You've left town—ditching your old, miserable life—hoping to start a new life for yourself. You've given yourself a new name, fake background and style. Write about your first encounter in your new town.
I dropped my overstuffed duffel bag on the floor next to the barstool and took a seat at the counter.
“Can I get you a cup of coffee?” the waitress asked, as she balanced four plates of the evening’s special on her way to a family sitting in the back corner of the diner.
“That’d be just fine Miss,” I replied. I had decided on the bus ride from Potsville to Merced City that in this new life of mine, I would try to be more respectful and courteous, more upstanding than the coward who had spent so long running away from his problems.
The waitress brought me the coffee, pushed a menu in front of me and smiled. It was a warm, inviting smile. An almost familiar smile. But in that instant I felt a pang of guilt as I remembered Mandy.
“Here you go. The special is fabulous tonight but whatever you do, make sure you save some room for dessert. The pecan pie here is the best you’ll ever have.”
“Thank you Miss,” I replied. Her crudely-fashioned nametag read “Pamela.” She reminded me of Mandy, but was a bit heavier and her hair was different.
And anyway, Mandy was dead.
“I’ll have the special,” I said, not even looking at the menu.
“Good choice,” she replied with wink.
I stirred two sugars into my coffee and thought about the last time I saw Mandy. It had been almost ten years. She had rushed to my parent’s house looking for me, frantic, not knowing what to do after her drug-dealing father had found the positive pregnancy test in her bathroom trash can.
“What are we going to do?” she cried. I didn’t know what to say. I didn’t know what to do. I had no answers.
I should’ve been there for her. We should’ve been in it together. But instead I backed away and three days later, despite the pleas of her friends and cousins, Mandy took her life by jumping off the Potsville Bridge into the Grayson River feeding the Pacific Ocean, never to be seen again. She left a note, but didn’t mention me.
I was sleeping in my cozy bed at the time.
Her death traumatized our tight-knit community and I could never seem to escape the hushed whispers or judging eyes of those around me. I was the reason she was dead.
Pamela set the meatloaf special in front of me.
“Can I get you anything else?” she asked.
“No, I think I’m fine. Thank you Miss.”
It didn’t take long for Mandy’s father to put two and two together. And if it weren’t for the police raid of his drug operation prompted by the investigation of Mandy’s suicide, I’m sure he would’ve come after me with a vengeance.
He was sentenced to 12 years in prison on drug trafficking charges but only served a little over nine. I had known for a long time that as the day of his release neared, I would have to make some changes. I didn’t know what to do. There was nothing for me in Potsville, where I had grown tired of the being labeled as the boy who forced a young girl to her death.
So I decided to leave. I got a one way bus ticket to wherever it would take me.
And I landed here, in Merced City.
“So,” Pamela asked. “Where are you from?”
“Umm…Swenson,” I replied.
“I love the autumns in Swenson,” she said.
“Yeah….yeah, I’ll miss those autumns,” I lied, having never actually been to Swenson.
“What brings you to Merced City?” she asked.
I didn’t know what to say. I didn’t know how much I should say. After all, I was trying to establish a new identity, but at the same time felt an inexplicable, yet desperate need to confide in someone.
“I’m here for a fresh start,” I said. Pamela smiled, almost knowingly.
“I know exactly what you mean,” she said. “Sometimes, you just have to turn the page and give yourself a new chance. I did the same thing, and now my son and I couldn’t be happier. I’m glad you picked Merced City.”
“I am too,” I replied.
I finished the rest of my meatloaf and ordered a slice of Pamela’s pecan pie, feeling hopeful in this new beginning.
“My name is Paul,” I said, extending my hand.
“Paul,” she repeated, taking my hand in hers. “Paul, from Swenson.”
“That’s right,” I replied.
“It’s funny,” she said. “You remind me of boy I used to know from Potsville.”
6.27.2010
6.01.2010
Las Golondrinas
Prompt: Write 1,000 words about a local festival. I chose the Swallow's Day Parade in San Juan Capistrano. I have fond memories of Swallow's Day, having once served on the royal court (no joke!) Anyway, here it is...
Los Golondrinas
Dalton ducked around the passing throng of tourists on the bustling sidewalk that ran along the Camino Capistrano parade route. He stopped in front of the Ortega Trading Post and as he paused to enter, saw the smiling face of a toothless toddler held captive in her stroller, a young couple from Canada laughing about the aroma of fresh horse droppings, and a stone-faced traffic cop, trying desperately, yet unsuccessfully with the shrill of his whistle to direct pedestrians away from the incoming procession of horses, middle school marching bands, dancers, and Rotarians.
But Dalton was not looking for any of them. On this day, amidst the carnival of the Fiesta of the Swallows, he was only looking for one person and her name was Melissa Anne.
