Below is another rewrite of the first part of The Fire-Breathing Termite. I've tried to remove the patheticness from the main character. I've also discovered that this story has turned out to be about very little--almost Seinfeld-esque, without the cleverness. I'm nearing the end, but I felt like posting what I had so far.

Your wait from this point is forty-five minutes.

Thomas waited. The Fire-Breathing Termite lurked 150 feet overhead like a gigantic anthill covered with ants saddled with screaming passengers. The August sun lashed Thomas’s neck. He rubbed it and looked around. The crowd stood too close to him and radiated its own heat. Thomas concentrated and muttered, “Heat is only electrical impulses in the brain. There is no such thing as heat.”

“What’s that?” Kem said. Even in the heat, she wore a blue, unzipped sweatshirt with a hood and pull strings. Peeking from underneath her sweatshirt was a black shirt printed with “Pumpkin Picker: Basket.” She painted her eyes with heavy, blue eye shadow and fastened silver berets in her hair. She stood perfectly still, not even seeming to breathe.

“Nothing. Just searching for some meaning in all this heat.”

“Any luck?”

He barked a laugh and rubbed his neck again. “Yeah. I discovered heat doesn’t have meaning unless you’re stuck in it. That’s something they don’t teach you in the air-conditioned meditation class.”

Thomas learned he would ride the Termite a week ago. He was eating brunch with Kem and discussing vegetarianism. Kem was trying to decide if she cared enough about animal rights to stop eating animals. Thomas bit into his half-pound cheeseburger and gestured wildly with it before responding.

“It’s a world where you have to eat or be eaten,” he said. The burger passed Kem’s face. “This may look innocent and defenseless, but if it had not been viciously killed and grinded, it might eat you and everyone you love, or, at the very least, some of the grass around your house. I know how much you love that grass.”

“I don’t have a house. And my apartment is surrounded by concrete, not grass.”

“That doesn’t change anything. Just think about the grass. If we don’t protect it, who will? We have two choices: we can control the lawn mower population or the cow population. We both know that the lawn lobby is too strong to stop the mowers. That leaves the cow population. And don’t even get me started on the sesame seed population.”

Kem looked amused. Thomas took another bite of his burger and meat juices dripped down his chin. Kem leaned over, wiped the mess off his face, and put a finger on his lips before he could continue. “We’re going to Defying Adventures next weekend,” she said. “And you’re going to ride the Termite. It’s all planned. Now, what were you saying about eat or be eaten?” Kem smiled as Thomas turned a Kermit shade of green.

Your wait from this point is forty-one minutes.

A Fire-breathing Termite car appeared at the top of the Termite mound and slinked toward the peak. Six people sat two by two in the car. A few hands raised in preparation for the drop. As it passed the peak, the car hung motionless before gravity tugged. Kem clapped and laughed as the car disappeared into a Termite hole. Thomas averted his eyes.

He shifted the plastic bag holding Faust from his sweaty left hand to my right. Faust was still alive and swimming. For not the first time, Thomas wished he had won the goldfish for Kem. His fishing line wouldn’t catch the plastic fish’s mouth in the game booth. Each try cost five dollars and most players won on their second try. He had tried four times before giving up. He hated to disappoint Kem, but even after changing fishing lines, he couldn’t win. Kem won the fish on her first try and handed it to Thomas to hold. He took it gladly, happy to be of some assistance in her quest.

“So, how long is this line?” Kem said.

Thomas shushed Kem. “I’m concentrating on keeping my lunch down. I’m doing pretty good with the hot dogs, but the slushy is problematic. I knew cherry was a mistake when I bought it.”

“The line, freak. How long?”

Thomas pointed at the sign overhead, which flashed advertisements along its borders and counted the waiting time digitally at its center. Kem glared at the sign and shoved her middle finger toward it. The sign, as if affected by her finger, increased the wait time by five minutes. Kem groaned and Thomas erupted in laughter.

Thomas met Kem freshman year, mostly because of his roommate, John. John started university dating his high school sweetheart, a senior a year younger than him. Like most of these relationships, it didn’t last past the first semester. While they pledged their immortal love to each other, her senior activities and his newfound freedom doomed their pledge. But for the first month, before high school started, they spent their time in Thomas’s room. They didn’t bother tying anything on the knob when busy. Thomas learned to listen warily at the door before opening it. John’s girlfriend took an almost obscene pleasure in Thomas’s interruption of their lovemaking. While Thomas did not mind seeing her slender, six-foot frame sweating in rapture, John intimidated Thomas and he did not want to risk a misunderstanding.

