The Visit - 7/30/2008

THE VISIT

As he turned the cold water off, he listened to the end of it gurgle down the open drain. He lifted his head, with his face still dripping, to examine his reflection in the mirror. Unshaven and sleepy-eyed, he stared blankly at his image. The mature features of a grown man’s face were evident, but for a moment he could have sworn he was back in his youth. A smile started to creep across his face, but he caught himself. “She’s just a friend, she’s just a friend,” he repeated to himself. Attempting to push thoughts of her out of his head, he grabbed his shirt and pulled it over his head. He quickly collected his toothbrush, ran his hands through his hair, and walked out of the bathroom.

It was early, but he could hear music playing softly from the kitchen around the corner. He tiptoed quietly across the hardwood floor towards the sound. When he reached the kitchen he paused and carefully leaned up against the white doorframe so that she would not notice him. She looked much different than she had the night before.

Just a few hours ago, they had been at the bar down the street drinking and catching up with each other. She had been wearing her hair down, a pair of blue pants and a white shirt, but now she stood barefoot, in a tank top and shorts, with her hair up. The sunlight of early morning, coming from the window above the sink, clung to her curly brown hair and gave her an almost angelic look. With her back to him she prepared her breakfast, oblivious to his presence.

In that secret moment, he almost felt guilty as if he was spying on her. To him it was like watching art unfold before his very eyes and her natural beauty captivated him. Her body was slender and tight with curves that were more perfect than anything a renaissance sculptor could have created. Her straight posture gave off an aura of confidence and independence. His thoughts raced and he began to wonder if the feelings of romance he had felt towards her years ago had returned. Before he could decide, he heard the words “Good morning” escape from his mouth. Somewhat startled, she turned from her morning task and smiled. “Morning,” she said almost in a whisper.

The two locked eyes and grinned for a second before he once again broke the silence, “Hey, thanks for letting me stay here last night”. She laughed and asked, “Was the couch comfortable enough for a person as tall as you?”

He simply nodded, unable to put a coherent response together, and took a step into the kitchen. She once again laughed and reached for her water. As she raised the full glass to her lips he gazed into her eyes. They were like the ocean, deep and blue. Catching him in the act, she raised an eyebrow. Bashfully he attempted to play it off by asking her a question about what she was making. Slightly giggling at his awkwardness she replied, “A spinach omelet”.

He leaned his back up against the counter and continued to watch as she went back to her morning business. They were not in a relationship, had barely spent anytime together over the past several months, and had a jaded past but something about this moment felt right to him. He was in a house he had not seen until just yesterday, but strangely he felt at home.

“I should probably get on the road,” he said without a smile, “I have a lot of distance to cover today”. The thought of leaving that kitchen saddened his heart, but he knew that the longer he stayed the more her elegance would intoxicate him. “Oh, that makes sense,” she said softly as her full, ruby lips transitioned from a smile to a slight frown.

Making his way to the front door he heard her delicate footsteps follow behind him. He reached for the knob and turned it, pulling the door open to the morning that awaited him. “Be safe,” he heard, “and let me know when you get there”. He turned around and gave her a smile, “Definitely. Thank you again for such an amazing evening”. The formality of the moment seemed inappropriate. He wanted to run back to her and throw his arms around her gentle body, he wanted to feel her soft skin, and he wanted to kiss those tender lips. Fighting his desire, he walked out the door and was refreshed by the coolness of the spring morning. The air brushed his cheeks and the smells of dew and pollen filled his nose. A hopeful smile appeared on his face. It was the first time that he had realized that spring, the season of renewal, had arrived.

Portfolio Letter - April 28, 2005

April 28, 2005
To Whom It May Concern:

As I finish out my time this semester and my time at the University of Colorado I feel constant feelings of sentiment. I see myself telling friends I may never see again goodbye, reminiscing over memories of the past and figuring out what are the few things that still remain for me to do.

What has been a balancing force for me during this rough time of transition is the ability to write. I have no unique writing ability, but I still feel that I am able to produce a high quality level of work because of the emotion I put into it. As I wrote the stories of “A Month Later” and “The Regular” as well as the drama piece “The Boys of Summer”, I found myself using the characters as outlets of my own emotional issues.

The specific characters are not necessarily reflections of me, but their emotional responses are. Each character embodies feelings or things I have gone through emotionally and spiritually. As I seek out purpose, deal with turmoil in relationships, and lament over leaving the past behind, I use the characters of my stories as a vehicle to display my brokenness.

I consider myself a particularly happy and joyful person. I am an extrovert that everyone loves being around and I give life to those people. This seems so ironic in light of the tone of all my writing. Although my stories are not written just to be depressing, the majority of them have a dark light on them. There is nothing outright joyful about any of them. It is so weird that I find myself writing stories of pessimism when in reality I am a constant optimist.

