What do you think of my preface and 1st part of chapter?

PREFACE

I never said I wanted to be alone. I never said anything. I guess that was decided for me too. That sounds like me. Just floating through life waiting for the next monkey to jump on my back and take hold of the reigns. I never stood up for anyone…including me. I just didn’t have the back bone. Then she came. She turned my life around and tore down the walls so I could see. I didn’t want to see. I was perfectly fine blind and in the dark. Why did she have to come? I regret her; hate her. No. I never could bring myself to hate her. But why? Why did I have to be s pathetic and spineless? I’m getting a little too far ahead of myself. I guess my spiraling downfall and self destructive peaks appeared around the time she did. You see, in this little town of Genevieve, Illinois, not much is new. People are still boasting about their 1952 fords to those who own the earlier model. I can’t believe they still work. I should. I help fix them. Well. Anyway. I guess I’ll have to go back to…Mon—no. Sunday would be better.

CH.1
“Ugh. What the fuck?” I yanked the shouting alarm clock from the wall and tossed it on the floor with little to no effort. It bounced once then the face popped off and the plastic contraption was disemboweled. It wasn’t supposed to go off. It was the weekend. I had deserved a day off of failure. I turned over in my bed, shivering. I tore the pillow case of the tattered pillow and stretched the ends over my curled up body. Why did I give Terrence my sheets? Oh, yeah. He asked me.
“Get up shithead!” Terrence shouted through the door. “You got work to do!”
Yeah. I got work to do. His. Ugh. I peeked over the edge of my bare mattress at the clock. Fuck. I threw it. Damn it! It should really have a warning label on it.
Do Not Throw Across Room
I could sue for that. I rolled out of bed. Literally. I couldn’t move my abs muscles; I couldn’t move anything without pain. Why was I sore? Oh yeah. I pushed a 1958 Buick convertible at least six blocks because Terrence hurt his arm plating football. I shoved my feet into holes in denim. Were they clean? Who cares. I yanked off my tank top and sniffed it. Shit. I spun around to my bed. Fuck it all! Smothered with oil and dirt. Nice Al. Real nice. I picked up an old rag, spit in it, and wiped my arms and stomach and face. I yanked the gray tank top hanging on my closet door and pulled it over my head. I fluffed my hair to rid of any debris that may have been lingering in there from cleaning up after Terrence.
My legs didn’t work right. Cramped and screaming. I stumbled over to the coffee and poured the rest in a dirty coffee mug. Only half. Shit. I need more than that to wake up. Giggling. I think it was. Who was here? I guzzled the cold coffee black. No time for sugar or cream. I stuck my head around the corner peering into the living room. Jenifer. Oh no. Not—
“Allyson! You look so…Hi.” Jennifer was Terrence’s new girlfriend. Prep. Anorexic. Cheerleader. What could I say? I hated her. I rolled my eyes, held my breath, and plastered a fake grin across my face and walked into her out stretched arms. She kept me at arms length. Thank you God for making her preppy. She was borderline grimacing and air kissed my cheeks.
“I’m about to go to work. Would you be a dear and—“
“Soy latte. No cream. Extra foam. No prob.”
“Oh. You are a babe Allyson. Bye hon.” She pranced over to Terrence who was to preoccupied with his Xbox to care. She pecked his cheek and flew out the door. The closing door sent a whiff of her nauseating perfume I managed to stay away from when hugging her. The thought made my skin crawl.
“I wish you would hurry up and cheat on her. God she annoys me.”
He grunted in recognition, or because f gas. I didn’t care. I had work. Ugh. At least I was paid. I picked up the stack of paper next to the phone. Holy shit! There had to be more arrons here than there were yesterday. At least fifty.
“Hey, uh…Terr. Do you think you could take care of some of these. This is just…Fuck. I need to finish–”
“Yeah. Stop whining I’ll do some.”
I filtered through the requests. Twenty were for cars. A few for plumbing problem. One for a lost pet. The rest for deliveries. I grabbed the deliveries and ran out the door pulling out my cell that should have died months ago. I punched the missed call list. Fuck my mother! I jumped into the truck and turned over the engine, pealing out of the drive way.
Too early to call anyone. The dashboard clock beamed a harsh crimson 6:30 at me. I cranked up the radio to get my mind off killing the next person that asks me for a “favor”. Country. I hate country. I jammed a CD into the slot and turned the volume up even more. I couldn’t scare a pigeon with the volume on this busted pickup. One of the speakers was blown and the other was only a temporary hook up. Ahhh. Mudvayne. That is much better. Let’s see. First stop. Deli.

