010311 “Nice to Meet You, Peter” 56

Who is Peter?

That is the topic question for the day!

Where did he come from? What motivates him?

And, if it were 1997, what makes him tick?

I am thinking that Peter is one of my main road blocks in completing my first draft. When I first started this project Peter was a side character. Angela was a side character. But, as Angela grew so did her story and then her story became an important part of the over all message of the novel. Adapting and changing as stories and characters do when you write. The sensation is like coming to an understanding about someone or something. Except this something only exists in your mind. Well, in my case, on paper, in text and now on the internet. Anyway, the thing is that I have come to know Angela, the way I know Beatriz, maybe even a little better, but Peter is still a delicate acquaintance. This is what the love story is missing. It’s missing Peter.

When I began scripting their love affair I wrote down words as quickly as I could.

I said to myself, in my inner voice, Courtney, just write, it doesn’t matter what it is or how it sounds, just put it on paper, there will always be time to look back on it later, to improve it, to make it flow. (Yes, I always speak to myself in run on sentences)

So, I have sketched out the first four days of their love affair. This is significant, because in total, before the first week at her sister’s is up, I hope to have completed the first week of their affair, minute for minute. The two story lines will be ridding on each other’s backs.

So we are four days typed, and 8 hours to go before she reaches her sisters house. That is where the typed version stands. But where is Peter?

Here is what I know about Peter. I know how he looks. He is tall, broad, and all around large (and large all around, if you know what I mean). Actually he is a giant, at least he will be referred to that way in the text. He is strong but not like a body builder. More like someone, or something, with a natural brute force. His hair is red and wiry. He has a red beard and mustache, and bushy eyebrows too. His eyes are green. He is a little bit dirty, like a wild animal who only bathes in springs and lakes, but mostly he is devastatingly interesting, so to Angela, beautiful!

Like any classic bad boy he is narcissistic, charming and manipulative. He doesn’t mean to be, he just is, naturally. He is almost abrasive in his mannerisms, but it is part of his charm. He is as strong in his presence as he is in his physic. His energy is demanding and exciting. He can seduce anyone and he knows it. He likes to. Outwardly he is warm and inviting but inside he is cold and solid to his core. He fancies himself a windy island lost at sea. Or perhaps a puppeteer, performing a play for his audience. He fancies himself a type of god figure, but he’d lever let the thought slip to the front of his mind. He controls himself because he knows where those kinds of ideas can take people. Instead he indulges this fantasy sexually.

He is confident with women. He has never been turned down by a woman. He first slept with a woman (well a girl) when he was 13. She was two years his senior. He continues to meet and sleep with her sporadically throughout his life. At fifteen years old he seduced a woman his father was dating and this is when he discovered his power.

He has a power over women that he can’t explain and he doesn’t understanding but that has served his ego well. He exercises this skill every chance he can get. He has had affairs with several women in his close proximity. Angela will meet at least one. Peter makes it a habit of sleeping with the women who belong to the men who are close to him. Sometimes the girlfriend of a friend or the wife of a coworker. He’d steal them and return them, before the man ever caught on.

One time, before Angela, he takes another girl in to live with him. The circumstances will be similar, he will use and reuse methods of seduction for all of his conquests, Just like with Angela he feels a deep, sexual connection with the woman and forces his will onto her. She will be taken for the love affair of her life and then be tossed aside when he becomes bored. In retrospect Peter will have minimal feelings of loss and anguish, unlike with Angela, who will leave him devastated.

He was raised by his dad from the time he was seven. His mother died. I am not sure how yet. Together, he and his father would often go hunting or fishing or camping. Growing up he loved the outdoors. Loved to climb trees. These passions remain into adulthood. His father taught him a lot about different types of meats and how to prepare meat dishes. As Peter ages he refines his cooking skills. Learning how to bake even. Just like the outdoors, he also love food. The taste of food, the smell, cooking food, eating food off of a woman. Food and the preparation of food are common themes throughout the story.

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I don’t think There is much more I can write about Peter, now. This is all I know of him so far, but I am going to start to keep him at the forefront of my mind, focus on him for the next few days, see through his eyes, so to speak.

This was another exercise I read online. To write a character summery. I have an incomplete one of Angela on a legal pad. I think I might steal some lines from this one for the story, so not only was it helpful to me in understanding my character but also in constructing my prose about Peter.

I said in my first entry that, that would probably be the longest entry but now I can see that wont be the case. Below I am going to attach a poem (A LONG POEM) that I wrote about 4 ½ years ago, it is in a man’s perspective as he witnesses the last days of the relationship with the woman he loves.

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I want to remind you that I love her

Or, rather, I loved her

It became so hard after a while

I tried and I tried

It wasn’t her fault, it was mine.

She did everything for me

As I asked everything of her

She never bat an eye the other way

Or sighed at any request.

