DNTO IVEG PU HET PIHS | Between the Bells

DNTO IVEG P U HET PIHS

Hybrid texts are a from of creative writing that challenge the use of traditional narratives and a writer and readers relationships with words. Hybrid texts focus on creatively weaving different forms of media, literary techniques, and other design elements in a stream of consciousness and metaphysical manner. This text was published in 2020. All characters and events are fictional.

Trigger warning: brief references to death, drug and sexual abuse, and the military

I’m going to take you on a trip. A trip of the mind. Psychedelic? Perhaps. Sober? Maybe. You’ll choose your experience. You’ll choose your way of thinking. I’ll just narrate through a series of options. Isn’t that what a life is? A series of options that determine an outcome unknown to you narrated by the universe or some higher power. Life is not for control freaks. This is. Maybe what you’ll choose is just a product of my imagination or, maybe it’ll be a real event. You may read an intimate text message exchange or conversations I overhear in the hotel lobby. Find your mind. But for now, I’ll let you borrow mine.

Error. Error. Error. We’ve encountered an error. If you continue to experience this error, please contact the help desk. Error. Error. Error. Who do I contact when my life is an error?

This isn’t my handwriting it hardly even looks like actually

it dones’t look like it al all the only rhing that reperwents it is

the amount of typos and misspeilling happening I don’t try

for perfection I just try to get my wrods out because using a

backspace button interrupts my thought but do you know how

hard it is to use that backspace button I mean not use that

backspace button see, I had to start a new sentence because I couldn’t

use backpace to go back in and insert the word not because my

mind moved bfaster than my fingers my battery might die so

can my fingers beat my low bttery message who knows who really

knows anything at all error. Error. Error.error. error. Error.

Someone told me today not to run away from my problems. Excuse me, do I look like I have problems? Fuck you, to be honest. Just because you have problems that you aren’t brave enough to resolve, don’t accuse me of lacking bravery. Jealously is such an ugly thing. When are we going to learn to support each other? I guess I’ll just have to support myself. Rhonda, Keith, Karen, and Bob support me. I don’t know much about them except that we met in the hotel lobby of the Graduate Annapolis and that they support me. Rhonda wanted to be a Nun when she was my age. But hey, haven’t we all. Error. I want to know. What would happen if I chose to look at life with only adjectives? If I threw away everything I’ve been taught and looked at life without grammatical errors or messing up a customers order or even ordering the wrong dark roast coffee. What would my day look like solely told in adjectives?

Adventurous curious gorgeous stellar rousing unbelievable super excellent quintessential gaping gauche gradual guilty sad cold angry vehement fleeting scary sweet smooth yellow light square disobedient clever error

What do you want to know? You must start with what you don’t know and who you don’t know. Rhonda stays in room 518 with her husband Bob. They sleep in a king sized bed overlooking the state capital building – a room with a view that they had to pay extra for. The unpacked clothes on the floor are bland. They lack color, style, and personality. Given that, maybe a Nun would’ve been a good career path for Rhonda. Bob doesn’t say much. If you don’t like good conversation and flavored lattes, Bob might be for you. Let’s not forget about Karen and Keith. They stayed in room 311. They’re view is inside the hotel. Outside of their window there’s an atrium strewn with Christmas lights and a collage of various USS vessels and sail boats, so many in fact that you can’t even see the wallpaper. Their ice bucket is full, and their complimentary rocks glasses have remnants of some cheap whiskey. They probably bought one of those adult movies on demand that shows up as a secret charge at checkout. Each room boasts the same decorations. The walls are covered in the same wallpaper: light blue, navy blue, white, green, and an aggressive red. The head board doesn’t match. The body pillow is even worse. There’s a portrait of a former admirable hung in the bathroom. He hangs on a wall that’s backdrop is more stripes and red and blue crabs. I wonder if he’d be disappointed? The pictures are the same. You won’t find any “live, laugh, love” posters in these bedrooms. No. You’ll see proof of the hotel living up the Navy’s ass with framed quotes that say hooyah and steady up. Room 311. Room 518. Choose your error.

(if you choose Room 311, go to page 3)

(If you choose Room 518, go to page 4)

Room 311.

Error. Error. Error. The red light on the door blinks red. The hotel key card isn’t activated. Fuck. You knock. No answer. You knock. No answer. You knock. You’re scared. The green light flashes on the door inviting you in. This isn’t a hotel room. It takes one, two, three steps into the door way only to step outside. The capital building towers in front of you. It asserts its dominance. You stare back. No, quite literally. You see yourself. You stare back. Hello? Hello? Hello? You can’t get your attention. One, two, three steps towards yourself. You breathe. You breathe. You blink. You blink. Am I little buzzed? Your thoughts are a regurgitated mess of phrases projected on a brick wall standing over you. Well, the other you. One, two, three steps closer to you. You look straight. You look right. There is no getting closer. Hello? With wide, unblinking eyes you turn your head slowly, eerily from right to left, matching your gaze. “Don’t talk over me” you say in a voice that’s not yours. “Who are you and….

I sit in the hotel lobby thinking of you. You sit in a classroom thinking of me. My thoughts are convoluted by a ringing in my ears. My thoughts piece themselves together. I didn’t even need attention. I waited. I waited from 0600 to 2100 for you. I waited for good conversation. The ringing stops. An error message comes over the loud speaker. “Sorry, guests. Our server had an error. We apologize for the inconvenience and any discomfort that may have caused you.” An inconvenience, for sure. I hear your thoughts. They dance over mine. Some dance to remember, some dance to forget. Hear me now. Why do I hear your thoughts? Don’t talk over me.

