AN ABSTRACT OF THE THESIS OF C. Nathan Buck for the degree of Master of Fine Arts in Creative Writing presented on April 20, 2005. Title: Always Talk to Strangers Abstract approved: Redacted for Privacy Marjorie Sandor Always Talk to Strangers contains the first seven chapters to a novel. The novel focuses on the friendship between Amanda and Maria, two fourteen-year-old girls who are experiencing their last summer before high school in Madison, Wisconsin. Their friendship is a complicated one: Maria was kidnapped four years ago, the same sunmier that Amanda's father abandoned Amanda and her mother. These best friends must deal with various forms of loss: the loss of sexual innocence, the loss or "reinterpretation" of traditional father figures, the loss of believing in that ever elusive "happily ever after." The relationships in Always Talk to Strangers often grow and transform through subtle psychic undercurrents. Many thoughts and feelings of sadness, hope, and betrayal travel between the characters not through words but through body language and the innate understanding that we all carry our pasts with us. Our pasts, indeed, haunt us like ghosts: Amanda and Maria don't often verbally discuss the kidnapping or Amanda's father; Amanda and her mother don't discuss theman they've both lost, or their respective problems with marijuana and alcohol abuse; Amanda's mother and grandmother don't discuss their different religious and spiritual belief systems. Always Talk to Strangers is, in the end, a coming-of-age novel that shows us we are all composed of contradicting emotions and desires. We all have the capacity for unconditional compassion one second, and in the next we might inflict emotional harm on the ones we love the most. © Copyright by C. Nathan Buck April 20, 2005 All Rights Reserved Always Talk to Strangers by C. Nathan Buck A THESIS submitted to Oregon State University in partial fulfillment of the requirements for the degree of Master of Fine Arts Presented April 20, 2005 Commencement June 2005 Master of Fine Arts thesis of C. Nathan Buck presented on April 20, 2005. APPROVED: p Redacted for Privacy Major Professor, representing Creative Writing Redacted for Privacy Chair of the Department of English Redacted for Privacy Dean of the 'graduate School I understand that my thesis will become part of the permanent collection of Oregon State University libraries. My signature below authorizes release of my thesis to any reader upon request. Redacted for Privacy C. Nathan Buck, Author ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS This novel would not have been possible without the insights of Marjorie Sandor, who was hard on my writing from Day One but only because she wantedme to reach deep into all my gooey, emotional insides and yank them to the surface. She has helped me to breathe as a writer. Thanks also to Tracy Daugherty, Keith Scribner, and Jenny Cornell of the Oregon State Universityprogram in Creative Writing. Their unique approaches to the craft of fiction writing have shownme various angles from which to approach my stories and characters. Oregon State University has also blessed me with Anita Helle, Chris Anderson, Patrick Peters, Beth Wasylow, Eric Dickey, Jon Lewis, and Lisa Ede. And thank youso much to my fellow partners in workshop-crime: Jess Baker, Takken Bush, Sarah Kovatch, Jacob Martens, Peter McDonnell, Kate McIntyre, Lisa Nibhraonain, Wendy Oleson, Alison Ruch, Charity Shumway, Pete Starr, Joshua Weber, Steve Willis, and Katie Young. You all hold special places in my heart, always. Thanks to Linda, Aurora, and Mary in the English office for all the nice chats, and to everyone else I've had the pleasureto work and study with at OSU. In addition, I give big shout-outs to the writers andmentors in Wisconsin who have helped steer the course of my writing life: Lorrie Moore, Ron Wallace, Ron Kuka, Anna Purnell-Vogel, Nietzchka Keene, Sargent Bush,Ann Addie, Elizabeth Lochner, and Mrs. Ferris. Life throws a lot of curveballs at us. I've been lucky enoughto have companions, friends, teachers, and writers along theway who have guided me more than they could ever know. I am eternally grateful to: Levi Mattoon forbelieving, without a doubt, that I harbor a weird writer's soul; Esther "Owimate"Carison, for our endless emotional slumber parties; and Anne Petersen for being the first friendto listen to the real inner-me, back in high school. There have beennumerous angels along the way who've pointed me in the right direction. Inno particular orderbut all downright fabulousthey are: Jim Neal; Theresa