Bang Bang and Myrtle Brubaker
Myrtle Brubaker is quickly becoming one of my favorite characters in my novel-in-progress
Mind Fields
.
Here's her introduction in the book:
Adam checked his phone and reread the instructions his mother had texted him.
A cab will be waiting for you at the station. Don’t be late.
Adam was worried there would be too many taxis to find out which one was for him. He was relieved when there was only one.
There was an older woman standing next to the cab. She was short and squat. She was wearing a purple windbreaker, powder blue polyester slacks, and a pair of blinding white sneakers. The strange ensemble was completed with a white visor she wore low, just above her eyes. Her hair was short and permed. It had an Easter blue tint to it.
She looks like an over groomed, mean poodle.
She glanced him up and down, cracked a sunflower seed between her front teeth and spit the shell out on the sidewalk. “You Adam?” she asked. Her voice was nicotine stained and coated with a thick New York accent. At once, she gave off a strong vibe she was tough and shouldn’t be messed with.
Adam was hesitant with his answer. “Yes. That’s me.”
“Name’s Myrtle,” she said.
“Myrtle?” Adam repeated, trying to hide his amusement.
“Myrtle Brubaker,” she said. “Ya heard of me before?”
Adam couldn’t tell if she was joking. Was she a gangster or a cab driver?
Myrtle had been through some hard times. It showed on her face. She looked weathered like someone had left her outside for too long. Beneath the haggard appearance and red, blotchy cheeks there was just a sliver of the young girl she probably once was. Yet, it was clear Myrtle had most likely never been a debutante. Adam imagined she spent her nights on a bar stool, shooting the breeze, chain-smoking, and killing off a bottle of bourbon. Or two.
In the section that follows, Myrtle reveals her favorite person in the world is Nancy Sinatra. This one's for her:
Here's her introduction in the book:
Adam checked his phone and reread the instructions his mother had texted him.
A cab will be waiting for you at the station. Don’t be late.
Adam was worried there would be too many taxis to find out which one was for him. He was relieved when there was only one.
There was an older woman standing next to the cab. She was short and squat. She was wearing a purple windbreaker, powder blue polyester slacks, and a pair of blinding white sneakers. The strange ensemble was completed with a white visor she wore low, just above her eyes. Her hair was short and permed. It had an Easter blue tint to it.
She looks like an over groomed, mean poodle.
She glanced him up and down, cracked a sunflower seed between her front teeth and spit the shell out on the sidewalk. “You Adam?” she asked. Her voice was nicotine stained and coated with a thick New York accent. At once, she gave off a strong vibe she was tough and shouldn’t be messed with.
Adam was hesitant with his answer. “Yes. That’s me.”
“Name’s Myrtle,” she said.
“Myrtle?” Adam repeated, trying to hide his amusement.
“Myrtle Brubaker,” she said. “Ya heard of me before?”
Adam couldn’t tell if she was joking. Was she a gangster or a cab driver?
Myrtle had been through some hard times. It showed on her face. She looked weathered like someone had left her outside for too long. Beneath the haggard appearance and red, blotchy cheeks there was just a sliver of the young girl she probably once was. Yet, it was clear Myrtle had most likely never been a debutante. Adam imagined she spent her nights on a bar stool, shooting the breeze, chain-smoking, and killing off a bottle of bourbon. Or two.
In the section that follows, Myrtle reveals her favorite person in the world is Nancy Sinatra. This one's for her:
No comments have been added yet.
