chapter 1

So this is the rough, rough draft of the first chapter of the novel or book or whatever I'm writing. Its still really rough, but it felt good finally putting it on paper. More to come, and more edits to do but enjoy.

Chapter 1

I never thought this would be the way I would see him again. Not after two years. I always thought that eventually I would find him on my doorstep at some obscene hour, with a case of cold beer in tow, ruefully grinning as he barged his way through my half open door. He would then navigate his way to my refrigerator and scrounge every scrap of leftovers I had. His story would begin with ‘you wouldn’t believe what I’ve been through’ and over food and beer he would tell me crazy tales of his mishaps and adventures. I would just sit there and smile and shake my head in disbelief. It would be like nothing ever changed from the moment I last saw him. That’s what I always thought.

“Good morning, ladies and gentlemen. This is your captain speaking. We are making our final approach to Portland. It’s about eleven o’clock local time. It’s a beautiful day here in Portland, 75 and clear. We will be landing shortly. The fasten seatbelt sign will be turned on and we please ask you to stay in your seats.” There was a crackle over the loudspeakers as the captain turned off the microphone, followed by a familiar ding. The muted glow of the seatbelt sign turned on overhead. I stared blankly out my seat-side window and tried to clear my head. 11:00 am. It had only happened eight hours ago. I had been blissfully sleeping in my bed with my wife, exhausted and exhilarated by the knowledge that this was our first night in our new home, oblivious of the events that were transpiring a coast away.

I felt the plane lurch as we inched closer to our destination. My view from outside my window changed from patches of green to blue skies and fluffy clouds as the plane gently rolled as we turned. I found the change in scenery a pleasant distraction from my lingering worries.

Before the phone call, I had found myself thinking about him. I found a box of old pictures that I forgot I had while preparing to move. As I went through, I remembered how things once were. Growing up, we were practically inseparable. Where ever I would go, he would somehow manage to find a way to tag along. And without fail, we would somehow find ourselves mixed up in some situation or some sort of trouble. In it all, he would always find a way to laugh about it on the way back home. He always was able to laugh. Through pain and suffering and tears, he could find a reason to laugh and smile.

“Sir, you’re going to have to put your seat tray in the upright position.” I turned to see the flight attendant looking directly at me. She wore a off color blue uniform that seemingly gave her a pleasant demeanor on to be offset by her tight lipped smiled and annoyed look she gave me as she pointed to my seat tray. I had forgotten that it was down. I nodded my head in acknowledgement and scrambled to remove the assorted photos on my tray. I had grabbed some of those pictures I had found on my way out to the airport, along with mementos from the past two years that he had been gone. I hoped to show them to him when I finally saw him. As I hurriedly scooped the assorted memories back into my bag, I knocked a photograph off the tray. It fluttered to the ground by the seat next to me. The flight attendant rolled her eyes in exasperation and moved on to the next row of seats to inspect. The woman sitting next to me reached down and picked up the photograph and handed it back to me. She was pleasant looking women, graying, with the wrinkles you get around the corners of your eyes when you smile a lot. I had noticed her eyeing my photos beforehand, but she had not said anything to me.

“Is that you?” she said as she glanced at the picture. I looked down at the photo. It was a faded portrait of two boys, dirtied by a summer day’s play, standing right beside a lake, grinning without a care in the world. I nodded as I took back the picture, but my gaze lingered on the photograph. I remembered the days when that photo was taken. They were the lazy, carefree days of summer, filled with sun and laughter. As I focused in upon the smiling boy standing next to me in the photograph, I could almost hear his laughter from the latest mishap from that day. It seemed back then we always a reason to laugh.

“That’s me and my brother,” I said to her, handing the picture back to her. She gingerly took the photo from me, glancing back and forth from the photo then back to me. She smiled as she handed back the picture.

“Not so young anymore,” she said. I returned the picture to my bag, along with the other photos from the tray. “Are you two still close?”

“We once were….” I paused as I considered the next words that I was going to say. “Then…we had a falling outs of sorts. I haven’t seen him in two years.” Her smile faded. I wasn’t sure why I said what I said right then. In my head I knew she just trying to make pleasant conversation and that details were unnecessary. Right then and there, I didn’t really care though.

“I’m sorry. Where is he right now?”

“He lives in Portland apparently.”

“So you’re here to visit him?” I paused again. I pursed my lips as I wondered what to say.

“Sort of.” I half expected her to continue to pepper me more questions, but I was surprised when she simply just nodded. The plane rolled again, and my attention returned to the window. The plane had finally begun its descent down toward the airport below us. My attention returned to the window. No matter how much I’ve traveled, I always had a child-like fascination as I flew. The world seemed so diminutive from high in the sky. It felt surreal, being above it all, like you were no longer a participant like land bound inhabitants of the ground beneath. The houses and cars all seemed like miniature model pieces upon a game board set to be played. It was intoxicating to watch these little miniatures become larger and larger and more lifelike as the plane descended, as then surreal once again became real and familiar. And then reality always struck as I felt the plane bounce on the ground and my wings, now clipped, obeyed the laws of gravity.

