lost fiction

I’m not exactly sure where I’m supposed to start. Most likely the best place to start would be from here on out. So I guess here it is. There’s this grill, well, a restaurant of sorts, around the corner from my house and I was there waiting to meet this friend of mine. I’ve known her for ages it seems. We would do this every now and again. Catch up. Figure out what’s going on in each other’s lives. You know the typical friend thing when you’ve reached an age where everything has to be planned in advance, written down or a date circled on a calendar. That’s what we all eventually become anyway. Appointments. It actually worked out nicely ‘cause she was free from work and so we decided on this place near my house. She doesn’t work far from here either. It’s nice having a friend close by. And so there she was. She did look nice. She’s had cut her hair again. It’s was almost the end of summer I figured she would’ve kept letting it out for the season. What do I know?

“Hi there.”

“Hello.”

“I’m sorry I’m late.”

“That’s alright.” Most of the time I wouldn’t have minded really but I have this tendency to sort of show up ridiculously early. I got it from my father. He always has to be the first to arrive at gatherings no matter what the occasion. I swear we’ve been to weddings before the caterers have arrived to set the tables for dinner. Anyway I had gotten there ten ‘til one and the date was for one. It was five past when she showed. Fifteen minutes is nothing unless of course you’re standing outside this restaurant and you go in prematurely and they ask how many in the party and you tell them there’s just two of you but there’s really only one right there waiting to be seated.

“I just got caught up at work. I left notes everywhere reminding me not to forget about lunch with you and when I looked up at the clock it was ten minutes of.”

“I was just telling myself that’s when I got here. Sorry. That sounds rude. You really didn’t keep me waiting. I’m just too punctual that’s all. Forget it. Let’s eat.”

“Yes, lets.”

“Just the two of you.” It was the hostess. They dress them up there in black and white. Makes the place all formal. And I was there in my tattered shorts and slip on sandals. You can see the tan lines on my feet even it’s all I wear.

“Yes.” It was a good thing she answered for me I was going all off about my tan. I’m actually quite tan. I mean I’m not from here so it’s somewhat natural but in the summer I’m shades darker than what I’m used to. We were given a booth. Booths are nice. I don’t think I’ve ever sat in a booth before. Not there I mean.

“I don’t think I’ve ever sat here before.”

“I was just thinking that myself. It’s nice. You can see outside.”

“It’s so sunny. I do wish I could spend more time in it rather than behind a desk. You’ve got it lucky you know. Professionally unemployed. I mean I’ve been trying to give the hint to my boss about that opening we’ve had for a week now, but in all honestly you better be enjoying your vacation from reality.”

“I wouldn’t think too much about that. You know that I am. It is getting close to that time where I need the work. Lunch isn’t paying for itself. What I mean is that I’ve come close to broke. Just last night I was looking at my spending since I’ve been here and had to go and ask dad for a check. I’ve gone and found so many ways to spend money that I don’t have. I didn’t even ask him for cash. So later when he’s sitting at his desk paying bills the first one he writes is for me. That’s what I’ve become. A bill they pay. My parents I mean. It’s nice but I’m starting to feel somewhat worthless.”

“That does sound nice. But don’t let yourself get used to it. What all can you possibly be doing with yourself.” That was the nice thing about this. We usually got right to the point. It wasn’t that we, or at least she was so busy that we hadn’t the time to waste on the little things, it was just that we reached the point of comfort long ago to as where all the little chitchat that people put on for show didn’t matter anymore. It may sound as if that there was simply just catching up on those little things people ask one another when they’ve not seen each other for some time but it wasn’t. It was a question about life and not just the days past.

“Well I’ve stopped reading for one.”

“Why’s that? You love reading.”

“So I could write. It isn’t helping.”

“Why’s that the case? You love to write. And I’ve read it. You’ve done some good things with it too.”

“I don’t want to get involved, start something new. Not right now. I’ve kept this log by my side for the past few weeks and I’ve got some good notes. I don’t seem to know where to start with it and so I keep putting it off. I just seem to want to keep with the log until the idea’s well enough in my head. Then I can put it to paper.”

“Well what are the notes on?”

“The shape it seems to be taking, or that I seem to want it to take…” I had to stop just then. They came to take our orders.

“Welcome here today. How are we this afternoon?” This is the chitchat I was speaking of. Then again they’re paid to do it so they can’t be helped. I must come across as cold speaking of people in the waiting industry in such ways. Well I didn’t mean it like that.

“We’re good thanks.” She was answering for the both of us again. I was thankful for it.

“Good,” she nodded. “Are we ready to order then?”

“You know I don’t think we’ve looked at the menus yet.” We hadn’t. I did know what I wanted though.

“I do actually know what I want without it, do you mind if I do? Order I mean.” I swear I’m not usually in that type of rush. I don’t know what had gotten into me. Hunger perhaps.

“Not at all.”

“The fettuccine alfredo please.”

“Oh. I do think I’ll have the same.” So it was settled without the menus and the waitress left us.

“So where were we?”

“I think you were asking me what I was doing with my life. Or time. Or something along those lines.” I remember grinning like an idiot. I do that a lot.

“That’s it. You were saying about your writing.”

“Right. I was saying, I was saying that the shape it seems to be taking, or that I seem to want it to take, it really seems like maybe that’s all I am.”

“What?”

“Seeming.”

“There you go again. You’re thinking about it too much. I can tell by the way you’re trying to get it out to me right now. Just go and get on with it.”

“Well alright then. I mean I know I’ll get to it. It might take some time but if I say I will I will.”

“Oh I know you will. We’re just tired of waiting on you. You say you want to be a writer, then get on with it. You never know what could stop you.”

“From writing?”

“No, you.”

“You mean me from writing?”

“No, just you.”

“Well then I apologize. I didn’t know I already had an audience.” Well I must have an audience. If I haven’t got an audience I’ve no story to tell. Maybe I’ll just tell myself. The food came just then.

“That was quick, thank you.”

“What’s it about then? What you’re putting off.”

“It’s about someone who wants to write a story and him writing that story.”

“That sounds original.”

“Hopefully it’ll come across as such. Oh, you’re mocking me.” I could tell because she had held her fork out as her wrist went limp and her eyebrows were raised. “Well you know what I write about. I write about things like this. Reality. But with a twist at times. It’s all based on people I know, have heard about, met maybe once. Some assumptions here. Some fabrications there. If people just wanted the reality of things I wouldn’t write. I mean I’m not going to get paid to lie. This way I can take things as I see them and give my interpretation. I like to call it autobiographical fiction.”

“It’s been done.”

“Yes. But not by me.”

“Well that might be true. But I think you still need something more.”

“I do have more. I’m sorry I just felt like I shouldn’t give away too much into it because it hasn’t even been started yet. Like I said, it’s just notes right now. If you really want to know though I could give you the gist of it. I even have a title. I think.”

“That’s entirely up to you. You don’t have to go and give anything away at all. I can keep waiting.” I didn’t believe her.

“Solitaire’s Edge.”

“What?”

“That’s it. That’s the title. Solitaire’s Edge.”

“I see. Well that sounds interesting.”

“That’s funny to say. You know nothing about it.”

“That doesn’t matter. I like the title. It sounds interesting.”

“So it’s something you’d maybe pick up if you saw it on the rack? Or maybe if you had a friend that recommended it? Simply based upon the title it’d be interesting enough for you to pick it up?”

“Maybe. Depends if I had the time just then to start something. But yes, I assume I would if I had the time.”

“That’s good to know then.”

“Sure.”

“You want to know what it’s about don’t you?” She rolled her eyes at me.

“So what’s it about.”

“Well if you don’t want to know I don’t have to say another word. We can sit here and finish up our meals. Or maybe you could talk for once.” I hope that I don’t normally sound this rude. It’s just how I talk. I don’t really mean anything by it.

“I am sorry you feel that I’m not talking.”

“Well we’ve just been focusing on me here and I do think it’s nice of you to ask about what I’ve been doing. What have you been doing?”

“Working.”

“Oh, right.” That’s all she had to say so the two of us sat there finishing up our meals. There really wasn’t anymore to say. She had to get back to work and I had to continue on with my business of nothing in particular so we decided to enjoy the silence and eat in peace. She eventually got up and paid her share of the bill, said we’d talk again soon and was on her way. I left shortly afterwards.

In the suburbs of the Capital off one of the busiest roads in the county is my neighborhood. The street is at the end of a road under construction. The development consists of four rows of houses. The outer ones curve at opposite ends, almost forming two letter Js laid on the ground about a hundred yards apart. In between those are two parallel rows where the backsides of the houses face one another. You can find these developments everywhere. Most of them are fairly new and follow along the same type of layout.

My parents had been wanting to move out of our old house for years. About six years ago they finally did. We came out one day to meet with some lady who was dressed too nicely for the time of day it was. I remember it was late as both my parents were home from work and even my sister was home from school. I wasn’t in school then. College I mean. They went to sign some contract and so with a stroke of a pen the house they would most likely die in was ours. I had no idea what was going on and it didn’t hit me that we were moving to a new house until we had gotten back to the one we had been in for twelve years. It didn’t really settle in with me either until my dad had rented one of those big diesel moving trucks and I came home from school one day only to find all the boxes I had left laying out in my room gone.

The neighborhood was nicer. It was cleaner and quieter and consisted mostly of families just getting their start. Not like ours with the kids mostly grown up and ready to leave. I got to keep the same school and that summer actually I had gotten my license to drive so I ended up liking it. My room was much bigger too.

Anyway our house wasn’t too far from the restaurant so I had walked and now I had to walk back home. There’s a road that runs somewhat behind our neighborhood that intersects the road the restaurant was on so I was walking along that. The sunny day we had spoken of earlier seemed to be retreating and it felt like rain. I had forgotten about the construction that was going on. I ended up walking along stones, each about the size of golf-balls, for about a quarter mile. It was hell on my feet.

I felt bad for the way I had acted back at the restaurant. I’m never in a hurry like that. Most of all I’m not so short with people. I tend to think out everything I do and say most times. I honestly feel at times like every conversation I have with people is rehearsed, like it’s been scripted or something. I guess I just always have a story in my head to tell. I’m a sucker for stories. Anyway I started to tell myself I’d send her a letter apologizing. Just something short and simple. She’d like that. Or maybe think I was making too much of it. This was me thinking too much. Like always.

The thought ended though when I came across some construction workers. There was a part of me that wanted to sympathize with these guys cause they had been going at it, constructing this road, for what seemed to be years, all the while working in whatever weather happened to find them on any given day. In all reality they didn’t really do much work and that’s why it seemed like years because really they got nothing accomplished. They had been surveying for years out here, waiting for another buyer to come out and develop the land. So basically these guys were just sitting around getting paid to look dirty. Or something like that anyway.

Maybe I could get into construction. I mean when you are working it’s an honorable job, right? You build the things that make up the world. It’s very necessary. Then again my parents probably wouldn’t think so. After having them pay for four years of school I kind of agreed with them. That kind of construction isn’t me anyway. Those guys build with their hands. I’m no good at that. I’m the kind of guy who has to build with his mind. Yeah, that sounds real deep I know but really. I took shop class in high school. I was horrible at it. Then again I wasn’t too good at the other things too. The classes where you build with your mind. But I’m older now so maybe I’m better at that. I think I’ve spent more time working on my mind than with my hands. I’d probably be better suited for it.

The workers were looking at me now. Some leaning against their shovels, some against the pickup they shared among them. They looked too clean. One was even dressed nicer than me. I mean I don’t think I’ve ever seen a construction worker wearing a collared shirt before, but there were six of them and at least three had on these light cotton collared shirts that buttoned up all the way down. These guys looked like they just shaved too. Maybe the construction field had gone soft. I didn’t know. Just then they started to talk to me. I have no idea why. I offer nothing to these guys. I mean I’m a guy myself.

“Hey kid. You live over there?”

“Yes sir I sure do.”

“Well you should know you’re not supposed to walk through here. The road’s closed.”

“I’m sorry sir. I didn’t know. I was just cutting through.”

“Well that’s what we’re saying. No cutting through. Not anymore. Not ‘til the road here is done.”

“Alright sir. I’ll remember that. Thank you.”

“Well you go ahead now and walk on back over that way then.”

“But my house, it’s right over there sir, I’m almost there.”

“Can’t do it. We’re not permitted to allow anyone access through here.”

“Please sir, I live right there.”

“Nope, can’t do it.”

I turned around and started backtracking and whispered to myself, “jackass,” just as it started to rain.

I was born during the rains. You know them as the monsoons. Either way it was pouring when I was brought into the world and it was pouring now. It took maybe two seconds for my shirt to soak through. Felt good though. I’ve always liked the rain. It feels good to be wet. Especially in the heat. Nothing like a cold shower with your clothes on to get you moving too.

I most likely would have picked up the pace but my feet kept slipping out of the sandals. That and I think I enjoyed it too much. Can’t say the same for the traffic. No one around here really knows how to drive in bad weather. The slightest drizzle sends everyone to a screeching halt.

I had made it back out to a main road all because those guys made me turn back and now everyone on their way home from whatever it is they had to be doing was honking at me. There was no sidewalk. It was walk along the curb in the stream of water or get caked in mud. Just because I chose the stream of water didn’t mean they had to honk. What I was doing had to be much safer than what they were doing.

Anyway by the time I had reached my house I didn’t even feel like going in. I saw the dog in the window next to the door so I told myself I might as well. Right when I reached for the door there was a bolt of lightning that couldn’t have landed too far from us and I dropped the keys. I normally don’t scare like that either. I love thunderstorms.

I finally got the keys into the knob and inside just in time to have the dog jump all over me. He was losing hair like mad on account of the season and it all stuck on my clothing cause I was dripping water. I went over to his dish and got some food for him and that seemed to calm him down. That’s all it took and he was happy. I liked that. I just kind of stood there smiling. After he took a few bites he looked up at me, chewing on his food, but with a look in his eye as if he wanted to ask, “I’m eating aren’t I, what more do you want?” I don’t know. That dog’s smarter than me or something. I still didn’t want to be inside though so I opened the front door and sat on the ledge. Our porch is covered and so it’s nice sometimes to just sit out there and watch the rain.

I could do that for a living. Watch the weather. If I ever grow up I want to live somewhere with four seasons. I like all the seasons for their respective qualities. They all seem to last long enough for you to enjoy them, get tired of them, and then end just at the right time. Of course there’s the in-between seasons and the weather can’t make up its mind on what it wants to do. That’s kind of nice too sometimes.

I’ve never known what I’ve wanted to do as a profession though. For a few years now I’ve indulged in the idea of being a writer, but I never really considered myself that creative or having much of an imagination to carry out the task of being capable of writing something of length that was worth reading. I never even thought I could report on actual events that took place and write that down for some type of publication. The best way around that would be to combine the two. I know myself and what I’ve been through and so that part was easy. It’s turning it into something someone else would want to go through that makes it something more. I mean what significance is there in my story. I was just going through, taking things as they came my way, occasionally making choices. That’s not interesting. It’s typical. No one wants to read about that.

That’s all what lunch was about really.

I remembered wanting to write that short letter to her and I would’ve but my mom pulled into the driveway just then.

“You’re soaking wet. And you’ve gone and gotten water all over the kitchen floor.” She hadn’t even made it inside the house to put down the groceries and she was reaching for a mop.

“I’ll clean it up, don’t worry.”

“Don’t worry. What do you mean don’t worry? What did you do, go for a walk in the rain again?” So I have a tendency to do that sometimes when I’m bored. It’s fun.

“I went out for lunch and it was nice so I walked, okay? Calm down. I’ll clean it up.”

“I’m not worried about the floor. I just don’t want you getting sick.” My mom never wants anything to happen to me.

