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Post by Tensleep on Mar 1, 2009 3:14:32 GMT -5
Rumble, March '09:
Treasures by the Trash
You never know what you can find on a day out, especially with how resourceful our boys are. Write a story about one or more of the boys proving the old adage "One man's trash is another man's treasure" and the ensuing adventure. Any POV, 7pgs max.
Please copy, paste and post your entries under this thread so we can all enjoy them! I know there are some awesome imaginations on this forum. So get writing!
Tens
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Two-Bitty
Teeny Bopper
"I've no interest in living for a thousand years. It's enough if I can live through today."
Posts: 109
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Post by Two-Bitty on Mar 1, 2009 20:37:14 GMT -5
Sounds like something Two-Bit would do. But I think everyone thinks of Two-Bit, so I want to do someone else... like Dallas... Hm...
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Post by whatcoloristhesky on Mar 1, 2009 22:30:44 GMT -5
I'm gonna have to think about this one....
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Two-Bitty
Teeny Bopper
"I've no interest in living for a thousand years. It's enough if I can live through today."
Posts: 109
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Post by Two-Bitty on Mar 25, 2009 13:59:05 GMT -5
Usually I have an idea for this ahead of the deadline, (like a week) and i finally have one! Thanks, Mr. Poff(my English teacher)!!! Will try to type and post by today or tomorrow. WOO!!
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Post by Tensleep on Mar 26, 2009 21:17:11 GMT -5
If you're over by a few days, just post it anyways! I'll so read it!
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Post by whatcoloristhesky on Mar 30, 2009 2:29:51 GMT -5
Not what one would conventionally think when one thinks of "One man's trash is another man's treasure, but here you go:
XXXX Looking Through the Rubble
If there was one thing I had ever learned from my dad, it was to look through the rubble and see what you can pull out of it. “Some folks just don’t understand the value of what they’ve got, son,” he’d tell me.
When I was younger, I thought he was referring to anyone who had money—any kid that was spoiled. Like when I’d come home with grass stains on my pants and Mom would be so mad at me. “Darrel Shaynne Curtis, get to your room right now!” she’d yell, waving the dish towel that always seemed to be in her hand whenever we did something wrong. “I want those pants off and outside the door! Those are your good pants, Darry!”
To which I’d yell back, “But Mom . . . Chris Dudd gets his pants dirty too! And he doesn’t get in trouble.”
“You’re not Chris Dudd,” she’d quip.
Then I’d wait until Dad got home and gave me a stern talking to for talking back. And he’d always end with, “Some folks just don’t understand the value of what they’ve got. Sometimes you’ve got to look through all the shit that life throws at you, and realize some things are worth more than you think—like people and words and actions. Materials can always be replaced.” Then he’d stand up, ruffle my hair, and whisper, “Don’t tell your mother I cussed, alright?”
I’d nod and a little while later I’d apologize to my mom. That was how it went every time until I hit middle school and playgrounds were suddenly for kids. Of course my brothers were kids, so playgrounds were fine for them. And since playgrounds were fine for them, grass stains thought they were fine for their good pants, and the same talk Dad used to give me was given to them.
“Sometimes you’ve got to look through all the shit that life throws at you and realize some things are worth more than you think—like people and words and actions.”
When I hit high school, Soda had just made it to middle school and had discovered hair grease. I never went for that stuff, and as ashamed as I am of it, having Soda come up to me with his shirttail out and his hair slicked back embarrassed me when I was with my football buddies.
I’ll never forget it—when he and Steve came up to me after football practice that first time. It was my first practice with the high school team and I had been making a decent enough impression on the seniors until then.
We were on break, sitting around and joking with each other when the two approached
“Hey, Dar,” Soda called, grinning from ear to ear. Steve was with him too, smiling, and they both had cokes in their hands. They were in dirty jeans and dirty t-shirts that their hands had left smudges of oil on.
I could hear the snickers behind me—“Curtis, you know the little greasers?” and “Gee, maybe we should let ‘em use the showers.”
“Hey, Soda . . . Steve,” I greeted, careful not to let my ears burn up in embarrassment.
“Guess what?”
“What?”
Soda smiled proudly. “Dad taught us how to change the oil on his car!”
A few more snickers erupted from behind me—“So that’s how their hair got so greasy…”
“Neat, Soda,” I told him and silently wished he weren’t my brother, or that we weren’t poor, or that he’d at least changed.