Instead of chancing an interruption, Thomas wandered his dormitory halls. Freshman orientation had finished, but classes had not yet started, allowing the students time to socialize and get used to their new environment. Murals painted by generations of students with either too much time or too much talent covered the walls outside the rooms.

Kem sat outside her room with her legs stretched across the hall. She had large, slightly sloped eyes that dominated her oval face. Her arms and shoulders were droopy and her body looked like it was about to fall down. Kem refused to carry a bag and instead wore pants with many large pockets, usually cargo pants. Her pockets were always full of stuff: candies, letters, pencil sharpeners, anything that was lying about, it all ended in her pockets. She emptied her pockets every evening, but by the next afternoon, they were full again.

A book was splayed across her knees and her head was bent over it. Thomas was surprised to see someone reading a book. School had not yet started and he couldn’t envision someone reading without an assignment. He stepped over Kem’s outstretched legs, his head turning to track her.

“I’m not going to grow unless you step back,” she said, looking up.

Thomas continued to stare at Kem with an unreadable expression on his face.

“I was taught as a little girl that if someone steps over you, you stop growing. I don’t know about you, but I’m barely five feet tall. I’m not going to risk losing even an inch. So, if you wouldn’t mind.” She pointed to her legs. Thomas stepped back over and she pulled her legs in to let Thomas pass.

Thomas pointed to the wall across from Kem. “Mind if I join you?”

“You have a thing for short girls?”

“Great men stand on the shoulders of giants. Even little men appear tall when standing there.”

“Little women, too, eh?”

Your wait from this point is thirty-four minutes.

A black car roared through one of the Termite mound’s side holes. The car twisted upside down and turned sharply. A second car exploded from the hole and passed underneath the first. The passengers from the two cars extended their arms toward each other. From this distance, the hands looked like centipede legs propelling the cars away from each other. Both cars returned into the mound through different holes.

The line slithered and looped forward. Thomas felt the frustration building inside him. It was still as far away as an approaching train that appeared motionless while you stood on the tracks until it was too late to jump. “When did we get so accepting of lines? How can we wait in these lines and remain balanced?”

Kem squeezed Thomas’s arm and leaned her head against his shoulder. “It’s not that bad.”

“But is it worth the wait? What are we even waiting for?”

“Are you trying to get out of riding the Termite? It isn’t going to work, you know. We need to get you over what happened last time.”

“That wasn’t even going through my head. I was thinking about the line and the underlying causes of lines.” Thomas almost smiled at Kem’s perception. He had not noticed

Kem chewed on one of her sweatshirt’s pull strings. She smelled like cherries. Thomas closed his eyes and took in her flavor. It was captivating. “Lines are based on the rules of society,” she said. “People follow rules. It’s what people do. If they didn’t, it would be anarchy.”

“Well, then long-live anarchy!”

“No. Think about it for a moment. Lines are artifacts of rules, and rules are what make society civil. Without them, I would be worried what the guy in front of us who is staring at me would do. Because of rules, I know that there’s a good chance that he’s just ogling and probably won’t attack me. That’s a good thing.”

The man in front abruptly faced forward.

Kem majored in English Literature. She was that rare freshman that knew what she wanted and never wavered in her studies. She read continuously, usually with a pen in her mouth. Thomas tried to read every book she carried. He wasn’t much of a reader, but he forced himself to read every night. During the first six months that he knew Kem, she carried a book of Sylvia Plath’s poetry, the pages drawn with five-pointed stars, hearts, and heavy underlines.

Thomas walked her back to her dorm one night and recited Plath’s “You’re” to her. The night was cool with only pinches of moonlight marking the path. Thomas stopped next to a park bench and recited the poem. At the end, he placed one hand on each of her shoulders and said, “Right, like a well-done sum. / A clean slate, with your own face on.”

It was still early in their relationship. They had been seeing each other for a few months, but she had expressed uncertainty about their future. She was still getting over her relationship with her last boyfriend, who she had dated throughout high school. After he finished, she smiled and raised her hand to his face. Her fingers were stained with ink. A pen in one of her pants’ pockets had exploded and blackened her hand. She brought her fingers close to hi face but pulled away before touching me. “I don’t want to get ink all of your face,” she said and turned to walk home. Thomas watched her walk, and her knees buckled and she caught herself.

