Marc's Creative Outlet

1,000 Words For Charity - Sue

2009-09-15T17:15:00.000-07:00

Title: River's Grace
Three words provided: river, grace, marigold
Word count: 1,000
Fun fact: And so ends this year's 1,000 Words For Charity project. It was a lot of fun and I think I'll do it again.

Grace gazed out of the small kitchen window at the grey clouds looming overhead while scrubbing her tea cup in hot soapy water. Another miserable spring day in Vancouver, she thought, her shoulders slumping and her eyes falling to the sink full of dirty dishes. There had been far too many of those since her River had died. It was like the clouds had been mourning with her those last two months, their shared tears attempting to replace the strong waters that had stood by her side for nearly sixty years.

River was the man she had married, but that was not the name he was given at birth. He had immigrated with his parents to Canada from rural China when he was only four years old; they brought only the clothes on their back, an inheritance cheque from one of his father’s distant uncles, and about ten words of English between the three of them. The communication difficulties had been great, but not insurmountable.

“I can’t make any sense of these scribbles – it’s like finger paint or something,” the young man behind the desk had told his partner with a laugh before looking up at River’s father. “What’s the boy’s name?”

“Yes,” came the reply, accompanied by a quick dip of the head.

“Oh brother,” the man said with a look of disgust. “Not another one of these. Where was he born? Can you tell me that much at least?”

“River!” His father had been very excited, both to recognize one of the words directed at him and to know the answer. His son had been born on a muddy river bank in late summer, a month before he was expected. It had been an ordeal for several weeks afterward, but he had pulled through to become a solemn but feisty young boy.

“It’s quitting time, so that’s good enough for me,” the man said as he typed River, China in the birthplace field on his form and then, with a snorted laugh, River into the name field. He printed a copy for the new arrivals and said, “Welcome to Canada folks – now get out of my sight.”

River had never been bitter about the experience; he liked to think that the immigration officer had simply been helping him to fit in. Grace thought that was a very generous interpretation of events, but she kept that to herself.

Now, seven weeks, four days, eight hours, and forty-three minutes after a heart attack had stolen him from her life, Grace moved from the sink to the stove and turned on the element underneath the bright red ceramic teapot. With trembling, emaciated fingers she pulled open the cupboard next to the fridge and extracted the final box of tea that River had imported from home. She had always liked the misty, swirling artwork on the packages and the mysterious characters that described their contents. After two failed attempts she managed to get the cardboard top to separate from its sides but her hand paused above the opening as she sucked in a ragged breath.

There was only one tea bag remaining.

“Now you’re just being silly,” she muttered, taking it by its string and placing it in her cup. “This doesn’t mean anything… in fact, you should stop worrying about the end of his tea and start being concerned that you’re talking to yourself again.”

Once the tea pot whistled at her, something River had been too polite to do, Grace poured the steaming water into her cup and took a seat in the cushion-laden breakfast nook. She closed her eyes briefly, inhaling the earthy scent she had grown to love, before looking out to the tangled mess that was their flower garden. The snow had just set it free the week before her husband had passed away and he had spent most of that week sorting through his seeds, trying to decide what he would plant first that year. Grace had never understood why it mattered which seed went into the ground first but she still found the yearly ritual endearing.

As she put the cup to her cracked lips the sun’s rays found a hole in the clouds to slip through, landing softly on the east end of the flower bed. That was his favourite corner, she thought with a sad smile, where he always planted the marigolds.

The memory remained floating in her mind as she finished the cup, mingling with thoughts of cleaning, grocery shopping, and needlework. As she placed her cup into the now lukewarm sink water she turned and looked out the breakfast nook window again.

The decision was made so quickly she would later be uncertain that it had truly been her own. She moved into the front hallway and collected her wide-brimmed straw hat and the shoebox filled with flower seeds. On a whim she left her gardening gloves and trowel behind as she stepped out into the cool morning air.

Arriving at the eastern edge of the flower bed Grace kneeled stiffly, placing the shoebox on the damp grass to her right. The dew soaked its way through the knees of her jeans almost immediately but she paid it no mind, focusing instead on the neatly arranged packets of seeds resting in the container.

It would have been intimidating had they not been in alphabetical order – River always took care of the flowers while Grace had been happy to take a small patch of earth for her herbs. She plucked out all the varieties of marigold with a smile, knowing that he would never plant them all together like this. But she wanted all of those reminders together in one spot; she needed them there.

She pulled away a few weeds before digging her fingers into the loam, where she was stilled by a warming thought. Working this soil, the way River did year after year, she thought with an unnoticed tear slipping down her cheek, it’s almost like holding hands again.

1,000 Words for Charity - Rose

2009-07-09T18:08:00.000-07:00

Title: A Promise Kept
Three words provided: library, laughter, lingering.
Word count: 1,000
Fun fact: she asked for a romance. She didn't specify what kind :)

The maple tree cast a swaying patch of shade onto the verdant grass at its feet and, when the breeze was gentle, over the wooden bench that faced it from ten feet away. When the wind picked up the shade was swept aside and the sun peered down on the bench and its lone inhabitant, Charlie Poole.

Charlie hardly noticed the changing light, for his faded brown eyes were locked on the sliding glass doors of the building that was just visible under the lowest hanging branch. He seemed to be keeping time by tapping a white sneaker-clad foot on the dirt path that led away from him.

As the sun neared its zenith, the door of the red brick building opened to allow an elderly gentleman to escape its confines. Charlie’s back stiffened slightly at this sight and he seemed to remain seated only with great difficulty. The man made his way over to the park bench, seemingly in a dead heat with an unseen snail, and finally seated himself next to Charlie with two creaks, three groans, and one muttered oath.

“Well Danny, let’s hear it!” Charlie said, now nearly bouncing in place. “What’s she reading this week?”

“Are you really sure it’s not time to give up? I’m telling you Charlie, it would be a better use of your time to practice for the County Lawn Bowling Championships - it’s only two weeks away now! We really need you to be in top form if -”

“Out with it already you stodgy old fool,” Charlie cut in. “I’ve got a good feeling about this one, right down in my bones.”

“You sure that isn’t your arthritis acting up again?” Danny asked, doubt hanging off his drooping eyes and wrinkled forehead. “And honestly mate, I’m not convinced that old rock knows how to smile - forget laughing!”

“Well there’s a first time for everything, right? Besides, I really think I almost had her with that Pride and Prejudice crack last week.”

“Yeah, that was a right corker,” Danny said flatly. “It‘s really not fair though, is it? Only giving you one joke per book like this?”

“Never mind that. Go on then,” Charlie said as he leaned in conspiratorially, “what’s she reading?”

“Do you really think she’ll keep her promise then? I reckon she‘s just enjoying all the attention you‘re giving her,” Danny said before seeing his friend’s expression darken. He held up his hands and sighed. “Fine. It’s The Time Traveler’s Wife. Good luck with that one.”

But Charlie was already deep in thought, his eyes searching for the words that would finally find a chink in his sweetheart’s armour. The sun peaked and began its descent and still no words were spoken. The wind played in the maple leaves, sending several prematurely floating down to earth, and Charlie continued to ponder.

At last, as closing time edged ominously closer, Charlie shot up from the bench and clapped his hands together. He looked down at his friend and smiled an excited, gap-toothed smile.

“That‘s it!” he shouted, ignoring Danny’s embarrassed attempts to quiet him. “This is perfect! I’ve been waiting months for an opportunity like this!”

“Charlie, maybe you should run this one by me first. Bea is retiring in three weeks, remember? If this one doesn’t work you’ll only have two tries left! Let me hear it and then… Charlie! Get back here!”

Charlie, however, wasted no time on his friend’s concerns and shuffled at a steady pace down the dirt path, his hands hovering in front of his large silver belt buckle, his elbows swinging from side to side, and only slightly favouring his bad right hip.

Charlie entered the public library at his top speed and headed straight for the check out desk, where Bea sat reading her latest novel. He made a great show of inspecting the title before rubbing his chin and looking off into the distance. Bea paid him no mind, as usual, until at length he snapped his fingers and smiled broadly.

“So I’ll pick you up at five o’clock on Saturday then,” he said with a nod, turning away.

“I don’t award persistence Charlie,” Bea said, looking up over her lenses. “You still have to make me laugh before I agree to a date.”

“But I already did,” Charlie told her over his shoulder. “You laughed so hard you nearly fell off your chair!”

“And why don’t I remember this?”

“Well,” he said with a sly wink, “time travel is a tricky thing, isn’t it?”

Bea’s eyes narrowed and her mouth tightened. But as she opened her mouth to reply, understanding dawned and her pale blue eyes sparkled. Her lips twitched upwards, threatening to coalesce into a smile, but then were firmly pressed together and flattened into a thin line.

“Nice try Charlie,” she said as she returned her eyes to the pages before her. “Quite clever, actually. But better luck next week.”

Charlie’s face fell and his shoulders sagged heavily as he turned away again. His feet slid across the floor as he made his way towards the exit, as though separating them from the carpet was too much effort. Just as the doors slid open for him a smothered sound made him look back one last time.

He could hardly believe his eyes.

Bea sat behind her desk, her shoulders shaking with barely contained laughter and one wrinkled hand firmly clamped over her mouth. Charlie took two halting steps towards her, shock playing over his weather-worn features, when suddenly a long, clear laugh escaped through her fingers.

Charlie stared at Bea as she regained her composure, the laugh lingering in the air between them as the room returned to its usual soundtrack of hushed whispers and turning pages.

“So… five o’clock then?” he asked, struggling to not look too pleased with himself.

“Yes, five will be lovely,” Bea told him as she buried her face in her book once more. “I’ll see you then. Don’t be late.”

1,000 Words for Charity - Nicky

2009-06-30T21:45:00.000-07:00

Title: The Captain
Three words provided: zombie, martini, dirigible
Word count: 1,000
Fun fact: I pictured this as an animated short and attempted to write it as one.

Scene: The control room of the dirigible Righteous Liberty. The air is filled with the low hum of electrical equipment, emanating from the various polished brass dashboards arrayed in the background, and black swivel chairs have been placed strategically around the room. White fluffy clouds are visible through a floor-to-ceiling window at the right side of the camera frame.

In the foreground a zombie, facing the camera, is sitting with his feet resting on the bottom of a large, wooden steering wheel with a captain’s hat perched jauntily on his head. Black, straggly hair is bursting from underneath the crimson cap with a large gold star emblazoned on its front. The zombie has a martini glass in one hand and a microphone in the other.

Into the microphone: Ladies and gentlemen, this is a message from your newly… appointed captain, Zoltin Papp.

Zoltin pauses to sip his martini. A wan smile flickers across his face but vanishes before he places the glass on a metal ledge to his right and continues.

I realize that my rise from janitor to captain is unprecedented but I can assure you all that I am, if anything, overqualified for my new position. This thing practically flies itself, really. But enough about that; I have a few things I would like to take care of before I allow you to return to your afternoon festivities.

To begin, I would like to address the unpleasant rumors I’ve heard recently that our previous captain, Sir Tobias Wagner, had a head full of rocks. I would like to assure you all that…

The camera zooms out to find a man wearing a black captain‘s uniform seated on the floor, slumped against Zoltin‘s chair. The top of his head has been ripped open, his chin is resting on his chest, and his tongue is lying heavily upon his bottom lip.

Zoltin leans over and dips two fingers into the dead captain’s skull. He brings the fingers, covered with a dark viscous fluid, to his pale lips and sucks noisily without bothering to move the microphone away from his face.

… this is entirely untrue.

I would also like to take this opportunity to dispel some of the unfortunate… misconceptions circulating the ship about folks such as myself. Firstly, we are not the slow, dragging our feet everywhere we go, arms outstretched all the time types we have been made out to be.

He pauses to prod the captain with a bare foot.

Just ask old Toby here how fast I can be.

Secondly, we are not mindless, ravenous creatures, always hunting for more food. One body can sustain us for three or four days - a week if it is particularly corpulent. I think now is as good a time as any to remind you good folks that the all-you-can-eat buffet is now open 24 hours on deck three.

Zoltin plucks the aviator sunglasses sitting crookedly on Captain Wagner’s nose and places them reverently on his own face. Moments later he takes them off and flicks them off screen with a look of complete disdain.

Finally, as for the idea that we are poor public speakers: well… given my tendency to ramble on, I think the less said concerning that the better, don’t you? “Brains… brains…”? I mean, really now – that’s insensitive and insulting.

Before continuing on, may I ask the control room crew to please return to their stations? There are an awful lot of poorly labelled buttons down here and my curiosity is starting to get the better of me.

Zoltin pulls a cigar from Wagner’s shirt pocket and bites the end off, his uneven, red stained teeth revealed to the camera ever so briefly. He spits the piece onto Wagner’s lap and produces a book of matches from his own shirt pocket. After successfully lighting the cigar he lets it hang out of the left corner of his mouth and returns to his address.

Actually, while I’m at it – a quick note to Tomas, the head bartender. My glass is getting dangerously low right now and I’m still quite parched. Would you get… Johnny to bring me another? He’s a smart young fellow, good head on his shoulders. Two olives this time. Thanks.

I’d like to remind everyone that it has now been five short days since we set sail from Boston and we are still on schedule to arrive in two weeks at our final destination: Paris, The City of Lights.

He places two fingers into Wagner’s skull and stirs them in a lazy circle while staring absent-mindedly out a window which is off screen to his left.

I want the good travelers aboard this airship to be on their best behavior during our visit to this magical city. Try not to embarrass your good country more than your military, government, and previous tourists already have, alright? If word gets back to me about any obnoxious behavior, the offenders will not be stepping back on board my ship – except, perhaps, to be used as sustenance for yours truly.

A door opens along the back wall and control room crew members, dressed in matching pale brown shorts and button-up short-sleeve shirts, begin to slip back into the room one by one. They press their backs against the window and inch their way to their work stations, a mix of revulsion and terror on their faces.

In closing, thank you all for your undivided attention and I look forward to a comfortable, safe voyage for almost all of you. This is your new captain, Zoltin Papp, signing off.

As the screen begins to fade to black, Zoltin looks to his right, a wide smile splits his face in half, and his eyes glow with a dark hunger.

Ah, Johnny, perfect timing! Have a seat, won’t you? I have no earthly idea how these wonderful concoctions are made and I’d love to… pick your brain… on the matter.

The screen goes black and the credits begin to roll.

1,000 Words for Charity - Greg

2009-06-22T22:16:00.000-07:00

Title: The Gallery
"Three" words provided: Red5 First-Date EmmaB
Word count: 1,000 again
Might be useful: to read Tagged first. Just kidding, I know it's super long. But the below would make a heck of a lot more sense to you if you did.

“I like this one,” Emma says as she pauses to study a smoky skyline, all greys and blacks and reds. A quick glance at the label tells me that it’s another piece by Greg “Archimedes” Benito, an extremely talented street artist that tags his pieces with random math notations. After a few seconds I spot two pedestrians contorting to form an aleph symbol. “The city could be lit by fire or a sunrise or... whatever I want it to be.”

We’re in the Shady Waters Art Gallery and, since it’s two hours after closing, we have the place entirely to ourselves. I’d had to promise the owner, Kirsten Beamer, positive reviews of her next three exhibits in order to get the key for tonight. Journalistic integrity at its finest, I know.

I nod and smile, just like I did in response to her last three comments, and we continue our limping progress down the hall. God, why can’t I think of anything to say?

This was a huge mistake. I should have just left this as the perfect, unattainable dream of a relationship – the reality is proving to be a crushing disappointment. I can’t believe how awkward this feels. You would think that after all we’ve been through together a first date would be easy. Instead it’s more like Wilkerson, Grozny, and Joel are our tour guides and they keep pointing out our shortcomings.

We stop in unison to stare at a canvas covered in a kaleidoscope of colors that hint at a hidden image. It’s a little bit like staring at one of those cheap stereogram paintings you can get at the dollar store – if you look at it long enough you either see a picture or you get a migraine. I always seem to get the latter.

“Want to make a bet what it’s supposed to be?” I ask, aiming for playful and landing on stilted.

“Sorry, I already cheated,” she says with a smile I would label shy on another woman. On Emma I’d say it’s captivating. She points to the small white card next to the painting and reads, “Architeuthis in heat – version nineteen.”

“A horny giant squid looking for some action? I’d love to see the previous attempts at capturing such a... magnificent spectacle.” Emma gives a little laugh that lifts my spirits and we continue, walking a little closer now. I catch a whiff of her perfume and breathe it in deeply; it’s light and inviting, with a hint of... caramel? I like it.

We’re in the final hallway now and sweat is beginning to gather in uncomfortable places. In unpleasant contrast, my mouth is getting dryer and dryer. As we pass the second to last painting without stopping I open my mouth once, twice, three times but no words are able to escape safely.

“It’s strange being here, with all that madness behind us,” she says as she slows to gaze at the final painting in the hallway. My nerves ease as her focus remains on the swirling clouds of green and yellow hovering above a brick factory. She hasn’t noticed the flickering coming from around the corner yet and, ridiculously, I can’t stop myself from thinking there is still time to turn back. “It’s hard to know what’s real anymore. Was that the dream and this the reality? Or are we sleeping now, only to wake at any time to gun shots and terror gripping our insides?”

Once again I can think of no fitting response, but this time it feels more appropriate somehow. I want to reach out and take her in my arms, to give her comfort and security, but my arms remain dangling at my sides, useless.

“Jeremy, I know you didn’t ask for any part of it,” she says as we approach the end of the hallway, “but I just wanted to tell you that...”

Emma falls silent as we come around the corner and enter the final room on the tour. My chest constricts painfully as I try to discreetly monitor her reaction. I know it’s nonsense but I can’t help feeling this is the critical moment for us. I stand teetering at the precipice and wait for her to push me over or grab my hand and pull me to her safety.

There is only one painting in the candlelit room, covering most of the wall which faces us. On the left edge Q sits at a computer, the electronic green light revealing his grim smile. On the far right a handcuffed Wilkerson is getting shoved off canvas by yours truly – my face is mostly hidden by shadow but the red numeral five on my jacket sleeve erases any doubt about my identity. Slightly to the right of center Puppy is drawing something in chalk on the ground beside her fallen father, her face and expression obscured by her cascading hair.

And standing center stage, one foot placed triumphantly on Grozny’s chest, is the enigmatic Emma B. Her face radiates satisfaction and the entire scene is lit by the brilliant flames of her hair. I open my mouth to explain that I left Joel out of the painting because I didn’t want to ruin it, but the realization that putting that belief to words would have the same effect clamps my mouth shut.

The silence draws out, deepens, and changes colors but I’m unable to make sense of it. I swallow nervously and wonder if there’s something that should be said that I’m completely missing.

But then Emma’s hand finds mine, she rests her head on my shoulder, and all the pain, all the stress, all the tension of the past few weeks melts away in a soft warm glow. We stand like that, side by side, hand in hand, until the candles flicker once, twice, and then go out, returning us to the darkness we have become so accustomed to.

This time, though, the dark feels warm and safe and peaceful. It feels like home.

1,000 Words For Charity - Mom & Dad

2009-06-15T20:55:00.000-07:00

Title: The Gift of Fire
Three words provided: love, understanding, thoughtfulness.
Word count: 1,000 on the dot.

On a chilly Saturday in the town of Corner Bay there was a great disturbance that to you I shall now convey. I do hope you’re sitting comfortably? Good, let us get the story underway.

“I don’t understand how this can be!” cried Thomas the fire breathing donkey.

The flames shooting from his mouth, you see, were something that had just developed recently. For all his life Thomas had been just a plain donkey, but since his third birthday admission to his house was only be fee (three dollars a visit, with roasted marshmallows thrown in for free!).

“My poor, poor Thomas, my dear,” said his mother Shelly St. Cyr. “We’ll go to the doctor and get you fixed up, don’t fear!”

On the way to the doctor several passersby were seared but they were kind enough to take it in good cheer. After all it was plain to see, it was really quite clear, that the poor donkey’s apologies were completely sincere. Thomas wanted nothing more than to just disappear.

“It’s okay my love, you don’t have to hide,” his mother told him with arms open wide. “You know that I’ll always be with you, right by your side – I won’t be content until these flames subside!”

“Thanks mom but I just feel so bad!” Thomas replied with eyes so sad. “I just melted the only Sunday dress Miss Ginger ever had!”

“It’s okay, I’ll just knit her another,” he was told by his doting mother. “And between you and me – I might also make one for her brother!”

At this Thomas let loose a fiery laugh - which almost caused the nearby Mrs. Moobell to have her calf! So Thomas and his momma hurried on before someone was burned in half.

They managed to arrive at the doctor’s office without further ado – aside from lighting a bonfire or two. The receptionist (Delilah the shrew) looked up from her copy of True Gossip View and asked, “What can I do for you?”

“Well, there’s a slight problem with my son,” Shelly replied as she wiped from her brow some perspiration. “His breath is so hot it has become a sensation – everywhere we go there’s a conflagration!”

“I can’t say I’ve seen that before!” Delilah said, no longer looking the least bit bored. “Grannies who fell, old men that snored, shore! But by this I’m totally floored! Come along, come along, the doctor will see you in moments and not two seconds more!”

In smoky silence they waited in the examination room, Thomas doing his best not to ignite the straw broom. He knew that in such a small space a fire would be their doom – the whole building would explode with a resounding ka-boom!

“How are you doing today?” inquired the good Doctor Savay as he came through the doorway. He wore big glasses, his long hair was in a state of disarray and, as he was a horse, it was most natural for him to be chewing on hay.

“Oh, put your snack away!” Thomas shouted in dismay. “Please, please, won’t you do as I say?”

The doctor complied with a gentle shrug before giving his mane a thoughtful tug. “So what is wrong, young fellow – have you caught a nasty flu bug? Or perhaps your hide was bruised by a big strong hug? A chipped hoof from a hole you dug?”

“No, no, it’s none of those things! No more can I talk, no more can I sing - each breath that I take comes with smoke rings!”

Doctor Savay was deeply confused and yes, to be honest, more than a little amused. His expression changed little when together by a flaming hiccup his two favourite pens were fused.

“Oh my goodness, a donkey that breathes fire! If I didn’t see it myself I’d call you a liar! But my dear Thomas, the situation is not so dire; lift your head up and hold it higher.”

“But I leave behind me a trail of destruction! No matter what I do I can’t seem to stop this combustion – can’t you help me end all this disruption?”

“My dear boy you have been given a gift! Can’t you see how you could give people’s spirits a lift? Your negative perception just needs a little bit of a shift!”

“Mom, let’s give this doc a pass – he doesn’t care that my breath can melt glass. You know me mom, I hate to be crass – but he thinks this a gift and I say it’s a pain in the -”

“Thomas, don’t be rude! Listen to what he has to say and lose the attitude.”

“It’s alright Shelly,” the doctor said with a laugh that shook his belly. “I can understand if Thomas thinks my brain is made of jelly. He’s not the only one – so does my wife Kelly!”

“Well doc, let’s hear it. Why should I celebrate this condition, rather than fear it?”

“You just have to think of how much better life can be! You’ll have fire with you at all times – no more dragging a barbeque so heavy. No more using matches – you’ll save millions of trees! Don’t think of how much more difficult it is for Me – think of the good you can do for We!”

“Wow doc, you’re right – this I can understand!” Thomas cried out while gratefully shaking his hand. “I’ve got so much to do, so much to plan! I’ll go get started right now by lighting a fire for Stan the homeless man!”

With that Thomas left the office at full speed – no longer giving his own worries the least bit heed. He raced all over town, helping those in need – of a light, of a fire, of any heat indeed. Getting rid of Old Man Timber’s weeds was only one of his many heroic deeds.

And to this very day you’ll find dear Thomas the fire breathing donkey helping everyone in sight – and of course he does it all for free.

For Family & Three's Company

2009-03-11T21:12:00.000-07:00

Alright, this is obviously not working - I barely remember to post here when new chapters go up on Protagonize. So I won't be doing it anymore. You know where to find it, but for the final time - chapters sixteen and seventeen have been posted.

