Meet Chuck

I sometimes find writing prose difficult.  Poems tend to come much easier than stories.  A few years ago, a friend of mine and I embarked on a lengthy writing challenge aided by weekly writing prompts we agreed on and sat down and hammered away at them.  We drew from photographs, single word prompts, first line of our favorite book prompts and various subjects that interested us.  It was wonderful because whenever I got stuck I had her to lean on, had her brain to pick.  All of this writing was done mostly during evenings after long workdays, via MSN messenger, our writing spaces allied by the internet; the beauty of technology.

One of them really stands out for me.  We settled on writing that week’s exercise about ‘insomnia’.  The first line that came to mind was this:

‘Hi, my name is Chuck and I can’t fucking sleep.’

I wrote my 500 or so words about a guy called Chuck who had poor sleep hygiene.  Chuck is brash and cocky.  He’s humorous and witty.   He lives an insular existence for several complicated reasons and is wealthy though you’d never know it by his appearance.  That’s the thing about assumptions, yes?  You meet him trying to sort out his insomnia among other things at the office of his psychiatrist, Dr. Chipman.  I was really pleased with it and of all the exercises we had done and would do, that was the one I had the most fun penning.

A few challenges later, I proposed the idea of revisiting one of the pieces we’d already written.   To go back and perhaps expand on something we’d already done.  Truth was Chuck wouldn’t leave me alone.  His voice kept nagging me which is very much his personality.  We did the revisit piece and then it started to snowball until I had written so many pieces about him I had created a whole life, cast of characters and circumstances for him.  I’m still at a loss as to what to do with his story because reading through them there is a definite need for editing and fine-tuning the details of his past what truly motivates him.

I am sharing a piece here today.  ‘Chuck Has an Accident’.  You’ll meet Chuck and his nerdy best friend Norman (who he often refers to as ‘Normal’ which is an ironic title for him because he’s unique).  Normal is a Flavorist, food chemist.  He’s a pocket protector, horn-rimmed glasses wearing sod that loves cheesy 80’s music and is desperate to find love.  In this particular piece he has finally found a girlfriend who Chuck reluctantly accepts.  Norman has a big work party and invites Chuck to join them (they are neighbors) and Chuckness ensues.  This is still a very gritty, unedited chapter of what became an all-consuming character.   You’ll also become aware that his full name is Chuck E. Norris and he’s very sensitive about the famous likening. 

The most amazing part of Chuck is that he is certainly nothing like me.  I have no idea where he came from but he has become like a fifth limb.  He still bugs me sometimes and I do still scribble but haven’t spent any quality time with him in about two years.  Maybe I should.

Here he is, Chuck:

CHUCK HAS AN ACCIDENT

Yep, I had an accident.  And before you start trying to be a smart ass, no, I did not shit my pants; it wasn’t that kind of accident.  I went ass over kettle on a bicycle and near broke my neck.  It should be noted that it occurred when I was utterly shit-faced at Norman’s work party he threw over at his house.  All of the flavorists, the little food lab nerds convened at his pad for their annual company soiree.  Norman is always the host and I have to admit, he throws quite a shindig.  His new soul mate, insert gag here, Angie helped him orchestrate it, everything from the food to the fruit shaped piñatas in the trees. He is absolutely smitten with this woman and only after two coffee dates, an afternoon of go-kart racing and a threesome with me.  Now don’t get too excited, we went to see a movie, nothing shocking.  You couldn’t persuade me with anything to be anywhere near Normal naked. I felt like a third wheel sitting next to two giggling teenagers in puppy love. Gross.  She has a hippy quality to her, fair haired and thin, sort of graceful but with freckles and a goofy smile.  I didn’t want to like her but in a way, she suits Normal and as long as she’s floating his raft who am I to judge?  I still worry that he’s too eager to be a sitting duck that he’ll miss some of the other things that drift on the pond; you know what I’m saying?  But hey, it’s his lily pad and he’s not a tadpole anymore and one of these days a princess is going to kiss that frog and he’s going to bloom into a big dumb happily ever-after retard.    Asshole.  And here I’ll be, still fishing while he’s sailing off into the sunset on the fucking love boat.  I make a friend and some bitch steals him. Great, just my luck. 

So getting back to my mishap, Norman’s boss claimed he was thee beer pong champion to which I guffawed at mightily.  There is no fucking way that suburban hack with a severe graying comb-over and a Jay Leno chin was the beer pong champion.  I owned that title three years running in college.  Of course, after my admission, a bet was made, a duel was necessary and insanity ensued.  I proved once again that I am indeed the master and commander of beer pong.  Boss Man ended up drinking so much beer he puked his ol’ scientific guts out.  I followed suit in celebration of my mad skills and got fucking plastered.  The boss’s wife, who was a dead ringer for Miss Piggy but with gray hair, tore a strip off of me for her hubby’s unnecessary intoxication, adding that now thanks to me and my childish game of beer pong she was going to have to wipe his drunk ass all night.  According to the angry Muppet woman, binge drinking for the boss results not only in projectile vomiting but chronic diarrhea.  Not my fault beer turns him into Mr. Poopy Pants.  Apparently he has a very irritable bowl AND wife.  Poor fucker.  

