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This past fall, I had registered for a writing class at the high school. My little town, east of the river, has adult education classes that aren’t always just for adults. This class happens to be full of high-school dropouts who have decided, for whatever reason, to attend these classes to earn their GED. I applaud them all for their effort because I’m finding out myself just how difficult it is to please this instructor with anything I have written so far.
I have chatted with a few kids during the break periods they give us. They all seem to be very nice kids and I keep trying to encourage them to complete all these courses in the program. There’s no way you can get any kind of halfway decent job in this country without at least a high school diploma. I don’t even think McDonald’s will hire without a diploma. And, who wants to work there for the rest of their lives? This is where I get down off my soap box and start writing.
It was toward the end of March when the instructor came to class after shoveling out her driveway from the day’s snowfall. This particular day, there had been seven inches of the frozen crystals. The day before, there were five inches that fell. By the weekend, they were predicting a blizzard. She was so disgusted with how white everything had become—the trees, the bushes, the roads, the houses. White was everywhere. It had been like that for months and months already. She even asked us not to use any whiteout on our hard copies that were being turned in. Unless you are a skier, it really sucks for a color.
Mrs. Dean stood in front of the class prepared to give us our next writing assignment. She seemed to be down in the dumps that night. Letting out a big sigh, she said, “I would like all of you to write about something in your life that’s green, like the color of the grass, that we haven’t seen for eons. I want to be able to see the earth again. I don’t want to see what fell from the sky any longer. I don’t want to see what landed on this earth like a blanket on a baby.” With that out of her system, she waved her hands toward the door to us and said, “Now, go. Write! I’ll see you all next week.” Then, as an afterthought, she shouted to us, “Let’s make this a long assignment, say, 7,500 words.”
Of course, there were unison moans from all the students. We packed up our book bags and headed out with our assignment.
Today, I sit at my keyboard trying to please Mrs. Dean and thinking about what is green in my life. I have thoughts of the color itself and I have thoughts of the meaning of green that society has assigned to it these days.
I’m thinking about Earth Day and how to save the planet. I know I personally can’t save the planet, but I can do my part to help, just like everyone else can do their part to help. Little by little and one by one, we can do a lot more with very little effort. We can all buy green products, even though they are all a little more expensive right now; the pay back will come when we have cleaner air around us and cleaner water to drink. We can buy cloth napkins instead of throwing away paper ones every day. We can all buy lower wattage light bulbs. I’m getting used to a dimly lit room and my optician says he loves the whole concept.
But, I’ve decided not to write my paper about the eco system and how good it is for the world and all the beings that live upon it. I want my paper to be different. I want it to stand out among all of the other papers that Mrs. Dean has to read. I’m sure all the youngsters in the class will go the eco way with their paper, since it’s been drilled into their heads since they were toddlers. “You must use unbleached paper towels, low enzyme detergents, eco friendly this and eco friendly that, etc.” They probably have recycled paper in their printers right now.
I’m going to write about how many shades of green there are on this planet. They all come from the earth. They are all buried somewhere under that snow. Mrs. Dean isn’t the only one who misses the grass, which leads me to the first color; the color of grass. It’s the only thing in nature that I can say is a true green. If you look at a blade of grass, it is green; a true green, like the one in your box of Crayola crayons that is just labeled green. I even think there is a lawn service company with that same name, True Green. Very clever of them, wouldn’t you say?
I started to make a list of all of the different names we have for something that is green. Every time I would think of a new color, it would flash in my mind and I instantly knew what it looked like. If you are colorblind, you might not understand this part, but when you say, “Pine”, you know it’s a deep, dark, rich color of green. Of course, you immediately picture a pine tree, the one with the long needles. You don’t picture a blue spruce, halkalı escort which is a pine tree, but is a lighter shade of green with a touch of blue/grey in it. That one is called, “spruce”. I can still picture this color in my mind even though the snow still lies on its branches like the white whiskers on my father’s chin.