So what will I use this space for? I haven't completely decided yet... but I'm thinking about short stories that will span two or three entries. No regular schedule, just when I get inspired.

In other news: I've updated the look of my Daily Writing Practice blog. I'd been terribly bored with the old layout for far too long and finally got around to doing something about.

That's all for now, I'll be back here when inspiration nudges me in this direction.

Cornered & Bridges

2009-02-24T21:25:00.000-08:00

Chapter fourteen and fifteen are up.

Beware, the story looks like it might actually be going somewhere sometime soon.

Maybe.

Walk Therapy & Daughter Dearest

2009-02-16T23:09:00.000-08:00

Chapter twelve and thirteen are up and at 'em.

First Steps

2009-02-10T23:48:00.000-08:00

Chapter eleven went up yesterday.

I completed the first run through of chapter twelve on the weekend and broke the 10,000 word barrier - I was quite excited by that.

Beginnings & The Inquisition

2009-02-06T18:49:00.000-08:00

Chapter nine is here.

Chapter ten is here.

Gotta run, have a good weekend!

Expectations

2009-01-31T21:39:00.000-08:00

I only managed one chapter this week, what with being back at work again, but I hope to get back to two next week.

Here's chapter eight for you though.

The Learning Curve

2009-01-23T20:01:00.000-08:00

Chapter seven is online for your reading pleasure.

When One Door Closes...

2009-01-20T02:19:00.000-08:00

The latest chapter of A Fighting Chance is up here.

So the two chapter leeway I had been maintaining has been used up and I start working again on Wednesday. I think I might be dropping down to one chapter a week soon, but I'll do what I can.

Doug & Gary's Palace

2009-01-16T12:43:00.000-08:00

Chapter five.

The Way Forward

2009-01-12T16:02:00.000-08:00

The latest chapter of A Fighting Chance can be found here.

One Hot Night In Texas

2009-01-09T12:33:00.000-08:00

Chapter 3 has arrived.

I like the idea of updating Monday and Friday - I'm not sure how long I'll sustain it, but I think I'll make it my goal for the time being.

My Green-Eyed Joy

2009-01-05T16:41:00.000-08:00

The second chapter of A Fighting Chance is up right around here.

I hope you enjoy it.

A New Story, A New Venue

2009-01-02T18:49:00.001-08:00

So there it is, the first draft of my first chapter of my first novel. Enough firsts for you?

I haven't entirely decided at this point, but most likely that's the only chapter that will be appearing here. It will, however, be posted in full over at Protagonize right here. At bare minimum I'll post here to let you know when a new chapter goes up, but there are simply more eyes to see it and give feedback over there.

I hope you enjoy the story.

A Fighting Chance

2009-01-02T18:44:00.000-08:00

I could feel the bad news coming. Doc always made me wait longer when he knew I wouldn’t like the diagnosis.

I sat hunched over in his examining room, staring at my swollen knuckles and wondering if this last bodily betrayal would be the end of me. I flexed my fingers, winced at the wave of pain that rushed up my arms and released them. I shook my head, knowing what Doc would have to say about that.

I heard his footsteps in the hall and sat up straight; he would not find a defeated and dejected man made pale by those glaring overhead lights that stole away shadows. He would find a fighter, a man filled with determination and steel.

He said something as he came through the door but I had to ask him to say it again. Sometimes I didn’t hear things too clearly – a few too many right and left hooks to the side of the head can do that to a man.

“How are you feeling Nate?” He closed the door behind him and gave me the Look. “Your ears bothering you again?”

“No Doc, I was just lost in my thoughts,” I told him. “I’m feeling just fine, I’m feeling ready to fight.”

He nodded before looking down at the chart in his wrinkled hands and the deep grooves in his forehead became even more pronounced than usual. I watched his eyes go left to right, left to right and waited for the verdict.

“Nate, how long you been coming to see me?” he asked when he finally brought those blue eyes back to bare on me.

“Twenty years,” I said immediately. It was an easy question – I had become his patient the day before my first amateur fight and I had never let another doctor examine me since then. I’d even asked him to be my cut man on two occasions when my regular guy, Buddy Davis, was out sick.

“And in those twenty years,” he continued deliberately in his rumbling baritone, “how many times have I recommended that you retire?”

“Not once Doc, not once.”

“Well,” Doc told me simply, “there’s a first time for everything.”

And that’s how he broke it to me – a first time for everything. He didn’t mean to be smart about it, that was just his way of doing things. I understood that but it sure didn’t make it any easier to take.

“Is it really that bad?” I asked him as I held up my clenched fists. It was a silly, stubborn question – of course it was that bad. Doc was the sort of man that didn’t see the need for lying - just tell the truth and you’ve got nothing to hide from.

“Nate, this is the third time this year you’ve come to me with metacarpal bossing. If you keep this up you’ll have chronic pain in your knuckles for the rest of your life. As it stands right now if you hang up the gloves you should have two functioning hands until the day you die. But,” he added with a soft, raspy laugh, “you’ll never play Mozart’s Piano Concerto Number 21.”

“I’ll have to think it over,” I said as I stood up and reached for my chocolate brown Italian leather jacket hanging on the stand in the corner. I needed to get some air, some head space, to figure out what came next. Doc caught me off guard by placing a firm hand on my shoulder and turning me to look him in the eyes.

“You’re the smartest boxer I’ve ever treated,” he said. “You might be the smartest patient I have – you’re definitely smarter than those kids from the law firm across the street. So don’t go getting stupid now. I won’t clear you to fight and no other doctor worth his degree will either. So go use your head for something other than catching punches.”

I nodded and moved past him with a mumbled thanks. I walked home the long way, letting the crisp autumn air wash over me, feeling the heartbeat of the city around me and allowed my thoughts to go where they would. I tried not to look too closely at the bums and beggars, afraid I’d see a face I’d met in the ring.

Homelessness was a common fate for boxers too old or too broken down to fight. For those lucky enough to retire with some money, the escape promised by the bottle or the pills often proved to be too great a temptation. I was hoping for a better end to my story.

I was no closer to figuring things out by the time I walked through my apartment door that night but I felt a bit better. After putting some water on to boil I grabbed the phone book off the shelf and flipped to Piano Lessons. I shook my head and sighed as I went back to Musical Instruction – Instrumental. I called up a randomly chosen company and made an appointment for a lesson the following week.

I’ve never been one to listen to doctors.

Another Ending, Another Beginning

2008-12-19T13:51:00.000-08:00

With installment number thirty-one, Spare Change comes to an end for now. I'm much happier with how this one turned out compared to Mossy's.

I've got another story in the works but that will have to wait for the new year. Happy holidays all, see you in 2009.

- Marc

Spare Change #31

2008-12-19T13:48:00.000-08:00

The morning traffic outside the window must have woken me. It takes me a few moments to remember where I am – I’m still getting used to this room, this apartment, this life.

I look over at the alarm clock; eight am, that means it’s Sunday and that means I have a long day of peace and quiet ahead of me. I slip out of bed and find my slippers, a house warming gift from Karl, with my searching toes. Such an extravagance, slippers. I would never have thought I’d own a pair, much less receive them as a present on the occasion of moving into my own apartment.

“Rise and shine sleepyhead!”

Sorry, our apartment.

“I don’t even want to know what time you got up,” I say in the general direction of the kitchen where, from the smell of things, TJ has been hard at work. I stretch my arms over my head and let loose an appropriately large yawn before shuffling out to join her.

“Do you always sleep in this much?” I think she’s actually serious. I open my mouth to protest but she carries on. “Anyway, I made scrambled eggs and toast, help yourself. I think there’s a bit of juice left in the fridge.”

I shake my head and wisely keep my mouth firmly shut as I grab the plate with the second fewest chips and cracks in it; TJ already has the best one, the one with reindeers and Christmas trees on it. I throw the remaining breakfast on my plate and join TJ at our wobbly kitchen table.

“I like your hair like that,” I say around a mouthful of eggs. She has it tied up in a short ponytail with a few curly strands hanging down the right side of her face. “You should wear it like that more often.”

“Living together three days and already he’s telling me what to do with my hair,” she mutters but I can tell she’s pleased. “You sleep okay? You were tossing and turning quite a bit last night.”

“Just the usual bad dream,” I reply. There’s no need for further explanation – I’ve been having the same dream every night for the last two weeks. If I close my eyes right now Tommy and Ashes would be there waiting for me; Tommy with his gun, Ashes writhing on the ground like a wounded animal.

“It will stop sooner or later,” TJ says tenderly. “It just takes time. You still haven’t heard anything from Tommy?”

I shake my head and take a sip of orange juice. The man had disappeared into the night like a ghost; the police still haven’t found the gun. I don’t think we’ll ever hear from him again but Tommy is full of surprises so I guess I can’t count him out just yet.

“Maybe it will be better after the sentencing,” I say with a shrug. “Knowing Ashes is out of my life for a set amount of time, hopefully years, can’t hurt.”

After a few minutes of silence TJ gets around to asking the question she’s wanted to voice for at least a week. I’m glad to be done waiting for it.

“Do you think Tommy did it on purpose, letting her live?”

I close my eyes and go back two weeks in a heartbeat. Ashes' screams echo off the walls as she presses her hand into the gunshot wound in her right shoulder. Tommy walks over to her slowly, keeping his gun on her while I remain rooted to the ground.

“What do you think J?” Tommy asks me casually. “She seems like she’s in a lot of pain – should I put the bitch down?”

I open my eyes to find TJ’s concerned eyes on my face.

“The first shot I’m not sure about but I think he just missed,” I say slowly, not wanting to remember. “The second shot I have no doubt about – he just wanted her to suffer. At five feet he could have put that bullet anywhere.”

TJ nods and returns to eating her breakfast in silence. A few more minutes pass before she changes the subject.

“So DJ is hooking you up with another part time job?”

“Yeah, if things work out I’ll do three days a week at the music store and three days a week at his buddy’s book store,” I say. Right now I’m working at DJ’s six days a week but he can’t afford to keep paying me for this much work so he’s trying to split the load without me losing out. I owe my new life to him.

And to the woman sitting across from me.

“That will be so great,” TJ says with a captivating smile. “It’s a brand new world out there J.”

It really is. Change has finally arrived and it’s not nearly as terrifying as I expected.

It feels… good.

Spare Change #30

2008-12-12T12:55:00.000-08:00

It was the last thing I expected. I was still ten or fifteen feet away from Tommy, my legs were on fire and refused to carry me any faster. Ashes was closing the distance, her knife held hard and low by her side, full of sinister promises.

And Tommy just stood there.

He was not frozen by fear or shock or anything like that. He looked at me and then slowly turned his head to watch Ashes approach but he made no move to run. I was about to yell at him again but then he said the one word I least expected, the only word I could not have seen coming in that moment of madness.

“No.”

I stumbled to a stop; his words had planted a brick wall in my path. They did not, however, have a similar effect on Ashes – she kept coming, a hideous snarl forming on her lips.

Where his words failed, his next action did not: he pulled his gun out of his jacket pocket and levelled it at her head.

She skidded to a halt without a word, I stood panting shocked white clouds and Tommy stood like a statue, not an inch of him wavering. And now here we are, in a poor man’s Mexican standoff: words against a knife against a gun.

“Tommy... don’t do it man... this isn’t the way to end this,” I tell him, my voice hoarse from disuse and the cold.

“I have to say I disagree J,” he tells me without looking away from her face. Her hatred is plain to see, I don’t know how she’s keeping it all inside her head – mine would have split open by now. “I have to say that this is the most perfect, most fitting, most just way to end this nightmare.”

I can’t pretend that this is not a deeply tempting solution, the only one that would ensure Ashes never interfered in our lives again, but I can’t let Tommy become a murderer. Obviously a good case could be made for self-defence but right now this would be cold-blooded homicide.

“We need to get the cops, get her locked up and finish this the right way man,” I plead but I can tell already that he won’t listen to anything I have to say. His eyes are flat and determined, there is no anger there: only certainty. “Tommy if you do this they’ll put you away instead, that’s not how this mess should end up!”

“I’ve got places I can hide,” he says from a faraway place. “If they ask, you were never here... tell them you were with TJ, she’ll cover for you... I’m sure Karl would too. You’ve got people that look out for you; I hope you know how lucky you are.”

Ashes remains silent – that’s the only thing I’m grateful for right now. One word from her could set this powder keg off... but I can’t see a way to get out of this without that gun going off and ending two lives. Hell, it might end mine as well – I bet Officer Cruz would jump all over this chance to get me behind bars: he’d find a way to prove Tommy and I planned this together, he might even put my finger on the trigger.

What can I say, what can I do... I should have brought Karl with me, he would know the right thing to say to bring sanity to this situation. I should have brought the cops here yesterday, maybe they could have staked it out, caught Ashes before any of this could have happened. I should have –

“Get out of here J, get somewhere you’ll be seen so that you’ve got an alibi,” Tommy tells me the same way he would tell me to go get a bottle of tequila from the corner store. Calmly, confidently, matter-of-factly. “I don’t want you to get caught up in this -”

Tommy is cut off by Ashes’ feral scream as she rushes toward him with teeth and knife bared. My heart stops beating, my lungs stop breathing. Tommy blinks once, twice, then pulls the trigger.

Spare Change #29

2008-12-05T23:52:00.000-08:00

Her face is partially obscured by long, greasy black hair that shines weakly in the moonlight but I can see a pale nose, black lips pressed tightly together. Gloved hands carry two plastic shopping bags filled to bursting, swaying gently back and forth at knee level.

There is a knot tightening my stomach, blood seems to have abandoned my head and the struggle to remain still is making my legs tremble. So this is Ashes. Or is it? Maybe Tommy has found some new companionship already. That doesn’t seem very likely though - the experience with my half-sister should have sent him packing to a monastery, not into the arms of another woman.

I let my held breath seep out slowly through cracked lips, wishing the white puffs would dissipate faster. Is she just going to stand there, waiting for Tommy to show up? No, she has to check inside to make sure he isn’t there already... unless she knows he’s not. I’ve got no way of getting out of here without being seen and I don’t trust my legs to carry me at more than a limping jog at this point.

Ashes swings her head from left to right, lank hair reluctantly mirroring the motion. She cocks her head to one side as though listening for something, then turns her gaze to my hiding spot.

The urge to run is overwhelming. I hold my breath again, ignoring the protests of my lungs and join the staring contest. A weak breeze crinkles her shopping bags and burns my cheeks and neither of us moves.

A movement at my feet breaks the standoff and I look down to see a rat chewing on my shoelaces. A choked, coughing scream escapes me as my whole body tenses. I hate rats, oh my lord I absolutely despise these filthy creatures.

I whip my head up to see Ashes drop her bags and reach inside her jacket with her right hand before the terror of an unseen rodent at my toes brings my eyes back down. Get away from me you disgusting beast, get the hell away from me!

I sneak another glance at Ashes and my eyes go wide – she is striding towards me with a very, very big knife in her hand. She’s almost halfway here already. I need to run but my body is frozen in place. By cold. By fear. By shock.

The rat places its front paws on top of my left sneaker and I’m forced into action. I flick my foot and send it fleeing into the light, towards the advancing maniac. I shift my weight, legs shrieking in protest, and prepare to run. But a scream stops me short.

I look up to see Ashes backing away with a horrified expression painted on her face, her eyes locked on the rat scurrying around in circles between us. I guess at least one thing runs in the family.

She backpedals to her bags, slips her knife inside her jacket and shakes her head furiously. She gathers up her things and, with another quick look around, disappears into Tommy’s place. Now is my chance to escape but I don’t move. I can’t let Tommy return home to this psycho, I need to warn him.

But what if I can get to a telephone booth and call the cops before he shows up? They would have Ashes behind bars and we could both rest easy again. The stress and fear would be gone, I could stop looking over my shoulder every ten seconds. This could all end tonight.

My eyes are glued on the dark entrance to Tommy’s place, straining to detect any movement, a pair of eyes waiting for me to reveal myself. I need to make a decision – wait for Tommy or go now. Could I live with myself if Ashes kills him while I’m away? Can I pass up this chance to lock her up and be free of her?

Tommy’s arrival takes the decision out of my hands. As soon as I see him at the corner of his building I step out of the shadows and move quickly towards him. He stops short but relaxes once he realizes it’s me. I put a finger to my lips to forestall the question forming on his and risk a quick glance at the entrance to his place.

I almost trip over my feet when I see Ashes climbing out of the darkness with her knife in her hand and a crazed look on her face. I swear and break into a stumbling run.

“Run!” I scream at Tommy. “She’ll kill us both!”

Spare Change #28

2008-11-28T23:30:00.000-08:00

I’m waiting outside of Tommy’s place, keeping to the shadows of the building next door where I can see his entrance without too much worry of being seen. I’m going to have to be careful not to spook him when he shows up - I don’t know if he’s carrying that gun around or not.

My breath slips out in white clouds as I try to shrink into my black wool coat; along with a pair of old jeans and a few long sleeve shirts, it makes up my new wardrobe from Chateau Karl. I’m going to have to find a wool hat to go with them – my ears are freezing. This is a night I’ll be grateful for the extra blankets he gave me as well. Maybe I’m getting soft, maybe I’m getting too old for this street life.

Work went flying past today - I can’t remember ever being so busy at any point in my entire life. Between the arrival of three boxes of new albums that needed to be shelved, regular visits from Officer Strickland, more customers than any two previous days put together and getting things ready for DJ’s return I don’t know how I found time to breathe.

It’s probably... no, it’s definitely a good thing I was running around all day. It kept my mind off of Ashes and Tommy and kept me focused on what was right in front of me. Even when Officer Strickland came by we only talked about the store and music, I even suggested a few albums for her to check out when she was off duty. Officer Cruz stayed in the car, to everyone’s relief.

Karl came by to help me finish stocking the shelves after closing and then escorted me to the bus that took me here. He had offered to accompany me but it was a token offer – we both knew I had to convince Tommy to talk to the cops on my own.

The air is getting colder, the night darker and still no Tommy. Maybe he’s abandoned this home in favour of one that Ashes doesn’t know about. I couldn’t blame him if that was the case, I know I would have done the same if I was in his ratty sneakers.

That is one of the perks of living life the way we do – if you need to move, you move. No mail to worry about, no change of address forms to fill out, no notice to be given. Just pack up your things and find a new place to settle down. If this thing with TJ works out that might be the only thing I miss.

While TJ took her turn in the shower this morning I was finally able to ask Karl about the money. He was pretty relieved to hear I finally had a plan for it... I bet he was figuring that money would gather dust and never see the light of day again. But it sounds like, if I can get some sort of steady work with DJ when he gets back in two days, it will be enough to convince a landlord to rent a place to me and TJ.

Which is a bit of a scary thought... and a bit of an exciting thought... and...

The sound of gravel being disturbed by slow, steady footsteps brings me back to the moment. I remain hidden as I wait for the source of the noise to appear, knowing there’s no guarantee it will be Tommy. I damn well hope it is though, I’m ready to go home and crawl under all the blankets I can find. Maybe stop for hot chocolate on the way.

A figure veiled in shadow appears around the corner of Tommy’s building and pauses to look around. I hold my breath and stay still, pushing away an urge to call out his name until I know it’s him. Then the person steps out of the darkness and everything slows down, until time is frozen and all my thoughts are silenced. Except for one.

Is this woman Ashes?

Spare Change #27

2008-11-21T23:37:00.000-08:00

Dipping warm, buttered bread into a bowl of homemade chicken soup – how can such a simple act bring such great pleasure?

“This is wonderful TJ,” Karl says around a dripping spoonful of broth. “I should have you two over for dinner every night.”

“Oh, it’s nothing,” she replies with a poor attempt to conceal her pleasure. “Just a little something my mother taught me a lifetime ago; I’m surprised I remembered it, to be honest.”

We’re sitting at Karl’s small square kitchen table with Mozart serenading us from the stereo in the next room. It’s a meal deserving a fine wine as a companion but we’re all sipping water – two of us out of fear of a slippery slope, one out of support.

“That sweater suits you J, and it’s a pretty good fit,” Karl tells me. “After dinner we’ll go through my closet and see what else works for you.”

“You’ve already done too much for me, I can’t -”

“I haven’t done nearly enough,” he interrupts softly, shaking his head. “I’ve got too many things in there anyway, I hardly wear half of it.”

I shift uncomfortably in my chair and take another bite of bread. I’m not sure why I can accept charity from strangers but not friends; maybe it’s the intimacy of it that upsets me. Rather than reply I look around his home again.

It’s a good size for two people, a bit cramped with three. There are a few paintings by local artists on the wall, some postcards stuck on the fridge with a random sampling of ceramic animals and comfortable, well-worn chairs and recliners scattered around the kitchen and living room.

I feel out of place in a proper home but I could get used to hot showers and working plumbing. Maybe getting a place with TJ wouldn’t be the worst idea in the world. I’ll have to talk to Karl about my money situation later, when we’re alone.

“You’ve got a lovely place here,” TJ says. “Could use a woman’s touch though, if you don’t mind me saying so. You got any prospects lined up?” Ah TJ, Queen of Subtlety.

“Work is taking up too much of my time and energy to even think about dating,” he says with a sad smile. “But we’re trying to find room in the budget to hire me an assistant; even a part-time one would make an incredible difference.”

“That’s great,” I say, my eyes flicking involuntarily in TJ’s direction. “What sort of work would you want them to do?”

“Oh, mostly office work – it’s ridiculous how much of my day is spent faxing and photocopying and filing.”

“Well isn’t that something,” I say while looking at TJ. “It looks like you’ve got an ideal candidate right here in your kitchen!” TJ blushes and takes another spoonful of soup, keeping her eyes on the table directly in front of her.

“Is that right? Well the money isn’t guaranteed to be found for the position but if it does you’ll be the first to know,” he tells the top of her head. She looks up and flashes him a quick smile before returning to her soup.

We finish the meal in happy silence, three people enjoying the peace and warmth of a good meal with good friends. It feels like my life is turning an important corner; I can’t see what lies ahead just yet but I’m not afraid of whatever is waiting for me. Something suspiciously similar to hope is growing inside me.

What a lovely, encouraging evening. It’s almost enough to make me forget that I’ll be spending tomorrow dealing with Tommy.

Spare Change #26

2008-11-14T19:59:00.000-08:00

I exit the police station to be greeted by the subdued glare of street lights and a cool evening wind that pushes my sweater against my body. The air here stinks of car exhaust and greasy Chinese food; there are three Asian restaurants on this block alone and they seem to be in a perpetual battle for the worst food in the city.

I step to one side of the doors, lean my back against the wall and close my eyes. It feels good to be alone at last, to have room to think and to breathe and … to just be.

The events of the day flash by in my mind like one of those terrible movie trailers that show all of the important scenes. I used to catch a matinee when the weather got too bad to be outdoors but it’s been a while now. Maybe I should start doing that again.

During a pause in the playback of today’s story I realize two things: the first being that there are two people having an animated conversation just around the corner from me; the second being that I know both voices.

I peel myself off the brick wall and step around the corner of the building so that my eyes can confirm what my ears already know. The sight of Karl and TJ sitting on a bench, carrying on like old friends, is momentarily disorienting.

“Oh good, you managed to avoid getting locked up for the night,” Karl says with more relief than I want to hear. He stands up, his hands hidden inside the deep pockets of his heavy coat, his eyes frowning at my outfit. “The weather is turning, we need to get you some warmer clothes.”

I give him a weak shrug but before I can reply TJ is in my arms, her cheek pressed against my chest. She smells like a campfire.

“Good to see you too,” I mumble into her hair. She says nothing, just hugs me tighter. My eyes find Karl’s and he smiles a whole-hearted, happy smile. “This is TJ, but I suspect you already know that.”

“She came by the store just before closing looking pretty peeved that a certain someone hadn’t returned her call,” he says. “Once I explained the situation she insisted on joining me in your retrieval.”

“And had a little get to know each other session while we waited,” TJ says into my sweater before pulling away slightly to look into my face. “So what’s next, are we off to find Tommy?”

“That can wait until tomorrow,” I say. “I’m ready for sleep right now.”

