First post, first chapter of Variations...

So yeah, I signed onto yet another blog service so I could comment on a friend of mine's work.

I figure this is another place to put my work out there, so why the heck not? Besides, myspace is getting way too commercial. I can't login without getting a bajillion ads or friend requests from bands I've never heard of. Let's begin:

Variations on a Theme Chapter 1: "3 Minute Song" (Second or third draft)

Sophie smells the sweetness of decaying leaves as she leaves her apartment. It is an inviting smell despite its contradiction--dead leaves forewarning winter, only to be reabsorbed into the trees which produce new leaves in the spring. She glances at her wrist, only to notice that she was in such a hurry to leave that she forgot to put her watch on. A loud clang alerts her to the direction of the University Bell Tower, which toll the hours faithfully. She is late.

Sophie was late for the interview for the internship in the first place, so it seems somewhat appropriate that she will be late for her first interview for the magazine. Despite fumbling through the interview process and forgetting half the phone numbers of her previous employers, Sophie Chen's fortune is not bad. For the longest time, Sophie wondered to herself who in their right mind would hire her as clumsy and as socially inept as she was for a position where she would have to talk with people face-to-face and write stories about them.

After awhile, she learned to go with the flow and take things just as they came. Despite not having a solid background in jazz despite going to interview a band named The USS Ella Fitzgerald, Sophie was a firm believer in improvisation. It started in high school when she realized that no matter what she did, she would never be number one in the class. She adjusted her goal of salutatorian to be in the top ten of her class. When that didn't happen, she was content with being in the top ten percent of the class. Then, with her slipping grades, Sophie came to the realization that she would not be Ivy League-bound as her parents had expected. When she realized that her grades in math and science were what lowered her GPA, Sophie decided that her calling was not in medicine, as her parents had hoped, but in the humanities and the arts, choosing a major in journalism and a minor in English literature.

Sophie bikes at top-speed down Concordia street, in the wrong direction of traffic. She nearly misses her turn, and in correcting her path, finds herself at the mercy of a navy-blue '98 Honda Accord.

"Watch where you're going!" the driver yells out from his car window.

No time for apologies or pleasantries. She thinks, my future as a journalist may depend on this first interview. If this internship doesnt work out, then there is no way on earth she would make it into the journalism school. Then what? Sophie may as well drop out of university and work full-time in her Uncle Tan's restaurant. The idea of serving pot-stickers to patrons who would grope her ass while asking for her phone number hardly appeals to her.

The sharp screech of her bicycle frame scraping against a "No Parking" sign jars Sophie as she hastily locks her bike. Panting, she throws the door open of the locally-owned Cafe Limbo. She expects a scene from the Old West, with all activity crashing to a stop to observe her dramatic entrance, perhaps with a tumbleweed blowing across the floor. Instead, a low clamor of several separate conversations hover in the sparsely-occupied caf. The occasional clank of chipped cups keeps rhythm as a girl behind the counter stacks the mugs, glasses, and espresso cups into separate pyramids.

Sophie's eyes scan the room. Where was this Felix Guevara character? Was he in any way related to the great South American revolutionary? She had gone to school with some Latino kids, but never really interacted with them often. It wasn't until college that she realized the true racial divide which occurred in the American public school system. She was only aware that she saw a lot of the same people in her high school class, but never really thought of them in terms of race. Then she realized that a lot of those same kids in her classes ended up going to Ivy League schools because of their parents' connections and money. A lot of these same kids could wreck a car in a drunken haze Friday night and drive a shiny new car to school the following Monday morning. A lot of these same kids...

She sees a guy about her height approaching. He wears large, dark-blue jeans which, weighed down by numerous leather braces and steel chains, sweep the floor with loose tendrils of thread. A black t-shirt with a green screen-printed dragon over a gray long-sleeved t-shirt cover him from his broad shoulders to his waist. His hair falls in front of his eyes in a jet-black sheet save for the ends which glow in sky-cyan. A surgical steel bar projects from inside the cartilage of his right ear, and surgical steel rings hang from his left earlobe and his lower lip.

