Critique welcome
Somewhere East of Elko Nevada, Allen and Meg turned off the interstate to glide under the concrete canopy of a Philips 66 station. The canopy cast a deep blue pool of shadow over the gas pumps and was, in that part of the country, the only shade for miles.
Beyond this tiny oasis there was nothing but light blue sky and barren gray dessert. The landscape, devoid of even the most obstinate vegetation could hardly support gravel, yet the gas station was packed with dusty, heat bleached cars driven by people who all seemed to know one another.
The vast nothingness fascinated Allen. He stood at the edge of the tarmac scanning the horizon for some spring of green, for a place from where all this life flowed but all he could see were a few distant escarpments appearing as dark blue knobs on the horizon. He turned the question over to Meg whose attention focused more on the crowd, "Where are all these people coming from?"
She withdrew the frosty neck of a Coke bottle far enough out of her mouth to mutter "Uranium".
"What? Are there uranium mines out there?"
She nodded yep.
Allen found Meg, desperate for a ride, a few hours earlier on a lonely freeway ramp west of Reno, and liked her immediately. She was definitely attractive, with untamable long red hair and green eyes, but still she was no great beauty. For one thing, she was red with freckles and fire-plug short yet her energy more than compensated for her stature.
She pushed aside his stuff in the backseat of his road weary Volkswagen, jammed in her backpack and asked "how far are you going?"
"All depends on you" he answered then stammered as she shot him a "dream on" look. He blushed, and she laughed saying they would get along just fine.
After they got more at ease, Allen tried to recover from putting his foot in his mouth, "I just meant to say earlier that I'm nearly broke. If you have gas money that would be great, otherwise I got to stop in Salt Lake and pick up some day labor to go on."
Meg thought that was hilarious.
"God, you're an idiot! Do you actually want to be a slave? This" she said pointing to the wide expanse of nothingness "is the land of milk and honey, why not just live off it?"
"Uh, live off what? There is nothing out there."
"You got to learn to forage instead of work. Why don't you come to Colorado with me? I'm headed for a place called Dream Canyon where all the tribes have gathered. I'll show you how to get anything you want."
"I got nothing going, all right I'm game" he told her, "but I won't rip anybody off. Are we okay on that?"
"Jesus, loosen up", she told him "just give people what they want and you get what you want."
Allen snickered to himself, and Meg picked up on his little internal joke.
"Oh no, I know what you're thinking, I'll give you what you want but getting lucky with me isn't what you want. I know your type, you'd be miserable if we did it."
Allen couldn't let that slide "No, I wouldn't"
"Yeah you would. I got you completely figured out."
"How so, what am I all about?"
"You're not that hard to figure out. First let me guess, you're a mechanic, but you work on something bigger than cars. Next I bet that you just bailed out of college after drawing a high number in the draft lotto so now you don't need a school deferment to stay out of Vietnam."
"Whoa, Jesus you nailed that dead-on. Where did you get that?"
"Turn around, look at your shit in the back seat", she motioned at a pile of books and an oversized tool-case. "You're a pretty easy read, the road is full of you guys this summer but that's only what you do, not what you are about."
"Okay, so then what am I all about?"
"Try me again when we split up, but I bet you will know by then -- do you see that Phillips 66 sign coming up? Let's pull off and get some gas money."
They waited in the heat; drinking Cokes and watching cars drag long contrails of dust across the dessert. Other than a few conversations with mostly unfriendly people not much happened until Meg zeroed in on a woman walking along the periphery of the parking lot. The woman dressed oddly in a style twenty years out of date: white dress, white shoes, white kerchief and white purse. She flittered among the cars slipping some kind of religious pamphlet through the narrow cracks in windows people left to expel heat. As she made her way between vehicles, she kept checking over her shoulder toward the squat building that held the cash registers, as if driven by some compulsion to do what she had been told repeatedly not to do.
Meg cupped Allen's ear and whispered, "There's our gas money" then straightened up, ditched her Coke, tidied her hair, tugged a small golden cross free from beneath her blouse, and swept out with arms extended and the smile of the angels to greet the woman.
Meg took her by both hands like she was an intimate friend and confided "I feel the spirit working within you."
The woman, a snared white bird in Meg's grasp, fluttered softly, conflicted about whether to flee or stay.
"Honey, I apologize if I startled you, but I felt called to speak, are you the promise?"
"What, what are you talking about?" the woman rasped.
Allen watched Meg work and learned. The first thing he noticed was how the woman drew herself toward Meg's clutch, as if quenching a long thirst from human touch.
They spoke a while of little things, never letting go of each other then Meg delivered her pitch.
"My brother and I" nodding at Allen (and Allen cleverly nodding back) "are returning from a calling in California."
"There" she said as if sharing some unpopular superstition, "Satan had his way with us and our car broke down costing us everything. This morning during prayer, I opened my heart to revelation and received the word to wait in this place until the Lord saw fit to provide.
Were you called to help us?"
The woman shook her head, making a lame excuse "No, -- I don't have my checkbook." but Meg accepted it as complete honesty.
"I understand" Meg said with full sympathy, "I realize now that you were not the chosen, do you know how I can tell?"
Glad to be relieved of the pitch, the woman shook her head but was still curious.
"You said ‘checkbook'. The promise was specific; the vision was seventy-seven dollars and seventy cents, in cash, seven tens, seven ones, and seven dimes. Like I said, I'm sorry to have bothered you; if you were called you would have known all that - I had a feeling it might have been you but my mistake - none the less dear I am so glad to meet another servant of the Lord. We all serve in our own way."
