Weaver 1

Section of personal novel used to test character development techniques and their effects on

dialogue creation. This section of the novel is about the main character, Joann, meeting her

future husband (and antagonist), Eugene.

______________________

I awoke with a bit of a start, and when my eyes finally adjusted to the darkness, I noticed

Manny standing at the foot of my bed. I felt instantly worried, but then I noticed that his back

was turned to me. He was facing my open closet, wearing nothing but his boxers.

“Manny?”

Manny didn’t move, but I then noticed the faint sound of water trickling. Manny was

peeing. Peeing into my dirty clothes hamper. For a moment, I was back in my days of drinking,

when I would wake up on a friend’s sofa to find I had pissed myself. Drinking too much makes

you do that, or pee in weird places like laundry baskets. A guy I used to drink with, and sleep

with, used to pee in the corner of hotel rooms when we would go on a binger.

But I had been sober for two years, and Manny had been sober for longer than I, so I

really didn’t think he had been drinking that night. Manny had finished peeing, but was still

standing in front of the laundry basket. I swung my legs out from underneath the covers, the hip I

had replaced the year before stiff and screaming with pain.

“Manny. You are sleepwalking. Go back to bed asshole.”

Manny gave me an angry glance, but was asleep and couldn’t figure out what had

bothered him, so he returned to his room across the hall. I walked gingerly over to my laundry

hamper. At least he targeted my dirty clothes. I bent down just far enough to reach the left handle

of the basket and pulled it up far enough to grab the right one. It was so hard to bend down, and

my joints seemed to freeze the instant I fell asleep.

While the pee-soaked clothes went through the was the first time, I clicked on the TV and

popped in a tape of Young and the Restless reruns. Victor was wooing a much younger woman,

as he was wont to do, when my dog, Cody, jumped up on the back door, shaking me from

Victor’s sensual stare. The sun was rising, so I put on coffee and watched Cody eat his breakfast

happily while I smoked a cig.

It was a Saturday morning, so Manny didn’t grumble his way to the breakfast table until

almost nine. “I had such a weird dream last night.” He rubbed his face and then waited for me to

ask about his dream.

“Did you dream that you peed in my dirty clothes basket?”

Weaver 2

“No. I dreamt that I was drinking again, only I didn’t want to drink, but had to. I hate

drinking dreams.”

Manny stared into the cup of coffee that I had just set in front of him. “Did I pee in your

laundry basket last night?”

“Yes, you did. It was dirty laundry, or I wouldn’t be somewhat amused. It’s already in the

wash, I think it was worth it to see the angry look on your face when I asked you to go back to

bed. You looked like a twelve year old.”

“Fuck, I’m sorry. Usually when that happens I wake up before I make it so far. Although

one time when I was a kid I pissed in the dishwasher. The dishes were clean, and my mom was

much angrier than you. Dad got quite a laugh out of it though.”

“At least you’ve improved your aim. Maybe one day you’ll make the toilet.”

Manny stuck his tongue out at me and we laughed. We chattered away meaninglessly

until mid-morning. Then Manny went back to his office to work; he was speaking at that

evening’s AA meeting. We both spoke often – we had good stories of sobering up. Both Manny

and I were open books to anyone willing to read a bit of a grungy story.

I sat in the Arizona sun for a few hours before the meeting. Saturday night meetings

always ended in dancing, and the sun warmed my joints enough that I would feel like taking a

spin or two around the floor. For the evening’s festivities I chose a peach sun-dress with a

delicate bit of lace around the collar, and a little sash to cinch around my tiny waist. The sun had

made my skin glow golden, and I felt more beautiful than I ever had before sobering up.

