1. A Brief Introduction to Stewart Evans

1

A Brief Introduction to Stewart Evans

 

I’ve always been old for my age. My high school nickname was ‘Granddad Travis’ because of the aforementioned. Also because as an adolescent, I apparently bore resemblance to Fran Healy the lead singer of then-popular indie band ‘Travis’. I would resolutely point out to my peers that this served to be a bad nickname, as ‘Granddad Travis’ had more syllables than my actual Christian name and therefore took more time and effort to say. This only seemed to prove some sort of point as far as they were concerned and spurred them on. Not that it bothered me too much nor was there any malice intended. Simply, I was mildly irritated by it.

                   When everyone turned seventeen and fake ID was discovered, my friends and I embarked on an exciting new life-direction. Alcohol, girls and partying became the norm for a short while and everyone �" dripping in their own self-made image of cool �" was experimenting; sexually, chemically and otherwise. My ‘Granddad Travis’ alter ego would become incredibly bored of this after merely a couple of weeks. Like a million generations before us and a million to come, we thought we were the pioneers of rebellion. Trying drugs, staying up all night. Meeting girls and fighting with boys, all the while believing we were cutting edge and that nobody had done it before. The realization; that we lacked originality, put the whole thing into the cold light of day and it all became tiresome to me. I started going out less, opting instead to stay in and read the studies of Sigmund Freud and the philosophical works of Plato and Descartes. I alienated a lot of friends doing this, and my social circle shrank considerably.

                   A couple of months before my eighteenth birthday an opportunity to move to and work in Southern France presented itself. I was a commis chef at a good hotel at the time and my mother (who’d moved to France a few months prior), had managed to get me a job offer at an English run hotel near to Cognac. I didn’t see any reason not to go. So I split up with my girlfriend, had a ‘goodbye party’ and boarded the next available plane. In the year that I lived abroad, I made no effort to keep in touch with anyone in England and what was left of that social circle was gone forever.

The twelve-month period during which I called La Charente region in South West France home; I learned more about life, people, culture and food than all of my previous years put together. A year of my highest highs and lowest lows, I became fluent in a foreign language, learned to cook true cuisine and drank more of the finest cognac than I envisaged most royalty have had chance to.  I also learned about loneliness in a form more pure than ever previously experienced and missed (even that which I used to hate about) England with a strong and fervent passion.

                 I returned to our green and pleasant land after hitting (what I later learned to be very common for people living abroad) the one-year wall. The best chef job I could get, in a small café/restaurant in the town center. Lasted two days. I ended things by walking out after a ready-meal lasagna was returned by a particularly idiotic customer. I felt the step down from fois gras to microwave lasagna was too steep and that yet another change in direction was needed.

                 I ended up in a rubbish “stepping stone” job. Living in a small flat above a kebab shop, with no remaining friends �" except for one old school friend who was so regularly off his face on class A drugs, that he hadn’t noticed I’d been gone for a year.

 

That brings us to the start of this story. The story of a journey embarked upon by an elderly gentleman in a young man’s body. A tale about love, faith and personal transformation. But, perhaps most of all, about secrecy. Secrecy, which breeds lies and must be carried around like venom in the bloodstream.

 

I have learned that everyone is hiding something, from someone, from himself or herself. Sometimes big, sometimes small. Everyone has secrets. Over the following pages you will learn mine and I have more of the deepest, darkest than a man’s fair share.

 

It’s a Sunday afternoon and I’m now eighteen years old. There’s a cold wind and small bursts of refreshing rain are occasionally thrown sideways across my face. Since returning from France I haven’t been able to find a job I want or like but need to pay rent and find myself working for a chain of convenience stores.

I’d been transferred for the day to a neighboring town because they were short staffed and having finished my shift I’m now waiting outside for a lift home from that store’s manager; Paul.

Though I didn’t know him well, I hated Paul. He looked like the living caricature of a pig and acted accordingly. A short hunched man in his mid-twenties, he lacked morals and social skills. This meant any conversation with him inevitably ended in a graphic verbal rendition of his sexual endeavors. I suspected they were all lies and that he lived with his mum and watched a lot of porn but never felt the need to challenge anything he said. Instead I’d just stare quietly into the distance and wonder why his monotonous life and terrible job didn’t seem to bother him.