After my run in with the upper management’s upper management I noticed one of Normal’s co-workers, a pretty wallflower, her name escapes me now, sitting alone eyeballing me like I’m the second coming so I park myself in the lawn chair beside her and engage in some heavy duty flirting that causes her rosy cheeks to turn blood red.  I didn’t get to use any of my best lines because her assaholic boyfriend drove up alongside us on a BMX bike and broke up our little meeting of the minds before it could get interesting.  He was a little twat, an unintelligent show-off and I knew that much about him before he even opened his mouth.  I am well aware that I have serious deficits in my overall personality but this idiot was over the fucking top.  First off, he was treating the girl like a peon and she was lame enough to comply with his every whim and that made my stomach turn.  That’s when he started bragging about all the slick moves he could make on his bike, his little crotch rocket.  Pffftt.  I must have said that out-loud because he glared at me and said, “Let’s see what you can do then, big shot.”  I saw Norman try to shake his head no but before I knew it I was pedaling that bad boy over a make-shift ramp.   I have to say, even for my being drunk and colored unimpressed with the owner, the bike was pretty fucking stellar – strong, quick handling and light-weight.  I jumped that bitch like a fucking pro watching that bastard’s smug face contort in awe because there is NOTHING Chuck E. Norris can’t do.  And then my arrogance got the best of me.  On my third and final time over the ramp, I rode hard and fast and flew like lightening through Norman’s mini pleasure grounds.  I was hot and unruffled and kicking ass so much so that even Mother Nature wanted to fuck me.  And fuck me she did.  Hard. 

When I was about to make my awesome landing the front wheel of the bike got caught in a generous dip in the grass causing my entire carcass to hurl up over the handle bars, somersault in the air and slam into the ground, sprawled out everywhere like I just plunged to my own demise from a twelve storey building and was fade to black for Chuck E. Norris.

I woke up in a hospital bed with Norman at my side holding my hand.  Queer.  My head felt like someone stepped on it repeatedly and every other part of me hurt.  I tried to sit up but Norman stopped me, “Oh Chuck, thank God you’re awake.  I was so scared you were going to slip into a coma, you’ve been out forever.”  Dramatic-o.  I asked him what the hell happened after I realized I wasn’t dreaming and was indeed in a hospital bed.  He told me I was drunk and preening around like a tool and took an unfortunate spill on a BMX that belonged to the boss’s son.  Oops.  Not only did I kick the big cheese’s ass at beer pong causing him sudden shit death, piss of Miss Piggy, I mangled the son’s bike and almost killed myself in the process.  “You almost got me fired, donkey nuts!  But I will say that your jump was out of this freakin’ world.  And the other bad news is, you’re banned for life from any future company functions.  Sorry pal.  Dare devil, chicka chicka yeaaaah.” 

I had to stay overnight for observation because I had head trauma.  In addition to braining myself, I had a gash down the left side of my face, a sprained wrist and was black and blue from ass to shoulder blades.  Normal and Angie got me home and settled in.  Angie, who is a vegetarian, made me a meatless chili which made me suspicious of her, no meat in chili?! Come ON now. Then she arranged a vase of wild flowers on my night stand that made me sneeze causing me further aches and pains.  Before Norman left, I told him I was really sorry for almost getting him fired.  He turned a sincere apology into a Brokeback Mountain moment when he turned to me and said, “Aw, I know, Chucky.  I know.  It’s ok.  I forgive you.”  Then he horrified me by kissing my forehead.  If I hadn’t been in so much pain I might have punched him in his cock but instead I told him to go suck on his elbow and with that we both started to laugh.  And because I was starting to feel the pain killers kick in I howled like a wimp when he turned back and said, “I can’t quit you, Chuck E. Norris.”  Fucking galoot.

What a weekend.  I neglected to mention before that while I am the master and commander of beer pong I get myself in trouble every time I play.

Friday I was in Chips office with the cut on my face starting to heal up nicely, my wrist still bandaged and a slight hobble in my gait.  She seemed pissy right off the top and asked me who I got into a fight with this time.  This time?  Wha?  I was happy to snap back at her sarcasm and debunk her assumption to tell her I was in a bike accident.  She studied me for an awkward moment and asked if I had been drunk on said bike.  Busted.  I paused too long and was forced to fess up to that truth.  “What has gotten into you, Chuck?  You were doing so well, make great strides, making brave choices, buying a house, making friends and now you’re getting into fights and making decisions that jeopardize all that we’ve worked on.  What’s that all about?”  Chip was exasperated.  I told her how the hell should I know, she was the shrink why doesn’t she tell me what’s the what.  I followed that up with, “And it was a BIKE accident, not a fight.  Who pissed in your Captain Crunch this morning, Doc?”  That must have been going a little too far because she booted me out of her office and slammed the door.  Wow.  It irked me so I yelled at her door, “Thanks SO much for your EMPATHY and NON JUDGEMENT, Dr. Phil.  MUCH APPRECIATED.”  Her secretary stood up and went to say something but I cut her off and said, “Stay the fuck away from her today, she’s raggin’ HARD.”  Then I got the hell out of there.  Her sour mood lay to rest my intended plan to ask her if she would be willing to kiss my boo boos and make them all better.  What the hell just happened?

Women.

*

I find him amusing.  I hope you do too.  I have a lot of work to do with him if I choose to pursue it.  There is a binder full of chapters.  Chuck kept me company many a lonely night.  He's made me laugh as has Norman. They are my favorite duo of all time.  In my head anyway.

In propinquity,

Nic