It took awhile, but I finally figured out (or maybe Fred did) how to connect a couple of major plot elements of my YA novel, which is currently undergoing it's third (and hopefully final) draft. The connection was there all along, I just didn't see it until I had Cindy read through the manuscript. It's a great feeling when one of the lights comes on and stays on, sort of like you're trying to replace the light fixtures in a big warehouse. I think I've got the entrance pretty well illuminated. We'll see how the rest goes.
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Cindy and I went to one of our favorite Chinese restaurants last night because....well, just because.
We always take a booth, since it allows me to stretch out after I've gorged myself on hunan fried rice. I noticed a family of three take a table near our booth. Cindy and I were eating and talking, not paying much attention to them, although I noticed that the husband and wife were probably mid-40's, their daughter maybe 15 or 16 wearing black-rimmed glasses, dressed in jeans and a black t-shirt that stopped just above her navel.
They studied their menus for several minutes in silence while the guy running the place was busy getting take-out orders ready. Most people there get take-out, so there's never many people dining in, thus not much chatter. It was easy to hear the mother when she started speaking.
I noticed she had a small bandage on her forehead and wondered if she was okay. Her words sounded a bit muffled and slurred. I listened a little more closely and realized she wasn't speaking English.
Nothing uncommon about that, especially here in the Washington D.C. area. You hear all kinds of languages in all kinds of places. But I couldn't identify this one, mostly because of her slurred speech. Maybe she was on medication.
Her husband was a tall, thin man who looked like he might possibly be Slavic. It was a long time before either he or the daughter spoke, content to let the woman ramble in starts and stops. After a few minutes he spoke to the daughter, whispered actually. I could see his lips move and hear little wisps of language, but couldn't dig any deeper.
Again, none of this was in any way out of the ordinary, but then the daughter leans forward to her parents and starts talking about one of her friends. In perfect English. No noticable accent.
The parents listen, the mother nods and lets loose a string of whatever language she's speaking. Definitely not English. The daughter continues talking about some disgusting boy at school. Mom in non-English. Daughter in English. Back and forth.
The waitress brings their plates and the girl sends hers back, pointing to a dirty spot on the plate. She goes back to her story. The mother goes back to her language. The father says a word or two every few minutes, never loud enough for me to discern his language.
"Maybe the parents are tying to learn English," Cindy said in the car. "The daughter probably knows both languages."
Maybe. Maybe not. Sounds like there's a story there. (Feel free to steal it if you like. I've got too many going right now.)
5 comments:
Isn't it great when you figure something out? When Fred figures something out? I just had a similar experience with the beginning of the Second Novel. I'm glad you're near your ending.
I was thinking of a Calvin and Hobbes strip as I read your story about the Chinese restaurant. Calvin is in the yard digging a hole, and Hobbes asks what he's found: worms, an old shoe and assorted other junk. Calvin then proclaims, "There's treasure everywhere."
Thanks, man. So far, so good.
There really is treasure everywhere. It's the best answer to the perennial question "Where do you get your ideas?"
A better question is "where do you not get ideas?"
I think the situation you describe in the restaurant is fairly typical. I used to work with a number of Mexicans and Mexican-Americans in Chicago and, depending on how long they'd been in the States, they had varying levels of comfort with English. It was quite common for Person A to speak entirely in English and Person B to speak entirely in Spanish in the same conversation. What's even weirder is when they switch languages mid-stream--around precise contractual language that was written in English, for instance--and then continue on seamlessly in Spanish without any pause around the English bits. Neither party ever seemed the slightest bit distracted between these jumps.
And congrats on the novel by the way! Lights coming on is always good.
Yeah, I was sort of expecting a switch in mid-stream, but it never happened. It just seemed neither side was going to give in (or could) for a second. I also think my inability to recognize the mother's language made it even more weird.
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