Nicholson; Alie Kriofske;Jeff Bailey; Jerry Weiland; Denise Hanson; Andrew and Mariko Garfield;Jen Balch; Rebecca Strack; Shawn Bass; Karen Sosnoski; Tara Rogers; Chris Conrad;Roseanne Caputi; Tracy Rumsey; Sallie Anglin; Jan Jackson; Anya Titova; Alyssa, thegirl on the swing; Katy Taylor; Callie Seymour; Allana Sleeth; Adrian Lemberger;Lauren Cronin; Stephanie McDonough; Barb Gagnon; Molly Schultz; MarcieRugone; A.J. Beckert; Brian Griffin; Stephanie Treece; Amanda Peterson; Susan Sheldon;Al Strauss; David at Exclusive; Big Bill; P-P Hartnett; Stephen Chbosky; thecrews at ICW, UCP, UBS for Kids, ILL, and Four Star Video in Madison, Wisconsin; the awesome writers and workshoppers at the Summer Literary Seminar in St. Petersburg, Russia, especially Mary Gaitskill; the folks from the study abroadprogram in London, especially Mary Hall; and the entire Lake Geneva Gang, for puttingup with my horror movie marathons andToriAmos obsession. After all is said and done, this novel exists because of the love,support, and understanding of my familymy mother, Janice, andmy brothers, Jordan and Aaron. Few families have been as blessed as the four ofus, despiteor because ofour many crazy adventures. You are my beacons of light. Thank you for beingyou. We form a perfect circle. For my mother Always Talk to Strangers (One) Tommy takes Maria's hand and leads us into his bedroom, which used to be the operating room. "Here," he says. "Can't you just feel them?" He's talking about the ghosts, but I don't feel much of anything when I step across the threshold except jealousy, because Tommy took my best friend's hand and not mine. Tommy is all chiseled cheekbones and straight teeth. He's eighteen, four years older than Maria and me. His roommate Philip pats me on the back and smiles, his braces glinting. Philip takes my hand, but his fingers remind me of cold, dead fish. That's all I feel in this room. Tommy points to the white paint that he says covers old, striped wallpaper. Then he guides Maria to the bed, and they sit down. The mattress springs squeak beneath their weight. "What do you think, babe?" She shrugs and pops a bubble with her grape gum. She pouts her lips, and I hate her suddenly, but only for a second. "Looks like a bedroom to me, is all. No biggie." Tommy pats the bed. "I asked the landlord which room they used to perform the actual procedures in. He told me this one." He pats the bed again. "And he told me they set the gurney right here. And I was like, fuck it, I have to make sure my bed sits on this exact spot." Maria chews on her perfect lips. Her dark hairwhich hangs halfway down her backflows over her shoulders in waves. Tomorrow most of it will be gone, 2 snipped off at the Good Hair Day Salon, along with my own dark hair, so we can donate it to Locks of Love. "Why would you want to do that?" Maria says. "It's kind of creepy." Philip grips my hand a little tighter, and I want to slap him. He's too skinny and has too many freckles and he's not nearly as handsome as Tommy. My hair is just as long as Maria'sit hangs six inches below my shoulder bladesand I try to hide my face behind it for maybe the last time ever, so he can't see the disappointment in my eyes. I want him to have bigger biceps, a more daring smile. I want warm hands instead of dead fish. Tommy squeezes Maria's thigh. "It's for the dreams, babe. It's total feng shui. I figure with my bed right here I'll have really crazy visions. Fetuses floating through the sky, doctors holding coat hangers or some shit. A mother or two strapped down onto the gurney in those stirrups. Lots of dreams with blood in 'em. It's good inspiration. For my writing." I ask, "You're a writer?" Tommy narrows his eyes at me. "Yeah, that's right, Amanda. I already told you that." Which he hadn't, but I'm not in the mood to correct him. He shakes his head, pulls a joint from his shirt pocket, and lights up with a purple lighter that has a nick in the bottom corner, as if he chewed on it during a particularly nasty nicotine fit. He takes a hit and passes the joint to Maria, who hits it and passes it to Philip, who hits it and passes it to me. We get stoned, and Philip and I stand the entire time. Philip fidgets, but I don't want to sit on that bed. Women bled there; some of the blood must have seeped down into the same spot on the floor; over timeno matter how hard the nightshift janitors tried to clean it up with mops and rags and brushes some of those blood particles coagulated like spoiled milk in the cracks of the floorboards. Tommy gropes Maria's breasts and kisses her, using his tongue.