Beneath the Boardwalk (Alex Turner)

6 {raw passion}

There was a dark violet bruise blossoming on his chin, and a pencil balancing on his ear. He sauntered in and sighed as he pulled up a chair and sat backwards on it, elbows resting in front of him onto the back of the seat. He said nothing for a minute. 

"What's the bruise from," one of the jersey boys in the back calls out. 

Turner tilts his chin up. "Where's your ignorance from?" He scratches the back of his head and sighs. "It's not really in anybody's best interest of where it came from, rather than what it means." He rubs the inner corner of his eyes, shutting them softly. 

The guy mutters something about him being a 'fucking riddle,' to his friend beside him but Turner doesn't hear, or chooses to ignore it. 

"Ah... today we're... going to delve into fiction," Turner announces. "Plot twists. Vocabulary, dialogue, conflict, romance.... the like."

His gaze lingers on people. I get out a piece of paper to start writing, and try to keep my head ducked down. "The first idea needed to be esatablished in a story, would be the setting. While this does not necessarily mean the place. It could be a state of mind. You as well need to come up with a plot beforehand--a plot twist as well. Stories never work without a plot twist," he stands up slowly and starts to walk around the room.

"A key concept is the dialogue... if everyday language is boring vocabulary, things tend to drone on and we lose interest," he says, putting emphasis on the 't'. "Nothing should be predictable because that's not realistic; only should you use predictability if your unpredicatability becomes predictable itself."

It would be way easier to take notes if he spoke in regular English, instead of twisting words. I should've just brought a tape recorder to listen to what he's saying later. 

He starts to go on in depth about plot, conflicts between people and ideas to write fiction about. Introducing themes and subplots. How to add symbolism and repetism. I could barely keep my hand up while writing down notes. Soon I just got lost trying to understand what he said and put down the pen, listening to what he said. He avoided eye contact with me, which I didn't mind until he started talking clichés. 

"... the last thing we're going to talk about today... is the use of romance," he looks at me but doesn't take his eyes off me. My stomach flips and I don't know whether to look away or not. "It's the most used cliché of every story. There's always... something interfering between the two. Something deeper."

I look away from him to break eye contact but I don't dare look back up to see if he's still looking. 

"Writers tend to use romance as a way to draw in the reader... but I believe that's all a foreign concept, love. True romance can't be achieved these days. So you have to make it the most enticing as you can until you find a way to destroy it. Maybe bring it back, maybe crush it. It's about realism and if you don't add the raw," he slips on his words--"raw passion, the raw details, it becomes more about the dream and less about the story."

That was definitely not speaking for a script, I fear it's a bit of experience. I take a deep breath and put my hand up. "I think you're sidetracking. I don't think you're supposed to add your own opinion, just the facts about English."

Turner squints up at me and I awkwardly slide my hand back down to my lap. "The world's an opinion, Greene. Not everything is Black and White. It's a million shades of grey."

"I'm just saying, not everybody might take romance as you do. Just because you may not have experienced the feeling of true love doesn't mean it's not out there. Seeing isn't believing."

Alex smirks. "That's the kind of thing I wanted to hear on your essay."

I feel a bit of chill until he quickly changes the subject. "I want you all to rent out Shakespeare from the library, and finish the book by next week."

I hear a few groans in the back of the auditorium. "Oh, quit your moping," Turner rolls his eyes and runs a hand through his hair. He walks over to his desk, and I hadn't noticed before, but he tips some whiskey into a glass and sips it slowly. The class is quiet. 

He checks the time on his watch and then almost drops the glass. "Crap," he mumbles, grabbing some of his stuff and almost runs out the door before turning back to the class. "Class dismissed fifteen early today. I've got to run." He opens his mouth as if to say something, but quickly exits the building. 

My head hurts. I crumple up the notes I had, deciding all of it was shit, and decide to be ambitious. If adding plot twists into a story is what I needed to make my own life exciting, so be it. 

I take the same exit Turner did and watched out the window until he wouldn't be able to see me. Then I stepped out into the cold night to follow him to wherever he's going. I can't stand not knowing if the rumours are true or not. 

I needed to know where he keeps disappearing off to.