http://thenightsthelights.wordpress.com/introduction

I don’t have any quick links formation yet, but I will shortly. But if you’re curious as to how the re-write is going, mosey on over to that link and find #1 somehow. Enjoy, and thanks for reading!

.edit// the chapter links are up now lolol

In any case, around the dawn of the new year, I began re-reading the original chapters of the Nights and the Lights, and I was kind of depressed. Partly because I’ve shown people the site not knowing what I wrote before, but mainly because I was disappointed in the writing quality in general.

In order to remedy this, I’ve begun to re-write the original chapters with several goals in mind:

1. Remove as much autobiographical content as possible.
2. Do #1 without rupturing or affecting the story itself.
3. Adding a fantasy-like quality to the story.
4. Improve the writing quality to reflect my own growth as a writer over the past 3 years.
5. Incorporate really epic character names I came up with for another story.
6. Do my best to make the story seem novel-worthy and like something a person would actually read.

That being said, I’m being really careful as I write, putting more time and thought into each chapter. I’m currently 4 chapters in, writing the 5th one right now. So without further ado, here is the current home of the re-write.

http://www.mediafire.com/thenightsthelights

chances are, I’ll transfer it over here once I catch up. ‘Cause i Like this wordpress’es layout.

Bart had broken free of my grip on his arm and made a break for the living room, but with luck I’d caught him again.

“Did I not just say, ‘Don’t tell Stella’? I don’t want her to freak out? It might be a touchy subject! There hasn’t been a woman around since her mother.”

“Stella! Your father has a date!” Bart continued to yell through my arms, and towards her bedroom.

“Oh God—Bart, if she is upset at all—“

“Daddy has a date!? FINALLY!”

I felt like the two were more excited than I was. And it’s not that I wasn’t excited; I just didn’t want to get my hopes up. What if I ended up not liking her? What if I was just inadequate? What if she just gets up and leaves me? What if she cheats on me? What if this date is a train wreck?

“Allen, please, wipe that look off your face. This date isn’t going to be a train wreck, you’ll be just fine. Stop worrying so much!”

“… But.”

“Allen,” and he gave me a look I haven’t seen in years. He opened his mouth about to speak.

“No thinking, no regrets!” Stella interjected before Bart could even say a word. My heart skipped a beat at hearing those words. Words I’d long forgotten, but the very idea that had defined me, and wrought the very core of me to be who I am now. Now, my daughter is looking me in the eyes having just dropped that same bomb on the same Hiroshima. And before I knew it, my daughter and my best friend were dressing me up and getting me ready for my date.

“Do you have your wallet?”

“Yes.”

“Are you going to let her pay?”

“No.”

“Good!  Are you going to McDonald’s?”

“No.”

“Where, then?”

“That classy sushi place you took me on a date to last week.”

“Did it make you feel like a woman?”

“… Yes.”

“Perfect! I think you’re ready, Allen.”

“Yeah? What about you, Stella?”

“All systems are go, Daddy.”

“That’s my girl. Alright. Thanks guys.”

I arrived at the address. I haven’t been this nervous in some time. I wasn’t used to the tense shoulders that I constantly shrugged involuntarily. This warm sweat dripping from my hair and down my neck, breathing deeply, nervously checking my pockets. I feel like a child. And it’s kind of disgusting.

“I can sleep in your bed tonight if you really want the couch that bad.”

“I don’t think I can move.”

“A trade off it is. What is it, Allen?”

“This weekend. It was too much for me.”

“What, ‘cause of her?”

“Something like that. It’s like this every time she comes around. She builds an entire monument of hope and destroys it just like that; all in one weekend. She’s like the Jesus of false hope.”

“Maybe it’s only false hope ‘cause you perceive it that way.”

“Maybe. Probably. But could you blame me?”

“No, not at all. Not when you have your head in the clouds, and your heart up your ass.”

“Gee, thanks.”

“No problem, buddy. Listen, it’s okay to feel that way once in a while. Sometimes , it’s good to feel weak. Who wants to have their guard up all the time? All I’m saying is, just don’t let it get to you too much, alright? We can’t have Superhero Dad dying out on us, can we?”

“No, you’re right.”