I do not know what type of stories will be written in the future or where I will take these ones, but I do know that writing is great therapy for me. As I stated in my portfolio reflection letter, “although this assignment presents a formal ending to my required writing, I know that I will continue to write. Being able to convey emotion on paper is an incredibly useful tool. I do it not for an audience, but for myself”.

Sincerely,



Shaun William Davies

1997-2001 - February 15, 2005

A summer night, driving down those vacant streets
Memories unfold and the feelings surface of the past
Where the intersection of Wadsworth and 104th meets
This is the world where my legacy will last

The halls are lined with lockers, silent and without hurry
I remember pushing through the mob to not be late
Life was simple then, I had no worry
Except for a tennis match or a prom date

I miss the girls, I miss the parties, I miss my friends
I miss the sports, I miss the dances, I miss those Friday nights
When we would commit mischief and debauchery without amends
Those glorious moments are now mere ghosts on these legendary sites

As I pull away and watch it fade in my rearview mirror
I lament that those days are no longer here

Iraq - February 8, 2005

Dim room
Lit only by a flickering television
I droop on the couch
School hoodie and sweats hang on my body
Spring
Roommates asleep and snoring
Midnight break
Late evening drive-through snack
Homework due in the morning
Eyelids getting heavy as bricks
The oil bleeds through the paper bag making it transparent
Greasy cheeseburger dripping with mustard
Sits untouched and pristine for my hunger
Eyes bloodshot but straining to watch
Television a collage of rubble and ruins
One tank rumbles through, flying a solo American flag
Angered mobs covered in sweat, blood and filth surround it
Solidiers, Americans, men, husbands, brothers, sons, boys
I am 20
Watching for Brian or Jason
Textbooks open and unused at the desk
The day’s dead scroll by
Slow and steady like a funeral procession
18, 19, 18, 23, 19, 20, 20, 23, 20
Hands fumble for the sandwich
First bite of the burger
Mouth full, swallow, gag
This burger tastes like sand

Pepper and Eggs - February 1, 2005

The velvet blanket tickles my chin
The morning sunshine bleeds through the window
I hear coffee brewing and butter sizzling
My mouth begins to water in anticipation of breakfast
And the smell of scrambled eggs floats under my nose
As I rise from my slumber, I half-consciously stagger to the kitchen
Awaiting me on a pearly porcelain plate is a mountain of golden scrambled eggs
The white and yellow marbleize into a creamy stack covered with black specs
This AM present has been graced by delicious ground pepper

the 2nd - january 25, 2005

dusk begins to slip beneath the horizon
pavement is damp and the drizzle continues
car sits idle in the coffee shop parking lot
through the fogged windows two motionless figures
the couple sits in the car and the radio is silent
his knuckles are white gripping the steering wheel
she brings her coffee cup to her lips but doesn’t sip
the leather seats are dank
he turns his gaze to her and catches her eyes
she quickly looks away
raindrops tap on the outside of the car
his stare is now fixed on her hair, that featherlike golden hair
she bites her lip because she can feel his eyes
the smell of her perfume mixed with the spring rain fills the car
he closes his eyes and faces the windshield letting out a sigh
she swallows and folds her arms in, curling herself in her lap
the breaths of two separate people is the only sound
outside those doors the world has stopped
streetlights reflect off the lone wet car
asphalt is soaked, puddles form
night brings a black sky and not a single star

The Boys of Summer - April 20, 2005

The Boys of Summer

Characters
Mitch Olsen
Patrick Burk
James Smith
Marlene McMurphy

Setting: The play takes place in an office, which is set up to reflect the current era. The stage is lit brightly with florescent lights. The backdrop is a white wall or canvas with little to it other than simple paintings of the outdoors, oceans, flowers and other mundane stereotypical office artwork. In the center of the stage are two desks, both of which face the theater, side by side, so that when the characters are seated, they have direct eye contact with the audience. To the left of the first desk is a copy machine and to the right of the second desk is a water cooler.

The desks each have on them a telephone, a cup of pens, a computer monitor and a keyboard. On the left desk sits a picture frame that’s image cannot be seen by the audience. On the right desk sits a large stack of computer paper.

Both characters of Mitch Olsen and Patrick Burk sit at their desks as the play opens. Mitch, seated on the left, is drumming a pen on the desk and reading his computer monitor. Patrick is thumbing through the stack of papers and occasionally stopping to underline something.

All male characters in this play wear business attire consisting of dress shirts, ties, slacks and nice shoes. Marlene wears a formal blouse and a skirt that is knee length.

Mitch, Patrick and Marlene are all portrayed as young, freshly out of college, professionals. The character of James is played by a man in his late forties.

