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A Perfect Day

a Jason Shoemaker story

 

 

 

"BEEP! BEEP! BEEP! BEEP!"

 

It is 8:00 a.m. The alarm clock is the first thing I hear every morning. It's incessant yelping in my ears is my indication that it is time to start a new day.

 

I arise from my slumber, still in a half-stupor. I place a bed slipper over each foot as I lumber towards the first place I go to every time I am awakened to begin a new day...the bathroom.

 

After relieveing myself, I turn on the hot water in the bathtub. As it begins to steam up, the smell from the kitchen begins to flow into my nostrils. The hypnotic trance of eggs, pancakes, fresh fruit, and bacon begins to overwhelm me. I begin to speed my pace of getting ready for the day, as I look forward to the meal that is being prepared. A quicker shower than usual, it seems. I pride myself on my haste as I begin to put on my clothes.

 

The first thing I encounter as I exit the bathroom is the pitter-patter of small feet. The children come running at near break-neck speed to greet me with a warm hug, as they do every day. I pick one up in each arm and squeeze them tightly to myself. I am so gald that they are still at that age and size where they are both able to be lifted easily and not embarrased by it. "Good morning, daddy!", they squeal into my ears. It is the sound I love most in the morning. "Heeeeey, kiddos!", I reply. "I smell good eats. Are you helping your mother like good children?"

 

"I cracked the eggs for mommy!", little Rebecca replies. She is the oldest of our two children, at age four.

 

"I got the milk for mommy! And I didn't spill any this time!", chirps our younger son, Gregory. He is only 2, so the fact that he carried the container of milk without dropping it is a fantastic feat.

 

"Always a bonus!", I tell him, as I begin to carry the two tikes on my shoulders toward the dining room table. Upon arriving, I am greeted by the two most beautiful things on Earth: the warm, gentle smile of my wife, and the banquet of magnificent cooking laid before me. "One feast, hold the onions." she says. The children and I chime in on cue and in unison with a resounding "Eeeeeewwwww!". Laughter erupts from everyone present afterwards.

 

I set Rebecca down so that she can scramble into her chair, and place little Gregory into his booster seat. We all bow our heads and say a prayer before beginning to indulge ourselves on the smorgusborg of goodies strewn all about the table. After stuffing my face with three strips of bacon and a few bites of pancake, I reach over for the morning paper. "Excellent! I see tha Cowboys are looking pretty good in spring camps this season.", I spout out. This is only to antagonize my wife and goad her into yet another "arguement" about whose favorite football team is better.

 

"Oh, puuu-lease! You and I both know the Pats are going to win it all, as usual.", she replies. As expected.

 

"Look, I don't want to hear you cry when my 'Boys beat the tar out of Tom and the gang in their Monday Nighter on Halloween."

 

"Yeah, and next you're going to tell me that the Cards are winning the Super Bowl, right?"

 

"No way! They'll never beat Dallas in the NFC title game. I see the final score being 38-17."

 

A chuckle arises from her. I do not know what aspect of my wife I find the most attractive: her incredibly attractive features, her sharp wit, or the fact that she knows almost as much about sports as I do. Most days I feel it is the wit. Somebody has to keep me in line.

 

The rest of breakfast goes as it does every morning. A bit of small talk and a whole lot of grocery consumption. After we have all filled our bellies to their maximum, everyone begins to grab plates and eating utensils and carrying them over to the kitchen sink. Gregory is entrusted to carry his own dishes, as they are all plastic and unbreakable. Rebecca brings along all of the forks, knives, and spoons. My wife carries cups, and I handle the burden of the plates. Having done restaurant work for many years pays off sometimes. I am the only one who can balance 15 plates still splattered with bits of uneaten food particles. We all make our voyage to the sink, where we set everything down carefully. Dishes will not be done until the evening, so I run some hot water for everything to soak in before that time comes. "All right, kids, it's time to get ready for Errand Time.", their mother responds. It is a warm but commanding tone, letting them know that she is in a slight rush. They scamper off to their room to find socks and shoes to wear on their journeys to the grocery store and mall and wherever else the mini-van sweeps them away to. I give her a gentle kiss. "Have a good day at work, sweetie.", she tells me. "Not like my job is demanding, honey.", I retort. A smile is exchanged between us as I near the door. The last thing I hear is the children screaming at the top of their lungs. "BYE, DADDY!", they yell simultaneously. "BYE, SILLIES!", I shout back. Though I cannot hear it as I close the door, I know they are in their room giggling hysterically. They love it when I call them that.

