The Story: Not Yet Titled.

Overcome with an incredulous decision to leave his family and picture perfect life behind, a teenage boy by the name of Cove escapes to befriend a stranger with a terrible secret that threatens his life. Though sick and complicated, the story unravels and

 

When all is said and done, I never appreciated life more than the day I found myself staring down at my lifeless body, lying peacefully in that black coffin. It was an icy, Sunday morning. The sky was radiating white hues, so bright they could impair the blind, and not even a bird came out to greet the vast amounts of people that lined the doors to the church. If any wandering tourist had the innate desire to come out in to the cold that morning, they might have believed the lines would make way to a rollercoaster, or to the grand opening of some hot shot retail store maybe, NOT to the covenant that would allow a myriad of individuals to spend the day mourning the loss of Mountain Side High School’s greatest hockey player, the teenage boy who went missing one summer, just two years ago to this date.

The out of body experience is much, much different than what they say. You feel alive. More alive than on the days you actually spent breathing. You feel the warmth of lights burn down into your flesh, and you can taste the tears of every individual in your soul.  The anxiety eats away at your insides, and you drench in the sweat that builds up because you want more than anything in the world for people to peel back their eyes and see that you are present, that you are indeed still alive, still breathing, still watching. The reality is that you go unnoticed however, and why shouldn’t you? The main attraction is you, in the form of a comatose corpse, lying amongst the darkest yellows of satin in that extended, burnished, charcoal colored coffin, and what you are seeing, what you are feeling, is much different than what everyone else in that room is experiencing. It’s in THAT moment of your life, well what you think to be life anyways, that the days you spent succumbed to Earth flash before your eyes, and you are either disappointed in the choices you made, the questions you asked, the answers that gave way to decisions you completed, or you are proud of the sacrifices you endured, the dreams you made reality, and the strength you gained when you lived although you felt everything was quickly coming to an end;  which when considering the circumstances, came quicker than you ever imagined.

 

I take a seat on the velvet red stage of the church, and watch the pews fill with people, and feel the pressure of the wall cascading with their whispers and their cries. My eyes trace the colors of the clothes, so many shades of black I think to myself, and my lips feel the tingling of every person muttering my name. I see Mr. Benson, fourth row back second seat in. I catch my breath. Donned in a soft grey and black flannel, neatly pressed ebony slacks, and perfectly polished Doc Martens, I barely recognized my former manager.  I wanted to rip the clothes off of his lean, aging body, and I wanted nothing more than to see the familiar ACDC shirt he lived in, to smell the stench of his brown Dickies that made you just want to go out and spend your minimum wage on buying him a new pair; I wanted to see comfort, I wanted to experience the familiarity again. Steven’s round framed glasses were extremely cloudy, and as he pulled them off his face to wipe them amongst his trousers, I watched the tiniest of tears leave his jade embellished eyes and travel down the lines of life in his visage. It was in Steven Benson’s shop that I found my escape.  A man of insight, and wisdom, he breathed lyrics and black coffee, and lived off of Def Lepperd melodies and quotes from even the oldest of Literature books.  My part time job at his CD and book shop changed my life forever, and I’m not just speaking of the security in his pay checks or the joys in the laugh lines I gained from being around him, I’m reflecting on that balmy day in February when a man by the name of Thomas Petilunas made his way into the store that afternoon and altered my days of existence from then on out.

I was always one that took pride in my appearance, even if my job required me to rearrange the dustiest books to ever be encountered, and to stack, organize, and alphabetize millions of CD’s to the point that the band names bled into my cargos. I saw this as a privilege however, which is why I did my best to dress for the occasion. I wore a blue polo that day. And I only remember this specifically because the iridescent sapphire of its threads just had to have been the origins of the man’s eyes that were staring back at me; so threatening, so inviting.

Mastadon. Megadeth. Merciful Fate. Metalicca. Motley Crue. Last one, Morbid Angel. Deep breath in, deep breath out. Wait, that’s not right, Morbid Angel, THEN Motley Crue. Ha! Perfect I told myself, I felt so pleased in my hidden talent and almost daring drive to alphabetize anything if given the perfect opportunity. How many people in this world even loved metal to begin with? Totally classic. But to add the irony, he had brought up metal CDs that all started with M, and the greatest ones too might I add, but let’s just disregard my opinion. Back to his eyes.  In Greek mythology there is a theory that states that everyone at one point was whole. And that men and women were attached to their soul mate, forever and ever, born that way and left to die that way as well. Well Zeus being the power tripped god he was, but having such amazing insight, saw the incredulous power in the attachment of a man and woman who could feel so strongly about each other it almost became chaotic, and decided to separate every individual; almost as a punishment.  He bound everyone from then on out to spend their lives searching, living, and penetrating to find their other half and experience life as a whole again.