***
It had been a year since Dalton last entered the Ortega Trading Post. The Post, located directly across the street from the Mission San Juan Capistrano, was a well-known tourist trap that beckoned visitors with a weathered banner above its entrance, promising them a “Free Swallows Story.” Dalton entered the shop cautiously, hoping to remain inconspicuous, for his goal was not to watch the Swallows Day Parade, or to purchase a bumper sticker or postcard or miniature spoon, but to purloin a certain leather Indian Chief wallet – the same wallet that Andrew LaMothe had shown off to the envious eyes of their sixth grade class earlier that week. The wallet that everyone knew someone like Dalton could never afford. He made his move towards the wallets, but his thoughts shifted as his eyes fell upon the prettiest girl he had ever seen. She had long auburn red hair, and wore beige capris, a pink tank top and sandals. And she was walking straight towards him.
“Hey,” she said. “Do you know where I can get the ‘Free Swallow’s Story?” Dalton had seen the story before – a few lines typed crudely on a bookmark, a couple of random facts about the journey of the legendary cliff swallows.
“You don’t really want that story,” Dalton told her.
“I don’t?” she asked.
“No,” he said. “It doesn’t even begin to scratch the surface, of the swallows’ journey across 7,000 miles from Goya, Argentina to here, of….” He stopped himself, suddenly embarrassed. His comprehensive knowledge of the flight patterns of these famed birds had rightfully earned him nicknames such as “birdboy,” “geekhead,” and “lamebrain” among his peers.
“Go on,” she said.
“Really?” he asked.
“Yeah, I want to know,” she said, cracking a smile.
So Dalton went on. He told her about the swallows’ winter migration to Argentina and their annual return on St. Joseph’s Day. He told her about how the Swallows Day Parade started in the 1930s as a small school carnival and how it had grown to become the largest non-motorized parade in the country. He told her about Leon Rene’s famous song and about the Hat Contest, Hoos’gow Day, the Hairiest Man Contest, and the President’s Ball.
But he wanted to do more than just tell her. So he took her hand and guided her out to the parade, where folkoric dancers were performing alongside their decorated horses. They crossed street and ran onto the Mercado, the Fiesta’s street fare, where they rode rackety carnival rides and shared a hot, sweet funnel cake while a local western band played their cover of an old country favorite.
He took her hand once more, and lead her down the street to the Mission entrance, where they snuck in, pretending to be part of a large tour group from Prescott, Arizona.
“Where are we going?” she asked.
“You’ll see,” he said. She followed him to the massive ruins of rock and adobe.
“What is this?” she asked.
“It’s the Great Stone Church,” he said. “At one time it was the most beautiful church of all the missions. But in 1812 it was destroyed by an earthquake. Forty people lost their lives. Now, it serves one purpose.”
“What’s that?” she asked. And a smile flashed across his face.
“Look,” he said. “Look,” as he pointed towards the towering arch above them. And together, while the rest of the town was consumed with the parade and the music, horses and dancing, the two twelve year olds cast their eyes on the mud nests above them and watched the first of the swallows return to their home.
And for a moment, time stood still. Until…
“Melissa Ann, where have you been! We’ve been looking all over town for you!” A large woman grabbed the girl by the hand and pulled her away.
And just like that, she was gone.
Dalton thought of Melissa often. He thought of the perfect day that they had shared together. He thought about her smile and her laugh. And as the months passed, he found himself thinking more and more about the next Swallows Day Parade, and his admittedly silly thought that he might see her once again.
***
As the day wore on, however, and as the afternoon turned to dusk, he slowly came to accept to the fact, that she would not be there. He thought he saw her at by the Ferris wheel that they had ridden together, or heard her laugh by the old Trading Post. But she was not there. So he walked back towards the Great Stone Church.
He looked up at the arch, and stared at the hundreds of swallows resting in their homes after their long journey. He took a deep breath and smiled.
And a familiar voice called him from behind.
“Hey, Do you know where I can get the Free Swallows Story?”
Los Golondrinas
Dalton ducked around the passing throng of tourists on the bustling sidewalk that ran along the Camino Capistrano parade route. He stopped in front of the Ortega Trading Post and as he paused to enter, saw the smiling face of a toothless toddler held captive in her stroller, a young couple from Canada laughing about the aroma of fresh horse droppings, and a stone-faced traffic cop, trying desperately, yet unsuccessfully with the shrill of his whistle to direct pedestrians away from the incoming procession of horses, middle school marching bands, dancers, and Rotarians.
But Dalton was not looking for any of them. On this day, amidst the carnival of the Fiesta of the Swallows, he was only looking for one person and her name was Melissa Anne.
