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08 March 2012 @ 04:23 pm

Title: Untitled [until I can think of one] - 2/??
Author: Venustus
Rating: PG
Fandom: Glee
Notes:  This story uses Glee characters and their experiences, but is very AU, set a small liberal arts college.  It is structured very differently than anything else I have written.  Feedback is always welcomed and much appreciated!

Noah reread the note to him probably 10 times before he grabbed his canvas messenger bag to see what kind of things he had with him.  Sadly he carried no blank staff paper today, nothing visually pleasing to leave her.  So he pulled out his favorite pen from his pocket.  It was heavy in his hand and left blue ink in dark, heavy strokes.

Aha, LZ, that is where you are wrong!  I have returned to tinker with your brain again.  I have to be honest, when I saw it still here I thought you maybe never found it and was worried how you were still breathing walking around with no brain.  I assume you’re a fan of breathing.

I feel a little ill prepared to add to your brain today.  I am fresh out of sheet music and I don’t think I even own any post-it notes.  So I will just have to talk.  Or write, I guess.   When I was walking down here (which, by the way is MY little corner of the library.  You got that backwards last time.) I was thinking about Thanksgiving this week.  Why exactly does it make me a jerk to not want to go home for Thanksgiving?  My mom hates the holiday because ghosts from the past.  And my sister is in high school, for her it’s an extra day off of school.  Maybe I should be more optimistic.  “I’m gonna make this the best Thanksgiving ever!”   I wonder how pissed my mom would be if I volunteered to cook and made spaghetti.

I wish I was more clever or had been thinking all week of what to add here, but I didn’t.  So now I sound exactly how I feel, like a brain dead bore.  Midterms have left me virtually comatose.  I think I will comment in the rest of your brain, but leave this boring monologue now.


Noah flipped back through the previous pages and scribbled notes next to hers in the margins and on the post it notes.  No pulp?  Really? Really??  It’s not breakfast if you don’t have to chew your OJ.  He turned to the page with the recipe.  It probably didn’t taste right because you spilled all the cinnamon on this book.  I bet you even just scraped it right off this page and into the mix, didn’t you?  Lastly he turned to the painting of the sunsets.  Sunsets are sad?  I thought they were pretty much universally thought of as pretty and romantic.  I’d like to hear you theory about why they’re sad. 

Noah set for a few minutes with the notebook open on his lap.  He really was at a loss for words.  He felt so drained and more importantly, he didn’t want to seem like an idiot.  He shoved his hand in his pocket and felt for it.  He always carried this particular black guitar pick in his pocket.   Probably 20 times a day he felt for in and turned it around and around between his fingers.  He tucked it between the pages where he wrote his letter and added a not at the bottom.

I may not have anything visually pleasing to leave you, but I traffic in the other senses usually.  Hopefully you find this tactilely pleasant.  Till next Tuesday.


It was automatic now.  Tuesdays after his piano pedagogy class he went to their hideout.  He didn’t even have to direct his feet there anymore.  He was worried for a brief second if some of the magic would be gone now that he knew for a fact that it would be waiting for him there.  He was pleasantly surprised with his psyche that all it did was make him feel more and more like a giddy little boy the closer and closer he got to the time.  It was a personal fault Noah would claim without hesitation because there was no avoiding it – in almost all aspects of his life he was addicted to the chase.  It was that way for him with sports and hobbies – once he was deemed “good” he was officially bored.  With his education – once he was admitted to the selective Music Ed program at his college he was already starting to look at more challenging grad schools.  And it was especially true with women.   People thought it was a sex thing.  A “use em and lose em” thing.  That wasn’t his intention even if that was the result.  He found all the women he dated to be attractive, fascinating, intoxicating creatures.  But the excitement of the chase was always a stronger pull than his connection with them.  The closest he came to finding his match was a beautiful, soulful girl from his high school choir who all but told him she would date him for his standing in the school and for no other reason.  His determination to make her see more than that in him had the unintended consequence of forcing him the closest to love he had ever been.  Had it not been for a floppy-haired blonde with a Southern drawl and better abs than him and her speech to him about invisible tethers, he probably would still be wrapped up with her.

He plucked the book from between the cushions and turned directly to the last page to read her letter first. 

NP, I just knew you were a smart man.  Perceptive too.  I actually LOVE breathing.  It’s like, totally my favorite past time.  I should list that in my match.com profile.  “Enjoys long walks in the woods (not the beach, because that’s cliché as hell and there’s nothing awesome like bears at the beach), cute puppies, and breathing.”  I think that would get me tons of awesome dates.

So I can’t say that I relate to not wanting to go home for holidays.  I kind of had the Norman Rockewell childhood.  I mean, there were the shitty parts, but everyone has those.  My parents are awesome and funny.  My sisters are great when I only have to be around them for a couple days at a time.  So I can’t offer much in the way of “I’ve been there,” but this was my thought.  (Not that it helps you now, which kind of makes me an asshole, but I digress)  Make new memories.  Who says Thanksgiving has to be dried our turkey and football on TV? 

I have to admit to something here.  And this will probably make me seem like a loon.  Except wait, if you can’t already tell I am a loon, then maybe you aren’t as smart as I thought, NP.  I was supposed to make a side for our Thanksgiving dinner and I totally made a huge bowl of spaghetti.  It made me laugh the whole time I was making it and I got some craaaazy looks from my family.  But it was kind of fun.  Thanks for the suggestion. 


PS About your comments.  1) Yes pulp free!  If I wanted to chew I would eat a damn orange whole.  2) Shut up, it was only half the cinnamon and it was perfectly usable still.  3) I’ll explain when I can find the words.

PPS  Thanks for the pick.  I find it very pleasant to touch, you were right. 

Noah started to flip back through her new additions to see what was there when a pack of hot pink post-it notes fell out into his lap.  She had written on the top on in heavy black marker.   How in the hell do you not own post-it notes?  How do you organize your life?  Use these.  He shook his head at the hot pink because he just knew somehow that the color choice was completely intentional. 

The first page she had added was a page of doodles.  She must have had the journal in her lap as she sat with her family watching football.  There were doodles of the ball itself.  A set of uprights with a score listed underneath.  A blue #18 with a silly cartoonish heart drawn around it.  He laughed out loud with a boom when he saw the red thumbprint sized smudge in the corner of the page with an arrow and the note Oops, spaghetti!  A sticky note with names and what appeared to be gift ideas next to each one.  Mom, Dad, Lyd, Ang, Steph.  A heavy vertical line was followed by the names Kurt, Santana, and Steven with a question mark.  All had ideas next to them and a comment.  Kurt – Batman and Robin action figures.  Vintage Toy Store?   Santana – Brass knuckles.  Unless it will get me arrested.   But the section next to the name Steven was blank.  His eyebrow quirked but he kept turning the pages.

(Anonymous) on April 9th, 2012 05:11 pm (UTC)
Untitled - LZ and NP
Gosh, this story is something else. You describe the notebook so vividly, I can almost feel it in my hands and Lauren's mish mash of thoughts and feelings and words is exactly what a personal notebook should be like.
It made my hands ache to fill up my own notebook with my thoughts.
You write beautifully and descriptively, I am very much in love with this little story of yours and am anxious to see where you take it.

PS: That little, subtle mention of Mercedes was so well done, it made my heart ache. I think Puck felt something for Mercedes that was fully realized in Lauren and both those incredible women are instrumental to his 'tough on the outside, pussy cat on the inside' personality. Conversely, both Mercedes and Lauren are soft on the outside with their feminine, plush figures and long hair and round features but are super strong and resilient on the inside. The balance you create is beautiful.