March Exercise: City Under The Dome

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Registered: 03-25-2003
March Exercise: City Under The Dome
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Sat, 03-16-2002 - 1:14pm

March Exercise: City Under The Dome


Sorry that this one runs quite long. I got started writing and couldn’t stop-LOL. I also wanted to give a bit of background info. I had a dream several months back about this “city under the dome” where this mean schoolteacher who was drowned by one of the kids and it was sort of like a ghost tour town now. Originally, I started the story writing about that but it turned into something totally different. Hope you enjoy it! Any and all types of critique are welcome.

Mac

Title: City Under The Dome

After six months and eleven interviews that resulted in no job offers, I felt hopeless. So I decided to search the want ads for any job that I could get; I even resorted to checking the grocery store bulletin board each week. What little money I had left was running out fast so I needed work desperately. To my surprise, I came upon the most unusual ad: Homeowner seeking professional for a short-term architectural project. If interested, please fax resume to 555-4545. Within two hours, I received a phone call and agreed to meet with the prospective employer the following evening.

I stood before an antique curio cabinet studying a collection of Oriental porcelain vases when my ears tuned to a motorized sound coming down the hall. I turned to see an attractive woman dressed in a starched white shirt and black linen plants enter the room. She stopped her wheelchair within a foot of where I stood.

“Thank you for coming so soon, Mr. Musa. I’m Olivia Baltich.”

I extended my hand to meet hers. “I appreciate you seeing me right away.”

She motioned with her right hand towards a high-back leather chair across the room. “Please sit down and let’s discuss the specifics.”

“Yes, I’m quite excited to hear about this architectural project you have in mind. This is a magnificent house,” I said.

Her smile faded into a bit of a frown. “I’m afraid you’re going to be disappointed with the job. I’ve read over your resume and you’re qualifications are far higher than I could’ve dreamed of.”

“No, I’m sure I’ll be pleased with whatever project in mind,” I quickly said.

My gaze wandered past her face as she told me about her son’s school project. A school project? I screamed to myself. She can’t be serious. The way she’d said disappointed echoed in my mind. How about insulted? I asked, tempted to correct her aloud.

Her eyes blue eyes connected with mine when I looked at her again. “See, I knew you’d not be interested once you heard what the job was.”

I looked over at the portrait of a man and his young son that hung above the mantel. “Is Mr. Baltich not good with science projects?” I joked.

She cleared her throat. “My husband was killed in the automobile accident that left me in this condition,” she said, pointing at her torso.

“I’m sorry. That was rude of me.”

“Don’t think nothing of it. I’m sorry I wasted your time,” she said, smiling. Again she offered her petite hand. “Thank you for speaking with me. I’ll have Cleveland show you to the door.”

As I shook her hand, I asked, “Two weeks you say? I suppose I could spare two weeks to help a kid. I mean you’ve seen my resume and are well aware of the fact that I’m not currently employed.”

“I’m sure if you needed to go on an interview it would be during the daytime when Craig’s in school so it wouldn’t interfere with your work here.”

“You’ve right. When can I start?” I said, squeezing her hand firmly before I released my grip.

“Now? Is that too soon?”

As she introduced me to her son Craig, I felt a strange feeling come over me. Initially, I didn’t know if it was from the thrill of being hired or the fact I’d make enough money to keep from having my power stuff off. Mrs. Baltich excused herself, giving us time to be alone so her son could go into further detail about the project he’d planned.

“Do you think you can help me make my city under the dome?” he asked.

I suddenly realized it was the kid. Something about him was unusual; he intrigued me. “Sure, this is what I do for a living.” Studying the drawing he had sketched, I said, “Having the library in the middle of town is good. It’s convenient to the housing.” I pointed to the pencil drawing. “I think we’d want to combine the ‘schoolhouse pit’ as you called with the library--”

“No, it has to be made just like he showed me! If not, I’ll call for my mom and tell her to fire you.”

I withdrew a white handkerchief from my jacket pocket and wiped my forehead. “Just calm down. Your mom told you about this city. It’s her idea?” I asked him curiously.

“My mom? No, my…this man in my dream. He insisted I do it this way,” he said through pursed lips.

Sitting on his Star Wars comforter, I looked up, swallowing deep before I spoke. Ignoring his remark about the dream, I said, “Look, kid. I’m going to level with you. I need this job. Eight months ago, my wife of three years decided to…how old are you? Twelve?”

“Thirteen,” he answered.

“Old enough,” I said, then continued. “Okay, my wife of three years decided she was tired of me and thought she’d spend her late night hours checking out each of my friends to see if she liked them better. You probably don’t know what that means and it really doesn’t matter but bottom line she dumped me and then her father who owned the firm where I worked dumped me as well. I can’t get a job. I think the son-of-a-bitch -- forgive my French -- blackballed me because now no one will hire me and I’m a good architect. So what I’m really saying is that I need this job.”

He sat silent, taking in all I’d said. “So you’re saying we can keep the schoolhouse pit?”

I looked at him, half-smiling. “Sure. Whatever it is. We can keep it.”