***
It had been a year since Dalton last entered the Ortega Trading Post. The Post, located directly across the street from the Mission San Juan Capistrano, was a well-known tourist trap that beckoned visitors with a weathered banner above its entrance, promising them a “Free Swallows Story.” Dalton entered the shop cautiously, hoping to remain inconspicuous, for his goal was not to watch the Swallows Day Parade, or to purchase a bumper sticker or postcard or miniature spoon, but to purloin a certain leather Indian Chief wallet – the same wallet that Andrew LaMothe had shown off to the envious eyes of their sixth grade class earlier that week. The wallet that everyone knew someone like Dalton could never afford. He made his move towards the wallets, but his thoughts shifted as his eyes fell upon the prettiest girl he had ever seen. She had long auburn red hair, and wore beige capris, a pink tank top and sandals. And she was walking straight towards him.
“Hey,” she said. “Do you know where I can get the ‘Free Swallow’s Story?” Dalton had seen the story before – a few lines typed crudely on a bookmark, a couple of random facts about the journey of the legendary cliff swallows.
“You don’t really want that story,” Dalton told her.
“I don’t?” she asked.
“No,” he said. “It doesn’t even begin to scratch the surface, of the swallows’ journey across 7,000 miles from Goya, Argentina to here, of….” He stopped himself, suddenly embarrassed. His comprehensive knowledge of the flight patterns of these famed birds had rightfully earned him nicknames such as “birdboy,” “geekhead,” and “lamebrain” among his peers.
“Go on,” she said.
“Really?” he asked.
“Yeah, I want to know,” she said, cracking a smile.
So Dalton went on. He told her about the swallows’ winter migration to Argentina and their annual return on St. Joseph’s Day. He told her about how the Swallows Day Parade started in the 1930s as a small school carnival and how it had grown to become the largest non-motorized parade in the country. He told her about Leon Rene’s famous song and about the Hat Contest, Hoos’gow Day, the Hairiest Man Contest, and the President’s Ball.
But he wanted to do more than just tell her. So he took her hand and guided her out to the parade, where folkoric dancers were performing alongside their decorated horses. They crossed street and ran onto the Mercado, the Fiesta’s street fare, where they rode rackety carnival rides and shared a hot, sweet funnel cake while a local western band played their cover of an old country favorite.
He took her hand once more, and lead her down the street to the Mission entrance, where they snuck in, pretending to be part of a large tour group from Prescott, Arizona.
“Where are we going?” she asked.
“You’ll see,” he said. She followed him to the massive ruins of rock and adobe.
“What is this?” she asked.
“It’s the Great Stone Church,” he said. “At one time it was the most beautiful church of all the missions. But in 1812 it was destroyed by an earthquake. Forty people lost their lives. Now, it serves one purpose.”
“What’s that?” she asked. And a smile flashed across his face.
“Look,” he said. “Look,” as he pointed towards the towering arch above them. And together, while the rest of the town was consumed with the parade and the music, horses and dancing, the two twelve year olds cast their eyes on the mud nests above them and watched the first of the swallows return to their home.
And for a moment, time stood still. Until…
“Melissa Ann, where have you been! We’ve been looking all over town for you!” A large woman grabbed the girl by the hand and pulled her away.
And just like that, she was gone.
Dalton thought of Melissa often. He thought of the perfect day that they had shared together. He thought about her smile and her laugh. And as the months passed, he found himself thinking more and more about the next Swallows Day Parade, and his admittedly silly thought that he might see her once again.
***
As the day wore on, however, and as the afternoon turned to dusk, he slowly came to accept to the fact, that she would not be there. He thought he saw her at by the Ferris wheel that they had ridden together, or heard her laugh by the old Trading Post. But she was not there. So he walked back towards the Great Stone Church.
He looked up at the arch, and stared at the hundreds of swallows resting in their homes after their long journey. He took a deep breath and smiled.
And a familiar voice called him from behind.
“Hey, Do you know where I can get the Free Swallows Story?”
5.20.2010
A Time for Action
So Writer's Digest's current prompt is called "Birthday Blast," and it goes a little somethin' like this...Hit it!
You're out to eat a nice birthday dinner with your family when the waiting staff marches out from the back room with a cake. With everyone around singing happy birthday, you decide this is the moment to make that life-changing announcement you've been considering.
I wasn't sure where I wanted to go with this, but I thought I'd give it a try. Here it is...
A Time for Action
Geez, it’s cold. Way colder than I thought it would be. But then again I guess the freezing November air is better that the stale smell of all these damn books. So I keep the window open, overlooking the street below. It’s almost time. It’s like Wilkes said “Stay in position until the time is right.” I guess he and Johnson are where they should be. And though I can’t see or talk to Mikhail, I assume he’s in position as well. Now all I can do is wait.
