Narrative

It was a dismal late September afternoon in central Maine. Miles down a dirt road five men are standing under a large pine tree. Rain beating down upon them it’s a wonder why anyone would be out in such weather. Let alone a group such as this. This is a group you wouldn’t expect to see working together. Two city kids in their high end coats and designer jeans. A clean cut Charlie Sheen looking character, a tall man wearing an army airborne cap. Then there was a sizable fellow wearing a black leather riding coat, a pair of well worn Levis and a pair of riding boots. A pair of aviators cover his eyes in hopes to hide his plethora of sins. That man clad in leather was the only one you’d expect to find in such a scene. Under that pine tree the five men were passing a shovel back and forth as they dug a sizable hole. With long faces they dig like they’re on a mission. The men pause only long enough to pass the shovel back and forth. The shovel is passed many times as the hole gets deeper. Through those aviators a watchful eye could see the wheels turning in the leather clad man’s head. He’d run through this scenario many times before but never expected it to be quite like this. He’d never doubted that he’d one day find himself hand digging a grave somewhere alongside a dirt road. He’d just never expected it to be during daylight and certainly not with this particular group of acquaintances. A moonless night would have been comforting to him. In fact the only part of the situation that fit was that everyone present had a hand in it. All men present were equally involved and therefore no one was innocent. Little was said after the men finished their digging. An eerily casual nod amongst them and they were making tracks.  

It was the first, but not the best-or was it?

It was the first, but not the best-or was it? My 1975 Honda 400F was my first streetbike. It was beautiful in my eyes. Black paint so shiny it seemed like you could dive right in. It has a limited production pipe; mullholland shocks and enough other performance parts to make this a long and boring read. With all those top notch parts and pieces the bike had a look and a sound that made me feel like a hero any time I rode it. With a top speed of about 108mph it wasn’t exactly fast as streetbikes go; but it was fast for what it was. I used to be able to leave the house and redline through every gear before the first turn. Downshift twice and through that first right hand bend with foot peg dragging and tachometer well into redline. I loved listening to those four little cylinders howling a song out through the pipe. Downshift once more and run through the left hand turn that was rapidly approaching pulling the weight off the left peg as I leaned harder into the turn. Down over the hill I come to a halt at the bridge. This scenario played out day after day when the sun was shining. It was my first and I’ve never ridden another that put me into that same hero mindset. I’m always looking ahead knowing the best is yet to come. We all know you can’t go back.

Dialogue

Indentured Dave,” Well I’m Big Bad Jake and I’m the best”

Jake, “What the fuck are you talking about?”

Indentured Dave, “You”

Jake, “I never once referred to myself as anything, sure as fuck didn’t talk about myself in third person”

Indentured Dave,“ You don’t have to, it’s the way you are”

Jake,” whaddayamean?”

Indentured Dave, “Every time you open your mouth its like you’re just pointing out you’re the best”

Jake,” Fuck you”

Indentured Dave,” I’m not trying to be a dick”

Jake,” you don’t have to try”

Indentured Dave,” whatever”

Jake,” don’t whatever me”

Indentured Dave,” like your truck, every time it comes up in conversation you talk about how tough it is”

Jake,” says the guy that wants me to take MY truck and MY car trailer to fucking Poughkeepsie to get your piece of shit car”

Indentured Dave,” well yeah”

Jake,” why should I go get your car?”

Indentured Dave,” cause you’re the only one I know that will haul that far”

Jake,” say it”

Indentured Dave,” cause you’re the best”

Jake,” don’t you forget it, especially when we’re hauling your piece of shit car out of the ghetto”

Indentured Dave,” yeah yeah”

Jake,” one more yeah and you could be a Beatle”

Indentured Dave,” Huh?”

Jake,” nevermind”

Indentured Dave,” f u”

Kayla,” you’re lucky you’re a big guy”

Jake,” huh?”

Kayla,” the way you talk”

Jake,” what’s wrong with the way I speak?”

Kayla,” that’s just it”

Jake,” okay?”

Kayla,” saying what’s wrong with the way I speak”

Jake,” I’m not following you”

Kayla,” Most anyone else would have said something along the lines of I don’t talk funny”

Jake,” care to elaborate?”

Kayla,” you use words most people up here have never even heard”

Jake,” so what, I’m a loser that fell asleep reading the dictionary more times than I care to admit”

Kayla, ”really?”

Jake,” sadly”

Kayla,” oh”

Jake,” I’m just a hick with a good vocabulary”

Kayla,” there’s more to it than that, you talk like you’re better than everyone else”

Jake,” I don’t mean to, I was just raised to be the better person; perhaps I took it too literally”

Kip,” Is that a real gun?”

Jake,” Yes”

Kip,” Is it loaded?”

Jake,” Yes, why would I carry a gun that wasn’t loaded?”

Kip,” why would you carry a gun at all?”

Jake,” cause a cop is minutes away”

Kip,”Fair enough”

I sit alone in a quiet room. With mind racing I shut out the lights to try and minimize stimulations. I sit longing for peace from outside influence. Quickly I realize that the immediate look of darkness isn’t what I’d hoped. As my eyes adjust to the darkness shapes become clearer. The collage of black and white photos on the wall opposite me appears as my eyes adjust. Slowly the shape of the single engine plane in one of the photos takes shape. A lone figure in a hallway the subject of another photo comes to light. Only one other of the group has enough contrast for me to identify with the lack of light. It’s a group of headstones in a long ago forgotten cemetery. To my left is a window sill with my wireless router blinking aimlessly on it. Below that is the Rinnai heater with its faint green light on subtly stating it was all systems go. Out of the corner of my eye there’s motion from the lights of a large plane flying over.

Alone in a quiet room

I sit alone in a quiet room. Here I sit on my overstuffed green couch under my fuzzy green blanket. Sitting here I hear the wind blowing the sleet against the tin roof. It’s a new sound for me. I just moved into this flat the second week in December. I find enjoyment listening to the sleet while under my green blanket. Listening to the sleet was well on its way to easing whatever was on my mind. Then the Rinnai heater kicked on and ruined my listening to the weather with an intrusion of mechanical noise. A faint rumble as it comes up to temperature. Now up to temperature the fan kicks on adding a whirring noise to the mix. Though a fairly quiet source of heat it aggravates me. I’ve spent far too many hours in noisy garages. The countless hours I spent with an air impact gun in my hand hammering away on whatever euro-trash car needed a clutch or strut on any given day. Now even faint mechanical noises grate on me.