“I’m not going to get sick. It’s close to ninety out today. Don’t worry about it.” She’s always worrying too. She took a deep breath and finally let me take the groceries from her. I walked over to the counter to place them down and when I turned back to go to the closet for the mop I had to catch myself because I came close to slipping. She just shook her head at me.

“I’ll clean up and put the things in the fridge. You just go watch television or something.”

“Okay.” I made it halfway up the stairs and the phone rang. I skipped up the remaining steps then to see who it was on the display and it was for me so I answered before my mom had the chance. I usually never do that either. I hate answering the phone. I always get stuck in these conversations with people who I don’t know asking for my dad. They always have to explain what they need him for rather than just leaving their name and number to call back. People talk to strangers at all the wrong times.

“Hello.”

“Hey. I was wondering what was going on with you. Thought I’d give a call, see if you wanted to do something later tonight.”

“That sounds good. What you in the mood for?”

“How about a movie?”

“That sounds great.” It went on like that for another few sentences. He had already decided what we were going to see and what time we’d see it before he had called. I didn’t mind at all. It was good to have the plans set and have an entertaining excuse to get out of the house again. I just had a few hours to kill before then that’s all.

I turned the television on like my mom had said and ended up passing out I think. I couldn’t hear the voices fading away.

“I don’t know how you sleep so much.”

“I didn’t know I was going to fall asleep. It just kind of happened.”

“Well, dinner is going to kind of happen a little later. I’ve forgotten something and your father is going to pick it up on the way home from work. I hope you don’t mind. I can make you a snack if you’d like.”

“That’s fine.” I yawned and shook my head to wake myself up. “I’m going to the movies later. I can eat after I get back. You don’t need to wait up or anything if I’m late. Just leave a plate on the table or I can get it myself.”

She walked over to the bed, sat next to me and put her hand on my head.

“Stop.” I brushed her hand away with mine. I didn’t really like it much when my mom did all those motherly things. I always felt like I was too old for it. Even when I was younger. I think I’m cold to my folks sometimes. I mean they’re probably the only people I’m ever short with. I don’t resent them or anything. I just don’t get on with them as well as I used to. Actually I never really got on with them well. Our intentions weren’t always in line with one another. Anyway they do take care of me and I appreciate that.

“Well okay then. I’ll be upstairs. You sure you don’t need anything?”

“I’m good. Thanks.” She walked back upstairs and I could hear her feet moving along the tile as she did what needed to be done for dinner. Then I heard my dad come in. That was quick.

“Dinner’s ready.”

“I’m going to eat later.” It felt like I had just had lunch so I decided to stick with the plans to eat after the movie. There was still some time to kill. I was still kind of damp from the rain, I don’t know how I fell asleep like that really, but I decided to get a shower in before I went out for the night.

I walked into the bathroom and pulled the curtains back for the shower. I went for the faucet and held my hand under the water until it was too hot to touch. I play games like that sometimes. Just seeing how long I can put up with the heat before it burns enough to move my hand away. I’m easily amused. I stripped down to my shorts put the lid down on the toilet and sat there for a few as the steam fogged up the mirror. I didn’t need a shave or anything so I sat there saying forget it to myself as I stroked my chin.

I don’t know how long I sat there for, enough time for the water to actually lose its edge. By the time I got in there it was barely lukewarm. Still felt good though. Now I wasn’t just damp but wet all the way through. A clean wet. I actually just went in for a quick rinse, to wake me up kind of, so I wasn’t in there long. I usually take long showers. I turned the water off and reached through the curtains for a towel but there wasn’t one there. I must have forgotten to do my laundry. I do my own laundry.

I made a break for my room. I looked into my closet for a towel somewhere along the top shelf and eventually got to one. In the process I had dripped water all over the shirt I wanted to wear that night. It didn’t matter what I wore but I usually think about that stuff in advance. The disappointment didn’t last long. I just toweled myself dry and picked something else out and sat in my room waiting.

There was a knock on the door from my mother who actually never knocks.

“Are you dressed?”

“Yes, it’s open.” She came inside and stood there looking down on me as I sat up in bed.

“You’re father and I are going out for the rest of the night. I’ve left a plate for you in the oven. Just help yourself whenever you get in. We shouldn’t be back too late, maybe even before you. If we do try not to make so much noise when you come in. I’ve been having trouble sleeping again and I can hear you moving through the house whenever you come home.”

“Sorry, I’ll try to be more quiet.”

“That’s alright. There’s something else. Your father and I have a change in schedule. We’ll be leaving tomorrow morning rather than next weekend. Something’s happened and we need to arrive there a bit earlier. We should be home the same date, but if that changes we’ll let you know. I’ve left the checks on the dresser in our room. Use them if you need, but try not to spend so much. Hopefully by the time you get back you’ll have found some work for yourself.”

“Thank you.” After that she came up to me and kissed me on the forehead.

“You be careful. We’ll see you when we get back.”

“Have a good time.”

“Goodnight dear.” She walked out of the room and I was relieved. I was glad they had to leave earlier. I like having the house to myself. It’s too big for me all by myself really, but it’s nice to be alone sometimes. From them anyway. Soon after I heard them leave the doorbell rang.

“Hey, how are you?”

“I’m doing good. Thanks for driving.”

“No problem, you’re on the way.”

The way from here actually isn’t far at all. They’ve just built a movie theatre around the corner from my house. It’s in this new shopping center that’s home to a few trendy restaurants, an outdoor sporting goods store, a place for women’s fashion, and a very expensive steak house. The street the shopping center is on is lined with over-priced condominium-style apartments that serve as housing for the center regulars. I live right around the corner but I consider myself an outsider.

Right out front there’s a courtyard. In the wintertime they had a piano out there and there was this guy playing classical music. For the summer they moved it out and now it’s just concrete but it has these jets of water that come flying out of it. You wouldn’t think it in a place like this but families come there with their young children and let them have at it. It’s actually kind of nice to see.

The theatre itself is one of the nicest around. Reclining seats, leather headrests, even the cup holders built into the armrest swivel back and forth so you can move them out of the way. It never smells like stale popcorn and the floors are never sticky in there. It’s new but there’s just too much class coming and going from the place to let that ever happen to it.

“So what have you been up to?”

“I’ve been filling my time with a whole lot of nothing.”

“That sounds exciting.”

“Not really. I’ve just been taking in a movie here and there. Catching up on sleep and reading. I’ve been taking notes on this story that I want to write so, I’ve been working on that slightly. Nothing’s on paper yet, but I’ve got the idea forming in my head.”

“That sounds good. Anything doing on the job-hunt.”

“Oh yeah, the job-hunt. It’s going. How about you?”

“Same. I think if I don’t find anything soon enough I’m going to go ahead and move into the city. It’ll force me to do anything and it’ll be a start at least in the right setting.”

“Sounds like you’ve got more of a plan than I do. Sounds good.”

“It’s not much, but it’s a step.”

“True. So what’s the name of the movie we’re seeing?” I couldn’t remember his response. But the movie’s name was the nickname of some state. We got the tickets and went straight into the theatre. I’m not much for getting food at theatres. I always finish the candy before the movie starts. Same goes for the cola. Halfway through I’ve got to get up and use the restroom but that’s no good cause it makes you miss the movie. I don’t even touch the popcorn anywhere. Just because the place doesn’t smell stale doesn’t mean their popcorn isn’t.

The movie was about an hour and a half long. It was pretty decent. Just a little story about a guy returning home for a funeral and he runs into all these old friends. They kind of have a coming home party for him. He even meets a cute girl and they have a little thing going on. Basically it was just about that guy feeling all lost without a place and him finding something good. I’m making it sound like a generic feel good story of the year and a complete waste of time, but really, I found it to be quite worthwhile. Even without the storyline it was good. It had a great soundtrack and the cinematography was far superior to many movies I’ve seen for a debut. That was the other thing. The guy who played the main character wrote and directed it all. I’d like to be multi-talented like that one day. I’ve thought about screenwriting.

Anyway afterwards I heard some people leaving the theatre talking about the movie and voicing their own criticisms to their inner circles. The friend of mine had a few comments of his own.

“That school they mentioned, the one he went to, I know someone who went to that school. She thought the movie was great. That it’s just like that where they live.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. Everyone I know from there said the movie was great.”

“Well, I’m not doubting anyone’s judgment here, but it sounds like everyone paid too much attention to the title and not the story. People put so much emphasis on liking it because of the setting because it was where they’re from, but the guy wasn’t from anywhere. I thought that was the point. It was about being lost and finding something good and true. And I didn’t really notice anything about the setting that made it different from anywhere else.”

“I think you’re reading into it too much.”

“I think I’m just giving it my full take. It was more than a title to me I guess. I’m sure those people liked it for what it was, don’t get me wrong. But they probably liked it more just because they felt like they related to it based solely on the name. I don’t agree with that.”

“You don’t have to.”

“All I’m saying is you can take a work, a movie, a novel, even a song, and if you mention the name of a place, or even a person, people pay more attention to it if they have the same name, or have been to that place, when really that usually has absolutely nothing to do with things.”

“Sometimes.” I could tell he didn’t want me going on about it. I have trouble letting things go sometimes. I have no problem with being wrong. My greatest fault would probably be that I don’t think I’m wrong all that often. I still think that you can make up all these characters and then ruin it by giving them names.

There’s a record store not to far from the theatre so we had decided to go there after the movie because it wasn’t too late. The place is loaded with music, movies and magazines. I wouldn’t call it trendy, but it’s got a quality to it that attracts younger crowds. It’s one of those places that kind of smells like incense when you walk in the door. It’s just got a lot to do with popular culture.

That’s the thing I didn’t understand really. The store could satisfy all types of music tastes. But they also carried those bands that were nothing but overplay for the kind of radio stations that are all owned by one company. What I mean is that while I never lived in the era when popular music was popular because it was good, it just seemed the people that ran the place and the kind of people that would consider themselves patrons would never buy albums by those radio-played bands. Pop music now is prefabricated and overly produced. Far too much emphasis is based upon appearance rather than performance. I think it’s horrible and I didn’t understand why they sold it there. Anyway the place was still nice to go to.

The two of us were just walking down the aisles when I was asked, “So you’re writing, what’s the story?”

“You’re looking at it.”

“An autobiography?” He said it rather condescendingly.

“Somewhat.”

“Why would anyone want to read that? Sorry, that came out a bit harsh.”

“Well it’s not exactly about me. It’s partly fictional.”

“So it’s semi-autobiographical?”

“No, I’ll be writing all of it. I prefer the term autobiographical fiction.”

“I understand now. So what’s that like then? People reading about you personally?

“Hopefully, people will laugh. And if they will laugh at me it will be fine.”

“I’ll have to read it sometime.”

“Well I shouldn’t bother you with nonsense. I’m waiting to get published to do that.”

“Sounds like it might just be worth the wait then.”

“Thanks.”

“So what’s keeping you then? You said something about keeping notes. Why not a story?”

“The notes are a start. Every now and again I get these bursts of inspiration but they fade quickly. I can’t keep the train of thought going for long and so the point is lost too soon. Unless of course I can make the point in a sentence or two. But a sentence isn’t a novel.”

“Why the novel?” I was answering a lot of questions about writing I hadn’t even done yet. The conversation had to be coming to an end soon.

“I’ve just always wanted to write a novel. Everything else I’ve written, with the story, it happens too fast. Everything would end and you wouldn’t know why. I’d like to try to develop it all into something more.”

“Sounds like you’ve got something going though.” I started to yawn.

“Yeah, hopefully. You want to get out of here? I’m starting to get a bit tired.”

“Sure.” We didn’t even realize it but the store was empty, save for the employees. There wasn’t much to say in the car. Just our goodbyes and that we’d talk to each other soon.

When I walked into the house the dog was sleeping on his bed. We keep his bed in the little walk in area when you first come into the house. It’s not a real dog bed, but two pillows stitched together and covered in a case that my mom made. The second he saw me he walked over and sat right down in front of me with his tail wagging. It looked funny because he was sitting down and his tail was sort of like a windshield wiper across the tile. I actually could barely see him because there weren’t any lights on. I figured I was the only one there. The only reason I really saw him looking up at me is because the little light that came in from the streetlamps reflected in his eyes. I decided I should take him out.

I put the leash on his collar and stepped out the door. I kind of let the door slam shut behind me but didn’t think anything of it until I saw my parents’ car in the driveway. I hadn’t even realized they had made it home before me and I just wished that it hadn’t woken them up. If it did my mom would be waiting in the kitchen when I got back with the dog to see if she could get me anything. She’s nice like that but it bothers me. I don’t like it when she worries like that. I mean I can take care of myself.

We walked down the middle of the street together. The moon was close to full but it didn’t matter as the streetlamps drowned out the light. It was that dull orange light from the bulbs they put in those things. All the lamps were lined up perfectly with the houses. Everyone’s grass looked nicely cut. It didn’t matter if it did look black in the night. Even the shadows from the evenly spaced trees seemed to fall at the same angle. It didn’t seem real.

At the end of our street there’s a clearing and that’s usually where I take the dog to do his business. There’s a playground, well a small plastic excuse for one, on one side of the clearing and I always make sure he never goes close to it. I hated when I’d come across that sort of thing as a kid. It ruined the day. Not to mention shoes.

The clearing was kind of nice though. There’s a small patch of tall trees that they actually haven’t cut down yet and the sky was clear that night so the moon was placed right over them in the distance. Of course none of the reflection fell on me. It’s still nice to see when that happens though.

The dog was done and so we turned back for the house. I opened the front door slowly trying not to make much noise this time around. I had the door almost closed with one hand and the dog’s leash in the other. He let out a quick jerk and pulled me away. My hand hit across the latch and I cut my ring finger. I let go of the leash and squeezed my hand trying to block whatever nerve was sending the signal to my brain telling it that I was in pain. I let go of my hand to see and I had a cut going down the length of my finger. The blood trickled down over my hand, past the wrist and fell to the floor from my elbow.

I’m not sure why I let my hand go. It was still pulsating with hurt. I guess I wanted to now what it was like to bleed. Just to watch the blood flow down my arm. Let me know I was alive or something. I’m not sure. Ever since I’ve been home there’s not been much going on. I’m awaiting the next stage in life to start, but I’m not sure what I want that stage to be. I’m in no rush to figure it out but it’s like I’ve got all this life left to live, and I don’t know what to do with it, so it just feels like I’m dying.

I almost thanked the dog. I knew I was alive because there was too much pain for it to be death.

After looking at it for at least an entire minute I walked to the kitchen sink and ran cold water over it. I splashed some water on my arm and wiped off the close-to-dried-up blood. I went over to the fridge and grabbed the towel from the handle to dry my arm. I didn’t do too good a job washing and stained the towel with streaks of red. I took the towel up to my room with me.

Our stairs are divided into two. The first part is straight up about ten steps. There’s a little standing area and then it goes to the left another five steps that reach the upstairs level. Anyway the third and fourth steps make this creaking noise, so I was sure to jump over that stretch. It didn’t even occur to me that I hadn’t eaten in hours but I made it up to upstairs without waking up my mom.

I went into the bathroom first. The cut had stopped bleeding but I felt I should wrap it in something so it wouldn’t be exposed. I flicked on the light switch and all I heard was the buzz of the fluorescent bulb. I like these lights more than those streetlamps. They give off white light and it just makes everything look pure without some kind of filter over it.

I opened up the medicine cabinet. It didn’t take long to find a first aid kit because it had been leaning against the cabinet door so it fell into the sink. I thought it might’ve woken up my mother but it hadn’t so I was fine. That’s when I realized just how hungry I was. Anyway I took out a bandage and wrapped my finger with it. It was the kind that stuck to your skin and had that dingy tan color. I didn’t do too hot a job wrapping it either so it looked even worse.