As I took Metallica’s CD case and wiped the dirt so cleverly attached to the creases with my indigo polo, I looked up and saw those eyes again.  So fixated on me, they burnt into my sockets and almost challenged me, but they had the familiarity in them of someone I was close to, bound too, but someone so unknown to me; I had never seen this man before in my life. If polos were searching for their other halves, my shirt would have found itself going home with that man’s eyes. Creepy. But it was such an identical match it was almost surreal, so unreal it scared me.  The whitest of blue waves were staring at me, begging me for answers, yet pleading me to be the one to insinuate unknown questions, and I’d look down to the fabric that grazed my own body and still feel that way. Wait, back up a little, did I just say white? D****t, I muttered to myself. White is in association with snow. Snow is in association with ice, and we all know in this town that ice is in relation to the rink, and well, do you see where I am going with this? I had practice in ten minutes, and it looked like my lack of tardiness would take a deep plunge today. The next couple minutes became an uncontrollable blur. Reaching for the purple carry-out bags, while simultaneously trying to figure out the quickest route to the rink since Meadows Blvd was closed down, I managed to drop ALL of the CDs. They slipped out of my hands so carelessly, so delicately, with so much power they fell to the mahogany wood floor, much like when dice leave one’s palms in a game of Yahtzee, except for this was no Full House, this was plain and simple a huge mess.

“I am soo soo sorry,” I pleaded to this complete stranger, and although these were the first words I’d ever exchanged to this man, I felt we had been conversing for life, me being the one who spend days talking, elaborating, questioning, while he just stood there, with those eyes, with nothing to say and everything to show. I hopped the counter and began picking up each individual CD, my desire to alphabetize was put on the back burner, and I became competitive, like a tiger in hunt for his prey. My focus was on getting the mess cleaned, and getting the hell out of there. Steven came over; he bent down like he had been picking up disarray his whole life. I could see the wearing in his brown Dickies as he continued to glide amongst the floor picking up the business cards that managed to fall over in the midst of my slip shod accident. I kept glancing up at that round clock, minutes were flying by like nobody’s business and my anxiety built up as I realized I NEEDED to get out of there. “I’m sorry Steve, I’m late, I uh, I have to go!” Steven muttered intellect thoughts amongst his breath, but I’d like to think that for one minute this laid back man was cursing at me behind his half closed lips. I grabbed my backpack from the back room and sprinted for the front. My mind was in focus, I was preparing for the game. I would drive to Avenida Road, make a left, and I’d take the alley way to miss the boulevard and make it to practice with 8 seconds to spare. I pushed open the door, and heard the familiar chime that let me know that business was present when I was usually on shift. The cold air hit me real hard, just hours ago it was unbelievably sunny, almost scorching. I scrambled for my keys in my back pocket while I half sprinted, half jogged. Piecing through the keys, like scrambling down the ice, gliding in my skates, wanting nothing more than for the puck to hit the goal, I found my car key and looked up hoping I was closer to my vehicle then moments before. But this time approaching, I ignored the dirt on my White Chevy. I didn’t scold the tiny crack that embellished the back window like I did every time,  I just stood there for what seemed like an eternity and I watched the ashes fall to the blackened concrete. I noticed his eyes light up with smoke at each puff. Without a care in the world he breathed in fire and exhaled comfort, at least so it appeared. And like a scene out of a movie his eyes drifted toward me, now a deep blue. NOT matching my shirt. He then half smiled, half frowned, and in that moment, in one careful motion, he reached into his pocket and pulled out this black leather wallet, so compact if not for the color I would have never seen it. Still staring at me with such familiar desire, not even glancing down, he pulled an ID out and let it take over his entirety. “Thomas Petilunas. I’d like to have a word with you.” That wasn’t an ID, that was a badge. Much different then how they are resembled in movies, might I add, but nonetheless a badge.  I never made it to practice that day, and I would never hear the end of it. But for the remainder of my short life, I would remain tardy, would remain distant, and would remain deep in thought. It was in the conversation to follow that I would decide a new future for myself. One that ended, well with tragedy of course, but in all honesty, I had no clue what I was doing.

Author's Note

This is the chapter of a book that I one day hope could grace the shelves of even an independent book store. The introduction is captivating nonetheless and the story line plagues the back of my head, I haven't touched or added to the story in a year.

Reviews

[misha]

You are a very great writer. I simply love this story. I do hope you make this into a book