Cozine Works-In-Progress

a poem

2007-01-08T10:51:00.000-08:00

Andrew Frueh

everything seems alright
how come I feel so wrong
it's a beautiful sunny day
please make this feeling go away
something in my heart is saying
things aren't what they're supposed to be
this feeling that is dark and looming
has such power over me

Daughter poem

2007-01-08T10:49:00.000-08:00

Stephen Frueh

my wife said “the water’s bubbling up in the shower”
and the toilet sounds funny.
I myself was frumping around worrying about money
and the ‘new-house-being-built-next-door’ sounds
didn’t offer repose on this wednesday morning.

Nevertheless, my five year old daughter- five years, six months and
three days- came into my study ready for her first day of Kindergarten.
Hair shiny wet from the bath braided into a pigtail,
new lavender top with dark blue skirt, rounded five year old tummy.
“How do I look Daddy?” And I looked. Wow. and kissed her told her
she is more beautiful than a sky full of stars or a moon shining
on a still ocean.

Out she went starting on still another trajectory, hopeful, happy, eager.
I picked up the phone and called the plumber.

8/27/03

A Different kind of Father

2007-01-08T10:43:00.000-08:00

Stephen Frueh

His “teacher- daughter” called him the ‘un-father.’ “Is that an insult?” he said. “I mean, should I feel put down by that?” “No,” she said. “It’s just you. You’re the un- father. I tell my friends that you are unlike any father I’ve ever met.”

He was unsure and uneasy. Had he failed his children? He thought maybe he had an idea of what his daughter meant. But he didn’t want to assume anything so he said “tell me more about the un- father.”

“Dad, when I was growing up you did things that my friends fathers never did. Like the times you took us out of school in the middle of the day to go see the whales. You said it would be too crowded on the weekend and besides, who knew if the whales would be there on Saturday.

Or the time you confronted my third grade teacher who had given me a ‘C’ on an art project. You said “art should not be graded. Art is a creative activity in all aspects. No one should receive a grade for art, but especially a third grader shouldn’t.’ My friends were all listening and silently clapping.

You didn’t agree with dress codes or curfews or grades or anything else that taught conformity. You were always saying, and I can still hear you saying, ‘that’s ridiculous!’ when I brought home my report card. And, that’s another thing. When in middle school I got straight A’s you didn’t congratulate me. You said, ‘Is that what you wanted?’ I said yes. Then you said, ‘well good for you!’ You thought that if we were going to be graded then we should set our own standards. I tell my students that and they laugh and then I tell them to decide at the beginning what kind of grade they want and what kind of grade they think they’ll make.

I loved your stories. You didn’t read stories very often but you told us stories every night. I know you made them up as you went along because you’d often ask us to tell you what happened last night. If we couldn’t remember, you’d say, ‘well I guess it wasn’t a very interesting story and then you’d start another. Sometimes, when it was late, you’d fall asleep in the middle of a sentence as you sat on the floor between our beds. We’d get out of bed and gently lower you to the floor and throw a blanket over you. I remember one night when you were still there in the morning. The first thing you said was ‘where were we?’

My friends liked coming to our house because you would stop what you were doing and talk to us. Our house didn’t always look good, lawns needed mowing, paint job not finished, but you spent time on the front lawn listening to our stories and laughing with us.

And the stuff you brought home when you were painting houses. All my friends loved the day you drove in with a car full of clothes. You were working for a lady who compulsively, I guess, bought a lot of clothes and you told her about us. She loaded your car with dresses, shoes, purses, custom jewelry, scarves and other things and you came into the driveway beeping your horn so that our friends on the block all came running.

What a time we had! Six, seven and eight year old girls dressed in expensive evening wear, high heals, shiny new patent leather purses, scarves flying in the wind.

When mom worried that we’d ruin them you said, ‘that’s what they’re for, to ruin.’

I take you now, dad, my ‘un-father’ into all I do and every time conformity or compliance wants to bully me into being who I clearly am not, I simply murmur ‘hi dad.’

that peace will come

2006-12-19T15:21:00.000-08:00

Andrew Frueh

in our halls of wisdom where
our leaders with their fists declare
that peace will come
that peace will come

in a land so far away
with flowing blood and screams they pray
that peace will come
that peace will come

in languid comfort while we mope
we writhe and choke on empty hope
that peace will come
that peace will come

I yelled at my little boy today

2006-12-06T10:35:00.000-08:00

Kelly Tinker

I yelled at my little boy today

harsh and unforgiving.

We were late

he for school, I for work.

He didn't like his pants...

I knew he was struggling

reminded myself to be patient

even hugged him

tried to ease his concern.

He said his friends were going to laugh at him.

But standing outside the car

chapped in the dry desert winter

my patience was paused

my temper was lost

I was almost consciously trying to scare him.

I pulled him then, roughly, and stopped abruptly

two boys, one sniffling, one simmering

and I made him sit, on my lap in the cold

against the wall on the way to his class.

Our rosy cheeks touched with my head on his shoulder.

"We're not allowed to do this." he said

as the classroom doors shut

leaving the playground empty.

I took a deep breath, held him tight

full of shame, and replied

"I think it'll be okay."

Zipped - a poem after Kelly Tinker

2006-12-02T12:09:00.000-08:00

Andrew Frueh

Telling Kelly's story "Zipped" as a poem
---

Sitting at the foot of the stair
and on the phone
with the doctor's office drone
reflecting off the walls of my brain
while above childs hands slide around on my scalp
and probe to reveal the source of my pain
a seam is discovered
and as it's uncovered
the children say "Dad, it's a Zipper!"

It's a shell that I wear
that they peel away
and drop in a heap at the top of the stair
then we three children descend
in games I'd long forgotten to play
until suddenly later that day
the world of grown-ups sent their thunderbolt singing
an abrupt siren's song on a telephone ringing

and so we run back up the stair
to see if after a whole day of playing
that old rubber grown-up suit
is something that I am still able to wear

Clarion

2006-12-01T12:43:00.000-08:00

Jason Naylor

Clarion

Come friend, and heed with me our hearts' command.
Take up what tools your worthy will may wield
and join me in this fierce and dauntless cry:
We live! And living, we shall see the light
of destiny illume the earthly forms,
the cool and dusty remnants of that spark
whose heat drew stars from out the waiting void
to fret the firmament with golden fire,
composing epic pageantry to match
the promise of the fecund silence from
whence being's lineage it needs must trace;
those forms and habitations wherein dwell
the breath which moving wakes the idle clay
and renders matter sensate, thus to turn
reflection on it's very self, but lo;
nor on the quickened forms alone shall fall
this light, but also on the flame within:
that by prism, lens and glass these sources two
redoubled may dispel the dark that looms
and set in plain relief the boundaries of
one more viewpoint; another scrap of truth.