“Well you’re not sleeping at the store again,” Karl says. “I’ll set up my guest room for you… for both of you if you like.”

“That’s very kind of you,” I reply while looking at TJ, sharing a memory of peaceful nights spent in each other’s arms. “I’ll take you up on your offer; TJ can make up her own mind.”

“That sounds great Karl, thank you very much,” she says over her shoulder. “Can we stop at a store on the way there to pick up something for dinner? I’d like to cook tonight to pay you back.”

“You don’t have to do that, please don’t feel obligated…”

“I wouldn’t feel right if I didn’t,” she says with a sparkling laugh. “Now let’s get J out of the cold.”

Spare Change #25

2008-11-07T23:39:00.000-08:00

“State your name.”

“J.”

“J-A-Y?”

“No, just J.”

Officer Cruz gives me an ‘I’m in no mood for this crap’ look but says nothing. This is not off to a good start and I expect it’s about to get worse.

“Last name?”

“I don’t know.”

He stares at his computer screen for a good minute without so much as blinking. I try to get Officer Strickland’s attention but that’s pretty hard to accomplish when you’re under the impression that you’re one wrong breath away from being shot.

“You don’t know your last name?” I can almost hear his teeth grinding and his pulse is visible in the vein protruding from his right temple. It’s kind of like a cartoon character… except nobody is laughing.

“I was six years old when my father died,” I tell him slowly – but not too slowly, I don’t want him to think I’m patronizing him. “If he ever told me I’ve long since forgotten and I’ve never even seen a birth certificate… not mine, not nobody’s.”

Officer Cruz mulls that over and decides to let it go; either he doesn’t care enough to dig deeper or he knows he has no way to figure out if I’m lying or not. I’m just glad he does.

Before our fun little chat can continue we’re interrupted by the jarring ring of his desk phone. Cruz rips the wireless from its brown dock and just listens, no greeting required for this call. He hangs up with an electronic beep and glares at me briefly before standing up.

“Don’t move,” he tells me, “I’ll be right back. If I find a paperclip out of place when I get back you’re spending the night with your buddies in the drunk tank.”

He storms back the way we came and I let him go without a reply, back to playing the good, humble little bum. Any citizen of the street worth his cardboard knows the rules: keep your head down, never speak out of turn, never get angry and you might just stay out of trouble.

Alone for the first time since I got here, I can finally take in my surroundings without threat of violence or jail time. The voices are constant, both quiet and loud; a symphony of keyboards; the floor tiles have been scrubbed so clean they reflect the harsh overhead lights back up at me; it reeks of really cheap, really bad –

“Coffee?”

“Yeah, I mean no, no thank you,” I tell the coffee pot bearing Officer Strickland. “A glass of water would be great though.”

“Sure thing,” she says and then, with a conspiratorial wink, “Officer Cruz gone to get the welcome wagon?”

“He didn’t say but that must be where he’s run off to,” I tell her with a quick smile. “I don’t suppose you could take my statement in his place?”

He’d be none too happy about that,” she says with a quiet laugh. “I don’t need that headache today, thank you very much.”

“That’s funny – I was getting the distinct impression that he would like nothing better than me being taken off his hands.”

“Officer Cruz can surprise you sometimes; now hush up honey,” she says with a previously unheard hint of the South, “here he comes.”

She fills his coffee mug to the brim before returning to her desk, my water seemingly forgotten. Cruz sits down with a creak of leather and a resigned sigh. He inspects his desk closely, his dark eyes examining every inch before they turn back to his monitor without comment.

A mighty crack of his knuckles and then: “Alright, Johnny Boy – start at the beginning and don’t leave anything out, not even the smallest detail.”

So I begin with the meeting with Tommy in his alley and tell him everything I can, and almost everything I should. Because every good bum knows that telling the cops everything is never a good idea.

Spare Change #24

2008-10-31T23:50:00.000-07:00

I haven’t been in the back of a police car in a very long time, maybe five and a half years? I guess most people would not think that was a very long break from this kind of experience but it’s all relative.

Relative, relatives…

No. There will be more than enough time for those thoughts all too soon.

We hit a red light and I slide further down my seat, feeling like a criminal even without handcuffs. People see what they expect to see, they don’t ask questions; cops go in the front, crooks go in the back.

I glance up to see Officer Cruz smirking at me in the rear view mirror. Anger flares up but I decide to stare at my shoes and keep my mouth shut. I don’t want to give him any excuses to lock me up.

Last time I took this lonely ride there were handcuffs and ankle restraints; I had been quite the handful. I wasn’t such a good citizen of the streets back then, still had too much pride.

I don’t remember the face so well, but I remember his words: you should all be rounded up and shot – you’re all worthless.

I have blurred images in my mind of tackling him to the ground and punching his face until someone managed to drag me off. I do have several crystal clear pictures though: two broken teeth on the sidewalk; a white business shirt stained cherry red; the look of disgust on a young mother’s face.

That little incident got me a month in jail and six months in rehab. The prison time had the bigger effect – never wanting to go back there was enough motivation to keep my anger and pride in check ever since.

And now here I am, one wrong word from going back.

We turn into the police station parking lot as a light rain begins to fall. Officer Cruz stops the car with a jolt that almost sends me head-first into the plastic barrier between us.

I catch a glimpse of his partner flashing him a dirty look before she climbs out and opens the door for me. I give her a quick nod of thanks and join her in the rain and the smell of wet leaves. The feeling of relief is immediate and overwhelming. I’m tempted to make a break for it.

Officer Cruz’s arm on my elbow, guiding me into the station, ends that thinking in a heartbeat. The lobby is pretty quiet, the calm before the evening storm of drunks and addicts. A few heads turn as we pass through but nobody can be bothered to say anything.

The two cops bring me to a room filled with desks piled high with paperwork. A few officers are busy typing away at keyboards, one is yelling into his phone, the remaining desks are empty.

Officer Cruz helps me take a seat by a desk near the back of the room, none too gently. After a whispered conversation with his partner he sits down across from me. Damn it.

“I’ll be taking your statement,” he says with a flat stare. He pulls out the keyboard tray and logs into his computer while I try to find a believable excuse for needing to tell his partner my story. I don’t even know her name but I’ve seen enough to know she would be more sympathetic than this guy. I’m pretty sure a rhino would be too, for that matter.

“I’ll be over here if you need anything,” she says and begins to turn away before pausing to put a hand on my shoulder. “I’m Officer Strickland by the way; don’t worry, we’ll get this all sorted out for you.”

“Tina, please.” I want to punch him so badly. I say nothing, busy myself with examining the floor tiles.

“Relax Rick, it’ll do you some good,” she says with a smile and slips away before he can reply. I look up to see him glaring at me, jaw muscles clenched.

This is not going to go well.

My Birthday Present To Me

2008-10-24T19:33:00.001-07:00

Is to take this week off. See you next Friday.

Spare Change #23

2008-10-20T23:14:00.001-07:00

My whole body feels numb, my thoughts move like icebergs in the still waters of my mind. The two police officers gave up on asking me questions shortly after they arrived. She seemed to understand; he looked like he wanted to toss me behind bars.

They are at the counter with Karl, listening to the message over and over and over again. I don’t hear the words anymore, just the voice. I can’t even remember what exactly Ashes said, just the general idea – but it’s enough. Too much, maybe.

I’m sitting on the floor at the far end of the store trying to figure out how my life ended up here. I’m trying to work a job while my half-sister torments me; trying to stay clean and make things right with TJ. Life was easier without hope.

Karl keeps looking my way to make sure I’m okay… I don’t know why – I’d think it’s pretty obvious that I’m not. He told the cops that I started showing signs of shock shortly after he had called them but I don’t remember when this cold, dull ache set in.

I rest my head on the display case behind me and close my eyes. Having one less sense giving me input seems to help so I plug my ears with my index fingers. A thought appears on the horizon that says I probably look like a lunatic right now. I smile.

I open my eyes to find Karl’s face inches away. I have no idea how much time has passed… had I fallen asleep? I unplug my ears.

“They want to take you to their precinct to take a statement,” he says slowly, like he’s talking to a child. “Do you think you’re up for that?”

“What about the store?”

“I’ll cover for you, I’ve already called the office to let them know I won’t be in today.” He eyes me with concern before continuing. “If you’re not ready I can take you there tonight, we can run the shop together today.”

“I’ll go now. I’ll be fine,” I tell him before he can object. “Besides, I can’t go later – I’ve got a date tonight.”

He raises an eyebrow at this but lets it go without comment. He helps me to my feet, nice and slow, before turning to tell the cops that I’ll go with them.

“What about the other one?” I’m starting to really dislike the male cop.

“They’ll need to speak with Tommy as well,” Karl tells me quietly. “He’s the only one who can give them a physical description of Ashes and he can back up your story. Can you tell them where to find him?”

“Did you tell them about the gun thing?”

“The gun… that’s one way of putting it,” Karl says with a laugh. “I had to. But if you don’t press charges and that couple remains just happy to be alive then there shouldn’t be a problem.”

“Or his drug problems? He can’t be considered a very reliable witness – he couldn’t even tell me what color her hair was,” I whisper as the male cop starts making impatient noises in the back of his throat.

“Tommy is all we’ve got to go on – it’s better than nothing.”

I take a few seconds to absorb his point. He’s right, of course, but I don’t want to get Tommy arrested. And I wouldn’t be doing him any favors if I brought the cops to the front window of his less than legal home.

“Tell them I’ll come now to give them my story,” I say, “then I’ll come back later with Tommy as soon as I can convince him to go.”

“I don’t think he’s going to like that,” Karl says after a quick glance over his shoulder. “Officer Cruz seems like he usually gets what he wants, one way or another.”

“So tell his partner and let her deal with him, I’m sure she gets plenty of practice.”

“Alright,” he says and looks me up and down. “You sound like you’re feeling better but you still call me when they’re done with you and I’ll come pick you up.”

I nod and he turns away to pass on the news to our guests. Having something useful to do is pushing the numbness back but I can tell it’s only temporary.

“Let’s see how long I can make myself useful then,” I mutter and move towards the cops. Good thing I got some sleep last night; it looks like it’s going to be a while before I’ll be able to get some more.

Spare Change #22

2008-10-13T21:20:00.001-07:00

I open my eyes and stare at the ceiling. Where am I? I close my eyes and listen for clues, hoping to hear a sound that will help me to get my bearings.

A car? Muffled though, like there’s a wall between us; voices, muffled again, I can’t make out what’s being said. Not my place then, I can say that much.

I sneak a finger out from underneath my blanket and touch the floor. Tile… triangles… like at…

“DJ’s,” I mumble and it all comes back to me. The back room, the blanket and pillow TJ fetched for me before placing a goodnight kiss on my cheek, the deep sleep that followed soon after. What time is it?

I struggle to my feet, wearing the blanket like a kilt as I stretch my arms above my head and stumble to the front of the store. I feel like I slept for a month and I could easily sleep for another.

A flick of the switch brings the lights to life and I find the clock on the wall – ten minutes to opening. Perfect timing, that was lucky. The message light is blinking on the answering machine, maybe the phone woke me.

Deciding to save that for later I shuffle to the bathroom to splash cold water on my face and brush my teeth. The toothbrush and toothpaste were gifts from DJ that I had tried, without success, to accept graciously. He had smiled and said something about every little bit helps.

My stomach grumbles a little as I return to the counter but not too loudly – I should be able to make it to lunch. I sit down on my stool and stab the message button with my finger.

“I hope you had a good sleep J.” TJ’s voice is warm and comforting… when was the last time I thought that? “Give me a call later and maybe we can meet up for dinner tonight.”

I smile and listen to her message again before deleting it. The scrap of paper with her work number on it is still in my pocket – that had been another surprise from last night. I can’t picture her doing filing and photocopying but she probably had a hard time imagining me here.

The machine beeps again and another message begins to play but this voice is not such a welcome addition to my morning.

“Rise and shine, little brother – the store opens in fifteen short little minutes.” Ashes’ voice scrapes across my nerves like broken glass. The warmth of last night is quickly replaced by icy dread. “You don’t want to have angry customers banging on your door, do you? So up and at ‘em sleepy head – who knows what today has in store for you.”

The click at the end of her message is like a gun being cocked. After a moment I listen to the message again but this time I focus on her voice. Ashes sounds like a career smoker with a job on the side as a heavy drinker. There is bitterness and hatred there, but also some laughter, like she’s enjoying herself.

I save the message, I’m not sure why. There’s nothing there the police would care about, she had made sure of that. Scrolling through the caller ID list I arrive at her call to find ‘Unknown Caller’. Of course.

So – empty threat or deadly promise? She could have called from across the street or across the country. I’m not in a gambling mood so I reach for the phone and dial the number from memory.

“Hi J, what’s going on?” Karl asks.

“I need a big favor from you,” I say. “Can you come by the store right now?”

“I can be there in fifteen – what’s the problem?”

“I’ll tell you when you get here. Knock four times so I know it’s you – the door will be locked.”

“I’ll be there in ten,” he says before hanging up.

Nine minutes and forty seconds later the four knocks on the front door signal his arrival. I let him in and lock the door again. He hands me a muffin and waits for the explanation.

Between bites I fill him in on the details. The food calms me down as much as talking does. I’m learning quickly that a shared burden is easier to carry.

“I’m calling the police,” Karl says as he moves to the counter. “Keep the door locked.”

“Will they care about this?” I can’t believe that they will. Karl looks up at me as he finishes dialing the number.

“I’ll make them care.”

Spare Change #21

2008-10-03T23:29:00.000-07:00

This is the longest day in the history of days. Seconds feel like hours, minutes are weeks and I just want to curl up into a ball and sleep.

I can’t stop yawning, my blinks are nearing nap length and I can’t seem to concentrate on anything. I tried putting out the new stock earlier but the alphabet handed me a dominating defeat.

I could really use a customer to talk to but the last one left two… oh man, only one hour ago? If I could stand the taste of coffee I would’ve ordered a keg of the stuff by now. I wonder if I could get a family sized hot chocolate delivered…

I rummage through DJ’s record stash trying to find the most upbeat, energyful album… no, that’s not right. What’s the word… energizing… energetic! There we go.

“I am not going to make it,” I tell the clock. It mocks me by moving even slower. “Stop doing that you son of a -”

The sound of the door opening cuts me off – luckily for that arrogant time keeper; I was about to really let it have it. I turn to greet my newest customer, reminding myself not to scare them away by being obviously desperate for company, but my words die a strangled death in my throat.

“Hi J, how are you doing?” TJ asks from the doorway, glancing around the empty store. I can’t think of a good reply so I settle for shrugging. “That good huh… looks like you could use some company.”

I nod and sit down on my stool, waving her over. My thoughts are refusing to form a sensible sentence so I wait it out, hoping she’ll take the conversational lead.

“You look like a dog’s breakfast; are you coming down from something?” Oh that TJ, never one for subtlety.

“I haven’t slept at all the last two nights,” I say – coherently, I think.

“You must have taken some nasty stuff J – you gotta be careful, the scene in this city is getting dangerous,” she says with… concern? I blink a few times, trying to make sure I heard her right. “Do you want me to call a doctor?”

“No, I’m just tired TJ,” I say. I consider re-thinking my next words but give it up as too much effort. “I’m clean, by the way – for a couple weeks now.” Has it really been that long?

TJ frowns slightly, her eyes scan my face. It takes me a few seconds to realize she’s trying to figure out if I’m lying to her. Anger is too big an effort right now, so I attempt a scowl instead.

“That’s wonderful J, I’m so proud of you!” She leans over the counter and hugs me hard; my scowl melts into a goofy grin. I manage to tone it down to a satisfied smile before she backs off and holds me at arms length. “Is that why you’re not sleeping, has it been that hard for you?”

“It’s been okay, actually. A weak moment here and there, but generally good,” I say. “The sleepless nights thing is a long story.”

“I’ve got plenty of time and you’ve got no customers,” she says with one of her more captivating smiles. “So tell me.”

So I do. It feels really good to get it all out of my head, to set my worries free from the confines of my exhausted mind. It’s like… therapy, I guess.

When I finish the tale TJ is silent for a long time, but it’s comfortable, like old times. We used to sit on sidewalks together and just listen to the cars, the people, our breathing for hours – I had forgotten how much I enjoyed that.

“So you’re gonna sleep here tonight… you got a pillow or blankets?” she asks after a few minutes.

“No but it’ll be fine – just being in a secure spot will be enough to knock me out. I’m pretty sure I could sleep on this stool… if I haven’t already.”

TJ laughs a laugh that lights up her eyes and I can’t help joining in. Once I start I can’t seem to stop and before we know it we’re both laughing like fools, gasping for enough air to fuel the spasms.

After a long, long time we regain control. We sit and chat and listen to music and we are left to ourselves as the night settles onto the city outside these doors.

Spare Change #20

2008-09-26T23:06:00.000-07:00

Elbows resting on the dust covered window sill, I watch the sun creep over the horizon of single storey buildings and towering trees. There is no glass in this window, no curtain to hold back the breeze moving past me and into every corner of my room.

“I need some sleep,” I tell Phakov as he leaps onto the ledge beside me. His eyes are full of curiosity as he scans my face – probably trying to understand why he found me awake for the second straight morning. “Early to bed, early to rise, just like you.”

The truth is that I haven’t slept, not a single minute, since I read Ashes’ note two nights ago. No use telling Phakov though, I don’t need him losing sleep over this crazy woman too.

I’ve tried to forget her threat, the danger she poses to my continued breathing; I want to close my eyes and find relief in dreams or nightmares or nothingness. Oh lord how I need a break from this madness.

But I can’t sleep. My ears hear menace in every creak, every breeze, every unseen noise; my eyes see guns in every window, in every car, behind every door. How can I sleep?

Phakov nuzzles my forearm, the closest thing to affection I have ever received from him. I reach over to give his head a scratch but he jumps down before contact can be made and struts across the carpet and out the door. So much for that.

I return to looking out over the trash filled courtyard, the sunlight is slowly stripping away the shadows to reveal the destitution dotting the ground. This isn’t a view I often indulge in but I’ve been unable to tear myself away the last couple of days.

A movement at the edge of my vision causes my chest to clench and my heart to skip a beat… but it’s only Phakov taking his leave. He glances up at me before stepping around a discarded tire and disappearing around the corner.

“I need to get out of here,” I mutter as I turn away. “I need sleep.”

I gather my things and head for the stairs, doing my best to not jump at my own shadow. Maybe I should sleep at the store tonight – DJ would understand, wouldn’t he?

Well, I’m not sure that I’d want to give him the full explanation. But if I don’t lock myself in there it’s gonna be another long, sleepless night and my brain is about ready to shut down right now. DJ wouldn’t want a zombie running his store, that’s for sure.

I reach the ground floor and pause to look around before stepping into the exposed outdoors. If Ashes doesn’t kill me, this paranoia will.

I take a deep breath and start moving again, walking only a little faster than usual, my shoulders just a bit more hunched. There’s an itch between my shoulder blades that feels like a pair of eyes watching my every step but I refuse to look. This is getting ridiculous.

I arrive at my bus stop with too much time to spare. I sit down. I stand up. I pace back and forth. All the while my eyes are darting in every direction.

“God damn it!” I yell at the morning – I consider it a small mercy when it doesn’t respond. I sit down again and stare at my shoes, determined not to look up until my bus comes around the corner.

To keep my mind busy I start to count my breaths. In one, out two, in three…

I’m up to one hundred and six when the familiar rumble of the bus’ engine reaches my ears. I feel calmer and a touch more sane but I’m still eager to get on that bus and surround myself with people.

The doors clang open and I step on board. I toss some change in the dispenser and take my ticket and my worries to the back of the bus. I sit down and try to relax but my nerves are too shot, I can’t sit still. I’m exhausted, strained, rattled – I can’t take much more of this.

“I need some damn sleep.”

Spare Change #19

2008-09-19T22:43:00.000-07:00

“Tommy – I knew you’d be too weak to pull the trigger,” Tommy reads the crumpled note out loud in a dangerously flat tone. I’m glad I managed to convince him to stash the gun before coming to his place – I’ve had enough gunplay for one day.

“It’s probably for the best that she’s gone,” I tell him. “I think you’ve gotten into enough trouble today.”

He doesn’t reply, he just keeps staring at the scrawled writing on the otherwise plain white paper in his hands. He had found it stuffed into the top of his sleeping bag when we had arrived just a few short minutes ago. His silence is making me uneasy.

“Tommy, don’t beat yourself up over this; you couldn’t have know that -”

“She was a lying whore?” he interrupts, his words so cold they should’ve had icicles dangling from them. “No, I guess not. Maybe if I wasn’t doped out of my head for the last year I would’ve had a brain cell or two left to see through her game.”

“You’ve got enough left to not shoot me, that’s all I care about.”

“Er, yeah,” Tommy says, finally looking up, embarrassment clouding over the icy hatred. “Look man, I’m -”

“Forget it,” I say with a shake of my head. “You weren’t yourself and in the end nobody got hurt. And you might have even learned a lesson!”

“Yeah: drugs plus women equals bad news,” he mutters.

“Or maybe its just drugs equals bad news.”

“Not right now man – we’ll have that talk later.”

“Fair enough,” I say, “but we are having it, and sooner than later.”

He makes a dismissive gesture and returns to reading the note – hoping that it’s magically different this time? I don’t know but I leave him to it.

I stroll around the basement of this condemned house and try not to think about when the two floors above us will collapse. A fire gutted everything above ground but left the basement with only a few patches of smoke damage. A few rooms are carpeted, the main living area is bare concrete and there are even a few posters on the brick walls. It’s a pretty nice find for Tommy – until the city gets around to leveling it.

I glance out the door/window and feel the cool night air on my face, listen to the city going to sleep. It’s good to be alive; I don’t remember the last time I truly felt that way.

“It’s getting late,” I tell Tommy as I return to his side. “I’m gonna head out, it’s gonna be an early start tomorrow.”

“You sure you don’t want to call the police about Ashes? She’s got it out for you man.”

“I don’t think the cops would care too much about a little homeless sibling rivalry,” I reply. “Besides, she’s long gone – I ‘m not worried about her.”

“Don’t underestimate this psycho,” he says, holding up the note. “I did and look what happened to me… what almost happened to you.”

I laugh it off and begin to turn away.

That’s when I see the writing on the back of the note.

“Give me that for a second.”

Tommy hands it over, confusion stomping all over his face. I turn the note over and the words that greet me make my blood go cold.

“What is it?”

It takes me a moment to find my voice. To find my footing. To find the confidence that was just with me. I read the words aloud in a hollow tone.

“J – Don’t think this is over. I’m not done with you yet.”

Spare Change #18

2008-09-12T23:10:00.000-07:00

“What, did you really think you were Daddy Dearest’s only bastard?”

Down here, on all fours and staring at the floor while wheezing like an asthmatic, it’s hard to say what I had believed. If I was being honest with myself, I’d have to admit to not giving the subject much thought. Before tonight anyway.

“I guess… I was too busy… staying alive… to think about it,” I manage to squeeze out between agonizing breaths; he really caught me with a good one.

It makes sense though – the old man bedded (or couched, or dark alleyed…) any woman that would have him. He watched over me until diabetes finally overwhelmed him when I was six, but for as much of those years as I can remember it was a revolving door of disinterested pseudo step mothers.

“If I wasn’t the only one,” I ask as the pain begins to recede, “why did he only look after me? Did he know about the others?”

“Oh, he knew,” Tommy says with disgust, “but you were the only boy.” I begin to laugh – it hurts but I can’t stop. “What’s so damn funny?”

“What was I,” I gasp, rolling onto my left side, shaking with laughter, “the heir to his trash can kingdom? His poverty palace?”

“He wanted a son to carry on his name,” Tommy says as I collapse onto my back and howl with laughter. This is all too much; I’ve even almost forgotten about the gun in his hand. “What is it now you lunatic?”

“That was a noble cause, to be certain, but he’s failed to achieve even that much,” I tell him. “I don’t know my last name!”

“No problem there,” he says. “She does.”