I can’t believe how all of this has come together over the past few weeks. It’s only been a month since my birthday dinner, the night I told everyone that something big was going to happen.
***
We ate at Fredo’s , this small mom-and-pop joint just outside of Dallas. It wasn’t a big deal or anything, just me, my mom, my wife Marina, little June, Ralph and Carla. We talked and laughed and drank - but not too much, what with Marina being eight months pregnant and all. It was sorta weird, because this wasn’t really the kinda thing we did, going out to eat with other people and such. Maybe it was the cheap beer we were drinking. Maybe it was spaghetti and meatballs that made me feel like bursting. Who knows? But when the three of them waiters came out of the kitchen with that great big chocolate cake with candles and all, singing that happy birthday song to me, I just felt like I had to tell them all.
They all joined in singing. When they were done, I blew out the candles and made a wish. They clapped and laughed. I gotta say something, I thought. I didn’t care what Wilkes told me. So I stood up, tossed my napkin on the table, and cleared my throat.
“Hey, it’s real nice all the things you’ve done for me tonight, with the food and cake and presents and all,” I said. “You guys are like the only family I’ve got, so thanks."
They smiled and nodded.
“And I know that I’ve been a screw-up most my life. I know I’ve made a mess of things. But you guys should also know about all the stuff that’s screwed-up in this country.”
I could see Ralph look away and roll his eyes. He and I, we didn’t always agree on things. We had our arguments about lots of things.
“But I want you to know that pretty soon, something really big is going to happen. I can’t say exactly what it is, but I’ve been contacted by some pretty important people and I think that now I’ll finally have my chance to make a difference.”
“What is this all about?” mom asked. Marina looked confused.
“I can’t really say mom,” I said. “But it’s gonna big. It’s gonna be huge.”
“Who are these people?” Ralph asked. He was suspicious, like he didn’t believe me or something.
“People in some high places. Some groups I’ve been trying to work with as well.”
They didn’t know what to think. They were confused and I guess they should’ve been, seeing that I didn’t really tell them much. But then again, I couldn’t. It had to be a secret, at least for now.
“Well,” mom said. “It sounds exciting…and I’m sure you’ll make me proud Lee Harvey Oswald.”
“Thanks mom.”
***
And so now I sit here, in this cold building overlooking the street below. Waiting.
You're out to eat a nice birthday dinner with your family when the waiting staff marches out from the back room with a cake. With everyone around singing happy birthday, you decide this is the moment to make that life-changing announcement you've been considering.
I wasn't sure where I wanted to go with this, but I thought I'd give it a try. Here it is...
A Time for Action
Geez, it’s cold. Way colder than I thought it would be. But then again I guess the freezing November air is better that the stale smell of all these damn books. So I keep the window open, overlooking the street below. It’s almost time. It’s like Wilkes said “Stay in position until the time is right.” I guess he and Johnson are where they should be. And though I can’t see or talk to Mikhail, I assume he’s in position as well. Now all I can do is wait.
I can’t believe how all of this has come together over the past few weeks. It’s only been a month since my birthday dinner, the night I told everyone that something big was going to happen.
***
We ate at Fredo’s , this small mom-and-pop joint just outside of Dallas. It wasn’t a big deal or anything, just me, my mom, my wife Marina, little June, Ralph and Carla. We talked and laughed and drank - but not too much, what with Marina being eight months pregnant and all. It was sorta weird, because this wasn’t really the kinda thing we did, going out to eat with other people and such. Maybe it was the cheap beer we were drinking. Maybe it was spaghetti and meatballs that made me feel like bursting. Who knows? But when the three of them waiters came out of the kitchen with that great big chocolate cake with candles and all, singing that happy birthday song to me, I just felt like I had to tell them all.
They all joined in singing. When they were done, I blew out the candles and made a wish. They clapped and laughed. I gotta say something, I thought. I didn’t care what Wilkes told me. So I stood up, tossed my napkin on the table, and cleared my throat.
“Hey, it’s real nice all the things you’ve done for me tonight, with the food and cake and presents and all,” I said. “You guys are like the only family I’ve got, so thanks."
They smiled and nodded.
“And I know that I’ve been a screw-up most my life. I know I’ve made a mess of things. But you guys should also know about all the stuff that’s screwed-up in this country.”
I could see Ralph look away and roll his eyes. He and I, we didn’t always agree on things. We had our arguments about lots of things.
“But I want you to know that pretty soon, something really big is going to happen. I can’t say exactly what it is, but I’ve been contacted by some pretty important people and I think that now I’ll finally have my chance to make a difference.”