He nodded, still grinning. “Oh, and Mom told me that if I saw you to tell you that you should come home right after practice.”
And I did. But before I went home and after Soda and Steve had left, Paul Holden’s older brother, Eric, had come up to me. “Was that your brother before?” he asked. I nodded slowly. “I would’ve never guessed you were related to a greaser.”
He said “greaser” with such contempt that despite the compliment towards me laced into the statement, I still felt like trash—like my whole family was trash. I should’ve said something and stood up to him, but I didn’t. I was embarrassed, and I shouldn’t have been. After all, the only difference between most of the guys on my team and me was their money and my lack of money.
“Materials can always be replaced.”
Now I was sitting on the porch in the middle of the night, wondering why I had ever been embarrassed. Soda never knew about it, and if he had, he never brought it up or showed me a dirty look for it. Maybe he and Ponyboy had learned more from Dad’s talks than I ever had. They were proud to be who they were—of their names, of being greasers, and I’d always tried to avoid it.
Mom and Dad died in a car wreck a few weeks ago, and all I heard was Dad’s talk once the officer had told us. I held onto Ponyboy and Sodapop, barely registering the gang and the football fifteen feet away, and listened to his talk replay over and over again in my head.
I couldn’t replace my parents, I couldn’t replace any thing I’d ever said to anyone, and I couldn’t replace my actions. What Dad had been trying to tell me was that when it gets down to it, materials mean nothing, family means everything, and what you say and what you do defines you as a person.
When Mom and Dad died, everything crashed around me. I had college and a career and a life ahead of me, funeral costs to pay, and arrangements to make, but despite my mind being the mess that it was, I still heard that talk Dad used to give me. I had to look through the shit that life was throwing at me, and when I did, I saw my brothers staring back.
“. . . some things are worth more than you think—like people and words and actions.”
Today I gained full guardianship of my brothers, and the judge asked me why I wanted it when there was so much I could do with my life.
I told him, “Some folks just don’t understand the value of what they’ve got. Sometimes you’ve got to look through all the shit that life throws at you, and realize some things are worth more than you think—like people and words and actions. Materials can always be replaced.”
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Post by Nittanylizard on Mar 30, 2009 6:20:49 GMT -5
whatcoloristhesky - I absolutely LOVED it. I think you did an amazing job with the theme for this month. The scene with Darry and the football team really drove it home, the way he was feeling embarrassed about the way his brother looked. It's not something I ever thought about before, but it makes so much sense, and I think you wrote it perfectly. Awesome job.
Liz
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Post by whatcoloristhesky on Mar 30, 2009 12:15:01 GMT -5
Thanks, Liz. I always enjoy reading your comments—they make me happy.
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Two-Bitty
Teeny Bopper
"I've no interest in living for a thousand years. It's enough if I can live through today."
Posts: 109
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Post by Two-Bitty on Mar 30, 2009 18:07:15 GMT -5
Glory, that just TOUCHED me (and not in the dirty way, you pigs, haha); I loved how it was Darry remembering what happened in the past and how it related to his current struggle. And surely that wasn't what people normally think of "One man's trash is another man's treasure." I admit, it took me a moment to realize how it related to the prompt, and now that I know, it fits BEAUTIFULLY! with the prompt.
Great job!
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Two-Bitty
Teeny Bopper
"I've no interest in living for a thousand years. It's enough if I can live through today."
Posts: 109
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Post by Two-Bitty on Mar 30, 2009 21:00:02 GMT -5
I made the deadline! And I actually changed what I was going to do at the last moment, so it took a little longer than I thought. It's shorter than I usually write, grr...
whatcoloristhesky's story helped me think of how to interpret the prompt in a different manner, so I thank you.
Baseball
“When was the last time you cleaned your room? Like a really good cleaning?”
Johnny stood at the edge of Two-Bit’s room, looking in with a combined curious and worried look. Two-Bit was sitting on his bed, pulling on a shirt he fished from the pile in the corner of his room. The older greaser shrugged and fixed his hair, which messed up from the shirt. Johnny stepped in, avoiding scattered objects; clothes, bottles, wrappers, ect.; and joined Two-Bit on the bed.
“Well, why don’t you clean it up a little? I mean, you don’t have anything better to do.”