This brings me up short. I lay still for several moments, letting this new tidbit bounce around in my head. Do I want to know? Does it matter anymore? Did it ever?

I push off the floor and return to my feet. The gun follows me up but I try to ignore it. I’m starting to see a way out of this but I need to concentrate. If I approach this the wrong way I’ll set Tommy off and the gun would surely follow his lead.

“So pops made some attempt at taking care of me but he abandoned the girls,” I say in a thoughtful tone. “I bet they weren’t too happy about that.”

“You think? Two of them died before their first birthday and a third didn’t make it past five,” Tommy snaps at me. “Ashley is the only survivor.”

“Why didn’t you tell me about Ashley? How long have you known her, known all this?”

“It doesn’t matter. Oh, she prefers to be called Ashes,” he says. “As in: rising from the.”

“Cute,” I mutter as I trace out my next steps. “I think it does matter how long you’ve known her though, so could you at least tell me that?” Tommy sighs and looks annoyed, but he tells me.

“I dunno, like three months?”

Three months are like three years on the street; you trust people after that much time together. I decided to assume they’re sleeping together instead of asking for confirmation – there’s no need to have that fresh in his mind when my next words arrive.

“So Ashes carries this grudge around all her life, then one day she meets you,” I say. “She gets to know you, finds out you and I are tight; you tell her all about your buddy J and she figures out who I am. Sound about right so far?”

Tommy scowls, he glares, but he nods, the slightest twitch of his head.

“So she hangs around, gains your trust,” I continue steadily. “She’s found a way to get some revenge but she needs you on her side first. So she tells you all about our ‘Daddy Dearest’, how lucky I was -”

“Enough!” Tommy shouts, the gun shaking in his hand. But I can’t stop now.

“And then finally she has her chance – she laces your dope with God knows what, steals your stash and puts the blame on me! I have to admit, that’s pretty impressive -”

“Enough,” Tommy mumbles, the gun falling to his side. “No more.”

“Tommy,” I say gently as I move slowly towards him, “I think it’s time for a family reunion.”

Spare Change #17

2008-09-05T23:04:00.000-07:00

“Tommy, let’s just talk this through, okay?”

He swings the gun back towards me and I can’t help but flinch. I don’t think he’s ready to pull the trigger yet but I can’t be too sure of anything right now.

“Shut up J,” Tommy says casually, “before I shut you up.” His calm demeanor is more terrifying than the crazed ranting I faced in the alley the last time we were together. I worry that this is the calm before the bullet storm.

Satisfied that he’s obtained my silence, Tommy brings the gun and his attention back to the couple huddled together on the floor next to the register. They haven’t moved since I told them to get down when I saw Tommy arrive. Was that only ten minutes ago?

“I didn’t mean to involve you in this,” Tommy tells them, “but now you are and I can’t just let you go. You’d go yap to the cops and they would insist on interrupting my business with J here.”

“What are you going to do with us?” the man demands. He’s trying to sound tough and brave but that’s a hard thing to accomplish when a madman has a gun leveled at your head.

“Haven’t decided yet,” Tommy says, “but I’ll thank you kindly to keep your mouth shut ‘till I do.”

“If you keep telling everyone to shut up,” I say from the door, “you’re gonna be the only one talking. That doesn’t sound like a good way to resolve this.”

“You wanna talk J? Fine, let’s talk. How about you start by explaining why you stole all my dope?”

“What are you talking about? If your drugs are gone it’s because you smoked them all in one go, then decided it was a good idea to go buy a gun.” I want to scream at him, I want to grab him by the shoulders and shake some sense into him, I want to unlock the door and make a break for it and to hell with the couple I would leave behind. But I keep my voice even, I stay still, I pray we all make it out of here alive.

“You know I never do enough of anything to lose control, man. But it’s all gone and the last person I was with before it disappeared,” he says as he walks over to me, stopping inches away, “was you.”

I look into his eyes – they’re clear, focused and very, very angry. Oh God, he’s clean… whatever he was on in the alley has left his system. The alley…

“Tommy,” I say softly, “were you with anyone in the alley before I turned up?”

“What does that matter?” His eyes narrow and he jabs the barrel of the gun into my chest. My heart skips about five beats. “You want to dump the blame on someone else?”

“Listen to me.” These could be my last words – I better make them count. “When I got there you were already smoking something. Whatever it was, it was messing you up big time. We’ve known each other almost two years now and I can say, with complete confidence, that wasn’t you I was speaking with that day. Who gave you those joints?”

Without a word Tommy slams a fist into my abdomen. I double over, gasping for air, as he turns and strides away. My vision goes blurry as I put a hand on the floor to steady myself; but my hearing is fine. I hear him stop and turn to face me. I hear the gun being cocked.

“I will not listen to you smear her good name.” Her? What is going on here? “She has done more for me than you ever have. She would never steal from me. Not like you did.”

“Tommy, I have no idea who or what you’re talking about.”

“Save your lies for the devil J – you’ll be seeing him soon enough.”

“This woman of yours is the one spoon feeding you lies, Tommy! She poisoned you, she stole your drugs and now she has set you on me! Open your damn eyes!”

“How can you say that?” Tommy screams. “How could you say something like that about your own sister?”

Spare Change #16

2008-08-29T23:34:00.000-07:00

It was all going so well

There had been a steady stream of customers since lunch and most of them had bought a record or two. I was working the register like a retail veteran, making change was getting easier and easier, everyone was being so friendly.

First-time customers were even asking for, and valuing, my suggestions and advice! It was pretty odd to be treated with respect by a group of people who only last week would have only felt pity or disgust or would have just ignored me entirely.

It’s been a long, long time since I felt respected by anyone who had a job and a home. I didn’t even recognize it at first; it was like a long forgotten face appearing suddenly out of a crowded room.

It was all going so well.

Yesterday had been easy, not too many people coming in, a nice way to ease into this new responsibility. Today, day two, it was a lot easier for me to unlock the doors in the morning. I felt good about that, it gave me some confidence. I remember thinking, “two unlocks down, five to go!”

Maybe I should have just left them locked today. Or closed early, that would have worked too. But I could never have seen this coming and it was all going so well.

I had my first female customer around two o’clock and she was a real beauty: wavy brown hair brushing her slim shoulders, librarian glasses, snug sweater, knee-length skirt and leather boots. If this is what she looks like in fall I’d love to see her in summer. We talked music for almost half an hour; TJ would have killed me if she had seen the looks we were giving each other.

But I was feeling good since things were going so well.

Karl came by at five-thirty to drop off a home cooked dinner. He watched over the shop for me while I went to the back to shovel down the mushroom soup, butter covered bread and yam fries.

He stayed for a while and we talked about the job, the money, the future.

“I’m really feeling good about this for you,” he said as the sidewalk and street became more and more congested with the after work rush. “I never would’ve dreamed things would turn around so quickly.”

“Me either man,” I had replied. “But it’s only Tuesday, let’s not get too far ahead of ourselves here. I’ve got a long way to go, nothing is guaranteed.”

“No, of course not. But you’ve found the path, you’re walking down it and you’ve got support. Speaking of which, have you told TJ that you’ve gone clean yet?”

“Not yet,” I had said, “I want to do that on my own for a while. To see how strong I really am. If I start to falter, I’ll have you both to turn to.”

“How long has it been?” he had asked as he flipped through DJ’s personal record collection, nodding his approval regularly.

“Five days.”

“And so far so good?”

“So far so good,” I had told him as another customer came into the store.

Karl had offered to stay until closing but I told him to go home, I’d be fine. I wish now that I had let him stay.

But it was all going so well.

I was ringing up my last two customers at quarter to seven, a nice couple who I had seen in here a few times before. Regulars, like me. They were telling me a great story about DJ, about how when he first opened the store there was a pimp who thought DJ was moving in on his territory. DJ kept telling him that he just wanted to sell records but the pimp didn’t believe him, didn’t think anybody sold those any more, it had to be a cover. Threatened to burn the store down.

DJ had had enough, so he called a few friends in social services and by the end of his first week of business every single last one of the pimp’s ladies had been picked up and put into support groups all over the city. The pimp never knew what happened; he just knew he was out of business.

We were feeling good, we were laughing, I felt like an equal. Like I belonged. It was all going so well.

Then Tommy showed up with a gun.

Spare Change #15

2008-08-22T22:53:00.000-07:00

This was a big mistake.

I can’t do this, what was I thinking? Nobody spends almost six years in a row begging for breakfast, lunch and dinner then starts running a store on a couple hours of training. There are reasons why people are on the street instead of working a proper job.

I shift slightly to my right to avoid the inventory binder stabbing me in the back. Sitting here, behind the counter and out of sight of sidewalk window shoppers, I stare at the clock and pray that it stops, or better yet goes backward.

But it continues on, tick, tick, tick, and now it is only five minutes before the store doors are due to be unlocked. Oh do I ever need a drink or ten right now.

Other than right now, going clean has been a lot easier than I was expecting it to be. Well, I guess this is the first moment I’ve had to face where my usual response would have been to get wasted.

My finger traces the outline of the store key, traveling its peaks and valleys like a lost explorer. I’m so lost right now, completely out of my element; I’m not a fish out of water – I’m a fish in outer space.

The phone rings and I jump just enough to crack the top of my skull on the counter. Swearing loudly, repeatedly, I let it ring and listen to the answering machine’s greeting. After the beep a familiar voice begins to leave a message.

“J, pick up the phone. I know you’re there,” Karl says. “Well, you better be there anyway. If you’re not you better be halfway to Mexico.”

“Hey man,” I say into the receiver. “What’s going on?”

“Oh good, you are there. I just wanted to see how you’re doing on your big day.”

“My big day? Thanks man, I really needed some more pressure right now,” I tell him. “You caught me just in time though – I was just about to see if there’s a back door I can sneak out.”

“It can’t be that bad,” he says before hesitantly adding, “can it?”

“I can’t handle this kind of responsibility, something major is going to go wrong and I’m not going to know what to do,” I say as panic begins to creep into my voice. “People are going to ask questions that I can’t answer, I’m going to give the wrong amount of change, I’ll forget to lock up before I leave, I’m -”

“J, take a deep breath man,” Karl interrupts. “In fact, take ten. Don’t say another word until you do.” I do as he says since I don’t know what else to do. Following instructions is so much easier than thinking for yourself.

“Alright,” I say when I’m done and feeling much calmer, “now what?”

“You can do this J, this will be the hardest part. It’ll just get easier and easier after this,” he says with a confidence I’ll never know. “DJ is counting on you, don’t let him down. Don’t let yourself down.”

“What if,” I begin but he cuts me off gently.

“You’ll handle it. And if you can’t, give me a call and I’ll help you figure it out. What time do you close?”

“Tonight? Seven, I think. Yeah, seven.”

“Alright, I’ll swing by around quarter to seven,” he says. “I’ll bring ice cream.”

“No food allowed in the store,” I say automatically.

“See?” Karl says with a laugh. “You’re going to be fine. Call me if you need me.”

“Thanks,” I say then hang up. I look up at the clock to see that it’s one minute past opening. I take a few more deep breaths then walk across the empty, silent store to the door. I stand there for another minute, staring at the deadbolt.

“Here goes… everything,” I say and unlock the door with a resounding thunk. And then… nothing happens. I open the door just wide enough to poke my newly-shaven face out and find an empty sidewalk.

“Idiot, of course there’s nobody out there,” I say as I pull my head back into the store’s shell. “Who would be waiting for a music store to open on a Monday morning?”

I stroll back to the counter, pull a record out of DJ’s personal stash and put it on. As the first guitar strings play on the store stereo I sit down on the cashier stool and wait for my first customer to arrive.

Spare Change #14

2008-08-15T17:48:00.001-07:00

There are so many empty bottles around me that there’s hardly room to stand, much less walk. Bud, Coors and Michelob clink together indiscriminately when I shift my foot, like someone just made a celebratory toast at an important gathering.

Which I guess this is, in a way. Empties, loaded thoughts, one life-altering decision and me – perhaps not the most impressive guest list ever created, but an important gathering it is.

I roll the last unopened bottle of Bud between my hands back and forth, back and forth. The stained sink reeks of spilled beer, with a hint of the dark rum that was the first liquid to go down the drain. I almost take a deep whiff before stopping myself, wondering if that would be cheating.

I thought this would be the easy part, a way to ease into flushing the two plastic baggies of weed in the back pocket of my jeans. If this is like pulling teeth with rusty pliers, I don’t want to think about how the dope is going to go.

“This is all your fault TJ,” I tell the empty room; it’s coming up to noon so Phakov is long gone. Have I really been at this for five hours? What is that, like four bottles an hour? This is pathetic, I’m stronger than this, I don’t need this poison.

I rip off the twist cap and the familiar sound sets my mouth watering. One last sip, a final toast, then down the pipes with it.

No, I’m done with this crutch. This break will be clean, I won’t do it halfway. I tip the bottle sideways and as the first drop splashes down my hand begins to shake. How embarrassing, I’m glad there’s no one around to see.

By the time the bottle is empty I’m shaking so bad I can barely hold on to it so I throw it on the floor to join his dearly departed brothers. I grip the edge of the sink with both hands as I fight the sudden urge to vomit. Do I know how to throw a party or what?

Once the waves of nausea subside to more manageable swells I try to gather myself for the next stage. As if this wasn’t going to be enough of a challenge on its own, the toilet here stopped working in the 70’s so I’ll have to go to the gas station two blocks away to finish the job. Two blocks to freedom… so close yet so very, very far.

I push away from the drunken sink and make my way slowly through the graveyard of the life I hope to leave behind. No, that I am leaving behind. The first steps have been taken, I’m on the road and there will be no turning back. I wouldn’t survive the return trip.

Down the barely there stairs, out into the shaded courtyard, the momentum is building. I head west for the gas station at a brisk walk, swinging my arms like wrecking balls, smashing down the wall standing between me and a better tomorrow.

Half a block from the station the weed in my back pocket turns to cement and tries to drag me down to hell. My pace slows but I refuse to stop. I’m going to walk into that stall, throw the junk in, flush it down and walk out. No thinking, no delay, just a quick, clean cut and I’ll be done.

I enter the store at the front of the station and grab the washroom key from beside the cash register. The clerk thinks about saying something but decides to keep quiet. I can’t blame him, I probably look like I’m on a serious bender.

I go back outside and stride to the side of the building. My hand shakes as I try to slide the key into the slot. God damn it. After scrapping a few paint chips off the door I finally get it in. I rush to the toilet and throw the weed in, bags and all. As my right hand reaches for the lever, my left hand reaches in and grabs the dope.

“Oh come on!” I yell. It’s hard to have faith in yourself when you’re standing in a dingy gas station washroom with two bags of weed dripping with toilet water in your hand. I guess you really do learn something new every day. “Just throw it back in.”

Still as a statue I stand, although no one would be foolish enough to commemorate this scene with an actual statue. Well, never say never with art these days; maybe “Bum on the brink” would be a big hit.

“I don’t need this garbage,” I say as I stare at the past sitting in my hand and try to see the future in my head. Then I finally get it, it finally sinks in at last: “I don’t want this.”

I drop one bag into the bowl, then the other. The slap of the plastic meeting the water seems amplified, like this scene is playing out on the big screen in the movie theatre downtown. I resist the urge to look for a camera and focus instead on the cracked lever sticking out of the right side of the toilet.

I reach out and my hand is steady. I press down and my demons are sucked noisily away… for now. I know this is not the end. But it is a start.

Spare Change #13

2008-08-08T23:47:00.000-07:00

I place the strawberry smoothie on the table in front of TJ then slide in across from her and take a sip of mine, blueberry of course. The diner is pretty quiet and the counter girl seems to be enjoying the brief break between the lunch and after work rushes.

“You’re looking well,” I tell TJ and mean it. Her short curly black hair looks recently washed and cut, she looks alert and well rested. Same dirty white t-shirt as always though.

“Thanks, you’re… not,” she says with the smallest hint of a smile.

“Well share your secret and I’ll start catching up.”

“I’ve been clean for a while,” she says while stirring her drink with a straw.

“I guess that would do it,” I admit. “How long?”

“Since the day after I last saw you,” she says matter-of-factly. I let that stir around in my head for a few seconds before replying.

“You saying you couldn’t have done that with me around?” I try to keep the anger out of my voice with limited success. This is typical TJ, always blaming me for the choices she makes.

“I’m saying, J, that it was a lot easier without constant temptation to -”

“I never forced you to do nothin’!” I say in a harsh whisper, jabbing a dirt covered finger at her. I’d yell but I like this place and want to be able to come back. “I never paid for your dope, I didn’t say I’d leave you if you went clean, I -”

“J lower your damn voice,” she says in her best high school teacher tone. “I’m not blaming you for anything, okay? I’m just too weak to get clean when you’re not. Besides, this isn’t what I wanted to talk to you about. Sit down.”

I didn’t even realize I had stood up. I glance around and slump back down, glad the diner is still mostly empty. Why do I let her work me up so easily?

“Alright, so what is?” I ask quietly.

“I heard you got yourself a proper job -”

“Oh, you need money, no wonder you -”

“If you can’t keep your mouth shut for five seconds,” she hisses at me, “I won’t waste anymore of my time here.” I glare at her for a full minute, exactly sixty seconds. Counting the seconds out, that’s how long it takes me to settle down enough to speak calmly.

“Fine, say what you’ve come here to say.”

“Thank you. Now, with a proper job comes proper money,” she says as I nearly draw blood by biting my tongue. “And with proper money comes some pretty serious temptations in our world. Do you have a plan for that money? I care about you J, God knows why, but I do. I don’t want to see you dead in a ditch because your new money got you into trouble you couldn’t handle.”

“I’ve got an idea or two,” I reply. I haven’t told her about the account with Karl and I’m in no mood to do so now. “I’m not planning on buying so much of Tommy’s dope that he’ll be able to retire, if that’s your concern. Although a hut on a warm beach somewhere might be exactly what he needs right now.”

“J this could be your chance, what you’ve been wanting for years,” TJ says, giving me an uncomfortably intense stare. “A chance to get off the streets.”

“How do you figure that?” I squirm a little in my seat but manage to maintain eye contact. This crazy cow will be the end of me.

“Just think – you keep this job for a while and maybe you find a landlord that’ll rent you a place. A steady job, a roof over your head, hot water, a bed… if you went clean you’d never see the streets again.”

“Sorry, what was that last bit again?”

“You could do it J,” she says, leaning across the table, close enough to smell her strawberry breath. “I’ll help, if you let me. We could do it together – support each other in the weak times, celebrate the successes. Be a real couple.”

I’ve heard enough. I stand up, leaving my glass half empty… or is it half full? I don’t trust myself to tell up from down right now.

“Please don’t leave J. Sit down, let’s talk this through. Let me help you.” She’s practically begging. God damn her.

“I’ll see you around TJ,” I tell her and walk away.

“What are you so bloody afraid of?” she yells after me. It’s a good question and I don’t have an answer for it. Not yet, anyway. I just need some time, some space, this is all too much.

“When I figure that out,” I call as I walk out the door, “you’ll be the first to know.”

A Dozen Days, A Dozen Ways

2008-08-05T22:43:00.000-07:00

Homelessness action week will be October 12th to 19th this year and in the twelve days leading up to it the Stop Homelessnes site will be featuring an idea a day on how to help solve homelessness. They've put out a call for submissions, so head over there with your best idea and let them know what you've got buzzing around in your head.

They've linked to this here page of mine in their Friends section, which I thought was pretty cool. So if you get here from there, welcome and I hope you enjoy your stay.

Spare Change #12

2008-08-01T22:21:00.000-07:00

“Does this purse go with these shoes?”

“For the last time, yes baby. Let’s go grab some burgers for lunch.”

“Burgers, you know those things go straight to my thighs!”

Ah, Saturday at the mall – it’s been too long. I’d forgotten the teenagers who don’t have a dime to spare for me but have a few hundred bucks for Nike. I’ve missed the seniors who either jab their canes at me or drop bills in my hat; thankfully I’ve seen more of the latter than the former in the last three hours.

Three hours and no sign of TJ. I’m in our usual spot, just to the left of the east mall entrance, just far enough from the bus stop to avoid confusion about my purpose here. It took a few weekends before we finally found the sweet spot where we no longer got asked if we needed change for the bus but could still work the traffic going in and out of the mall.

Waiting here may not be the most efficient way of finding TJ but at least I’m making money doing it. In that area it sure beats checking the shelters and wandering the streets. If she doesn’t show today, I’ll come back tomorrow. If she still doesn’t –

“What would you do,” a man asks, leaning in much too close. How can I describe his proximity? Imagine you have a tiny hair in your eye. Now picture yourself stepping outside yourself and turning to face your body. Imagine how close you’d lean in to find that elusive hair. That’s how close he is.

“What would you do,” he repeats, recognizing that I’ve figured out how to describe his closeness and have rejoined him in the moment, “if I gave you ten thousand dollars right now?”

What a stupid question. I’d do what any man in my position would do: go down to Cherry’s, pick out the two hottest strippers (Doll and Candy, for the record) and ask what ten grand would get me. Well, nine thousand, nine hundred and eighty-six dollars and sixty-nine cents, after the mandatory drinks.

But something in the look of this guy says he just might have that kind of green and I don’t think that’s the answer that would convince him to hand it over.

“Well,” I tell Blue Eyes (for what else can I name him but what takes up 90% of my field of vision), “I’d probably start by getting some new clothes, then I’d splurge on a motel room for the night. I’d take the longest, hottest shower in recorded history, order some pizza and then sleep until checkout.” Or until 7 am if Phakov found me; I’m pretty confident he would.

“Is that right?” he asks, only his lips moving as his eyes burrow into my skull. I can smell his breath – there’s a trace of fine wine, of a three course lunch, of a life I’ll never know. “You wouldn’t get drunk or high?”

“I don’t do that garbage, man.” Not this early in the day anyway – a man’s gotta have limits. His eyes narrow, his nose twitches as though he can smell the lie.

“You know what I think?” he casually asks as he straightens to his full height. “I think you’re just saying that in hopes of getting my money.”

“Why should I even believe you’ve got that much money at all, much less on you?” I ask, trying to swerve the conversation around that nasty pothole. He stands there, unblinking, trying to decide which of our questions should be pursued first, when a well dressed redhead appears at his side.

“Darling, are you being mean to the homeless again?” she purrs.

“Of course not dear, we were merely discussing finances,” he says with a stiff pat on her arm. She sniffs daintily and looks away, losing interest already. Having no idea what to say, I remain silent. “He doesn’t believe that I have ten thousand dollars on my person.”

“Oh stop being silly darling,” she says without looking back, “nobody carries cash these days.”

“Sad but true,” he murmurs as he reaches into his front pocket, pulls out a five and drops it into my hat. They turn together and stroll away, arm in arm, never looking back.

“Making new friends J?” a voice asks from my right. It’s been a while so it takes me a moment to recognize it. I close my eyes, take a deep breath, open them again.

“Hello TJ.”

Spare Change #11

2008-07-25T11:24:00.001-07:00

I watch the storm clouds gathering while waiting for the traffic light to turn green. It’s another six blocks to DJ’s store and I’m quickly losing confidence that I’ll arrive dry. I wish I hadn’t stopped to check in on Tommy and then wasted even more time asking around about his whereabouts when he wasn’t there.

It’s been two days since the knife incident and it seems like nobody has seen Tommy since. I’m trying not to worry about him but that’s proving to be difficult.

The walk signal brings my attention back to the here and now. I step out onto the crosswalk and –

“Hey, watch where you’re going moron!”

“What the…” It takes a few seconds to realize that this clown on a motorcycle almost ran me over. “Watch where I’m going?”

“If you had scratched up my new ride there woulda been hell to pay!” He has flipped up his visor and all I can see are flaring nostrils and angry blue eyes. Ignoring common sense, I don’t walk away.

“Sorry to get in the way of you running a red light,” I say with a sneer. “Next time I’ll be sure to let you ride on through so a cargo truck can knock some sense into you.”

“Are you getting smart with me?” I’m not surprised he’s unable to figure it out on his own. The walk signal is flashing now so I shake my head and turn to walk away. “That’s right, chicken. Walk away.”