“Course I am. Now, off to bed with you. It’s past your bed time.”

“Shut up.”

Bart laughed as I disappeared into my bedroom. Like so many of the other things he said to me, Bart’s words echoed in my mind. It became the soundtrack to the dimly lit ceiling above my head that I watched until 4am that night. I guess I could have the sleep-late-wake-up-early sickness just for one more night. God willing, I’ll sweat it out in the morning.

Tuesday morning, and the sickness continued. Another Tuesday meant back to work. It wasn’t as unbearable as it seemed considering any imposed sleep deprivation from the previous weekend. And as for teaching, it was a lot of application at this point as opposed to teaching. Supervising isn’t nearly as difficult.

“Professor?”

“Mm… yes, Ricky? You have a question?”

“Well… you fell asleep.”

“That’s impossible. Continue about your work.”

“But class over.”

“Oh. Then you all are excused. Have a good day.”

It took a little bit for me to realize that class was over and everyone had left. I was in a daze from the lack of sleep, and hadn’t looked up to see the door had opened, and someone walked inside.

“You’re an hour late; class is over.”

“Oh, that’s what I was hoping for.”

“But there isn’t another class here for another two hours.”

“I know.”

“Well, maybe –“ and when I’d finally taken a long enough break from packing my things to look up at the person sitting in the front of my classroom, I wasn’t sure what to say.

“Maybe?”

“Oh, uhh…”

“Hello, professor.”

“Hello, Stevie. Come to visit me, have you?”

“I have. I was on my break, and my friend is in your class, so I thought I’d come say hi.”

“How sweet of you to drop by.”

“Aren’t I? Have any plans for lunch?”

“Not so far, no.”

“Care to join me?”

“That sounds like a good idea.”

Stevie and I walked together out of the classroom, and side by side as we walked to the same Japanese café where we met. It was a peculiar walk, a pleasant one, but unnerving all at once. I’d forced myself to take shorter strides and walk slower in order to keep pace with her and not appear to be running away. Every other passing moment yielded the opportunity for a quiet glance in her direction. Each time, I noticed something different about Stevie: her dark amber hair, long and flowing, the first time, her softer face and rounded cheeks the second time, the thinly lined glasses the third, and her blue-silver eyes the fourth. Each detail added up to contain something else about her, something secret that’d be concealed until now. There were minute instances of pain in these observances, as they vaguely reminded me of Lena’s. All that land that used to be mine now belongs to someone else, and here I was rediscovering bits and pieces of it in someone else. People vary, and always change, but beauty is intrinsic and undeniable. And Stevie was no exception.

“What’s with that really intense face?”

“What intense face?”

“The one you’re making right now. It looks like you’re thinking really hard.”

“Maybe I am thinking really hard.”

“Are you?”

“No, what gives you that impression?”

“The face you’re making that makes you look like you’re thinking really hard.”

“Good point.”

A few more quiet moments passed by as we ate our lunch. Conversation sprinkled over passing moments, filled with laughter and smiles warmer than what you’re used to from close strangers and fair acquaintances. Light hearted topics, and talk of pending instances that survey the scene. And without thinking I said it.

“Hey, would you maybe want to go out for dinner sometimes? You know, not here.” I froze in horror of the question.

“Like on a date?” I bit my lip.

“You could say that, yeah.”

“Hmm… a date with a professor, huh?”

“Yeah… something like that.”

“That’s not weird for you?”

“Is it for you?”

“No. You’re not that much older than me.”

“And you’re not that much younger than me.” Good recovery. My confidence was returning.

“So that means we could easily go on a date, doesn’t it?”

“It does. And that’s why I asked.”

“Then I’ll have to accept. Looks like you’ve got yourself a date, Professor.”

“Great. How does Friday night sound? Around 8?”

“Friday at 8 it is. Here’s my number.”

“Alright. Sounds like a plan.”

I haven’t gotten a date in years. I haven’t hit on a woman, let alone even speak to a woman I was interested in. But there I was, having just asked Stevie the Neurobiology grad student out on a date on Friday at 8 pm. Funny feeling, I’d say.

“How have you been lately, Allen? Off the record.”