 

Traffic seems lighter than usual for a Tuesday morning in Dallas. I turn on the radio as I make my way down the interstate. "Good morning, Dallas! It looks like it's going to be a perfect day, with a high around 77 degrees and not a cloud in sight!" The weather man has no idea just how perfect this day is going to be. It is the 13th of May, and by far one of the most important days on the calendar. "So, why don't you go out and support your Texas Rangers as they host the Anaheim Angels today! First pitch is expected around 7:15 this evening." I have never figured out if the weather anchor likes being cut off by the sports anchor when he is doing his morning forecast report. That may be one of life's greatest mysteries.

 

Fortunately, there are no major accidents on the way to the office. Unlike living in the Atlanta area, people in Texas at least seem to know how to drive somewhat respectfully of each other. It takes only 20 minutes to get to work today, 10 minutes faster than usual. Yes, today is definitely going to be a good day. I have a good sense about these things.

 

The first thing I am greeted by as I step through the doors of the Dallas Morning News front office is the always overwhelming cheer of our young front desk secratary, Gretta. She is only 17, and recieved the position because her uncle is a majority stock holder in the paper. She is good at it, however, and always a warm sight to see stepping into the building. Her curly red hair flutters about as she lifts her head up from some papers. "Morning, Mister Shoemaker!". she tells me. That is usually her customary greeting towards everyone, but she always seems to be a bit more upbeat using it on me. I have never figured out if it is because she may have some secret crush on me, or because I treat her as more than just another employee. "Good morning, Sunshine! Lemme get my list of duties for the day, please." She hands me a slip with times and dates written all about it. "Oh," she adds, "you also have a conference call with the Chief at 4, and I believe you have been asked to contact Mr. Daniels some time before 6. I hear rumors that there may be something big announced from him today."

 

"Sweet! That may be about the trade with Boston that rumors have been flying around about. Thanks!". I take the slip as I smile at her, and whisk myself off towards my office.

 

Most of the day is easy pickings. A few changes to my article about the off-season the Stars have had thus far, a telephone interview with Mavericks head coach Avery Johnson about their run into the playoffs, and then an hour lunch. I go to my favorite Mexican restaurant solo. It is the best Mexican food I have ever tasted. Probably because most of the helpers are illegal immigrants. I do not complain in the least...the enchiladas are to die for. My usual waitress seats me in my usual table. "Hola, Senior Yeason!". It always amuses me how she, like many other Hispanics with heavy Spanglish accents, has trouble with the "J" sound. "Que queres?"

 

"Mi queres mas pantelones!"

 

As usual, she always laughs at that joke. I do not know if it is out of politeness or if she thinks me saying that I want many pants is somewhat funny. "Mi queres dos enchiladas, y un burrito special con poyo. Y comar, un Sprite." She actually already has my order written down and put in to the cooks before I am seated each day. Also, I notice a bit late, as I always do, that my Sprite is sitting right in front of me before I ever order it. "Gracias, seniorita. Tu es muy bonita." She giggles and goes off to see if my food has been prepared.

 

I then get a text message from the misses. It says, "Babysitter has been booked. Plans to go as scheduled. See you at 8, honey." Yes, today will be a good day, indeed.

 

I eat my meal and pay my usual tab of $15.68. All but seven of that is for the meal itself. Not only is the food here fabulous, but it is also very cost-effective. It is now 1:15. I still have another 20 minutes before I must be back from my break. So, I take the scenic route back to work. Fifteen minutes later, I am back in front of my desk and ready to put the finishing touches on the workday. I am always back early. Like clockwork.

 

The conference call at 4:00 p.m. is nothing special. Just the Chief telling everyone that we are doing a great job, to keep up the good work, and that it is Carl's birthday. He is now 46, and not showing a day of his age. I guess being married to a great woman for 15 years can do that to a man. I only hope I am as blessed as he is with an ability to age gracefully. I am already well aware that I am blessed with being married to a phenomenal woman.