The year: 2005

Patrick Burk (Puts stack of papers down and plops the pen down on top them, looks
over at Mitch): Hey Mitch, do you really think the rumors are true?
Mitch Olsen (Still drumming his pen he looks up from his monitor and at Patrick): The
ones about Smith and his wife?
Patrick: Yes. Those ones.
Mitch: I don’t know Patrick. I mean, I have never really thought of him to be one of
those guys. He never talks to girls around the office or anything. Hell, I’ve never even seen him hit on a waitress when we go out for drinks.
Patrick: But I heard his wife caught him at a hotel with some chick. I heard that she
had been suspicious for a long time and finally decided to follow him from the office one day.
Mitch: It doesn’t surprise me. Look at the guy. His life is pathetic.
Patrick: Hardly! The guy is a district manager, he’s easily pulling in six figures, he has
a huge house, he goes golfing every Saturday, and his son just landed the varsity quarterback position at Central. The guy is living the dream
Mitch: Patty, come on. You can’t be serious. The guy …(Stops as James walks into
the room from right stage side)…and that is why I can’t get this stupid thing to print.
James Smith (Carrying a stack of file folders in one hand and a document in the other
he walks through the room. He keeps his head down, reading the document but stops in front of the space between the two desks): Problems with the computer Mitch?
Mitch: No Mr. Smith (Begins typing on the keyboard), just had a printing problem
earlier, but I figured it out and took care of it.
James: Good to hear. (Takes one step and stops) I will be out of the office this
afternoon, but when you finish the report on the Westinghouse accounts email it to Marlene and tell her to make sure she looks it over before my meeting in the morning (Begins walking out towards left stage side).
Mitch: Will do sir! Have a great afternoon.
James: Hmm. (Exit)
Mitch: See what I mean? The guy is the walking dead.
Patrick: Fuck Mitch! What do you got that makes your life so much better?
Mitch: Nothing. I am as pathetic as he is. The highlight of my damn week is drinking
a 40 by myself and watching baseball on Wednesday nights. We are all pathetic. Every damn one of us in this office.
Patrick: Go to hell Mitch (Turns head back down and starts going through the stack of
papers again).
Mitch: It’s the truth. You can’t deny it. Look at yourself.
Patrick: I have a great life (Looks up. Begins listing things on his fingers). I am using
the degree I earned in college, I’m making decent money, I drive a nice car, I just put down the down payment on a condo, and … (Pauses).
Mitch: Hmmm (Begins mocking Patrick’s hand counting and speaking sarcastically).
Fucking worthless, fucking vain, fucking frivolous, fucking pathetic, you’re right Patty. You really got it going on!
Patrick: Dude, come on Mitch. You know it’s not much, but you got to learn to be
happy with what you got. We’re doing a hell of a lot better than those guys that change oil and shit like that.
Mitch: I didn’t mean it as a slam against you personally. I mean it for all of us. There
has to be something more. Don’t you wonder what the heck happened to the kid you once were?
Patrick: Bro, first you were talking trash about our lives and now you’re getting all
sentimental on me.
Mitch (Leaning back now in the chair with his hands behind his head): No Pat, I’m
serious. (Closes eyes and takes a deep breath in through his nose) I remember playing wiffle ball on my driveway as a kid and wanting to be a major leaguer. (Laughs) My neighbors and I would play every afternoon during our summer breaks (Opens eyes and leans forward, staring Patrick straight in the eyes). If you hit one from the garage door to the other side of the street it was a home run. But if you hit a pop fly and it landed before it got to the other side, it was an out. If you…(laughs to self) never mind. God those days were glorious though. What about you Pat? What did you want to do?
Patrick (Cracking a smile): Crap man. I don’t know. I…I never gave it much thought.
Mitch: Come on (Gets louder). Yes you did. What did you want be?
Patrick: (Stuttering) I…I…I dunno. I dunno.
Mitch: Come on. I know you had some sort of dream.

(Long Pause. Patrick looks about the room and into the air as if in deep thought. Mitch doesn’t take his stare from Patrick. Something comes to Patrick and he nods)

