That Night Friday

As explained on the first That Night Friday post (in which I drew from my That Nite website's archives for a story), I thought it would be a brilliant idea to have readers share their stories of "Remember that night I/we/you..." on the blog here, now that I'm no longer anonymously hosting the website. I mean, after all, who doesn't love a good story?

Friends/readers have responded!

As always, if you'd like to submit your own That Night story, send them to samantha(dot)sessoms(at)gmail(dot)com

Don't forget to come up with a sign-off, leave your state and/or city, and which category your story falls under. You can include names if you'd like (and it's helpful to the reader, as too many pronouns gets confusing!), but last names will not be published for the privacy of those involved.

The categories are: best, worst, crazy, embarrassing, and bittersweet.

Today's That Night Friday story:

Remember that night you broke off our engagement? You went out to dinner with your friends and came back saying that getting married isn't the best idea. Of course, I asked what had changed and all you could say was that your friends reminded you that you never really wanted to get married ever and that the behavior was so unlike you, you just weren't built that way. I was upset and angry that you could base such an important decision about us on the opinions of your friends and so I questioned your love. You got so angry that you literally ran out of the room. I chased after you but you were very fast so I wandered around campus, looking for you. About an hour goes by and you finally answer you phone, telling me you are in the chapel. I find you, sitting alone. We start to talk and you tell me you love me. I ask if we are breaking up and you say, 'Oh no, baby, of course not.' Then, you ask me what my least favorite food is. I am confused and do not understand so you ask again. I say corn. The words that followed out of your lovely mouth were, 'If I ever really break up with you, I'll serve you corn, that way you'll know it's real.'

And now, I am alone every night, never having received my corn...

Red Flag

Charlottesville, VA
(worst)

What kind of Friday will you have, friends?! 

A Most Wonderful Gift

A very, very dear friend of mine sent me a gift in celebration of this new blog a couple weeks ago. It was the best gift I've ever received in regards to my writing journey. It took me awhile to gather the words to tell this story, as I still don't feel enough can be said about a gift this small in size, but gargantuan in thoughtfullness, motivation, and unconditional support.

So there I was the following day after starting the blog, busy as always, running around helping a friend move, keeping Little Man and Baby Girl occupied, and trying to think of my next blog post when I come home late in the evening to find a box at the front door. Imagine my surprise when I see it's from Amazon. I had not ordered anything. Was not expecting any ARCs at the moment and was quite honestly scared that if I opened the package I'd be financially responsible for the mysterious content. And what was it? Who was it from? Dear Friend had sent my package as a gift with no return address, and with no sender name on the front. Oh, Amazon, how you torture us sometimes.

I walked in, told Little Man and Baby Girl to go straighten up their rooms (yes, it was one of those days for them, see my first post to clarify), I stood in the foyer for about five minutes considering my choices. I listened closely for clock/bomb noises, gave it a little shake, then finally ripped in - I shall never turn down an adventure!

And it was!:

I almost cried when I finally saw it was from Dear Friend! He had just asked me if I'd read this story. I was clueless of the title, not even realizing it was the lovely Dr. Seuss - a childhood favorite (Dear Friend loves Sci-Fi so I had assumed Oh The Place You'll Go was some obscure otherworldly book he had found - silly me! And to my credit, after he'd asked if I'd read the story he never brought up the author, or why he wanted to know. Please forgive me for not knowing it was Dr. Seuss. Please.).
Not only had Dear Friend over-nighted me this most lovely of New Blog/Journey gifts, he sent me the Pop-Up version. I had perma-grin the entire time I read! The images were so lovely in 3D, as if I was walking through the story along with, You.
Dear Friend had hit all my anxious, overwhelming, joyful emotions about starting down this Writerly Road right on the nose. I could have never asked, or imagined, a better befitting gift.
I'd also like to add, that I've never been happier to have over-looked a classic book as a child. It usually pulls at my writer-soul to hear someone say, "You've never read __(insert classic book that makes you look like a non-reader/writer if you've never placed your eyes on said literature)__." Though this time I was thoroughly relieved that I was able to savor this particular story for the first time when its meaning would hit the most cords in me. When its words would be so powerful, they would give me the strength to continue on this journey and even see a beam of hope and good times ahead.
Oh The Places You'll Go is truly an inspiration and I could never fully express the depth of gratitude I hold for Dear Friend.