All of a sudden I didn’t feel clean when I looked at it. I decided to unwrap it. I also felt really hot, like I was hung over or something. I ran some cold water over my hands and then filled up the sink. I took my shirt off and then sank my head into the water. I held it there for a few seconds while I ran my right hand through my hair. It felt good. Then I just looked at myself in the mirror for a bit letting the water drip down my neck and onto my shoulders. I grabbed a towel from the rack and just padded it off. I almost left the bathroom forgetting to re-wrap my finger. I did a much better job of it the second time around. The finger didn’t look so bad.

I went from the bathroom to my bedroom, which is right across the hall. I’m on the other end of the house from my parent’s room so I didn’t think much of making any noise now. I closed the door behind me and turned the light on. One of the bulbs flickered on and then out. There’s three on the ceiling fan, but the room’s fine with two of them. It’s that yellow light though.

There’s a mirror on the back of the door into my room. I stood there in front of it for a moment. I thought I looked tough, standing there without a shirt on and my hair with a wet shine and all disheveled. If it was scene in a movie I should’ve been smoking and there wouldn’t have been a bandage on my finger. I think of that sometimes. Like I’m in a movie or all eyes are on me when really no one’s around. Even if they were they didn’t really have much reason to be looking. I mean I’m not putting on a show or anything.

That’s when I started to feel hungry. I tried ignoring it by just getting into bed. I never end up going to bed hungry. It always gets the best of me because I think about it. I think about a lot when I try to sleep. Even when I’m exhausted it takes a bit of time for my mind to wander on about something and then eventually stop so I can sleep. Sleeping on an empty stomach is even worse to wake up from. I even had more reason to get up and go downstairs because my mom had left a plate for me.

I walked back downstairs, avoiding the creaky steps again, to the kitchen. The plate was sitting in the oven like she had said. A sheet of aluminum foil was over it with the edges folded under. The plate still felt warm so I decided against heating it up. Once I removed the foil though I found out it wasn’t warm enough to eat. It was only chicken and rice, but I hate eating that stuff cold. I usually don’t like it heated up either cause it loses the feeling of being a hot meal when you’ve had to do it artificially rather than when it’s fresh. I always tend to heat it up too long which doesn’t help.

I placed the plate back into the oven and turned it on. I think the dog heard me because I could hear him moving in his bed. He never fails to hear the sound of food. Or maybe I mean smell of food because he’s always sniffing the air when we’ve got some in our hands. Anyway I stood there in front of the oven watching it heat up. Like most, ours has a glass window in it and you can watch the coils light up. I like the look of the orange glow as it goes from dim to bright against the blackness of the oven. It even makes a noise somewhat like the fluorescent lights. At least if you’re listening for it.

It wasn’t long before the food was warm though, so just as soon the coils turned that bright orange it was time to turn them off. I pulled the plate out carefully with two kitchen towels wrapped around my hands. With a fork from the drawer I stirred it up. I made sure all the sauce from the chicken mixed in with the rice. I like rice but it’s no good all its own so you have to be sure to get some kind of flavor in there. I carefully took a few mouthfuls, blowing on the fork to cool it down. It had actually come out just right. I was happy I didn’t burn my mouth. I was even happier I hadn’t burned my hand on the oven. I’ve got a scar on my right hand from a burn. Each scar tells a story so I appreciate them to an extent. After the finger accident though I wasn’t in the mood for any more.

It didn’t take long to finish the plate so when I was done I put it into the sink and walked back upstairs, avoiding the noise a third time. I was ready for sleep.

Friday offers a chance to forget. That’s what day it was when I finally got out of bed. I was looking forward to it being Friday. It’s the end of the week and whatever happens that week, good or bad, it’s the start of the weekend and something new. There really wasn’t much that needed forgetting as far as bad things go. Or even good really. There wasn’t much to be starting new because I hadn’t finished up on anything during the week. Maybe that’s why it was worth forgetting, because there was nothing to forget and at least this would be the start of something that’s at least worth remembering. Yes, I was glad that it was Friday.

I showered quickly first and after dressing I went downstairs. I hadn’t realized my parents had left for their trip. I forget to tell you all what that was about anyway. My mom’s rather sick and so for some sort of treatment she was going back to her place of birth. She was going to see some kind of specialist for whatever her ailments were and catch up with family. The whole of her side is overseas so she rarely sees them. My father was going along. I was glad for that too. My father and I didn’t do much together when I was younger and I wasn’t about to start it up now. Like I had said, it’s good being alone from them. Maybe because it’s a return to normalcy.

They had left a note on the kitchen table. My father had written it, which was a surprise because my mother usually leaves those sorts of things. It was simply asking me to make sure I took care of the dog and to watch my spending. The rest of it was more of a command really.

Our deck hasn’t been washed and stained in the entire time I was in college. The rain had done its damage and the wood was looking much older than it was. There was a machine that could be used to pressurize water to clean it thoroughly. After I was to do that I had to stain it as well. The machine and stain were to be found in the garage. There was one other thing too.

My father is a manager, but works as a partner, for some company. What they manage exactly I’m not sure of, something important hopefully. Anyway his partner has a daughter my age and she goes to school at the university near our house. Because she’s my age they always feel a need to try and set us up. They’re reasoning is that it’s supposed to be what people our age do. We’re not too familiar with one another though. My father and her father are supposedly close but I really have no idea what she’s like.

I was reading this note telling me that I was to take her out the next day, something simple like dinner, and was somewhat disappointed. Girls, or women, I guess I’m at a stage in life where they’re a cross between the two. Anyway I’ve done without them for a while. I dated throughout college, but nothing ever worked out, and right now I didn’t think I’d be good for anyone so why waste the time? Great attitude I know. But I was getting on fine alone so I didn’t think much of relationships anyway. That’s probably the problem. Everything has to be analyzed as a relationship. There’s no love involved when it constantly has to be a compromise. I mean what’s the point in being with someone if you’re constantly asking for something from the other that they don’t naturally give. I don’t think there’s simply one person for everyone. What I’m trying to say is that right now it seems there’s not even one person for me. I’m getting on fine alone.

The weather looked like it was going to hold up for the day so I decided to get a start on the deck. It took a moment to rig the machine. You have to take a garden hose and screw it into a valve. The water flows through the machine, which is plugged into the wall, and through the magic of modern technology it flows through a tiny tube and out a nozzle at high pressure. All you have to do is hold down a trigger. What took a while was figuring out the best method to wash the deck.

Our deck is fairly simple. It’s basically a rectangle and high off the ground but with no stairs. I decided to start at one corner and work my way through, plank by plank, and then I’d go back and do the railing. I counted out the planks first. There are thirty-one of them to a half. Sixty-two in all. The first plank took close to ten minutes to wash. At that rate I would’ve been out there for half a day, and that’s not counting the railing. Soon I found out that if I went against the grain it would work faster and the wood got cleaner than if I went with it. By the fifth plank I had it down to about three minutes. By the fifth plank I had realized that my back was going to be in serious pain for days after. I hadn’t eaten breakfast before I started, but I never felt hungry. I was too sore. I didn’t know how people did this for a living. They must have higher tolerances for manual labor than me. That or be addicted to painkillers. Probably a combination of the two.

I took breaks every few planks that I had gone over to look over the job and to count how far I had gotten. The house worked to block the sun so at least I wasn’t working in too hot of a heat. I probably would have noticed some sweat building up but I think I got myself too wet.

After completing the deck floor I decided I’d go inside and get some food. There was still some chicken and rice left over from the night before but I decided against it. I decided on boiling some water and making some pasta. I make a pretty good pasta sauce. As I thought about doing that my stomach ached, but there wasn’t time because I had the railing to do. I ended up making spaghetti and using sauce out of a can. Sauce out of the can isn’t too great, but I made up for it by sprinkling garlic over it and going nuts with the Parmesan cheese. It made it taste better than anything I remembered making.

The railing took less than an hour to do. All in all I spent juts under five hours washing the deck. It did look good I have to admit. Then I realized it had to be painted. That could wait another day. After all it had to dry and my back needed to heal. Again I knew I was alive because it was too much pain to be death. It was a good pain. I mean almost. I don’t do much like this. Occasionally I’ll lend a hand to my dad when he’s doing things of that sort around the house, but most of the time I don’t. It felt like I had accomplished something with myself. I didn’t have a job that was earning me money, but it was like I had earned that pain in my back. It was all my own.

After going upstairs and changing my soaked clothes I decided that I needed a haircut. It had just occurred to me that coming up Monday I did actually have an interview for a job. On top of that I thought I might as well and put forth some sort of effort at making myself presentable for my date the following night. My hair is fairly short but I like to keep it clean looking so even in winter I haven’t got much to protect from the cold. I used to keep it long back when I was in high school. It was always nicely kept, but it fell forward into my eyes. I remember the first time I had it short a few teachers remarked that they could finally see my eyes and I had a nice face to go with the rest of me. It was an awkward feeling as if I was being hit upon by middle-aged women.

The barbershop I go to, well actually I don’t go to one any longer. I usually had a friend do it back at school. It’s easy to do, just even all around. But the barber that I had to go to now was on the other side of town. It’s closer to where we used to live. That’s actually when I started to go there. It’s one of those old style barbershops with the red and white spiral out front. All the guys that work there have one syllable in their name. And of course they all go by that first name and first name only. I’ve gone to some cheap places where they hire people that barely speak English. You always come out of those places thinking your mother could’ve done a better job, and most likely did using a salad bowl when you were younger. That’s why I like this place. They never get it wrong. With the way I cut it now there’s not much room for error, but still. They even use this machine that warms up the foam and they shave it all nice and close around your neck and ears.

It’s good to drive back through where I grew up too. I’m rarely on that side of town as it is so it’s nice to see what’s happened to it since I left. There’s a lot more houses and a lot less trees. Of course that means traffic is even worse than what it used to be when I lived there. I don’t really remember the people being friendlier back then than they are now, which is always good. I notice that a lot around where we live now. There’s new businesses and shopping centers everywhere and it’s all about consumption, nothing to do with contact. You rarely get a smile.

So I drove the way noticing all the changes and eventually got there. I went inside and took a seat. There were only a few barbers working right then and I always liked that too because then I’d just sit in front of the one I wanted. It’s three from the left where I go so that’s where I went.

“Hello, how are you?”

“I’m fine, thanks. Yourself?”

“Good. I’ll be with you in just a bit.” So I just sat there holding my hands until it was my turn. It wasn’t long.

“So, how’d you want it cut today?”

“Just a number two all around.” That’s pretty short. The second shortest that you can get I think.

“Alright.” He started in the back and worked his way to the front. “So what have you been up to?” They’re fairly personal here.

“Not too much. Enjoying the time off that I have right now while I look for work.”

“So you’re out of school then?”

“Yes, I finished up this past May.”

“That’s good. What did you study?”

“Political Science.”

“Really? Won’t have too much trouble finding work with that there. Just find something right in the city. A big need for that sort of thing right now too.”

“There sure is. I’m sure I’ll find something soon.”

He had finished up already and was just going back again to make sure it was even all over. Then came the best part. The foam. It had that lemon-barber-shop-fresh scent to it. I could feel the blade scraping against the skin and taking the hairs away. It sounds painful but it’s not at all. After that was done he brushed up the sides with powder. I never liked that too much. It always leaves me feeling disinfected rather than clean.

I got up from the chair and it was exactly as I wanted it, except there was one thing. I looked thin in the mirror, and along with the short hair I felt like I had just had some major operation. Like I was ill and dying and they just saved my life. Getting your haircut really isn’t that complicated a procedure. I tipped him rather high anyway.

“It’s me. I know mom and dad have left so I wanted to see how you were and what you’ve been doing with yourself. Give me a call when you get in.” It was my sister. She had left a message on the answering machine.

My sister lives in the city. She moved out of the house almost as soon as she moved back in after college. She wasn’t happy here and she knew it so she decided to leave. It was inspiring really. My sister’s always been that type out of the two of us. I looked up to her when I was growing up. Not just because she was older either, but because she actually went out and did things that she wanted to do and was good at them. Me, I never really was motivated enough about anything to cause a scene or be passionate enough about something. Not like her anyway.

She lived in the city a few hours away from us. The state capital actually. She was finding herself as a manager for a large up and coming restaurant down there. I admired that in her as well. She found something that would make her happy and she went after it. My dream is to write and I haven’t stopped myself from stalling on that yet so I can say she’s done more with herself than I have. My parents are somewhat proud of her for it too. That’s the bigger thing. That’s why they have children, right? To be made proud? We never talk much, the two of us. At times I’ve even forgotten I have a sister. It sounds horrible to say, but it’s the truth. I decided I should call her back. It was strange that as few times as I’ve called her I have the number memorized.

“Hello?”

“It’s me, you’re brother.” I don’t talk to her so little as to have her not recognize my voice, I mean a sibling’s voice you never forget, but I said that anyway.

“Hey, hold on a second.” I could hear her put down the receiver and say to someone, “I’ll be there in a bit, my little brother’s on the phone.” It’s funny she still calls me her ‘little brother.’ I mean I’m her only brother. That and I’ve been bigger than her since the fourth grade. People even think I’m older. Sometimes.

Hey, how are you?”

“I’m doing alright, you?”

“I’m good. How’s having the house to yourself?”

“It’s nice. I’m not used to it yet though, I mean they only left this morning.”

“Yeah, well you’ll like it I’m sure. Try not to throw any big parties and all. You’ll have to pay for it all.”

“Right. I don’t think that’s something anyone has to worry about.” I hadn’t planned on having anyone over for anything of that type. I was never one to do that anytime the parents were out of town. I might go to one of those types of gatherings but I’d never be one to go to the trouble of organizing it.

“I was kidding.”

“Oh. Okay.”

“So, what have you been doing with yourself then? Shouldn’t you have a job or something?” This wasn’t to be expected. My sister never really plays the role of mature adult figure.

“I’m looking. Why do you seem so concerned?”

“Nothing really. I just know how lazy you can get. Just don’t get stuck in the trap of having mom and dad take care of you. In all honesty you know they’re more than happy to do it if they have to, but they really want you out of the house and supporting yourself.”

“I know. I want out of this house too. I’m just going about it much slower than you, that’s all. It’s just easier to be here right now while I figure things out. I mean I don’t even know what to look for right now. I’m still being picky as far as where I’ll work.”

“You’ll lose that fast, don’t worry.”

“Yeah, well thanks for looking out.”

“That’s what big sister’s are for. So, if you really don’t have much to do, you know you’re more than welcome to stay here with us. There’s plenty of room for you. You haven’t been down here that much either. I think you’d enjoy it.”

“I’ve been thinking about that actually. Tonight I’m not sure what’s up. I might give some people a call. Tomorrow I’ve been set up for a date with that girl. I can’t even remember her name. Dad’s partner’s daughter.”

“Really? That’s funny they would do that to you. But it’ll probably be good for you.”

“Right, thanks.”

“What do you have planned?”

“I’m not sure. Dinner most likely. I haven’t talked to her yet. I’m just supposed to pick her up at her place.”

“Well I’m sure you’ll have a good time. You can be quite the company when you want to be.”

“Thanks.” She was just saying all the right things to me. I actually think this was the longest we’ve ever talked on the phone. The message itself had been a surprise. My parents gone a few hours and already she was checking in on me. Those three years in age difference must have allowed for a lot of growth.

“Well, I’ve got to be going now. Give me a call sometime soon and let me know what you’re up to. Come visit too.”

“I’ll let you know. Thanks.”

“I’ll talk to you soon.”

“Bye.”

After hanging up the phone I had an urge to make another phone call. I had just seen her the day before, the friend I had gotten lunch with, but I felt like calling her again. I stood there with the phone in my hand for a minute or two before deciding to go ahead and go through with it. I mean I had forgotten all about that letter I said I’d write, this would make it much easier. That and I was getting bored. She was usually good for these random things so, it was worth a shot.

“Hello.”

“Hey, how are you?”

