On the Fringe Page One
Posted: June 8th, 2010, 6:55 pm
I found the query feed back helpful, so I thought maybe posting the first page or two would help. I know starting a book with a dream is a literary no no, but I think it works. If I am completely wrong let me know.
Thanks
I walked up to receive my diploma and my dad held a camcorder to capture every moment. While adjusting the zoom on the camera he yelled, “Way to go Lucy, bring that piece of paper home to papa!” My sister Hannah sat next to my father with a nylon shirt showing her lace bra and a black leather skirt that didn’t cover her commando vagina. I wished for a cry of congratulations from her, but as Hannah fondled her frat boy and she cried with sexual satisfaction instead. With her father sitting on one side and an audience full of strangers on the other, they couldn’t quench her hormones. Stunned at seeing frat boy’s excitement at full salute, I stepped up to receive my diploma for a master’s degree in history from Penn State. As I felt the wood of the podium clack under my three inch heels, and I prayed I wouldn’t trip. I shivered with a passing breeze and blinked into my own cliché of a nightmare. Nude, completely white, and unshaven, I was naked in front of friends, family, and strangers.
Frozen and sweating on the podium, I stared out into the audience. Everyone gawked at my bare, natural state. If nudity was the state god intended, their faces didn't contain reverence. Everyone’s jaws dropped and their eyes gauged the reaction of the entire crowd to see what to do next. Hannah didn’t look up and just kept kissing her man. While she slid into third base, my dad covered his eyes and turned the camera off.
If my self-esteem were higher, the crowd would have cheered at my glorious nude physic. Of course my cruel subconscious created a laughing crowed instead. To complete the icing on my existential cake, I tripped on my heels. Those were the only clothes I had on. Once I felt the thud of my head hitting the podium, I woke up to my reality.
I stared at the concrete walls circling my bed. My surroundings included dusty text books, a small thirteen inch color television, and a futon with metal bars that dug into my back. A small window over the futon lets me distinguish between dusk and dawn. I slept away the time, so this small window functioned as a reminder of the outside world. Overflowed with yellow, white, and orange wires, my power cord waited to set itself on fire. The only decorations on my walls were two college degrees hanging on rusty nails. My surroundings made my nude nightmare a vacation from reality. All I needed was a wheel and sawdust to make my surroundings a hamster cage, or an orange jump suit to make it a prison.
My prison didn’t enclose me with iron bars, but they enclosed my life. I could leave, but I am trapped by 70,000 dollars in student debt, no job, and no life. I graduated with my masters degree in history from Penn State five month ago aspiring to work in a museum or as a researcher. Living in my father’s basement was a temporary solution until I found my post graduation dream job. I didn’t find the dream job, or any type of employment. For every job opening I was too qualified or not qualified enough.
In June I looked for History jobs, but they all wanted people with their PHD. If I found that rare job only requiring a master’s degree, I competed with hundreds of other unemployed graduates. In August, disillusioned and understanding the reality of our economy, I applied for everything. Out of the hundreds of resumes I sent out, I did a phone interview for a teaching position at a community college in Kentucky, and live interviews at Home Depot, Target, Sunnyside Child Care, and Sears. All of the interviewers gave me strange looks when they looked over my resume before proceeding with the interview. The owner of Sunnyside Child Care asked, “You have your master’s degree. What are you doing here?”
“There aren’t a lot of people hiring historians specializing in the wives of Henry VIII,” I replied and I didn’t get that job. I imagined potential employers asked themselves how a master’s degree could make a latte or fix a computer.
By October I got desperate and applied for jobs like being history professor at Harvard, being a body part double, and being a body guard for Britney Spears. I actually got a call on the body part double job, but they didn’t want to interview me after I refused to fax a photo of my boobs.
Thanks
I walked up to receive my diploma and my dad held a camcorder to capture every moment. While adjusting the zoom on the camera he yelled, “Way to go Lucy, bring that piece of paper home to papa!” My sister Hannah sat next to my father with a nylon shirt showing her lace bra and a black leather skirt that didn’t cover her commando vagina. I wished for a cry of congratulations from her, but as Hannah fondled her frat boy and she cried with sexual satisfaction instead. With her father sitting on one side and an audience full of strangers on the other, they couldn’t quench her hormones. Stunned at seeing frat boy’s excitement at full salute, I stepped up to receive my diploma for a master’s degree in history from Penn State. As I felt the wood of the podium clack under my three inch heels, and I prayed I wouldn’t trip. I shivered with a passing breeze and blinked into my own cliché of a nightmare. Nude, completely white, and unshaven, I was naked in front of friends, family, and strangers.
Frozen and sweating on the podium, I stared out into the audience. Everyone gawked at my bare, natural state. If nudity was the state god intended, their faces didn't contain reverence. Everyone’s jaws dropped and their eyes gauged the reaction of the entire crowd to see what to do next. Hannah didn’t look up and just kept kissing her man. While she slid into third base, my dad covered his eyes and turned the camera off.
If my self-esteem were higher, the crowd would have cheered at my glorious nude physic. Of course my cruel subconscious created a laughing crowed instead. To complete the icing on my existential cake, I tripped on my heels. Those were the only clothes I had on. Once I felt the thud of my head hitting the podium, I woke up to my reality.
I stared at the concrete walls circling my bed. My surroundings included dusty text books, a small thirteen inch color television, and a futon with metal bars that dug into my back. A small window over the futon lets me distinguish between dusk and dawn. I slept away the time, so this small window functioned as a reminder of the outside world. Overflowed with yellow, white, and orange wires, my power cord waited to set itself on fire. The only decorations on my walls were two college degrees hanging on rusty nails. My surroundings made my nude nightmare a vacation from reality. All I needed was a wheel and sawdust to make my surroundings a hamster cage, or an orange jump suit to make it a prison.
My prison didn’t enclose me with iron bars, but they enclosed my life. I could leave, but I am trapped by 70,000 dollars in student debt, no job, and no life. I graduated with my masters degree in history from Penn State five month ago aspiring to work in a museum or as a researcher. Living in my father’s basement was a temporary solution until I found my post graduation dream job. I didn’t find the dream job, or any type of employment. For every job opening I was too qualified or not qualified enough.
In June I looked for History jobs, but they all wanted people with their PHD. If I found that rare job only requiring a master’s degree, I competed with hundreds of other unemployed graduates. In August, disillusioned and understanding the reality of our economy, I applied for everything. Out of the hundreds of resumes I sent out, I did a phone interview for a teaching position at a community college in Kentucky, and live interviews at Home Depot, Target, Sunnyside Child Care, and Sears. All of the interviewers gave me strange looks when they looked over my resume before proceeding with the interview. The owner of Sunnyside Child Care asked, “You have your master’s degree. What are you doing here?”
“There aren’t a lot of people hiring historians specializing in the wives of Henry VIII,” I replied and I didn’t get that job. I imagined potential employers asked themselves how a master’s degree could make a latte or fix a computer.
By October I got desperate and applied for jobs like being history professor at Harvard, being a body part double, and being a body guard for Britney Spears. I actually got a call on the body part double job, but they didn’t want to interview me after I refused to fax a photo of my boobs.