Though our arms be but shades of heroes' limbs,
our tongues mere puppets 'pared to poets' pens,
our tools rough-hewn, our hands too coarse by half,
our hearts intemperate, our eyes purblind,
our souls, our instruments, our minds no match
for legends' legacy outstripping time's
indiff'rence, serving us with wisdom's stead,
an eminence whose awful tower becks
and dares we fit our frames it to surmount.
Though these indictments mayhap be but true,
yes, these and else, which, on hearing, mean ears
might deign admit despair; yes, though thus bound
yet, strive, my friend! Yet speak! Yea, strive and speak
and hew and shape and beat in time and seek
and thrill and play 'til understanding breaks
upon the shrouded rim of ignorance
a rosy-fingered dawn. Yes, friend, say on!
Say on, for though our age of brass may shine
without the gilded glory of the gods,
still, our purpose holds! Our kindly muse, her
cups flowing fresh with meads of Arcady,
yet slakes imagination's thirst with draughts
that sating also stir more yearning still;
her voice resounding clear with hearty hail,
our sometimes faltering but finally
unyielding will calls to the cause of life,
reminding us that now's the instant when
an opportunity to make our way
before us stands awaiting nothing more
than our acceptance of the proffered prize,
our willingness to step into the breach
and blaze what radiance impermanent
we share in service of the highest good.

Clutter

2006-11-29T14:14:00.001-08:00

Carole Free

"Oh, my God, I can't stand this. Look at this mess!! If I ever bring home another thing I want you to shoot me. Where does all this stuff come from? I'd swear that some of this junk is fornicating and giving birth in the corners. Man! I'd love to have all the money back. Maybe I'll have a garage sale...Make a few bucks. Oh, Lord, remember the last one? I schlepped the stuff about a hundred times, I think. Loaded it in boxes and baags to get it out of the house then unloaded it to sort and price it then carried it all to the front yard and ran around putting up signs. Sat in the hot sun all day dickering with idiots about 25 cent jeans and then when it was all over I had to box it all back up again and carry it back to the garage, where it sat. For my trouble, I got 50 bucks and a bad sunburn. Then, I had to load it in the car and drive it to the salvation army (they don't pick up anymore). I had to unload it there again, 'cause the guy was busy and had an attitude. I bought some stuff while I was there, though, got a real deal. I can remember saying to you then that if I ever talked about giving a garage sale again I wanted you to tie me up until the feeling passed. So, what are we going to do with this stuff? Lets just dump it all, or better yet, just set fire to this garage and get rid of it all at once. Bring that big trash can over here and lets just start dumping. Wait a second, don't throw that out, it's still good and I might be able to use it...No, wait...why don't you just go into the house and let me do this by myself, I have to look everything over and sort out the good stuff...no sense tossing anything we might need soon...Thanks, Honey...."

A stranger

2006-11-29T14:13:00.000-08:00

Carole Free

There was a time, years ago, when she opened her door to a stranger. Blue eyes on fire, hitting her like a force from head to toe. Her blood turned to 7-up in her veins. She was unable to eat for several days, unable to think for several years. He was a Magic Man. He flamed through her life like a comet. She felt alive, transcended, dancing with him in the supermarket, in the surf, in the clouds, in her mind. She always remembered the first night she opened her door to that stranger, during years she lay alone in their bed. Listening for the sound of him coming home. Waiting with her stomach in a knot. Hoping he'd bring the Magic back. Knowing, little by little, he wouldn't...he couldn't. He finally moved on, leaving her feeling like a used paper cup, leaking magic. She remembered that first night, opening her door to a stranger. Blue eyes on fire. She remembered that last night. Flat blue eyes, as she closed the door on a stranger.

Zipped

2006-11-28T21:51:00.000-08:00

11-15-06
Kelly Tinker

Zipped.

I discovered something, just a while back. A small, sore spot on the very top of my head, right where the axis would emerge should you run one through the exact center of my body. It is undetectable to the human eye, and no raised or irritated area is distinguishable by touch...it's cover was only compromised when an ordinary itch sprung up too close to the site, and a clumsy hand fell where the secret had been hidden.
An interesting find perhaps, but at the time was of little concern. It is nothing new that in my haste I could have stumbled or bumped some unseen obstacle, bruises and nicks are discovered almost daily, and in the most random of spots...their story lost in a rush against the clock. This was just another small casualty of too much to do, with less time then is needed to do it. Easily forgotten.
5 days later I found it again, just as tender and just as localized as when I had first happened upon it. It was such a unique pain, and in such a small area; it felt as though someone had ever so lightly tapped a nail with a hammer, its point nestled snugly on the crown of my head.
I decided to investigate further...what incident that leaves behind such a distinctively isolated zing could possibly go undetected? It were as though someone was twisting a shish-kabob skewer into my skull, slowly but never letting up. My wife was called in for questioning.
"Feel my scalp."
"What? You're disgusting. Get away from me."
"Not until I get some answers. Go ahead, feel it. Don't be bashful."
The Feeling commenced, albeit reluctantly. I guided her hand to the afflicted area.
"And such a lovely scalp it is. What am I feeling for?"
"Shhh. Wait a sec. It's like right...there..."
The spot sent it's newly familiar ZING.
"...do you feel anything?"
"I feel absolutely nothing."
"Nothing? It really hurts right there."
"Let me see."
She firmly wrenched my head around under the light until I was partially headlocked.
"I don't see anything. No red, no bump, no bug bite."
"Really? You're sure?"
"No, I am lying to you. Are we done?"
"Yeah."

She released me from her half nelson and went back about her business. You would think this would be good news, but I was less than comforted. Nothing? How could there be nothing? It was now that the curious little wonderings crept around my brain, posing quiet but disconcerting explanations of my newfound condition. I dismissed my paranoia induced scenarios to the best of my abilities, rationalizing again with less threatening justifications. A careless whack from one of the kids? A miscalculated bump when exiting the car? A parasitic worm boring it's way from inside my skull?
Okay, so the rational thoughts were hard to come by, and I have seen too many movies. Still, I tried to ignore my increasingly aggressive hypochondria, but I kept nervously prodding the area waiting for signs of improvement, some sliver of positive enforcement. Another 2 days passed with no change, and the worrying was affecting my work, my ability to focus.
I guess I was always worrying, come to think of it. Maybe this was just a physical manifestation of the same old everything. Would the mortgage check clear this month? Will next months presentation go smoothly? Smooth enough to land me the position? Will my engine's transmission be able to hold on long enough for my next quarterly bonus? What about my family? Am I too much "hard-nosed dad" and not enough patient, loving father?
It was this same kind of anxious worry that was permeating my very being, and my new physical pain was just testament to that fact. I am not a hypochondriac, or least I never was when I was younger. 5 years ago, this wouldn't even show up on my radar, barely a detail in the landscape that is life...and now it had consumed me, almost completely, until all I could think about was this potentially malignant addition to my already unsound core.
I tried once more to extract some comfort, some gentle sensibility from my wife one morning on her way out the door to a day full of meetings and errands, but to no avail. I don't blame her though, here she is working just as hard as I to make sure that the life we created for ourselves was not done so in vain, and my incessant whine had surely reached decibels of an ear splitting proportion. Her only suggestion was this, as the door closed behind her:

"Call the doctor and schedule an appointment. Maybe they can get you in this morning, after you drop the kids off."