“Off the record..? I’ve been well.”

“And the university?”

“Pleasant. School has been well for me. I just got tenure.”

“Hooray for job security. How exciting is that?”

“Quite. It’s good to know I won’t need to polish my old resume anytime soon.”

“Of course.”

“And how’s everything back in DC?”

“It’s going well. Like I said, I got a promotion, so another three cheers for job security.”

“What a cause for celebration.”

“Isn’t it?”

“Quite. Care for a cup of wine?”

“I’d love a glass.”

“Is Merlot okay?”

“Absolutely.”

I ducked into the kitchen to regain my composure. The air grew thin, and my breath was scarce. I poured the wine, hands shaking, into the wine glasses Stella had picked out one day at Ikea. Every now and then, Stella could appreciate a cold, hard apple cider. It was rare to pour wine into these cups, even more rare to split a bottle between Lena and myself. Now with a shaking stream pouring from the bottle, I watched the cups fill. For so long I’d wanted something like this, I hadn’t dreamt that such a scene could even happen. What made this time different? What set tonight apart from all the rest? With a pounding chest, and a deeper breath, I stepped outside.

“I changed my mind, by the way. I took you up on that offer for a cigarette.”

“I can see that,” as her smoke blew into my face.

“Merlot, is it?”

“Yes, one of my favorites.”

“That isn’t bad. You have good taste, Allen.”

“In more than just wine.” Cheers. We touched cups, and drank.

“Has Stella been okay?”

“Stella’s been great. She misses you, you know. You should visit more often.”

“I’m coming as often as I can… Tell me the truth will you?”

“Oh, Lena, I didn’t mean it–”

“No, no, it’s okay, Allen. She’s getting older… but does she hate me?”

“No, she loves you.”

“Okay, but does she resent me?”

“You want the truth?”

“Yes.”

“A little.”

“Oh, God.”

“I mean, you can’t blame her. She’s older now, she’s smarter, and she’s starting to figure things out. What was I supposed to say when she came to my room one night and said, ‘Daddy, Mother screwed you over, didn’t she?’”

“… I guess you have a point.”

“Sorry, Lena. I know that you didn’t mean for it to be this way. No one could’ve foreseen this.”

“Yeah, I guess you’re right. Well, what about you?”

“What about me?”

“Do you hate me?”

“What?”

“Do you resent me?”

“Lena, I—“

“What is it, Allen?”

My heart picked up. I felt it beating faster with every word. She’d already had me on my knees with, “Alright. Then stay up with me”, but now I was six feet underground, waiting for my epitaph to overtake me.  With every piercing question, my heart spilled over the sides a little each more. She’d cornered me. I looked down at my shirt and watch my heart beat right through my chest and onto her sleeve.

“Lena…”

“I’m sorry, Allen… maybe things just haven’t been as great as I make it out to sound.”

“What do you mean?”

“I did get that promotion…  but Richard has been acting up lately.”

“Acting up?”

“We’ve been arguing a lot, he’s been lying about where he is, and things have just been… different.”

“Oh, I’m sorry…” She began to tear up a little.

“You know it means a lot to me, right? That you did this for me.”

“Yeah, I know.”

“I just couldn’t stand if either of you hated me, even before things started to go south back home.”

“It’s alright, Lena. Don’t worry about it so much.”

She hugged me at that, and buried her face into my chest as she cried. I held her, and wondered what could happen next. If anything would happen next, if this moment of vulnerability and a little bit of wine would be enough to set her off, to push her over the edge. That with this minute window of opportunity could I relinquish all the bitterness in my heart, and give in to love and feeling, and get what I’d always secretly wanted all this time. Those feelings that I’d suppressed for so long, because Stella was enough to keep my mind off of it, all of it being spilt forth after having realized that this love was all that was left in my heart, and Lena was the only one it was meant for. That her and I could be weak, together, entangled in my bed like we used to be, in love and in lust, just maybe we could be.

But then again, I tend to overthink and overshoot the possibilities, thinking of the best possible reality, when ‘the best’ and ‘reality’ just don’t ever mix for me.

“Well, I think I’m okay now. Thanks for the wine, and thanks for the talk, Allen. I really needed it. Oh, and sorry for crying on your shirt. Goodnight. Hope you get some sleep.”