Patrick: Don’t laugh (His smile turns to a very stern and serious look, begins to
whisper), but I wanted to be a chef. I loved cooking as a kid. I was never good at it, but when I did it, I was…I was…I was happy.
Mitch: See man? (He begins to talk very quietly now and he is no longer smiling) We
all had our dreams. Big ones, little ones, it didn’t matter. But at some point, regardless of what caused it, we let them slip away into the past. (Begins shaking head) We settled for something else.
Patrick: (Speaking normally) God dude, you’re the worst fucking therapist ever
(Laughs). I was content with my life, but now I want to go kill myself.
Mitch: Sad but true bro. Isn’t that the truth? Do you have any dreams now though?
Patrick: I guess. Do you?
Mitch: Ya. I want to quit this job, buy season tickets to the Orioles, go to every home
game and spend my days doing freelance computer work from home.
Patrick: Well then why don’t you?
Mitch: Because reality makes me settle. I can’t financially afford to live like I want to
(Looks down at his desk with an expressionless face). This isn’t the first time either. Every time I have let one of my dreams slip away, it was because I couldn’t afford it. I’ve sold out because being a dreamer is just too expensive.
Patrick (Chuckling): Then why the heck did you just make me go through what I just
did? You make me feel guilty for being content with settling, but now you’re telling me that doing the opposite is out of reach. (Laughing) How did I get a desk next to you?
Mitch: Seriously though, what do you want Pat? What is it that would complete you?
Patrick: I don’t know. I’d like to think she would (Motions towards Marlene with a
nod as she walks in from the right side of the stage to the water cooler)
Mitch: You have liked her for a long time haven’t you? (Marlene, who cannot hear
what is being said, fills a glass with water)
Patrick: Yes. I have had a thing for her ever since she started here.
Mitch: Have you ever done anything about it? (Marlene finishes filling her glass and
begins walking towards the desks)
Patrick: (Quickly) I’ll tell you later…Hey Marlene! How’s your day been?
Marlene McMurphy (Smiling and taking a sip of her water she stands at Patrick’s desk
and stares at him): It’s going, you know? Busy day with Mr. Smith having that huge meeting tomorrow. Speaking of which, did you finish the report on the Westinghouse accounts Mitch? (She continues to smile at Patrick and does not even look over at Mitch)
Mitch: It’s coming. I’ll have it done by lunch. Speaking of lunch, Patrick, I can’t go
today. I have an appointment I got to go to. I don’t think Marlene will mind taking my place though (Jabs Patrick in the side and smiles). You wouldn’t mind that would you Marlene?
Marlene: Mind wh…Oh no. Not at all. I mean I have a ton to do, but I would love to
go to lunch with Patrick.
Patrick: Well if you have a ton to do, don’t worry about it. I can use the time to go run
some errands I need to do. (Mitch’s jaw drops and he shakes his head)
Marlene: Oh?
Patrick: It isn’t a big deal. I’ll be fine.
Marlene (Looking confused): Okay then? I guess I won’t go to lunch with you then
today. Well I better get back to work. Talk to you later boys! (Exit)
Mitch: What the hell was that? (Throws hands into the air)
Patrick: What was what?
Mitch: I just set you up on a date with the girl that you have desperately wanted for
almost two years now, and you lack the little bit of courage to go out for a simple lunch.
Patrick: (Looking down at his hands): She said she had a lot to do. I didn’t want to
keep her from getting done what she has.
Mitch: Come on man, that’s a lie.
Patrick: Bro it’s not as easy for me as is it is for you. Girls don’t just “fall” for me.
Mitch: She’s totally interested in you! She wouldn’t take her eyes off you!
Patrick: That’s not the point. You don’t know what it’s like to be a guy who has faced
rejection his whole life. You don’t know what it’s like to be into a girl, finally get the guts up to ask her out and then not only get shut down but also get embarrassed by her.
Mitch: I’ve been rejected before.
Patrick: When?
Mitch: That’s not important. The important thing is that it’s happened. You just have
to get back on the horse and go for it.
Patrick: You have no idea. Never mind.
Mitch (Stands up and walks over to Patrick’s desk): Will you at least tell her that you
want to go to lunch with her the next time I work my magic?
Patrick: We’ll see. (Sighs).
Mitch: Pat, (Reaches over and puts his hand on Patrick’s shoulder) don’t ever let
anything tell you that you shouldn’t have what you want. You’ve been settling your entire life, as have I, but its time that one of us does something about it. You deserve her. You’re a good guy. It’s time that one of our dreams becomes a reality.
Patrick: You really think so?
Mitch: I wouldn’t lie to you.
Patrick: Hmmm…(Pauses) You just told me exactly what I needed to hear. I’m going
to do it.
Mitch: Go right now. Don’t let the moment slip.
Patrick: I’m nervous man.
Mitch: Nothing worthwhile has ever been gained without taking a risk.
Patrick (Standing up): You’re right. I’m not going to go ask her just to lunch today,
I’m going to see if she wants to go to dinner with me on Friday. I’m going for it.
Mitch: That a boy.
Patrick: I can’t believe I’m doing this! (Smiles at Mitch and shakes head) This is so
unlike me. What have you done to me Mitch? (Laughs) Wish me luck! (Exit)
Mitch (To self): Way to go Patrick. Way to be a dreamer. (Sits back down at desk)
Maybe one day I’ll go for my dream too

The lights fade out as Mitch sits at his desk drumming a pen on it.