“What is this all about?” mom asked. Marina looked confused.
“I can’t really say mom,” I said. “But it’s gonna big. It’s gonna be huge.”
“Who are these people?” Ralph asked. He was suspicious, like he didn’t believe me or something.
“People in some high places. Some groups I’ve been trying to work with as well.”
They didn’t know what to think. They were confused and I guess they should’ve been, seeing that I didn’t really tell them much. But then again, I couldn’t. It had to be a secret, at least for now.
“Well,” mom said. “It sounds exciting…and I’m sure you’ll make me proud Lee Harvey Oswald.”
“Thanks mom.”
***
And so now I sit here, in this cold building overlooking the street below. Waiting.
5.17.2010
Waiting to Exhale
No, this is not about the movie...this is something completely different. So tonight I was at South Mission Beach waiting for some friends to show up so that we could play volleyball. Apparently the weather had scared everyone off and I was the only one there. But I took solace in knowing that there were far worst places I could've been on a Southern California afternoon than lying on a sandy beach, listening to the waves crash, and watching other groups play volleyball. So I pulled out my laptop and began to write. I wasn't sure what I wanted to write, but there was a prompt from Writer's Digest that I had been playing with in my head and I decided to write it. I know it's cheesy, but nonetheless the process was undeniably satisfying. Here's the prompt:
You and a friend break into your neighborhood swim club late one night to go for an after-hours dip. While splashing around in the pool, you go into shock when a dead body floats to the top. Worse yet—it's someone you know. Write this scene.
Waiting to Exhale
Claire fumbled for the latch, aided only by the light of the crescent moon keeping watch overhead.
“I’ve almost got it,” she said.
“Claire, let’s get out of here,” I said half-heartedly, knowing all too well that when she set her mind to something, nothing I could have said or done would’ve shaken her resolve.
“Got it, “she said as the gate swung open, smiling proudly to herself. “Let’s go.” We walked along the path that wrapped around the maintenance shed, the path towards the rear entrance, a path I knew all too well. Though a year had gone by, it seemed as if nothing had changed, as if that day last summer was just yesterday.
“Claire, how do think we’re going to get in the…”
Claire pushed the rear door abruptly, loosening the lock, and then pulled it open.
“Come on, you really didn’t think Brett fixed the door, did you?” She smiled smugly as she walked in, expecting me to follow her in.
I stood in the doorway for a brief moment. I had stayed away for so long. How did she convince me to come back here in the first place?
“Hurry up, D. Before anyone see’s you standing there.”
The water seemed so calm, so serene, as the moonlight shimmered through the clerestory windows and danced hypnotically across the surface of the pool. I stood at its edge, numb, wanting to be anywhere but there.
“It’s time,” Claire said, taking my hand.
“Time for what?” I asked, but before I could look up from the water to meet her eyes, she yanked her hand and pulled me into the pool. I barely had time to catch a breath before I plunged into the cold abyss. A shivering sensation overcame me as my body temperature dropped. My lungs began to burn. And yet, strangely, I felt at ease. I swung my arms in wide arcs and rose to the surface.
“Remember,” Claire said. “Remember. You were so good. You were the best lifeguard we ever had. It’s been too long D. It’s been too…” But I shut her out. And in that instant I felt anger flow through my veins. She had conned me into coming here. She pushed me in the pool. She was forcing me to remember. To remember something I had tried so hard to forget.
I turned and began to swim away from her, to the far edge of the pool. Then, just as I grabbed for the rail to pull myself up, something bobbed to the surface. I screamed in disbelief. I pushed myself back and slipped back under the surface of the water, my arms flailing to keep afloat.
“D, what is it? What’s wrong?” I could faintly hear Claire yelling. But I couldn’t see her. My eyes were fixed on the lifeless body that was floating face down in front of me.
It was Samantha Rose.
“No!” I screamed. It couldn’t be. This wasn’t happening, not again. But in an instant, those thoughts left me and were replaced with a resolve to action. I swam towards Samantha, then dove beneath her so that I could lift her out of the water. I grabbed the rail with one hand and threw both of us onto the deck.
“Please don’t die,” I whispered repeatedly as I methodically administered CPR. “Please don’t die.”
I refused to give up.
And then I heard a deep breath of air, followed by a cough as water spilled out of the side of her mouth. I couldn’t believe what was happening.
“Samantha,” I said. “Samantha, are you ok?” She opened her eyes, and strained to focus on my face. She slowly pushed her seven-year-old body up to face me and managed a smile.
“I’m okay Dylan,” she said. I sobbed as I embraced her, not wanting to let go.
“I’m so sorry Samantha….I’m so sorry….I tried…I really tried.” Tears were streaming down the side of my face.