“You could’ve waited inside, save getting wet.” It was Paul’s voice, nasal with an audible wheeze at the end of every sentence. “I don’t mind the rain” I replied with a polite smile as I began to follow him to his car. “You don’t mind getting wet… That’s what she said” Paul’s piggy face sneered at me, he looked proud of his vulgar, basic humor.

We’d been driving for less than a minute when Paul tells me we need to take a detour to pick up a girl he’s met. He describes her as a “dirty little b***h”. His top lip curling up as he does, I read a mixture of hatred and sexual excitement from him and it makes me feel extremely uncomfortable. I stare at the raindrops on the passenger window and focus on them. Each one more precious and important than the vile nonsense now spewing from the piggy king’s mouth.

My attention is dragged back when Paul slaps me on the arm. I realize I haven’t been listening for a few minutes and react with: “sorry, what did you say?” He looks annoyed at my obvious disinterest but continues anyway. “I said; Sarah has a friend that’s coming out too, if you wanted to come have a drink with us?” Nothing could be worse I think to myself but opt to reply in the more polite manner of: “No thanks, I’ve got plans later”. True to from he presses again, asking if I have a girlfriend and then telling me “We’ll go back to my flat, I’ve got some vodka it’ll be an easy lay”. The sentence makes me flinch and I politely decline for a third time.

Who is this guy, I think to myself. I barely know him and he acts like this. Looks like he doesn’t live with his mother though or maybe she’s away or something, probably to Tenerife. My ability to be mentally side tracked by my own conjecture is a curse to this day.

“Well it’s your loss mate,” he mumbles. I hate being called ‘mate’ never more so than at this precise moment in time. 

We pull off into a quiet street where two girls are waiting outside a house. As soon as we’re close enough to them, my stomach knots and my throat closes up. These girls are precisely that, just girls. One looks around fourteen and the other even younger. “Here they are” Paul’s voice suddenly sounds more predatory than before. “So, how old are these girls?” I ask, trying to sound as nonchalant as I possibly can. He throws a strange look at me before one side of his mouth curls up into a disgusting half-smile. “Old enough”, the words slither out of his mouth and linger there. The different meanings for what he could mean by them whiz around my head like loud and vicious flies.

They must be older than they look. Paul’s just invited me back with them. Invited me back and blatantly insinuated sex, he wouldn’t do that if they were just kids… Surely?

The two girls clamber into the car and I’m introduced to Sarah and her friend Izzy. Izzy is the younger looking of the two and while Sarah is brash and loud mouthed, Izzy seems nervous and uncomfortable like she is doing something she shouldn’t. Her face has a youth and innocence to it and her voice seems to tremble slightly as she murmers “hello”.

A few minutes pass and I say nothing. Most of the conversation consists of Paul saying disgusting and inappropriate things. Izzy sits in silence. I can see her in the corner of my eye when I feign interest in Paul’s comments and turn my head towards him. Her body language is closed and she is peering out of the car window a strange look of anxiety across her face. Sarah �" sat behind me, is the dead opposite. She can seemingly see Paul for the disgusting creature that he is but enjoys it, spurs him on. Shouting things like “You love it you f*****g pervert” at Paul then laughing with a mixture of playfulness and that specific type of cockiness that is bred only by immaturity. She’s the usual troublesome girl. Daddy issues, wanting to rebel in the most severe way possible. An ideal target for someone like our driver.

“Where do you want dropping?” Paul asks me. “Err… anywhere here is good” I reply. We’re miles from my flat but I fancy a walk and don’t want to spend any more time with him and Sarah. “You sure?” He pulls over to the pavement before I answer. With a forced smile I open the passenger door, “yeah, thanks for the lift. Nice to meet you Sarah, Izzy… bye”. The girls murmur their goodbyes. Before Paul speeds off, I catch Izzy’s eye one last time. She’s looking at me like she wants to get out of the car too. It strikes me how pretty she is, in a way that only a young girl can be. Big innocent eyes unblemished by time and the inevitable hardships and compromises that come with it. I feel a weird sense of protection towards her but before I can work out why or act on it in any way, the car vanishes around the distant bend. Leaving me to wonder why I had a wrenching feeling in my gut.

It’s raining much harder than before so I zip my jacket all the way up and begin walking at pace in the direction of my house.

