Okay, I know that chapter one was boring and not prevalent, but it gives you a glimpse into daily life and sets the mood. Okay, here we go with chapter 2, in which Taylor faces problems with her writing.
Chapter 2
"Hey sweetheart. How was school?"
My daughter, Ashline, climbed in the car.
"You're late," she said.
"I know, honey, but I had to work…"
"I know. You're always working."
I looked at her sideways as I pulled out of the daycare driveway. "I'll make it up to you."
"Mom, I know you try," Ashline said condescendingly. "You don't have to make it up to me. I'm not mad."
"I'm sorry," I said, changing lanes. "I feel bad I'm not there a lot. We just have to wait a bit. The new interns come in September, and work will cut down then. I can get off early enough to be home when you get there, right after school."
"That would be nice," she said, looking out the window.
We sat in silence.
"Chinese food tonight?"
"I like Chinese."
We swung by the take out restaurant just a few streets over from the apartment, and loaded the car with chicken, pork, prongs, egg rolls, rice, and sweet n sour sauce.
By the time we had stuffed it and ourselves into my small car, the tension that was always there after I picked her up was gone.
"And Kara said that Tommy said that Cassie said-"
"Cassie?" I asked, fumbling with the key at our door.
"Cassie's new."
"Oh." I let us in, and Ashline continued to babble on about the drama of a nine-year-olds life.
"Hey Daisy," I said, petting my cat briefly as I dropped my bag and the Chinese food on the counter.
We flopped down on the couch with the cartons of good smelling food, turned on the TV, and I pulled off my shoes and unleashed my blond hair from it's bun.
I stared blankly at the screen, stuffing noodles in my face, finally able to think about my assignment. I sat at a loss.
I couldn't.
I could not write that story.
I don't care how short it was. I don't care that I only need to talk to a congressman or even a mayor, just to get a quote on how grateful they were. I didn't care I might take the opportunity to meet an Andalite, that this story was an honor.
I laughed at the irony, and reached for an egg roll.
Hours later, after Ashline had finished her homework and gone to be, I stayed up a little, sorting through the papers in my briefcase, reviewing the facts of my current story, a feature about a local writer who just got published.
The short meal of Chinese food wore away from my stomach, and I got up to make a late night snack.
Very late. The clock read around 12.
I hummed a little as I put together tuna fish and crackers. I laughed.
My life is so pathetic.
Daisy swirled at my feet, and I dropped her some tuna.
I looked out the window into New York, the night lit by all the bright light of the city.
"Shit," I said of my predicament, and turned to get ready for bed.
But I couldn't sleep.
When I got assigned a story, I often started composing it right away. I would lie awake and write endless introductions, paragraphs, conclusions…but this time I couldn't.
I started, and stopped. I froze. I flash-backed. I sighed and turned over. And turned over. And moved Daisy from my feet. And turned over.
Why did I care? It was just a stupid story. I shouldn't worry. My name is Taylor. I am not an Animorph. It's not my past. It's not my life I would be writing about.
But I still couldn't do it.