“I know you did Dylan,” she said. “It’s ok. It wasn’t your fault. It wasn’t your fault.”
I held her in my arms and rocked her.
“Are you ok?” Claire asked from behind, her hand resting on my shoulder.
I turned and looked at her, trying to wipe the tears from my eyes.
“I’m okay,” I replied. “I’m okay.” She looked confused.
“What’s going on, D? Who were you talking to?” she asked.
I cracked a smile for the first time in what seemed like a year and stood up to hug her.
“Just a little angel.”
You and a friend break into your neighborhood swim club late one night to go for an after-hours dip. While splashing around in the pool, you go into shock when a dead body floats to the top. Worse yet—it's someone you know. Write this scene.
Waiting to Exhale
Claire fumbled for the latch, aided only by the light of the crescent moon keeping watch overhead.
“I’ve almost got it,” she said.
“Claire, let’s get out of here,” I said half-heartedly, knowing all too well that when she set her mind to something, nothing I could have said or done would’ve shaken her resolve.
“Got it, “she said as the gate swung open, smiling proudly to herself. “Let’s go.” We walked along the path that wrapped around the maintenance shed, the path towards the rear entrance, a path I knew all too well. Though a year had gone by, it seemed as if nothing had changed, as if that day last summer was just yesterday.
“Claire, how do think we’re going to get in the…”
Claire pushed the rear door abruptly, loosening the lock, and then pulled it open.
“Come on, you really didn’t think Brett fixed the door, did you?” She smiled smugly as she walked in, expecting me to follow her in.
I stood in the doorway for a brief moment. I had stayed away for so long. How did she convince me to come back here in the first place?
“Hurry up, D. Before anyone see’s you standing there.”
The water seemed so calm, so serene, as the moonlight shimmered through the clerestory windows and danced hypnotically across the surface of the pool. I stood at its edge, numb, wanting to be anywhere but there.
“It’s time,” Claire said, taking my hand.
“Time for what?” I asked, but before I could look up from the water to meet her eyes, she yanked her hand and pulled me into the pool. I barely had time to catch a breath before I plunged into the cold abyss. A shivering sensation overcame me as my body temperature dropped. My lungs began to burn. And yet, strangely, I felt at ease. I swung my arms in wide arcs and rose to the surface.
“Remember,” Claire said. “Remember. You were so good. You were the best lifeguard we ever had. It’s been too long D. It’s been too…” But I shut her out. And in that instant I felt anger flow through my veins. She had conned me into coming here. She pushed me in the pool. She was forcing me to remember. To remember something I had tried so hard to forget.
I turned and began to swim away from her, to the far edge of the pool. Then, just as I grabbed for the rail to pull myself up, something bobbed to the surface. I screamed in disbelief. I pushed myself back and slipped back under the surface of the water, my arms flailing to keep afloat.
“D, what is it? What’s wrong?” I could faintly hear Claire yelling. But I couldn’t see her. My eyes were fixed on the lifeless body that was floating face down in front of me.
It was Samantha Rose.
“No!” I screamed. It couldn’t be. This wasn’t happening, not again. But in an instant, those thoughts left me and were replaced with a resolve to action. I swam towards Samantha, then dove beneath her so that I could lift her out of the water. I grabbed the rail with one hand and threw both of us onto the deck.
“Please don’t die,” I whispered repeatedly as I methodically administered CPR. “Please don’t die.”
I refused to give up.
And then I heard a deep breath of air, followed by a cough as water spilled out of the side of her mouth. I couldn’t believe what was happening.
“Samantha,” I said. “Samantha, are you ok?” She opened her eyes, and strained to focus on my face. She slowly pushed her seven-year-old body up to face me and managed a smile.
“I’m okay Dylan,” she said. I sobbed as I embraced her, not wanting to let go.
“I’m so sorry Samantha….I’m so sorry….I tried…I really tried.” Tears were streaming down the side of my face.
“I know you did Dylan,” she said. “It’s ok. It wasn’t your fault. It wasn’t your fault.”
I held her in my arms and rocked her.
“Are you ok?” Claire asked from behind, her hand resting on my shoulder.
I turned and looked at her, trying to wipe the tears from my eyes.
“I’m okay,” I replied. “I’m okay.” She looked confused.
“What’s going on, D? Who were you talking to?” she asked.
I cracked a smile for the first time in what seemed like a year and stood up to hug her.
“Just a little angel.”
5.15.2010
Restarting...again
Ok, so it's been close to a year since my last post, when I recommitted myself to blogging more often and focusing on writing. Hmmm.....oh well. I have been writing, just not blogging. So I guess now is the time when I tell myself the same thing all over again. Here is an article that I just wrote for our local ASHRAE chapter newsleter. Nothing too exciting, but at least it's something....See you in a year!