A knock on the door broke up our conversation, and then Mrs. Baltich pushed the door open with her hand. As requested, I agreed to come back the following day around 5 PM, allowing Craig enough time to get home from school and finish his homework and dinner before I arrived.

That night, I labored over ways to construct his so-called ‘city under the dome’ and how to make each building in proportion to the next. But my mind kept returning to his mother, the smell of her perfume tickling my nose. My curiosity couldn’t help for wondering what she’d been like, the kind of woman she was before the accident.

Cleveland greeted me with a wide smile as he opened the door. I exchanged the gesture with a dry smirk, and then he escorted me to the kid’s room.

“Hi, Joe,” he said.

“Craig, how’s it going?”

“Pretty good,” he answered, looking up from his desk. “Look, I’ve made a more detailed drawing for us to work with. I think you’ll like it.”

Seeing his enthusiasm exhilarated me, I took the paper from his hand with pleasure. “This idea of yours is really coming along. Adding the General Store makes it more like a small-scale city” I waved my hands around, trying to form a square. Patting him on the back, I said, “It’s really fantastic.”

“You really think so?”

“Yep, kid. You’re going to win First Place for sure.”

His frown faded. “You mean cause Mom hired a professional architect to help me instead of doing it myself,” he asked.

I held my palms up in the air. “Wait just a minute. You think your mom hired me to do this project?” I pointed my index finger to my chest. Shaking my head, I said, “No way, she hired me to supervise. You’re doing all the work and don’t get anything differently in that think noggin of yours,” I said, tapping his head lightly with my index finger.

His smile returned. “Okay, but you’re going to help me, right?”

“Oh yeah, I’m here to help for sure,” I assured him.

After hours of wishing Mrs. Baltich would check in on us so I could see her again, we finally heard her soft voice come through on the house intercom system. She wanted to make sure the project was going well. Before disconnecting, I’d hoped she would ask to see me -- for whatever reason I had no clue -- but she didn’t.

As I drifted off to sleep that night, her face filled my mind. Deep in sleep, she came to me, yet not like she was in real life; in the dream, she walked, in fact, ran towards me. I recognized the flower garden in my dream as the one that I’d seen from Craig’s bedroom window.

The next day in between gluing the indoor/outdoor carpet to the plywood-board, I struck up a conversation about his mom. “Did your mother used to work in the flower garden before her accident?”

He glanced up a second, and nodding his head. “Yep, that’s one of the things she says she misses most.”

“Were you old enough to remember when it happened?”

Shrugging his shoulders, he said, “Sort of. My dad was an artist. You might have seen his work. Is that why you asked about the flower garden? He painted lots of flower scenes. My mom was in a lot of his paintings.”

“Yeah, I think I did,” I lied.

“But to answer your question, they were on the way home from one of his gallery premiers and my dad had drank too much,” he paused, scratching his head. “He crashed the car into another car.”

I turned from the window. “Now don’t glue your finger to the grass,” I said, directing his eyes downward.

“Right! I’d look real cool doing that, huh?”

Laughing, I agreed. “Oh, kid. That wouldn’t be good.”

Holding up a wooden fence and a cluster of tiny Spruce trees, he said, “Hey look, I stole these from Mom’s Christmas village collection.”

I sighed, “She’s not going to be happy about that, I bet.”

“Oh, she won’t care. My mom hardly ever gets mad about anything. But she was angry when my dad died. I’d hear her sometimes crying at night. Asking God why over and over.” Craig looked sad.

I was at a loss for words so I walked over and squeezed his shoulder. “Sometimes we don’t know why things happen they just do.”

“That sounds like something my dad would say.” Craig reached over to his bed and retrieved a big plastic dome. Placing it on top of the city, he said, “Look this is the neatest part. It’s a self-contained city. They live in this bubble. Nothing can get to them.”

On my drive home, I’d thought about Craig’s city under the dome. Although I had no psychological background, I was sure his parent’s tragic accident had played in the creation of his project. If only we could all live in a bubble, with something protecting us, I was thinking when my ex-wife stepped from the curb. I slammed on the breaks to avoid hitting her, even though I would’ve loved to accelerate the car instead.

She pointed the tip of her red fingernail at me. “You bastard! If you don’t know how to drive Joey stay off the roads.”

I flipped my hand in the air and mouthed an apology. “I wished you lived she lived in a bubble, one that I could suck all the air from,” I said under my breath.

The next evening we’d constructed the final building and attached it to the board. As Craig placed the plastic dome in place, I chuckled, thinking about what I’d said the night before.

“What’s so funny, Joe? Did I mess something up?”

“No, it’s perfect. I’m just so impressed you thought this up,” I said.

“Can I tell you something, but you gotta promise you won’t think I’m weird?”

I nodded my head. “Sure, you’ve got my word on it.”

“I didn’t really think this up by myself. My dad told me about this place. Remember that man I’d told you about from my dream? It was my dad.” Craig’s eyes looked down at his project. “I guess that’s where he is now. He teaches art in the schoolhouse pit. That’s what he called it not me.”

“Whew, kid! That’s some story.”

“You promised,” he whined.