For a moment, Sophie wonders how this fellow managed to wear sweaters, but he didn't exactly look like the "Land's End" or "J. Crew" type she had been familiar with. This probably surprises her since he looks Chinese. They share the same almond-shaped, chocolate-brown eyes and caramel skin. He was darker by a few shades, but caramel nonetheless. Most of the few Asian guys she knew from high school were the "Land's End" and "J. Crew" types, perhaps even dabbling in "Tommy Hilfiger" or "Fubu" for pseudoghetto-chic. She knew maybe one punk Asian in high school, and he was of the "weekend, Abercrombie and Fitch" variety. In that case, Sophie withdraws her prior assumption that The USS Ella Fitzgerald is a jazz combo homage to the late great. As she chews on the corner of her lower lip, Sophie wishes that she had reached the magazine office in time to pick up the bands cd to listen to before she did the interview.

The resplendent young man extends a hand.

"Hi, you must be Sophie from the magazine, right?" Sophie watches tongues of black flames snaking the wrists from beneath gray cotton sleeves. She looks up to see him staring at the top of her head.

"Um, I hate to point this out, but you have something in your hair," Felix reaches up, revealing more of the black tendrils on his arm as he picks out some dried leaves. Sophie leans back to the left, nudging a nearby coatrack as she reaches up to pull the leaves out herself.

"Oh crap! That must be from when I hit that tree on the way here! I'm so sorry, you must think that I'm the most irresponsible journalist ever. I mean it's my first major assignment and all, but oh man..." When Sophie's mouth runs away with her, she knows it's happening, but only seems to be able to watch it like a bystander near a train wreck.

"It's perfectly all right. I'm just glad someone's willing to do a story on us," he smiles warmly and gestures to the counter. "Not to sound like sellouts or anything, but we need all the publicity we can get."

"So, you're Felix Guevara, right? Spelled like Che, right? Any relation?" She asks without thinking.

"No, actually. It's surprising that more people haven't asked me that, especially on a college campus. Then again, we aren't even from the same continent."

"Then where are you from?" Sophie follows Felix to the counter, by the stack of upside-down espresso cups.

"New York by way of Manila and Los Angeles." Felix takes one last sip of his sixth espresso and tops the triangular structure.

"Oh, I've always lived here in this state, so I always dreamed about living in a big city." She fumbles opening her purse as they sit at the counter. "Why all the moving around?"

"My dad works as an efficiency expert for business companies so he pretty much moves wherever he's needed." He explains, gesturing to the girl at the counter to get him yet another espresso. "You want anything?"

"A chai latte, please, with nutmeg and cinnamon." Sophie dumps out the contents of her purse and takes out her wallet. Felix gestures for her to put it away, only to be greeted by an assuming smile from the girl behind the counter, who takes Sophie's money and gives her change.

"Thanks. So, how did you end up on this campus?"

"Shouldn't you be writing this stuff down?" he gestures at the jumbled contents of Sophie's purse strewn across the counter.

"Oh yeah, sure...I was just looking for my tape recorder, but I was running late so I ended up forgetting it." She takes the pad of paper in one hand, sticks the pen behind her ear and then tosses the remaining objects on the counter back into her purse. "Sure, it's analogue, but it's works, right? Shit. Where's my pen?"

Before Sophie can re-empty her purse out on the cracked Formica counter top, Felix places a hand over hers. "It's behind your ear."

She drops her purse and dives to gather the strewn belongings on the floor.

"Sorry. I'm just a bit disorganized. Where were we?"

"Covering my life history instead of talking about the band."

Sophie frowns. She did walk in earlier having a feeling that this interview was going to be more excruciating than usual. Felix is hardly uncooperative, but he does not seem to notice how much his criticism of her journalism tactics irk her. Nonetheless, he does have a point.

