From Plumpy's to the Grave

University of New Orleans ScholarWorks@UNO University of New Orleans Theses and Dissertations Dissertations and Theses 5-16-2008 From Plumpy's to the Grave Lish McBride University of New Orleans Follow this and additional works at: https://scholarworks.uno.edu/td Recommended Citation McBride, Lish, "From Plumpy's to the Grave" (2008). University of New Orleans Theses and Dissertations. 659. https://scholarworks.uno.edu/td/659 This Thesis is protected by copyright and/or related rights. It has been brought to you by ScholarWorks@UNO with permission from the rights-holder(s). You are free to use this Thesis in any way that is permitted by the copyright and related rights legislation that applies to your use. For other uses you need to obtain permission from the rights- holder(s) directly, unless additional rights are indicated by a Creative Commons license in the record and/or on the work itself. This Thesis has been accepted for inclusion in University of New Orleans Theses and Dissertations by an authorized administrator of ScholarWorks@UNO. For more information, please contact [email protected]. From Plumpy’s to the Grave A Thesis Submitted to the Graduate Faculty of the University of New Orleans in partial fulfillment of the requirements for the degree of Master of Fine Arts in Film, Theatre and Communication Arts Creative Writing Workshop by Lish McBride B.A. Seattle University, 2005 May 2008 Dedication To my mother: my anchor, my buoy, and my star to sail ‘er by. ii Acknowledgements Contrary to popular belief, novels don’t happen by themselves. Here are a few of the people who helped me along, so you now know exactly who to blame. I hope you can all live with yourselves after what you’ve unleashed on the world. To my family for your support, even if half of you have no idea what, exactly, it is that I do; Adam, for constantly believing in me, even when you hadn’t read a single word. Thanks for the faith; Gryphon, for telling me his own stories and dragging me away from the screen once in a while; My mother, Maryanne, for not killing us all as children (sorry for any ill behavior) and for your endless efforts to keep me in school as well as constantly telling me that the whole mess would be worth it; Jeremy for teaching me how to read, even when you didn’t enjoy the written word yourself; Darin for recommending books and constantly going your own way; Alex, for listening to my tales and for being such an amazing person. You are all a constant inspiration. I am lucky to have such brothers, and you are lucky to have such great wives; Dad, who took me to many different places, letting me see how others lived; Michele, for multiple trips to the library for just one more book; Grams, for reading my stories just because I wrote them; Aunt Ann and Uncle Brian for words of encouragement and guidance, and to the rest of you who helped me out. I am lucky that there are too many of you to list. To my friends: what can I say? You all keep me sane. Devon, for being my Porkchop and my hetero-life-mate; Abby for helping bring Ling Tsu to life, and for being a like mind; Tiny and Erica, for taking care of me and cheering me on; Ben “Man of” Steele and Rachel Trujillo for baby wrangling and first reads (I owe you.); Jen Violi for guidance—both spiritual and line-by- line, and J’romy Armstrong, for listening to many, many insane ideas and telling me they were perfectly acceptable; Parker for beers, thumbs ups, and general shenanigans; Casey “Fox Bandit” Lefante for constant encouragement, laughter, and for always reading my stuff with a critical eye while remembering to tell me what works, and, of course, for getting me my darling orphans; the fine poets, Trisha and Jeni, for good vibes and the occasional glass of wine; Dense and Jason for bad movies and reminding me what readers want; Blake and Jimmy for following me to New Orleans; Barb Johnson for saying that of course I could do a novel, and to the rest of Team Parkview: where would I be without you all? Last, but of course not least, to my professors: Sharon Cumberland, for helping me get into graduate school in the first place; Joanna Leake for kind words and for reading stories about unicorn death matches and not instantly throwing me out on my ass; Joseph Boyden, for playing the good cop and for always making me stay for another round; Amanda Boyden, for making me throw away the first chapter, and for telling me what I needed to hear, whether it was good or bad. You have greatly shaped this thesis (and now you have to live with that hanging over you). You have all made me a better writer and a better person. Now, if I could just get Joseph to stop teaching my son bar tricks… And to Ed Dieringer, former NOPD. Thanks for answering all my police related questions. If I got any of it wrong, I swear it’s not your fault. You are all fully and completely, chock-full of awesome. iii Table of Contents Dead Man’s Party ................................................................................................................1 These Are a Few of My Favorite Things ...........................................................................20 She’s a Lady .......................................................................................................................26 Brown Paper Packages, Tied Up with String .....................................................................35 Hold Me Closer, Necromancer ..........................................................................................48 The Future’s so Bright, I Gotta Wear Shades ....................................................................60 She Loves Me Like a Rock ................................................................................................73 I Put a Spell on You, Because You’re Mine ......................................................................89 With a Rebel Yell: More, More, More ............................................................................103 Strangers in the Night ......................................................................................................119 Don’t Rock the Boat, Baby ..............................................................................................125 Kickstart My Heart ..........................................................................................................131 C’mon Baby, Don’t Fear the Reaper ...............................................................................150 Make a Little Birdhouse in My Soul................................................................................167 Easy Like Sunday Morning .............................................................................................174 School’s Out Forever .......................................................................................................187 Everybody was Kung Fu Fighting ...................................................................................193 Those Cats Were Fast as Lightning .................................................................................205 Back in Black ...................................................................................................................215 Vita ...................................................................................................................................241 iv -Chapter 1- -Dead Man’s Party- I stood in front of today’s schedule still holding my skateboard, still drenched from the ride over, and still desperately wishing that I hadn’t dropped out of college. But my wishing wouldn’t erase Sam from the counter slot and rewrite my name under the grill slot. Maybe I could switch? No, the schedule told me Ramon worked grill today. Nothing short of fifty bucks and a twelve-pack would have made him switch, and I didn’t have either of those. I groaned and leaned my head against the wall. Someone walked in after me and slapped me on the shoulders. “Should’ve stayed in school,” he said. I recognized Ramon’s voice without opening my eyes. Not surprising since I’d known Ramon since sixth grade. I wasn’t shocked by his lack of sympathy, either. “You didn’t drop out, and yet you’re still here,” I said, rolling my head to the side to look at him. “What, and leave my man Sammy here all alone? What kind of friend would that make me?” “A smart one.” He laughed and tossed his black hoodie on the coat hooks, trading the sweatshirt for an apron. I did the same, but with much less enthusiasm. Ramon was the only person who called me Sammy. Everyone else called me Sam, even my mom, except when she was pissed and did the full name thing. I signed onto my register slowly, glad that nobody stood at the counter waiting to be helped. While the manager counted and checked my till, I stared at the pictogram of a burger nestled between similar representations of shakes, sodas and fries on my register. I wondered 1 why humankind seemed so dead set on destroying all its accomplishments. We drew on cave walls, spent thousands of years developing complex language systems, the printing press, computers, and what did we do with it? We created a cash register with the picture of a burger on it, just in case the operator didn’t finish the second grade. One step forward, two steps back— like an evolutionary cha cha. Me working here just proved that the only things separating me from a monkey truly were my opposable thumbs. And pants. My name is Samhain Corvus Lacroix, and I am a fry cook. I tried to take some pride where I can. If I was going to be a drop-out loser,

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