Back to the Classroom: So…Does Heat Rise or what?
So there I was, lounging on my living room sofa on a lazy Saturday afternoon, being endlessly and inexplicably amused by a YouTube video of a 1970’s Soviet vocalizer, while listening to my daughter bemoan the fact that on such a perfect Southern California day she was stuck inside working on a 20-page research paper for her Geology class. Like a good parent I offered little sympathy, but rather reminded her of how fortunate she was to be living in the age of the internet, where she could do all the research from the comfort of her bedroom while enjoying the latest Charlie the Unicorn videos at the same time. After all, back when I was her age I had to actually go to a library, track down books using the Dewey Decimal System, check them out, and then craft my papers on a painfully unforgiving typewriter. Charlie the Unicorn hadn’t even been invented yet. I also reminded her of the great opportunity that was before her, to learn more about the interesting and exciting world of…geology. “It’s not like I’m planning to become a geologist,” she explained. “I mean – how often do you actually use what you learned in school?” And she had a point.
I can’t remember the last time I used a Laplace Transform to solve a function, or the last time I had to balance a stoichiometric chemical equation (I’m sure you guys do it ALL the time….sure…). I think that while we were in school, we learned the fundamental concepts behind the science that we now practice, but that once we actually go to put those concepts into practice, we discard them in favor of easy-to-remember rules of thumb and standardized processes. We’ve come to rely so heavily on the computer programs that we use to improve our efficiencies, that we’ve forgotten the basic principles that those programs are based on. So I thought that it would be good time to go Back to the Classroom – to take a look at some the fundamental concepts of how the science of heat transfer and thermodynamics actually work when we attempt to harness them to design efficient, safe, and comfortable indoor environments.
A few days ago, I had the opportunity to speak on radiant cooling at the annual Radiant Panel Association convention in Reno, Nevada. The day before my presentation, I sat in on a discussion on radiant floor heating and the viability of radiant floor cooling. The well-intentioned main speaker stated that radiant floor heating works fine, but that radiant floor cooling just doesn’t work. When asked why, his response was simple: “Because heat rises. It’s physics.”
Everyone in the room seemed to agree. And so I started thinking – Is this simple physics after all? Was his argument sound?
POP QUIZ: Raise your hand if you think that heat rises.
It’s natural to think that heat rises. After all, we recognize that floor registers work better in heating applications. We see concepts like the chimney effect employed in local projects like the New San Diego Children’s Museum to draw hot air out and cool air in by allowing the sun to heat a tower of glass. We understand how stratification works within a high-ceiling area or in a multi-story atrium as the heat rises to the upper regions. So we know that heat rises – right?
Wrong. A simple review of your trusty, but dusty physics or heat transfer text shows that heat does not rise. Hot air rises. Hot air rises because of the difference in density between the hot air and the surrounding air. Following Archimede's principle, the buoyant force pushing the hot air up is equal to the weight of the displaced air. Because the hotter air is less dense than the cooler air that it is displacing, it will naturally rise. This is referred to as natural convection. This principle is applicable when we are relying on convection for heat transfer. In the case of radiant floor cooling, however, we are looking at another form of heat transfer: radiation. Radiation heat transfer doesn’t rely on air. It relies on electromagnetic waves. You remember the Stefan-Boltzmann Constant, don’t you? Ok, neither do I. But the important thing here is this – if we are saying that heat does not specifically rise, then what direction does it go?
Give yourself an extra credit point if the Second Law of Thermodynamics just popped in your head. The second formulation, or the Clausius Statement of the Second Law, states that heat will always naturally flow from hot to cold. So heat transfer naturally occurs whenever there is a temperature difference. Therefore, in the case of radiant cooling, it doesn’t matter if the cooled surface is the floor or the ceiling or the walls or objects within the space. What matters is the relationship between that cooled surface and the space around it. Regardless of where the cooled surface is, up or down, the heat from your body will naturally flow towards it, leaving you with a cooling sensation.
Therefore, radiant floor cooling should not be dismissed based on the misconception that heat rises. I’m sure there will be those who will adamantly declare that cooled ceilings work better. I would agree, not because of the spatial relationship between the cooled surface and the occupant, but because a cooled ceiling can be driven to lower temperatures, dew point permitting, and because of the convective component that was discussed previously. Both are viable alternatives for energy-efficiency and have their own sets of pros and cons. The point of this rambling was not to sell anyone on the idea of radiant floor cooling, but to challenge some preconceived notions that many of us may have regarding fundamental heat transfer because of the extended time we’ve spent away from the classroom.