She was right, of course. I don't like doctors very much, and the idea of one either confirming my worst possible fears or overlooking some crucial factor and falsely issuing a clean bill of health does little to ease the anxiety. Then again, I couldn't possibly be faring any worse then I was in dealing with my own devices. Quackery or not, no peace of mind had, or would, come from my finger tracing my scalp for days on end.
Seated on the foot of our stairs, I made the call. A last minute cancellation presented the opening, and I could come in after dropping the kids at their schools. I was on hold for a confirmation, still circling the spot with my finger when my 5 year old son laid his hands on my shoulders. He had heard my conversations with his mother, and now with the doctor's office, and was here to offer his expertise on all things "owie". I let him search around while I sat on hold, his little fingers navigating through my short hair and his eager eyes focused hard in his examination. Within seconds my daughter had caught wind of his investigation, and a new pair of hands, those of a 3 year old, were also combing my head with a careful and gentle scrutiny.

The hold music must have been remarkably effective, or perhaps it was the combination of Tenor Sax and toddler head massage, for soon I was drifting euphorically through walking bass lines and Kenny G sax licks. Their little fingers didn't even know what they were supposed to be looking for anymore, and had just begun rubbing along at their Daddy's fuzzy head by the time the nurse came back on the phone. She was offering a 9:30 appointment confirmation, but I wasn't listening...one of the hands on my head had discovered something, something new. It was my son, and I knew by the way his hands slowed, and the way he felt at only one place that something was...different. His tone was curious.
"Daddy..."
The woman on the phone was still speaking, trying to illicit a reaction before disconnecting the call, but still my focus was elsewhere.
"Yeah, dude..."
He didn't respond, just kept feeling, and I heard his breathing change as his fingers wrapped under a little lip, a small fold, just behind my right ear. As he applied his curious pressure, the fold gave way to a small seam, and the line traced all the way back up to where my little sore spot was located, separating slightly as he followed along. The sensation resembled the way it feels to peel a sticky arm off of a desk.
"Daddy..."
His voice was shaky and unsure, and in his initial reflex he lifted his hands, taking a step back up the stairs. My daughter, aware of these new developments, quickly filled his place. Somehow, my little girl is this fearless explorer, eager to investigate and perfectly comfortable with bugs and slime and anything out of the ordinary. My son, meanwhile, maintains a much more squeamish demeanor and is this adorable little chicken of a boy. This was no exception, and he watched uneasily as his little sister worked confidently to explain this unique turn of events. Bright enough to know that this was worth identifying, still young enough to not quite understand the magnitude of the situation’s implications.
Her little fingers slid easily under the fold in the skin, and as she pulled, leaning with most of her 35 pound body-weight, the seam separated and revealed a large flap, about 3/4" thick and resembling the wing of a small stingray, tucked into the right rear portion of my scalp and sealed together, it's seam virtually undetectable. As she was pulling, the soft doughy skin still separating, I could feel this strange pressure…I suppose the way you would imagine it would feel if your outer skin shell were being stretched and ripped like a piece of latex, or like rolled out pizza dough.
Her pulling and intrigue gave way to something very peculiar, something very...new. Once we had separated the seams, exposing the ray shaped flap of "extra" skin, we came to a new milestone...a much more, shall we say, inorganic one. By this time I had picked them both up and hustled back up the stairs, my skin flap dangling terrifyingly within my peripheral vision, and I was inspecting the area myself, in my bathroom mirror. My initial reaction was one of unbelievable fright, I mean, I was looking at myself wearing a poorly attached skin mask of...myself. But what the fear gave way to was something different, something deeper. Somehow there we were, my two small children and I, witnessing some strange confirmation of my pre-pubescent and adolescent notions that I was different, I was special. It didn't occur to me at the time that perhaps "special" might only mean deformed and potentially damaged retarded goods, but even if it had... here I was, different all the same.
I was holding a handheld mirror directly over my head, kids on both sides of me on the bathroom counter, when we found it. Hard to see at first, it was tucked about an inch into the corner where the seams ended,(incidentally, the very epicenter where I had first felt the pain) and it was flesh colored. My son was the first to identify it, as he was responsible for holding open the area while I tried to maneuver the little mirror into a position that could help present some much needed answers. When he spoke, all the hesitation and uncertainty in his voice had given way to a much more confident, curious tone, and it was oddly comforting. At least someone was behaving maturely about all of this.
"Dad...It's a Zipper."
Those words will ring out forever in my head, I can hear them today just as vividly as if he were saying them now...

It's a Zipper.

I started trying to diffuse the situation, quickly working to rationalize the irrational to whom I assumed were going to be two very distraught little beings, but the words that were coming out of my mouth were unintelligible at best. Things like "well, when you get older, these things can happen" might have made their way into my ramble, and soon my frantic justifications dissolved into little more then a whispered confusion, and I was lost, thoughts reeling. My head began to spin and my knees were just about to give way when my little girl gently took my face in her tiny hands and, looking straight into my eyes with an intuition the likes of which I have never seen, just said "Shhhhh".
She kept right there with me, head in her hands, eyes in mine, while the blood returned to my brain and extremities. I could feel my son's fingers grab hold of the zipper tab, and before I could protest he was pulling.
Jesus, he was pulling! I hadn't even had time to think, to deny the severity of the situation to them, or perhaps more importantly, to myself. What would they discover? What would they see? In seconds they would expose one of a myriad of potential horrific outcomes, and I hadn't even had the opportunity to digest the situation, to attempt to save face on any level. I was vulnerable and exposed for them both to see.
He started slowly, carefully pulling and revealing more and more of the zipper, which he traced from my head on down my spine like a child’s pajama suit, stopping just before my buttocks. When he cleared the nape of my neck he began to pull harder, faster, until he came to a stop at the base of my spinal chord. All three of us were completely silent for what felt like a full minute, and by the time my son spoke my head was hung low in disbelief and an odd sense of shame.
"What does it feel like?" he asked.
I hadn't even bothered to pay attention, honestly. My son just unzipped the zipper that ran the length of my body and I hadn't even begun to process it. I reached behind and placed my hand on the small of my back, now open and forming a fleshy V. My fingers slipped inside and felt what seemed like another smooth, dry surface, surprisingly. As I lifted my hand further and the zipper opened wider I felt a cool chill run up my body as though I were removing a jacket that was put on backwards. In the mirror, I could see my skin gathering around my shoulders and neck, my little one's staring on in awe.

