[stylist] One more go at "the heart of it" chapter 1.

Tue Oct 6 16:40:08 UTC 2009

Alan,
please call me Jim, otherwise I think I'm in trouble.

wow, your work here is very good.  needs some spellcheck and there's 
a little  repetition about their work.  I feel so much closer to 
these two characters and their relationship issue.  tenderness from a 
callused hand, nice touch if you forgive the pun.
very good Alan!
jc
Jim Canaday M.A.
Lawrence, KS

At 08:14 AM 10/6/2009, you wrote:
>Hi everyone,
>I was thinking about what James said, and I knew I had to fit a 
>description of Michael and Anna's work into the first chapter.  So, 
>I have given that a go.  Let me know what you think.  I also have 
>chapter 2 almost ready.
>
>The heart of it
>
>By: Alan Wheeler
>
>
>
>chapter one
>
>Heart Break
>
>
>
>
>
>
>
>
>
>BUMP!!
>
>Michael looked up from his section of the Sunday Chicago Sun Times 
>as he and Anna sat in the front of the first class section of the 
>airplane. The jolt of turbulence brought Michael back to his 
>distracted thoughts. He and Anna  weren't moving, no real 
>"turbulence" for them,  they were stagnating, standing still, and it 
>drove him mad.
>
>
>
>Oh, they loved each other, that wasn't the problem.  It was 
>communicating; communicating their love for each other to each 
>other, communicating without putting the other on the defensive all 
>the time.  Those were the problem areas for them.  They both knew 
>it.  Yet, neither Michael or Anna took steps to remedy the 
>problem.  It had become akin to that proverbial elephant in the 
>living room that no one speaks of, but rather walks a wide circle 
>around, simply to avoid it.
>
>
>
>Michael had hoped their trip to South America would nudge them out 
>of this routine, cause them to break down barriers, but it didn't 
>happen that way.  No change occurred at all, in fact.
>
>
>
>He looked over at her as she read her Stephen King novel, and his 
>heart seemed to stutter in his chest, as if beating every other 
>beat.  He loved her so much, and yet felt so far away.  It hurt him; 
>hurt him deeply.  He caught her looking at him out of the corner of 
>her eye, and the look on her face told him in no uncertain terms she 
>was thinking about the very same things.  He saw the love in her 
>eyes, but he also saw a seemingly bottomless sadness and loneliness there, too.
>
>
>
>He wanted to throw down his newspaper, tell her just how 
>unreservedly he loved her and demand she say what she was 
>thinking.  It was futile.  It was futile because Michael knew that 
>he would balk if she made the same demand of him.  She was no 
>magazine model, no cover girl, but that didn't matter to 
>Michael.  Anna's inner beauty, her sense of happiness and peace 
>manifested itself in her glowing skin, bright smile, lush black hair 
>and made her outshine any model on any magazine. He had tried to 
>open up, tried to get past the barriers he felt between them. To 
>Michael it was like body-slamming a brick wall.
>
>
>
>All he could bring himself to do was brush a lock of her long, black 
>hair out of her  soft slightly rounded face.  It was a gesture of 
>affection, to him, anyway, but she just vaguely glanced at him out 
>of the corner of her eye, and continued to read.
>
>
>
>***
>
>
>
>
>
>Anna felt Michael's lightly callused hand brush the loose lock of 
>hair.  She really did love him.  He was like no man she had ever 
>known, let alone loved.  Even now, looking at him made her heart 
>stop for a moment, her breath silently hitching.  So many female 
>friends of hers had commented on how, if his reddish hair was just a 
>slightly different color, he could pass for Brad Pitt.  He, of 
>course, had laughed this off. Brad Pitt wasn't thick around the 
>middle was Michael's argument. He also didn't have brown hair. Anna 
>always thought that Michael could put any matinee idol to shame, 
>especially Brad Pitt.  That is how much she loved him, inside and out.
>
>Yet, for her it seemed like her head was extroverted and her heart 
>introverted. She could talk with him about their work in South 
>America, the impact that work would have back in the states, and do 
>so for hours.  They both had found a job that was tied to their 
>deepest compassion for people in need.  It fed people in the 
>remotest villages in Sot America, and shamed the United States 
>government, what with the current administration making 
>rhetoric-filled promises to help these villages devistated by bad 
>weather starvation and disease.  The organization they worked for 
>did more in one week than the U.S. did in a four-year presidential 
>term.  Anna loved seeing Michael work with his hands as he did 
>handyman-style jobs around the village.
>
>
>
>On the other hand, ask her to express her love for him, and it as if 
>she were pathologically shy, or mute.
>
>
>
>Ask her to talk about some way, big or small in which Michael may 
>have hurt her, even just with a unintended sleight, and her 
>emotional throat closed up and her voice was silent.
>
>
>
>She hated herself for it but she kept waiting on Michael to be the 
>one to open up. She knew she should take the first step since it 
>seemed Michael never would.  Unfortunately, she seemed too mired in 
>it all to take that step.  She recalled how she once thought being a 
>better housewife would tilt  the balance, and cause them to open up 
>to each other.  But, it was like the lyric she had heard in a song 
>by the band Wilco says, "keeping things clean doesn't change anything."
>
>
>
>They both had found a job that was tied to their deepest compassion 
>for people in need.  It fed people in the remotest villages in South 
>America, and shamed the United States government, what with the 
>current administration making rhetoric-filled promises to help these 
>villages devistated by bad weather starvation and disease.  The 
>organization they worked for did more in one week than the U.S. did 
>in a four-year presidential term. They both loved watching the other 
>work.  Anna often just sat and adored Michael as he did various 
>handyman chores around the village.  Michael caught himself pausing, 
>quite often, in his work to admire Anna from afar as she sat under a 
>tree, teaching children from the village how to read English. For 
>both of them, the key word was "afar." They were like two islands 
>that depended on each other with no bridge between them, and no open 
>shipping lanes.
>
>They both sat, mutely gazing at each other. They both knew something 
>had to break, and both silently wondered if it ever would.
>
>
>
>***
>
>
>
>abruptly, for Michael, something did.  It had nothing whatsoever to 
>do with their relationship.  It was pain, starting from the left 
>side of his chest and slowly radiating down his arm.  For the love 
>of everything holy, was he having a heart attack?  Here?  On this 
>airplane?  He squeezed Anna's small, silky hand, almost 
>violently.  His eyes registered her shock and horror as she realized 
>something was wrong, then everything faded to black.
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