Throwing rational thought out the window, I spin and flip him off. We’re frozen for a breath as we both try to comprehend the situation. Then he jumps off his bike.

Rational thought makes its triumphant return and I turn and run.

I glance over my shoulder as I reach the far sidewalk to see him getting back on his motorcycle as the light turns red. I slow to a walk but keep watching to make sure he goes straight instead of left. He does and I breathe a sigh of relief. Is anything going to go right for me?

Right on cue, the first drop of rain crashes onto the top of my head.

I hunch up my shoulders and hurry to DJ’s, taking special care to look both ways five or six times per intersection. By a minor miracle I manage to arrive without further incident.

“J-man,” DJ says as I enter, dripping rainwater on his clean floor. “There’s a washroom in the back, go dry up and we’ll get started.”

I nod gratefully and make my way past the coffee bean bag blocking the back hall and into the cramped washroom. I do what I can to sop up my dripping clothes and only bang my elbow on the sink three times.

When I reenter the store DJ is with a couple customers so I hang back to browse his “DJ Mike Picks of the Week” display. I’ve listened to all of them before which is both reassuring and a let down. Good to know I’m keeping up with the good stuff, disappointing I don’t get to discover something new.

DJ rings up their purchases and sends them on their way with a smile and a promise that they’ll be back. I arrive at the counter to begin my training as the door closes behind them.

“Alright J, first things first,” DJ says. “I am not the post office, I’m not hotmail and I sure as hell ain’t Facebook. So don’t plan on turning me into your message center.”

“What are you talking about?”

“This is the first and, more importantly, the last time I pass on a message to you, okay?”

Who would leave me a message…? Karl and Tommy are the only people who I’ve told about this gig. Karl would never do it and Tommy was so out of his head that I can’t imagine he remembered anything we talked about after he came back down.

“Got it man. What’s the message?”

“A woman came by yesterday, said she needs to talk to you,” he says. I swallow hard. “Said her name was TJ.”

Interlude

2008-07-18T23:15:00.000-07:00

Alright, apparently I'm missing two weeks. But hey, I haven't missed a day yet on my Daily Writing Practice.

So... yeah. July 25th will be the return of Spare Change.

Spare Change #10

2008-07-04T23:59:00.001-07:00

“So what’s new with you?” Tommy asks as he admires his own smoke rings.

“Well, I’ve got a job,” I say, still not really believing it even though it’s been two days since I told DJ I’d cover for him. “I start in a couple weeks.”

“Nice man, who you selling for? Doug will rip you off; I hope it’s not Doug.”

“No, I’m –“

“And Petey’s crack is terrible; please tell me you’re not selling his junk.”

“Listen,” I begin but Tommy isn’t paying any attention to me. He’s just blowing rings and patting that damned rabbit of his – bastard still won’t tell me where he got it, probably stole it from some poor kid.

“You gotta watch who you work for on these streets man, competition is getting scary,” he says before taking a long, deep drag on his joint.

“I know Tommy, that’s why I’m not selling drugs,” I tell him and he finally looks at me. Alright, now that he’s listening –

“You think hookers are any safer? Man, if the pimp don’t get you one of those crazy who-“

“Tommy! Just shut up for a minute, okay?” He looks a little hurt but at least he keeps his mouth closed. “I’m not doing any of that crap, alright? It’s a legit job – DJ Mike asked me to run his shop for a week so he can take a vacation.”

“Tiny wants you to run his shop?” Tommy says in disbelief. “I thought that man was clean.”

“He’s not high, at least I don’t think he is.”

“Might explain a few things if he was,” Tommy says as he feeds the rabbit a scrap of bread.

“I didn’t know rabbits ate bread.”

“Oh, they’ll eat all sorts of things,” he says from far, far away; I’m gonna have to cut him off soon. “Isn’t that right Hopper?”

“Oh good, you finally got around to naming him.”

“Her.”

“Right, her… every other bum in this city has a dog or cat for a pet, but not you – always gotta be different, huh Tommy?”

“Hopper ain’t no pet,” he mumbles. “You see a leash?”

I concede the point as Hopper nuzzles my hand, searching for food. I’ve got nothing on me so I give her head a pat and she goes back to Tommy. However he got her, pet or friend, they’re definitely together now.

“Anyway, DJ wants me to come by a few times this week to show me what he wants done while he’s gone,” I say as I try to get back on topic. “I wasn’t sure at first but I’m starting to look forward to it.”

“Whatever floats your boat man,” Tommy says, flicking away the remains of his joint and reaching into his jacket pocket for another. “You get to wear a cute hat and uniform too?”

“It ain’t McDonald’s man,” I say, finally starting to realize this isn’t the person I should be talking to about this. I reach out my hand to stop him from lighting up again. “I think you’ve had enough of that for today.”

“Don’t you tell me when to stop!” He’s leaning over me in an instant, breathing hard through his mouth like a rabid dog. I’m so shocked by his change in demeanor that at first I don’t see the knife clutched in his right fist.

“Where the hell did you get that?”

“You shouldn’t be worrying about where I got it,” he spits, waving the blade in front of my nose. “But where it is right now.”

“What are you smokin’ man, to pull a knife on me?” What the hell is this? Did someone lace his joint or was it something he was doing before I got here? The only thing I’m sure of is that this is not the Tommy I know.

“Get out of my alley before I throw you out… piece… by piece,” he says matter-of-factly, tapping the blade first against my right cheek, then my left.

“Tommy, what is going on man?” I ask, doing my damndest not to panic.

“Get out you thief!” he screams at me from inches away. I scramble to my feet and back away down the alley. My eyes never leave his face; his eyes never leave my throat. “And don’t come back!”

“I’ll be back tomorrow,” I call down the alley as I reach the sidewalk. “Hopefully you’ll have all the crazy out by then.”

He screams incoherently and throws an empty soup can in my direction. I duck around the corner and head for home. I need to get back to relative safety… I doubt I’ll be able to sleep tonight. Maybe I’ll get to see Phakov coming in the morning.

Oh man… what just happened?

Spare Change #9

2008-06-27T23:29:00.001-07:00

Ice cream drips off my spoon and splatters the white tablecloth with minty green. What were they thinking when they chose white? If they thought their customers would be too high brow to spill their treats, well, they set up shop in the wrong part of town.

“This is an incredible opportunity for you J,” Karl says as he jabs the jagged end of his half-eaten cone at me like a broken bottle in a street brawl. “When did DJ offer you this?”

“Three days ago,” I reply without making eye contact.

“I thought you said he told you to come back the next day?” My answer is muffled by a heaping spoonful of mint chocolate goodness. “J… you are not passing this up.”

“I’m just giving him time to come to his senses.”

“His senses? Has that man ever taken a vacation? The man needs a break and he needs you to make that happen, God help him.”

“Thanks,” I say with a grimace. “DJ’s got plenty of customers, I’m sure he could find someone else.”

“Someone else who’s in a position to run his store for a week? Besides,” Karl says, “he chose you, not some other customer. He’s giving you a hell of a chance J. When was the last time you had an actual, honest job?”

“My resume is at the office but if I recall correctly… about fifteen years ago.”

“You do this for him and maybe it’ll lead to some steady income. Wouldn’t it be nice to know how much money you’d be making each week?” he asks with a single, bushy red eyebrow raised.

“I do this and screw it up I’ll never get another chance,” I say without thinking.

“Ah, we’ve found the problem at last,” Karl says, sitting back with a satisfied smile. “The Fear is getting in the way again.” I can hear the capitalization of that four letter word.

“I don’t think I’m being unreasonable here man, DJ is dumping a lot of responsibility on me. I haven’t had to take care of anything but me for a long, long time.”

“You talked to TJ about it?” Karl asks around a mouthful of cone.

“I haven’t seen her in a while,” I admit.

“What was it this time?”

“Don’t ask me, she’s the crazy one,” I reply with a sigh that refuses to be contained.

Karl finishes his cone with a sharp crunch and we lapse into silence for several minutes. I’m sure he’s trying to come up with a way to convince me to take DJ’s offer. I leave him to it and turn my attention to the other customers on the patio. It takes me about five seconds to realize that all the other tables are occupied by couples.

“What are you thinking?” Karl asks.

“I was just wondering,” I tell him, “whether or not everyone else here thinks we’re gay.”

“I suppose it would have been too much to ask for you to have been thinking about DJ’s proposal,” he says with a sigh before smiling that toothy grin of his. “You’d be the one wearing the dress at the wedding by the way.”

“Fat chance. I make the money and you hold it, sounds to me like you need to go buy some makeup,” I tell him with my best poker face. He shakes his head and looks away, unwilling to indulge my avoidance of the topic at hand.

“I know I can’t make you take this job,” he says, still not looking at me. “But it would break my heart if you didn’t.”

Dammit. Damn it all to hell.

“I won’t make you any promises,” I say quietly, “but I’ll talk to him.”

“When?”

“Tomorrow.”

“How about now?”

My stomach does a somersault and I begin to sweat. There really is no escaping this.

“What, you gonna hold my hand and walk me there?” I ask.

“I’ll stick to just walking with you,” Karl says as he gets up. “Come on, let’s go.”

“It’s a long walk from here.” I remain seated.

“Good, that’ll give me plenty of time to explain to you every single reason why doing this for DJ is a brilliant idea.”

“That’ll just make it seem even longer.”

“Get off your ass and let’s go. It’s time.”

And I know he’s right. And I know there’s no reason to fight it anymore. So I stand.

Spare Change #8

2008-06-20T23:29:00.000-07:00

“Well if it isn’t J, my man, my man!” Mike says from behind the counter as I step foot onto the freshly scrubbed tiles of his store. “Where you been, dog? I ain’t seen you in weeks!”

“Hey DJ,” I reply with his preferred nickname. Some fools insist on calling him Tiny but I’m not crazy enough to try that; he may be five foot nothin’ but he’s built like a pit bull. “I finally took that vacation I been dreaming about – you know, Disneyland, Disneyworld, Euro-“

“Shut the hell up and come see my new stock,” he says with a jerk of his head. I make my way over to him, my eyes jumping from album cover to album cover, always searching for a golden nugget I somehow missed on a previous visit.

“So what you got that’s worth listening to?” I ask.

“Worth listen- I don’t stock crap that ain’t worth playing for anybody that’s got half an ear for good music,” he says with narrowed eyes, a pit bull sizing up his dinner.

“You know I’m just pushing your buttons,” I tell him with a smile. I’ve been coming to DJ Mike’s Real Music Shop for the last two years, usually every couple weeks, and it’s always worth the extra bus to get here. The first time I wandered in, looking for shelter from a spring shower, Mike and I hit it off instantly. Our musical tastes match up extremely well, with enough differences to keep things interesting. He knows I can’t afford to buy anything but I pay him in conversation for his time and knowledge. “Show me what you got.”

“You best watch yourself and that mouth of yours, not everybody has my forgiving temperament,” he says with a wave of a thick finger in front of my nose. “Alright, now I know you dig real hip hop: Mos Def, Common, Talib Kweli and those other brothers that speak the truth. Well I got an original truth speaker for ya – say hello to mistah Gil Scott-Heron.”

“That’s a hell of an afro,” I say as I take the album from him and turn it over to scan the track listing. “I don’t think I’ve heard any of these. Put it on for me?”

“Anything for my man,” Mike says. “Pass that back and I’ll pump it on the store stereo.”

He slides the record out of its protective sleeve and handles it with the kind of respect I imagine an art collector would show a million dollar painting. DJ probably got his piece of art for two bucks at a garage sale.

“That ain’t the Mona Lis- oh damn, what track is this?”

“The Revolution Will Not Be Televised,” he says smugly.

“This is the source, the original that everybody samples and quotes?”

“It all started with my man Gil,” he tells me as he flips through a cardboard box of records on the counter. “I’ll play Angel Dust for you after this one is done. If you think this is ‘oh damn’, Dust will blow your mind.”

“I can’t wait,” I say, closing my eyes to better absorb the music. I start to nod my head by choice and my right foot and hand join in on their own accord.

“Hey dude,” a voice calls from the doorway as the track wraps up and I open my eyes. “You got 50 Cent’s new cd?”

“Do you see any cds in here?” DJ asks the kid with the backwards cap, wife beater and baggy jeans. I know there are only albums and a handful of tapes here but the kid has to stare blankly around for a few moments before he gets it. “You’ll have better luck around the corner at the strip mall.”

“Oh. Alright,” he mumbles before fleeing to the safety of the street.

“Damn kids these days,” DJ mutters as he switches the records up. “No appreciation for vinyl.”

“Or good music,” I add.

“That’s what I said. Now close your mouth and open your mind.”

I barely manage to contain my ‘oh damn’ as the bass hits the speakers like a 2x4. I close my eyes again and allow myself to be transported.

“I been thinking about taking a vacation myself,” he says once the track ends. “A real vacation.”

“Nice man, where you want to go?” I ask, ignoring the cowardly calls of jealousy in my mind.

“Someplace warm, maybe Mexico,” he says, giving me an unreadable look. “But I don’t want to lose a week’s worth of business while I’m gone.”

“Yeah, that’d be rough.”

“I was thinking maybe you could cover for me.”

I feel my eyes bulge and jaw drop. He can’t be serious.

“DJ you know I’m a bum, are you crazy?”

“What, you gonna rob me?”

“Hell no I ain’t –“

“Then what do I got to worry about?”

That’s a good question. I don’t have a good answer.

“Think about it. Come back tomorrow and let me know,” he says matter-of-factly. “Now get outta here, I need to close up for the night.”

I stumble outside, mind reeling. He can’t be serious. Can’t be.

“First things first,” I tell myself, a little too loudly judging by the looks I get from passersby. “I need a drink.”

Spare Change #7

2008-06-13T15:27:00.000-07:00

It’s the first nice Saturday in months and the park is full to bursting with people. As I sit on my bench the joggers jog by, the strollers stroll by, there are picnics of varying sizes going on all around me. I glance at them all but none hold by attention like the two gray-haired Italian men across from me.

I’ve been watching them play chess on one of those giant outdoor sets, the pieces nearly reaching their navels. They’ve been alternating between joking loudly with each other and studying their pieces intently. Every move has been greeted with cries of joy, admiration, mockery, but never silence. It’s fascinating.

The man in the brown tweed cap, open collared white business shirt and black slacks seems to have just won but I’m honestly not sure. His playing partner, wearing thick glasses, a yellow golf shirt and brown slacks, is either congratulating him on a game well won or well contested. They both look quite pleased, maybe it was a tie?

“Hey, you want to play a match?”

I look over my shoulder to see who Tweed Cap is asking but find nobody there. What, he didn’t mean me did he? People ignore me; they don’t offer to play games with me.

“You on the bench there, come over here,” Golf Shirt calls out, waving me over. Before I’m off the bench they start to set the board up, separating white and black like they used to do in the South; except these men are much gentler, placing the pieces with a little reverence.

“I’m Paul and this is Antony,” Golf Shirt tells me as I arrive at the white end of the board. “What’s your name?”

“I’m J,” I reply, looking uneasily at the pieces in front of me.

“J isn’t a name, it’s a letter of the alphabet,” Antony says with a raspy laugh. I smile politely.

“You know how to play chess?” Paul asks, his glasses making his eyes too big at this distance.

“No,” I admit, half-hoping that will be enough to get out of this.

“Ah, no problem, no problem,” Paul says. “I’ll help you out and Tony’ll go easy on you.”

“You never went easy on me when I was learning!”

“Oh hush Tony. Alright J, these guys in the front row are called pawns. Don’t let their name fool you, how you make use of them is often the difference between winning and losing.”

“Got it.” I can tell I’m in over my head already.

“These two castle tower looking pieces on the ends, they’re called rooks,” Paul continues. “The horses beside them are knights, then those phallic buggers are called bishops. I’m catholic so I try not to read too much into that.”

I laugh for the first time in a long, long time. Maybe this will be alright, hell it might even be fun. I could use some clean, honest fun.

“Now these two royals in the middle are the key pieces J. The king and the queen,” he says, laying a wrinkled hand on each.

“So you use the king to protect the queen?” I ask, starting to really get into it.

“That’s mighty chivalrous of you!” Antony says.

“It is indeed, it is indeed,” Paul says with a smile. “No J, the queen is a very powerful piece, and losing her can be devastating, but the game isn’t decided until a king is captured.”

“So the queen has the real power,” I say, mind whirling, “but if the king falls the kingdom crumbles.”

“Yes, exactly it!” Paul says, looking a bit too proudly at his student. Suddenly I begin to worry that I’ll let him down by playing badly. “Now let me show you how each piece can move – don’t worry though, I’ll remind you as the game goes on.”

I watch closely as he ambles around the board, mimicking a pawn, then a rook, knight, bishop and lastly the royals. The knight is confusing but the rest seem pretty straightforward.

“Those are the basics, enough to get you started,” Paul says as he steps off the board. “We’ll go slow and talk about strategies and other nonsense when you’re ready for it.”

“Enough with all your jabbering!” Antony yells from across the board. “Lets play!”

“Oh settle down Tony, what’s the rush? Old geezer,” Paul mutters to me. “You ready to give it a shot?”

I look up at the sunlight bursting through the trees above us, listen to the birds and laughter all around us and wonder what on earth I’m doing here. What would TJ or Karl think if they saw me now? Nobody would believe me if I said I spent a Saturday afternoon learning to play chess in the park. I guess this is just for me then.

“J?”

“Yeah, I’m ready.”

I roll up my sleeves, move onto the board and take hold of a pawn. “Good luck,” I say for no good reason. Antony motions impatiently for me to make a move. I smile again, amazed by my own happiness. I move the pawn forward two spaces.

And so we begin.

Spare Change #6

2008-06-06T21:25:00.001-07:00

I hate the rain. A lot of people say that but they don’t mean it like I do. I mean that if rain was a man I’d do such unspeakable things to him that they wouldn’t bother throwing me in jail, they’d just execute me on the spot.

When it rains in the morning I just want to curl into a ball and stay on the couch until the sun comes out again, whether that be in two hours or two weeks. I only tried getting back on the couch once – Phakov nearly clawed my eyes out.

On days when the morning is warm and clear and the rain comes in the afternoon it feels like God is playing a big practical joke on us. The morning sun is full of the hopes and dreams of a fresh start; the lunch time clouds smear them all away with their cruel, cold fingers. That’s when I think the thunder is really God saying “ha ha, got you!”

This hatred isn’t a recent development either. I can remember when Brad and Julie, my foster “parents”, promised to take me to an amusement park on a Saturday and when the big day came the outing was canceled by rain. I got so angry that before they managed to lock me up in my room I’d broken three dinner plates. I think that was about a month before they finally gave up and took me back to the orphanage. I didn’t blame them then and I don’t now.

I watch people rushing by, too intent on getting out of the rain to put a dime in my hat. I think this is the least amount of cash I’ve ever brought in before noon. Oh how I hate, I hate, I hate hate hate the rain.

This awning is keeping me mostly dry but the odd gust of wind makes sure that I still achieve the drowned rat look. I should probably get inside, if only for the sake of my health.

“Wet enough for ya?” a man asks with a laugh as he runs by. He disappears around a corner before I can untangle my arm from my blanket to flip him off. Useless bastard. He’s probably one of those twits that love asking everyone “hot enough for ya?” at the peak of summer. Probably looks forward to it all year.

It’s raining harder, really pouring, and the streets are only getting emptier. I guess I should call it a day, get home and try to dry off.

Getting up is slow, painful work. It’s like I got watered enough to put down roots, muscling their way through the cracks in the sidewalk to grasp the real earth below. If I had stayed much longer I might’ve blossomed.

I head for the bus stop as I add up the change in my pockets. I’ve got enough for the fare with a whole twenty-five cents left over. I should’ve stayed on the couch.

I stick close to the buildings to make use of whatever protection their awnings will give me. Unfortunately everyone else has the same idea, including the umbrella wielders. I pull my hat down low to avoid losing an eye and try to think of all the ways to kill a man using only an umbrella.

I’m only up to number eight when I’m slammed into the brick wall to my left.

“Watch where you’re going little begga’ man!”

I look up to see a fierce, terrifyingly large black man staring me down. Now let me be clear for a moment: I’m no racist. I find any man that could eat me for a snack before dinner terrifying.

I make a few awkward apologetic, placating motions with my head and hands and turn to walk away. Thankfully he lets me go. I guess that’s one benefit of looking like something the cat dragged in: being unappetizing.

By the time I get to the bus stop there’s no room in the shelter, women and children are packed in there like soggy cigarettes. Surprisingly I don’t spot an open umbrella amongst them.

I stand to the side and pretend that I have no interest in getting out of the rain. Several guys (and a couple women) I know would just charge in there and make room for themselves but my disdain for the normals hasn’t peaked quite yet. Maybe next year.

Several minutes pass before a bus comes along but it’s so full that only a few mother/child combos can get on. As the bus pulls away I notice that somehow there’s still no room in the shelter.

Ten minutes later no more buses have appeared. I move to the curb to look down the street to see what I can see. Too late, I notice the sports car racing along the curb lane. I step back but not quickly enough to get away from the spray from a disturbed pothole and I get a face full of mud and rainwater.

As I try to get the worst of it out of my eyes and nose and mouth a particularly loud crack of thunder echoes off the office buildings and rattles my bones.

I hate the rain.

Spare Change #5

2008-05-30T13:56:00.000-07:00

“You got any smokes?”

“No, I don’t smoke.”

“Got a lighter?”

“No.”

“Gum?”

“Do I look like a god damn convenience store Parker?”

“Sorry J.”

I was glad to see Parker for the first time in four weeks for about five minutes. That was three hours ago. Two hours and fifty-five minutes of his non-stop chattering and a smaller than usual take from my clients have made me wish he’d crawl back under whatever rock he’d been hiding under. Which reminds me…

“Where the hell you been anyway?”

“They saying I OD’d again?”

“Of course.”

“Man, you over do it a couple times and people expect nothin’ else from you.”

“It ain’t personal, it’s what they say about everybody.”

Parker actually stops talking for a minute to think that over. A little girl drops my first five of the day into my hat and I decide to try to keep him thinking for as much of the day as possible.

“I guess that’s true,” he says, “it just hits a little too close to home for me.”

“You ain’t got no home to hit, man.”

“It’s just an expression J - loosen up a bit, it’ll do you some good.”

I let out a few long breaths until the urge to punch him right between the eyes moves on. That kind of behavior is bad for business – mine and the shops around me. I always do my best to make sure I’m welcome back at my Beg Five; maybe my best move for today would be to go elsewhere for the afternoon.

“So if you didn’t OD, where you been?”

“My sister found me down on Grant Street,” he says, closing his eyes and resting the back of his head against the wall. “I dunno how long she’d been looking but it sounded like a long time. I guess she got it in her head to ‘save me’ or some junk.”

Was there anyone out there looking to save me? Dad’s long gone, who knows if Mom’s still kicking, Karl is probably the closest thing to family I’ve got left. And that just ain’t the same…

“She wouldn’t let me out of her sight until I checked into rehab, so I did. She dropped by to check up on me every day for the first two weeks, then every couple days, then once a week. I think it hurt her too much to see me not making any progress.”

“Change don’t happen that fast bro.”

“You and I know that J but people that have never got the shakes, the cravings, they don’t know nothing about it.”

I nod my head and keep quiet. In my weaker moments I like to think I’m not addicted, that I can stay clean if I really wanted to. But then I remember why I need Karl to take care of my money, why I can’t trust myself with it, and the truth of my urges come strolling back into my mind.

“So I checked out to save us both the pain.”

“And now here you are again.”

“And now here I am, same as I ever was.”

We fall into silence for a long time, watching people walk past. People who think they’ve got “real” problems to deal with. Sometimes I wonder what it would take for them to realize that being unable to afford that vacation in Hawaii ain’t a real problem. That staying in motels instead of five star resorts ain’t a real problem. That having an idiot for a boss ain’t a real problem. But mostly I wonder how long any of them would last in my shoes.