Here we go...

I brought my arm back around front and reached up slowly, watching my skin loosely bunch and fold like a man-suit. I grabbed hold of the upper left side of my chest and, gripping hard, began to pull. My skin seemed to slide forward effortlessly, pulling easily off of my shoulder. I reached up and grabbed my forehead and pulled again, unsheathing quickly whatever new layer lie underneath. Turning away from the mirror, I began to pull at the rest of my shell, unwrapping my flesh from my body. My arms slid out from their tube sock like covers, leaving them inside-out and empty, like a deflated balloon. There I was, standing in my bathroom, pulling off my skin, my soft, spongy exoskeleton, like a wet suit.
I noticed my new hands first, they were small, fragile...like a child’s. My shoulders were bony and narrow, and my chest was thin and under developed. I was running my hands over a new body that was virtually identical to my 5 year old son’s, except that they were my hands, on my body, and my son was still seated on my bathroom countertop, speechless and unable to move. I turned around and saw the pile that was my original body, lifeless and crumpled like a wet towel. One leg was still cuffed to my real body’s ankle like inside out blue jeans, and I kicked in disgust until it shook free. The idea of me, my 25 year old flesh, lying soggy and mushed on the linoleum floor, was nauseating and overwhelming. As I moved to turn away I caught my reflection in the mirror.
The person in the mirror was me, but a me that had been a long time gone. I was looking at a new old version of myself, as young as 5 or 6, standing beside my 2 small children. My head barely cleared the tile back-splash of the counter and sink, and I could see myself only from the neck up. My skin was soft and new, without wrinkles or sun damage, my hands were uncalloused and clean. I looked to my chest, and my body was hairless and pink. I could recognize my 25 year old self only in my eyes, the one indication that I had any experience beyond T-ball and Fraggle Rock. Did kids even watch Fraggle Rock anymore? What was going on?
I peeled my eyes away from my reflection and met back with the inquisitive stares of my children. I was scanning for an explanation, some sort of answer or consolation, but it was them who consoled me.
“Daddy!” came the cry from their mouths. Arms open and all smiles, they hopped off the counter and embraced the now miniaturized version of their father. I had so expected them to reel in terror or disgust, repulsed by the thought of a skin shedding human, but I guess I had overlooked some fundamental rules of childhood. I suppose it is only through learned experiences that one determines the “real”, the possible, from the “fantastic”, the impossible. Everything is new when your experiencing it for the first time, and being a kid is so full of new experiences that the brain is still formulating it’s own perception of reality, one that is subject to radical change. Another rule of the little guys is simply that so long as their loved ones are okay, are alive and unhurt, the rest, all the details, can fall by the wayside. My son, who obviously had experienced enough in life to know that I probably should not be shedding my skin, was so preoccupied with my well being, my safety, that I was able to emerge from the whole thing 20 years my own junior and he was willing to let it slide. I was still okay, I was alive, and he could still see me in my eyes.

Our first order of business was simple. Hug it out. I don’t know how long we locked in our triangulated embrace, but I do know that we didn’t let up until we were all feeling a great deal better about the current status quo. When we let go, it was my daughter who decided to guide the beginning days activities...she proposed a tea party. There we were, Father, Daughter and Son, aged 5, 3, and 5, respectively, sipping imaginary tea in a table big enough to accommodate us, and enjoying our new lazy morning. My son threw out the second idea, and we spent the next hour hiding and seeking in spaces only big enough for 50 pound bodies. We dressed in child sized costumes, made paper airplanes, built blanket forts and got lost in marathon sessions of Lego’s and Linkin’ Logs. The morning flew by, eating, laughing, playing, and by lunch we had just settled down for some much needed Star Wars when the phone rang. I had let the day go, forgetting life and responsibility, and it was only now that I snapped back to some shred of reality. It was my wife, on her way home for her lunch break, curious as to why the kids had missed school, and why I was still at home. She would be home in less then 10 minutes…

I hadn’t even hung up the phone before we were charging back up the stairs and into the bathroom, hoping only to find that my adulthood would slide on as easily as it had come off.

The ones they came - 2

2006-11-28T21:46:00.000-08:00

Andrew Frueh

This is a story I'm working on. The way I write is to just keep a journal so I can see the way the writing evolves. The numbers before each entry are dates -- 20061024 is October 24th, 2006.

This is kind of scary to post this because it is messy,,, but I gotta start the ball rolling -- how else can expect anyone else to bear their... well. Anyway from here on out I'll just be posting more "normal" story roughs, but at least there's something. So, here it is.

========
20061024

Salo Meshant pulled the couch away from the wall. The young woman who lived in the apartment stood behind him watching. "Yea," she said, "right back there. Sorry about the couch, but I was just trying to hide it until it got fixed."
As Salo pushed the couch further away and to the side, the smooth, gray square seemingly set into the otherwise beautiful wood floor became visible.

========
20061025

The gray square was a failed particle tile. The rest of the floor seemed to be okay, wood panelling wall to wall, but he asked her to be sure.
"Yup, that's the only spot."
Salo bent down and ran a hand over the smooth surface of the dead tile. There was a dent, about as deep as his finger was thick. It had an odd shape, three parralel grooves like little knuckles as if a tiny fist had made the dent. Salo's eyes happened to fall on the foot of the couch -- a bulbous end, with the matching three knuckles. Salo looked up at the woman, then at the couch foot. She got a guilty smile, "yea, the party got a little roudy."

Note: I'm not sure where to go with this. The girl is selling (has sold) her body to a very rich and very old being. The exchange will consist of her organic brain being put into a bod (droud body) and the rich baing's brain being put into her body. This nice apartment is part of the arrangement (rent is covered until the exchange -- and until some period of time thereafter). Her responsibility up to the exchange ist o be as healthy as possible. Any breech of that is a breech of contract. So she cannot intake "toxics" (drugs, alcohol, etc.) -- if she does she loses all. I would think that sex would also be a "breech."
So if she and Salo begin to fall in love, she would be forced to choose between a very comfortable and extended life without Salo (since Salo is an "organic" or "bio" and would likely not be interested in her if she becomes a droid -- not to mention the physical woman he is in love with being possesed by some old merchant) and a messy mortal life with Salo. Hmmm. Potential.

========
20061028

"Nice spread you have here," Salo said as he took the tile puller from his toolcase.
"Yeah, it's real fancy, "she replied. Salo watched her looking around as she said that -- like she was admiring the place for the first time -- kind of in awe. [(She needs to be more cinical here, not so nieve)] Something about her seemed out of place in this obviously very expensive apartment. "Maybe she's got a sugar-dady" Salo thought to himself.

