Week 2, Day 10

I'm posting Day 10 blog today on Day 9 because I won't have time to do it tomorrow night.  I wanted to make sure you set aside time on Veteran's Day to write.  You probably have family plans that day.  My daughter is marching in a parade.  However, it's a great day to find a quiet spot and write.  So even though we can't meet during lunchtime, please continue writing on your own.

Is this whole process getting easier for you?  It is for me.  The more I write, the more I develop the storyline and conflicts.  I'm hooked now and I can't stop until this darn thing is finished.  I want to see if my character resolves her problems. 

What do you mean "if"?  Aren't you the writer - you ask.

Yes, I am the writer, but the story is taking off now.  My characters are speaking as they darn well please and I am letting it flow.  That's what's so cool about this contest.  You just go with the flow and see where the story takes you.

Did I tell you my character Pamela is a shoplifter?  I didn't know how bad her problem had become until tonight when I wrote this new section.  Here it is, hot off the press, unedited and messy.  Tell me what you think...

Copyrighted © by Karen Procopio 11/09/09

Pamela browsed through the display of t-shirts. She picked up a small red t-shirt with black and white designs on the front. It was pretty and Pamela liked red. This shirt would become the prize.

And so the game began.

Pamela peered at the sales woman who was busily ringing up the purchases from a long line of customers.

Pamela looked at the shirt again, hesitated, and picked up three – two smalls and a medium. She draped the shirts over her arm and carried them to the harried saleswoman. She smiled politely.

“May I try these on please?” she asked.

“Ok, but can you wait a moment?” the woman said, holding up one finger.

“Sure,” Pamela smiled. Her heart pounded in her chest. She looked at the customers standing in line. She felt a mixture of fear and exhilaration. Did they suspect something? Was she much too cheerful?

The woman finished ringing up the sale and motioned to the next customer in line that she would be right back.

“Oh, my! Sorry to keep you waiting,” the woman said as she pulled a keychain from around her neck.

“Oh, no problem,” Pamela said. “I have time. You’re busy.”

The woman smiled gratefully as she unlocked the changing room door. “We’re short tonight. Two people out with the flu.”

“Oh, that must make it a busy night for you,” Pamela consoled.

The woman sighed. “Isn’t that the truth. So,” she said, looking back at the line of customers waiting. “How many?”

“Two,” Pamela lied.

“Okay, here you go,” the woman said as she placed a large cardboard number “2” on a peg outside the changing room door. With Pamela safely closed inside the room, she placed the three t-shirts on the bench. Quickly she unzipped her sweatshirt and removed her black long-sleeved shirt. She tried on the small red t-shirt and looked at herself in the mirror. The t-shirt was cute and fit her shoulders well. Pamela looked in the mirror and, with trembling hands, smoothed the shirt over her belly. She forced a smile. The face that smiled back was a face she didn’t recognize. The eyes were dark, wild. The smile was a teeth-clenched grimace. Who was she kidding? She knew stealing was wrong. And what if she got caught? But that was the game, wasn’t it? To see if she could walk out of the dressing room, past the sales woman and customers, past the front doors and out into the mall where she would walk, triumphantly, possessing a dark secret of which no one knew.

A knock on the changing room door startled Pamela.

“Do you need another size?” the woman called.

“Uh, no thank you,” Pamela said.

Quickly Pamela pulled the price tag off the red t-shirt and tore it into shreds. She placed the tiny pieces of paper into her jeans pocket. She then slipped her black, long-sleeved shirt over the red t-shirt, and pulled on her sweatshirt.

She smiled in the mirror, took a deep breath and with trembling hands, opened the door.

“How’d it go?” the woman asked cheerfully.

Pamela frowned. “Oh, sometimes t-shirts look better on the hanger than they do on me,” she said, disappointed. She handed the two red t-shirts back to the woman.

“Oh, that’s too bad. Would you like to look at another?”

“No, thanks. My mom text me. I gotta go,” Pamela smiled. “Thanks!”

“Ok. Come again,” the woman said as Pamela headed for the door.

Pamela’s heart pounded in her chest as she walked closer and closer to the front of the door. Were there sensors on the t-shirts? She suddenly panicked. She didn’t see any when she slipped the shirt over her head. But could she be sure? It was too late, now.

Time to go, Pamela.

Pamela hovered near the front of the store, pretending to be interested in a headless mannequin displaying jeans and a black sweater. Pamela touched the fabric of the sweater and waited until a group of teenage girls exited the store. Just as they walked past her, she casually turned, stepped into their group and followed them through the door.

Pamela held her breath.

Nothing. No beeps. No yelling. No “stop thief!”.
Pamela walked with the group and separated from them in front of the book store.

She did it. She did it all by herself. She didn’t need Nancy or Cathy or anyone else to help her.

What she did was wrong. It was terrible. It was illegal. It was against everything she had ever been taught as a child.

But it was exhilarating.

And for the first time since she moved to this awful town with its artificial, synthetic people, Pamela felt alive.

And it felt good.