“These people have no idea J. No clue what it’s like to be me or you. Put ‘em on the street, they couldn’t make ends meet. The hunger would go straight to their head, before the week’s over they’d end up dead.”

“Four weeks in rehab and he comes out thinking he’s a poet.”

“Hey, I had way too much time on my hands, I had to do something to keep busy. Besides, maybe I can bring in a few more dollars if people like what I come up with.”

“Yeah, then you can do up some shirts that say ‘I heard the Rhyming Bum and all I got was this t-shirt.’ Then before you know it you’ll be on the late night shows and…”

“Why you gotta shoot me down like that? You want me stuck here till I die? Let a man dream J.”

“Sorry Parker, I got carried away.”

He’s probably right though. I want to be the one to lead the way from the streets to the penthouse. To show my brothers and sisters that it can be done, that it’s possible to escape this hell if you’ve got the will. I don’t want to follow in anyone else’s footsteps.

But if I want to lead, I better start walking.

“It’s good to see you again Parker,” I say as I gather up my hat and stand up. “Let me know how the poems work out.”

“Will do my man, will do. Take care of yourself.”

“I do my best,” I say over my shoulder as I start to walk away. “I do my very best.”

Spare Change #4

2008-05-24T00:41:00.000-07:00

The night gathers in around me, whispering empty promises of rest and relief. The shop lights go out, the street lamps come on and I begin my walk home.

I like to do the return trip by foot when the weather is agreeable to the idea. It costs nothing but time (the one thing I’m fabulously rich in) and gets me off my butt after a long day of sitting, staring and (sometimes) sleeping.

I have no Night Time Jerry, no yet to be jaded driver to chauffeur me home free of charge. There are too many of us out and about when the sun goes down and not all of my brothers and sisters of the streets are blessed with my social graces. I learned quickly enough that “come on man, don’t be stupid, I ain’t got no cash” is not a good enough argument to earn a fare-free trip.

And I’m trying to save my money – I don’t know what for exactly, not yet anyway, but I know I can’t go on like this much longer. Five years on the streets have killed better men and women than I and year number six is coming up fast.

I have a shoebox full of bills stowed behind a loose ceiling panel for daily necessities and the odd impulse buy. I try not to keep too much up there since my impulses tend to lean in the direction of Tommy and his evil concoctions.

There’s a sock full of change under a floor board next to the couch that’s partly for protection and partly for small purchases. I’ve never had to use it for the former but get plenty of use from the latter – I’ve got a soft spot for Tic Tacs.

All the rest I trust to Karl, a high school friend turned social worker. Once a week we meet up for ice cream down at Ricky’s on 8^th Street. We talk about our weeks over bowls of mint chocolate ice cream and before we part I hand over whatever I want stashed away. Sometimes it’s as little as five bucks, on the odd occasion it’s as much as a hundred, but I always have something for him.

Karl always takes the money with that near-constant smile of encouragement and limps across the street to deposit it in “our” account. He takes care of the paperwork and answers the questions I don’t even understand but he cannot withdraw a dime. That’s the one thing I can do, but only if he’s with me. And he won’t let me in there with him until I have a damn good plan for that cash.

We opened up the account around two years ago; I can still see the look on the bank manager’s face when Karl was explaining what we wanted. I don’t know how much is in there now, he won’t tell me until I come up with a list of good options for it. I don’t know what’s stopping me from doing that. Maybe I’m scared I’ll screw it up and end up back here with nothing again.

I hang a right down Brooks Avenue as the shops become a little more spread out, a little more run down. Traffic is more sporadic now, but no less noisy. A car races by, vibrating in time with the bass of its too-loud stereo. I may have to walk or bus everywhere but at least I’ll take my hearing to the grave. Well, they might too if they keep driving like that.

Besides a few strays out walking their dogs I have the sidewalk to myself. I’ve got a decent amount of cash on me, squirreled away in various pockets, but I know I’m perfectly safe. For some reason people never seem to think someone like me has any money.

My stomach rumbles as I pass another convenience store but I ignore it. Just a bit further to the only half-decent deli this side of downtown. Sarah always saves me a ham and cheese on multigrain with a side of yam fries; at four bucks it’s the best deal in town. It’s nice having people look out for you.

I pass an alley full of people but empty of dreams and keep walking. I know they take good care of each other down there but they also don’t care for outsiders. It’s a bum community of ten or eleven that watch out for each other from hour to hour but they’ve got no long term vision. Not like me. My vision might be cloudy but at least I’m looking.

What do people do with large amounts of cash? I’ve never had the chance before and I don’t have a damn clue. Karl won’t even give me a hint, he wants the idea to be all mine so that I’ll stick with it. But I don’t have a damn clue.

Sarah’s deli is all shut up by the time I get there but she’s a sweet old lady that won’t let me go hungry. I open up the black mailbox that hangs off the front door to find my dinner waiting in a brown paper bag. I take it out, drop four bucks in and head for home.

As I reach my block the food is all gone save for a couple fries. I like to leave those out for Phakov in the hopes that my wake up call will be gentler if he’s had a bite to eat. No luck so far.

I stand outside my building and take a few final breaths of the crisp night air. I look around at all the broken windows and empty barrels and broken down cars. How much money would it take to escape this? Would I survive the fall back here if I failed? Is change worth the risk?

Spare Change #3

2008-05-16T23:04:00.001-07:00

“Get a job you lazy bum!”

“You know, I think I will! Thank you kind sir, you’ve inspired me!”

He stops in his tracks. They never expect a response to that one, always catches them off guard. Some handle it better than others, the smart ones ignore it. He doesn’t.

“Oh yeah?” he says, taking a few steps back towards Beg Site #2.

“Absolutely! I’ll get right to it,” I tell him as earnestly as possible. “I’ll head home and write up some resumes this afternoon. Only, I can’t afford paper so I guess I’ll have to use toilet paper.”

His face begins to turn red, with embarrassment or rage it’s too early to tell. Not that I care, I’d carry on regardless.

“And I don’t have a pen or pencil, so I’ll have to use my blood for ink. Oh,” I exclaim, dismay lumbering across my face, “but I can’t read!”

That’s a lie. I can read newspapers just fine. I enjoy them actually; they always make me feel better about my lot in life. I read an interview the other day with Max O’Conner, a guy who just finished a ten year stint in the slammer. He said that during his ‘tour of duty’ his fellow inmates’ shivved him twenty-two times, beat him ‘til he was unconscious twice and knocked out five of his teeth. He never filed a single complaint. I admire that.

“You think you’re some kind of funny man?” People are stopping to watch now - everybody loves a free show. I look him up and down: mid-fifties, balding and grey on top, bulging in the middle. His shirt, full of vertical stripes for that slimming effect, is straining to contain his too-many-trips-to-7-Eleven-gut. I don’t even want to think about what his poor belt is going through.

“You think ‘get a job’ is useful advice to someone in my position?” I ask him, honestly curious to hear his answer. “Like it’s something I’ve never heard or thought of before?”

“What, I’m supposed to feel sorry for you? Give you some money to go score drugs and booze?” His jowls are practically quivering, like a walrus having a seizure. As I imagine tusks protruding from his face I can’t help but laugh. He doesn’t take it very well.

“Somebody needs to teach you a lesson,” Walrus says.

“That ‘somebody’ gonna be you, tough guy? You look like you’d run out of breath walking to the fridge.” The words are out of my mouth before I realize what I’ve done. I’ve backed him into a corner and now he’s only got two choices: fight or flight, and he doesn’t look like a card carrying member of the Ricky Rabbit Running Club.

He takes a half step back then kicks me under my right knee like he’s going for a fifty yard field goal. It hurts like hell but I don’t cry out; if old Max can go through what he did and never complain, I can take a few kicks. A few people in the crowd mutter the required indignations but most say nothing at all. Two or three look like they wish they were the ones doing the kicking.

Walrus gets a few more kicks in before he starts breathing heavily, his eyes wide and wild with a primal joy in them. I don’t fight back – “he hit me first” didn’t work in elementary school and it sure doesn’t fly with the police. So I take my kicking like a good bum should.

He looms over me for a few moments, revelling in his victory over evil, before straightening his tie and taking a few steps back. He nods to his admirers and then strides off to his desk job to conquer the rest of the bad men of the world, one meeting at a time.

My leg throbs but I refuse to let it show. I sit up straight and look around casually, not a care in the world, no siree. I’m going to have to get really drunk tonight to dull this pain, I should probably get an early start on it.

A young lady silently drops a twenty into my lap. I thank her with my eyes; words are never enough when genuine gratitude is involved. She smiles sadly before walking away slowly. I stuff the bill into a pocket and return to my watch. Within moments everyone who saw the incident is gone, replaced with other nameless faces. Nothing ever changes.

Spare Change #2

2008-05-09T23:07:00.000-07:00

I hear the bus coming before I see it. The disgruntled rumble of its engine devours the silence of the morning and scatters my thoughts to the wind. I had been thinking of TJ again and I’m not sad to stop.

I get off the half-rotten wood bench as the bus rounds the corner and bounces from pothole to pothole before shuddering to a halt before me. Jerry opens the door, coffee in hand as always, and gives me a short nod for a welcome. The roads just get worse and worse but I’ve yet to see him spill a drop.

“Where to today?” he inquires. He has to ask because I fall asleep at the back of the bus sometimes. This way he can make sure I don’t miss my stop. He’s a good man.

“12^th and Smith,” I tell him and head for the back without paying. Jerry and I have come to an understanding in the last few months – he lets me ride for free and in return I don’t cause any trouble for him or his passengers. The other commuters never complain but every now and again I catch a dirty look tossed in my direction. I like to sit right behind those ones and talk to myself just loud enough for them to hear.

This morning everyone is buried in newspapers and magazines so I take my usual seat at the back left of the bus. The cold of the plastic makes its way easily through the worn seat of my jeans and nestles against my skin as the bus lurches into motion again.

12^th and Smith, better known, to me at least, as Beg Site #1. I’ve got five spots around the city that I use on a regular basis plus two others on special occasions, like big concerts and hockey games. Mostly I stick to The Beg Five though.

I set up shop at Beg Site #1 on Mondays and Tuesdays. It’s one of the many intersections here that have a coffee shop on each corner and I do my best business first thing in the morning when all the suits struggle by in search of their caffeine fix to start the week. Things pick up again around mid-morning and again at lunch and then it’s pretty dead for the rest of the day.

Wednesdays usually find me at Beg Site #2, International Square. It has a Starbucks for the morning crowd and for lunch there are a flock of fast food joints that I never eat at (hey, I may be destitute but I still have taste buds). Some weeks I have to share the area with Parker but he hasn’t been around lately. Word going round is he O.D.’d again but that’s what everyone says about anyone that disappears for more than a day.

Thursdays tend to be slow all over the city so I visit Beg Site #3 sparingly. When I’m there I bunker down between the banks on 1^st Ave hoping for a few big scores from the ATM users. When I’m not there I spend the day getting high with Tommy in the alley behind the local Conservative Party head office.

I like to take Friday mornings off, often to recover from Thursday’s activities. Just before lunch I’ll hit up Beg Site #4 at Marlowe and Kennedy. There are several pubs in the area that draw big TGIF crowds and wallets tend to get a bit looser with all the booze flowing around. So do tempers though so you gotta be careful to avoid trouble.

Business remains brisk right through to nightfall and it tends to be my most lucrative location. I make a point of eating well on Friday nights and if the day was really good I’ll treat TJ to dinner at one of the organic grocery delis downtown. If she’s talking to me that day anyway.

Beg Site #5, outside the big shopping mall downtown, is great for the weekend tourist hordes. If TJ and I are on speaking terms we spend Saturdays and Sundays together and split the haul at the end of the day. People seem to give more generously to couples; we discovered that back in January during the cold snap when we had to huddle together for heat. Now we just cuddle for cash.

If they only knew the real story of us.

TJ and I aren’t exactly your typical couple, if we could be called that. Sure we drink and get high and screw, sometimes all three at once, but I don’t know if she does that with other guys or not. I don’t mess around with anyone else but that’s mostly due to a lack of opportunity. Mostly.

Ah TJ: part-time lover, part-time friend, full-time crazy bi-

“12^th and Smith!”

I thank Jerry as I hop off the bus and survey my workplace for the day. It’s empty of people now but that won’t last long, my clients will be along shortly. They always are.

Spare Change #1

2008-05-02T23:03:00.000-07:00

I wake at 7am sharp, as always. Not because of a screaming alarm clock, I have no use for that. Nor is it due to a noisy neighbour, for mine is the only occupied room in this two storey mockery of an apartment building.

No it is because of the stray cat, who I have christened Phakov. Because that’s what I yell when he invariably claws the bottom of my right foot at seven every… single… morning. I’ve tried burying it in cushions from the couch but he just digs his way in to find pay dirt. This time I had wrapped my feet in a rotten sweater I had found discarded in the back alley. No matter, his claws still found purchase in the wrinkled tenderness of my right foot.

“Fack off!” I yell dutifully (lucky for him I’ve always preferred the British slant on that one). It’s important that I play my part in this morning routine. I worry that if I break character Phakov might resort to more sensitive territory to get me off the couch. Some mornings I wonder what he wants from me. Usually I don’t.

I tumble to the floor as he eyes me benignly. The carpet smells a little less like rotting eggs than yesterday. I can see out into the hallway thanks to the door finally rotting off the frame last month. Not the most secure place on earth but it keeps the rain and some of the cold off. In the six months I’ve been sleeping here I’ve only been bothered once, by a few drunken frats boys that stumbled across my ‘home’. They roughed me up a bit but nothing too serious. That tooth had been loose anyway.

What a sorry mess this was. Pops would be so proud that I followed so closely in his footsteps. The only things I’ve missed out on so far are fathering a bastard (at least I think I haven’t done that) and developing that stupid disease of his. Then I could die of ‘diabetic complications’, as the doc would say, and I could call it a life.

“If I don’t have anything to eat for myself,” I politely ask the cat, “what makes you think I’ve got anything for you?” All part of the script of course. Now he would saunter off to the corner, sniff around a bit and then pee on my Yankees t-shirt. That used to piss me off, but then I remembered I never really liked the Yanks anyway.

Having taken care of his morning obligations, Phakov gives me one final stare then disappears until tomorrow to do it all again. Some days I wonder what he does between visits. Mostly I don’t.

Oh what a marvelous life we have together. I’m not sure what I’d do without him.

Alone again, I beat back gravity long enough to get to my feet in order to get on with the business of the day. In my line of work being on time is everything and being early is never a bad idea. It’s so easy to lose your spot and for me location, location, location are the three things that stand between going to sleep hungry and going to sleep starving.

As I head for where the door used to be I gather up the tools of my trade: my paper thin blanket, for sitting on in the summer and some distant cousin of warmth in the winter; my ghost-gray sneakers that barely remember having laces; and my trusty ball cap for donations to my cause. The logo is long gone now but I think there used to be a Bulls emblem on the front.

I tread lightly on the creaking stairs, part of me praying they’ll hold out for just a bit longer, part of me wondering who I’m praying to. I have no answer for that one, but I pray my way up and down that staircase every day.

The morning mist covers the broken glass and rotting trash, it almost brings beauty to this place. If only it hid the abandoned buildings and cars as well I might be fooled. Maybe I should put in some flowers, spruce the place up a bit. Nah, that would just bring the masses out here and I’ve got no interest in the overcrowding they’ve got downtown. I’ll take the relative peace and quiet of this dump any day.

I head for the bus stop, blanket over one shoulder and cap on my head, pulled down low. It’s time to try to convince the good people of this city that they can change the world with what’s jingling around in their pockets. It’s time to go to work.

And Now For Something Completely Different...

2008-04-26T02:21:00.001-07:00

And with the below entry, Mossy's Backpackers draws to a conclusion... for now. I'll probably come back to it at some point for stories from the road or something, but I'll be leaving Max, Cate and co. alone for the time being.

Starting next week I'll be beginning a new story, one that will be a complete departure from the one centered around Mossy's little hostel. It's much darker but hopefully won't be completely devoid of humor... I'm looking forward to it. Tune in next Friday for the first entry and a new look to the page.

See you then.

Mossy's Backpackers #25

2008-04-25T22:31:00.001-07:00

“More tea?” Cate asked brightly.

This is so not fair, Max thought to himself as he rubbed his throbbing temples.

You know, I’d hate to agree with you…

Ha!

So I won’t.

I hate you so much.

“Yes please, thanks luv,” Cindy said gratefully. “These omelets are fantastic Max, I don’t know if I’ve ever had a better noon breakfast.”

“Same here mate. And trust me,” Greg added with a laugh, “we’ve had plenty.”

“Oh, they’re easy enough to make,” Max said. “I always make them the morning, or afternoon, after a long night. And last night was longer than usual… what time did you wake up anyway?”

“I was up just after eight,” Cate replied as she topped off everyone’s peppermint tea. “I’m surprised I didn’t wake you, I barely managed to get you lying down on the couch without dumping you on the floor.”

“Dead to the world, milady,” he answered with a smile, his headache finally starting to recede to the background.

“Aw, I knew I shoulda drawn that mustache on you,” she grinned wickedly. “Don’t know how Tim managed to talk me out of that.”

“I guess that explains why he said ‘you’re welcome’ as he left,” Max said, thinking back to their groggy goodbye several hours earlier.

“Ha ha… wait, didn’t he tell us that too?” Greg asked, giving Cate a suspicious look. In response she quickly pulled out her road map and began to study the day’s planned route. “You cheeky devil!”

“That would’ve made for a great breakfast,” Cindy laughed. “For us girls anyway.”

“You’re both terrible,” Max said with a shake of his head before looking around the empty common room. “Man, this is going to be like leaving home all over again.”

“I know, I’m having trouble with it too and I haven’t been here nearly as long as you,” Cate said. “I’ll probably sub-consciously leave twenty things behind so we have to keep coming back.”

“Aye, a lot of good memories here. A lot of good people came through that door,” Greg said. “And a few bad ones too.”

“Ha ha, remember that Russian girl who kept trying to sneak her boyfriend in?” Max howled. “It might have worked too if he ever showered. And didn’t snore like a grizzly bear.”

“Oh mate, how could I forget… we could hear him from our room!”

“And that drunk Irish guy,” Cindy added. “Didn’t he want to fight you because you asked him to turn the music down?”

“Oh yeah, I’d forgotten about him,” Max said. “How I didn’t refuse him on sight is still a mystery to me. He came in the door hung-over with two cases of beer as his luggage.”

The four of them sat back and smiled, lost in their own favorite memories of the hostel. Their mugs and plates stood empty watch on the table but no one moved to leave.

“Hey gang,” Mossy said as he appeared from the back of the hostel. “Me and the missus made you a little something for the road.”

“That’s very sweet Mossy, thank you,” Cate said as she stood to meet him. “Do I smell cinnamon?”

“Apple and cinnamon muffins, baked fresh this morning,” he replied proudly. “Least I could do for my favorite guests.”

“Favorite…? Where are they, I’d love to meet them,” Max said, looking around the room and under the table. “But to be serious for a moment: thanks for giving me a second home mate, I’ll never forget my time here.”

“It’ll be strange to not have my Vibe Quality Control around,” Mossy replied as he shifted from one foot to the other before awkwardly offering his hand. Max swatted it away and swooped in for a hug, his fingers barely managing to touch the middle of the big man’s back. “Alright, alright, that’s enough of that. You kids best get going before I decide to adopt the lot of ya.”

“My mum would be here in record time if you did,” Max said as he stepped back, his eyes moist. He blinked several times, looked around the room one final time and turned to Cate. “I guess we’re all set then?”

She nodded at him, a quick little jerking motion, before giving Mossy a hug of her own. He patted her back as gently as he could and then was enveloped on both sides by Greg and Cindy. He looked to Max with tears forming in his eyes and gave him a goodbye nod as he freed himself from the knot of arms around him.

“You drive safe, now,” he said gruffly. “And don’t forget to send me a few emails to let me know what you get up to.” They all assured him that they would and then gathered up keys and maps and headed outside.

“Keep in touch,” Max told the Brits for the tenth time that day. Cindy gave him and Cate big hugs, Greg shrugged before doing the same, then they got in their little red sedan. With a long final honk of the horn they pulled onto the road and headed north.

“I guess it’s our turn now,” he told Cate quietly.

“We’ll be by here again,” she assured him. “With some great stories to tell… so let’s get started on them!”

Max nodded and climbed into their white rental hatchback, wedging the tin of muffins into the pile of bags on the back seat. He started the engine then sat looking at the front of the hostel for several moments.

“See ya soon, Mossy’s Backpackers,” Cate said. “It’s been a blast.”

Without a doubt, that it has.

“Later Mossy’s,” Max said as he put the car into drive and stepped on the gas. “It’s been the best.”

Mossy's Backpackers #24

2008-04-18T14:14:00.001-07:00

“How do you spell recommend?” Tim asked as he stretched his long arms above his head while balancing Cate’s journal on his lap.

“I think there’s a ‘q’ in there somewhere,” Max replied, barely managing to stifle a yawn.

“Oh shut up,” Cindy giggled. “Oh bloody hell, I’m getting the giggles again. What time is it?”

“Three-thirty in the am,” Diego said from his spot on the floor beside the couch. “Maybe we should do this after we get some sleep – I know my notes would be a lot more coherent that way.”

“What fun would that be?” Max asked as he stared at the blank page in Greg’s journal before him. Or was it Cindy’s? “Wait, who’s book do I have now?”

“Mine,” Tobias said sleepily. “I hope you haven’t written a love note to Caitlin in there.”

“I have, actually,” Max said with a half-crazed laugh. “But it’s okay, I’ll just cross out her name and put yours in and it should work the same.” At this Cindy started laughing uncontrollably and Greg had to latch onto her to prevent her from falling off the couch.

“I think I’m starting to sober up,” Cate slurred into Max’s shoulder. She had started out slowly with a small glass of wine at dinner but when Mossy had shown up with a keg on his shoulder things degenerated quickly. Max had kept pace with her for a while but gave up once he realized he was twice as drunk as she was after only five drinks.

She drank your butt under the table.

Well, two things to consider. One: tomorrow morning is going to be much more pleasant for me. And two: she probably won’t remember anything past dinner tonight.

Then it’s a good thing Jay and Tim have most of the night on video between them.

“What time are you lunatics planning on leaving tomorrow?” Jay asked, looking very relieved he could spend the day in bed.

“I’m aiming to wake up at noon,” Greg said. “We’re pretty much all packed up already so I reckon a quick shower and some breakfast and we’ll be out the door by one.”

“Noon seems a lot closer than it ought to be,” Cindy said while failing to keep a straight face. Greg sighed at her before tussling her hair fondly.

“I’ve got a bus to catch in the morning so I guess I’ll be first off,” Tim said with an uncomfortable glance at the time. “Nine am is definitely closer than it has any business being.”

“Nine?” Max groaned. “Why not catch a later bus?”

“Why you busing? Why no hitchin’?” Cate mumbled.

“Sorry, what was that?” Tim asked, looking to Max for help.

“How far do you have to go tomorrow?” he asked, taking a stab at the reason for the Texan’s mode of transportation.

“Oh, I’m heading for Stone Creek, it’s almost 8 hours by bus and only one bus can get me there in one day,” Tim said. “So it’s either nine tomorrow or nine the day after. And if I stay an extra day it’ll be a week later before I know it.”

“Fair enough,” Max said as he returned his gaze to the journal in front of him. “We’d give you a ride but we’re headed straight south. This is Greg’s book, right?”

“It’s Tobias’,” Greg, Jay and Tim said together, sending Cindy into another laughing fit.

“You should probably get her to bed,” Diego observed.

“I’m fine, I’m fine,” Cindy told him as she took several deep, steadying breaths. “I just need to put a note in Max’s journal and I’ll have done everyone’s.”

“I can’t wait to read that one,” Max laughed. “If I’m able to read it at all.”

“Don’t make me come over there,” she said menacingly before totally destroying the effect by breaking out in hiccups. Greg shook his head in a long suffering way then got up to get her some water.

