Happy Fathers Day -- Opening Page of Book 1

Subject: Re: Happy Fathers Day -- Opening Page of Book 1

Comments:
: I've taken too much time off from writing. I have about 1/3 done -- or at least drafted, and need to get more done before the writers conference at the end of summer where I'll meet with the agent again. I don't know where I first heard it but writing is rewriting. I know I have a lot more to do, but here's the opening page about you, me, and life at Jewett Place as you called it. : ================================================================================ : The tear gas canister descended in a long slow arc toward me, trailing a wobbly plume of white smoke. I was fascinated – it seemed almost pretty against the colorful backdrop of the autumn leaves. I’d never seen a tear gas canister up close before, only on TV a few months earlier at the Democratic Convention. : Yet something in my brain shouted “MOVE!” and I hesitantly took one step back, then two – still keeping my eye on the approaching projectile. : Then something clicked in my brain, and the spell was broken. I heard the chaos around me, the “pop, pop, POP” of more tear gas being fired, the shouts of the police, the sounds of the rush of people around me. My pace quickened. I had been a few hundred people behind the front of the lines out of the thousands gathered at the University of Buffalo. Now the line had receded – retreated – behind me and I faced the oncoming phalanx of police. : Just like on TV when they end the slow motion segment and everything returns to real time, several things happen at once. I was afraid to turn my back on the canister so I back peddled like a reluctant outfielder, and waited for it to hit. I could feel people bumping into me as they rushed past. Sound exploded around me and the clank of the canister on the street yards in front of me echoed as it skidded and bounced off of parked cars. : More canisters fell, and now I ran. One landed on the street next to me and it skittered off, spewing gas in all directions. I heard a loud grunt and a cry of pain as the guy running next to me stumbled forward as a canister struck his back. : A hot metallic smell was in the air as I darted down the first side street and realized that my face was on fire. : I didn’t know you could burn without flames? I would’ve thought it odd, if it wasn’t so painful. Now I was scared. : Through my tears, I chastised myself for being such a little boy. I needed to be brave. After all, I had just turned twelve – I was almost a teenager. : When I’d arrived an hour ago after finishing my 7th grade classes, my bus was blocked at Main and Bailey on its route past the university. Looking out the window, I had seen the huge crowds building in the street and on the campus lawn. Darting off the bus before anyone could stop me, I lugged my books with me as I ran towards the mass of protestors. There were at least five or six thousand of them and I trembled in excitement as I threaded my way to the front of the crowd ending up at Main and Winspear. It was my first anti-war demonstration. : However with the sounds of the first shots, the pride and excitement gave way to terror. : What do I do? What do I do? : I can’t see… I stumbled a block down the side street and finally, people came out from a house and pulled me in, shutting out the clouds of gas and rushed me to a sink to flush my eyes. : “Son, where are your parents?” : “Ahhh! I don’t know”, I grunted as the pain bored into the back of my eyeballs. : “Can you tell us your phone number, so we can call?” : “No! No….” the pain was being slowly washed away by the cool water… “No…” : “No… I wanna call. My dad will be so excited!”

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