“Oh, hey, I’m good, how are you?”

“I’m alright, a little bored actually. I just wanted to see what you were doing.”

“Not much at the moment. I’m on my way out shortly though.”

“I see. Well I wanted to call and ask if you were up for anything tonight. I know we just got lunch but still. Which by the way I have to say I’m sorry for. I don’t know what got into me.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“I mean, I think I hurried it a bit. I didn’t mean to be so rude.”

“No worries, you’re making too much of it.”

“Honestly? You’re not mad at me or anything?”

“No. I hope I didn’t give the impression that I was.”

“It wasn’t that at all. I just don’t think I acted in my best yesterday. Anyway if that’s all fine and good are you free tonight?”

“I’m not sure.”

“Oh?”

“Yes, I’m having dinner with my family in a few. That’s what I’m leaving for. I haven’t seen them in a while so I’m going there. I could try and give you a call later.”

“Well that sounds good then.”

“Yeah, I’m not sure though. I mean if something else comes up by all means don’t wait for me.”

“Alright then. Enjoy dinner.”

“Thanks. Goodbye.” That didn’t go as well as planned. I didn’t make an ass of myself at lunch, which was good. Then again I hadn’t gotten a definite answer for tonight. I was thinking of it too much again. I should stop that really.

I had time to waste now, waiting for a call that might not come. It just came to my mind that a friend had told me about a gym not to far from my house. The place was the only one that had both indoor swimming pools and basketball courts nearby. I had meant to check it out earlier, being that I had so much time off, just to see if I’d be interested in using it once I had a job to pay for the membership. I’ve been feeling so lazy recently and getting bored with myself that I needed some kind of movement. The household chores and occasional friendly meeting hadn’t been enough. I decided to drive down there.

It looked like an office building. That and the parking lot took up as much area as the building. All of it was tucked away off a major road and somewhat hidden behind trees. It looked expensive.

The front desk had two extremely fit young men working the check-in. They’re muscles were waiting to tear their typical polo shirts and nylon shorts apart. This really wasn’t my kind of place but I at least wanted a look around. I’m fairly active when I want to be, which is actually more often than the impression I’m sure I’ve made, but most of the people here were nuts. There’s nothing wrong with being healthy, but there’s a point on the circle of health that goes right back around to sickness. Anyway I walked up to the desk.

“Hello, can we see your I.D. please?”

“Actually I don’t have a membership. I just came to have a look around and maybe talk to someone about that.”

He nodded in approval and handed me a clipboard. “Please have a seat and fill this out. Someone will be right with you.” So I sat there filling out this informational paperwork. It was just a general survey about your physical activity. It didn’t take long to do and right when I had finished the someone who’d be right with me was there.

Of course the sales representative was a woman. She was older than me, but still young. Fairly attractive too. But she looked like she was old, or getting there. It was as if she was trying to escape age and it showed. I think most of the people that came to these places were. It’s a shame I think. I just wanted to be here cause I had always wanted to take up swimming. That and I’ve always loved playing basketball. I’m fairly good. She introduced herself. She had one of those very European sounding names. The kind of names that make the place seem like whatever it is that happens there is an art form.

“So what brings you here today?”

“I had heard from a friend you were the only gym that had both swimming pools and basketball courts. That’s mainly what I’m looking for.”

“I see. And have you been here before?”

“No I haven’t.”

“Alright. Are you aware of the membership fees?”

“No I’m not.” She went on to tell me what they were. It didn’t seem too unreasonable.

“Would that be okay for you?”

“Yes, I don’t think that’d be a problem. However, I wouldn’t be signing up for membership today. I’m currently looking for work and as soon as it happens I think I’d join. Could I actually have a look around?”

“Certainly.” We walked through the pool area first. I’d have to get used to the smell of chlorine if I were to take up swimming, but I’ve always loved being in the water. The basketball courts looked nice. We even went up to the room with all the weights. There weren’t too many people up there. I didn’t see the point of this place. All it was back in college was a place where a bunch of guys stood around looking at themselves in the mirror. The rest of the place still had my interest though.

So, what do you think?”

“It’s nice.”

“Do you have any questions?”

“Actually, I was wondering what days are the busiest?” It was in the evening on a Friday and not too many people were there. I wanted to know what it was like during the real part of the week.

“Mondays and Tuesdays are our busiest. We get about half of our members on each of those days.”

“Alright.” That didn’t surprise me. Friday and the place was empty. Come the first two days of the week everyone was in a mad rush to undo all the damage done from the previous weekend. “I think that’s all then.”

“Well, good luck with the job search then. I’ll give you a call in a few days to see how it is.” They always follow up. After all, they’re on commission.

I knew I needed to eat something because my stomach started to growl as I was driving back home. Every now and again when I’m out running errands I take the long way home, or end up going in a big circle around town. I guess I just like going in circles. I was regretting it this time around. I got an urge to have a drink with whatever I ended up eating so I figured I’d stop by some restaurant. There’s plenty of places to choose from around here. Most of them are chains, with some guy’s first name and the word grille or market in the title. They’re not too bad if you’re in the mood. I was in the mood. I didn’t think I was going to see that friend of mine tonight.

When I walked in I expected it to be fairly crowded, but it wasn’t. It was still somewhat early for dinner but these places are usually packed with people who’ve just gotten work and go out for drinks before having to come home to their families. All it seemed to be was a few regulars. I sat at the bar.

“What can I get you?” I wasn’t in the mood to get loaded or anything, but I needed something.

“Just a beer thanks.”

“No problem. You interested in eating?”

“Yes, actually.” He went on to run off the specials. I wasn’t in the mood for any of that reduced-price-so-we-can-fill-you-up-on-beer-food. “Can I get a menu?” He brought it out hesitating. After pouring me a draft he didn’t even come by to ask what I wanted. It was lousy service. I ended up waving the menu up in the air to catch his eye.

“Yeah?”

“I’d like a burger with fries. Bacon on the burger. Please.”

“Yep.” I didn’t even know what to make of that response but he took my menu and disappeared so I thought it wouldn’t be long before I was eating. After downing about half the beer I felt somewhat sleepy. I didn’t think it had been that long since I had a drink in me. Then again it had been on an empty stomach and I actually did something with my day. Anyway the beer was gone by the time my food came out and I was ready to pass out.

“Can I get you anything?” It wasn’t the bartender that had served me, but someone new. A young blonde had just started her shift maybe a minute ago, she was still tying an apron around her waste when she had asked, and she was already asking me if I needed anything. I thought now this girl knows what she’s doing.

“A glass of water please.”

“Sure thing.” She smiled when she said it and before I lost it in my head she was back with the water.

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” It didn’t take long for me to finish the burger. I sat there the next few minutes stirring my ketchup with the fries and watching her work. She saw me and walked on over.

“Can I get you anything else?”

“Just the check actually. Can I ask you something?

“Sure.”

“What’s the deal with that guy who was just here? He’s lousy.”

“That’s why he’s the day bartender.”

“Gotcha. Well thanks.” She walked back with the check and I made sure it was her who was getting the tip. I think I could get used to becoming a regular there while she was working.

I decided I had to walk a bit before I went home. It was nice for it so I just walked down the sidewalk of the center where the restaurant was. There was a bookstore there that I went to quite often. In the front window they had a listing of events. There were a few book clubs listed along with some workshops. I didn’t think anything of it at the time though. For once I wasn’t in the mood to browse the aisles of the place so I ended up turning back and driving home.

Right when I walked in the house the phone started ringing. It always gets my heart going when that happens. It’s nice coming home and having someone want to talk to you. I ran to the phone and looked on the display to see who it was. It ended up being just some old marketing company so I didn’t answer. The disappointment set in so I thought I’d take the dog out. After coming back there was a message on the answering machine. I didn’t expect it after what had just happened but it was the friend, so I called her back.

“Hello.”

“Hey, how are you?”

“Good, how was dinner?”

“It was alright. Nice to see family, but I’m free now so I thought I’d go ahead and call.”

“Well thanks. Are you up for anything?”

“Sure, but would you mind coming out here. I’m already worn out so I’d like to stay by my place tonight.”

“That’s fine. When should I be there?”

“Well actually, I’m not even there yet. I’m still at my parents. But I should be there a quarter ‘til nine.”

“Alright, I could meet you then if that’s fine.

“Yes, you sure it’s not too late.”

“No, not at all.”

“And you don’t mind driving out here?”

“Of course not. I haven’t been out there in a while so.”

“Okay then, I’ll see you soon.”

“Bye.” I hung up the phone and looked at the clock. It was barely past eight. I had time to take a quick shower and make it there so I went for it.

The shower was quicker than I thought but I hadn’t realized traffic would be what it was. I made it there five past the hour. I walked into her place and we sat down in front of the television.

“I’m sorry I’m late. I didn’t realize traffic was like that right now.”

“It is the weekend.”

“That’s true. Sorry.”

“Don’t worry about it.” She started yawning. “Goodness. I didn’t realize I was this tired. So what did you want to see me about?”

“Nothing really. I just thought it’d be nice.”

“Oh.”

“I just thought we could get together for a bit, that’s all.”

“Alright then. Is there anything you want to talk about?”

“Not in particular, no.”

“Alright then. Would you like something to drink?”

“That sounds good. I’ll have whatever you’re having.”

“I’ll be right back. Here’s the remote.” By the time she returned I was done going through all of the channels and had settled on some movie. “What’s this?”

“I’m not sure, I just put it on.”

“Oh. Well, here’s your drink.”

“Thanks.” We sat there in silence watching the movie and I sipped my drink. I looked over to her glass a few times and it was as full as it was when she had brought it out. Then I looked up and realized she had fallen asleep. It wasn’t what I had in mind so I got up and left.

While driving home I tried thinking of all the times someone had fallen asleep on me like that. I couldn’t think of any. I was fine with it. I mean I understood she was tired. It’s still kind of annoying to have happen though. If someone’s tired they’re tired. But I took it as an insult on my capabilities of being able to keep a person’s interest. There’s no point in communicating anything if there isn’t any interest.

Then I realized I wasn’t getting anywhere. The traffic had been bad on the way, but now it had backed up on my side of the highway. The other lanes were moving with ease. Does it always seem to be going faster in the opposite direction? I tired not to let it bother me and just paid attention to the music I had on. It was this old jazzy record I had gotten off of a friend and it was good driving with it. I had my fingers going along to the beat of the trumpet on the steering wheel when I looked out my window and saw that people were watching me. Most people would be embarrassed about that sort of thing, but I just kept on going with the trumpet. They were probably just jealous they couldn’t put up with traffic like I could. It’s not so bad going slow.

I think every man makes a conscious decision what he wants to do with his life. When I got home I decided that I was going to start writing. I’m not sure why I decided on that night. I wanted to be free of thought and my mind was focusing on everything that had just happened. From the lousy service at the bar to my friend falling asleep on me, I didn’t think it was a good time to start because all I was thinking was negative. I really haven’t made many decisions, about anything really, but I had it made up in my mind that when I got up to my room I was going to start writing.

I started by getting a glass of water and placing it in front of me with my notebook and a pen. I flipped through the notebook looking over some material I wanted to work with. Then I just thought to myself that there were too many stories over too little time in that notebook. I had only been home a few weeks and already I had pages upon pages of notes. They were just random thoughts on anything and everything that came into my head. I’m always coming up with these single lines that I think are fairly clever so basically what this notebook was, was a collection of one-line-biographies. They’re of myself mostly. Or of the world. They were taken from conversations had and not. Before wasting more than just time on the thought I said to myself I’ve got to get on with it.

I wanted to tell a story in a modern setting with a higher language. I consider myself fairly well read. I’ve been over many works from various periods of time done in the various styles. I wanted to be able to speak in a voice that seemed to have more character than that of everyday conversation, but keep it contemporary in the sense of the setting. I didn’t know how it was going to work but it was fun to try. I sat there thinking of everything I had read. So much of it had appealed to me, and even if I didn’t enjoy the reading I understood what made it good literature. I mean I can like the way a story is told, but I might not want to be told that story in particular. I wanted to find a way to tell a story that was worthwhile in a worthwhile way.

I’ve written short things before. Fictional works I mean. And people have told me they’ve enjoyed it. It was encouraging but at the same time I never thought I could find my own language. I was having the same problem then. All I could think of was all those great writers that came before me. Their words were fixated into my head. I wanted originality but was risking taking piece by piece from prior works. There’s nothing new to that. I wanted to make something new but in my search to find my own language I felt blinded by the words of those that came before me. Encouraging words can do a lot, but I somewhat set out that night with a degree of readymade failure. Even if I didn’t live up to any of those authors I admired, I wasn’t sure if I could live up to any expectations readers had for me. That’s when the ambition set in.

No one wants to be forgotten. Right now I was no one and I set out to make sure I’d be remembered. I just didn’t have a story worth remembering.

Before I had told everyone that had asked about it that my writing was largely based upon myself. I couldn’t write a complete autobiography, I’m not that interesting. The only story I think I was trying to get across however was that of a character who is surrounded by so many things, yet was alone. That’s where the title Solitaire’s Edge came into being. I liked the way it sounded. My friend had said the same at lunch, or at least that it sounded interesting. I thought it’d be more interesting if I actually had a story to go with it. I think that’s my problem with writing. I get caught up in titles and those one lines I was talking about to drive a point home. When it’s all said and done the message is clear, but it’s over and done with without any build up. For once I wanted to set out and build something up. Have change and influence take place to and upon a character. I didn’t get anywhere so I gave up on it.

There was a whole world I wanted to create. I just wasn’t sure what that world was supposed to consist of. I didn’t know what those things were that surrounded this character that made him feel alone. Maybe I wanted him to feel as if he was alone but really wasn’t. Maybe that was the story I was going to tell. That maybe he just didn’t realize the things in his world. That he was just there going through. Sometimes that is all people do. That could be the point. That there was no point. These were all too many questions in part of the one big question going through my head, which was could I even tell a story?

There was no progress made that night. I tired sleeping but I just lay in bed with my eyes open staring at the ceiling. I wanted it to be the other way round, but I was wide-awake as my world slept.

There were sheets of paper everywhere. The light coming through the curtains made it almost too bright in the room to see anything against them, and so they appeared blank. But instead of nothing, there was page after page of ink pressed into paper. It was all writing. Among the scattered sheets there was an order waiting to be made of it all. A story that with time would come together. It was all there on paper. The marks had been made. I had made them.

I sat there on the floor shifting through them trying to find that order. Holding onto form in one hand, wrinkling the sheets, while the other brushed more back from over others. The light continued to come through the curtains. To keep searching, to look, to see, to find more form I held up pages to shield my eyes from the light. And so it became dark.

I woke up dreaming.

It wasn’t quite morning yet but I didn’t feel tired enough to stay in bed, which is actually rare. I got up and decided to take a shower to wash away that dream I had. Dreams like that are good and bad. They give you a visual of something that is good to see, even if it’s just imagined beauty that leaves you feeling better for having seen it. At the same time though it makes you realize that there is something you want, but obviously it’s not real. I guess I wanted to wash away the dream on my way to making it real.

After the shower I thought I should take the dog out before I left the house for the day. I wanted to get a few errands taken care of before I had to go on that date tonight. I was almost out of money and I definitely didn’t want to run out. The dog was eager to be taken out and still excited when we got back so I fed him too. That always seems to calm him down. I got some of my things together before leaving the house and found him lying back in his bed, his food finished from just minutes before. Then I realized I had to feed myself too.

I went into the kitchen and started making some toast. As I was waiting for it to be finished I remembered that the whole reason I was leaving the house was to go to the bank. I had forgotten to get one of the checks my parents had left me so I went up to their bedroom to grab one. They had actually left quite a few, but I figured one would be more than enough for tonight and then some. I’m always throwing money in the way of something I didn’t need so I held back.