I would have to say that emerald green is probably my favorite. That’s not only a rock from the earth, but it’s a gem of a rock, and it looks great on my finger, and on my neck, and in my earlobe, and pierced to my navel. There are other rocks on the earth that are green, too. Jade, is one. You can even find green marble. I’ve seen it in my neighbor’s bathroom.
There are some green words that I don’t understand: Loden, is a color name that I think Liz Claiborne created. It’s a murky color, like the color of the pond by the end of the summer. The other green I don’t understand is khaki. I believe that one comes from the Army, and yet, when I buy a new pair of khaki slacks, they are always brown, but the Army uniforms are green. Perhaps their uniforms are really loden and Liz hasn’t told the General, yet. Go figure.
I can find all kinds of green things in my kitchen and just by mentioning the word, you can picture the shade of green that it is: peas, limes, olives, celery, parsley, sage, rosemary and thyme. Paul Simon, where are you when I need you? Algae are green, and there is that mold on the cottage cheese at the back of the refrigerator that has been there for months. Gross, but green, too. All from nature and everything is green.
I made a cocktail last night called a grasshopper. It was made with cream de menthe. It tasted like mint and was the color of mint green. Now we have taste and sight with the same name. It’s a weird language the Englishmen left us with in this country. There are so few words, and so many meanings. There are greenbacks, greenhorns, and greenhouses. There is feeling kind of green around the gills, turning green with envy, and seeing green has to do with jealousy.
My bedroom walls are painted the color of fennel. Thank God for Sherwin Williams and their color wheel. Everything around me is green, except I still can’t see the grass under all that snow. I will have to wait anxiously for Spring to arrive. I’m looking forward to its onset.
Moreover, I’ve come to realize that everything that is green has come from the earth. If we don’t save our earth, there will be nothing green around us or under us. Green means: spring, new, growing, young, and alive. “Green” is absolutely the best single word we could be using to describe Earth Day. The End.
This was the end of another crappy writing assignment that I had to turn into Mrs. Dean.
I had finally came to the end of my list of what is green on this earth besides the grass that Mrs. Dean hasn’t seen for months. I was nowhere near my 7,500 words that I needed for this assignment. I enjoyed writing about all the green things and growing things, but even I was bored with my words. I needed help. Who was I going to call? Ghostbusters? No, they are as white as the damn snow.
That’s when I remembered Bill. He sits at the back of the classroom and about the same age as me, at least the same generation as me. I’ve chatted with him a few times after class and we seem to have similar likes and dislikes in literature. He always has very constructive criticism when we are in our little groups tearing apart each other’s stories. Yeah, I’ll call him and see if he can help me out with more ideas.
“Hi, Bill. It’s Kelly from Mrs. Dean’s writing class.”
“Oh, hi. How are ya?”
“I’m good, but I’m having trouble reaching that lofty 7,500 word essay she wants us to write. How are you doing with yours?”
“I’m all done. Piece of cake.”
“Do you think you could come over and help me out with mine?”
“Sure. Where do you live?”
“Hunter Lane. It’s off of Pinecrest. Number 1512. Avocado-colored cape on the left.”
“Okay. I know where that is. I’ll see you in about 15 minutes.”
When his car pulled into the driveway, I went to the front door to let him in. I thanked him for dropping what he was doing to come to my rescue. He had said he had just taken a shower and was sitting around watching TV and he didn’t mind helping at all. He apologized for showing up in his sweatpants and I told him I didn’t care as long as he came with ideas to help me out.
I asked him what he wrote his essay about and how could he have finished it so quickly. Then, he told me, “My story is about grass—marijuana.” I laughed right out loud. He went on, “Mrs. Dean said she missed seeing grass, so I wrote my paper on how you can grow it in you basement, or attic, taksim escort or back yard. How to smoke it, roll it, chop it up and bag it. Yeah, I’m giving her all the instructions from A to Z.”
