[stylist] Quick bit/Re: Changes writing prompt

[Brad Dunsé]

Barbara,

Thanks, I appreciate that very much. Yes it is a 
strange little piece,  Not my usual type of 
writing, but that is what is nice about  letting 
the imagination wander a little, you explore 
views you might not otherwise explore. I suspect 
the recent King novel gave me   that weird little  sci fi thought.

Brad

On 1/12/2012  10:16 PM Barbara Hammel said...
>You have such a wonderful way of writing that 
>draws the reader into whatever you write




>.  That's a strange piece, but I like it. 
>Barbara A man who wants to lead the orchestra 
>must turn his back on the crowd. --  Max Lucado 
>-----Original Message----- From: BradDunsé 
>Sent: Thursday, January 12, 2012 9:59 PM To: 
>Writer's Division Mailing List Subject: 
>[stylist] Quick bit/Re: Changes writing prompt 
>Very off cuff draft. Sort of "sentence to 
>sentence where do I go from this one" kind of 
>thing. haha . More of an idea flush than proper 
>grammar and etc. as there were some format/font 
>issues I ran into. Pete Wilkerson, a 
>middle-aged, slightly graying, business cut, 
>Robin-egg blue collar worker, stood at the early 
>morning gas pump with stiffened arms plunged 
>into the pockets of his black Columbia ski 
>jacket zipped to the neck. The near zero 
>temperatures on this frigid January morning left 
>his freshly groomed mustache and beard fair game 
>for the tiny droplets of moisture bursting from 
>his mouth to attach themselves, adding a little 
>extra touch of salt to his peppered whiskers, 
>temporary as it might be. The frigid gas pump 
>churned out a labored noise sounding a bit like 
>negach 
  
 Negach 
 Negach 
 Negach 
 Negach 
 
>Negach â€Negach …. He daydreamed how the pump 
>almost sounded like it was chanting to him in a 
>frigid rhythmic pain of complaint as it creaked 
>gas from its belly into his truck. Pete’s job 
>for the last ten years was working as an 
>electrician at the local campus in Superior, 
>Wisconsin. Graduating as an Electrical Engineer 
>after attending night classes for the past 
>8-years at the local university, he finally felt 
>like he was coming into his own now working as a 
>part-timer at the local power plant. That’s 
>why he considered himself as Robin-egg blue 
>collar. A little bit engineer, a little bit 
>electrician 
 not quite white, not quitte blue. 
>With shoulders hunched as much as he could to 
>cover the bare skin of his neck, blowing into 
>his cupped hands, giving a slight palm to 
>back-of-hand circular rub, like you do when 
>washing your hands, he began to bounce up and 
>down on his toes trying to work up just a little 
>heat while his thirsty super-cab Ford pick-up 
>drank in dual tanks of go-go juice and the pump 
>continued its complaint, Negach 
 Negach 
 
>Negach 
 Negach 
 Negach â€gach … Negach 
. 
>Hanging up the nozzle, snatching his crredit 
>card out of the pump, and pushing the receipt 
>button gave an Out of paper message. “Yeah 
>right,” he muttered under his breath, “like 
>I believe you guys actually put paper inn those 
>things in this weather. And the little extra 
>crap people buy once they get in your store 
>looking for their receipt doesn’t hurt either 
>does it fellas?” Flipping the tank-fill door 
>shut on his truck he headed for the store to get 
>his receipt. Jumping up onto the pump island on 
>his way inside, he stopped with a shiver, but 
>not from the cold weather this time.  He 
>couldn’t help but feel that same feeling 
>he’s had on-and-off all week. Almost like he 
>was being watched. Taking a quick look over his 
>shoulders walking as he continued hesitantly , 
>and yet another quick  scan around the parking 
>lot as he  reached for the door, proved nothing 
>abnormal. Still, he couldn’t help but feel 
>something was off. Sometimes the feeling was 
>quite strong, and other times just an inkling of 
>a feeling. Sort of like when you’re camping 
>out doors and you find a spider on the sleeve of 
>your sweat-shirt, you flick it off in a reflex 
>and shudder your shoulders creepily, and a 
>minute later you swore you felt one under your 
>shirt just a little trickle down the skin of 
>your shoulder blade, but a shoulder wince and 
>shirt adjustment, you realize it’s just a 
>wrinkle in your sweat-shirt. That’s how it was 
>with this feeling of being watched, or whatever 
>it was well, he wasn’t sure exactly what it 
>was he felt for sure. Standing in line a few 
>minutes, somewhat troubled by this feeling, he 
>suddenly chuckled to himself as he stared at his 
>hands. A king size Snicker bar in one hand and a 
>five-dollar bill in the other. Smiling to 
>himself he thought, “Ok boys, you got me 
 