From their room I could smell something burning. It was the toast. I’m not that big on breakfast to begin with so I didn’t consider it that big a loss. Actually, when I looked at it, it had barely gotten black. I decided to eat it anyway. After scrapping some of the burn off I spread strawberry jam all over it. The sweet sugar wasn’t enough however to cover up the taste of the charred bread so I ended up throwing more than half of it away. I hate wasting food. I could’ve at least given it to the birds or something.

I ran over in my head what I had to do while I was gone, as not to forget something, and it seemed I hadn’t. I’m never too fresh in the mornings. I was surprised I was even up so early on a Saturday.

While walking out to the car I started to think about the title of what I wanted to write again. I was thinking that maybe I should come up with a title for a story after I had the story written, rather than trying to get a story to fit a title. I was surprising myself with my realization of how little story I had to tell. Last night’s frustration, along with that of waking up from the dream, almost carried over. Instead what occurred to me was that solitaire was not just a state of being alone, but it’s actually a card game played by one person. It wasn’t too amazing of a realization but I thought I could use it. I could build the story around a character that plays the card game. It didn’t sound interesting at all right then and there but it was something, which was more than I had. As I was pulling out of the neighborhood I decided to turn back for the house.

I went inside and back up to my room. After spending a few minutes turning the drawers of my dresser inside out I found a deck of cards. I was going to start carrying them wherever I went.

The bank was the first stop. They’re always open half-days on Saturdays so I decided to go on inside instead of using the machine out front. The bank is never busy on Saturdays. Probably because people are out spending money rather than bringing it in. That’s weekends were meant for. At least that’s what everyone around here thinks. Anyway I walked up to the teller.

“Good morning, how are you?”

“I’m fine, I’d like to make a deposit.”

“Alright.” She handed me a slip to fill out my account number and the amount I was putting in. I handed it to her when I was finished. She punched in some numbers on a keyboard and I was set. “Thank you sir, would that be all?”

“Yes, thank you.”

“You have a good weekend then.”

“Thanks, you too.” As I walked out of the place I thought to myself that she had just ordered me to have a good weekend. Is that possible? Anyway my thoughts turned to the story I wanted to write. Then something about the bank caught my attention. I looked up as I walked out and noticed their surveillance cameras. It’d be close to impossible to rob a bank by simply walking in there, giving a note to the cashier, or coming in with a gun. There had to be another way.

Then I remembered that it was a Saturday. All transactions made on Saturday don’t get processed until the following Monday. I also remembered that anything that happens at the bank after something like two o’clock doesn’t get processed until the next day. If that was true with all deposits wouldn’t it be true for withdrawals too? Someone could simply make up a few fake accounts, spend money in those accounts, and then close them off before the spending had been reported. It was somewhat farfetched and I’m sure there’s something in there that wouldn’t make it work, but every now and again I like to think about things like that. I mean I’d never rob a bank, I’d make a lousy crook, but sometimes it’s nice to think you could do things you know you wouldn’t, even if they’re not all that moral. Then of course I thought maybe I could write something about that. My character could be a bank robbing card-player. I forgot about the whole idea cause it sounded too Western.

I really didn’t have anywhere else to go, but I decided I’d stop by the library. I hadn’t read anything in a few weeks, only because I was trying to get some writing done myself, so I thought it’d be worth it just to take a look at some books.

All of what I had recently read dealt with people and the choices they made. Rather simple. One was a story of a wife and her husband who was incapable of giving her a child. He didn’t know of his problem and so when she ended up pregnant he thought it was his own doing. The story continued with the real fathers desire to know the child. Then there was another story about a man who was surrounded by a number of his male colleagues and the woman who he was in love with. While the woman knew of his love and there was a history between them, she never kept faithful. Of course it never mattered to the man, or at least he tried to ignore it. It ended up consuming him until he died. Another story took place alongside a cast of characters that did nothing but get drunk off the wine they stole from their fellow townspeople. The living they made was through stealing goods from these same people. In turn they exchanged goods for food.

While all these stories kept my interest, and it was not simply that I found it to be good literature, they were stories worth telling. Yet all they seemed to me were stories about the endless cycle of give and take. I understood that perhaps in the story of the drunken thieves there was no real harm ever done, as the way of life was widely accepted and even welcomed in the setting. However, in the others all I could see in the writing was a lot of people not being true. To themselves or to one another. I wondered if all characters were built on their flaws, rather than their strengths. Where did they end up in their personal struggle? The books never revealed this occurrence, and so was it not to happen? It wasn’t helping my thoughts on wanting to be a writer.

Anyway I stood there in the front of the library. The reference section was to the right of me. Straight ahead to the back were the periodicals. To the right was the fiction. First came the mystery novels and science fiction. Then the rest, and to what I one day wished to belong.

I noticed that there wasn’t a single person my age to be seen. I can’t say where I thought recent graduates find themselves on a typical Saturday because I was rarely found with them. Most of what I saw was grade school children doing research with their parents’ help. Then there were the even younger children trying to carry out armfuls of picture books. Other than those with their children, and of course the librarians, no adults were to be found. I started to think that most people lost the desire to read with age. I was the exact opposite, just not on this day. I ended up leaving after standing there in front for a while.

I went home after that. I still hadn’t done any laundry and so I figured it’d be nice to wear clean clothes for the date. Then it occurred to me that maybe things would go better than I was making them out to be tonight, so I thought I should clean up the house a bit too. I did the wash first and then made sure my room was clean. It didn’t take long. Next I went through the kitchen and washed all the dishes. I looked in the fridge and realized there was nothing to eat. It didn’t matter because I planned on going someplace nice for dinner. I decided not to eat until then. The house didn’t take as long as I thought it would so I thought I could try and get something down on paper again.

The glass of water was sitting where it was from the night before, only some of it had evaporated. I poured it out in the bathroom and filled it up again. I drank the whole glass at once. I set it down on the counter and looked in the mirror. I didn’t look tired but I felt it. I thought that was rare. People say I always look tired. I’m not surprised; I could spend my days sleeping. I’m not so sure why I sleep so much, there’s so much I want to see and do. I stopped looking in the mirror when I realized I had writing to do.

I went back into my bedroom and pulled out my notebook. I scanned over some of the short bits I had written down. I had all these lines I wanted to use in some context, but again I couldn’t find an order to it. Maybe I should come up with a setting for it. That’s when I realized that I should take all these notes and make a setting for them. The notes were the point I was trying to make, I just had to find a setting that would work. The only one that came to mind was my own setting. It really seemed whatever I was going to write was going to be entirely about myself. I thought that maybe it might just be enough so I went with it. I mean if I’m not there’s something that needs changing because even I’d get sick of myself if I’m that dull.

I fought the idea and decided not to write. Instead I pulled the deck of cards from my pocket. I started to play solitaire. It’s not that interesting to play a game that one plays all by oneself, but it passes the time. That was to be my setting. If maybe I started playing it more often I could write it better. I could use it to pass the time in the writing.

After the first hand I had up to the three of clovers, two of hearts, ace of diamonds, and two of spades down. The three of diamonds, four of diamonds, queen of diamonds, six of hearts, ten of clovers, eight of diamonds, six of spades and the nine of spades were showing. There were seven cards that were left unknown.

After the second hand I had up to the three of clovers, seven of hearts, four of diamonds and six of spades down. The six of clovers, nine of hearts, six of diamonds, king of spades, ten of clovers, nine of spades, five of clovers, and seven of clovers were showing. There were three cards unknown.

By the third hand all of the cards were down.

The only thing I think I wasn’t enjoying about my research was having to reshuffle the deck every time I finished a game. I can’t really shuffle that well. After splitting the deck in two halves and taking a half in each hand I always fail in my attempt to bend the cards just right, trying to make them fall together into one, one card at a time. I usually end up just dropping the halves. The best way I’ve found for me to shuffle was to act as if I’m dealing out four hands. I take two of the hands and deal them back into the other two. I always choose the two that I deal from and into at random. After a few times the deck is mixed up well enough to play another game. It’s not as complicated as I make it seem. It’s really quite simple. I mean it’s just you and the cards.

After playing a few hands until I had gotten all the cards down I thought it’d be best to get ready for the date. I had spent so much of the day just thinking and I didn’t notice. Thinking, it’s just like time gone more than anything else.

I picked out a pair of pants and a shirt that I thought I would look pleasant enough in. They looked like they needed ironing so I went ahead and did that before anything else. I actually iron most of my clothing. I think I’m too grown up sometimes. Anyway I needed a shave so I thought I’d do that next.

I went into the bathroom and washed my face first with hot water. I lathered up with the foam and went to work with the blade. I was worried I was going to end up cutting myself badly and having to walk around with a piece of toilet paper stuck to my face. It didn’t happen. When I went to drain the sink all of the hair that was left behind against the porcelain looked like tiny little characters of some language I didn’t know from the Far East. Maybe it even spelled out something. After washing the sink out I showered.

As usual I let the mirror fog up before I went into the shower. I ended up being in there for some time. I’m usually quick and don’t think much of it when I’m getting ready for anything, but for some reason I wanted to live up to a greater expectation this girl might have of me. Now that I think about it though I don’t see the point. When I shower quick I’m clean. All I was doing now was using more soap and water for no point. Once you’re clean you’re clean. I got out after a while and then toweled dry.

I walked around for a bit just in my shorts. There’s something about getting that clean and having the air just hit your skin that feels good. I looked at the clock and I had enough time to waste like this anyway. I was supposed to pick her up outside her building at eight. My dad had written the address and all on the note they left for me. I knew exactly where it was. She was going to the local university and most of the people who enroll there either live at home or find housing nearby. She was in an apartment building across from the campus. My parents had actually wanted me to get my degree there too, but I was against it because I would’ve had to live at home. Anyway it was only quarter past seven.

I got dressed anyway and took the dog out before I left. That ended up taking up a good amount of time. I never like leaving him in the house to himself if he hasn’t been taken care of. We’ve done that enough times to know that he’ll let us know he deserves better. I fed him too. Then I was gone.

It didn’t take long to drive to her place and as usual I was there a few minutes early. I didn’t think it’d be too nice to have me waiting for her in the car so I went out and waited on the steps of the building. There was a little courtyard area just in front of where I parked and then the steps so that’s where I was.

I noticed there wasn’t much noise to be heard. A Saturday night on or near a college campus usually there’s a lot to hear. This place was different though. Most people spend their time in the city on the weekends. It’s more attractive to their lifestyle. That was probably another reason I didn’t go to school there. I think there’s plenty to do in a city, but I wouldn’t want to be this outsider that had to flock there to find a life to enjoy.

I was standing there thinking about all of this when the door of the building opened up. Out walked a fairly attractive girl. She just kind of looked at me and smiled, then kept walking. It obviously wasn’t her. I actually had never seen my date before, but for some reason I thought we’d recognize one another. It was now a few minutes past eight and it was getting fairly dark outside. I felt somewhat uncomfortable standing around outside of a building I’d never been in before but I still didn’t want to wait in the car. It took another few minutes for me to realize there was a callbox next to the door. I walked up to it and found the button for her place. I rang it once but there wasn’t any answer. I figured maybe she was still getting ready and couldn’t hear it. I waited another few minutes before trying to ring again. Still there wasn’t an answer.

I had been waiting for close to half an hour when the girl I had seen earlier returned to her place.

“Excuse me, can I help you with something?”

“I’m just waiting here on someone, thanks.”

“Who?”

“The girl that lives in number five. I was supposed to meet her here at eight.” I looked at my watch when I said it and it was just turning eight-thirty.

“Sorry, don’t know her.” She walked into the building and I was disappointed I didn’t get more from her. She wasn’t my date but at least she was good to look at, maybe I could’ve taken her out.

I told myself I’d wait another five minutes so I did. By the end of them I was getting fairly depressed about the entire situation. When my writing wasn’t working out I started looking forward to tonight even if it was our parents’ idea. I mean it was something to do.

I started getting all these ideas in my head about how much I couldn’t stand girls. I took this one bad moment from one of them and applied it to all. It completely wasted my mood. I’m not normally like it, but I felt as if I was going to be bitter about it for some time to come. If you let them, one person can ruin you for the world. Anyway I had plans on eating a nice dinner, and even hadn’t eaten most of the day for it, but that’s plans fallen through and not plans.

I decided to forget about it. I mean I’d probably wake up tomorrow, start all over again and think nothing of it, so I went and tried to find a nice place to eat anyway. I reached into my pocket for the car keys and realized that I had brought the deck of cards along.

I’m not really the type that knows of all the fine dining establishments in town. I settled for getting a good meal at a decent price. I find that that usually works out best. I don’t have to put up with phony waiters adding to an atmosphere that I don’t really enjoy that way. I decided to eat at the bar I had gone to yesterday. Maybe if I was lucky that girl, the blonde with the good service, would be working again. I found my way back to that side of town, which wasn’t all that far away. The place seemed to be a bit busier than the day before, but still fairly empty.

As my luck would have it she did happen to be working when I got there. I wasn’t in the mood to put up with the smoke of the bar and all so I got a table all to myself. While waiting to be waited upon I brought out the cards and just kind of held them in my hand, thumbing through the deck. With practice I thought I could become quite decent at handling them. At the moment the thought was going through my head the waiter came to the table and I spilled the cards all over the table.

“Well that was embarrassing.”

“Don’t worry, it happens.” It was the girl, and she said it with her smile.

“You mean you’ve seen people come in here with cards before?” I looked up at her. “Oh, hi, it’s me from yesterday.”

“I remember. Can I get you something to drink?”

“Just some water, thanks.” I wasn’t in a drinking mood. I thought that if I started I wouldn’t stop so it was best to just let alone.

“I’ll be back.” I fumbled around with the cards, trying to get them all back together in one pile while she was gone. I got them all together just as she returned with the water.

“Thank you.”

“No problem. If you don’t mind me asking, shouldn’t you be someplace a bit more livelier?”

“I don’t think so. Do most people who carry a deck of cards with them see lively to you?”

“I guess you’re right. So did you know what you wanted?”

“I’ll just get the steak.” I still wanted to eat well.

“Alright, I’ll put that in for you and be back with it in not too long.”

“Thanks.” I sat there for a few minutes playing with the deck. I thought it would look even more pathetic if I started playing solitaire so I held back. The girl had given me some attention and I wasn’t sure if it was a part of the job, I mean maybe she wanted a better tip, but I kind of felt I could’ve responded a bit better. Anyway it wasn’t long before the meal came out.

“Here’s your steak.”

“Thanks.”

“Can I get you anything else?”

“I think I’m good.”

“Just let me know then.” She walked away and I was by myself again. It didn’t take long to finish the steak. It was good and I savored it and all, but when you’re eating all by yourself there isn’t much to do but eat. She came back over to take the plate away.

“Did you want to try any desert or have some coffee or anything?”

“I think I’ll pass.”

“Well is there anything I can get you to get you to stay longer then?”

“Excuse me?” I had never had this happen to me before. Never.

“Well, it’s a slow night. You don’t think maybe you’d like to have a drink or anything?”

“I’m not much in the mood. Actually I did have plans to be somewhere else tonight.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah, I sort of got stood up tonight by a blind date of sorts. It’s not really my thing and I’m not that disappointed or anything, but I’m not much in the mood.”

“Well I’m sorry to hear that then.

“It’s alright, really.”

“Alright then. Can I join you for a drink then, how’s that sound?”

“Don’t you have to work?”

“It’s really not that busy, I don’t think anyone would notice.”

“Well if it’s no trouble then, sure, have a seat.”

“I will. Just let me get some drinks for us then.” This was strange. She must’ve wanted a really good tip. Or maybe my story made her feel sorry for me. As I sat there waiting I took out my pen, I always have a pen on me, and scribbled some things down on a napkin that just came into my head. I didn’t have the notebook on me so this worked. I do it a lot actually.