 

The highlight of the day at the office is at 5:45. I decide to call Jon Daniels fifteen minutes early. It is a great move on my part. I now have just recieved first dibs on the story that I had been pursuing for about 3 weeks already. The Texas Rangers are one press conference away from announcing a blockbuster deal involving both the Atlanta Braves and the Boston Red Sox. The deal would give the Rangers Red Sox starting pitcher Matt Clement, who may be the ace the staff needs to hold off the Athletics for the division title. In addition, it would give them Braves prospect catcher Brayan Pena. Texas could defintely use the added firepower behind the plate. I call my contacts at ESPN to leak the story for the 6:00 o'clock Sportscenter. It's good sometimes having the general manager of a Major League franchise on speed dial. Afterwards, I begin a rough draft for the morning edition on the trade. I save what I jot down in the last 10 minutes of my shift and send it to my desktop at home. I will work on the rest later this evening. It will be a fairly small article compared to most of the other projects I am working on, so it will be finished long before the deadline.

 

From work, it is back home to get ready for the plans I have for the evening. I arrive to an empty house. I make my way to the bathroom for a quick shower. On the bathroom sink mirror is a post-it note. It reads "Kids are at sitter. There til tomorrow. Went to get new outfit. See you soon, the usual place." Afterwards, there is a big heart with our initials scribbled inside. I take the note and place it on the computer screen in our bedroom. I will find a safer place for it in the future, but for now, I must get ready. The shower is relaxing after a day of meeting schedules and making phone calls. Being a sports writer for a major newspaper is not the easiest work ever, but the pay and recognition are both great rewards.

 

After picking out one of my nicer suits to wear for the evening, I hop back in the car and drive off to the jewelry store. I have to make the final payment on the custom diamond necklace that I will be needing this evening. You would think that such small rocks would not cost $900 dollars when placed on 24 karot gold. Such is the way of the industry, I suppose. After my wallet has been alleviated of the final hundred bucks required to complete the transaction, I take the box the necklace resides in and place it snuggly in my jacket pocket.

 

It is now past seven in the evening. My next stop is to my favorite destination. The large, globe-topped tower residing in downtown Dallas is a site that can be seen for miles on a clear night such as this. This is always a relief to me, as I have very poor senses of direction. I could get lost on the way to the airport from Texas Stadium if there were no large, green signs on the highway to point me in the right direction.

 

The parking area near the tower is moderately filled. Fortunately, I am able to find the last good available parking space. Luck once again triumphs. The walk to the elevator is short, and the elevator itself has only a few people inside. The ride to the top is full of silence, save the silly muzak playing in the background. It is not the worst thing I could hear, for sure, but I would be much more comfortable with a stream of early '90's love songs. Love has always been my topic of choice in regards to music. As opposed to my writing, which is moderately sports-related. At least, at work. Things written in the privacy of my own home lean more towards the loving nature.

 

Before the song that is currently playing is even completed, the elevator stops and the doors slowly begin to open. The few other people inside file out, leaving me to be the last to exit. It does not bother me. I am always the last to leave an elevator. I am rarely in a hurry, and so I let everyone else who may be go ahead about their business and leave first. I step out of the motionless contraption and onto the slowly revolving floor inside the tower's sphere. There, awaiting my arrival, is the most enrapturing, radiant beauty anyone could possible imagine. My wife clearly went clothes shopping at some point today. I know I would have recognized the sexy, slinky one piece dress she is wearing at this moment if I had seen it before. It's white and silvery sparkle dances before my eyes with the reflection of the lights that are all around us. It makes her look like an angel come down from Heaven, which I was already convinced she was. It is almost like the time we first came here, five years ago to the day.

 

I am actually a native of the Dallas area. I lived in the suberb city of Irving as a child for nearly 4 years. When I got the job offer from the Dallas Morning News to be their new head sports journalist, we packed up our bags and headed west. Back then, we were not husband and wife, simply two love-struck fools looking for a new life together in a big place. Dallas, despite it's significantly smaller populous, is almost the size of Houston. Large buildings and towering big business office spaces crowd the downtown area. Here, my then girlfriend was a stranger in a place I was familiar with. I showed her the sites as soon as we settled into our new house, and one of the sites I decided to point out was the large globe/restaurant that lay nearly directly in the middle of downtown. At night, it was a beautiful site. Lights dance all around the sphere, creating a moving display of illuminated artistry. Little did she suspect that evening that we had reservations to dine inside there that evening, and even less did she expect the suprise that was in store for her that night.

 

"Good evening, Mister and Mrs. Shoemaker." The maitre 'd greets us as he does every year, politely and with respect. "Your table is ready."

 

We are taken to a small table for two near the middle of the restaurant. This is where the spinning of the floor can be felt the most, and it makes the evening of fine dining very interesting. It is the same table that we sat at five years ago. Only then, the man at the front had difficulty finding our reservations. They had mispelled my name, and my I.D. did not look like it said "Jason Showmaker". Lucky for us, the manager came out and resolved the issue personally. He had been given a phone call by the Chief Editor of the Dallas Morning News that a new employee of his would be dining there that evening, and to personally make sure that he was treated with the utmost courtesy. Thank God for awesome bosses.