Sometimes books come into our lives when we most need them, and sometimes they come through the best friends anyone could ask for. I hope this weekend leads some readers to unread stories that inspire them as I've been inspired.

That Night Friday

As explained on the first That Night Friday post (in which I drew from my That Nite website's archives for a story), I thought it would be a brilliant idea to have readers share their stories of "Remember that night I/we/you..." on the blog here, now that I'm no longer anonymously hosting the website. I mean, after all, who doesn't love a good story?

Friends/readers have responded!

As always, if you'd like to submit your own That Night story, send them to samantha(dot)sessoms(at)gmail(dot)com

Don't forget to come up with a sign-off, leave your state and/or city, and which category your story falls under. You can include names if you'd like (and it's helpful to the reader, as too many pronouns gets confusing!), but last names will not be published for the privacy of those involved.

The categories are: best, worst, crazy, embarrassing, and bittersweet.

Today's That Night Friday story:

I pulled my parent’s Buick into the ill used boat launch of a sleepy tributary of the Red River, returning to a party that had moved on in my absence. The embers of its fire still glowed, but the ceremony was over. The set had been burned, a ritual giving valedictory to friendships that shouldn’t have been. It would be awhile yet before our disparate natures drove us apart. On that night around that fire, the foxes and hounds danced together in primordial celebration.

If I could will myself back to that evening, I would step out of the car and breath deep the warm air while cherishing the roar of the thousands of frogs mating nearby. I would creep to the fire, and steal some ash.

No.

If I could will myself back to that night, I would do much more. I would stay at the party and protest. I would argue that tonight should not be an end. I would stand near or on the ashes hoping the fire’s glow would cast its magic into my speech. I would attempt to stop the rotation of the earth.

The earth did rotate. One by one, my friends realized their true nature and departed. I, however, did not. Some other magic must have been disbursed while I was absent. If I could will myself back to that night, I think I would take most of that magic. The world is very lonely if you never change. 

I backed out of the boat launch and drove home. My spirit was alive with hope, love, and potential. The world loomed, but like the soul survivor of a horror film, it would be awhile before I realized it.

Valedictorian

North Dakota

(bittersweet)

That Night Friday

As I explained on the first That Night Friday post (in which I drew from my That Nite website's archives for a story), I thought it would be a brilliant idea to have readers share their stories of "Remember that night I/we/you..." on the blog here, now that I'm no longer anonymously hosting the website. I mean, after all, who doesn't love a good story?

Friends/readers have responded!

As always, if you'd like to submit your own That Night story, send them to samantha(dot)sessoms(at)gmail(dot)com

Don't forget to come up with a sign-off, leave your state and/or city, and which category your story falls under. You can include names if you'd like (and it's helpful to the reader, as too many pronouns gets confusing!), but last names will not be published for the privacy of those involved.

The categories are: best, worst, crazy, embarrassing, and bittersweet.

Today's That Night Friday story:

I remember that August night you invited me over after midnight.  We sat there on opposite beds in silence.  Not the normal silence but, the silence where we were actually talking but nothing was being said.  Mundane talk about our families and how our summers were, all information we already knew about the other.  You invited me over to the bed where you were sitting and I, of course, accepted.  You stopped talking and I continued to ramble on as I do in my defense of an awkward moment.  You placed your hand on mine and interrupted me saying, "It would be so easy, wouldn't it?"  I just looked at you in silence and you continued.  "It would be so easy to just fall back into everything with you."  I could see that there were tears in your eyes and I felt my own coming on.  You pulled me close to you.  I took your face in my hands and kissed you.  You then pulled away and said, "This won't change anything."  I, back in reality for a second, said, "I know."  You then, in your dramatic ways, dimmed the lights and put on your playlist of Counting Crows that I had made for you back when we were simply friends, took off your blouse and came over to me.  And I, as I normally did with you, lost all of my senses and took you in my arms.  And, there we were, for hours and hours as the depressing tunes played on, making love like we never had before.  All the while, trying to keep the sun from rising, trying to make the night never end.  Then, as habitually as my inability to say no to you, the sun rose and you fell asleep in my arms.  And, in that moment as I curled up to you and held you so tightly to me, I knew I had lost you and myself once again. 