I’m back.” She was, and with two bottles of beer.

“Thank you.”

“Yeah, no problem. So, other than the previous events of tonight what brings you here?”

“The plans were to go out to dinner. I thought I’d at least stick to that.”

“I see. So you’re from around here?”

“I live somewhat around the corner.”

“Really? I’m not that far from here either.” We went on to find out that we went to rival high schools. Nothing to exciting, rather typical of the area. If it wasn’t your school, it was some school everyone at your school thought wasn’t as good as yours in anything. Really, every single school here was exactly the same. It was nice talking to her though. I mean I had found her to be attractive when I was there yesterday, and she happened to be working again. To see her was one pleasure. To know was even better.

So I noticed you scribbling on a napkin. Why do you write so much?”

“As to not forget.”

“Forget what?”

“Just little things. I keep notes on these ideas that just come into my head. I’m kind of working on being a writer.”

“I see. What do you write?”

“Actually, I haven’t really written much of anything yet.”

“Oh?” Her ohs made me feel as if she was actually interested, so I decided to go ahead and tell her.

“I’ve been trying to write a novel, or at least a story of length. I can’t really get anything down on paper.”

“I see. But you write things down on napkins?”

“Yeah. I have all these notes.”

“So you’re going to write a story on your notes?”

“I’m trying to get it together. But yes, that’s the idea.”

“That sounds interesting. I mean to be a writer.”

“It is. But I’m not really a writer. Not yet anyway.”

“So what are you?”

“Nothing right now.”

“What do you mean nothing? You have to be something. What is it that you do?”

“I really don’t do much of anything. I’m looking into that right now. If what you mean is a career anyway.”

“That’s what I meant. Any ideas what you want to do?”

“Well I want to be a writer.”

“Oh, right.” We weren’t really getting anywhere. I don’t think I make much of a first time conversationalist. I usually have to know the person. I’m surprised I really know anyone. They all should’ve gotten sick of me instantly. I mean all I seemed to be doing here was talking in circles. “Well, good luck with that then.”

“Thanks. What is it that you want to do?” She was my age, I didn’t think she wanted to be a waitress her whole life. I don’t think she heard my question though. She seemed to be looking elsewhere.

“Well, thanks for the drink, I should be getting back to work. It was nice to talk to you.”

“Nice talking to you too.” She came back with the check a few minutes later.

“I almost forgot this.” I almost wished that she had. It made me stay longer to see that she had left me for someone else. As I was getting up from the table I saw that she had her arm draped around some guys neck and he had his around her waste. He knew her better than I did. For that I thought he was better.

I felt sorry for myself. I mean I thought I had found something. I guess everyone just wants attention ‘til their company arrives.

It wasn’t too late when I got home, but I was tired. Disappointment does that to you. It makes you not want to try so you just don’t. Anyway there wasn’t much else to be doing I thought. I ended up lying down in bed with the television on. There’s this show that comes on every Saturday night, and supposedly all the people that know what they’re talking about think it’s a great show. I mean these people know what’s going on and what’s to be paid attention to and that sort of deal. It didn’t make much sense to me though because if there was something worth paying attention to it sure couldn’t be done by staying in on a Saturday night. I didn’t think so at least, but there I was. I’m not sure what did it to me, I’ve never been a smoker, but I got the greatest urge to have a cigarette or something. I just felt like there should be something in my hand and I was to be taking it all in. I really had no idea where it came from.

I wasn’t sure if I really wanted to smoke, it was most likely just an urge to be doing something more than what I was. I acted on it. I went downstairs to the garage where my old bike was hanging from the ceiling. It was a nice night out so I thought I’d go for a bit of a ride. Maybe even take it someplace to where I could get a smoke if the feeling lasted. I was worried about making too much noise opening the garage door because it’s right under my parents’ bedroom, but then I realized they weren’t even home.

Getting the bike off the ceiling was the biggest part. I think people put them up there with the intention that they’ll never be brought down again. I mean it makes sense, I hadn’t ridden it in years, it or any bike actually. It’s just this old ten-speed I got years back for a birthday or something, nothing fancy. I had to grab the seat and one side of the handles and push it upwards to get it off the hooks it was hanging from. It was kind of hard as the front wheel was wobbling. I got it down without incident though, but then I realized the tires had gone flat. I really hoped that they weren’t permanently flat. I wasn’t in the mood to go buy new tires.

It turned out they were just flat because no one had touched them in so long. I guess the air just naturally escapes. I found the pump and went to work. It’s one of those old style pumps that has a metal pole that goes into the air compression chamber. The pole has a handle that crosses it made of plastic. You push down on the handle and the air comes through a tube that attaches to the tire. I was in a rush and in my hurry I used too much force pushing down on the handle and it broke in half. I was left holding a piece of plastic in each hand. It made it harder to pump but eventually I got it done.

Just to make sure the tires were ready to use I thought I’d give it a go around the block before taking off. Right when I got on I realized I didn’t have enough air in them. It was hard pedaling. I rode back into the garage and tried again. After I got back on I took it for another ride around the block. This time the wheels felt unbalanced and every time they made a single revolution there was a bump. I took it back into the garage to find that the rear tire had too much air in it and was about to pop off the wheel. After taking some of the air out I seemed to have it right enough to ride. I did, so I finally left.

I turned out of my block, rode down a hill close to where they were doing construction, and then out onto the main road. There wasn’t a car to be seen. It felt later than it was to me. Maybe it did to everyone else too and that’s why no one was out. It felt nice being in a place that’s usually overwhelmed with traffic and having it all to myself. I turned off the road and thought about going to the corner gas station. I ended up cutting through the parking lot. I thought about having a smoke then but the feeling was gone. I was glad. It’s not a habit I want to pick up. I can’t afford it anyway. I made a few more right turns down past some office buildings and a shopping center. When I turned back onto the road near the construction I nearly lost it. There’s no sign warning that the sidewalk comes to an end. There’s just this bend in it through some trees and then all of a sudden a white fence barrier with orange stripes painted on it meaning caution. I didn’t quite run into the fence but came close enough.

The last turn into my neighborhood felt horrible. Going up the hill I had gone down was worse. I ended up having to jump off and run up it. I didn’t like losing the momentum. After I got back to the top I jumped back on the bike and kept riding. I rode about four miles. It felt like four too many. When I turned off the street and into my driveway I threw the bike into the yard. I stood there with my hands on my knees, half bent over. I came close to being sick. I didn’t have to breathe like that for I wasn’t sure how long. It didn’t feel right. I was even happier with my decision not to smoke. This type of activity that left me gasping for air was probably healthier.

I took off my shirt and sat there on the front porch for a bit. I went inside to get a glass of water, brought it back out and sat back down. There was a breeze and it felt good against the sweat all over me. I drank half the glass of water and then poured the rest over my head. I thought that my mom would’ve yelled at me for that if she had been there. I could hear her saying it would’ve made me sick. I didn’t care. It would’ve made me something.

I can’t remember what I did next. I think I went to sleep. But now I was in the bookstore talking to someone. Of the events they had listed was a writing workshop. I didn’t think much of it at the time, I mean I didn’t want someone else telling me how to write because I’d rather find it for myself, but I was struggling so I had decided to see what they had to say. It was before anyone else had actually gotten there so I was standing there with these questions I had in my head. The person leading the group was faceless. I don’t mean that he didn’t have a face; it’s just that he looked so typical, with his glasses and wearing a blazer. He just looked like everyone else and so it left no impression.

I thought to myself I’m not really sure why I’m here. I mean I set out to write a story about myself and well the thing is I’m not that interesting. Even if it was thoughts and ideas that were real put into fiction I was still thinking how was it to be worthwhile. It could end up being about past experiences or ones I want to have, but did that make it a separate thing that was to be written? Should I share it out loud? I mean the words written on paper are still a voice, but was it worth hearing? I wasn’t even sure how I wanted to write it. I mean, what tense was it to be in, was I going to be telling it now or was I to be telling it then. How was it going to end? If I have a story to tell there’s got to be some conclusion. So far it seemed I was too dull to go out with a bang. Even if there was a bang to go out on, I didn’t know how to get there.

That was my problem, I didn’t have any answers. Anything they could’ve asked me about my writing the only thing I could say was I don’t know. I was standing there, pretending to be talking to someone about all of these questions, having this fake conversation in my head. Maybe someone would ask me something, and with my lack of response to all of it they could help me by giving me a beginning. I just wanted someone to start talking and for me take something from their words to find my own.

The waiting game got to be quite a bore. All these people were gathered to sit and talk about their work. Perhaps they had something worth mentioning but for now they were just there drinking coffee. Most of them had probably come because they had questions like mine. They wanted to know what worked best. I was like those the most because we had this preconceived notion of achieving greatness. As if there was some standardized formula to follow. The only work that we thought we had was to plug in words into this formula and we’d be finished. A worthwhile-ness would write itself.

I thought to myself, what is the standardized formula? I want to be sure to keep away from it. I set out to find my own voice, my own language; I didn’t want the answers from someone else. It would come to me at some point. When that was I wasn’t sure, but it had to happen at some point when I sat down to write.

It’s hard to confine a work when it’s still in progress. That’s what it was, in progress, in my head. I knew because, like before, I woke up dreaming.

It’s depressing when even your dreams are disappointments. The sun hadn’t come up when the last one woke me up so I tried to go back to sleep. Instead I laid there in the dark. I thought that maybe I should go to the bookstore and see what the workshop had to offer. Maybe it could do better for me than my sleep was. There didn’t seem to be much point of closing my eyes knowing that when I did wake up it’d be in a state of unrest so I got out of bed. I went over to my notebook yet again and tried making something of it. Before I had thought I was going to get each and every one of those lines into something more. That was thinking big. Now I was thinking that I had to make it smaller. There had to be something in there that could be turned into more. Something that taken in pieces could be made into a whole, rather than using the lot of them.

I thought of forgetting the entire idea of creating a story about a writer trying to find his own voice. I thought I could focus more on the idea of a card-playing loner. It seemed so much shorter and simple. More to the point of what I think I’d be trying to get across as a writer. I still didn’t know how it would work, but maybe it would.

Where did the whole desire of wanting to tell a story originate in me anyway? I know it was the only desire that seemed to stay with me the past few years, but now I was thinking why. I wasn’t so sure I had an answer even for that. Why did I want to be remembered? What have I done, what was I capable of as a writer, that was worth remembering? There was nothing yet. It might still have been thinking big, but everything was to be more than it was. Maybe I should settle for less. Maybe I could just write something and say I wrote it, and that in itself was the accomplishment. Once that much was complete I could work towards more. I didn’t know so I put the notebook down and went back to sleep.

The days were getting shorter. Not just because it was close to the end of summer, but also because I was spending so much of them asleep. The weather makes you tired and as I was sleeping a storm had moved overhead. When I finally did wake up it was to a fading sun. I looked out the curtains and a glaze had fallen upon the world of my eyes. There was a glow as the light from the setting sun set the clouds on the edge of the storm on fire. Everything seemed to be emitting a radiation. I had never seen colors like it.

I took it as a good sign and made true with my decision and went to the workshop. It was the latest part of the weekend and most people were ready to return to their week’s schedule deciding to stay inside. The weather must have been more severe than I had thought because leaves had fallen everywhere. I figured it would’ve woken me up if it had been that bad. I was glad that it hadn’t. Who knows what disappointment I would’ve woken up in the middle of this time. Anyway the parking lot of the bookstore was empty and it didn’t really seem like there was a crowd gathering like there had been in my dream. I was glad for that too. The more people that were there, the less there were that knew what they were doing. The only questions I wanted to hear were my own and not end up leaving with others’, therefore making them mine as well.

I walked in the doors and right there in front was a sign stating the workgroup had been cancelled. Normally I would’ve read far too much into it, thinking that it was a sign telling me to forget about writing altogether. Instead I thought that I was here, I might as well do something. There’s something about bookstores, I think it’s the smell of fresh paper and writing that hasn’t been read, that I enjoy. I decided I should look around.

Upon aisle after aisle I found authors I enjoyed and respected, some that I didn’t enjoy but respected, and some I seemed not to pay any respects to because I hadn’t read any of their books. I’m not sure what has kept me from reading certain authors. It was most likely that I hadn’t heard of them. Their names hadn’t been placed into my head somewhere along the way to increase their chances of being read. Then I thought that there had to be many authors whose names I had forgotten, but their work I knew. That, I thought would be an accomplishment.

This was the place I one day wished to find something I had done. To be among those aisles myself was the point I wanted to reach. Would I be an author that was remembered by my audience? Or would it be my writing? That’s when I thought to myself, I don’t care about my name, I want them to know my work.

I continued to walk down the aisles, and when I reached the end of one I found a stand of books. They were well known authors, most of which I had read and if not I had heard of. Most of it was material they feed to you in high school English classes and college literature courses. Anyway it was material most people could agree was worth reading. I wanted to be among those most. That’s when the greatest realization occurred to me about my writing.

Just because it’s not better than anything here didn’t mean it wasn’t worth something. I wasn’t sure where the desire to write came from, and although there was some there to belong to this select group of authors, it was too great. What added to this realization was that the majority of the books in front of me were massive. That’s why many of them I hadn’t touched. I thought to myself why would I open a book that would take longer to read than it did to write? I mean there’s more days than I can fit on paper. Why waste the paper? Even if the chances of me being capable of writing something of that length are existent they’re close to naught. It would be quite an accomplishment to write a story of such great length that was worthwhile, but right now I had to focus on writing a story that was simply worthwhile. I had to prove myself of that first.

The greatest part about this whole realization was that no one told me. I had to tell myself.

While it takes a lifetime to die, it only takes a day to forget. I drove home hopeful and the failures of yesterday’s women were gone from my mind. As I walked back into the house the phone was ringing so I made another mad dash to answer it. I didn’t recognize the number on the display but was surprised to hear the voice on the other end.

“Hello.”

“Hello, it’s me.”

“Yeah, I know.”

“So you know who’s calling?”

“Yes.” I did know who it was, but I didn’t know how I knew.

“I wanted to let you know that I’m sorry about yesterday.”

“Okay.” The failures of yesterday had made themselves apparent and I wasn’t in the mood of wasting yet another day forgetting.

“I’m sorry. I’m sure you’re upset, I can tell. Can I explain?”

“Sure.”

“I had car problems.”

“Of course.” I think I have a tendency to be rather blunt at times. I don’t mean to be a jerk, but sometimes it just comes out.

“Really, I did. I wouldn’t be calling if I felt bad. I mean why would I call you up after purposefully standing you up?”

“I don’t know. Well if that’s it then, I mean if all you wanted to say was your sorry…”

“Actually I was hoping we could get together. Sometime soon if you still wanted to. I truly am sorry about last night. There was just no way to get a hold of you until now.”

“Well what did you have in mind?” I’m easily swayed.

“We could grab a bite tomorrow. I just feel I should make up for what happened.”

“When’s good for you?”

“A late lunch would work. If all goes well we could do something else after. Sorry I’m getting ahead of myself.”

“That would work. I’m going into the city for an interview but shouldn’t be back too late. Lunch sounds good.”

“Should I call you tomorrow?”

“Would you mind meeting me out here?”

“You want me to come out to your place?”

“I’ll definitely be here by two o’clock. We could just go from here. Trust me, I’m not setting you up, I’ll definitely be here.”

“If it’s definite I’ll trust you. I guess I’d deserve it either way if you weren’t there.”

“I don’t mean to make it sound like that. You’ve called to say sorry, let’s forget about it. I’ll just be sure to be here at two and I’ll see you then.”

“Alright, I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Goodbye.”

“Wait! I need directions.”

“Oh right.” I gave her the directions and hung up the phone. I stood there for a moment and the hopefulness that was with me as I left the bookstore had returned. I mean I didn’t know the girl, and if you don’t know some thing of course you can live without it. But now I felt some sort of attachment. I didn’t think she owed me anything for last night, but I honestly was glad she called.