 

We are seated and brought our customary bottle of Kristaal. It is opened for us by the waiter, and we are each poured a glass. "Would you care to order now, or shall you need a few minutes?". I like this new waiter, I thought to myself. He is very nice. I will make sure to definitely leave him a great tip. He was much nicer than the waiter we had five years ago. That man sounded like a Happy Days reject.

 

"Yo, what you gettin'?"

 

"Pardon me, sir?"

 

"You and the foxy chick ready?"

 

"May I speak to the manager again, please? I believe we will be needing a new server this evening."

 

From what I heard in rumors, that waiter was immediately fired.

 

We sip our wine and eat our meal. It is an exquisite and appetizing course. Most of it is pronounced in French, so I could probably never tell you what it is I had just eaten. As we are asked if we want dessert and before the final bill is presented to us, I unleash my suprise. Just the same as I did five years ago.

 

"You are the most perfect and amazing woman I have ever met in my life. I would like to ask you one simple request. Will you marry me?"

 

She gasped in awestruck wonder at the sight of the ring I had presented before her. I had saved for six months, plus put in some overtime at my old job, to be able to afford it. The diamond cluster in the center of the shining golden band glistened in the lights of the restaurant like a perfectly crafted ice sculpture. I never figured out what captivated her more: the ring or the way I phrased the question. Tears streamed from her eyes as she could berely muster out a "Yes".

 

"You are still the most perfect and amazing woman I have ever met in my life. To show my appreciation for the five years of blissful matrimony, I have for you a small token of my undying affections for you."

 

Just like the last time, she is awestruck at the marvelous beauty of the necklace I had the jewelry store craft for her. Words could not escape her lips for several seconds as she gazed upon her present. I knew that she liked it, but I was not certain to the degree of which her pleasure had reached. I would find out soon enough.

 

"Let's go and celebrate our new engagement properly." These were the words she had whispered to me after I had placed the ring around her finger.

 

"I have a nice present for you as well, but it's at home. We should go unwrap it together." I know exactly what she is trying to say to me, and very quickly ask to pay the tab.

 

Just like five years ago, we return home to an empty house. Just like five years ago, we have a passionate night of ecstasy. Unlike five years ago, this would not lead to the conception of our first child together.

 

As I drift to sleep, nearly worn ragged by my wife's insatiable hunger for intimacy, the only thought on my mind is how incredible this day turned out to be. I have been blessed with a perfect job, perfect children, and most of all a perfect spouse. Life cannot possibly get any better. Then I finally retire for the evening.

 

"BEEP! BEEP! BEEP! BEEP!"

 

It is 8:00 a.m. The alarm clock is the first thing I hear every morning. It's incessant yelping in my ears is my indication that it is time to start another perfect day.

Alright heh I'm gonna attempt to tear this apart.

 

Allow me to first say that it was written quite well and was relatively easy to follow. Now, the first thing I noticed was there was no conflict. I realize the title of the story is "A Perfect Day" heh buuut, without a conflict and a resolution the reader may feel like they didn't necessarily learn something from the story. A story doesn't exactly NEED conflict to be good, but it does help the read to feel that the story accomplished something.

 

I noticed the mention of the main character's luck a few times, which could help bring some sort of conflict into the story. Perhaps something goes wrong with the article he is working on, but it gets sorted out for him, in which he gives credit to his luck. Or perhaps, adding more to the title of the story, the main character has been having a series of bad days but today everything seems to be going right. That way the reader feels happy for the main character, because his life is improving. If the reader is under the impression that every day is just this good for the main character, they may feel no emotion for him, because its quite impossible for every day to be perfect =p thus taking away the reality of the story.

 

From the story we understand that the main character is a journalist/sports writer for a large newspaper. Now I'm not exactly sure how knowledgeable you are about journalism, and hey I'm no guru either [although I totally did write for the school newspaper for 3 years =p] but I'm pretty sure its quite a grueling and time-consuming profession. I find it unlikely that this man would work a 9 to 5 as a journalist, who often work well into the night on reports. This can be easily remedied by nothing that perhaps he is not a daily writer, that he does more long-term projects.