Kelly was a little reluctant to ask, “Are you an expert on the subject?” Bill was very proud to announce, “Hell, no! Everything I know about weed is what I learned from Jack Lord on Hawaii Five-O.” He added, “I’m a big bull-shitter. I can bull-shit my way through almost anything. That’s why I write so well. I can go on and on about nothing and make people think I know what I’m talking about. Actually, it’s a lot of fun. Now, how can I help you stretch the truth on your story, Kelly?” He made a motion like he was stretching out a rubber band.
She pointed him toward the stairway and said, “My computer is in my”, there was a moment of hesitation in her voice, “it’s in my bedroom. This way, upstairs, on the right.” When he started to head up the stairs, she asked, “Would you like a drink? Maybe something green to get you in the mood for my story?” He looked back at her, squinted his eyes and made a face at her, “Green drink? What the heck did you write about, Kelly?”
“Oh, you just go up and read my story and I’ll make us some margaritas”, she exited the hallway to go to the kitchen to prepare her chartreuse colored concoction. “I’ll be up in a couple of minutes.”
She returned to the bedroom with a tray full of stemware and food. The margarita glasses had salt on the rims and the pitcher from the blender was full to the top of her frozen concoction of yellowish-green liquor. There was a plate full of nachos and she said, “Hola, Senor Bill!”
He lifted his eyes from the computer monitor, and said, “Hola. Oh, Kelly!” She was standing there with the tray in her two hands, so beautiful, but oh, so blonde, he thought, in every sense of the word. “This is going to need a lot of work. I don’t know where to begin.” He stood and took the tray from her and placed it on the dresser next to the desk.
“Let’s have a taste of this drink and see if you are a better mixologist than an author,” Bill was pouring the frozen slush into the fancy glasses. “Mmm, so far, so good, in the drink department,” as he licked the salt from his lips.
She said, “C’mon, let’s sit on the bed and tear apart my story.”
He didn’t want to hurt her feelings, so he began slowly, “You have to start with your objective; what are you trying to accomplish by writing this story? Then, figure out how you want to approach it; chronologically, sequentially, or break it up into bits and pieces, etc. The way you’ve written your story, it sounds more like a text book rather than a story with something you want to share with your reader.” He took another gulp of the margarita and a mouthful of nachos. “Mmm, the nachos are good, too.” He was thinking his criticism was going to kill her ego and he’d better change his approach.
She was just sitting there, sipping her drink, listening to him attack her story, and watching his hazel eyes that kept darting all around the room. She could tell he was not comfortable with the direction of the conversation. Kelly got up from the bed to retrieve the pitcher and refilled his glass. She topped off her glass on the way back.
She returned to the edge of the bed, but sat facing his side this time; one leg pulled up into her other thigh. “Where do I begin, Bill?”
He drew in a breath and said, “It’s like kissing. You can kiss, and then, you can kiss a French kiss. That’s how you add something to the story. You make it just a little bit better, like adding a tongue to just an ordinary kiss.” He turned his head and gave her a kiss on the cheek.
She never said a word.
He kissed her on the lips, softly.
She never said a word.
He backed up a little to see if there was any kind of reaction to his training class. Her eyes were closed, she could taste the salt on her tongue. She said, “Mmm. I think I’m starting to understanding. Go on with your lesson, Bill,” slurping on her slushy drink, again.
Bill’s arm reached around behind her and pulled her into him as he kissed her again. He parted her lips with his tongue. There was a quiet moan from the back of her throat. His tongue didn’t leave her mouth as their two tongues played together. Kelly’s head tipped to the right. Bill’s mouth found her neck. His soft lips touched her just below her jaw line and then explored her neck further. He sucked her collar bone and left a mark there. He moved to her shoulder. His hand reached up to pull her bra strap aside.
She didn’t say a word. The room was silent.
Kelly stood for a moment to pick up the two margarita glasses that had been placed on the dresser earlier. She handed his to him and şişli escort he gulped it to the bottom. She took a sip of hers and looked into his hazel eyes, again. Then she downed the remainder of her glass and placed both of them back on the tray. Everything had to be in order and in its place.
