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Sushi & Bento

a.k.a. Adventures in Culinary Dining. The story of two lovers and their stormy relationship.

The Water Tower Pigeons

The story of small town pigeons that run into big city problems.

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This is your opportunity to help write a story. These are stories that people have started and we'd like you to add to them.

Each story has an inital idea, sometimes suggested by our fans. Then everyone pitches into decide on a plot for the story. Once the plot is established, then the writing can begin.

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Please feel free to add anything to the stories that will help them along toward their final plot conclusion. Try to make the story fit together. Use your imagination. If the story takes off in a direction that you don't like, maybe the last chapter was a "dream" or the last paragraph a "daydream". Be creative.

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  Growing Up
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Chapter 1 - The Hat
by NPB
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It was during my second trek through second grade that I met and gave my heart to Elizabeth G. She was in the third grade. Elizabeth and I were the same age and in fact shared a birth date. She first got my attention by knocking my hat off. We were walking home from the first day of school. I picked it up, put it back on my head, and tried to ignore her. That was hard to do, as she was very pretty and kept nudging me toward the edge of the sidewalk. She kept pace with me but said nothing. I didn't actually mind; her presence was companionable. She stopped in front of her house and I continued on two doors to mine. I was disappointed that she hadn't knocked my hat off again. However, there was always tomorrow. On my front steps I turned, flashed a big smile, and doffed my hat. She just stood there looking at me with her sad eyes. I had hoped she would at least smile.
The next morning I found her waiting on my front porch. She was sitting on the top step with her chin in her hands hissing at Sable, the cat. I opened the door and stepped outside. Sable ignored us both. It was her way. I trusted Sable's instinct about people so I knew this girl was O.K.
“Good morning, Elizabeth. Won't you please come inside?”
“Sure, why not?”
She came. Inside, I waited for her to hand me her jacket and hat then carefully, even reverently, hung them on a peg by the door. The jacket was a well-worn leather flight jacket cut Navy. The patch over the left breast was the Flying Sergeants Squadron. I reached up and touched it. I was awed.
I whispered, “Was this your Dad's?”
“Yes it was. Do you know what that is?”
“I do – Flying Sergeants – Corsairs, none tougher.”
That's when I first knew that we would be friends and more. We both had khaki blood. I saw that flash of fierce pride in her eyes that was sharing space with the hollow yearning for her Dad. I wanted to hug her but I didn't know how she would take that. My knowledge and my respect seemed to change her whole attitude toward me though. She looked at me more closely and responded less carelessly. Her perpetual frown softened a bit. I escorted her to the kitchen. My mom was reading the paper and drinking her coffee. I pulled out a chair for Elizabeth and held it for her. She looked at me so strangely and I thought that she would cry. My Mom noticed.
Mom said, “Well, good morning, young lady. May I offer you breakfast?”
“No thank you, Mrs. Andrews. I've already eaten.”
“Hot Cocoa?” I asked.
“Yes please,” she said. Then she smiled and it melted my heart. Mom noticed that too.
On our way to school, Elizabeth confided that when I had held the chair for her it made her think of her dad. It had been one of those special little things he had always done for her. I tried to apologize but she stopped me and said that I should never apologize for courtesy or kindness.
As we approached the school, she said that I was welcome to walk her home if I wanted, but that she would understand if I didn't. I knew what she meant, her being a girl, but I couldn't think of a way to tell her that I wanted to walk her home and that I liked her that didn't sound silly or mushy. When she turned away, I quickly said, “OK,” and knocked her hat off. The wind took it out into the street and I was right behind it. I felt her hand close on the back of my jacket just as I was stepping off the curb and heard the squeal of over taxed car breaks at the same time. I found myself on my butt. Elizabeth was kneeling behind me with her arms around me. We stared at the front fender of the car that would have hit me if she had been one second slower. I had the shakes.
“I can see that being friends with you is going to be a chore,” she said helping me to my feet.
“You… saved… my life,” I gasped, trying to catch my breath.
“Don't be silly. I just saved the driver of that car a lot of nonsense with the police over a witless boy. You didn't think you were going to get out of walking me home that easy, did you?”
I was too shaken to respond but I saw the smile she was trying to hide and the tear. Beth took my hand and walked me to my class. She too was shaken.
At the door, I squeezed her hand and said, looking at my shoes, “Thank you, Elizabeth.” I wanted desperately to say more. But I didn't know exactly what or how.
She looked at me for a moment then said, “You can call me ‘Beth' if you want. I think I'll call you ‘Scooter.' You're always running somewhere.”
“Sure, OK.” I can't say why but it pleased me no end to have a nickname of her devising.
“I'll wait for you out front after school. Someone needs to take you in charge or you'll never get home in one piece. It may as well be me.”
I was a mess the rest of the day. I kept seeing myself flattened in the street. The silly bit was that I could not think how I would ever explain to my mother why I came to be run over chasing a hat. After school, I was so relieved when I saw Beth waiting for me that I ran to her. I hesitated for only a second then threw my arms around her and hung on tight. She responded in kind and feeling me tremble said,
“I've got you now, Scooter.”
“I wasn't trying to get out of walking you home, I really wasn't. Your hat…”
“I know you weren't. I was just trying to take your mind off how close you came to being shmushed.”
Beth used to say, “We ‘war orphans' have to look out for each other.” I confess that she probably looked out for me better than I did for her those first few years.

     Scooter (NPB) · 1/8/2006

  [Excellent start! NPB I hope you will share the rest of the story. If not perhaps others can write the next chapter or even a few paragraphs.]

     BeeBot · 1/9/2006

  WOW!! you rock NPB... i loved that story. i hope you will finish the rest of it, and post it up. you're a really good writer =] x.o.x

       · 5/22/2006

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