========
20061029

Salo set the tile on the floor, pushed a button, the tool came free from the tile. He picked up the dead tile and flipped it over to [look at] the back.
"You're in luck, I've got a replacement in the truck." As Salo stood up he groaned and his knee cracked and popped a little.
"Aren't you a little young for those sounds?" Tia [asked].
"Yeah, messed up my knee roughhousing with some friends a few years ago." Salo swung his leg back and forth and it made little complaints. "Not too bad, but it gets stiff every now and then." He walked toward the door with the tile under his arm. "Be back in a minute."
As Salo closed the door behind him, Tia thought about this young man with his creeky leg. He seemed like a nice guy, and pretty much healthy. But his body was already creeping toward failure. She wondered if he though about his body rotting out from under his. Did he worry about getting old like she did? Did he think of himself as being trapped in sack of flesh that each day was dying?
And then, of course, she thought of her arrangement with old Rondello. Did this workman realize that all this fancy stuff, this big apartment, was all paid for because of her arrangement? Would he be interested? Would he be discusted? Woud he care? If he knew that she had sold her body?
The body was just a vehicle htat you drove around in anyway. And in a few weeks, she'd be driving around in a top of the line mocel. Gone would be the worries of her body getting old while her mind stayed young. Rondello could have her flesh-sack. The dirty old geezer could prance around in her sexy young body all he liked. She didn't care. She wanted to live long. There was so much to see, so much to know. And without the constraints of a biological body, she could take her time getting to know the galaxy.

Salo came back in with a tile in hand and headed back to the hole in the floor.
"Can I get you something to drink?" Tia asked. "I've got 10 different kinds of fruit juice and the best alcohol money can buy."
"Glass of water would be fine thanks." Salo replied. Tia disapeared around the corner and Salo attached the tile tool to the face of the new tile. As she returned with his water, he was dropping the tile gently into the hole in the floor. As it engaged, there was a satisfied sounding chirp and Salo removed the tool from the tile. As he did, the new tile and its neighbors turned from gray to rich, golden wood to match the rest of the floor.
"Beautiful. Thank-you." Tia said smiling.
"It's nothing, really... do this all day long." Salo said as he closed up the small case he brought with him. "Besides, the tools do all the work."
"You know you could just say you're welcome." Tia gave him a wry and correcting look.
"Yea..." he looked down for a moment. Then looking up, their eyes met there was an akward silence -- neither of them could look away. Suddenly, the silence broke as the doorbell rang.
"Hold on," Tia started for the door. "Oh, here's your water."
"Thank you" Salo said taking it. As he did, their hands touched for a moment and again they both paused.
"Exc... excuse me" Tia tore herself away "I just need to..."
"No it's okay..." Salo siad quietly -- she had already turned away.
As the door opened, a large, bronze colored droid strode in.
"Goodday Tia" It bellowed deeply.
"Goodday Sir" Tia replied.
The droid turned sharply noticing Salo standing to the side. With large graceful strides the droid came up to Salo. It eyed his tool case, his outfit, and seemed to size him up.
"And Goodday to you... Mr.?"
"Salo Sir... Salo Meshant." Salo felt uncomfortable and intimidated by the large droid.
"What exactly are you doing here today Mr. Meshant?"
"Uh, surface Sir... a dead floor tile, but it's fixed now."
"Really." The droid said flatly.
Salo could see Tia's worried face behind the big droid. Salo now understood, or thought he did, the relationship here. He also now understood where her money came from. He guessed by the look on her face that the big droid wouldn't be terribly pleased by her "roudy" party.
"Yes Sir. But very normal, sometimes they just fail."
"Yes of course" The droid sounded less interested now. "Well, you really must excuse us Mr. Meshant. Tia and I have some business..."
"Of course," Salo picked up his case, walked past the droid and took a gulp of water before handing the glass to Tia. Again, their fingers met for a just a moment. "Thanks." And Salo walked out the door.

========
20061103

Salo went on about his business, but the memory of Tia did not fade. His fingertips were still haunted with the chance touch even two weeks later as he found himself back at Tia's building for a different job.
As he walded through the lobby he pulled his pal out of his pocket to check the address -- the screen [on the pal] said

Sandia Robles
13.15, Tamlin Towers

"Thirteen dot fifteen" Salo siad to himself as he stepped into the lift. As the lift accelerated upward, his thoughts fell back on Tia. His fingertips tingled again as the lift slowed to a stop. The door opened and Salo walked down the hall counting off the odd-numbered doors on the left until he got to number 15. He pushed the call-button and waited.
As the door opened with a "Yes?... how can I... oh! hello," Salo managed to choke up a "Wh... what?" though the mix of surprize and happyness at seeing Tia's face in the doorway.
"Mr. Meshant isn't it?" she asked.
"Yes." Salo answered "Shit. Sorry, wrong door."
"Nice to see you too," Tia said with her wry smile.
"No, uh, I mean hi." He was fumbling a bit. "It's just I meant to go to thirteen dot fifteen."
"Close. This is twelve dot fifteen. Right door, wrong floor."
"That's funny... um, how uh... how have you been?" Salo was nervous with excitement but trying to be cool.
"I'm well." Tia said calmly. "Would you like to come in?"
"No... uh yes, but I have to go up to thirteen-fifteen... they'll be waiting." Salo stood for a moment uncomfortable torn between the invitation and the job. "I, uh... I could come down after I'm done though" he added nervously " I don't have another job after this one and I..."
"Sure," Tia cut him off in his rambling, "that would be nice."
"Oh, okay." Salo was smiling from ear to ear "I'll uh... see you in a bit then." He turned and headed back down the hall to the lift. "Funny, one floor off" he muttered to himself. What luck! If it was luck. Had his subconscious done it intentionally? He had not been thinking of, and didn't even remember for that matter, Tia's apartment number. But here he was. Fate was giving him another chance to see her. He stepped onto the lift to go up just one floor.

========
20061107

The Sandia Robles job was typically simple yet annoying. "Somehow" the program for the floor got stuck in a mode that was oscillating ([every few] minutes) between hard, high-polish, black and white checkers and a soft, spongy, deep-blue material (which Salo hadn't seen before). Sandia was a nervous droid that stood way too close to Salo as he was working -- which would have made him exremely irritable if he hadn't been so obsessed with thoughts of Tia. In fact, Salo had to do his best not to laugh as the anxious little droid complained obsessivly.
"It's very inconvienient... and quite distracting... You see! There it goes again! Oh dear. I really don't know what happened... but I can't take it much longer... will it be fixed soon?"
It was fixed soon (Salo thought in record tiome), and as soon as it was, Salo was saying goodbye to the obnoxious client and closing the door behind him.
Now it was back into the lift and down to twelve dot fifteen and destiny.