>this time.” Paying for his stick of chocollate 
>bliss, he refused the bag, dropped the bar in 
>his chest pocket, shoved two dollar bills, the 
>gas receipt, and some coin into his left Levi 
>pocket, and headed for the truck. Reaching for 
>the handle of his pick-up door, he stopped for a 
>moment. Again, something seemed off, He could 
>hear one of the pumps on the island with its 
>Negach … Negach 
 Negach 
 Negach 
 Negach 
 
>Negach 
,gach …, but as he glanced over, he 
>realized there was no one at the pumps; he was 
>all alone at the island. Turning his broad 
>shoulders towards the rear of the truck with his 
>head slightly cocked forward to take a better 
>listen. He got half way to the tank fill of his 
>truck and the noise stopped with a clunk. He 
>stood there a moment listening but the pump held 
>its silence. Turning back for the driver’s 
>door he took a quick squint towards the station 
>and realized the attendant had been staring at 
>him. He stood there a second looking at the 
>20-something man, “boy really” he thought, 
>“just passed his last crop of zits,” and the 
>man began to smile. But not like an “Oh did 
>you drop your keys back there and you found 
>them” kind of smile, it was more like a, 
>“you can’t see me but I know something about 
>you” smile. Still staring at Pete with an odd 
>grin, the attendant picked up the phone next to 
>him, never taking his eyes off Pete, lifted the 
>phone to his ear, and with a trance-like beam 
>into Pete’s eyes from 30-feet away. started 
>talking to the caller. Pete smiled back as if a 
>“hey, it’s all good dude,” kind of smile 
>and headed for his truck. Now he really felt 
>like he was being watched. “Little creep,” 
>he muttered as he hopped in his truck. Turning 
>the key, the trucks idiot lights and radio came 
>on; you know the multiple red warning lights 
>that come on when hitting the ignition? But the 
>truck didn’t turn over. Holding the key all 
>the way over for a full ten-seconds, suddenly 
>the truck gave a, buzz sound, a quick little 
>clunk, and then it fired over. “I know Hun,” 
>he said, “I hate this cold weather too”. He 
>dropped the shift into drive and headed towards 
>the street. In the frozen exhaust from Pete’s 
>truck, pump #2 began its Negach 
 Negach 
 