When Manny and I arrived at the church, he went immediately to the front of the room

and began talking with the meeting leaders about his speech. I got some coffee and a donut, then

found Nicole and some of our other friends to sit with for the meeting. Nicole shoved me in

between her and an incredibly attractive older man. He had bright blue eyes, a full beard, and

tanned Arizona leather skin. When he took my hand for the Lord’s Prayer, I could feel the

callouses on his palm, and the smoothness of his knuckles. He moved his hand around to

interlock his fingers in mine and gave my hand a little squeeze. Then he smiled down at me: he

was an entire foot taller than my four-ten physique.

“...on earth as it is in heaven.”

When we finished the prayer he held my hand for two moments longer than he needed to.

Then the handsome man smiled at me and walked back to his friends – they were just a few of

the many bikers who attended meetings at this church. I turned to Nicole.

“That’s Eugene–handsome huh? His friend Hyde said he has been trying to get your

attention for weeks! How have you not noticed Jo? Christ you are oblivious.”

Weaver 3

I blushed and playfully pushed her away. “If he is so interested in me, then he can ask me

to dance later.”

______________________

Nicole and I were smoking a fag out by the long line of motorcycles next to the church. I

had wanted to sit on the benches further on down by the cars, but Nicole had called me a coward.

I was embarrassed. There had already been four songs and Eugene had asked four other women

to dance with him. He caught me staring each time, and I didn’t want him to find Nic and I

hanging all over his bike. At twenty-seven, I was too old to be hanging all over anything. I felt

my hip starting to ache because of the awkward position I had taken on what Nicole said was

Eugene’s bike. Normally I don’t chain smoke, but I saw Eugene pull a pack from his jacket and

walk towards the door. So I quickly lit another and shoved my half-smoked butt to Nic.

“He’s coming. Take this, quick.”

Nicole laughed and used the stub to light another smoke.

“Relax Joann. Your tits look great and your hair is just as perky.”

She hopped off the bike she had been perched on and walked back towards the door

laughing. “Hey Gene! Hot bike! My friend Jo is over there drooling over it!” She burst into

another bout of laughter; her auburn curls were prettiest when she was laughing. She definitely

knew it. Eugene gave Nicole a peck on the cheek. “Thanks for introducing me Nic.” He smiled

and walked towards me. I felt like I would melt right into the motorcycle. His skin was so dark

and his hair so black that his bright blue eyes glowed electrically.

“Joann, it’s good to finally meet you–I’ve seen you at a few meetings, never had an

excuse to talk with you.”

Eugene extended his hand and again I noticed the contrast between his rough palms and

smooth knuckles. My hand disappeared inside of his, and warmth spread up my arm.

“It’s nice to meet you too Eugene. Nicky said you know Hyde? I went to his place for a

party once, what an incredible record collection! I could have spent hours...”

I was rambling. Severely. But Eugene didn’t seem to mind, “My collection dwarfs his! I

have ‘The Concert for Bangladesh’ and ‘Eat a Peach.’ You should come by for a listen. I’d pick

you up on the bike; Nicky said you were ready for a ride!”

I grinned mischievously and hopped off the bike. He was nervous, and it made me feel

gorgeous. “Would you want to go back in for a dance before you take off?” I felt a little shocked

at myself; I did NOT ask men out. My mother had always said that men ask women out, never

Weaver 4

the other way around. I think Eugene was a bit shocked as well, because he immediately

responded, “Yes!” Then he looked down at his helmet for a moment. “Oh yeah, let’s definitely

go dance.” He hung his helmet on the bike’s handlebar and walked me back inside, leaving his

jacket and smokes on the seat of his bike.

Crosby, Stills, and Nash were finishing up as Eugene and I headed out to the dance floor.

Next up was the song of the year, “Every Breath You Take,” by the Police. I heard the first few

notes and silently thanked the DJ before Eugene took my hands and began swaying with me. It

was the same kind of dance that my father and I would do at his business dinners when I was

little: my right hand in his and my left on his shoulder. As the song went on I moved my hands

around his neck, which was quite a reach for me. Not an awkward reach though; my chin rested

perfectly on his sternum. With his arms around me I felt as if I barely supported myself.