“Goodnight.”

She left me on the balcony, speechless. I don’t know what just happened.

“So, come here often?”

“That’s a funny question.”

“Why, because it’s cliché?”

“Yeah. But I do come here often. More often than is probably healthy for me.”

“Or your wallet. Call me cheap, but I’d say the menu is pretty pricy.”

“But well worth the cost.”

“Very true.”

“I take it you’re a regular here, too.”

“Yeah, but not regular enough for them to know me by name.”

It grew silent for a bit, as we both ate. In between bites, I noticed bits and pieces of her. The glasses that she wore, her long brown hair, her light hazel eyes, her pink lips, her puffy cheeks.

“What are you staring at?”

“Oh, nothing.”

“It’s rude to stare.”

“It’s rude to chew with your mouth open.”

Got her.

“Touche.”

“Are you from around here?”

“I go here, actually. I’m grad student.”

“Are you? What are you studying?”

“Neurobiology. What are you studying?”

“You think I’m studying something?”

“I take it you’re not?”

“I’m not. But I do go here.”

“So you’re a professor?”

“Yes.”

“What do you teach?”

“Currently, VAD110 and PHT42.”

“Photography and visual art. Painting?”

“Yup.”

“I was considering taking art courses.”

“Why didn’t you?”

“I wanted to keep my eye on the prize, I guess.”

“Fair enough.”

“Well, professor, it’s been fun, but I’ve got class.”

“It was nice having lunch with you.”

“It was, I enjoyed it. My name is Stevie.”

“Nice to meet you, I’m Allen.”

“I like professor better.”

“Fair enough. Professor it is.”

“Bye, Professor.”

I waved goodbye, and she gave me a warm smile. I watched her walk away, unsure of what to make of the encounter. I was in a dream like phase the rest of the day, and couldn’t keep focus. The weird thing was how everything was on my mind, not just Stevie. It was everything. Lena, Stella, Stevie, Bart, that discomforting smell coming from the laundry room this morning. It was all there for some reason, and I couldn’t shake the feeling that maybe Bart was right, and maybe Stevie held some kind of place in my future. I wasn’t sure what, yet, just that there was something.

“Hey Allen, how was school today?”

“Just a normal day. Thanks for picking up Stella though.”

“Yeah, no problem.”

“How’d you manage to get her, anyway?”

“I borrowed my friend’s motorcycle.”

“What?! Are you crazy?”

“Nope. I borrowed his car. I had you going there, didn’t I?”

“Jesus, Bart. You don’t even have your motorcycle license.”

“Not an American one at least.”

“Yeah, that’s true.”

“So anything interesting happen today?”

“Mm…not really.”

“What was that hesitation?”

“Nothing.”

“Tell me.”

“Well… there was this one thing at lunch.”

‘Yeah?”

“They messed up my order.”

“That’s it?”

“Yeah, but they mixed it up with someone else’s.”

“Oh?”

“And that someone else decided to eat lunch with me.”

“It was a girl, wasn’t it.”

“How’d you know?”

“The hesitation in your voice while telling the story. What’s her name?”

“Stevie.”

“Stevie?  Wait, it was a girl, right?”

“Yeah. Stevie is a girl.”

“Was she cute?”

“What? I don’t know, I didn’t check.”

“Of course you did.”  Damn him.

“She was, I guess.”

“Aww, Allen has a little crush! So what is she, another professor?”

“She’s a grad student actually. Neurobiology.”

“Ohh, how cute.”

“Yeah, it was a pretty nice lunch.”

“Remember what I told you about, Allen.”

He left me in the kitchen with just those words. Little did he know, all I was thinking about were the words he said to me just a few nights ago. The timing was almost impeccable, like something out of a movie. But as precarious as it may seem, there was something in my gut that gave me some sort of confidence in what happened today. It’s been some time since I’ve felt anything like this for anyone. Much less some random girl named Stevie. But even as I thought about her, I still couldn’t shake Lena’s presence in my mind. And with her imminent visit to see Stella, I knew that seeing her face to face wouldn’t help this sinking feeling.