Meg spoke with her some more, never letting go of her hand, then returned to the car, and reflecting an almost lonely sadness to Allen said, "Watch this".
A few minutes later, the woman emerged from the air-conditioning of the cashier booth to walk a straight line toward Meg and place in her hand: seventy-seven dollars and seventy cents, in cash, seven tens, seven ones and seven dimes.
"Praise the Lord, bless you."
"And bless you too dear."
This is the first in a three part serial story.
Here the link to Foraging: Part II
© Greg Schiller, 2007Author: Greg Schiller
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Comments: 49
Looking forward to the rest.
Good dialog tho, just no point Greg.
Which was a few years after he was at a Seminary school in Greeley Colorado, where one of the other students stole all his money and grandpa needed to buy him a one-way train ticket back to Redlands or home.
Then the other side of the family, my moms side in Salinas in the thirties as her brother, big Oz, was just beginning his work for the old Armenian and running the migrant farm workers, and at that time when Steinbeck was writing his book and Big Oz was rounding up the boatloads of Philippiano workers that the farmers had just brought in by the boatloads to work in the fields, leaving no or not much work for the Oakies who were starving.
for the next episode young man, coming soon; yes?
I was a bit confused by the opening image. I saw a cloud of concrete particles, but didn't understand how that would be. Then I thought maybe it was the shade over the tanks, but would that be concrete? That was distracting.
Why the three parts? Publishing the first part before finishing the rest seems needlessly hampering. But if you have finished the rest, you're just teasing us. Not fair.
Why have I chosen to post in parts? I find that anything much over 1,000 words is difficult to read on the web. The printed page is approx. 500-1,000 words depending on font -- and people tend to focus -- on a page.
And you're right about the length.
Of course, you're not wedded to what you put up here. I just hope you're very clear about that.
Hey! Not cool, using the Lord to manipulate the woman. But funny!
Nice imagery on my first read. I'll try to get back to it in a day or so and re-read.
Blinking. I'm not in the least offended by the use of the Lord here. I've seen the Lord use some pretty unsavory happenings and people to do his work in my own life. But that's a whole other story.....
Meg sounds like she has the foraging technique down to perfection. It's hard to say anything else without knowing where the story is going.... but I'm glad so far she's ripping off people who can probably afford to be ripped off. :-)
Greg, great first installment. As I said in my previous (and heretofore missing) comment, you've done a fine job of character development. Also, your choice of time and place is iconic, and you've done both things justice.
Looking forward to seeing parts 2 and 3!
I loved this. The characters were very real especially Meg, who's actually a "real character" - foraging? Interesting word for ripping people off - can't wait to read part II and III. You're right though - this is long enough for gather. You're better off splitting it up into parts.
"get passed Salt Lake City"...past
I think breaking it up to this length was a good idea...I was waiting to read the series until I had time.
As always...love your characters.
"white cloud of reinforced concrete floated on its tethers above a shimmering tarmac sea." cloud is a soft image and clashes with reinforced concrete. Also concrete does not float...
I would change "The cloud cast a deep blue pool of shadow over the pump island of a Philips gas station "
to:
"The cloud cast a deep pool of blue shadow over the gas station ."
I would edit down your paragraphs here from "All around the visible landscape, there was nothing, absolutely nothing but light blue sky and endless gray dust. Actually, there was less than nothing. The country was so hot, so flat, so windy and so beaten down by the sun's white rage that it was barren of even the most obstinate vegetation. The place could hardly support gravel, yet this tiny oasis was packed solid with the dusty, heat bleached cars of people who all seemed to know one another.
I scanned the flat horizon looking for some spring of green, for some place from where all this life flowed but all I could see were a few distant escarpments that appeared as dark blue knobs on the horizon. I turned the question over to Meg "Where the hell do you think all these people are coming from?"
She drew the frosty neck of a Coke bottle far enough out of her mouth to answer "Uranium".
"What? Uranium mines?"
She nodded yup."
to:
All around the landscape, there was nothing, absolutely nothing but blue sky and endless gray dust. Actually, there was less than nothing. The country was so hot, flat, windy and beaten down by the sun's white rage that it was barren of vegetation. The place could hardly support gravel, yet this oasis was packed with dusty, heat bleached cars of people who all seemed to know one another.
I scanned the horizon looking for green, for some place from where all this life flowed, but all I could see in the distance were what appeared as dark blue knobs on the horizon. I turned the question over to Meg: "Where the hell do you think all these people are coming from?"
She withdrew the frosty neck of a Coke bottle far enough out of her mouth to answer "Uranium".
"What? Uranium mines?"
She nodded yep."
Is Meg Australian? I believe only those from down under say, "No worries." That has been my experience from having been to Oz.
This is a very appealing story, Greg, and you tell it with bare honesty. A real American voice, which I like.
Pare down on the adjectives. Less is more.
As for the photo, it is the flats, I wanted something to illustrate that barreness of eastern Nevada.
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I just wanted to say I am finally going through what is now under 6,400 pieces of gather new mail that is in my inbox on here. So with that in mind I have finally come to a piece of mail that was addressed to me in regards this article submission you have created to share with the gather community. Thank you for taking the time and sharing your piece with us here at gather. :o)
And I hope you have a Happy New Year... in 2009 :o)