There’s a note on the windshield of your car

WRITING CHALLENGE #2

There’s a note on the windshield of your car. The note says, “I’ve taken your most prized possession. If you want to see it again, in tact, meet me tonight at baseball field around the corner of the local high school. And bring your glove.” What makes this note so curious is that you’ve never played baseball, though you take no chances because your most prized possession is extremely valuable to you. Write this scene.

“Glove? What glove,” I thought. I haven't had a baseball glove in years. I suck at baseball. My dad gave me a glove when I was little. It fit very nicely on my left hand. Except that I was left handed. Do the math. I never got into baseball after that.

“Glove? What glove,” again I thought.

I had just gotten home from school and was surprised by the note. The Firebird was up on blocks in the driveway and had been forever. A work in progress, much to my parents' dismay. Still, I checked “my oldest baby” every time I walked up the driveway coming home from school.

But as I walked up the drive, I noticed something different. It was quiet. I wasn't welcomed home the way I usually was. I didn't mind not getting the bruises, but I did miss the routine. Then it hit me that something was wrong. Maybe not wrong, just different. Missing. I went inside.

While I had a sleeve of Oreos and a glass of milk, I tried to remember where I put it. Thinking...

It took a little digging, but I found it. I had put it in the “special” box where I kept my complete set of baseball cards, my soccer team letter, and my old retainer. It was still in the zip-lock bag I found it in.

I put it in my knapsack and walked over to the high school. It was late. It was dark. I was a little nervous. But I determined to get this done.

Not surprisingly, the parking lot is relatively empty at this time of night. Not totally, empty. Maybe the Travel Team hasn't come back yet. Anyway, I find a spot under one of the parking lot lights and wait. And wait. I had my iPhone with me so I know it was 17 minutes later when a black Cadillac limousine pulls into the lot. Over by the edge, in the shadows.

After a short time, the driver's side door opens and a large man gets out. He looks at me and says, “Jeremy, would you come over here? We would like to see you.”

“I'm sorry. Wait. We would like to see me?” I gulp and say to myself. There was no response from myself.
I
got up off the ground under the street light and slowly walk towards the black car. I could hear the sirens and whistles and soundtrack music in my head. This was not good, Mav. But still...

When I get near the car, the passenger's door opens and a well-dressed gentleman gets out. Well dressed but more ostentatious than I would expect. An electric fan blowing his hair from inside the car. A sequined fedora. Shiny Suit. With a strange but smooth gait, he moves backwards to the trunk of his car.

Taking his hat off and spinning around, he then snaps his fingers and the trunk of the car opens. Slowly. We both choke and cough a little on the dry ice fog.

“Do you have it?” he asks.

“Yes,” I reply. “I only have the right one, though.”

“Yes, I know,” he sighed. “That's the one I want.”

I took off my backpack and reached into the big pocket in the back. I pulled out the ziplock bag and handed it to him.

Opening the bag, he removed the sequined glove. He slipped it on his right hand and it fit perfectly. As I expected it would.

Michael smiled at me.

Very carefully, he and his driver reached into the trunk and removed my emu. As they placed him on the ground, the driver handed me the leash.

We watched Michael and the driver get back in the car and drive off.

The emu and I looked at each other and I think we both thought “We still have the left glove.”

freshman/sophomore dance

Eliz off to the dance tonight with Ben. It's a freshman/sophomore dance; Ben is a friend of Chas. Nice guy - "Hi Mr. Purdy. Nice to meet you." We like that. E looked fabulous. Probably 50 students staging at the friend's house before the dance. And 50 parents.

AN IMPOVERISHED CHEF REPLIES TO A COOKING MAGAZINE QUESTION

Grab the book, magazine, or newspaper nearest you and open up to a random page. Start your story with the first line at the top of the page and end your story with the last line at the bottom of the page.

[http://www.writersdigest.com/prompts/from-random-page-to-story]

My source: The Pasta Machine Cookbook (Donna Rathmell German, 2005, pg. 18)

AN IMPOVERISHED CHEF REPLIES TO A COOKING MAGAZINE QUESTION:

Well, I use a mortar and pestle, but they could also be crushed in a zip lock bag with a rolling pin.

The biggest problem, I found, was to get them to hold still long enough to catch them. Well, once you turn the lights on. Then it's a mad scramble. You're running around the kitchen with the bucket or coffee cup or even a shoe, if that's all you have (I've seen it done).

At the same time, though, they are scampering to and fro. Quick little buggers. Trying to get back under the refrigerator or behind the cabinets or under the sink. They are usually successful. The key to your success is to anticipate their escape and block it off. Sometimes you can funnel them to where you want them using newspapers or hockey sticks or laundry. Every now and then you get lucky. A dust pan makes a good transport vehicle

I keep them in a Tupperware container with a couple of holes poked in the top. (I keep it separate from my other Tupperware.) For a good batch, I try to get a large handful. I typically eyeball it because the squirming in your hand takes some time to get used to. And you don't want to lose any. I've also found that while the bigger ones have more “chew,” the little ones are sweeter. I would recommend a 50:50 mix. Though, you can always adjust for your preferences. Don't keep them for more than a week or so.

So, the worst part is this next one. Unlike lobsters, the best meat is not in the legs. In fact, I'm not sure there is any meat in the legs. Truth be told though, the legs need to be removed. Take a swig, take a deep breath and get to it. Ugh, I don't like it either but it goes pretty quickly.

Now you have to homogenize them. If you are using the mortal and pestle, you'll need to give them a little “bop” or they will crawl out. This isn't an issue with the ziplock bags because you can ziplock the bag. Take another swig and get to work.

So once they in a nice, fine paste (whether mortar/pestled or ziplock/rolling-pinned), you can add the rest of the ingredients.

Ideally, you'd use semolina flour, to be authentic, but all-purpose will do. Mix it in thoroughly - probably 50:50, until you have a nice dough. Add a little salt (there will be salt in the water so don't overdo it) and some pepper. You don't need eggs because you have the binder already.

Let the dough rest under a damp towel for 30 minutes. Then roll it out, or use your machine, to get the desired thickness. I prefer a fettuccine style (with an Alfredo sauce), but it's up to you. Tagliatelle would also be good. Fusilli and farfalle are probably not worth the effort.

For cooking, the water should already be at a rolling boil and well-salted (like seawater). I don't subscribe to the “oil in the pasta water” school. Cook until al dente.

Like any project, the proper equipment is the key. If you don't have one, you can probably borrow a mortar and pestle from your neighbor. Get ziplock bags at any grocery store.

There are pots available at kitchen shops or department stores that are designed specifically for pasta cooking.