“I can’t keep my eyes open,” Tobias said with his chin buried in his chest. “But I don’t want to be the first to go to bed. This is too much fun and tomorrow will be too sad.”

“We had a helluva good run here,” Max said. “And I think it’s safe to say that we’ve celebrated it in fine fashion but it has to end at some point.”

“Fine,” Greg said as he returned with two glasses of water, handing one to Cate and the other to Cindy. “You go to bed first.”

“Not a chance,” Max replied without hesitation. “Although technically Kisho and Haya went to sleep first, they just didn’t go to bed.”

“I’m not sure passing out in the lounge counts as going to sleep,” Jay laughed. “But I guess we’re stalemated and there’s only one thing to do: pull an all nighter.”

“Oh bloody hell, screw that! I’m going to bed,” Cindy announced. “Good night to you all, I’ll see you all tomorrow before we take off. Including you Tim, you wake us up if we’re still in bed when your bus comes.”

“If? We’ll be sleeping mate, but definitely give us a nudge, alright?” Greg said as he stood up then hauled Cindy off the couch.

“Get a good rest you two,” Max said with a sad smile. “We’ll join you for your noon breakfast.” The Brits, after several more good nights, left the room arm in arm to go collapse into their bed and in so doing gave everyone else the excuse to do the same.

“You almost done Max?” Tobias called as he dragged himself to his feet.

“Yeah mate, give me two secs to finish it up,” he replied as he added one final line to his goodbye note. He then printed his email address and handed it back to Tobias.

“Thanks,” Tobias said as he read it then laughed loudly as he reached the end. “Perfect, man. Totally perfect. Good night.”

“Night night,” Cate said much more clearly than she had said anything in hours. Turning to Max she asked, “What was so funny?”

“Oh, I just wrote ‘We’ll always have the Christmas tree’,” Max said with an impish grin.

“What in the world does that mean?”

“Ah, I think I’ll save that story for the road,” Max laughed. “Right now we both need some sleep.”

“Okie dokie,” she said and promptly fell asleep on his shoulder. Max looked around for help but everyone had already disappeared to their rooms.

Don’t look at me, I’m all tucked in. See ya in the morning!

Too tired to come up with an alternative plan, Max rested his head on Cate’s, whispered a final ‘good night’ to the hostel and soon joined her in slumber.

Mossy's Backpackers #23

2008-04-11T15:48:00.000-07:00

Max hit play on the CD player at the same time as he pressed record on the tape deck. He began nodding his head to the beat as the first notes of Talib Kweli’s ‘Get By’ started to fill the common room.

“Is that rap?” Cate called from the kitchen.

“No,” Max yelled over the music, “it’s good rap.”

Good response, as long as she believes good rap exists.

“I didn’t know there was such a thing.”

Uh oh.

“Give it a chance! It’s great driving music,” Max countered. “Don’t worry, this tape will only have rap that has minimal swearing, mostly positive themes and none of that garbage about disrespectin’ ho’s.”

… You have such a way with the ladies.

“That’s very reassuring,” Cate replied with a laugh.

Yeah, well, this one seems to like me.

I know, I don’t understand it either.

Max poked his head around the corner and found Cate nodding her head to the music as she scrubbed the counters. They had the hostel to themselves for the day since everyone else was out working in various orchards and vineyards around the area.

“Not bad, huh?” he asked with a smile.

“I suppose I might let you play this in the car,” Cate allowed. “As long as you make a mix tape from my Gorillaz and Blur discs.”

“Not a problem, that should make a sweet tape,” Max said. “You know, I’m almost glad the rental car doesn’t have a CD player. I used to love making mix tapes when I was in high school.”

“Yeah, nothing but the best of the best makes the cut,” Cate said as the song drew to a close and Max hit both stop buttons. A few moments later the next song for the tape began playing. “Who is this? It sounds familiar.”

“Jurassic 5,” he yelled. “Also known as J5, you might have heard that track they did with Dave Matthews.”

“Oh that’s it… the video for that is brilliant,” she shouted just as Mossy came in the front door. “Hey boss man!”

“Hey Caitlin,” Mossy said fondly, then paused mid-stride. “Is this rap?”

“No, no,” Cate said with a small laugh. “It’s good rap.”

“And here I was thinking you had decent taste in music,” he replied with a shake of his head. “Max is corrupting you already.”

“Hey big man, what’s shakin’?” Max asked as he emerged from the lounge area.

“Well well, if it isn’t the leader of the mass exodus from my hostel himself,” Mossy rumbled.

“Oh relax, you’ll be full up again before dinner tomorrow,” Max shot back. “Plus you’ll have eight people traveling all over the country telling everyone they meet that this is the best hostel on the planet.”

“Flattery will get you nowhere, mister. How am I going to replace you two? Jay and Diego will cover things for the next week but then they’re gone too!”

“Oh, that reminds me,” Cate broke in. “I got an email from my cousin Tammy this morning. Her and her husband Jack will be here in a couple weeks and they’d be happy to take over if you haven’t found anyone long term by then.”

“Well… hmmph.” Mossy looked like he was trying to find another complaint but was coming up empty handed.

“Don’t worry Mossy, we’d never leave you hanging,” Max said. Suddenly realizing the song was finishing, he rushed back to the stereo to stop the recording again. He returned to the conversation without starting the next track, knowing it was a lost cause until Mossy left.

“So tonight is the big send-off then,” Mossy said a bit sadly.

“Yeah it is,” Cate said. “Although I’m not sure Tobias and Tim are going to stick to their word about leaving with us tomorrow. Those two are even more reluctant to leave than Max!”

“It’ll be too hard to stay here with the rest of the crew gone,” Max said. “That’s why everyone has to leave together. I’ve stayed behind too many times already.”

“And there are loads of beautiful places to see before you go home, I’d hate to see you guys get stuck here and miss out on them,” Mossy said before quickly adding, “not that it hasn’t been a tremendous pleasure having you hooligans here.”

“Yeah right!” Max laughed. “The only party bigger than tonights will be the one you throw tomorrow night.”

“Nah, I won’t celebrate until all of you fly home,” Mossy snorted. “Until then I won’t believe I’m truly rid of you lot. I’ll be expecting you back every day otherwise.”

“Oh we’ll definitely drop by before we head back,” Cate assured him. “Max and I are doing a loop of the south before going north to catch our flight.”

“Your flight, singular?” Mossy asked in surprise. “That’s a heck of a long flight together.”

“I reckon if we survive that nothing can stop us,” Max quipped then gave Cate a sly wink.

“If we manage to get through being on the road together for two months then I can’t see a twelve hour flight being a problem. Besides,” she said as she turned to Mossy with a wicked grin, “I sleep like the dead on long flights.”

“You two are something else,” Mossy said bemusedly. “Alright, I’ll be back after dinner – I assume things will be in full swing by then.”

“You know it big man,” Max said as he headed for the lounge again. “Maybe I’ll teach you how to break dance tonight.”

“The only thing breaking would be my back,” Mossy grunted. “I’ll have to bring my best of Johnny Cash CD.”

“The Man in Black! Definitely bring that.”

“You’re hard to upset, aren’t you?” Mossy asked.

“It’s one of my better qualities.”

“That and your cute butt,” Cate pointed out.

“That’s it!” Mossy groaned. “I’m out of here.”

Take me with you!

“Admit it Mossy,” Max called. “You’re gonna miss us.”

“Ha!” Mossy yelled as he went out the door. “Not if I have anything to say about it.”

Mossy's Backpackers #22

2008-03-28T13:02:00.000-07:00

Author's note: to those that don't know, every word of the story of Haap is true. Sadly.

“Have you guys picked one yet?”

Max looked up from the mess of rental car agency pamphlets strewn across the table just long enough to scowl at Greg before returning to his work.

“Ah, I think we’ve got it down to these two,” Cate replied, pointing at the two leaflets open in front of her. “If we can decode their insurance policies we might finally be able to make a decision.”

“I knew I should’ve gone to law school like mum and dad wanted,” Max muttered.

Be sure to mention that next time you call home.

“Maybe we should get to Kinghaven and just buy a cheap used car,” Cate suggested.

“No way, no how, no thank you,” Max said without looking up.

“Why not? It wouldn’t be that much more expensive than renting and we’d get most of the money back by selling it before we head home,” she said, looking to Greg for support. “I met this Italian guy who actually sold his car for almost twice the amount he paid for it!”

“Obviously,” Greg replied with a mischievous grin, “he has yet to tell you the tragic story of Haap.”

“Hap? Who is that?”

“Haap is short for Hope And A Prayer,” Max said with a pained expression. “It was the name I gave the car I bought the day I got here.”

“No way… the day your flight arrived from Vancouver?”

“Yup – jet lagged and sleep deprived I went used car shopping and found Haap.”

God was that ever a brilliant decision.

Rot in hell.

“I’m guessing getting around on a hope and a prayer didn’t work out so hot?”

“Oh not at all!” Greg laughed as he pulled up a seat, eager to hear the tale one more time. “It ended up being very hot indeed. But let’s start at the beginning, shall we?”

“I’m going to need a…” Max began before he was cut off by Cindy placing an opened beer in front of him. “Yes, one of those.”

“I love this story,” Cindy told Cate. “Usually you hear stuff like this second, third or fourth hand, but we actually know the dumb git directly!”

“Thank you for the encouragement,” Max said dryly before taking a lengthy taste of his beer. “Everyone all settled in then?”

“Yup, I even just went to the loo so no bathroom break required over here!” Greg said happily.

“Alright. So. I bought Haap from this dodgy bloke at a backpacker’s car market. It was the cheapest small car there and it did okay on the test drive. Other than me almost hitting another car at an intersection.”

I will never get tired of this story.

“I don’t really know much about cars, all I was looking for was something cheap that would last for my trip here and maybe two days past that. So I pay up, decline the mechanic check-up because it was an extra hundred bucks I couldn’t afford…”

Brilliant move! Ha ha ha ha ha…

“… And get it back to the hostel. The next day I hit the road for a town about 100 miles away… it ended up taking me five hours to get there.”

“I’m guessing you didn’t get hopelessly lost?” Cate said with a wince.

“Nope, the engine overheated about 20 miles out of town, leaving me stranded on the side of the highway for two hours,” Max said as Greg began to whistle ‘Some like it hot.’ Ignoring this completely, he continued. “But I met some incredible people that day – this old English couple, who were going in the opposite direction, came back to see if I needed help and then went to get a mechanic to check the car out.”

“We English are a fine lot,” Greg said smugly.

“Not as fine as the mechanic though,” Max laughed. “He drove out to see me, towed me back to his garage, fixed things up and sent me on my way. Free of charge.”

“Oh that’s so sweet!” Cate said.

“He was probably half-English,” Greg grumbled.

“So. Not a very promising start to things,” Max continued.

Understatement of the year.

“In the coming weeks I discovered that Haap’s optimal highway speed was a rather modest 60 km/h. That led to me spending a whole lot of time driving on the shoulder to let other drivers pass. Then one day reverse stopped working…”

“No!” Cate cried out, her hand covering her mouth.

“Uh huh – from then on backing up required me tossing it in neutral and getting out to push. I also had to get five or six jump starts before I caved and bought a new battery. Most of those were at the side of the road after I pulled over to let the engine cool off.”

“I can’t believe you kept driving that junker,” Cindy said.

“I figured I’d drive it till it fell apart. Besides, driving that slowly gave me time to admire all the scenery a whole lot better than those poor sods going a hundred,” Max shrugged. “The beginning of the end came at the end of a long day when I stopped for gas. I started Haap up and smoke started billowing from under the hood. Turned out I had blown the head gasket…”

“Oh, that happened to my brother two years ago,” Cate said. “You didn’t keep going did you?”

“Lasted another two weeks,” Max said with a hint of pride in his voice. “Every road trip began with two huge jugs of water in the trunk. I had to pull over every fifteen minutes or so to cool off the engine and refill the radiator. Except on rainy days… Haap did much better then.”

“You’re insane,” Cate noted.

Bang on, girl. Bang on.

“Probably,” Max allowed with a smile. “I ended up abandoning it at a hostel after the local mechanic wouldn’t even take it for spare parts. Which was total crap, the seatbelts still worked perfectly!”

“Yeah and that was about it!” Greg said happily.

“I can see why renting appeals to you,” Cate told him as she rubbed his shoulders.

“Yeah, but I don’t regret it at all. I met so many friendly people, locals and tourists, that I never would have otherwise. It was a really good experience and I learned a lot from it.”

“And it gave you one ‘ell of a story mate,” Greg said as he raised his beer. “Here’s to Haap: may he find the joy in car heaven that he never found with Max behind his wheel.”

“To Haap,” Max said, clinking his bottle against Greg’s. “My first car… and probably my last!”

Mossy's Backpackers #21

2008-03-14T02:19:00.001-07:00

“Max? Wake up mate.”

Make the bad man go away.

“Come on, we need to get going,” Greg said, grabbing Max’s shoulder and shaking roughly.

Oh God, don’t do that…

“Unless you want me to ruin that shirt,” he finished aloud.

“What?”

“No shaking,” he mumbled. “Contents are volatile and under extreme pressure.”

“Gotcha,” Greg said as he took two big steps back. “Regardless, we need to get moving. The sun’s only been up for a couple hours and it’s already hot. If we wait much longer we’ll get fried on the road back to Mossy’s.”

“Mossy!” Tobias said excitedly, almost falling off his log. “We should call him, get him to pick us up!”

“Lovely idea, except for two things,” Cindy replied from her seat beside him. “One – he’s probably in as bad a shape as we are, or worse. And two… nobody brought a cell phone.”

“Bloody hell,” Max groaned and rolled onto his right side, coming face to face with the blackened end of a large log. “Who let me sleep so close to the fire?”

“You were quite insistent,” Cate said from behind him. He flopped onto his back again and looked to his left to see her sitting cross-legged beside him. “Hi.”

“Hi,” he grunted back, somehow managing to inject some affection into it. His effort was rewarded with a laugh and a tussle of his hair.

“Alright, seriously – get off yer arse,” Greg said. “We’re all dehydrated already and it’s only going to get worse.”

“Fine, fine… I’m up, I’m up Captain Sunshine,” Max grumbled, shaking sand out of his clothes. Cate stood up and attempted to clean off the blanket they had been sharing. Once most of the sand was set free she folded it up and stuffed it into her daypack.

“We all set?” Diego asked as he placed the last empty into a grocery bag. “Oh, don’t forget the guitar Max.”

Max slowly turned around to find the hostel’s acoustic guitar resting against a pile of driftwood.

Oh yeah…

“Right. I forgot I was that drunk,” he said quietly.

“You do a pretty good Jack Johnson,” Cate said as she passed it over. Without a word Max put his head and right arm though the strap and slung the guitar across his back.

“What, you’re not going to serenade us on the walk back?” Greg asked.

“I’m almost sober now,” Max replied flatly.

“So that’s a no then?”

“Technically, I believe that was a ‘hell no’,” he said as he led the way off the beach and onto the road. Before long the eight of them were strolling along side by side, effectively taking up both sides of the road. Cate was immediately to his right, with Jay and Tim beside her. To his left were Greg, Cindy, Diego and Tobias.

“You know,” Tim began, “I may be a long way from friends and family but I can’t remember ever having a more enjoyable New Year’s Eve.”

“Same here,” Max said with a smile.

“Me too, I’m going to miss you guys,” Tobias said sadly.

“I think I’ve had one better,” Diego said, “but I don’t really remember it. All I know for sure is that I was 18, single and on a beach in Cancun.”

“Now that’s a recipe for a damn good night,” Tim said with more than a hint of admiration in his voice.

“Well I’ll email you some of my pictures to make sure you remember this one,” Cate said as she patted her daypack.

Oh no, photographic evidence…

“Can I, um, have a look at those?” Max asked.

Good thinking! Now to drop it in a way that looks accidental…

Oh shut up.

“Yeah, of course,” she replied as she pulled the digital camera out and passed it over. “Just use the left and right arrows to scroll through them.”

The first few depicted the party at the hostel, including a particularly sexy shot of Greg eating one of the tacos Diego had cooked up.

“Nice mate,” Max said, tilting the camera so that Greg could see it.

“Oh lovely, ye got me good side,” Greg said.

“What?” Cindy said as she looked over his shoulder. “Oh, that’s not a shot of yer bum at all.”

Max laughed loudly and returned to scrolling through the pictures. Next up were a series of shots taken during their drunken promenade to the beach. The highlights were unquestionably the set of Tobias falling into, landing in and being hauled out of the roadside ditch. Twice.

“I don’t know how you’re able to walk right now,” Max told him.

“I don’t feel a thing but I suspect that’ll change by dinner,” Tobias said. “Speaking of which, if you need me between one and five I’ll be in the shower. Draining all the hot water out of this district.”

The last pictures documented their arrival and subsequent partying at the beach. Plenty of smiling faces around the fire, a few shots of Tobias and Tim passed out in the sand and…

That’s a keeper.

“I like this one,” Max said quietly as he showed Cate the photo of him playing guitar while she rested her head on his shoulder, eyes closed and smiling.

“Me too,” she said, looking slightly puzzled. “Who took that?”

“That would be me,” Cindy answered. “It was too perfect, how could I not?”

“Thank you,” Max told her sincerely. “Man, I can’t believe we’ll all be going our own way in a few days. It’s gonna be so weird without you guys around.”

“Emailing just won’t be the same,” Tim said. “So I guess there’s only one thing to do: yearly reunions.”

“That’s easy enough for you lot!” Greg cried. “You west coast hooligans will be in the same bloody time zone back home. Me, Cindy and Tobias will be the forgotten Euros in no time!”

“Like we could ever forget you!” Cate laughed as she reached over to retrieve her camera from Max.

“Hold on, we need one more shot on here,” he said. He then jogged forward about twenty feet before stopping and placing the camera on the road, facing the group. “How long is the timer on this?”

“I dunno, like five seconds?” Cate called back.

Max swore under his breath. It was going to be close. He set up the shot, laying stomach down on the road line to make sure everyone fit in the view finder. Satisfied he had the shot he wanted, he rose to a crouch and set up the timer.

“You’ll never make it!” Greg yelled cheerfully.

“Just watch me, fat man,” Max yelled back. “As soon as I reach you start walking forward, okay?” Without waiting for a response he pressed the button to start the timer and broke into a sprint.

Oh my God I’m going to be sick…

He skidded to a halt as he reached the group, spun on his heel and as one they took a step forward just as the camera produced a loud ‘click’.

“Oh, that could be a good one,” Jay murmured. They reached the camera as a group and Max reached down to collect it. He brought the picture up on the digital display and showed it to everyone. They all agreed that only one word could describe it.

“Perfect.”

The story returns this Friday, March 14th

2008-03-13T01:41:00.000-07:00

I've been busy with other things but I'm hoping to get it back to a weekly update. At least until the conclusion of Mossy's Backpackers.

Mossy's Backpackers #20

2008-01-26T23:59:00.000-08:00

“Okay so that makes Cate, Greg, Cindy, Tim and myself,” Max said. “Anyone else want in?”

“What’s going on?” Tobias asked as he returned from the kitchen carrying three bottles of beer.

“We’re going to the beach to build a bonfire and stay up to see the first sunrise of the year,” Max replied, gratefully accepting one of the ice cold bottles from Tobias. “Interested in joining us?”

“You’re all off your rockers,” Tobias laughed. “No way. I plan on being passed out on this couch by 2 am at the latest.”

“Aw, come on Toby! It’s going to be an experience you’ll never forget!” Cate begged.

“The amount of alcohol required for me to stay up that long pretty much ensures that I would forget it immediately,” he replied. “How are you guys getting there anyway? You’re not walking are you?”

“Oh hell no! Max is gonna piggy back me there,” she answered as she hopped onto Max’s back and wrapped her arms and legs around him.

Max took a swig form his bottle and contemplated the pros and cons of accepting this proposal.

No.

“If she gets a free ride,” Cindy announced, “then I better…”

“No,” Greg cut in firmly.

“You’re all bonkers,” Tobias said, shaking his head. “What time are you heading out?”

“Whenever my lady digs her spurs into me,” Max replied.

“I was thinking one or two, depending on what time things quiet down here,” Cate said as she rested her chin on his head.

“Alright, well ask me again when you’re packing up to go, I might change my mind by then,” Tobias allowed.

“Sounds good! Any other takers?” Max asked, doing his best to act as though having Cate perched on his back was the most normal thing in the world.

“Yeah, why not – we’ll go too,” Diego said from the far end of the couch where Jay and he had been talking it over.

“Excellent! This is going to be brilliant.”

“Ah, the persuasive power of alcohol,” Tim mused before taking a liberal sip of his rum and coke.

“Speaking of which – that doesn’t look like a Texan’s drink,” Diego said. “I thought you guys only drank beer and cow blood.”

“I prefer beer,” Tim replied, “but the coke will help me stay awake until the sun shows up.”

“That is a damn fine point,” Greg said. “As a result of this new information I think I shall switch to vodka and Red Bull. Can I mix one for anyone else?”

“Oh God,” Max answered immediately. “Absolutely not.”

“Haha, bad experience mate?”

“You could say that. The first time I got drunk was in Ireland – we had vodka and Red Bull at the hostel then went out for a couple pints of Guinness. I have never been so sick in my entire life.”

“Nasty,” Cate said as she slid off his back. “That would put me off it too.”

“Well, I’ll drink either on their own – just no more mixing!” Max laughed. “And it didn’t help that I had to hitch hike the next morning.”

This revelation was met with groans of understanding all around; almost all of them had been stuck thumbing with a hangover at some point in their travels. Although they had probably been wise enough not to do it in a country with roads as winding as Ireland’s.

“Hey, it’s almost midnight! Does everyone have a drink?” Cindy asked.

“A drink? A drink?” Greg winced. “It’s the start of a new year! Not just any drink will do. I’ll get the tequila.”

Despite several voices rising in disagreement Greg marched into the kitchen. Before long he returned with a bottle of Jose Cuervo and an armful of shot glasses. He moved around the room as everyone picked a glass from its precarious perch – some more enthusiastically than others.

“Alright,” Greg announced once everyone had their glass, “hold out your glass and I’ll fill ya up.”

“This is such a bad idea,” Tobias muttered as he eyed the amber liquid in his glass warily.

“Thanks,” Max told Greg after his glass was filled. “I think.”

“Hey, just be glad I didn’t grab the Fireball,” Greg warned him.

“Oh, I love that stuff!” Cate exclaimed. “It tastes like cinnamon – I want that instead.”

“No way, everybody has to drink the Cuervo,” Greg said firmly.

“Fine – then I want a shot of Fireball to go with it,” she shot back. Greg started to protest before realizing he had no ground to fight on. He gave in with a shrug and returned to the kitchen.

“Thank you very much,” Cate told him sweetly as she accepted the second shot.

“Whatever, ya nutter,” Greg replied with a shake of his head.

“Let’s count it down!” Tim called out. “Everybody up!”

Everyone not already standing scrambled to their feet with varying degrees of spillage. Greg eyeballed a few that looked rather intentional but was met with innocent faces.

“Ten!” Tim boomed out on his own before being joined loudly for the “Nine!”

Are you going to do it?

Do what?

“Five!”

You’re hopeless.

Oh. That.

“Two! One… happy new year!”

As one they raised their glasses in salute then downed their shot. Beside him Cate chased the tequila with the whisky before thumping the empty glasses on the table and turning to face him.

She looks um… determined.

Before he could react she rose up on her toes and kissed him firmly on the lips. She lingered briefly before sinking back down onto her heels.

“Happy new year, Max,” she whispered, smiling up at him.

“Happy new year, Cate,” he murmured back, his lips tasting pleasantly of cinnamon.

“I’d like to propose a toast!” Greg announced, then quickly added, “Of the non-tequila variety.”

Everyone gathered up their previous drink before giving him their full attention. Well, besides Max, who gave him about a quarter of his attention.

“To butcher an old saying: let new friends never be forgotten and may they often be brought to mind!”

“I’ll drink to that,” Max said as he raised his bottle, clinked it against Cate’s and took a good, long swig.