I find it hard to get Izzy’s face out of my head. You’re being over dramatic I tell myself. Paul’s just a bit weird and forward; he’s not a pedophile’. ‘It’s just two girls �" of age. They’ll go back to his, have as much drink as they choose to and then go home �" when they choose to. I put an earphone in my right ear and begin to listen to the typically melancholy music I’ve always enjoyed. Besides I think, all girls look younger than they actually are, to me.

              It’s twenty minutes before I get through the door of my flat. The cold and wet has soaked through my jacket and into my bones and the only thing on my mind is getting warm again. I notice an envelope on the floor; it has the recognizably scruffy handwriting of my landlord on it. Throwing my wet jacket on the floor and picking the envelope up I stride into the kitchen to put the heating on.

Inside the envelope is a note that reads: ‘Stewart, rents late AGAIN. If no money by 15^th I need you to move out. Sorry and all that s**t. Chris’. I ignore the bad grammar; my mind instead wonders why someone who hates tenants so much would choose landlord as his profession. That’s just people I guess, love to hate. A thought I had every time I spoke to the kebab shop owner downstairs. A man, that chose to move to England, despite hating the English. To spend the majority of his time making food he �" and I quote; “hates the smell, taste and sight of”. That’s just people and in the wise words of a philosophical old drunk I once met “people are people”.

The fifteenth is two weeks away, I was being paid on the twelfth so didn’t need to worry about rent. I sit and think to myself; no work ‘till tomorrow afternoon, I have thirty pounds in my pocket… I’m going for a drink.

 

Reviews

[Jennie Baron]

Thanks for bringing this write to my attention, Stefan. I like it very much; the first chapter has set just the right tone of suspense. I wish I had time to read on right now. Don't know that I have any particular advice except what Greg has given you below. I notice those kinds of picky "English teacher" kinds of things, but found if I got too caught up in grammar, punctuation, etc., I spent too much time on that rather than focusing on the essence of the story.
More later,

[rezzychic]

I really enjoyed this read. The first few paragraphs in the present tense didn't grab my attention like I expected but as I read on I became more and more focused. I really like the way you transitioned from past to present. I also like the fact that you're able to artfully write in present tense, something I've never been able to really do. I also like the pure feel of the English culture you have here, just the general tone and vernacular. The only advice I can give for this first chapter right now is that a lot of the text is spent inside the main character's head. I feel like there isn't enough that goes on outside his thoughts, in the moment. I feel like we don't really get a great deal of detail about his surroundings and all that is taking place around him. We get general detail and that's fine, but perhaps add a little more? Perhaps find a more equal, or at least more close to equal balance, between inside and outside the reader's head. However, this isn't something that takes away from the piece, just a thought. I really enjoyed the chapter and am fairly grateful I have a second right here to go ahead and read!

[AprilRN1210]

I'm afraid I do not have much criticism or advice to give so far from what I have read, but felt compelled to express my enjoyment of material offered.... It flowed easy, kept my attention, and thoroughly entertained so good job:)

[Chris Atkinson]

This is excellent Stefan, the first chapter has left me wanting to read more. You are clearly a talented writer and I am looking forward to reading more. Obviously as your editing the book you will be checking the gramer so I wouldnt worry to much, just keep proof reading it and you will pick up on little gramer mistakes. I am the same, and have to read over my writing a few times as i write so fast when i am in the flow. but Stefan this defenatly is an amazing start to a wonderful piece. like I say it has left me wanting to read more, good job

[fingerprints79]

Is it me or is everyone on this site like ten times better then me.
I enjoyed the chapter for me it really picked up as I continued to read it. By the way if you do read mine I need to warn you I'm a bit "inexperienced" with this kind of stuff. Anyway I enjoyed it I might even read more.

[Gre7g Luterman]

An interesting enough opening to the story. I do wonder where it will go!

A couple things:
1. You wrote "When everyone turned seventeen and fake ID was discovered," but perhaps "and discovered fake IDs" would be better.
2. You started out in past tense and switched to present. If possible, change all the present to past as readers seem to prefer it. Be consistent, regardless.
3. Your use of quotation marks throughout this chapter is iffy. Re-check them. Use double quotes unless putting a quote inside a quote, then use singles on the inside. Don't put any spaces between your quote and the text it surrounds.