to make new friends again."
"This is my life. I've gone through hell and back with your father and now I'm with someone and I'm happy and we want to make a life together. You'll make new friends. You're going to college in six years, and you'll never see any of them again anyway, so don't worry about it."

"I told you we'd end up moving out. And Kevin was an asshole, just like I said. Too bad it took you four years to realize it. I don't want to switch schools again, not in my sophomore year."
"You won't. We're moving a town over and I'll drop you and your brother off at school on my way to work. It's just the three of us now, we'll be happy."

"I'm going to go out with Ashley tonight, Mom, I really don't want to go hang out with you and Jack at his place."
"Fine, have a good weekend. We'll see you on Sunday, I guess."

"I called Dad, I'm going to move in with him so I can stay in school in Upton."
"I guess that's that then."

"I'm sorry Mom. I never should have left."
"It's ok. Jack is basically kicking us out. We're moving in with you're uncle down the Cape. It's just for the Summer. It will be ok."

College:

He's almost 21 now. He's already started drinking occasionally, and even smokes pot when he feels like it. He writes, fairly well, and his father is dying somewhere in a hospital bed. He's not sure where because he hasn't spoken to him in three years.

He tries to forget he exists because it's too hard. That's why he didn't write as much about him in the earlier chapters. The cold, hard reality that his life has been far from perfect, far from terrible is too hard for him to grasp because he's only ever seen the two extremes on TV.

Dysfunctional families have been laughing and getting through problems in 22 minutes plus ads for the past two decades, or at least as long as he's been watching TV.

He gets along with his brother, is going to college, and is already in debt trying to pay for it. That high wire that keeps you balanced between having a legitimate shot at climbing the economic ladder and being sucked into crappy job after crappy job is getting tougher to stay on. And that Marx book he's reading is making him wonder if he should be trying to climb the ladder at all.

He guesses he makes his mother proud.

Chapter Seven: The Promise of Salisbury Steak

It was all very depressing. Mrs. Darson stood outside the Lit Snob with rainwater streaming off of her glasses. She hat forgotten her late husband's rain-hat, which she always wore. Naturally, that had put her day off quite a bit. And now this.

"Reading canceled for this week due to lack of reader. Sorry of the inconvenance." Todd, the dolt!, had spelled inconvenience wrong in his anxiety. That mixed with bad news and the lack of a rain-hat put poor Mrs. Darson over the edge. Tears of frustration mixed with streaming rainwater. People passed and did not notice. They just thought that Mrs. Darson was wet and reading a sign. They were walking quickly in the rain. Had they slowed their hurried footsteps they would have noticed not so much that Mrs. Darson was upset - it would have still been hard to tell with all the water - but that Mrs. Darson was taking a particularly long time reading a very brief sign. No one noticed.

It was all very depressing, thought Mrs. Darson. She headed back to her car avoiding puddles and overflowing drains by nature not practicality. She was quite soaked.

In the first bit of fortunate luck in the day, according to Mrs. Darson, the car was still warm and turning up the fan to high produced quite the warm atmosphere. Her glasses began to fog. So did the windshield of the Volvo. Mrs. Darson did not care; she was comfortable for the first time all day.

Well there was television to be watched at home. Despite being an avid attender of the Lit Snob readings, Mrs. Darson did enjoy herself some good TV, as she liked to put it. She even had the premium channels. Even HBO. Mrs. Darson liked Sex and the City quite a lot, liked it with all the sex in it for that matter, not the watered-down crap they put on TBS - a station she felt was definitely not all that funny. There was a Salisbury steak Banquet dinner in the fridge. Mrs. Darson could almost taste the fake mashed potatoes.

Fine the day has been lousy and the reading canceled but she had a fine night planned indeed.

Chapter Six: The Ivan-man Cometh

It's five minutes until starting time. Todd's pacing back and forth behind the stage - frequently he scans the audience members. He doesn't see her at all. He's almost panicking. Almost.

"Oh hell, where could she be? I bet it's that damn car of hers. The thing is only a step up from a Model T. No, shut up Todd. I'm sure Mrs. Darson will be here. Well, she better be, at least. She's one of our best customers. And there's still that accident with the tiles..."

Checking his watch, he knows that it's time. Todd comes climbs up onto the stage and approaches the microphone.