Mossy's Backpackers #19

2008-01-11T23:59:00.000-08:00

“… in a one horse open sleigh!”

“Okay, I need a break,” Greg announced as the music faded out. “I’m going to lose my voice.”

“That’s a bad thing?” Cindy asked as she hit the pause button on the stereo.

Before Greg could manage a snappy response the phone rang yet again. Max sighed and went to answer it, grumbling every step of the way.

“Hello and merry Christmas!” he said into the phone for the tenth time that day. He glanced over to see Cate stifling a laugh; he really needed to get better at cards. “Jay, it’s your mom.”

Jay smiled sheepishly as he came over to take the phone, then took it as far into the corner as the cord would allow before beginning to speak. Max laughed and left him to it.

“Want me to get the next one?” Cate offered.

“It’s okay, I think that is just about everyone anyway,” he replied as he threw himself down onto the couch beside her.

“God did me mum give me an earful this morning,” Greg said with a wince.

“Aw, she just misses her baby!” Cate told him.

“Ha! Hardly,” he replied. “She reamed me out for keeping Cindy away from home during the holidays – like this is all my idea!”

“That’s just her way of saying she wants you home too,” Cindy reminded him.

“Well that’s a whole lot more subtle than my mom was,” Tim said. “My Christmas present from her was a plane ticket home!”

“Seriously?” Cindy and Cate exclaimed together.

“Haha, I’m surprised my mom didn’t resort to that,” Max said. “So when do you have to go back?”

“Well the ticket says February 1^st but I’m going to see how much it costs to extend it until March.”

The girls did not seem to think much of this idea but the boys were in agreement that it was a brilliant maneuver.

“What did you get from home?” Max asked Cate to avoid any arguments that might develop.

“Oh, a few clothes and things,” she answered with a look that indicated she knew exactly what he was doing. “But the main thing was an extra memory card for my camera.”

“Wow,” Greg said. “Don’t they know that’ll only encourage you to keep traveling?”

“Nah, they know I’ll be back within a couple months at most,” she replied.

“Why’s that?” Cindy asked a little too casually for Max’s liking. It seemed like she already knew the reason, but maybe he was just being paranoid.

“Oh, it’ll just be time by then,” Cate replied without looking up from her drink. Max wasn’t liking this at all. He looked over at Cindy as she deliberately checked the time on the clock on the wall.

“Well Gregory, my darling,” she said, standing up slowly. “I do believe it’s time to give you the rest of your present.”

“You mean I get more than that new day pack?” Greg asked, looking totally confused.

“Mmmhm,” Cindy answered as she left the room swaying her hips suggestively. “You also get what’s inside the bag.”

“Oh,” he said, understanding dawning on his face. “Um, you guys will have to excuse me.”

“Too much information!” Max yelled as Greg left the room at top speed.

“I could use a present like that,” Diego muttered to himself.

“Well I can’t offer you that,” Jay said as he returned to the group, “but I did get you a little something.”

“Aw, thanks man!” Diego said as he accepted the wrapped box.

“That reminds me,” Max told Cate, “I’ve got something for you too.”

“Oh, you didn’t have to do that!”

“Come on, I left it in the office.”

Max lead the way, trying to keep his gait normal; this of course only made his feet feel like two piles of bricks. Once in the office he pulled a tin from the bottom drawer of the desk and passed it to Cate.

“Oh my… did you bake me cookies?! Are these chocolate chip?

“Mint chocolate chip, actually. Try one.”

Cate laughed and grabbed the top cookie, which revealed the hand written note tucked underneath. Max started to sweat as she took it out and unfolded it carefully.

“I am deeply sorry, from the bottom of my heart, for being such a complete waste of space,” she began to read out loud with a smile, then stopped and read silently for a while.

When the silence had dragged on past his comfort zone, Max cleared his throat nervously. But Cate put up a hand to keep him silent and did not look up.

“I obviously like you a lot,” she finally continued with a slight hitch in her voice. “I count myself lucky to have met such a fun, smart, fascinating and captivating girl. Please let me make up for my previous blundering and being such a colossal fool by allowing me to take you out for dinner.”

Where was I when you wrote this?

Sleeping.

Ah, it was a three in the morning job then.

“You’re lucky you’re such a cute waste of space,” Cate said, still looking down at the note.

“So… is that a yes then?” he asked cautiously.

She finally looked up at him and he could see the tears in the corners of her eyes. She blinked them away once, then again. He held her gaze with great difficulty; every muscle in his body screamed for him to look away.

At last she smiled a sweet, perfect smile, nodded slowly, and then walked away.

You can breathe again now.

Max let out the breath he had been holding for the last two years, then headed to the kitchen to pour the stiffest drink he could stomach.

Mossy's Backpacers #18

2007-12-21T23:59:00.000-08:00

Max watched the rain lash against the window as he finished wrapping the red garland around the curtain rod. He had not seen a storm like this since he had left Vancouver.

With two days to go until Christmas the hostel was buzzing with last minute preparations. Kisho and Haya were busy decorating the bottom of the tree while Tim used his height advantage to trim its upper reaches. Diego and Nigel were in the kitchen baking various goodies, their faces already half covered with flour.

Another bolt of lightening briefly illuminated the night sky with the inevitable deep rumble of thunder following shortly after. It had been carrying on this way since noon.

“Oh! The weather outside is frightful!” Tobias announced as he came in the door with three grocery bags worth of eggnog. He looked like he had just taken a shower fully clothed.

“Tis the season to be jolly,” Max told him as he helped to place the cartons on the dinner table. Tobias gave him a decidedly unjolly look before going off in search of a towel and dry clothes.

Max smiled and returned to his position by the window to watch the storm once more. He had always enjoyed Mother Nature’s spectacles and it had been much too long since his last viewing.

“And so it continued both day and night,” Cate sighed as she appeared at his side.

“Over the hills and everywhere!” he replied happily. She frowned at him before turning away from the window to survey her handiwork. She was obviously pleased with what she saw.

“All is calm, all is bright,” she smiled as her eyes moved from candle to candle. Cate had spent the last hour covering every available flat surface in the common rooms with lit candles of all shapes and sizes.

Mossy had arrived not long before Tobias and had eyed them nervously before going to the office without a word. Cate had decided this indicated encouragement but Max had managed to talk her out of lighting even more.

Max glanced to his left to see the Christmas tree leap into life as Kisho plugged in the lights for the first time.

“A beautiful sight,” Tim declared as he stepped back from placing the final ornament on their hard earned tree.

“Of all the trees, most lovely,” Cate agreed softly. Max was not completely sure she would feel the same way if she knew the nature of its procurement but he kept that to himself.

He stood watching the twinkling lights for a few moments before joining the now relatively dry Tobias at the dinner table. Together they arranged enough mugs to serve the whole hostel across the table top.

“All I want for Christmas,” Diego declared with a laugh as he brought over two bottles of rum from the kitchen. Max took one of the flour dusted bottles and began adding a few splashes to each mug. Tobias followed close behind with the eggnog, giggling every time he overfilled one. Which was pretty much each mug.

“We’re happy tonight,” Nigel observed as he arrived with the cinnamon and nutmeg.

“Heedless of the wind and weather,” Cate grumbled in reply. But she brightened considerably after taking a sip from the mug a laughing Max had passed her.

Kisho and Haya soon joined them for a drink, then Tim and Mossy, and before long the whole hostel was crowded around the table. The Spanish sisters Sara and Magdalena, who had returned to the hostel only a few days prior, were the last to arrive. It was then that Max and Tobias realized they had fallen two short in their estimate of the number of mugs required for everyone to have a drink.

“We won’t leave until we get some,” they declared in unison, sending the boys scrambling to find two more mugs. They did so in short order and it was not long before the sisters were mollified.

Never one for crowds, even when he knew everyone there, Max soon drifted away towards the TV lounge to find a bit of personal space. But not too much, as Cate drifted after him and they stood in the doorway together watching the crowd at the table.

After a few minutes of comfortable silence, Cate turned toward him to say something but stopped short with a small laugh. Max glanced down at her to see that she was looking above him, so he followed her gaze to find a mistletoe. Directly above his head. He swallowed hard.

I saw Mommy kissing Santa Claus underneath the mistletoe last night…

Max routed around for a moment until he found a nicely wrapped, large box. Then he opened it up, stuffed the voice inside it, closed it again and tied it up with several beautiful ribbons and bows.

He looked back down to see Cate smiling back at him, a bit shyly, but with a spark in her eye. She took a small step to close the distance between them.

Max glanced nervously at the dinner table to see if anyone was watching, but they were still busy chatting amongst themselves. Cate reached up and placed a finger on his cheek and brought his face gently back to hers.

As he looked at her the noise of the hostel faded away to nothing. Suddenly all through the house not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse. It was just the two of them, inches apart, growing slowly closer…

Suddenly the front door was thrown open with a bang and all the noise and people came rushing back to his senses. When he turned to see who had caused the very, very unwelcome intrusion, Max almost dropped his mug.

“Happy Christmas to all, and to all a good night!” Greg bellowed from the doorway, with Cindy grinning from ear to ear by his side.

Mossy's Backpackers #17

2007-12-14T01:31:00.001-08:00

“So what are we doing again?”

“Finding a proper Christmas tree for the hostel because Mossy has one of those horrid fake ones. And keep your voice down.”

“And we’re doing this in the middle of the night because…?”

“It’s ah… more of an adventure this way. And shh.”

“Right. I’m sure it has nothing to do with the legality of cutting down a tree on someone else’s property without…”

“Ok, seriously Tim? You’re at like a nine right now and I need you at a three.”

“Sorry,” Tim replied at about a six.

“Good enough,” Max sighed as he continued to inspect trees by flashlight. “How about this one? It looks about the right height.”

“Too few branches,” Tobias whispered. “Too many gaps, it won’t do at all.”

“That’s what you said about the last four trees,” Max grumbled. “Who are you, the Head Elf of Santa’s Tree Inspection Agency?”

Tim barely managed to smother a loud laugh with his arm while Tobias ignored them both as he persevered in his search. Another ten minutes passed in near silence before he came to a stop in front of another tree.

“Ah, this one is perfect,” he announced.

“Great, let’s get to work,” Max said quickly. To his eye it looked no different than the others which had not passed Tobias’ inspection but he had no intention of mentioning that.

“Where did you get that axe anyway?” Tim asked.

“Long story, not interesting,” Max answered as he examined the trunk.

“It’s Mossy’s, isn’t it?”

“Unimportant.”

“And he doesn’t know you have it.”

“Can we discuss this later?”

Tim grunted noncommittally but it was enough for Max. He passed the flashlight to Tobias and took aim at the disturbingly sturdy-looking trunk. His first swing hit home with a thud that sounded like a firecracker in the still woods.

“Hey Max? Your tree chopping is around a twelve, could we get you down to a four or five?” Tim asked happily. Max swore under his breath and kept going.

How long before Farmer Brown shows up with his shotgun?

Max tuned the voice out and continued hacking away. After several more swings his shirt was clinging to his back and he was breathing hard. He paused to inspect his progress.

Very impressive, you must be a tenth of the way through, the voice snickered.

“The Canadian Lumberjack Society will be very disappointed when they hear about this,” Tobias said as he shook with silent laughter.

“Do one of you two clowns want to try it?” Max huffed.

“Nuh uh, I’m on flashlight duty,” Tobias grinned.

“Here, pass it over,” Tim said as he rubbed his hands together. “Grab hold of it so it doesn’t come crashing down.”

Max got a firm grip on the trunk about halfway up and braced himself. Tim’s first swing almost rattled his teeth right out of his mouth.

This keeps getting better and better.

After two more bone jarring swings Max was ready to try chopping again. But before he could say anything Tim swung again and the tree came free from its base. It looked like he had not even broken a sweat.

“Well then,” Max said evenly. “Let’s get this out of here. Tim grab the top, I’ll grab the bottom, Tobias lead the way back.”

“Yes, good plan,” Tobias said as he glanced first to his left, then to his right. After looking over his shoulder he asked, “Which way would back be?”

I knew we should have brought a video camera for this.

Max opened his mouth to reply just as Tim grabbed the top of the tree and pulled it towards himself. The sudden shift resulted in Max being on the receiving end of a mouthful of pine needles.

“Isn’t it that way?” he finally managed as he picked the last needle out from between his front teeth.

“I thought we came from that way,” Tim offered from the other end of the tree, pointing in the opposite direction Max had indicated.

“Well at least we have a tree, we’re halfway through this!” Tobias said a bit too optimistically for Max’s liking.

He shifted the tree into a more comfortable position on his right shoulder and studied his surroundings. After a few moments he could say with complete confidence that all of the trees looked exactly the same.

That was when they heard the dogs barking in the distance to their right.

Dogs? DOGS?!? Fantastic.

“Ah…” Max began, “may I humbly suggest that we try going…”

“… In the exact opposite direction of the rabid dogs?” Tim finished in a rush.

“Follow me,” Tobias squeaked. As he started off (in a direction neither Max nor Tim had earlier suggested was the correct way) he asked over his shoulder, “Should I turn the flashlight off?”

“I’d rather not walk face first into a tree, thanks very much,” Tim responded through gritted teeth.

“Can we pick up the pace a bit? They’re getting closer in a big hurry,” Max half whispered, half yelled.

They lurched into a faltering half-jog with Tim and Max getting regular eye and earfuls of pine needles. The dogs grew steadily closer.

This has got to be the single worst idea you’ve ever… is that the road?

It was. Seconds later they were clear of the woods and back on sweet, smooth, obstruction free pavement. Tobias spotted the hostel van immediately, about a hundred meters up the road.

“Let’s go, let’s go!” he yelped.

As quickly as possible with their burden, they arrived at the back of the van. Max unlocked the double doors at the back and they stuffed the tree in. For one heart stopping moment it did not want to fit but one last shove from Tim got it the rest of the way in.

As they shut the doors four howling, barking, foaming at the mouth dogs burst through the tree line and onto the road behind them. Tobias whimpered, Tim swore loudly and Max simply said, “Get in. Now.”

They scrambled around the sides, Max jumping in the driver’s seat as Tim and Tobias dove through the sliding passenger door. They slammed it shut just as the first dog drew even with the rear tires.

As the scraping of their claws against the door echoed inside the van Max gunned the engine, threw it into drive and floored it.

“Is this some kind of Canadian Christmas tradition?” Tim asked from the floor behind Max. “Because if it’s not, it really oughta be.”

Mossy's Backpackers #16

2007-12-07T02:10:00.000-08:00

Max grabbed a t-shirt off the drying line and inspected it closely. He did not remember this one having a hole in it before.

“I’m going to burn all of my clothes when I get home,” he announced.

“That’s a great idea,” Cate laughed as she plucked off one of her socks from the other line. She stuck a finger through a hole in the toes and continued, “I think I might have to join you.”

“I am so sick of all of this stuff. Well, except for these shorts. I still love these,” Max admitted as he unpegged his chocolate brown cargo shorts.

“Well you should, you look good in those,” Cate told him with a smile that threatened to make him sweat, even though the sun had just sunk below the horizon.

“Ah, thanks,” he replied as he busied himself with more laundry.

Lordy you’re smooth. It’s a small miracle she hasn’t leapt into your bed yet. How does she contain herself around you?

You are so helpful, Max sighed. Remind me to put in a nomination for you the next time a Humanitarian award comes up.

“I’m hoping my parents send me some new clothes for Christmas,” she said, then froze mid-motion. She gave him a horrified look before explaining, “I can’t believe I just said that. My mom has hideous fashion sense. I will never say that again.”

Max laughed loudly and took his last shirt off the line. He added it to the pile in the hostel’s crumbling laundry basket at his feet and frowned.

“Remind me to yell at Mossy about these baskets, they’re bloody terrible,” he muttered.

“A man who cares about laundry baskets? Well I do declare, I’m feeling a bit faint,” Cate drawled as she fanned herself with a sock.

Max shook his head at her but before he could reply he heard someone ring the bell at the check-in desk.

“Do we have any empty beds tonight?” Cate asked as he headed inside.

“Just Cindy and Greg’s,” Max replied over his shoulder.

“It’s been four days now,” she chided him gently.

“I know, I know…”

He navigated the hallways, lost in fond thoughts of the recent closeness that had developed between Cate and himself. They had spent the last two evenings talking about anything and everything late in the night. Max had almost fallen asleep mid-sentence last night, so reluctant was he to part with her company.

You should take her out to dinner some time. You know, a real proper date?

That’s actually not a bad… what the hell?

As he rounded the last corner the backpackers responsible for interrupting his most recent Cate Time came into view. Three girls were gathered around the desk, chatting excitedly amongst themselves. Each of them was wearing brightly colored flip flops, intricately flowered sarongs and bikini tops. And nothing else.

You told me Barbie wasn’t real. You also neglected to tell me about her sisters.

“Ah, welcome to Mossy’s,” he said as he approached them. “How can I help-?”

“Oh wow, is this like, your hostel?” the shortest one asked.

“Um, no… Mossy isn’t around at the moment. I’m Max, I help-”

“Oh cool,” she interrupted again. “I’m Tiffany and this is Lizzie and Bobbi.”

“Hi,” Lizzie and Bobbi said together, which caused them to giggle at each other.

“Hello,” Max managed to say politely enough, eliciting more giggles.

We still hate air heads, right? Good, good. Out the door-

“So we’re like, totally desperate for a place to stay,” Tiffany continued as Max sat down behind the desk. “The other two hostels in town are totally full.”

Wow, she interrupts everyone, including me.

“Yeah it’s a bit late to be showing up without a reservation,” he replied as he prepared to break the bad news to them.

“Wow your hair is super curly,” Lizzie gushed. “Is that natural or do you use product?”

“Ah, no, it just does whatever it wants, no gel or anything,” Max answered, caught totally off guard. He could see out of the corner of his eye that most of the guys in the hostel had stopped what they were doing to watch the scene unfold. There was going to be a small mutiny when he turned these girls away.

“Normally I don’t like curly hair on guys,” Tiffany confessed, “but on you it looks way hot.”

Ah… well… hmm.

Max silently agreed with this profound assessment of the situation.

“So do you have a girlfriend?” Tiffany asked as she leaned over the counter, her eyes giving every indication that she hoped the answer was no.

“Ah, it’s complicated,” Max replied as Cate came around the corner. He squirmed in his chair slightly before moving on. “And sorry, we only have a double bed available tonight.”

“Oh that’s alright,” Lizzie said as she joined Tiffany’s leaning over the counter party, “we’re very close. We share beds all the time.”

More giggling.

Bloody hell. What are you supposed to say to that?

Max had no idea but thankfully Cate stepped in to help him out. Or so he thought.

“Are Johnny’s and The Picker’s Rest full up tonight?” she asked, joining Max behind the desk.

“Yeah,” Tiffany and Lizzie replied together, straightening up suddenly. No giggles this time.

“Well we can’t have you sleeping on the street, now can we?” Cate asked Max sweetly.

Yes, we can.

“No, I guess not,” he replied weakly.

Traitor.

“Right then,” she beamed at him before turning back to the Valley Girls. “We’ll squeeze you into the double room tonight but you’ll have to find another hostel tomorrow.”

Can we lock them in there?

“Thanks, you’re a life saver,” Tiffany said politely as she looked Cate up and down.

“I’ll show you to your room, just follow me,” Cate said cheerfully as she stepped out from behind the desk. She turned to Max and told him brightly, “Be back in a flash, Curly.”

She’s… evil.

Yes, Max thought to himself. And if she was doing this to anyone else I’d think she was hilarious.

Too bad the joke’s on you then.

Indeed.

Mossy's Backpackers #15

2007-11-30T08:42:00.000-08:00

Max lay in the hammock, rocking gently from side to side. He was gazing at the sunlight being filtered through the leaves and branches above him, completely lost in thought.

Cindy and Greg had left just after lunch and he had spent the two hours since then out back with only his thoughts for company. He knew everyone else was inside watching an important game of some sorts on the TV but he could not be a part of that just yet.

Max needed, quite simply, time to miss two people who had grown to be very dear to him over the last few months. Close bonds tended to be forged quickly and deeply on the road and this one was no different.

In the absence of friends and family, finding kindred spirits is a joy that tends to be latched onto with a fierce grip and treasured greatly. This results in the time of separation being especially difficult and jarring.

Max closed his eyes and tried to center himself before rejoining the crowd inside. The two Brits were fantastic company and he knew they would keep in touch. And there were still several guests remaining that he was close to, like Tobias and Tim and Cate… oh, there was very definitely Cate.

“Hey Max, you alright?”

He kept his eyes close and continued swaying slowly as his thoughts were scattered to the wind.

“Hey Cate. Yeah I’m alright, just needed some time to myself.”

“Want some more or is it okay if I join your mourning party?”

“Haha, no, go ahead and grab a hammock. It’s very therapeutic.”

Max listened to Cate settling into the one behind him, their shared tree yawning lazily at its new burden. When she next spoke her voice came from close by, which meant she had chosen to lay heads together. For no particular reason he found that comforting.

“Funny how quickly you get attached to people when you’re backpacking,” she said wistfully.

“Yeah, back home it would take a year to get to know people as well as you do in a month at a hostel,” Max agreed, opening his eyes to once again watch the sunlight play with the leaves overhead.

“Do you think it’s just the combination of forced close quarters and common interests,” Cate asked, “or do you think these bonds would happen as long as the people meet at all?”

“You mean do I think I’d be close to the same people at home as I would be on the road?” Max asked carefully.

“Yeah, I guess that’s what I was trying to ask,” came the soft reply.

Suddenly he was not so sure they were talking generally. Things were getting very specific, very quickly.

“Well,” he began while grasping wildly for the right words, “I reckon the potential for that closeness would be there – it would just take more time to develop at home.”

“That’s true – I don’t even see my best mates more than a couple times a week back home.”

“I guess we’re lucky then,” Max replied before he realized what he was saying, “it would have taken forever to get to know each other so well back in B.C.”

Well that’s probably the bravest thing you’ve said to her. Sadly.

Aye, he thought, or the stupidest.

Cate took a few moments to reply as Max held his breath and hoped for the best.

“Yeah, we are,” and he could hear the smile in her voice. “Which reminds me – about the other night, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have imposed on your trip like that. I had no right-”

“It’s okay,” Max told her gently. “I’m glad you did.”

“No, I really… you are?” To his biased ear she sounded a little surprised, a bit confused, and a whole lot pleased.

Damn biased ears, trying to show you reality when all your big stupid eyes want to see is –

Hush, this is important.

At least you’ve got that much right.

“Well I know for sure I’ll need that extra kick out the door to leave here,” Max laughed. “By then I’ll have been here longer than I was in each of my last 3 apartments in Vancouver!”

“Right, yeah that’ll be tough,” Cate said a bit flatly.

We’re losing her here...

All in due time, all in due time.

“And it’ll be great to have someone to split a rental car with,” he continued casually.

“Totally,” she replied without a hint of enthusiasm.

Psst, Houston? We have a problem.

Oh ye of little faith.

“Maybe we can go the Jay and Diego route and paint it red and white, with the words to O Canada written on it.”

Cate gave a forced laugh, and then Max heard her shift around in her hammock as though she was preparing to get up.

Good idea girl, I’m out of here too.

Well, if you like – but I don’t think you’re going to want to miss this.

“But most of all, it’ll be great to have some company on the road. Especially,” Max closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and dove into the deep end, “when that company is as fun, smart and pretty as you.”

You… no way…

You are now free to leave me the hell alone.

Cate paused for a short eternity before finishing getting out of her hammock. Max heard her approach but kept his eyes firmly shut as he did his best to remain calm.

“Despite your best efforts, you can be very sweet Max,” Cate said as she reached down and tussled his hair. He slowly opened his eyes to see her smiling down at him, her face framed by her sun-fired hair. Not having the slightest clue as to how to respond, he turned once again to his old friend Silence.

“Come back in soon,” she told him with a small wink. “The hostel isn’t the same without you.”

She turned and strolled back to the hostel, pausing briefly at the doorway to turn and give him another smile. After she had disappeared from view, Max counted to ten and, as casually as possible, followed after her.