“I suppose you’re right.” Two-Bit stood up and stretched, then glanced around. “I never seem to throw anything away. Thing just get… built up, y’know?” He stepped over a few objects on his way out of the room. “I’ll grab a bag and a few beers.”
Johnny went to protest about the beer, but Two-Bit was gone. So the younger boy sat on the bed, rubbing a finger tip over his throbbing cheek. His cheek was warm to the touch, and he knew a bruise would soon follow. He ran his fingernails over the fabric of his jeans and sighed. Soon the rusty-haired greaser returned with said bag and beer. The bag was hung on the door knob and the beer was thrown on the bed.
“I didn’t really care for a beer…”
Two-Bit grinned. “Who doesn’t care for beer? C’mon, Johnnycake, live a little.” There was a pause when Two-Bit noticed Johnny’s expression. “You don’t have to drink any. I’ll run back down stairs and grab a Coke or Pepsi or something.”
Johnny was quiet. “No, it doesn’t matter.”
For a second Two-Bit looked at him, then shrugged and cleared a spot for them to sit on the floor. The black-haired kid joined Two-Bit on the floor, handing him a beer.
The two began to shuffle things around, a little small talk squeezed in, and a few laughs on the things found on the floor. Johnny held up a pink, lacy thong at Two-Bit with a grin. “Well, well, Two-Bit…” he teased. Two-Bit took the undergarment and looked at it.
“Oh, that’s mine.” He grinned at Johnny and threw it in the bag. Johnny laughed a little at the joke, then went back to throwing empty Coke and Pepsi bottles into the trash bag and other various trash going in with it. He found an old book, A Tale of Two Cities, and noticed that it was badly beaten and nearly falling apart. Then, he noticed something rectangular sticking out of the top.
“You read?” he asked smartly. Two-Bit, not paying any attention, shrugged and gave a laugh. He was too mesmerized by his Elvis Presley records he found. Johnny threw it over Two-Bit’s lap and into the trash bag, but when it caught Two-Bit’s eye, he jumped and frantically tore through the bag for it. Johnny just sat back and watched in awe.
Two-Bit held the old book in his lap and frowned.
“Hey, I’m sorry, man. I didn’t know it was that important to you.”
“No one really does.” He paused and looked at Johnny, holding the book up. “This was my father’s. He left us when I was maybe five or six.” He tugged the rectangular piece of paper from the book. It was an old Tulsa Oilers baseball ticket, dated 1953. “The only thing I remember my father taking me to. It was a good game; they scored a 83-71 win that game. I remember sitting with my father and eating a hotdog, wearing an old Oilers hat and cheering them on. Best day of my life. I’d say I was five.”
Johnny extended his hand for the ticket, and Two-Bit handed it over. He looked at it for a while, thinking. Two-Bit continued.
“After that, everything was downhill. He left that next year and I never saw him again. I took the book since I remember him always reading it. That’s why it’s so beaten up. I stuck the ticket in there and threw it somewhere. Guess you found it.”
The ticket was handed back and was placed back into it’s protective shell where nothing would harm it. The book was tucked under Two-Bit’s leg. Johnny sighed and looked up at Two-Bit. “I’m sorry. I mean, it looked like trash and you didn’t seem to be interested in it.”
Two-Bit grinned a toothy grin. “Well, you never know. Someone may think one thing is a piece of trash, and another would think of it at a treasure.”
Johnny raised his brows at Two-Bit in an understanding way. “I heard that before.”
“Just not from me?”
“Nah, not from you,” he laughed, tossing something into the bag. “Just a little insightful today, aren’t you?”
“Until I get a little more drunk.”
"And that's all I got to say about that." - Forrest Gump, Forrest Gump
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Post by Tensleep on Mar 30, 2009 22:54:09 GMT -5
I needed a study break, so here's something short and sweet. Next study break, I am so reading the other responses! Promise!
Something Lost, Something Found By Tensleep
Sometimes, I honestly wanted to kill my best friend. He was usually pretty great to hang around, but lately he’d been pretty distracted, distracted enough so this was the second set of invoices he’d thrown out in the past month. Jack was usually pretty easy going for a boss, but if he had to re-order them again, he was going to have our hides. So that was why the pair of us were in the dumpster behind the DX, digging through every bit of dirty, grimy, sticky, and reeking piece of garbage in the container. It was slow going and we were about half way down already. If we didn’t find those invoices before we hit the bottom, I was going to be some pissed.