Finding My Way Back To Me
Austin, Texas
(bittersweet)

That Night Friday

A while back I had this great idea (or at least I thought it was), that I would start a website called That Nite. It was sure to be an instant success, no? Who doesn't like hearing stories of 'Remember that night I/we...'? I mean, I love hearing a good story as much as I enjoy writing one. Alas, success was not in the cards for the site as I had wanted to make it anonymous for fear submitters of stories would be too afraid, or embarrassed, to send in their memories, which unfortunately meant I had no way to publicize the site. Plus, the use of Nite instead of Night (because thatnight(dot)com was already taken, as was rememberthatnight(dot)com!) was confusing all by itself.

That being said, I want to open it up to the public now and start posting That Night stories on the blog, every Friday. The categories are: crazy, embarrassing, worst, best, and bittersweet. Submitters will still remain anonymous.

If you'd like to submit your own That Night memory, feel free to email me at: samantha(dot)sessoms(at)gmail(dot)com
Title your memory, create a sign-off, and add your city and/or state if you'd like. If you would like to keep real names that's fine, however last names will not be published for the privacy of all involved.



Without further ado, our first That Night Friday:

The night I met you, fiance. I kept asking a mutual friend to make you come to a party. You took off work early to show up. You didn't say much at first, but I couldn't help think you had come to see me too, since our friend expressed my interest in meeting you. I showed you around the house, even though you had been to that house before. We stayed downstairs where it was quiet. You sat as close as you could get to me and I wanted to melt into you, but was cautious incase you had the wrong intentions. You didn't. I was hooked. The best part of that night was talking to you about everything. And the fact that you asked me about myself and actually cared. Looking back, I can appreciate that more than you'll ever know. Three years later, you still place a hand on my back, an arm around my waist, or your knee to my knee whenever possible, and you take more of an interest than ever before. We've definitely had our bad times, but we've loved each other enough to make it over the mountains of issues and grow together. I can't wait to call you my husband. And it's all because of that night at that party. It was my best night, so far, though I'm sure we'll top it soon.

Head Over Heels

North Carolina

(best night)

Why I Started Writing (Or how I couldn't stop making up stories in my head)

Two books (out of countless other favorites) contributed to my obsession with making up scenarios that were drastically different than my own with characters that were as real as me, only much cooler.
The first was:

I read this book. Lived this book. Turned to this book as if it would tell me the answers to never growing up and never having to Handle My Responsibilities (as my mother wished for). I mean, come on, who wants to stop playing outside with make-believe beasts and crowds of adoring fans (I had a Hannah Montana complex before Hannah Montana was ever thought of -  I was an only child), just to come in and wash the dishes, or worse: clean my room.  Every day! I had to have had the cleanest room in the neighborhood.
Anyhow, at the end of elementary school, I read this book and my life changed forever:

It was my life - literally (only the death wasn't my friend), my childhood best friend and I would disappear into the woods for hours on adventures. Though, we often pulled from movies we'd seen. For example, the cardboard key we made, then buried so we could 'find' it, because only the magic key would get us back to OZ as it did for Dorothy in Return to Oz. Or the time we watched The Worst Witch, and made a grimoire to hide in the woods, under a scrap piece of tarp and a sodden log for months. We would go back every weekend to cast spells and find even grosser ingredients than the week before (and there are some gross things in the forest, especially when you bottle them and leave them lying around for months on end). Why not bring the grimoire inside? Because the grimoire's power would only work in the creepiest parts of the forest, of course.
Then we read Bridge To Terabithia as a class in fifth grade and our forest adventures changed to stage tragic, heart-ripping-out-of-our-10-year-old-chests death scenes. Sounds morbid, but we were handling serious subject matter the way kids do - reenacting with our curious imaginations.
How could one ever return to household chores after days in the woods like those? I'll tell you. By creating multiple plot lines and characters in your head and living out tons of adventures in your mind while scrubbing plates, and spoons, and forks, and cups, and rinsing the dishes, and drying the dishes, and putting the dishes away.

Even today as I methodically load the dishwasher, load the washer and dryer, dust, and vacuum, my mind is like a movie projector screening an exciting adventure with characters I love (that don't have to stop to mop the floor!). All thanks to Maurice Sendak and Katherine Paterson! These two wonderful, visionary authors allowed me to tap into my creativity while everyone else just wanted me to Be Responsible.

And, though I do see the importance of keeping your room clean (and yes, I make my kids clean their room at least once a week), I eagerly take my kids into the woods for adventures whenever opportunity knocks (we no longer live by the forest like I did as a child, unfortunately):

***No responsibilities were neglected during the inspiration of my creative childhood. Though I do still fight with the dishwasher. :)