I went upstairs to start writing. I thought the good mood increased the prospects of accomplishing at least a start. However, all I could think about was tomorrow. That’s probably another one of my major downfalls. While I can’t help but hold onto things from yesterday, I can’t ever seem to stop worrying about tomorrow. Anyway I tried writing but all I could think about was returning from the interview to see her. I started to think that I know why there are no great successes in writing at such a young age; we’re too preoccupied with the opposite sex.

I wasn’t tired, but I fell asleep anyway.

I woke up unsure of how long it would take me to get to my interview. I just know I had to take the train into the city, so I got out of bed early. I showered and shaved, which irritated my skin horribly. I hate shaving often. Anyway by the time I was out of the shower it seemed the redness had gone away enough and I wouldn’t look too cut up during the interview. I got dressed and even put on a tie. I wanted to look good. I usually do.

The train station isn’t too far from where I live. It’s down the highway a bit but not a long bit. The stop for our area is actually all the way the end of the line. They’ve been thinking about putting in more but it never happens. They’ve always got plans on over-development around here. It’s nuts.

It was a little before ten o’clock when I left my house and the interview was for eleven. I was thinking the process would go easy on me because whoever was conducting it would be ready to get to lunch. I know I would be.

The train took about forty-five minutes to get where I needed. It wasn’t too crowded. You’d be surprised at the conversations people have when no one is around. Someone was telling someone else how he knew some guy that died because he jumped on a wild horse. Then there’s always really young girls that just can’t stop giggling. Sometimes it’s cute. Other times it makes me think I’ll never have children. What got me the worst though was this older woman who had been talking to a guy she ran into. They had gotten on where I did and were on after I left so I got to hear the whole deal. She was in town for god knows what reason and was meeting people in the city. It’s practically impossible to get lost in the city, at least where she was headed, unless you’re completely daft. She sounded as if she just might be. Why do people vacation in places that they don’t know where they are?

I ended up getting off just as the guy was giving her directions on how to find the airport for when she was flying back home. The building that I had to get to was a few blocks down from the train station. I was going to be early, like usual. I had nothing wrong with the company thinking I was punctual. I mean that’s usually a good thing. I just didn’t like thinking that if I got the job I’d be living on a train schedule and not that of my own. I don’t have a schedule.

As I walked along the street and would come to a stop at every street corner, waiting for the traffic to clear, I looked at all the people. I don’t think I could live in the city. There’s far too much noise. There are a lot of women to look at though. I thought that would always make the commute worthwhile. What I didn’t get was when I stopped and was standing next to this guy who was about ten years older than I was. He sized me up and I thought to myself, is he really surprised that I’m dressed just as well, all the while being better looking than him? It seemed to me the men were looking just as much at the other men as they were the women. I wasn’t too worried about it though. I just kept walking.

Finally I was where I had to be. It was hot outside and I was sweating and didn’t feel too good about it. I went the bathroom before going into the office itself. After washing my hands I splashed water over my face and dried myself up with my handkerchief. I took a deep breath, left the bathroom and went into the office.

Since I had been home I made up a small collection of phone numbers, business cards, names with titles, names without titles, and just a varied assortment of contacts. The place I was having this interview was something government related. They were looking to hire me as a consultant for something. I pretty much had the job. I mean when they called me to schedule an interview they were telling me everything I wanted to hear. Maybe it was just me. I am new at this. I thought about that for a second. I didn’t know how the interview would really go because some people are good at telling you what you want to hear. I’m trouble because I’m honest.

After waiting in the reception area for a few minutes I was called into a backroom.

“Please have a seat.”

“Thank you.”

“How are you doing today?”

“Good, yourself?”

“Fine, thanks.” I was hoping they would get to it. They did.

“So what is it that interests you in working for us?”

“Well, my background, I mean my schoolwork was in this area.” I had studied foreign relations along with political thought in college. “I recognize the work you’ve done and are involved in and I’d like to take part in it if I could. I’d like to see if I was cut out for it.”

“You are very qualified.”

“Thank you.”

“Do you know what types of qualities we look for in an employee?” This part I wasn’t about to enjoy. This is where they want to be told what they want to hear.

“You want someone who’s hard-working and dedicated.”

“Yes, of course, but there are two major qualities we look for when hiring someone. Do you know what those are?” I sat there in silence for a moment. I gave up soon enough and let them know by shaking my head. “Loyalty. We want someone who remains loyal to us and our department. That and honesty. In order to maintain the right atmosphere and to prosper here you must be truthful with us at all times. Of course on top of all of that whatever it is you have going on in your life, you must leave it outside the door. When you’re here, we’re paying for you to be here. You are ours when you’re here.” I didn’t like the sound of being owned, but played along.

“I understand.” That was pretty much the end of it all. Didn’t really seem like much of an interview. Afterwards they brought out some paperwork and I had to give them some basic information. The offer was there but I wasn’t completely ready to give them an answer. I went ahead and filled out the forms, but I didn’t sign anything. It seems everyone sells out. Even I’m waiting for the day to come when people pay me for my writing. The difference is I want my writing to be worth the cost people pay. Here and now it seemed I was volunteering my soul to be destroyed. I’m not much on the idea of working. I mean if we’ve a right to life why must we earn a living? Actually I think I’m just adjusting to the idea that maybe the best years of my life are behind me. Years when nothing mattered and so everything was worthwhile. Now everything matters and I’m trying too hard not to make a mistake. I don’t want to get stuck in anything. That’s why I didn’t sign anything.

I left there feeling relieved that it was over and done with. I was sure my parents would return hoping that I had found some sort of employment. I had time before the return but I felt rushed about the decision. I didn’t want to think about it and ended up falling asleep on the train back home.

When I woke up the train was pulling into my stop. I didn’t feel all that clean, I never really do after sitting on the train. When I got home I showered all over again. I had about an hour before my date was going to show up. If she was going to show up.

It felt like forever sitting inside waiting for two o’clock to come around. I kept thinking she was going to ask me all these questions about how the interview went, what the job was for and things of that nature. I had another whole fake conversation in my head coming up with the answers. This time it worked out a bit better because I was going to actually be able to say it out loud rather than wake up from another dream.

Have you ever looked at someone for the first time and have your life flash before your eyes? It’s actually the opposite of what people mean when they think they’re dying. Instead it’s laying eyes on someone and you see into the future. It’s your life flashing before your eyes, but it’s a life unlived. Scenes not yet depicted, save for in your mind, just race across in your head. It’s a wonderful feeling, but it’s a bit overwhelming and intimidating. Almost like a dream that leaves you feeling that so much has happened, but really no time has passed. That’s what happened when I opened the door and saw her standing there. I saw my future.

“Hi.”

“Hello. How are you?”

“I’m doing good thanks, you?”

“I’m alright. Would you like to come inside?”

“Could we actually go ahead and get to lunch, I’m starved?”

“Yeah, sure.”

“Thanks. I mean it’d be nice to come in and see your place but, I’m really hungry.”

“It’s alright. It’s actually my parents place, but yeah.”

“Okay, so where should we go?”

“There’s a good Mexican place down the street, we can go there if you’d like?”

“Mexican sounds good.”

“Did you want to drive?”

“Sure.” As we walked to her car I wasn’t sure but all of this seemed familiar.

“I hope you found the place okay.”

“Yeah it was no problem.”

“Good.” I was glad to hear it. I don’t know why but I pride myself on giving good directions. I don’t really know many places to tell people where to go, but it makes me feel helpful.

“I still have to say I’m sorry about the other night. I felt horrible about it.”

“Forget it. It happens.”

“Well, I’m glad you’re not too upset about it.”

“I’m not really upset about it at all. I mean I was a little that night. But really, how could I be upset about someone I don’t even know?”

“Huh. I guess you’re right.” I wasn’t sure how she took what I had said. I mean I was obviously impressed by her when she showed up at the door and I didn’t even know her. Of course I tried not to let it come across, but now I thought I had insulted her.

“Well, I don’t mean it anything against you, I just don’t know you that’s all. I was disappointed in having plans fall through, but I don’t think I was ready to judge you and write you off after one incident. I mean you did call and you’re here now, so forget it.”

“Okay. So how has your day been?”

“It’s going alright, I had that interview this morning.”

“How did it go?”

“Well, I have a job if I want it.”

“That’s always good. Do you want it?”

“I don’t know. Do you know where we’re going?”

“No, I don’t”

“Make a right at this next light.”

“Here?”

“Yes.”

“Okay. Now go left. That’s it right there.”

“Thanks. So you don’t know if you want the job?”

“Not really. I know I need to work, but I’m not much in the mood.”

“So you’re lazy then?”

“No, I just don’t want to commit to anything right now. There’s plenty that I do.”

“Really, for example?”

“For example, I read, and write, and go to the movies. I go out for meals with people.”

“I do that too.”

“Are you lazy?”

“No. Well I should say that I’m in school.”

“Well alright.” We got out of the car and walked up to the restaurant. I held the door open for her. I’m quite the gentleman. I’m bringing chivalry back all by myself.

“Thank you.” I smiled. “Not many people hold doors open for you anymore. It’s nice when it happens.”

“I agree.”

“A table for two?” It was the host.

“Yes please.”

“Follow me.” Our table was in the back. It wasn’t well lit and the place played the worst music ever, but the food was great. “Would you all like something to drink?”

“Water, please.”

“Yes, two waters.”

“I’ll be back.”

“You know I’ve never been here before.”

“The atmosphere needs a little work, but I really like the food.”

“That’s good then. Do you recommend anything?”

“Everything here is pretty decent. I usually go with the special number six.” She glanced down on the menu and nodded in approval.

“That does sound good.” The waiter came with our waters and we ordered.

So, if you don’t mind me asking, if you don’t want to work, what do you want to do?”

“I’m not sure of that either. I’m somewhat stuck right now.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know. I probably enjoy being bored. Wait, no, that’s not it. I think about it a lot.”

“You don’t know what it is then?”

“I don’t think I’m cut out for work. It’d be nice to have a routine and an income, but there’s more I want to do. What about you?”

“I’m just finishing up school.”

“Well that’s something then. I don’t really have any priorities. I should probably make some.”

“You did say you read and write. What is it that you write?” Normally I don’t think I would’ve wanted to talk about my writing, being that it wasn’t really happening. But it was different with her.

“Not much at all right now. I’ve been trying to start something, a story, a novel actually, but I don’t really have anything to write. I want to have a story to write.”

“You could make one up.”

“That’s so easy to say. It’s even really easy to think about, but I can’t really get anything down right now. I think too much about the characters, the plot, the setting. Everything really.”

“Don’t you ever get sick of thinking?”

“Yes.”

“Why not stop and do something then?”

“I don’t know. I don’t even think I know.”

“Well, what did you do in college then? Didn’t that give you any ideas?”

“Yes it did. I studied foreign relations and political thought.”

“Why?” I didn’t mind the questions. I’ve never been one to keep my words to myself.

“I was going to save the world. Bring it to peace.”

“That’s noble of you.”

“I just wanted to do more. I guess I got scared.”

“Oh.”

“College is a place where you learn who you are, what you want out of life, and, if you’re lucky, how you’ll get there. That last part never worked out for me.”

“What is it that you want out of life then?”

“I want to write. I want to travel. I want to fall in love forever and when the time is right I’d like to build a house and make it a home. I realized that I couldn’t bring the world to peace, but if I could find it for myself and bring it a step closer, I’d like to do that.” She smiled when I said it.

“That sounds nice. You went to college for that?”

“No. I always knew that.”

“So why’d you go to college.”

“To build up my tolerance for alcohol and women.” She laughed at this. Just then our meals arrived. “Here we are. I hope you like it.”

“It looks delicious. Honestly, why’d you go to college?” I smiled.

“I’m not sure. It’s what people our age do when they get there. Society necessitates it, or almost does. I thought I could find work with a degree in something. Make money too.”

“Money doesn’t buy happiness you know?”

“No. But it does make it more affordable.” She smiled again. I liked it. “It’s your turn. What do you do at school?”

“Aside from the tolerance building, I’m studying to become a journalist.”

“So you want to write too?”

“Yes, but only I won’t be making things up.”

“No, you’ll be writing what other people make up.”

“Right.”

“So that’s it. You just want to be a journalist and that’s all you want to do. I mean, I’m not saying it isn’t important and that it’s not something worth…”

“Do you always feel a need to explain yourself?”

“I just didn’t mean to offend you. I do that to people sometimes.”

“Don’t worry about it. To answer your question, yes, that’s all I want to do.”

“That must be nice. To know and do what you want. Let fate take its course”

“We are our own manifestations. Fate’s what you make it.”

“I guess you’re right. I’m just not completely sure what I want to make of mine. I want to be able to surrender myself to something. To just say it’s okay and go with it.”

“You act as if it’s too late.”

“You’re right. I’ve been thinking my whole life. It’s about time I started doing more.”

“Where do you think you’ll start?”

“Well, first of all, I’ll get the check.” We were done with our meals by this time and I just noticed the receipt on the table. I didn’t even realize the waiter had come by and put it there. It was one of those conversations. I mean our plates were empty and I didn’t think I’d eaten.

“Are you sure? That’s nice of you, especially after what happened.”

“I told you to forget about that. It’s done with.”

“Okay, but that means I get it next time.” I liked hearing that there would be a next time.

“Okay.” We didn’t really say much after that. After paying the check we got back into her car and she drove me home.

“Would you like to come inside?”

“I would, but I can’t.”

“Right.”

“No really, I would. How about I come back later, we could get some coffee or something?”

“I don’t drink coffee.” I hated myself for saying that and immediately tried covering for it. “But we could do something like that. I mean we could go for coffee, I’ll have hot chocolate or something.” Yes, I’d drink hot chocolate on a late summer day.

“Sounds good. I’ll come back in a few hours. You’ll be around?”

“I’ll be around.” I smiled as I said it.

“I’ll see you then.” She smiled back. I got out of the car and walked to the front door. As I took out the keys I noticed she waited to make sure I got inside before driving away. When I opened the door the dog jumped over me. I reached down to scratch his head and turned around all in one movement to wave back at her in the car. She waved and was gone.

In taking time I’ve lost much. I decided it would end there and I went upstairs to write. For once I actually got somewhere. Lunch had left me feeling as if something was fulfilled, like there was something more to the everyday acts that I had been taking for granted. So, instead of losing more time I thought I could do something with it. I wasn’t sure when she would get back, but I didn’t mind sitting there waiting for her. It’d be a perfect point to start Solitaire’s Edge

A scene formed itself on paper with the words I was putting down. A character emerged that was defined all by my words. The plot developed as the story was told. All of the elements of good writing were there. Of course all of that is the summarization in my head of writing the first draft, which took a few hours. But the story was short. It felt incomplete. The characters definition changed with the story’s end. I just wasn’t sure I wanted that ending, which wasn’t complete. I’ve seen so many movies where I liked the way the story was told, but I didn’t want to be told that story. I didn’t want my writing to be like that.

The other thing was when I read over it a few times just to make sure all the Is were dotted and the Ts were crossed, I didn’t think of it to be that interesting. I realized what I had written was exactly what I had told people I was going to write about, myself. But when you start writing and it’s about your own experiences and outlooks put into fiction, although you know who you are, it’s different seeing it on paper. It’s just different. Then I thought that if it is all about me, maybe that’s why it’s so dull.

The style, the structure, the language I had found when I sat down to write seemed to be all my own. I was proud of that. It was the substance that still seemed to be lacking. I mean I was reading my own words and I didn’t feel anything. Maybe that was the point, but I wanted to be sure of my own words. I also started to get lost in a number. The writing was short. It was nowhere near being a novel. I went back and forth counting the pages. Then I went through trying to number the sections of it off at certain breaks. I realized there was no real break anywhere in the writing. It was a continuous flow of happenings brought together to make something whole. I forgot about it all because the doorbell was ringing.

