FIXED

AUTHOR ARTHUR

 

My hands are shaking. My tongue feels like a scummy mop. My eyes blur. I'm stymied. A drink, that's what I need to relax. The cold Schlitz staring at me from the top shelf of my fridge is within easy reach, but I grab my temporary strength, leave it there, and shake a quart of Florida orange juice into a froth, pour it into my handy empty coffee cup. A weird sensation confuses my thinking. I hear myself mumble,  'stop the babble. Stop the babbling. Find your papers! Get busy.
 McGraw and Gray aren't going to wait much longer.'

 

The outdoors speaks to me, invites me to take a long walk in the sun, smell the roses. Jacketless, sweaterless, I obey. There is a slight nip in the air, not strong enough to send me back in the house, still angry at myself and the big black blank in my brain. Move, move your rear. I move it slowly with no purpose at all.

 

Right around the next corner the condo pool invites me in for a quick refreshing dip. My shoes and sox I toss on the brown grass and run, almost full speed ahead, to the pool's edge...and jump in. My scream brings Carlo, the condo's maintenance man. 'Help!', I yell. He climbs into the empty pool, lets me lean on his shoulder as I slowly manage to get myself up the few metal steps onto the peopleless, chairless pavement.

 

From nowhere my eyes begin to leak. I cry and laugh simultaneously. Carlo orders, 'Mr. Arthur, sit down on the grass. Tell me what you were doing in the drained pool.' 'Drained?' I ask. 'I saw cool, clean filtered water in there and thought a few laps would help me get on with my work.' Carlo's brows scrunch together. He is as confused as I. He walks me to building C, enters the monthly code for me. The elevator doesn't come. I ring it again. Not a sound does it make. Damn it, I have to walk  four flights up narrow stairs to my apartment, make it and reach in my pocket for my keys. Nothing in any pocket. What now? Walk down, Shmegegee, find Carlo, get the service people here again. They surely know their way by now. Carlo appears, accompanies me up stairs, opens the door with his pass key. What a stinkin' day this has been from when I opened my eyes. I close them, visualize my keys lying in the empty pool, go for that cold Schlitz right where I left it. It feels so great going down, like a mountain spring loosening daisies as it tumbles to the ground.

 

Where is it, where is my book? I have to have my book. Something is pushing me, giving me a leg up to get back on track and write the next chapter of 'Author Arthur.'

 

I'm ready, pen in hand, brain set on 'Go', my masterpiece begins with a strong opening. Where will it go? Stick around. It begins like this:

 

'My hands are shaking. My tongue feels like a scummy mop. My eyes blur. I'm stymied.'