"Heh, I'm sorry. I'm just a bit uncomfortable talking about my family, life, and personal stuff to a stranger. Next thing you know you'll be asking me questions about my breakup with some actress or something like in those cheesy Barbara Walters interviews."

"I understand," Sophie warms a bit, especially since her chai latte just arrived. "How did you meet everyone in the band?"

The interview continues with the basic coverage of band history. They all met in a music history class which Felix was only taking as an elective break from his chemistry and biology-heavy pre-med studies. He lists sources of inspiration as varied as the writings of Nietzsche, and the music of early 70's garage bands, folk singer-songwriters like Nick Drake, and jazz standards like Ella Fitzgerald, who was the inspiration behind the name of the band. As it turns out, Joe the drummer had a long-standing love-affair with the jazz singer despite the generational gap. Someone, most likely the bass player Ariel, suggested putting a "the" in front of that pluralized and have that be the end of it. However, Felix still felt that there was something missing from the name since "the" bands conjured a sort of retro nostalgia they weren't going for. Ty on rhythm guitar was the oldest member of the band and had served for three years in the Navy, one of the worst experiences in his life, as he often recounts. Nonetheless, Ty had a strange sense of nostalgia for his military days.

Thus The USS Ella Fitzgerald was born. After crossing the last t in Felixs last statement before he paused, Sophie has just enough time to process the new information to understand how much she really should have listened to that CD first.

Through the course of the interview, the clamor of the caf dims from a roaring ten to a faint murmuring one. For the first time since she had begun campus life, Sophie feels completely at ease in conversation. Sophie puts down her pen and pad upon running out of room to write, even giving up on the scribbled-upon beverage napkins ringed with espresso stains.

"You mentioned that you were originally a pre-med major when you came to university."

Sophie marvels at the progress Felix had made in making his pyramid more three-dimensional over the course of the interview and the fact he could hold a steady hand despite the overload of stimulants.

"Of course, this won't go in the story, but how did your parents react when you told them about dropping out to do the band full-time?"

"That is a great question. I wouldn't mind if you put it in the story, but Id rather you focused on the band than just me." Felix's knee twitches with his foot resting against the bar on the stool. Sophie also sees the steel bar in his ear oscillating ever so slightly. She wonders if hes intentionally wiggling his ears.

"If you don't want to talk about it--" She wonders if she can wiggle her ears.

"No, it's fine. In all truth, I didn't tell them until a few months after I made the decision.

They freaked out naturally, but I'd like to think that they got over it. Then again, it's definitely not one of the topics of discussion at the Thanksgiving table."

"Why not?"

"Because of my grandparents," he explains. "They wanted everything for my father, so they worked hard to save up for his education. They hoped for nothing more than improvement with each generation, which is why I wanted to be a doctor in the first place to honor the family and all that."

"Trust me, I understand that. My parents wanted me to be a doctor too. They were so disappointed that I was going into journalism. Maybe they thought I'd be some painted puppet like Connie Chung or something."

Just when Sophie thinks that there is no possible way she could turn any deeper shade of red, the realization that she allowed herself to open up to an interview subject hits her. She leans back and nearly hits a person walking past her bearing a large scalding mug of yerba mate. Felix grabs her by the shoulders and pulls her back.

"I reassure you, you're no puppet." A smirk spreads across his face as one feathery, steel-laced eyebrow takes flight. However, Sophie pays little attention to his face, despite looking into his eyes, but rather the weight of his hands on her shoulders. "For one thing, you don't even seem to be able to control yourself, let alone allow other people to do it for you."

After Felix removes his hands from her shoulders, Sophie looks off to the side at a poster print of an old Parisian caf advertisement which reads "Le Chat Noir" and decides that the best thing to do is to change the subject. "What gave you the strength to finally make that decision? Do you have any regrets?"

"I just came to the realization that it just stopped being fun, you know?"

"What? Med school? Even for the people who stick with it, it's hardly a vacation in Cancun."