Bill was still sitting at the foot of the bed when she returned to her stance between his legs. She slowly unbuttoned her blouse. She wanted her lesson to continue. Kelly never asked her instructor any questions.
She never said a word.
His hands reached to cup her breasts. She was wearing her favorite seafoam colored bra. It was made of shear material that showed off her nipples. He rubbed his lips over the nipple; once, twice, it turned hard. He could feel heat coming from her, she was on fire. She reach back to unhook the bra and release the stress it placed upon her nipples. Kelly thought, oh, that’s better.
His tongue flicked at one nipple, then the other. His mouth surrounded the dark circle. She tasted so good. She felt so good. He knew her story was never going to be rewritten this night. Her head fell backward as she pulled him closer to her breasts. There was another quiet moan from her stretched out throat. Her fingers were digging deep into his shoulders and she pushed him away and took a step backward.
Kelly’s hand dropped to his crotch to lie upon his favorite sweatpants. He was excited, but she could see there was no fly, only a bulging mound beneath the flannel, nothing to unzip. She looked at him and said softly, “Take them off. I want to kiss you. I want to kiss your cock. I want to put my tongue on it. I want to suck you with my lips until you cum.”
Bill lifted his ass from the mattress and slid his sweat pants to his ankles. He used one foot to kick himself free of the bondage of double knit and terry cloth. He was wearing a hunter green and navy blue striped bikini. The tip of his penis, half in and half outside of his underwear, was wet with pre-cum. Kelly knelt before him as he repeated his first step of lifting and striping the bikini.
She kissed the tip gently. Her hand surrounded his cock and kept it from dancing all around. Her lips parted to take in the head. Her hand was beginning to stroke him and it was his turn to moan from deep within his throat. Bill’s hands reached for her breasts and caressed them firmly. The faster her hand moved upon his cock, the harder he squeezed her tits. She began to hum, up and down his cock. He was thrusting his penis deeper and deeper into her throat. The faster he pushed, the louder was her humming. He was about to cum and she backed off, but he had to release it. With a scream of passion, he spurted his cum onto her lips and chin, and down her neck. It dripped everywhere.
She didn’t say a word.
The computer broke their silence, “You’ve got mail!” They both laughed and she said, “So much for tearing apart my story, Bill. Looks like I tore apart something else.” They laughed, again. That’s when she said, “I don’t swallow. You have great timing.” She wiped her chin and rested her hand briefly on his spent dick. She kissed the tip one more time.
Kelly and Bill stood in her bedroom buttoning and pulling on clothes in an effort to cover up their need to act like students again. Bill was then apologizing to Kelly, “Sorry we didn’t get more improvements done to your paper.” “Oh, I’m not sorry at all,” Kelly approached him and kissed him on the mouth, again.
The two headed for the stairway and when they reached the bottom, Bill turned to Kelly and said, “I’m sorry I have to leave so early. I have to be at work for 5 a.m. tomorrow. Your paper’s not that bad. I think you will get a passing grade. Maybe I can help you again when you write your next story. I know I certainly enjoyed helping you tonight. As a matter of fact, it was a pleasure. Call me.”
Bill held her close in the doorway, the cold air from outside was rushing in past the two students, “If you feel like you’re struggling with the class, maybe you should consider dropping it, Kelly. You aren’t all that great as a writer, but you are great at sucking cock,” he chuckled. “Maybe you could write a How-To article for Cosmo.”
She kissed him goodbye and as he drove away, she could see snowflakes falling into the street. Kelly noticed something move at the top of the telephone pole at the end of her driveway. It was the last of the Monk Parakeets bedding down for the night in their huge nest they build every year. She knew spring would be here soon, but for now she shivered from the cold. She returned to her bedroom, her head in a cloud.
Kelly remembered to turn off the tape recorder that had been placed under her bed before Bill had arrived. She sat down at her desk, her fingers poised on the computer keyboard. Kelly had a story to write.
How to Save the Earth, One Lesson at a Time, by Kelly Greene. In the beginning, there was Bill….
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