Salo touched the call-pad on the fated number fifteen. As he waited, his intestines slipped and slid over each oter like a sack of worms. His thoughts were flying by so quickly that he couldn't catch hold of even one to help stabilize him. And the blood was pounding in his ears filling his head with a ringing of anziety. But the orcestra of noise fell silent as the door opened and Tia's warm face appeared from behind it.
"That was fast," she said plainly.
"Wha..." Salo was still emerging from the daze of his boy-like crush. "Oh, yeah. The job was preyy simple, just bad programming."
Tia stepped aside and motioned for him to come in.

---

Notes:
Old Rondello was a woman not a man. It should still be refered to as "Sir" -- a term of respect which is gender neutral in this world.
It might be nice to include a scene between Tia and Rondello -- maybe after Salo's first visit. That would allow Rondello to lecture Tia about "breech of contract" -- due to Rondello's suspiscions about Tia having roudy parties (remember the broken tile). An initial meeting would also help establish a relationship between them.
Then, I think there should be another meeting between them... perhaps another interruption of some nice time between Salo and Tia. That way there can be a conversation between Tia an dRondello about Salo... something like
"Tia, have you told him yet?"
"No..."
"I think you shouldn't tell him Tia. It would only confuse and hurt him."
This being cover -- Rondello likes the idea of Salo being in love with the woman she's about to become.

========
20061109

Notes:
This is tricky. This scene is Tia & Salo's first real conversation. In it I want certain issues to come up -- like the issue of Rondello having been a woman. And, of course, the big issue of body exchange. I need to know (and need to show) how these characters feel about the brain-body connection. Tia obviously feels it's less important as she is in an arrangement with Rondello -- though I don't think she'll tell Salo about that. I think Salo is more inclined not to like the idea -- maybe ge would even call it discusting/disturbing. And his adversity to the issue may be what causes Tia to keep quiet about it.
There's also the love interest. Salo is becomming enamored with Tia, But I'm not sure she feels the same way. I think she likes him, there's something about him that's interesting/attractive to her -- more than just that he finds her attractive. But, I don't think she is falling for him the way he is for her. Even if she was heading in that direction, I think his opinon of the body-swap process is a big turn off for her -- kind of an insult really. And I think this is the reason she is able to be sort of indifferent as she goes off to her proceedure knowing full well that he will show up after she's gone and think that Tondello is her (because it's her body still).
As for that later scene... Salo may be in love (or lust at least), but he isn't blind or stupid, and he realizes the reality [20061113:I'm not sure I agree with this... what would make him realize?]. I think that he will obvoiusly be shocked and uncomfortable, but I don't know if he will just march out. I imagine him to be more likely to just sort of collapse with confusion -- maybe with Rondello-Tia holding him and comforting him. Maybe during the shock-moment Rondello could ask him something like "What were you really in love with Salo? Tia's mind, or Tia's body?" This serves to confuse him (hence the collapse) as he realizes that he doesn't really know the answer. I see the story ending on that scene of Salo in Rondello's arms sort of broken.
Before this final scene, I'd like to have a scene of Tia (in her droid body) getting on a ship to begin her galactic trabels. As she does, I imagine her stopping with the cliche one foot on the ship (the last step), pausing and looking over her shoulder and feeling guilty about what whe did to Salo. A sort of "sorry Salo..." moment.
That all sounds fine -- and those scenes will actually be easier to write as they have something driving them. My problem right now is their current casual conversation. It still feels a bit forced. What can I do to make it more natural? What do Salo & Tia need as characters to help get this conversation in the direction I want it to go?

========
20061110

Salo stepped into the apartment and looking around was reminded of the expensive furnishings that somehow didn't really fit Tia. He of course noticed the floor -- which was no longer set to wood but was now a deep and luminous green which seemed to have a gentle movement to it.
Tia noticeing his eyes on the floor, said, "You should take your shoes off... it's really relaxing."
Salo did take off his shoes. The floor was slightly warm and was gently moving under his feet ina way that was very relaxing.
"Go ahead and sit down, relax." Tia gestured to the various chairs and couch in the middleof the room. "Can I get you something to drink? Don't be shy -- I've got really... well, everything. And I don't pay for any of it. Really, just name something."
"What about..." Salo stalled for a moment. Most of his friends probably ask for pabo. It was expensive (for working class people) and though it was strong, it didn't give you a hang over. But Salo flashed to a night a few years ago when a high-class man had bought him a drink called Tircy. It came in a small glass, was very dark in color, and had a flavor that filled his whole head. Salo had since considered buying himself a glass, but it was just too expensive and he was just too practical. "Do you have Tircy?"
Tia's eyebrows went up. "A fancy man!" she smiled, "I thought for sure you'd ask for pabo." Salo lowereed his eyes feeling a little embarased. "Go on," Tia gestured toward the sitting area again, "sit down. I'll be back in a minute."
Salo walked over to the nearest seat, lowered himself into it, and let the rolling motion of the floor relax his feet.
In a moment, Tia returned with his drink. It was a small glass, though a bit bigger than the one from his memory, and as he sipped the dark liquid his head was filled with a flavor that he might of described as sweet and woody. It would have, in fact, been very difficult to describe because it was entirely unlike any of the flavors that were common to him. It was wonderful. He leaned back in his chair and let out a gentle sigh, and for a moment he was lost in the aroma that [poured] out of his nostrils as he [exhaled].
"I take it you like your drink?" Tia asked playfully.
"Oh yes, very much... thank you." Then, noticing that Tia was empty-handed, and feeling a little akward drinking alone, he asked "you're not having anything?"
"No" she replied, "I... I don't drink".
Salo looked puzzled. "Why all the..."
"All the alcohol?" She finished, "I entertain a lot of high-profile guests... like I said, it's not like I'm paying for it."
"I don't want to pry..." Salo very much did want to pry, "but does all this have to do with that droid that came in when I was here fixing the floor?"

========
20061111

Notes:
Remember the gender issue -- this means you'll have to use the object pronoun "it" unless you are dealing with a human or a "fleshbrain" droid (as opposed to a "chipbrain" droid). The trouble is that we (humans) differentiate between "intelligent" i.e. sentient lifeforms by using gendered pronouns. The connotation of "it" is something less intelligent, less sentient. For example calling a human child "it" is seen as making the child less human. We humans actually have a whole set of special human pronouns (which can be used for things that need to be understood to be more like us -- using him/her for a dog to make that relationship closer).
Look at these pronouns and their "objectifying" wquivalants.

anthropomorphic objectifying

him/her (he/she) it
who/whom it
you ? you (if intelligence is recognized)
me/I this
us/we these
they/them those

---

Sqrl had a good idea -- why not just use people's names.... This solution isn't perfect though, as in casual speech it is easier to have shorthand. Using full names all the time gets to be pretty redundant. Also sometimes it is just not practical to use a name. Example:
1) When Salo called, he asked you to give him his keys back.
2) When Salo called, Salo asked you to give Salo Salo's keys back.

