I’ve always gotten a kick out of recording the world around me. I enjoy making field recordings of various hikes and travels, the sounds of bustling commerce, and I like trying to transcribe others conversations. There’s something about trying to capture a perfect moment or series of moments as closely and accurately as possible. I think it’s one of the hardest things for a writer to do.
When I was a senior in college I took a particular non-fiction writing class on a whim. It turned out to be one of the most influential courses of my college experience, and my professor mentored me for a year after college as I tried to make sense of trying to write a non-fiction book. Regular weekly assignments included going out into the world and basically spying on people to record their dialog, their mannerisms and the settings in which their social interactions occurred.
This was the very first time I tried to capture a real-world scene as accurately as possible. It’s not great — I’ve gotten much better at it over the years — but there are little strings of words or images that I think are great. If you write, and if you struggle with writing dialog, there is nothing better than challenging yourself to capture real human conversation. The spying and subtle recording of two or more people communicating is a fun bonus.
Wednesday, September 22nd, 2004
The line for ice cream or frozen yogurt stretches to the door. It’s a mild Wednesday evening, and several families have gathered at this local shop for dessert. Today marks the first day of autumn, and perhaps this will be their last chance to quench the desire for something cold and tasty before the temperature begins to drop.
At the rear of the line a father stands with his two daughters, Gina and Amy. He’s wearing black dress pants and a putrid green collared shirt. How he looks is like the priest in The Exorcist looked after Linda Blair projectile vomits green pea soup on him. His ear is glued to a cell phone, a big blue box complete with a full keyboard and color screen. Gina clings to his leg, clad in a purple striped shirt and grey sweatpants. Amy wears a matching blue sweatshirt and pants with pink Puma sneakers. While daddy conducts his business on the phone, the sisters spend a few minutes catching up with each other.
“How was your friend’s house?”
“So much fun!” Amy draws out the word “so” over the course of several seconds. Gina smiles and prods Amy, asking how they spent the afternoon.
“We were playing games and then we went on the computer.”
“Ooh. Computer games or, um, online?”
“Well we tried to play online. But at one point, I pushed this button, and the whole screen went black! After that the computer wouldn’t go back on.” Amy’s eyes widen as she recounts the tale, and few words she raises the pitch of her voice in a flurry of rabid excitement.”I think it had a virus or something. We made a dance also”
“A dance?”
“Yeah, a dance! Like this!” Amy steps out of line and begins to flail her limbs and scrape her feet along the tiled floor. Each time she scrapes, the pink dye from the soles of her shoes rubs off and streaks the white tile.
Gina points to the pink streaks and laughs, “Oh my gosh! Look!” The pair begins to giggle and both break out into dance, a haphazard, non-rhythmic boogie. The floor squeaks as they drag their feet harder across the surface, leaving pink and black marks in their wake.
Eventually dad looks down at the poorly choreographed, mildly destructive debacle and tries to curtail the girls. He places his palm over the receiver of the monstrous cell phone and tells the girls to figure out what they want to order.
“Chocolate!” screams Gina. “With M&M’s!”
“Um.. Uh.. I think I want chocolate too…” Amy crosses her legs and looks down at the messy floor. Indecision. She sneaks forward a few paces and stands on her toes to get a look at the toppings. Gina starts a new dance, eerily similar to the one that was just stopped short. She continues scraping her feet along the floor.
At this point, dad hangs up the giant blue phone and clips it to a holder on his belt buckle. He takes Gina by the shoulder, a subtle hint that she picks up on by quieting her noisy squeaks. He calls Amy over, and the family approaches the counter.
An older woman in a bulky grey sweatshirt says hi to the girls and asks what they want. Gina’s eyes light up as she screams, “Chocolate and M&M’s!”
“A small cup.” Dad asserts, “of chocolate, with M&M’s.” The white haired lady smiles and hobbles off searching for the proper ingredients. Dad orders Amy’s yogurt for her, chocolate with hot fudge. Amy follows the lady around, mirroring her movements as she starts and stops on her way to the ice cream container and then as she adds the topping.
As the girls race to pick up their cups, Dad utters softly, “And a Moo-Malt with…” he pauses, “banana and chocolate? Can you mix those two together?” He doesn’t express elation like the girls. He runs his fingers through his salt and pepper hair, and covers his mouth with his hand.
The girls have already made headway into their cups. Gina gouges away, chewing her M&M candies loudly. Amy is smearing hot fudge on her mouth and laughing at Gina. They dance their way to a table and wait for dad to join them. By the time he pays, they’ve already finished. As he sits down with his shake, the girls stand up and begin their dance routine again. Dad smiles to his girls, and takes a long first sip from his cup.
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