That skirts a little too short, wouldn’t you say?

No. I wouldn’t say. Your dreams are a little too high, wouldn’t you say?

If the high you’re talking about is an F-35 in the sky, then yes, I would say.

What do you choose? A short skirt or high hopes. A classic extrinsic versus intrinsic conflict.

(if you chose short skirt go to page 5)

(if you chose high hopes go to page 6).

Welcome to room 518.

You can check out anytime

You’d like, but you can never

leave. I walk in and give her a kiss on the cheek. You’re back. She whispers.

I could never leave. I say, followed by another kiss that says the same.

I lay down next to her on our king sized bed. It sucks. Each weekend goes to fast in another bed that’s not ours. 2021. That’s all I need. I don’t mean 9:21pm. I twirl her hair and trace the lines in her palm as she falls in and out of a much deserved sleep. Her chest rises and falls.

I hear a knock at the door. Did I forget to put up the “studying, come back later” flag on our door knob? Click.

I gently roll her off my chest, making sure she stays asleep. I pick a t-shirt up off the ground and walk towards the door. Before I can open it a piece of paper is slid under the door. I’ve seen it before. It was an advertisement for a cruise on the bay. Cautiously I picked it up, I checked to make sure she was still asleep.

Harbor of death bleed the story. Leave. Hear the truth. Terror. The dead all see you.

I go back to her. She’s asleep, just as I had left her. I pull her back onto my chest. She’s heavier this time. I reach for my phone on the nightstand beside us. I don’t find my phone. Instead I see a piece of paper that wasn’t there before.

Let’s play a game. I still thought I was going to Kill MYSELF when the six weeks were up I was Sick on the carpet outside of the Bathroom I tried to lie to MYSELF. What about the sex you were offering? I’m talking metaphorically here. I’m so fucking funny. You accused me of being a miserable bastard. I really will kill MYSELF and I’m too young to do that. I wasn’t surprised. My to-do list. KILL MYSELF. C’mon. I haven’t got all day.

Xoxo –

Me.

I looked down at her on my chest. I couldn’t see it rising anymore.

All I saw was on page 8.

This skirt is short. But not too short, nothing is ever too short. Except maybe our time together. That’s short. Your skirt gets shorter as you slide on heels that lengthen your legs. Just right. You take a spin in the mirror – dancing by yourself. Some dance to remember some dance to forget. You paint a smoky eye over your eyelids and bat your eyelashes, practicing the same look you’ll give him - whomever he is. Everything gets left behind except for an ID. Intrinsically and extrinsically. Everything gets left behind. An error.

She walked into a bar at 10pm at night. She ordered a drink.

The pool table was to her left, and the jukebox to her right.

There was a cling as the quarter hit metal. A click as a song was selected.

“Will you dance with me” he asked.

With four left feet they danced. They embraced.

He put an unwelcome hand on her lower back. He smirked. She stiffened.

Five words stood between them. “I’m in love with you” he said.

“I hate you so much.”

Cats and dogs. Republicans and Democrats. Navy and Army. Love and Hate. Rivalries as old as civilization. The problem is, people confuse hate as love. Choose love. Choose hate. The choice is yours.

(if you chose love go to page 7)

(if you chose hate go to 9)

You were always high. Your mind was full of fucked up thoughts jumbled by a mess of psychedelics, pills, and cocaine. You didn’t even know what you were thinking anymore. Could you even see out of those blood shot eyes? You threw it all away. You threw your hopes, dreams, and plans. You threw her away. You stood at the bay and watched everything sink. Down went your hopes, dreams, plans, and her all to the bottom of the bay.

DN TO I V E G P U H E T P I H S

You gave up.

Look what you gave up.

(go to page 9).

You wrote a poem about love one time. It was a long time ago, though. It’s been a while since you’ve been in love. One time you thought you were. But you weren’t. How do I know that? Because I’m you. I followed you. Remember? Don’t talk over me. I followed your short skirt. No one wants to read poetry about love. Do better next time. Everyone can write something as predictable as love. Write something you want to read.

But I don’t know how.

Oh yes, I know. And it shows. Try.

Try.

Then try to love it.

W a v e s

Seas we see

We wave

We see

Waves save

We awe

What do you see right now?

I see water. I see the bay bridge.

yacht, or anything just as long

been a mermaid in another life.

like the waves. they drown me.

learned to love myself. Now I

house on the coast. A tan on the

champagne with my husband. I

rock our boat. I want to trace

over his body. I want a wave,

and break down the gates that

the sea and let me walk through

I see myself sitting on a sailboat, or a

as it's by the water. I swear I must have

This bay though, it doesn't have waves. I

I used to drown myself in tears. But I

drown myself in dreams. I dream of a

deck of my boat. Getting drunk on cheap

want to feel the waves. The waves that

my fingers over the waves of his chiseled

a rouge wave, to emerge from the bay

keep me from you. I want to see God split

to you.

I chose you and I’d choose you. Everyday. In every lifetime. You are every positive adjective I could ever think to give.

Generous intelligent talented ambitious beautiful wild brave sexy gentle patient encouraging humble.

When I think of you, I write. I write so fast with so many thoughts that my fingers can’t keep up. If you were reading this right now I’d say:

I prayed for you and everything about you and I’ll continue

to pray for you and all you do this is tough we know the

distance between us your title my dream and .1 miles stands

between you and me but I swear you're not close enough until

I can feel your heartbeat.

DN TO I V E G P U H E T P I H S

I never could quite keep my tongue untied around you.

HR

Halle Mosser Reasner

Teaching and Writing between Teaching and Writing

DNTO IVEG P U HET PIHS