Damn!

[20061113: I am avoiding this issue for now and simply using gendered pronouns]

========
20061112

A poem

Each of us a glory-god be
Through Manifest did Fathers decree
That greatness was our Destiny

Unholy knives did fly obscene
Spilling crimson blood on fields of green
To feed the glorious future machine

And still this story we're not told
Instead the products we are sold
Will ever this sad dream grow old

So we may know the day
When the truth can be the way

========
20061113

Notes:
For starters, the story of Tia, Salo, and Rondello (is there a first name?) is set in the world of Earth after the Reclamation. The cities are dense but efficient and environmentally clean. There are also small towns, but there is no urban sprawl. In terms of the ecosystem, this world is more like the Earth before the industrial revolution. Raw, natural ecosystems account for the largest percentage of the Earth's surface. This is not to say that the ecosystem is not managed. On the contrary, there is extensive ecosystem management. The focus is not so much on trying to recreate Earth's original pattern of diversity and density. It is more about haveing the greatest overall health of the biosphere -- though sometimes this does mean mimicking the original conditions.
The business end of this Earth is in tourist service and biologic production. Beings from other worlds can come and visit Earth's "wide and beautiful ecosystems." As for biologic production, Earth exports a fairly sizable amount of raw, natural resources.
Humans are mostly in the lower (and lowest) socio-economic classes. This is due to the human civilization having been crushed into submission by an advanced culture -- meaning that the advanced culture became the upper class by default. There are of course Galactic Rights organizations calling for human (and the multitude of other subordinated cultures on other worlds) development. But ultimatly reality (statistics, etc.) gets is way and as always dominant classes are afforded dominance by their natural (implicit, status-quo) leverage over subordinate classes.
This is why the Reclamation is still a sore spot for humans. But for indivituals, "today is just another day, and now it's time to get back to work." Meaning that the Reclamation is mostly in the history books -- so long ago that no naturally-born, living human (that is till in their original body -- think of Rondello) actually experienced it. [I think that maybe Rondello was a young child during the time of the previous tree-planter story 20061016]

========
20061114

"Yeah" Tia's head kind of dropped into her chest "that's Rondello... she owns everything."
"She?" Salo asked sounding surprized.
"Oh, right... she's a fleshbrain not a chipbrain. She like to keep that private, but regal old Rondello used to be a woman." Tia perked up a bit with the air of pride of someone delivering good gossip.
"That's just wrong." Salo said disaprovingly as he lifted his glass to take another sip.
"Why!?" Tia siad sounding noticably defensive.
Salo lowered his glass. "It's just... well it's not natural."
"That's a rather archeic view don't you think?" Tia said folding her arms -- definatly ready to defend her point.
"I suppose..." Salo's brow furrowed as he searched to find exactly where he did stand. "... it just seems to me that people shouldn't be swapping out bodies like they were..." he gestured to the floor "surface tiles or something. I mean... it's your body for christsake!"
"Hold on! Are you trying to tell me that if you could afford to have your legs rebuilt you wouldn't do it?"
"Well... I... sure I would. But that's diffenent." Salo was looing thouroughly confused.
"How?" Tia asked sharply.
"That's just a part."
Tia unfolded her arms and leaned forward in her chair "You know full well that there are people that have had so many transplants that they might as wel be in a different body."
"Fine. True." Salo sunk into his chair feeling fairly well defeated. "But at least it's all still flesh." With that point he thoughtlessly swallowed the remainder of his rare and expensive beverage.
"Ha!" Tia jumped out of her chair and stood in front of him pointing an accusing finger. "That's it! That's the real problem. You're one of those ritious people that thinks the human species is something sacred."
"How can you say that!?" Salo said standing up and pointing an accusing finger at her in return "You're human!"
"So what?" She threw her hands in the air "What if I had been born a droid? Would that somehow make me less alive? Would I then be inferior to you?"
"I don't know!" Salo yelled and then turned away "I don't talk to a lot of droids."
"You konw what your problem is Salo..." Tia said at him as he began to wander aimlessly in frustration "You've allowed yourself to believe there's something special about you because you're made out of flesh."
Salo turned and grabbed the back of the chair angrily "Why not! They do the same thing to us!"
"And that's always such a good solution" Tia said rolling her eyes.
"What the hell is this? You're human. You know how they treat us. Why are you taking their side?"
"Do you hear yourself? Did you ever stop to think that maybe there are no 'sides'?"
Salo headed for the door "look Tia... I'm done. I just wanted to hang out and get to know you. I wasn't looking for a debate about our civilization.
"Aw Salo, don't do that. Don't just walk out."
"I'm... I'm sorry." Salo opened the door. "Thanks for the drink Tia." And with that he left.
As the door closed she let out a sigh. Tia fell back into her chair and said "Shit Tia... why do you always have to start something."

========
20061115

Later that evening, Salo was sitting in his much less expensive, and ever so much more cluttered, third floor apartment when he got a ping from Tia. When her smiling face popped up on the screen, he almost entirely forgot the argument they'd ended on -- almost.
"Hi Salo." Tia said somewhat bashfully.
"Hey Tia..." an akward silence, "what's uh... what do you..."
Listen. I'm really sorry about today. I didn't mean to have a big confrontation."
"It's alright" Salo was melting already. He wished he could be next to her tight now. "Things happen... we obvioulsy aren't just going to agree, but you gave me some stuff to think about."
"Well still, I'd like to... um, what are you doing tomorrow? I mean, do you have work or anything?"
Actually, tomorrow is my birthday. I was going to take the whole day off, and... well,,, I don't really know what..."
"Really?" Tia's face lit up "Your birthday!? Oh this is just too perfect. Why don't you come over tomorrow. Well do a whole birthday thing. What'dya say?"
Salo's heart lept up into his throat making it difficult to remain cool. "Yeah, okay," he said with a squeak of poorly stifled excitemnt.
"Terrific!" Tia said with a big warm smale. Then her brow furrowed as if suddenly remembering an important obligation. "I've, uh... I've got some stuff to do in the morning... so maybe after lunchtime?"
"Sure, whatever" Salo was too excited to care when.
"Great. I'll give you a call." There was a moment of silence and their eyes met.
"Okay..." Salo didn't really want the moment to end "see you tomorrow then?"
"See you tomorrow... birthday-boy." Tia said shooting him a playfully sinister look. Then her face disapeared from the display.
Salo leaned back in his chair and took a deep breath. He felt like the luckiest man alive.