"I meant life in general." Felix leans closer to Sophie, nearly knocking down his structurally unsound construction with his shaking left arm. "If you can't do something you love, something you know can make a difference, then it feels like you have nothing to live for."

"I know what you mean, like that benefit concert you guys did with the other bands to save the Meridian?"

"Yeah. A lot of bands played at that place before they made it big, not to mention that it was the first movie theater in town. I knew I didnt want to lose it, so I did what I thought was necessary. With the right audience, you can bring important issues to light with your writing. A couple of songs I wrote about related to things I saw on the news."

"I'd hardly say any of my work is Pulitzer material. No offense of course." Sophie starts rubbing her eyes, growing weary of her constant need for apologetics.

"None taken, but your magazine still helped publicize the event."

"I had nothing to do with that though."

"But think about the other great things you could do now."

"Yeah, but it never feels like I have enough time. I always feel like I have to cram everything into my schedule."

"Everyone has that problem, but it's all just a matter of making things fit." Felix begins deconstructing and nesting the cups into each other, as if showing his point. "Speaking of making things fit your schedule, I better clock in to start my shift."

"You work here too?" Sophie doesn't mean to sound so shocked, knowing how rude it would sound like she was one of the trust fund kids who hassled Felix if they didn't get enough foam in their cappuccinos.

"Yeah." A pause permeates the air between them. "Just another part of the fabulous rock 'n' roll lifestyle, eh?"

"Just think, if you autograph those cups now, the caf could sell them on eBay and guarantee that they'll prevent Starbucks from buying them out," Sophie gestures to the faintly gleaming pillar.

Tossing the scribbled upon notepad and napkins in her bag and tucking the pen back behind her ear, Sophie gets up to leave.

"It was really nice meeting you Felix. I have to admit, I've always had a soft spot for indie-rock boys." She blushes and starts for the door, but immediately turns back around, "Could I get your phone number and email address? You know, in case I have more questions?"

Felix finishes tying the apron behind his back and pulls out a sharpie marker from one of his many pockets.

"Sure thing," to Sophie's surprise, Felix takes her hand, rolls up her sleeve and begins writing on her arm, "This is so you don't lose it...irresponsible journalist. Perhaps you could take a picture of your arm and then sell it on eBay."

Chewed-upon lips retreat to reveal a great chai-stained grin, "Slacker punk..."

Sophie allows the sharpie to dry as she walks to the door. Realizing that she is walking toward the emergency exit, she turns around only to collide with Felix, sans apron.

"Well, fancy running into you again," he rubs his forehead. Sophie laughs, picturing a cartoon lump surrounded by chirping birdies rising beneath the skin.

"Imagine that," she muses.

"Where are you heading?"

"English building. You know, the brick colonial style building that looks like every other building on this campus?"

"I could walk you there."

"What? Are you so afraid that I'll get lost or attacked in broad daylight that you're taking time off work to escort me?"

"I don't know, those squirrels can get rather ornery. Besides, I forgot that I switched shifts with Micki this week."

Sophie realizes that she has actually chortled for the first time in her life. "Did you just say 'ornery?'"

"Why yes, I did," Felix scratches his head and sticks a thumb in one of his belt loops, "I reckon I've lived in these here parts far too long. Now, shall we?"

Felix offers Sophie his arm, only to receive a slight nudge from her elbow.

"Surely." Sophie opens the door and watches him pause for a moment before exiting the cafe.

When she returns from class later that day, Sophie nearly collapses on the couch, but not before hitting the playback on her answering machine.

"Uh, hi Sophie. This is Felix. I just wanted to know if you got a chance to listen to our cd. If you want to drop by my apartment tomorrow, Ill be there after 4:00 and I can burn you a copy. My number is 555-1791. Call me if you can make it, or call me if you want to meet some other time."

Sophie picks up the phone and places her thumb over the five, but hangs it up before she can even press the button. She then goes upstairs to her computer to check her email and play a game of solitaire before going downstairs and calling Felix.