It took a few moments for the plane to taxi into the gate. I anxiously waited, ready to bolt out of my seat at moment’s notice, once the all clear was given and the doors were open. I reached into my pocket and turned on my cell phone. I heard the familiar chimes as my phone loaded and turned on. 11:31 am. It had been eight hours and twenty one minutes since the phone call. I waited to see if I had received any voicemails while I was in flight. There were none. I next called my wife. The phone rang twice and went straight to voicemail. I realized that she had probably left her phone off since she was at work. I hated leaving voicemails, but I left one anyways telling her that I had landed safely and to call me when she received the message. Right as I got off the phone, there was another ding as the seatbelt sign flashed off and the cabin doors were open. I waited as patiently as I could as the other passengers filed out from the plane, down the hallway to the gate. Navigating with the overhead signs, I passed through the airport security, down a flight of stairs and finally managed to get to the appropriate baggage claim area. I nervously stood waiting for the turnabout to start and the luggage to begin to unload. I noticed several other people from my flight slowly starting to file in and similarly wait for the bags to roll out. We all formed a semi circle around the mouth of the conveyer belt. As more time passed, people eagerly pushed their way to the front as if to catch a glance of a passing movie star or celebrity. I just shook my head in disbelief as I looked at the scrum that had just formed.

I flipped open my phone again. No messages, no missed calls. 11:45 am. Eight hours and thirty five minutes since the call.

“I hope things work out between you and your brother.” I turned to see the women from plane standing right besides me. She smiled kindly at me.

“I hope so too.” I did my best to smile back her. Like a mother would do to her child, she gently patted me on my cheek.

“There you go,” she said to me. “You look so much better with a smile on your face.” She looked at me one last time and walked away. I didn’t even notice the baggage claim had started. I quickly scanned the rotary to see if my bag had been unloaded. It had not, so I waited as I watched the bags unload onto the belt. As each group of bags was unloaded, it almost felt as if I was watching bingo numbers being read and each traveler anxiously waited their turn for their numbers to be said. After a few groups of bags tumbled, it finally became my turn to claim my black travel bag. I walked left the airport and hailed the next empty taxi I saw. The car stopped and I opened the door and tossed in my luggage into the empty seat. I climbed in the car and shut the door. The driver turned around and propped his elbow on the seat.

“Where to my friend?” he said in a thick accent which I wasn’t familiar with. I opened my mouth to say something, but I found that I couldn’t speak. Not like this, I thought to myself. I never thought I would see him this way. Not after two years. It was supposed to be over dinner, over a few too many beers. I would tell him how sorry I was for what I had said. I would tell him that. “Where do you want me to take you?” The cab driver annunciated each syllable as if I couldn’t understand English and directly in my eyes like he could will the words out of me. I closed my eyes and took a deep breath.

“The hospital please.” I finally said. “As fast as you possibly can.”

progress

7/7/07

So I’m back at square one again. I gave the Fishmarket my two weeks notice.

Two steps forward and one step back.

I feel for bad leaving. I’ve grown attached to a lot of the people there. But on the same token, I feel like I’ve already got what I wanted to get from the restaurant. The mismanagement that I saw within the restaurant added upon the general inflexibility and frugality of the ownership, made the choice inevitable. In the end, I would find myself in the locker room after a long day at the bar, making hundreds of drink. Tired, exhausted, looking down upon a crumpled pile of one dollar bills and wondering really if this was all that the work I did amounted to.

I still couldn’t help feeling bad when I told the lady that hired me that I was terminating my employment in two weeks. She winced when the words left my mouth. I winced inside when I saw that. That is the part of me that forever wants to please. I guess I’ll never get completely over it.

But, in the end, I got to do what’s best for me. Me and mine.

I kind of have a job lined up already. I was drinking at a bar on Thursday and I got talking to the bartender upstairs. When my friend came, I found out that he was one of the owners of the bar. She then proceeded to ask him what it would take for me to get a job at the bar. By the end of the night, the bartender gave me his business card and his number and said that if I wanted a job to call him.

Two steps forward.

However there is a catch. I will not be working as a bartender immediately. He made that clear from the get go. Security, serving, bar backing and then bartending, if I make it that far. But I don’t know. I really want to work there. Just watching the owner of the bar bartend, you could tell that he had a passion for the business. He knew the story for every beer on tap, kept a bustling bar entertained but still managed to keep all of our glasses full. And he did something that no bartender has ever done to me. He cut me off. I was drinking a beer with higher alcoholic content and right as I was about to order another beer, he suggested that I drink one with a lower content. In no way was he demeaning or insulting about it, but he posed it as a mere suggestion by happenchance.

He was like a master maestro at work, and I, who fashioned myself similarly as a maestro behind the bar, just watched him work his craft in awe. It made me realize that I have a lot to learn about the art of making and handing out drinks to costumers that entered the hallowed sanctity of my bar.

One step back.

Thus I feel like I’m back a square one, no further down the path of where I want to go than I was four months ago. But, sometimes, I suppose not moving is still better than treading backwards on paths already blazed.

I had a random set of dreams last night. One of them had one of my ex’s in them. She looked different than I remember her as. Older. And hauntingly beautiful. Her countenance is seemingly engraved in my thoughts today. I wonder what it means. Are dream random synapses of an unconscious mind? Or do they hold a foreboding warning of future that is to come to pass or a past that is still unsettled.

Or maybe I am just lonely, and my memories lingered on the last time I had the companionship of someone that I loved and loved me, if only for so briefly a time.

I don’t know.

I am relieved that this chapter is over though. Only two more weeks at the Fishmarket. I feel empowered now for some reason; I’m waiting for a manager to cross me or chastise me or make my job any harder than it is. I’m waiting for the general manger, in all his pompousness, to come over and threaten my job over a trivial matter again. And then I would simply respond that I had already given my two weeks notice as a courtesy to the restaurant, and that I am not really obligated to do so. Then I would shout I QUIT before he can tell me I’m fired.

Juvenile, I know. But its still a good feeling knowing that I am able to do that if need be.