========
20061116

Salo ran some errands early in the morning to keep his mind off the waiting. But he didn't stay out long because he didn't want to miss her call. Being at home turned out to be the prison he worried it would be. He couldn't really do anything except putter around and pace a lot waiting for her to call. When she finally did, in the early afternoon, he tried to appear cool and like he hadn't been waiting.
"Hi" he said with his heart pounding.
"So," she said, her head turned toward somethig she was doing with her hands offcreen, "you ready?"
"Yeah" he squeeked "er, um... let me, uh, just finish what I'm doing and Ill be right over" nice save he thought.
"Okay, see you" she didn't look up from her work.
Salo was out the door almost before the viewscreen went blank.

As he walked down the gall towared her apartment, he kept reminding himself not to expect too much -- and not to blurt out "I love you Tia" though he was certainly falling in that direction. This was just a casual friendly meeting. As he stood in front of her door ready to touch the call-pad he said quietly to himself "don't make this more than it is Salo, just enjoy yourself." He touched the call-pad.
When Tia answered the door she hardly looked up from what she was doing.
"Hi Salo, come on in" she was holding a pal and reading from its screen clearly in the middle of something. She walked off to the other side of the main room. Her hair was messy, her clothes were around-the-house casual, and Salo thought she looked beautiful. He came in an sat down. She seemed to be reading from a list and strinding from one part of the room to another -- picking up an item here, setting it down over there.
"What are you... uh, getting ready for?"
Salo inquired.
Tia kept moving as she spoke "I have to leave tomorrow. There are just some last minute things I have to put in order."
"You're leaving?" Salo tried not to sound disapointed "Where are you going?"
Tia stopped in mid stride holding a small statue in one hand. Without looking at him she said "I'm ... I'm going out of town... on business." She paused "No big deal. I'll be back in a few weeks... maybe a little longer... I don't know really."
"Oh." Salo said flatly. Then wanting to gring the mood up added with a laugh "Good thing my birthday is today then."
"Yeah" Tia turned and looked straight at him with a smile "I suppose it is."

========
20061117

As Tia finished the last few items on her list, Salo just sat and watched her moving to and fro. He wondered if she looked to beautiful to him today simply because he was falling in love with her or if iwas because of the way she was today. With all her rushing about she was more rough around the edges today. Not that she had been dressed up the other days, but today her heir was tossed and a little messy, her clothes were wrinkled and frumpy. And all this roughness gave her a certain glow. It was...

---

Notes:

I need to rewrite some of this. So Tia's apartment does not need to be made ready for Tondello -- I am implying this with all her running around. This apartment is Tia's. Rondello lives elsewhere (and estate or just a bigger, fancier apartment). Tia would also not be entertaining "a lot of high-profile guests" as she earlier claimed. If their were an event like that (for example a dinner party) Rondello would hold such an event at her place. When these enents take place, Tia shows up (maybe) to be an Rondello's side? Or is Rondello retiring from her business / public life entirely? In which case there would be no effort to make a connection obvious to the world -- if fact, it would be the opposite; Rondello would seek to keep their relationship private.
In any case, Tia would not be throwing "roudy" parties in her apartment. I would think that Rondello would discouage Tia forming / keeping any personal relationships as it would only cause confusion / arouse suspiscion when Rondello takes over Tia's body. So Tia would be encouraged to disolve any remaing personal ties.
Tia's life would consist of staying healthy -- food food, moderate exercize. Other than that, she would be free to spend her time as she chose -- which I imagine for Tia would be studying the Galaxy and how to travel through it as a droid on a budget.
As for why Rondello-Tia would still be in the apartment for Salo to come and have an encounter with... elt's look at the body-swap deal.
Tia's fleshbrain would have to adjust to being put into its braincase -- the wrapper that makes it possible to make a fleshbrain portable like a chipbrain. But once that adjustment is complete, her brain can easily be installed into her droid body -- droid bodies are durable and simple machines.
Rondello's brain on the other hand is already in a braincase to she does not have that transition period. But instead for her, it's Tias body which needs to transition to being outfitted with the brainplug, etc.
So really, it's Tia's brain and body that are fragile and need to adjust. This means that Tia could be taked to a clean facility for her body and brain to be repurposed. When the adjustment was complete, her brain would be put into a droid body, and her body would be available for Rondello's brain.
Now, Rondello has the mony to recouperate wherever the hell she likes -- a big estate on another planet, whatever. But Tia is stuck with her apartment. And though she is going to travel, she needs to spend her recoup time somewhere -- so why not in the apartment. So after several weeks, when Salo comes to visit, he encounters a droid. He sais something like "um, excuse me... is Tia here?" Tia is not ready for this and just gives the stock answer "Tia doesn't live here anymore." Salo storms off. Later, at his home (maybe days later) he recieves a message -- and explanation. It is Tia (though her name is not Tia anymore so I'll need to come up with her new name), and she says that she is sorry, but she could not tell him, and was afraid to because of how he felt about body-swapping (go guilt!). The message also explains that she is off to explore the Galaxy.
So Salo knows her new name and that she is leaving to explore but nothing more. This means that you could take Sqrl's suggestion that if he relly loves her, he could try to find her (i.e. track her down).

Now, with these fixes in mind, start over again with Salo arriving at Tia's on his birthday day (maybe from when she answers the door).

---

a few notes on the dominating culture ("The Ones") that came and crushed human civilization:

I see this as a culture somewhat like the United States, more broadly like "Western culture", and even more braodly like the human species. That is, an "open" society which places high value on the rights of the individual members of that society. This protection of the rights (and sometimes just privelages) of those in-members comes at the cost of being fairly careless with the rights/privelages/comforts/desires of organisms which are percieved as being outside that society.
In very broad example, we humans step on the rights of plants and animals because they are "beneath" us. They are not part of our group, and so we do not give them respect. It isn't even that we specifically target them with evil (though that happens occasionally). It is more that we simply give them nearly as much consideration as inanimate objects (like a chair).
As a whole, our culture is not capable of the broad wisdom that would have us understand our supreme power as a responsibility for gentle and kind stewardship. Again, it isn't that our culture is evil, just careless and inconsiderate. Kindness does happen, but only at the insistent and ferverent pleading of an extremely empathetic minority. An atrocious historical example is the foundation of the United States and "Manifest Destiny" which allowed a whole culture of otherwise intelligent beings to displace millions of beings of equal intelligence simply because they were outside the group. All of this was done in the name of extending and defending individual "rights" (privelages really). You could boil it down to "Me and mine are doing this thing because we want to -- everyone / everything else good luck and get the hell out of our way!".
We humans see somthing we want, and we just go and get it. And within our complex society it is fairly easy just to pretend that the nasty consequences of our actions simply don't exist.

It begins

2006-11-28T10:58:00.000-08:00

This is the sister blog to the Cozine project for Works In Progress (WIP).

Posted here will be,,, well, works in progress. Think of it as pre-publishing.