>Negach 
 NegacNegach 
 Negach 
 Negach 
 As he 
>drove off. After putr putting in a half day at 
>campus and the other half at the power plant 
>office, Pete pulled in the garage, hit the 
>automatic door opener to shut the overhead door, 
>and walked into the house where he was greeted 
>with a gush of pleasant warm air and the smell 
>of fresh cheese-garlic bread in the oven next to 
>a pan of lasagna. His wife Trudy was at the 
>kitchen counter fixing smoothie desserts as he 
>leaned over and dove his cold face in the nape 
>of her neck. “Oh, you’re cold,” she 
>whimpered  lifting her shoulders to lock him 
>out. Kissing her quick on the cheek and tossing 
>his keys on the counter top as he walked taking 
>off his jacket, he asked her “So, how was your 
>day?”   she began to tell him “Oh, Mackenzie 
>was up to her old tricks again, getting 
>everyone  a good bout of the grumps, but 
>she’ll 
” she stopped when she realized  he 
>wasn’t even in the room now. Realizing she 
>stopped talking,  Pete yelled, Oh. Sorry Hun, 
>I’ll be right there.” Pete hung up his 
>jacket in his office closet. Their kids Amber 
>and Michael were out on their own now and their 
>bedrooms now became his and her offices. Pete 
>reached in his front left pocket of his jeans, 
>taking out the money to put in his glass jar, 
>his vacation stash he called it, and stopped to 
>remove a sheet metal screw he knew was in with 
>the coin. He began to get that damned feeling 
>again, like something was watching him or well 
>he just couldn’t say what the feeling was like 
>something was unsettled. As he fingered through 
>the coin for the sheet metal screw, he noticed 
>one of the quarters he’d gotten from the gas 
>station attendant that morning. Pete looked at 
>it with a peculiar interest. He flipped it over 
>and back again and all seemed right, but then he 
>noticed the date. Staring at it he wasn’t sure 
>what to think of it. The date on the coin was 
>2014, but today was only January 13, Friday 
>actually, January 13, 2012. A whole two years 
>before any 2014 coin would be circulated and 
>6-months at least before they’d even start to 
>bee minted. But it was real, the markings, the 
>president, the tails and knurling on its edge 
>were all normal. He palmed that one in his right 
>hand and fingered the other coins. He stood open 
>mouthed. All the coin in his pocket were dated 
>2014. The two bills he’d gotten though, they 
>were dated 2001 and 2005. He wasn’t sure what 
>that meant so tossed them aside. He set the coin 
>down on the corner of his desk, grabbed the huge 
>glass jug that held an inch of various coin 
>since just before Christmas when he cashed in 
>the previous year’s loot. Pouring out a few 
>coins he   nearly dropped the jug. Every single 
>coin he poured out was dated 2014. But the 
>dollars that were stuffed in there, they were 
>all various odd dates, all past dates he noted. 
>Only the coin was dated two years from this 
>year. He recalled the smug smirk on that pimply 
>attendant’s face this morning at the gas 
>station before he got in his truck. And that 
>pump with its Negach 
 Negach 
 Negach 
 Negach 
>gach 
 Negach 
 Negach 
. When just before he 
>saw the athe attendant staring at him through 
>the window. That pump, with that almost chant. 
>It sounded like it was saying Negach 
, he 
>thought to himself. He heard his wife call out 
>tthat it was almost time to eat. “I’ll be 
>right there Hun!” he yelled from his office. 
>He stood there with a finger rubbing over the 
>coin, images of that attendant, and the pump 
>with its complaint of cold, Or was it a chant of 
>cold? He thought to himself, “Was it actually 
>saying Negach 
? over and over and over? What is 
>a Negaach 
 and what is up with these coins and 
>their date. Whhy 2014?” He set the coin down, 
>pulled up his office chair, sat down with a pen 
>and paper and wrote out phonetically what sound 
>or word or chant he thought the pump had sounded 
>out. Negach 
 Spelling It out he was perpllexed, 
>and yet something seemed oddly familiar about 
>it. Staring at it he got an idea; he grabbed his 
>pen and began writing more. Stopping his pen, 
>his cheeks nearly to the corners of his mouth in 
>disbelief, he looked at his paper, looked over 
>at the coin lying on his desk, all dated 2014. 
>His face turned fish-belly white. Writers note: 
>*I had to use that one Donna. big laugh* He 
>looked to the coin 
 and back to the paper, then 
>back to the coin,, or more appropriately, the 
>change. That’s what we call loose coin isn’t 
>it? he asked himself.  He stared down at his 
>paper that had the below words on it: Negach 
>Enach Angech Chenga Change Is that what the pump 
>at the gas station was chanting? Change 
 change 
>
 chachange 
 change? And all these coins, all 
>this change dateed 2014, what does that mean? Is 
>something going to happen to me in 2014? Brad 
>Dunsé "The key to change is to let go of fear." 
>--Roseanne Cash http://www.braddunsemusic.com 
>http://www.facebook.com/braddunse 
>http://www.twitter.com/braddunse 
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Brad Dunsé



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