 

The dialogue is pretty good; I enjoyed the part about the ridiculous waiter =p Although your spanish needs some corrections =x

 

I think one of my biggest concerns is the use of obvious detail. For example, take this paragraph: "I place a bed slipper over each foot as I lumber towards the first place I go to every time I am awakened to begin a new day...the bathroom. After relieveing myself, I turn on the hot water in the bathtub. As it begins to steam up, the smell from the kitchen begins to flow into my nostrils. The hypnotic trance of eggs, pancakes, fresh fruit, and bacon begins to overwhelm me. I begin to speed my pace of getting ready for the day, as I look forward to the meal that is being prepared. A quicker shower than usual, it seems. I pride myself on my haste as I begin to put on my clothes. " While it provides detail as to what the character is doing, the reader can already assume that that is what he is going to do. Instead, tell this scene through his senses only. To let us know what is going on, simply state the character is going through his daily morning routine, skip the details and go straight to how he is feeling.

 

Okay haha I need to get back to work [.. yea, I'm at work o_0] but I'll correct what I wrote when I get home and add some more. Thanks for posting this and I hope to see more of your writing here!

Thanks, Klaud! I always appreciate constructive critisism.

 

I never drafted this story. I was asked by a friend one day to describe my idea of a perfect day, and so this is how this story came to be. Obviosly it is a work of fiction, given that I am enither currently a jounalist nor married. lol! But I just typed it up real fast for her and she liked. it. I can agree with you on alot of the points you brought up. This story wasn't really written to be shared at first, so I left out obvious story musts like conflict and the like.

 

But thank you again for the imput! I am glad to see someone on this forum can give a hoot about writing besides me, Alec, and Ael. lmao!

Hehe its alright. I just can't help but tear apart the composition of everything I read =p Now that I understand what the purpose of this narrative was, I got where you're coming from. If you did consider turning it into a short story I hope my points will be helpful!

 

And yeah, I love writing, I do [not enough of] it and I'm considering posting some more here for critiquing purposes. We should have a seperate writer's forum =p That would be hawttttt! /poke Hykos

Second vote for writer's forum, Hykos. The four writers in the guild could go play there and frollick and be happy. lol!

I remember asking if we should have a Creative Forum, but it got shot down by Stang or Gynis. :- )

no more questions

Couldn't have been Gynis. He asked me to post Arolea. So stang's to blame.

 

/bonk stang

 

We need a Writer's Forum, Stang! Who's it gonna hurt, huh? Cam aaaaaaaaaan....cam AAAAAAAAAAN!

I am sorry if this sounds mean... but... an essential part of literature is that it has a purpose.... this is not lit by profesional standards. Now... I didn't see you use any of the tools a lit writer would use... I should probably read it a couple of times, but I generally pick up lit tools right away.

 

Just right there is some good feedback. Give it a theme, and use lit tools. I did like the word choice here, it makes it look very authentic. But other than that (at the risk of sounding condecending) this is not literature.

 

 

I vote for the writer's forum. It should be a private one too.

Yeah, how about a writers/artists forum, I know we have a ton of artists in the guild as well. People can post their stories, poems, drawings, photographs.. etc, for critique/feedback. That would totally be a cool idea, um, only if I'm the moderator though XD /whip

HAHA! Agreed with Klaud.

 

As to the comments made by Este, you don't sound condesending. I can agree woth you, to a degree. There is not really a plot, nor a climax, nor a conflict. The story was not intended to have those for the reasons I wrote them. It was just a story about what I would feel my perfect day would consist of. A "perfect" day wouldn probably lack many of those things. Not really knowing from personal experience. lol!

 

But I appreciate the feedback, Este. Most of my works serve a purpose more than this one. Arolea, I think, has more qualities of actual literature than this one does. If you have not read it, it is posted on my MySpace page, in my blogs section. If you can check it out, I've been told it's a pretty good read. Anyway, thanks again for the comments you two! It's good to know that my writing is at least leaving an impression enough to have someone talk about it. lmao!

I was doing research on style this week. I ran across a new style trend that has come up over the recent years. Aparently modern writers don't adhere to a code where you have to have a specific theme to your writings. The writings are left without a moral, and therefore leaves the text to be interpreted by the reader in whatever way they wish to interpret it.

 

so by modern standars this would be considered literature and I was wrong.

 

Well, that's something I didn't know. Thank you for informing me. I always adhered to the old code of writing that a story should have the "pyramid"...build to a climax, then trail to a resolution. Though in today's go-go world where stories are pretty much just an e-mial printed on paperback, it does make sense that this would be adopted as a new literary style.