Okay, that’s all for now. Class dismissed. I’ve got some YouTube videos to catch up on and a geology paper to read…
Back to the Classroom: So…Does Heat Rise or what?
So there I was, lounging on my living room sofa on a lazy Saturday afternoon, being endlessly and inexplicably amused by a YouTube video of a 1970’s Soviet vocalizer, while listening to my daughter bemoan the fact that on such a perfect Southern California day she was stuck inside working on a 20-page research paper for her Geology class. Like a good parent I offered little sympathy, but rather reminded her of how fortunate she was to be living in the age of the internet, where she could do all the research from the comfort of her bedroom while enjoying the latest Charlie the Unicorn videos at the same time. After all, back when I was her age I had to actually go to a library, track down books using the Dewey Decimal System, check them out, and then craft my papers on a painfully unforgiving typewriter. Charlie the Unicorn hadn’t even been invented yet. I also reminded her of the great opportunity that was before her, to learn more about the interesting and exciting world of…geology. “It’s not like I’m planning to become a geologist,” she explained. “I mean – how often do you actually use what you learned in school?” And she had a point.
I can’t remember the last time I used a Laplace Transform to solve a function, or the last time I had to balance a stoichiometric chemical equation (I’m sure you guys do it ALL the time….sure…). I think that while we were in school, we learned the fundamental concepts behind the science that we now practice, but that once we actually go to put those concepts into practice, we discard them in favor of easy-to-remember rules of thumb and standardized processes. We’ve come to rely so heavily on the computer programs that we use to improve our efficiencies, that we’ve forgotten the basic principles that those programs are based on. So I thought that it would be good time to go Back to the Classroom – to take a look at some the fundamental concepts of how the science of heat transfer and thermodynamics actually work when we attempt to harness them to design efficient, safe, and comfortable indoor environments.
A few days ago, I had the opportunity to speak on radiant cooling at the annual Radiant Panel Association convention in Reno, Nevada. The day before my presentation, I sat in on a discussion on radiant floor heating and the viability of radiant floor cooling. The well-intentioned main speaker stated that radiant floor heating works fine, but that radiant floor cooling just doesn’t work. When asked why, his response was simple: “Because heat rises. It’s physics.”
Everyone in the room seemed to agree. And so I started thinking – Is this simple physics after all? Was his argument sound?
POP QUIZ: Raise your hand if you think that heat rises.
It’s natural to think that heat rises. After all, we recognize that floor registers work better in heating applications. We see concepts like the chimney effect employed in local projects like the New San Diego Children’s Museum to draw hot air out and cool air in by allowing the sun to heat a tower of glass. We understand how stratification works within a high-ceiling area or in a multi-story atrium as the heat rises to the upper regions. So we know that heat rises – right?
Wrong. A simple review of your trusty, but dusty physics or heat transfer text shows that heat does not rise. Hot air rises. Hot air rises because of the difference in density between the hot air and the surrounding air. Following Archimede's principle, the buoyant force pushing the hot air up is equal to the weight of the displaced air. Because the hotter air is less dense than the cooler air that it is displacing, it will naturally rise. This is referred to as natural convection. This principle is applicable when we are relying on convection for heat transfer. In the case of radiant floor cooling, however, we are looking at another form of heat transfer: radiation. Radiation heat transfer doesn’t rely on air. It relies on electromagnetic waves. You remember the Stefan-Boltzmann Constant, don’t you? Ok, neither do I. But the important thing here is this – if we are saying that heat does not specifically rise, then what direction does it go?
Give yourself an extra credit point if the Second Law of Thermodynamics just popped in your head. The second formulation, or the Clausius Statement of the Second Law, states that heat will always naturally flow from hot to cold. So heat transfer naturally occurs whenever there is a temperature difference. Therefore, in the case of radiant cooling, it doesn’t matter if the cooled surface is the floor or the ceiling or the walls or objects within the space. What matters is the relationship between that cooled surface and the space around it. Regardless of where the cooled surface is, up or down, the heat from your body will naturally flow towards it, leaving you with a cooling sensation.
Therefore, radiant floor cooling should not be dismissed based on the misconception that heat rises. I’m sure there will be those who will adamantly declare that cooled ceilings work better. I would agree, not because of the spatial relationship between the cooled surface and the occupant, but because a cooled ceiling can be driven to lower temperatures, dew point permitting, and because of the convective component that was discussed previously. Both are viable alternatives for energy-efficiency and have their own sets of pros and cons. The point of this rambling was not to sell anyone on the idea of radiant floor cooling, but to challenge some preconceived notions that many of us may have regarding fundamental heat transfer because of the extended time we’ve spent away from the classroom.
Okay, that’s all for now. Class dismissed. I’ve got some YouTube videos to catch up on and a geology paper to read…
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