Dinner was ready when I came home

The house clean

She would always be freshly showered

And her face painted just so

I should have been thankful

I should have said I love you more often

I should have run down the bathroom door

When I heard her crying on the other side

But, I didn't

I never did

I wanted to

But, I couldn't

It must have been three years down the line

When I had finally distilled our life down to

My late nights out

And her keeping dinner warm in the oven

Though, one early Saturday morning

I crept over the threshold

No earlier than three-thirty

Shutting the door behind me ever so quietly.

I tip-toed past the dinning room

Noticed that dinner was set for two

Candles lit

And wine poured.

I stopped and stared at this for a moment

Found myself getting angry at the fact that

My dinner wasn't in the oven

That it was sitting out cold.

I left the room angered and entered the bathroom

Looking my face over in the mirror

My gray skin greatly contrasted to my bloodshot eyes.

The image I saw was surreal

I stared back ay myself for a good ling time

Trying to recognize this person in the mirror

I turned on the facet and let the water pool in my palms

Leaned my head down and splashed my face.

Looking back up, I still didn’t know who I saw

Tonight, more than ever

I reeked of the bar

Cigarettes, beer, and stale cheap perfume

I chocked on it all as I pulled off my shirt to step into the shower.

Not even the hottest water could cleans me

Not tonight

Not ever

This was ingrained in me

I breathed the bar

It had sunken into my pours

Grown out my hair

And was stuck between my teeth

The water had grown cold before I was satisfied

So I stepped out

Grabbed a towel

And made my way across the heap of clothes I left on the floor

Assuming she would pick them up the next day…

It was well past four now.

I made my way into the bedroom we shared

Noticed her laying on the bed

Holding all the pillows the way she always did

When I wasn’t laying next to her

But when I crawled in she always held me.

Being as it was mid summer

Even the dead of night

Was smoldering

She lay atop the covers in a small pair of underwear

And a T-shirt of mine

I traced her body with my eyes

And truly noticed her for the first time in months

She was sunken into herself

I hadn’t noticed before

But, it suddenly occurred to me that she couldn’t weight more than eighty pounds

A few weeks earlier I snuck away from work on a lunch break

Thought I might stop off at home for some food

I was relieved to find that she was in the shower

Never knew I was home

I passed by the porch

She had obviously been sitting outside not long before

There was half a cigarette in the ash tray

Still smoking

I didn’t even know she was a smoker

A mug of black coffee sat on the arm chair

I thought back to the first day she came to me

The tiniest little girl sipping on coffee

Fluttering her gray eyes

Over a book.

I couldn't pull my eyes off of her

And when she caught me staring

She’d smile or blush then drop her head back down to her book

I went over to her

Sat down across from her

Stumbled over my words

Assumed that I had made a fool of myself

I thought she would stand me up

When I suggested we meet the next day

But, she was there

Dressed in black

And sipping on a coffee in the back corner

We met everyday for weeks

And fell in love

What a beautiful affair we once shared

She inspired me

Instilled worth

Having something so beautiful under my arm…

I guess you could say, I felt accomplished

I can’t recall when it changed

If it was something she did

Or if it was all me

I am fairly confident, it was all me

Presently I turned toward the dresser

Stepped into a pair of boxer shorts

Turned back around to face the bed

About to crawl in next to her

When something on the corner of the room caught my eye

A small suitcase sitting on a chair

Half filled with neatly folded clothes

And a couple of pairs of pants

Strayed over the back rest

Her back was facing me

But, I leaned over her little frame

To take a look at her face

Her eyes were stained black

Even the pillows had black splatters

She had been crying

I pulled myself away from her ever so gently

As to not wake her

I laid on my back and put my hands behind my head

It wasn’t but a few seconds later

She woke

‘I love you, Honey’

She whispered as she kissed me on the forehead

Laid her arm over my chest

And snuggled her head into the curve of my neck

I never replied

Somewhere deep down

I wanted her to be angry with me

I wanted her to yell

Or hit

Or throw me up again the wall

Put me in my place

‘I hope you had a goodnight’

Her tone was not sarcastic

She wasn’t upset with the fact that we were an hour shy of sunrise

And I was just now getting home

I usually found a way to sneak away for the weekends

Not this one

I woke up mid day Saturday

To a clean house and lunch for me on the table

I sat down

She stalked up behind me

Rubbed my shoulders as I ate

We spent the rest of the weekend together

Making love

Laughing

Even caught a movie

Hardly a regular occurrence

Monday came too soon

And for the first time in a good couple of years

She wasn’t up before me

I kissed her back

Rolled out of bed

And made my way to work

I came home on time that night

The house was spotless

The table was set for one

I could smell dinner in the oven

I Walked into the kitchen

Expecting her there

But, no

I opened the oven and pulled out my dinner

Sat it on the counter

But, decided to check on her first

However, I couldn’t find her in the bathroom

Even the bedroom proved to be a worthless pursuit

She wasn’t on the porch either.

Oddly, there was a butt of a cigarette in the ash tray

Coffee on the arm chair

And a note sitting on the table

I felt weak in that moment

My stomach churned

And my palms broke out into a sweat

I grabbed the folded paper

Sat down in the chair

And read:

‘I’m sorry

Love was just not enough…’