“I swear to you, Soda, if those invoices aren’t in here...”
“Where else could they be?” Soda asked, pushing his bangs out of his face with the crook of his arm.
Good question.
“I mean, everything I put in the garbage ended up out here,” Soda explained. “The bag should be right on top. I mean, it was only last night.”
“Well, last night isn’t this morning,” I pointed out, digging another bag out and ripping it open.
“Maybe the bag fell behind the dumpster,” Soda suggested, jumping out to check while I dug through the bag in my hands.
I was pretty sure this wasn’t from our place when I came across the party supplies – crumpled streamers, a ripped banner and a ton of brightly colored paper. I was sure someone around here had a real good time last night. A better time than we were having today going through mountains of freaking garbage...
“Found them!” Soda crowed from where he was wedged behind the dumpster and the wall. He slid out, holding the open bag up triumphantly.
I sighed in relief. It was about time. Soda grinned at me and showed me a handful of the invoices, just to prove he was right. I nodded and used the side of the dumpster to pull myself over to the edge. I was just about to hop out when I spotted it.
“What do we have here?” I muttered, pulling one of the ripped open bags up to the surface of the dumpster.
In one of the bags I had ripped open was the weirdest thing I had ever seen. At the same time, I knew exactly who would appreciate something like that.
“You know, I saw one of those in a magazine once,” Soda commented, leaning on the side of the dumpster. “I thought they were too tacky to really exist.”
“It’s pretty tacky,” I agreed, holding it out for him to hold.
“And you want to take it out of the trash?” Soda asked, not taking it.
“Yeah. Two-Bit’s birthday is this weekend. I gotta give him something.” I shrugged, waving the item around more insistently.
Soda’s face broke out into a large grin as he grabbed the treasure. He twisted it around in his hands, studying it from all angles.
“You know, Steve. I think he’s going to love this.”
I hopped out of the dumpster and picked up the bag of invoices. “I hope so. Otherwise, I’m never gonna hear the end of it.”
“Mind if I go in on this with you?” Soda asked, setting it on his head.
“Why not?” I shrugged. “If he likes it, then we’re both good, and if not, we’re in the same boat.”
“He’s going to love this,” Soda assured me.
Well, as long as he was sure...
That weekend, I walked into the Curtis’ place with a department store bag in my hands. It was the only thing I could find that would fit the present Soda and I had found. And my mother had a couple of them just hanging around. It would fool him and that was the point. We couldn’t even keep it at Soda’s since Two-Bit was a massive snoop when it came to his birthday presents. I think he was getting wise to us, since I could have sworn I saw him in my backyard yesterday. I figured it would serve him right if he managed to get into the house. One or both of my parents would scar him for life. I was proof of that.
Everyone was already eating when I walked in. I wasn’t surprised. If you were late, no one waited on you. The same went for gifts. Two-Bit had a couple magazines and a couple decks of cards in front of him, along with a key chain and some smokes. It looked like he really scored this year.
He was the first to look up when I walked in and grinned brightly, bow sitting on his head and all. Yeah, he was going to get a kick out of our gift.
“Hey Stevie! We thought you got rolled by a Soc or something,” Two-Bit greeted.
“No, just late. And don’t call me Stevie,” I told him, ambling into the room.
“It’s my birthday. I’ll call you whatever I want,” Two-Bit dismissed with a wide grin. “Is that for me?”
I rolled my eyes at the hungry look he had for the bag and passed it over to him.
“Now, look at the size of this sucker!” Two-Bit beamed. “This is how you treat a guy on his birthday.”
“Don’t forget that’s from both Steve and me,” Soda threw in from where he was squished between Dallas and Pony at the table.
“In that case, they might have even spent money on it,” Dallas offered with a smirk when Two-Bit worked to rip all the tape off the bag with more vigour.
Duct tape. We weren’t about to make it easy for him to actually get into his present.
“That was a waste of tape,” Darry pointed out, staring at the mess Soda and I’d made with that bag. It was a good thing he didn’t know where we got the tape. I figured he would soon enough when something else needed to be taped back together around here.
“Glory, Two-Bit,” Pony sighed. “You have a switch.”