Your wait from this point is thirty-two minutes.

This section of the line had no shade. The heat from the sun smacked Thomas’s unprotected skin in waves. The line moved forward. As it turned a corner, two lanes appeared separated by a dull orange rope. Thomas followed the people in front and stepped into the right lane. Kem peered down the empty left lane. A man dressed in jean shorts pointed at the empty lane and said something to his girlfriend.

“Do you think that other lane is a return lane?” she asked.

Both lanes made a sharp right turn ahead. Nobody came back along the left lane. “Not sure,” Thomas said.

Thomas considered the left lane. People had a tendency to choose the longer line. This was mostly an American phenomenon. In Europe, people fought each other for the shortest path to the front. Americans felt that the longer the line, the safer the choice. There was a group mentality to waiting. If the line was long enough, there must be something good at the end of it. This holds even if all lines lead to the same place.

Before Thomas dated Kem, he would never have given the left lane a second thought. Kem was an alpha female: Her clothing was a season ahead of the fashion. She found garage bands and listened to their music before they hit big. The room quieted when she talked, everyone eager to listen. Her friends unconsciously dressed like her: not one of them carried a bag anymore.

Kem loved to stay up late and discuss everything. She said she was her most expressive in the late evening hours when the streets empty and the world quiets. Thomas was lying in her bed one evening with her head resting on his chest. He stroked her brown hair, which she streaked with blonde, braided extensions. On the ceiling, she taped glow-in-the-dark stars forming the major winter constellations of the northern hemisphere. Kem was exact in everything she did. Like most of their conversations, the longer they spoke, the more philosophical it turned.

“You have to avoid the herd mentality,” she said. “Many times I do the exact opposite of what people expect. I like to watch their reactions. It’s about manipulating the herd: they’re my own cult. Most times, they don’t even think about what they’re doing. In a group, people aren’t terribly smart.” Thomas commented that individually they aren’t that smart either, but she shushed him. “They’ll follow the easiest path,” she continued. “Even if it isn’t the best or most interesting path. Someone has to rebel and change the status quo.”

“We should go down the left lane,” I said.

Before we could change lines, the man in the jean shorts and his girlfriend jumped the rope divider and headed down the empty left lane. The floodgates opened behind and a crowd followed. The left line filled up quickly. The lines evened out before there was a break.

“Eh,” Thomas said. “I’m in no hurry anyway. The ride will be there when we get there.”

“Those grapes sound awfully sour.”

“They’re still yummy,” he said and kissed the top of her head.

Your wait from this point is twenty-three minutes.

After the turn, the line began to weave through metal switchback stairs. This was the point of no cutting. Once you entered the metal structure, it was next to impossible for someone to catch up without cutting through an angry line of people. Thomas caught his last glimpse of a Termite car slowing down at the end of the ride by completing a series of lazy loops around the bottom of the mound. It was at this point in the ride that the riders took stock. They checked to make sure all their parts were where they were supposed to be. It was also at this point last time that Thomas knew he wouldn’t be able to keep his food down.

The cars vibrated the metal stairs. While the stairs provided shade, the metal heated quickly. Near the top of the stairs, the heat became unbearable. Faust kept banging his head into the side of the bag. The water had heated up in the afternoon sun. Thomas placed his hand on the bag and the fish rammed its head against his hand. The warm water felt like he imagined silicone felt.

“I’ve heard rumors that goldfish were so stupid that when they swim around their tank and come back around, they forget where they’ve just been and think the same area is new,” Thomas said.

“I don’t believe those theories. Faust is smart. I can tell.”

“Maybe. He probably knows that there’s nothing better on this side of the bag. The only thing here is this hot line and a terrible fall at its end.”

“You think they’ll let us take Faust on the ride?” Kem said.

Thomas held up the fish and turned the bag to until it faced him. Its lips pursed, opening and closing before swimming away from him. “For his sake, I hope not.”

Thomas had taken Kem to Defying Adventures to ride the Termite on their first, official date. He wanted to impress her with his courage and nonchalant attitude toward danger. It didn’t work as he had hoped.

To be finished (one of these days)....