Lately, one of my endeavors have been to author a book.  I have to admit, it is not easy.  The process of writing a novel requires an infinite amount of time and a willingness to never look back once the first word hits the page.  Despite the commitment, it has, so far, been an exciting process.  I have no deadline to meet and have no immediate intentions of getting it published.  It’s just something on my dream list.

With that, I will leave you with my first chapter, which is more like a prologue anyways.

I Will Miss . . .

By Nathaniel Nguyen

Zero: The List

            I have never been one to handle a break-up well.  I think I get it from my Mom.  The act of being separated from something she loves has always been difficult.  Once she loved her hair color so much she let it grow out until it was two-toned.  The first four inches was black and the other 6 inches was a medley of reds and browns.  It didn’t stop with the hair color either.  If she could start a relationship with it—there was a break-up to follow.  The list included:  salad dressings, shoeboxes, a specific joke in a movie etc.  Being the son that sprung from her loins, I received the dumb luck of inheriting her separation anxiety.

            My earliest break-up occurred when I was in the fourth grade.  Her name was Stacey and I sat next to her.  We never went out and I never liked her.  I just sat next to her. That was until we had to change seats.  “Routine,” the teacher said to me.  I wasn’t having it.  I clung onto the legs of that cubby-holed desk and cried till every word I uttered become intelligible.  It was that serious.             

            Don’t worry; this isn’t about a list of all my break-ups.  There’s not enough paper in the world for that.  This is only about the most important one.  This break-up is about the one that has forever changed the way I think, act, and even live my life.  It was that serious.

            So you already know I don’t handle break-ups well.  Everyone has his or her opinion on the best way to handle a break-up.  “Just give it some time.”  I’m impatient.  “How about a one night stand?” I’m not that impatient.  “Ben and Jerry’s always help me get over a break-up.”  I sure hope they’re talking about ice cream.  That’s where “the list” came in.  I felt that the only way I could truly move on was to compile a list of behaviors, objects, sayings, and everything in between that I would miss most about him.  In concept, it sounds unhealthy but I promise, it helped . . . me, at least.  After all, if I wasn’t willing to give the tried and true methods a shot, I had to come up with something on my own.  And please, do me a favor; try not to think of this as a list but more of a love story.  

           My uncle tried to juice a banana today.  

           Earlier this afternoon, he came in the backdoor with what seemed like a bushel of green apples and ran straight into the kitchen.  A series of small kitchen appliances were already turned on and ready to go.  Among these devices was a juicer and a blender.  Furiously, he peeled, cored, and quartered apples like he was competing for a title of sorts.  The apples that had gone into the blender came out tasting like a Jolly Rancher green applesauce.  And the ones that had gone into the juicer came out a creamy tart green.  

            It was then, in his whirlwind of excitement, that he decided to juice a banana.  I warned him, “You can’t juice a banana!”  Who was I kidding?  He was hypnotized by the sound of that juicer’s gentle whirring.  He began to peel the banana and then proceeded to cram it into the juicer.  We waited.  And waited.  Just as I had expected, no juice.  Instead, on the other end, where all the apple pulp was flying out came a blob of mushy banana.  Which quickly browned, might I add, and became very reminiscent of—you get the idea.