Campus is always busy with people running around. I’ve only seen it empty when I left off class early, and just a few people were roaming the halls. Apparently, I look like a student half of the time so I don’t have the God given power of silence upon entering the classroom. If I’m early, I like to sit next to a random student and see if they notice that I’m the professor.

“Hey man, how do you like the class so far?”

“It’s alright. I kind of want to start getting into advanced techniques though. Everything he’s been teaching so far is kind of… beginner stuff almost.”

“It’s just kind of review, right? To make sure everyone else is on the same page?”

“But it’s all so easy. This is VAD110. I mean, come on, right?”

“Hmm… good point.” VAD stands for Visual Art Development. And VAD110 is Advanced Painting Techniques. I got up from my seat and prepared my easel so as to begin the lesson.

“Alright, if you guys could set up your canvas and palettes: We’re going to get started now. We’ll start the slightly more advanced techniques in painting unless anyone feels uncomfortable doing so.”

Aside from doing pieces in the makeshift studio of my apartment balcony, teaching was the only viable source of income I could manage. I did free lance work for different galleries in the city, and every now and then it’d bring in a decent amount of money. A little extra money on the side never hurt, but teaching was what paid all the bills. It’s what keeps Stella and I with a roof over our heads and food on our plates, but at the same time it was something I’d wanted to do. A career that I actually fit into, and not just some kind of bill paying routine. I’d prevented that years ago, and decided that doing what I loved was more important than having abundances of money lying around. Being financially secure for years to come just wasn’t my thing, I guess.

I taught mainly art, and every now and then I’d do summer sessions on other things: literary theory, industrial design, art history, but mainly painting and photography courses. This semester, I taught VAD110 and PHT42, both on Tuesday and Thursday back to back, leaving me with a lot of time in the in between. Office hours in the morning on Tuesdays and Thursdays left the rest of the week to do as I pleased. With Bart in the house, I was curious as to how that would affect home life. With just an hour and half of PHT42 left for the day, I had an small break for lunch before I had to pick Stella up from school. On normal work days, I’d have to pick up Stella and let her do homework in the classroom I taught in. Sometimes, she’d even help with lessons. On semesters when I had smaller classes, she’d acquaint herself with everyone and occasionally talk to or help in any way should could.

“Hey Allen!”

“What’s up, Bart?”

“What time does Stella get out of school.”

“In about… 45 minutes. Why?”

“I’ll pick her up, man.”

“With what car?”

“Don’t worry about it.”

“Bart…”

“Trust me on this one, man!”

“Alright, Bart… I’m trust you.”

“Cool! See you back at the house!” Click. Sometimes I don’t understand Bart. But most of the time, I don’t really want to. With my half hour break extended to about an hour, the question became: “Where on campus should I eat?” The answer was simple: My favorite sushi café right off campus on the border of Downtown. With a very small business, hole in the wall, feel and a delightful patio seating, eating there was never a bad idea. Oh yeah, and the food is pretty good too.

I picked a lightly shaded spot, and opened up my copy of The Picture of Dorian Grey and read as I waited.

“Excuse me, but are you number 12?”

“Yeah, did they call mine?”

“Um, yes. Apparently they did.”

“Apparently?”

“Yeah, but I think they switched your number with mine.”

“Is that why you’re fumbling with two plates?”

“Yes.”

“Well, have a seat. Let’s figure this out.”

Bart’s words had been ringing my head for whatever reason. All I’m saying is maybe it’s time you found Stella a real mom. Don’t you think it’s just a little unfair that she grew up with just a father? I don’t know what it was that made me think of the conversation at this point. But when I looked up, I realized why.

“You got the Samurai roll, Right?”

“And bento box A.”

“Wow, all for you?”

I replied with a surprised look, and a dropped jaw.

“I’m kidding, you look great.”

My surprised look turned into one of embarrassment.

“So Samurai Roll and Box A… This looks like the Samurai Roll.”

“How do you know?”

“Because I didn’t order a roll.”

“But you got a Box?”

“Yes, I got Box B. Which is… this one.”

“How do you know that one?”

“Because Tempura isn’t the same as Teriyaki.”

“Good point.”