“Hello.”

“Hey, I hope I didn’t keep you waiting too long?”

“No, it’s fine. I just got some writing done.”

“That’s good. So you want to get that hot chocolate?”

“Yeah, that sounds good.”

“Okay, I know this little coffee shop that isn’t like all the others around here. It’s quieter. We can go there if you’d like.”

“That works.”

“Then it’s settled.”

“Alright. So what have you been up to?”

“Nothing really. I just had to get some things taken care of before the day was over. You?”

“Nothing except the writing. It’s all I was doing from the moment I got inside to just right now.”

“Well that’s good that you’re making progress.”

“I think so. I’m not sure how much progress I’m making though. I’m not completely sure if I like what I’ve done so far.”

“Why’s that?”

“Well, I’ve accomplished writing my first real short story. But I feel as if it didn’t set out to do anything.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah. It might just be in my head. Maybe I’m just trying to write something that shows sometimes all that happens to people is nothing at all.”

“I’m not sure I follow you.”

“Everything that’s written, it’s all about something in particular. Life’s not always like that. Sometimes it’s just about being here, rather than anywhere special”

“We’re all just here. That’s the biggest part.”

“Well, everyone else seems to be somewhere else.”

“Then maybe you just mean to write a story that’s not about everyone else.”

“Thanks. That makes me feel better about it all.”

“Why’s that?”

“Because you just answered what I couldn’t.”

“Alright then. So do you have a title?”

“Yes.”

“Can I hear it?”

“Solitaire’s Edge.”

“Hmmmm. Am I allowed to know what it’s about?”

“Well I meant to keep it all to myself, until I had a real living draft for people to give at least a once-over, and I think I’ve done that so I might as well tell.”

“Please do.”

“Is that the coffee shop right there?”

“Yes it is.”

“Then I’ll wait ‘til we get a seat.”

“Okay.”

We walked inside and ordered first, then took our seats. It wasn’t the typical coffee shop that’s constantly packed with people who are there to hear poetry being read by someone who’s trying to impress miserable souls. It’s not one of those that has different flavors from across the world. It’s just a place where you can drink coffee, just plain regular coffee, and sit down. Places like that are rare around here. I was glad it was where we had come.

“So, you were saying about your story.”

“Yes. Solitaire’s Edge is a story about a boy who carries around a deck of cards so he can play whenever, wherever he wants. And so he does. He just plays solitaire and doesn’t say a word to anyone. Then one day he’s gone and nobody notices.” Just then I realized I had been carrying the deck of cards with me. I pulled them out of my pocket and placed them on the table.

“Were you acting it out so you could write it down?”

“You know, I never thought of it like that, but yes, I think I was. I don’t think I told you the story was largely about myself. I mean it’s about things that are made up in my head all put into a fictional setting.”

“Well that sounds interesting enough.”

“Thanks. I’ll let you read it sometime if you’d like. Then you could be sure if it is or not.”

“I’d like to. You know, if you want, I know someone who’s having some people over tonight. We could go there if you’d like.” Everyone knows somebody.

“Okay.”

“It’s not far from your house at all actually. I don’t think it’ll be anything too great, but after we’re done here, I thought we could go.”

“I think that sounds good.”

“I’m glad.” We both smiled at one another and finished our drinks. I did end up drinking hot chocolate on a late summer day. It had gotten cooler than it had been during the day and didn’t seem to be far from fitting. It felt like rain again actually.

When we walked out from the shop there was a mist coming down. It felt as if we were in a cloud.

“I can’t stand this type of weather. It’s not rain. Just a miserable feeling draped all over the world.”

“You’re right. I love the rain, but you can’t have any fun in this.” We got into the car and were on our way to someplace I had never been.

We arrived at an apartment complex that was quite close to my house. I had driven by it many times before and never really suspected younger people to make their homes there. But that’s where we were. It wasn’t too late just yet but a crowd had already gathered. The place smelled of liquor and smoke. The lights were turned low and there was a soft buzz of music being played too loud coming from somewhere I didn’t see. I wasn’t in the mood to stay long just by the feel of the place and it showed.

“We can leave as soon as you’d like.”

“I’m okay. It’s not so bad. Whenever you’re ready.”

“Okay.” We were talking in bursts that were whispers more than anything else because of the noise. Just then someone approached me. I’m not sure what they were on, and I was more unsure of myself thinking if I had really missed out on not doing this type of thing back when I was in school.

“Hey man. Where you from?” This is a question I’ve dealt with a few times in my life. When people ask me that I’m supposed to respond with the name of the place that gave me this skin. But all I can think to myself is that I’d let them know when I get there.

All of that played itself out in my head one more time before I told him, “I came from across the world.” That seemed to please him, or confuse him more than whatever mind-altering substance he had just downed. He walked away shaking his head.

That’s when I caught her eyes again, realizing that she had witnessed everything. She came up to me and grabbed my arm, leading me to the kitchen where a line had formed. “Let’s get a drink?” I nodded, as most of what was being spoken wasn’t heard.

A drink is like a shot of adrenaline. I’m not sure what overcame me, and I was hoping it was legal, but it was something I hadn’t felt in a long while. Time passed by faster then it had ever seemed to before and I found myself sitting on a couch with her on my lap. The music had drowned itself out and all my senses were engaged in her. It was a sobering effect to say the least, but a good one. It was better to feel something real and know where I was more than anything else. That’s when we decided to leave.

“So, how’d you like it there?”

“It was okay. I didn’t do too much of that in school. I mean I got out and all, but never like that. I mean, maybe I did and I just don’t remember cause it’s been long enough that I’ve forgotten it all. I don’t know.”

“I think you had a good time.”

“I think so too. You usually into that sort of thing?”

“Nope. I hardly know most of those people. I don’t want to end up getting stuck running with the wrong crowd. None of those people have any motivation to be anything.”

“They sound like my kind of people.”

“No, you at least want to be a writer.”

“True. That and I don’t run and I don’t like crowds.” I knew I was completely sober by this point with a comment like that. She smiled.

“Hey, are you hungry?”

“I could eat.”

“Let’s go get something.”

“How about a burger. There’s a place open late down around here. They’re pretty good.”

“Okay.”

“Do you want to just grab something and go back to my place? You’re more than welcome to stay.”

“Sure.” We went for the drive through, ordered, and ate on the way back. “You know, I hear those people there are going to go on strike. I’m glad we beat them to it, these burgers are pretty good.”

“Why would they go on strike?”

“I don’t know. Maybe they don’t get treated well enough.”

“You mean their minimum wage and working for America’s finest fast food establishment isn’t reward enough?”

“Do you think that you’re funny?”

“No.”

“Well you are.”

“I’m sorry, I don’t mean to be.”

“I think you do.”

“Maybe a little. I think I just have a more entertaining way to put things at times.”

“That should be good for your writing then.”

“I hope.” Just then we had gotten back to my place. “Would you like to come in?”

“You sure, it’s late?”

“It’s fine. My parents aren’t around and I’ve nothing else to do. I mean it’s not too late.”

“Alright then.”

Trust takes time. At least that’s usually how it goes. But now it wasn’t taking much time at all. I just felt comfortable around her and it seemed she felt the same way. It’s good when it works out like that.

We made our way inside and the dog made his way to her.

“He’s adorable.”

“He’s also a beggar. You can go on up to my room if you’d like, I’ll be up there in a minute. I’ve just got to feed him first.”

“Okay.”

“It’s the last room on the right down the hall.” She walked upstairs and I went to get the dog’s food. It was nice having someone in the house. It didn’t feel empty anymore.

I walked upstairs and found her sitting on the floor with my notebook. “So you’ve found it.”

“Yes. Your handwriting looks like bugs crawling on paper.”

“You know that’s exactly how my mother describes it. Except it sounded much worse when she said it because it was in another language.”

“Your handwriting?”

“No, what she said.”

“Oh, right. Where are your parents anyway?”

“They’re out of the country for a while.”

“I see.”

“How are your parents?”

“My parents are my parents. They don’t get on too well really.”

“Sorry to hear.”

“It’s okay. I’ve gotten used to them. That’s why I don’t live at home now. It’s nicer being out on my own away from them.”

“I can relate to that.”

“I think lots can. I just remember how they argued more often than they got along. Now they just avoid one another.”

“That’s sad. I mean I don’t think my family’s perfect but everything seems to be fine.”

“Well, if it makes sense, there’s no love lost because there’s nothing to lose.”

“That does make sense.”

“My parents just did what they were supposed to do when the timing was right. It’s nothing too out of the ordinary. It’s like what you said about college. That was marriage for my parents.”

“I understand.”

“Anyway, about your writing.”

“Yes?”

“What are you going to do with it?”

“I’m going to put it down and keep writing. I’d rather write something longer. I don’t think that’s anything worth publishing. It’s just a start.”

“Do you think you can write something worth publishing?”

“I’m not sure. What you’ve just read is missing something. It’s writing alright, but to me it doesn’t seem like it has anything on the inside.”

“If there’s nothing on the inside it’s just going to collapse in on itself.”

“I know. But I don’t know what to do next.”

“Take something you’ve got. Make it better. I have to ask though. What if it’s good and no one wants it?”

“I’ll do it again. I’ll do it over and over again until someone finds it and thinks they’ve found something worthwhile.”

“That sounds like work.”

“It’s work but it’s fun so it doesn’t feel as such.”

“Not to be negative, but what makes you think that you could write something worthwhile? I never think it’s easy.”

“There’s a voice in my head that say’s I’m good. And so I am.”

“From what I’ve read, the voice makes it seem like you’ve got an audience of one. Like everything you’re writing was meant for someone in particular.”

“You mean you think I’m trying to say it to someone, instead of just putting it out there in general for anyone to find?”

“Yes. I mean, maybe it’s just personal and I understand it. But when I read a work I want to experience it and not have it consume me. I felt I was in that writing.”

“Maybe it was just that good.” I smiled after having said it.

“Right.” She smiled too. “I couldn’t read all of it. How’s it end?”

“With punctuation.”

“Well that’s good. So you’re going to have a page in the world then? Make history.”

“There’s definitely a history there. There’s history everywhere. We are history.”

“Sounds like you should let it be what it is.”

“I still think it needs more. I’m not good with conclusions. If I find an end, that would work.”

“But then you’re writing would just find death, rather than an ending to its life.”

“At least it would feel complete.”

“You’re giving up too easily on it now.”

“I think I’m just happy with finally being able to write something. It took me days to even start.”

“So keep going.”

“I will.”

“Good. If that’s settled then, what do we do next? I’m not tired at all.”

“We could watch a movie if you’d like.”

“That sounds good.” We decided on a movie and sat next to each other on my bed watching. I’m not sure how long it took, couldn’t have been long at all actually, but we fell asleep.

Life is what happens between dreams. For once I woke up to life. I heard the shower on from the bedroom and realized that I was by myself in my room but I wasn’t alone. I wondered to myself if you can miss something before it’s gone. She was right there in another room and I felt as if I was at a loss. I went from being completely fine with being by myself to extremely needy all in one night. I think that it’s true that you can go on longer without something that you’ve never had than those that have. It’s the greatest addictive quality of love. I’ve never known what it is to love someone, and sometimes I feel that I’m nothing without someone. All of this was coming into my head far too fast for me to comprehend all of it. That’s probably why I was content with being by myself. There was no one else to worry about. There were no other emotions in play but my own. This changed things.

“Morning.”

“Morning. Did you sleep well?”

“I did, thanks. I’m sorry but I think I used all the hot water in the shower.”

“It’s okay. Do you want breakfast or anything?”

“I really should be going, I’ve got classes to get to.”

“Oh, right. Well, will I see you later then?”

“Sure, how about dinner tonight?”

“That sounds good.”

“I’ll see you then.”

“Bye.” I stayed in bed while she walked herself out. For some reason I just felt the formality wasn’t needed. I heard her car start, and then pull out of the driveway. I feel asleep a little afterwards.

In the basement we have a game room with a billiards table. That’s where I went after I woke up. I go there to kill time. It also helps me think about my writing and whatever else is on my mind. All I could think about right then and there was billiards though. I’m a fairly decent shot. Better than most I think. It’s all about angles and I’m great at seeing the table. I can usually think two or three shots ahead. I do have a tendency to line up the shot perfectly, take a great practice stroke, and then pull back too hard or too soft. It makes for a shot that’s nowhere near the line I wanted to play. It doesn’t always happen that way. Most times I can get the ball to do whatever I want, but I lack consistency.

After firing off a few shots that didn’t go my way the thoughts did turn to the writing. The story still needed a conclusion. I wasn’t sure how far I had gotten; I didn’t know how close I was. I stood there as I continued to play asking a higher power to give me the ability to finish. I promised that I’d give something in return for that ability. I never really understood that about people. We always seem to be asking for something before we can give anything away. Maybe that’s what was missing from the writing. I hadn’t given anything away with it yet. The story that I had so far was about the loner I had described earlier. But it was so familiar that it seemed to be completely real. The fiction wasn’t well off. I didn’t know where I was, and so I didn’t know where to go with the writing. The story made itself out to be about a character that felt he had been cheated out of something. I didn’t feel that way. I started to think that I was waiting to be cheated so the writing would become reality rather than an act on paper. That’s what separated the writing from reality, because while it wasn’t complete, I felt it went further than myself.

It was disappointing not being able to finish, and I was just trying to finish. I had become so used to that disappointment that I needed it to go on. Then my thoughts turned to her. We hadn’t been apart long, but I was growing fond. There had been so many before that ended in disappointment and that’s why I had thought I had given up on relationships before I met her. It was a past filled with girls that didn’t know what they were missing, but were fine with it. I’d always think to myself that when things were going well enough that they saw something. I’d always come to know that they didn’t. Not something that was there anyway, and if you see something that isn’t there what is there to believe? I gave up because I stopped asking for something I knew I couldn’t have. Being alone isn’t all that difficult, it’s just that there’s always someone in mind. Up until meeting her I thought it wasn’t my time.

All of that was changing in my mind yet again. I wanted to know one, and it was her. Now that she was there I didn’t know what it would be like without her. It was all moving too fast in my mind, thinking that I’d always be there, somewhere for her. So long as she would have me I was hers to be had. My half was complete, but it takes two halves to make a whole. I was left thinking I needed her more than she could ever want me. It scared me, but that didn’t mean it wasn’t worth going after.

I fired off a shot entirely too hard that sent a ball flying off the table. I knew exactly what I had done wrong, but I would keep making the same mistake again and not learn from it. If all it was was a game on table, what did it matter? After retrieving the ball I put up another rack and started the game all over again. The break was a thing of beauty. There was a fluidity of motion. Everything was lined up and struck perfectly. I wanted to move like that with her. I was going to have to use bigger balls.

I wanted to know that it gets better. Better than what I knew up to the point where I had gotten. Where I had gotten in the basement playing a game, where I had gotten with the writing, and most of all where I had gotten with myself. Beauty wasn’t a game on a table. Beauty is something breathed. It’s in all those things I breathe in that make me happy. I realized then that if I wanted to be happy, eventually I had to move. That meant it was time to start something new. I don’t mind routine, but I didn’t like the routine I had going. All around me people seemed content with what they had experienced and not with what they had. That’s not where I wanted to end up.

I put the cue down on the table, leaving the game incomplete, and went upstairs to finish writing. For once I knew how I wanted it to end: happy. The entire time I thought I was going to tell a story and write something completely different.

—

As I sat there in front of her, waiting for autumn to fall, I thought to myself that I’d get somewhere someday soon. I placed a deck of cards on the table in front of her and walked out of the room. I’ll come back before forever ends. Then again some things aren’t finished or found. They’re just out there standing alone.

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