Lisa Peterson

The Pink House (tentatively titled) is a place where people go to either learn how to have fun again in life or to learn how to bully. I feel it’s bit like real life. This is a novel I’ve been working on for the past six months – I’m almost done! Here’s a scene about one of the teachers, Marlon, who is at The Pink House to teach courses in how to bully. He’s a serious dude with control issues. Dang this story is fun to write!

Marlon was up knitting. He couldn’t sleep. The class from earlier that day was stumping him. It had been a rough start without the usual excitement. The face of his phone glowed in the dark as he pulled and moved the pins with his forefinger and thumb on the screen. Crickets and frogs sang in the trees. Steams of moonlight filtered through the window. He rested against the large headboard in bed. A slight breeze fluttered the propeller on his beanie. The long shadow on the wall made it look like he was wearing a ceiling fan on his head. Dammit, he mumbled. His fingers were sticky from eating cotton candy and it was not helping the fluid movements necessary in designing sock puppets.
Laughter filtered up through the silence of the night. Marlon stopped. Probably the adventure kids, he thought. Then he heard the guitar and a male and female voice singing. He had a sinking feeling. Was it Jacob with his guitar? He kneeled at the window and squinted. There were two people down by the dying fire. He couldn’t make out whom it was so he listened. Sure enough, he heard that annoying girl’s laugh. His toe caught the edge of the chair on his scurry back to bed. Ouch! He cut the air in a loud whisper as he hopped on one foot. The tiny bells around his ankle tinkered like sleigh bells. Dammit! He sat at the edge of his bed holding his pulsating foot and moaned. To relieve the pain in his toe, he threw his cell phone against the wall. It broke into pieces.
The thought of Jacob cozying up to Sunshine made him sick to his stomach. He had finally convinced his son that the school was the perfect way to continue his education. She could really screw things up, unless he could get her to change quickly and then Jacob would follow.
After flushing the pieces of his cell phone down the toilet, Marlon went to his closet to get his bag. Which one is it in? He took a deep breath and kneeled on the floor. His closet was scattered with black duffel bags. He couldn’t read the labels taped to the sides of the bags, so he fumbled through. The first one he opened was filled headache pain spray cans. I’ll use these tomorrow, he muttered. Marlon tugged at each bag one after the other. Each duffel contained multiples of same item. He combed through nips of nausea, gut wrenches, anxiety enhancers, nightmare puddings, and negative roll-ons.
“Oh, stupid me,” he whispered. Why were they at the back of the closet? The bag was full of credit cards. He grabbed one and pulled himself up off the carpeted floor. After plugging the credit card into the vending machine opposite his bed, he pondered cell phones. Do I want the one that lights up in the dark or the one that smells like marshmallows? Why couldn’t they do both in one? So frustrating. He picked one and then ordered a vinegar and vodka. The drink dropped to the bottom so quickly he almost didn’t have time to grab his phone. With a razor, he shaved off all the raised numbers and information on the front of the credit card. Little plastic details dusted the carpet. He dropped the card on the floor and kicked it under his bed. The bells around his ankle jingled.
The phone case was set to light up green. Marlon changed it to chasing, multi-colored lights. He put a small umbrella in his drink and sipped it. What would he write? Oh, I almost forgot, he muttered and went into the bathroom. After lathering his naked body with coconut oil, he went back into the bedroom and flipped a switch. The ceiling lit up in long slender, tanning bulbs. He was pleased with the installation. Marlon jumped on the bed and relaxed back into his pillow. Sunshine, fast track, he typed into his phone as a reminder. The coconut oil on his fingers slid around on the screen. He gritted his teeth. Once the note was complete, he reached for the plastic eye goggles and rested his phone on his chest.