DOES IT SUCK??? I WAS BORED. THERE IS NO ONE TO GIVE ME FEED BACK. SO MUCH THN
ﻼﻼﻼﻼ

“Hello? Anyone home?”
“Oh. Thank heavens.” Ms. Balucini. In the pit of desperation no doubt…as always. “I really can’t leave the store. The truck just dropped off another shipment. I—Can you—I mean.”
“I’m here. Miz B. What do you need? I got all day.” Hurry the hell up. I aint got all day. I had 17 missed fucking calls. Likely more deliveries. “Who am I going to and what am I bringing?”
“It’s not a delivery Al. It’s more of a—a pick up I guess.” What? There’s something wrong. She turned around and grabbed her gray roots and groaned out of frustration.
“Just tell me Miz B. Is it your dog? Do you need…Sara or something?”
“No. My—my niece is coming down. You see her parents were—they…There has been. Well.”
“Look Miz B. I don’t need an explanation. Jut the package and destination.” Ugh. The corniest slogan ever. Oh well. It seemed to work.
“I need you to pick up my niece from the airport.” She spun around quickly. Her eyes begging. I know what I was.
Aside from being a schmuck. I was a last resort.
“But…But there isn’t an airport in Genevieve. Is there?”
“No…Not exactly. It’s in Mendota. A couple miles north of here.”
“I—I don’t know Miz B. I mean I got all these deliveries and…”
“Fifty!” She shouted unexpectedly. “Al. I have to tend the store. You can run errands with her. She is about your age. In fact, she is in the same grade.” I could feel my eyes grow wide with her panic. Was she really paying me that? That was a whole days worth if I was lucky.
“A hundred! Please Al. I need this.”
I couldn’t speak. Down here, you think everyone was dirt poor when you are running a business, yet their yard is filled with frivolous decorations and they have classic cars. Five hours work and I get a hamburger and a ten.
“One fifty!”
“Whoa. Mi—Miz B. You don’t have to. I mean…” Something crashed in the kitchen followed by a cursed. She shouted back in Italian I guess.
She shoved a wad of cash in my hand and pulled out a wooden spoon raising it over her head as she run for the kitchen. Whoa. They put the fun in dysfunctional for sure. Am I really holding $150? No fucking way. I love you Miz B. Mixed in with the bills were a printed out e-mail stating time and destination of arrival. Mendota was an hour away and the plane landed at eight. Better go.
I grabbed a piece of home made fudge from the counter and ran out the door. Ok. Next stop. Mendota.

END OIF CH.1

Your Answer:
This has to be the most concise piece of writing I’ve read on answers in a long time. It was funny and left just enough information out so that the reader is engaged in hanging around to get filled in on the details. It could use a basic clean-up and some basic cliches could be dumped and you’d still have a nice start. I’m not sure where the story is going but as a reader I like when a writer can keep me interested by their style. Your style of letting the reader in as the character moves about the pages is exciting. Even the process of her getting dressed is dynamic versus static. You are showing not telling and everything is in present tense so that we are living it as the main character is.
Again some slight clean up such as filling us in on how the ‘soy latte’ is going to get to Terrence’s new girlfriend if she left. I’m cloudy on that one. Don’t know what type of business they have if sometimes they’re fixing cars and sometimes it’s all about deliveries but I like that from day to day it could change for the reader if not for the character. I’m also not clear on what age we are talking about and that’s something I like to know in order to offer better advice on characters and even setting. Who is older Alyson or Terrence? Which might explain why she gave up her sheets to her younger brother and why she’s always allowing him to walk all over her which then leads to her allowing everyone to walk all over her.
No matter what I really enjoyed the story. I could do without the preface, for me it didn’t add anything to the story. I’m fine with picking up one morning and I’ll find out about ‘whoever’ this other person is as the story unfolds. It’s part of the charm of stories. I love the clock thing. I do that myself in stories sometimes although the spit shower was nasty I suppose that’s just a preference thing. I like the casual style of writing it’s very conversational and again brings me the reader right into the story. It makes it up close and personal for me and already I’m feeling Al’s annoyances and aggravations but more than anything her complacency. Like the radio, so it’s busted at least I’ve got a good CD. Truck is crap but it’s my crap and it runs.

J…