I scowled at the kid. He was always ruining my fun. Two-Bit beamed at him, reaching into his back pocket for the black handled switchblade he’d recently stolen from the Pickett hardware store. A minute later he had the bag open and was fishing his gift out of the bag with a look of surprise on his face.
“What is it?” Darry asked.
“It’s...a lampshade.” Two-Bit still had that puzzled expression on his face.
“Not just any lampshade,” I pointed out, taking it from him so I could flick the fringe on it. “One of those Hawaiian print ones – just like we saw in that beach movie a few weeks ago.”
“Not that this isn’t a unique and very...thoughtful gift, but what am I supposed to do with a lampshade, Stevie?” Two-Bit asked, watching as I flicked the fringe. “I don’t even own a lamp.”
I smirked and promptly dropped it on his head. The sunset on the lamp covered most of his face, the fringe dangling around his upper lip. Still, I could see the smirk on his lips right before everyone started laughing. Two-Bit tipped the shade back so it sat on his head and showed his face. He grinned as he watched everyone at the table sputtering before he joined in. I smiled, watching. I hated to say it, but I owed Soda a big “I told you so”.
“Oh, I think it gets better.” Two-Bit sputtered out, flipping the shade back over his face so he could make the fringe sway around as he danced in his chair to music the rest of us couldn’t hear.
I did laugh then, slumping so that I was holding myself up on the back of Johnny’s chair as the kid howled and gripped his sides. I met Soda’s look from across the table and I hoped he understood that I was glad we’d gone through the trash together.
If it got laughs like this, we were going to have to treasure hunt in the dumpster more often.
- End
Sadly enough, this was Inspired by a true, if not as humerous, story.
Ok, back to the book I have to read for tomorrow. Ugh, school sucks.
Looking forward to reading these entries! Keep 'em coming!
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texaskid
Middle Classer
I'd put a pic here but I'm too lazy.
Posts: 59
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Post by texaskid on Mar 31, 2009 9:58:34 GMT -5
I love these things the only thing I have to say is that...well in baseball each run only counts for a point and I know it can be made up but...The highest score that I can find is 36 in the Chicago Colts vs. the Louisville Colonels in 1897, I'm not sure there's ever been a game long enough for the score to be 83-71 Two-Bitty. Maybe in a football game or a Basketball game but not a baseball game at least not one I've ever heard of. Good story though.
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Post by whatcoloristhesky on Mar 31, 2009 10:40:13 GMT -5
Two-Bitty-First of all, Thanks! And I'm glad I could help you look at it a different way. As for you story... Aside from a few typos/grammatical errors and inaccuracies (baseball and the thong), I really liked it. I'm not so sure about the beer, because Two-Bit isn't always drinking, but I thought it was good. The way Johnny didn't think a much of the old book in Two-Bit's room, and seemingly neither did Two-Bit, but when Johnny went to throw it away (which should be illegal by the way) he went after it. I liked that—totally a Two-Bit thing to do. Tens- I too am taking a break from schoolwork right now (darn essays). I loved it! I could totally see Soda doing something like that, and Steve having to wade through trash to save his butt. I thought you had him down perfectly—actually you had them all down perfectly, right down Pony's comment about the switch.
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Two-Bitty
Teeny Bopper
"I've no interest in living for a thousand years. It's enough if I can live through today."
Posts: 109
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Post by Two-Bitty on Mar 31, 2009 20:18:52 GMT -5
The Baseball thing..... I found that in 1953 the Tulsa Oilers (minor league) had a record of 83-71 during the Texas League. They finished 2nd overall, but lost the league finals. Now mind you I don't know baseball, at all, and kind of squished it in there at the last minute. I'm pretty sure I got my information wrong (like always), so thanks for pointing that out.
The pink thong...... My friend wanted me to add something totally random and it was the first thing. Y'know, one night stand, the thong just happened to fly to his pocket, that whole deal. I'm not sure if thongs were popular(or even around) in the 1960s.
Sorry; should have put a bit more thought into it and not rushed it.
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Post by whatcoloristhesky on Mar 31, 2009 20:26:36 GMT -5
Haha, well it made for a nice touch, but yeah, they weren't available like that for the public until the 80's. Baseball—I know shit. I was going off of my limited knowledge and texaskid's comment. But I still like both touches.
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