"Good evening, everyone. Thanks for coming to The Lit Snob's weekly literature reading. This whole thing has gotten off to a great start, and I'm sure that it's only going to get better. Tonight, we have Ivan Stankowski, an accomplished poet who has utilized what some critics have called "archaic, dead language and form." Personally, I love his work, and I'm sure you will too. So, here's Ivan Stankowski."

Slight applause - the usual Lit Snob snobbery. Stankowski climbs up onto the stage. Sitting on the stool, he simply opens his small book of poetry and begins to read.

***

"Racing ahead -"

***

Mrs. Darson bursts through the door, panting heavily and apologizing to everyone - to all of the patrons who have whirled around to greet her with disbelief. She finally apologizes to Ivan, who nods in acknowledgment, and then begins again - Todd sighs deeply from off-stage.

***

Racing ahead to the spot,
Where? Amidst the trees, she thought,
To find her cherry leaf,
And tend to its icy grief.

The clouds did imprison the moon.
And so as darkness fell,
The angel’s wings did swoon,
Lost, she alone, in Hell.
The trees, around her bent,
Against the stirring wind
Now, their tears long spent,
To assail the lone they begin.

The cherub again takes flight,
Searching with all her might,
To find that leaf so dear,
And bring it to her bosom near.
In the shadowy nooks of the wood,
The trees doing all they could,
To punish she who forgot,
The helpless Love she now sought.

And by accident they did claim
The frightened one, full of shame.
A root, rising from the dirt,
Caught her woven and silken skirt.
Down, down she fell,
From Grace, and in a spell,
Landed, gazing up alone,
Her head stricken against a stone.

As the maiden lay,
Her head writhing, crimson, and wet,
Her eyes, they fluttered shut.
In the wintered woods she stays.
And as the wind nigh grew brief,
Along its drifts did fly,
A single, longing leaf,
And its virtuous love it spied.

Falling against her still heart,
Whilst the sun o’er the treetops shone,
The leaf did mourn and exclaim:
“My Love, How changed thou art!”

***

Ivan stops, thanks the audience, and is met with no applause. Instead, everyone is nodding their heads and smiling. That's all - but it means everything from the Lit Snob crowd. Stankowski smiles in return, then stands up and leaves the stage in silence and completely content. Todd climbs back up to the microphone.

"Thanks for coming everybody. We're actually not decided on a reader for next week ... so ... come for the surprise of the week - it promises to be a classic! Thanks again!"

Chapter Five: What Are You Watching Tonight?

"David Cambera's book is something that should reach to everyone in this room," Todd said. "His work discusses television, and whether or not we should consider it art the way we do films and music. He will read from the first chapter of his book."

"Thanks Todd. Ladies and Gentlemen, What are you watching tonight?"

...

First, there is a story of a family being reunited. They've come to this sunny, green pasture after so long apart. All over the country, they live their normal lives, but have returned to where they all grew up, or their parents grew up, to renew and reconnect with the part of their lives from which the rest of it spawned.

They are there to mourn the death of a relative who passed away too soon, and too suddenly for anyone, anyone to say goodbye. Now they are doing it together. It's funny how a funeral can bring people together more effectively than any type of celebration can.

Next, a woman manipulates a number of men to get what she wants. Using sex, love, and anything at her disposal to fulfill her material desires. It's a story of betrayal and heartbreak.

The men are left wondering what happens as the woman disappears from their lives as quickly as she had entered them.

Following the tragedy is a comedy. A bunch of party boys have a great time drinking Bud Light, or Coors Light, or Miller Light (light beer used to be a chick beer but now it's the cool one to drink for the health-conscious male).

Jokes are made, pranks are pulled, and crazy amazing things happen - like very attractive ladies in bikinis in a hot-tub on a snow covered mountain.

It's of course unrealistic, but what on TV is? And moreover, who cares?

Finally, a family sits down to dinner after a long day, talks about what they did and has a delicious, affordable meal. The house is perfect, the furniture and things are expensive, and the people on the screen are almost frighteningly happy.

...That's when the commercial break ends and the network switches back to its sitcom.

...

"I'll stop there. I hope you enjoyed it and will buy my book if it gets published. It's something I think everyone should really think about in this society," Cambera says.

Todd thanks his latest guest, and announces that next week's reader will be another poet, Ivan Stankowski, who will be reading from his latest compilation of poems.