I held my palms up. Smiling, I said, “know and I don’t think you’re weird. But don’t tell your teacher or anybody at school about it, okay?”

“I won’t. I just wanted you to know that’s all.”

“Thank you. I appreciate you telling me. And just think if your dad hadn’t of told you about this place, I may not have ever had the opportunity to meet you or your mom,” I said, taking a quick look towards the door. My ears had grown to recognize the sound of Mrs. Baltich’s wheelchair.

He jumped up and ran to his mom as she entered the room. “Look, mom. We finished it.”

“How fabulous! Your project looks wonderful,” she said. “Gentlemen, should we have a celebration dinner tonight?”

“Yeah, that’d be great.” Craig wrapped his arms around her shoulders. Looking up, he asked, “You’ll have dinner with us, won’t you, Joe?”

“I’d be honored,” I said.

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Avatar for countrygal23
iVillage Member
Registered: 03-26-2003
Sat, 03-16-2002 - 11:52pm

Hi Mac (m)


My first reaction was, what, why did you stop there? I know you said that it was long, but it read well, an kept me intrigued.

There was three or four places where the sentences were a bit confusing but I sure you will find them in your rewrite.

Also I didn't understand the part about the ex-wife, why was she in the street? But I enjoyed his comments, I thought that they were funny.

You sure have some interesting dreams!

Maria...P.s. sorry for taking so long to critique, I actually had a party to attend, it was lots of fun LOL

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iVillage Member
Registered: 03-25-2003
Sun, 03-17-2002 - 11:39am

Thanks Maria (m)


For reading it and your comments. To tell the truth, I sort of felt like my ending came to abrupt stop so I agree it needs some work. I’ll look for those sentences that you said were confusing. As for the ex-wife in the street, I intended to show that he was overall a good person. Like after all the things she’d done to his life, he was still nice to her, though he secretly wanted to kill her-LOL. But in rereading it, I’m not sure that part even needs to be included. Thanks for pointing it out.

Mac

PS...Glad you had a good time at your party!!!

Avatar for jadetigerroses
iVillage Member
Registered: 07-01-2003
Sun, 03-17-2002 - 4:05pm

Great Story Mac :) way to go!!!


Have a mystical day,

Jade

Please Pray and Support O

Visitor (not verified)
anonymous user
Sun, 03-17-2002 - 6:21pm

Very creative, Mac...


Your story really pulled me in. It was creative, original, and I liked the characters. I liked the relationship between Joey and Craig, the way they interacted, it seemed authentic.

At one place I think you meant to say "power shut off" instead of "power stuff off". The only place that needs a little polish is to tighten up the two introductory paragraphs - the rest is terrific. Oh, and maybe a little more about Joey's reactions to Olivia in her wheelchair - does he see her each night, or hear her voice, or think about her sometime in his days? How does she react to him?

So did this come to you in a dream? I find if I eat something unusual close to bedtime I can have straaange dreams :-)

Take care, Eyewrite

iVillage Member
Registered: 03-25-2003
Sun, 03-17-2002 - 9:19pm

Thanks a bunch, Jade!!! (nt)


iVillage Member
Registered: 03-25-2003
Sun, 03-17-2002 - 9:27pm

Thanks, Eyewrite (m)


I’m glad it hooked you and yours comments about the story. Thanks for catching that…you’re right I meant to say “shut off.” I’ll work on tightening those introductory paragraphs in the rewrite as well as adding more of Joe’s reactions.

Yes, I had a dream about this city. My dream felt more like I was going on a ghost tour of this town where a murder had occurred and they made it like a tourist type of thing. I wanted to write about that but then somehow an entirely different story came out. You know how that goes!!! Oh yeah, I do have weird dreams if I eat olives (which I do almost every night) before I go to bed.

Thanks again,

Mac

Visitor (not verified)
anonymous user
Sun, 03-17-2002 - 9:47pm

What kind of olives? (nt)


iVillage Member
Registered: 03-25-2003
Mon, 03-18-2002 - 8:16am

Spanish olives, pitted and stuffed with pimiento!!! (nt)


iVillage Member
Registered: 03-19-2003
Tue, 03-19-2002 - 11:01am

Good work mac.(m)


This was such an intriguing story. Like Maria, I wondered why you stopped when you did. I really wanted it to go on.

Two places I found that need a little rewriting:

After the sentence, "I'm sorry, that was rude of me.", you say, "Don't think nothing of it." As it is, it's a double negative, could you just say, "Think nothing of it." ?

And the sentence, ...or the fact I'd make enough money to keep from having my power stuff off ... Did you mean, having my power turned off?

I really loved this story. It has the possible feel of a real "other realms/spooky" story. Maybe that's why I want it to go on. As it is, it's well written but it seems like there's a promise not quite fulfilled. Do you know what I mean? Anyway, I loved it.

Linda

cl-ozarker

"We are all apprentices in a craft where no one ever becomes a master." - Ernest Heminway

Visitor (not verified)
anonymous user
Tue, 03-19-2002 - 2:21pm

Great story Mac. I really enjoyed reading it.


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