When I was first out of college, I worked office jobs through a temp agency. It provided income until I landed my first full-time job. My first assignment involved processing registrations for a national convention.
I met my friend Heather at that assignment. Eighteen
years later, she remains one of my closest friends.
For about six months, Heather and I worked together, just
the two of us, in a conference room with a lakefront view. Two low-level
employees with the best office in the building! Because we were together all
day, every day, we chatted nonstop and grew close fast.
One day, Heather seemed downcast. I couldn’t cheer her up
with dumb comments. So I tried something I knew would she couldn’t resist. Not
with her forever-young personality.
I wrote the first sentence or two of a story. I don’t
recall what the topic was, except that it was random. Because our desks sat ten
feet apart and walking struck me as inefficient, I added another aspect to
bring a grin to her face: I balled up the sheet of paper and tossed it her way.
“What’s this?” she asked, uncrumpling the ball it to find
a story that begged her continuation. A grin crept across her face. I had her
hooked.
That marked the first of many stories. From that point
on, Heather was addicted. When least expected, a wad of paper would land on my
desk. Heather had picked a random topic. Animals, fresh fruit, Elton John,
Farmer MacGregor, a guy named Homer. Anything worked for us. She’d send me a
sentence. I’d add a sentence or two, wad it up, and toss it back—usually aiming
for her water glass. The process gave us a laugh, and it sparked our creativity
as we tried to outwit each other. I’d threaten to kill off a character right
when love story was about to take shape,
and she’d plead to keep him alive.
Fine, Heather. [*eye
roll*] He can stay alive. ;-)
When we’d had our fill with each story, Heather crammed it
into a folder she kept hidden in her desk drawer.
Last week, Heather was ill, and for whatever reason, she decided
to sift through boxes in storage at her house.
From one box, she pulled out a folder—and discovered our
old stories.
The next day, I received a message from Heather on my
phone. The beginning of another story.
A hippo she named Joe. A koala I named Arlen. A massive
tidal wave that carried Joe from his home in Asia all the way to the coast of
Australia, where the two friends met. What caused the tidal wave? The hippo
farted, of course. Don’t judge. It’s Heather’s and my world.
Never give up!
John Herrick
Today's Playlist: "Cool Kids" by Echosmith
Posts
