Keeping Focus

Sparkle Ditch - #15

Sometimes I like to think back and trace my thought process in how I hopped from one random thought to another. Like the other day I was thinking about Halloween, then how last year I wore my Misfits (the band) T-shirt and considered that a costume…then that made me think of The Misfits (the film), then that me think of a story in which I referenced that film. But then that made me think: hadn’t I done that before? So I went back and looked into that.

If anyone has ever read my story “Letting the Horses Go,” which was first published in the lit journal Lenticular, but later made an appearance here as a Sparkle Ditch post, you may recall it mentions The Misfits. But before that, a story called “Thelma Ritter and the Vikings” had been included in my book, Endlessly Small. This particular story also addresses The Misfits. It features an opening reminiscent of “Letting the Horses Go,” and also centers on two characters—an unnamed narrator, and a repeatedly-present-in-my-work character named Georgie. Actually these two are good in this one at hopping from one thought to the next. What’s their situation again?

A story can simply be movement from one thought to the next, even in seemingly random ways. And I guess in other ways a story can be a whole thought unto itself, only to move on to another story. With these I ended up discovering what felt like an earlier version of a later story. Perhaps like what a demo of a song is to a final version you hear on the radio. But if I spend any time thinking about it, these two stories live, for me, independent of one another, and co-exist happily, unrelated, birthed from separate origins.

Side note: if you’re unfamiliar with Thelma Ritter, she’s a dynamite actor who shines in everything, including her roles in Rear Window and Pickup on South Street. In All About Eve, more than a decade before the release of The Misfits in which they’d both feature, Ritter and Marilyn Monroe are scene-stealers.

So here’s “Thelma Ritter and the Vikings.” And if you’re interested, the more recent “Letting the Horses Go” can be found here.

To the moon and back,

xo—RJO

Thelma Ritter and the Vikings

It wasn’t so much a question of whether we really needed to or not, but Georgie and I were going to the hardware store. The one far away, over the hill in Burbank—that one was sure to have what we needed. It hadn’t occurred to us that the store—even if it did have metric Allen wrenches—might not be open at 7:10 a.m. Well, we’re already in Burbank, we might as well stop by the airport. Georgie said that flights to Las Vegas were dirt cheap and ran all the time, but a lady at the ticket counter said we didn’t have enough dirt to ride on any of them. And much like the hardware store, the airport cocktail lounge had yet to open. So Georgie and I drank coffee and watched the runway and talked about airplanes. It’s probably not even that different from driving a car, right? They probably only use like half their engine capacity for standard passenger flights, right? A lot of pilots are probably former Air Force flyers and get really bored lumbering around in a DC-10 and wish they could just do a barrel roll every once in a while for a little thrill, right?

On the drive home we talked about what we could make for breakfast. It turned out to be Denny’s. Georgie ordered a Scram Slam but asked the waitress if they could call it something else. I ordered a bowl of chili and a slice of blueberry pie. Yes at the same time please. Georgie said driving to Las Vegas shouldn’t be that bad. But we couldn’t use the AC in the car for most of the trip because it likely wouldn’t make it through the long stretches of desert. I said there was no way we could afford a motel and Georgie said it’s Vegas! nobody gets a place to sleep! you just stay up until you have to go home! That sounded about as fun as a four-hour car ride in the desert with the windows down.

Either way, we can’t go today because we have that training session at the call center soon for what could end up being a full-time job for one or both of us. We made it to the office building only a few minutes late. After a talk to the whole group by a guy in a tie we broke off with a trainer one-on-one at individual stations. I could see Georgie across the room with a sweaty-looking trainer. As my trainer was supplying me with useful phrases for calming an irate caller, I saw Georgie get up and walk away as his trainer gave an understanding nod. Georgie never returned. When I took the bus back home I found Georgie on the couch. What happened to you, where’d you go? I told the guy I had to go use the bathroom and then I came home—that place sucked. Yeah, it did, but, you, just left? Yeah. Well I finished the training and they offered me a job. That’s great, way to go! Well I’m not gonna take it of course—that place sucked! Yeah it did.

We went up to the Hollywood Galaxy and watched The Misfits. Marilyn Monroe stuck with Georgie. Marilyn Monroe sticks with everyone. Thelma Ritter stuck with me. After the movie we drove out to Malibu. Clark Gable must’ve also made an impression on Georgie because he said he wanted to get a cowboy hat. I told him I thought cowboy boots were cooler than cowboy hats. He pointed out that I thought Thelma Ritter was cooler than Marilyn Monroe. I stood by my thoughts.

We sat on the beach and talked about college. How stupid is college. Stupid people go to college because they think it will make them smart, Georgie said, but you only learn about things by being out in the world, not in a classroom—you only learn about life by getting out there and living it, Georgie said. Only stupid people pay money to learn things, Georgie said. You only learn about how to get along and how to keep going from the people you meet and live your life with, Georgie said, not from some professor in a classroom. Yeah, college is stupid, I said. We watched the seagulls for a while and Georgie said, did you know that owning a white falcon was the ultimate statement of power and glamour for the Vikings—and those birds could reach straight away speeds of 90 miles per hour. Where did you learn that? I said. TV, Georgie said. We sat on the beach a while longer and talked more about more things, then we drove home with the AC on max.