“Well, good! Now that that’s settled… we can eat!”

“Just like that?”

“Yeah, why not?”

“Oh, I don’t know. You’re not here with anyone?”

“No, are you?”

“No.”

“Yeah, then it’s perfect. Now we have each other, and it works out really well.”

“’Cause no one likes eating lunch alone right?”

“Right. Eat, before your food gets cold.”

“Okay.”

I don’t know who this girl is or what her deal is. But I think I like it.

“So it sounds like it’s been a crazy 8 years for you, man.”

“It really has been. Stella just kind of… happened. And changed everything, you know?”

“Yeah, I’m actually really glad.”

“Why is that?”

“Well, it’s no surprise that you were… kind of a mess back then. But now… I could tell she’s had a big effect on you. You’re… happy now.”

“Yeah… that’s about right.”

“Are you seeing someone right now?”

“Oh. No.”

“Oh?”

“Nothing.”

“What is it?”

“I just… am not seeing anyone.”

“Caught you off guard there, didn’t I?”

“Yeah.”

“So you’re not seeing anyone… but you’re happy.”

“I guess you’re right…”

“Maybe you have changed. Or grown up a little.”

“…”

“Wait…”

“What?”

“… You haven’t seen anyone since Lena, have you?

“What makes you say that?”

“The way you’re spacing out ‘cause you’re thinking about her.”

“I don’t like how well you know me.”

“Yeah, ‘cause you love it.”

“Well, yeah. I haven’t seen anyone since Lena. The 3^rd time.”

“Well, well, well. Look at you, all grown up.”

“Yeah, whatever. What about you, Mr. Peace Corps?”

“What about me? I’m not the one with the kid.”

“She’s not really mine…”

“… I’m sorry.  I didn’t mean to—“

“No no, it’s okay.”

“Does it hurt ever?”

“Does what hurt?”

“Thinking about how that was almost your daughter.”

“Almost?”

“Yeah, I mean… you were so close.”

“You mean… ours?”

“Yeah. I mean, the miscarriage…”

“Don’t sweat it.”

“I know how excited you were about it. And how crushed you were.”

It’s true. I was devastated. I was so close to having my own child with Lena. Before all of this even happened, Lena and I were set to have a kid of our own: our own little happy accident. But we lost the kid in a miscarriage, and things just went south from there. Lena and I… our history is a peculiar one.

“Everything is all good now. It all worked out for the better… right?”

“Right.”

“So, you ready then?”

“Ready.”

We got up from the table we were sitting at and got into my car. School was out, and it was going to be the first time Stella met my best friend. And the first time my best friend was going to meet Stella. Something I’d been anticipating for a while. I am slightly afraid for this encounter. Bart has always been around, and has always been my best friend despite having left for too long. But then, Stella is my daughter. Well, kind of. Either way, they’re both really important. What if they don’t like each other? And what if existence turns sour because the two most important people in my life can’t get along? What if I have to act as a placatory at Christmases and Birthdays and the times when Bart’s going to show up just to show up? The thought gave me the creeps.

“Hey! You must be Stella!”

“And you must be Bart!”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Stella.”

“Likewise.”

“Can you do something for me, Stella?”

“You’ve known me for 5 seconds and you’re already asking for favors?”

“Ha, don’t worry it’s easy. Put your hand like this.’

Bart proceeded to teach her the handshake we’d had since high school. I was surprised he still remembered.

“That was cool! What was that?”

“That’s me and your daddy’s handshake. It’s a secret, only the three of us know it.”

Bart had told me on the original date of inception of that handshake that we could only share it with another person if we felt the sacredness of our friendship could be complemented by another human being. Up until this point, there hadn’t been another human being to learn this handshake before Stella.

“Thanks, Uncle Bart!

“Uncle? I kinda like it.”

“Yeah, you’ll get used to it,” I told him jokingly.

“So, Daddy, Uncle Bart, does this mean we’re going out for ice cream?”

“Ice cream? Aren’t you hungry?”

“Better question: are YOU hungry?”

“Damn, Allen, I like this kid. She knows you too well.”

“Ha, well. We’re having Chinese food.”

“And after…?”

“Yes, yes, we’ll get ice cream.”