Welcome To The Club

Welcome To The Club(Tom Di Roma) Welcome To The Club


I was sitting at one end of a long Starbucks’ table that was inside my local Ralphs supermarket, reading from my kindle, when I happen to look up and saw, for the first time, a gal, probably in her late twenties or early thirties, sitting at the other end of the table, and writing in what looked like a journal. A writer myself, I became intrigued.
Trying not to be too intrusive, I watched her out the corner of my eye. I couldn’t help but wonder what she was writing? Finally, after a few minutes, my curiosity got the better of me, and leaning over, I asked, “Fiction or nonfiction?”
That’s when she looked up and replied, “Fiction.”
So I said, “Welcome to the club.”
You could tell her interest picked up a notch. “You write?” she asked.
I nodded. “Yes, fiction.”
“Oh!” she said, her expression brightening even further, as she shifted in her chair to face me more directly. “What kind of fiction do you write?”
“Mostly short stories.”
“What kind?”
This is where I lose a lot of people; my interests don’t always connect with theirs. “Mostly weird stuff.”
“Like what?”
“Ghosts, witches, aliens, life after death—that kind of stuff.” I was surprised when her expression didn’t change, but just to play it safe, I added, “But not everything is weird. There are some normal stories.”
“What kind?”
“Well, one of my more normal stories is about a husband and wife team of lawyers who give a homeless teenager a Christmas present that effects all their lives.”
She thought about it a moment then asked,“So what’s it called?”
I couldn’t help but chuckle, knowing what her reaction was probably going to be. “It’s called: He Came Wrapped In Cardboard.” Just as I thought. Her forehead wrinkled and her mouth twisted into a half smile. “Yeah, I know it’s a weird title. But the reason I called it that is because, in the story, when the husband first spots the teen, he’s sitting half in and out of a carboard box. And then, when he finally convinces the kid to accept a ride to his home, he discovers the kid smells like wet cardboard.”
“And how does the husband convince the kid he’s not a pervert?”
“First, by offering him some coffee and doughnuts, and then telling him that he, the lawyer, has all the Harry Potter books at home.”
Once again, she looked at me a bit confused, so I explained, “When he found the kid, he noticed that the teen had been reading a ripped up version of The Sorcerer’s Stone, which the kid had found in a nearby dumpster.”
Looking down at the table for a moment, the girl nodded seemingly to herself, almost as if she was thinking of some universal truth. “Ah, yes, Harry Potter.”
“So what do you write?” I asked after a moment.
When she looked back up, I could have sworn I spied some pain in her expression, but it past so quickly, I couldn’t be sure. “Mostly literary fiction,” she replied. I might have been too presumptive, but that was the sort of answer I was expecting.
Pointing toward the journal-like notebook on the table, I asked, “Is that what you’re writing now?” She nodded without looking at me. “So what is your story about?”
This time, she lifted her eyes and replied, “I’m only halfway through, but it’s about an estranged mother and daughter finally reconciling.”
“I’d really like to read it when you’re done.”
“And what about your cardboard story? Can I read that?”
“Sure! Give me your email address and I’ll send it to you.” Which she did. And then linda.writer@gmail.com and I went our separate ways.
When I got back to my office (I had been on a lunch break), I sent Linda the story. I figured I’d hear from her in a couple of days. But when a week went by, and I hadn’t heard anything, I emailed her again.
“Sorry I haven’t gotten back to you, yet,” she wrote. “I’ve been really busy. But I’ll try to read your story very soon.”
Yeah, yeah, I thought. That’s what they all say, but I decided to put aside my disappointment and continue to concentrate on my work, which included copywriting and designing brochures for the advertising agency I worked for.
A few more days passed, and I still hadn’t heard from her. That’s when I figured, either she didn’t like my story, or hadn’t read it yet. Probably the latter. But then to my surprise, she emailed me back, saying she loved the story. “I especially loved your twist at the end.”
I smiled, thinking thanks. Then she informed me that she had completed her mother and daughter story, and would send it to me once she was finished making corrections. “Great!” I emailed back. “I’ll be looking forward to receiving it.” Finally, after another week, her story arrived in my email.
I really, really liked it. But there was something about the story that had me thinking she should make the daughter character be a spirit that the mother is trying to reconcile with.
When I wrote back and suggested that to Linda, she said she’d think about it. Once again, I wasn’t expecting to hear from her any time soon. But once more, to my surprise, she wrote me a day later, saying she agreed. “It does add a unique aspect to the story. In fact, now that I see how it effected my writing, I’m going to look at some of my other stories to see what else I might add.”
That’s when I wrote back to her, and said what I had said when we first met, “Welcome to the club!”