Chapter 1

A Chapter by Joey Calvo

Noah Rose, an 11-year-old girl has started off pretty rough. Her mom doesn't believe in her dream of being a sailor. Luckily, Milo is here to help. With the two of them together, anything is possible.

Chapter 1:

Milo and I were cooped up on Vernon’s porch for more than half an hour. Sometimes, it was nice to sit and talk about the things that were never true. It’s not like I haven’t talked about the future before. Sometimes after long nights out, when Milo was long gone tucked away in his home and I have been underneath my blankets for a few hours, I think to myself about it. But nothing is better than talking about my hopes and dreams with Milo. I wish that everyone was so open minded as Milo was. No matter what your greatest ambitions may be, he’ll never doubt that you can make them come true. Perhaps it was because he’s five years older than I, or maybe he was just born that way; my superfluous rants about him could go on forever, but don’t worry, I’m not attracted to him; I’m only eleven.

“That’s the thing,” he said, biting his lip. “I’ve always thought that to be yourself, you have to do what makes you happy. So, what might that be?”

“Well,”

I was reluctant. Unfortunately, I find some of my own ambitions embarrassing; one thing Milo says isn’t healthy.

“I know this may sound sort’a, well rand’m and I guess…gender defying? But I’ve always wanted to be a sail’r. What do you call a girl sail’r , Milo? A sail’a? Sail’ressa?”

Milo chuckled; he usually was amused by my misconceptions. “No silly, there really is no gender to a sailor. It’s not like other languages like Italian or Spanish; in English, we all are sailors. You’re a sailor and so am I and so is your mother! But it’s not just the language that states there’s no gender, it’s society. Men and women can all be sailors if they fancy it.”

I always looked up to Milo. The way he spoke was always so poised, except sometimes I feel he was holding back just 'cause I was a kid: and it seemed that no matter what the circumstances, he always knew what to say, and I admired that. When I was eight and a quarter, my grandmother was on death row. I asked, “Gramma, what should I say to you b’fore you go?” And she replied, “Whatever your heart desires, Noa. Now is your chance to tell me all the things you need to, because I will adore every second of it.” Now that was sweet and all but when I asked Milo the same question he simply stated, “Goodbye.” Now that was perfect, and when I told my grandmother, she smiled.

“You know,” I replied, brushing my choppy bangs to the left of my face. “I’d love to go right now, suit up and hit the water, but it’d never work. Mama wants me to be a seamstress, like her and gran’a. But I don’t wanna do that, Milo. I wanna be myself! Ain’t nobody ever run around telling everyone they wanna be someone who makes peoples clothin’s all day! I wanna tell people that I get to be on a beautiful sailboat and cruise the lake every day of my life; that’s what I wanna do! But mamma says no, and what she says goes.”

Milo looked akin to me. “I know how it feels. When I was growing up just like you, Noa, I wanted to be an artisan. I love art, pottery, abstract sculptures and so many other things. I’ve always wondered what it was like making the commodities I and so many others use every day. And I wanted to be that so bad! But Vernon says no, and what Vernon says goes.”

He looked at me, half smiling. I had caught on that he had stolen my words, but I didn’t find the situation amusing enough to comment on.

“I remember that first conversation. My dad sat in the living room, adjacent to the kitchen where I was. I knew he had to know. I’d run down to Mr. Eugene Hanson’s shoppe every now and then and I'd just admire it so much. He truly is amazing at his craft, it’s hard to think that I wish to be like that someday. But I went over to him and just said it, 'Dad, I want to be an artisan, like Mr. Hanson. I want to make and sell and be successful, just please let me pursue what I’ve foreseen for so many excruciating years!’ And that broke the final straw. ‘Ya know what?’ my dad screamed. ‘Iv had it wit your stupid f****n’ joke jobs! You need to be a lawyer like me, follow in my footsteps! You sit around here al day and nev’r do anythin’ but talk ‘bout your idea that being a nob’dy who sits al day makin’ art’sn’crafts is out of your mind! If I here one more thing ‘bout your ditzy dream job, that’ll be the last time you talk to anyone again! Now get out of my face, b***h!’ I knew it was useless to try to argue my case any further, but I sucked in my gut and said it. ‘I don’t have to be something just because you want me to!’”

Milo took a long pause.

“And then what?” I carelessly asked, but he said never mind and changed the subject. We talked a little more for a while (the conversation began to gradually shift towards my problems). Milo just kept reassuring me that I would someday get that dream and make it a reality. Then, to my surprise, he suggested,

“How about we go down to the docks?”

My reply was obviously yes. We walked down the winding roads to the dock areas. They were in the West side of Rivermere while the Christians lived more to the East. It was a fairly long walk, but I’d take every chance I get to go down there. I love to look at all the beautiful sailboats dreaming they’d be mine someday. I was fortunate in that I lived right in Franq, a fairly small county just near The Rhom. That meant I was the halfway mark between Milo’s house and the docks. We stopped by my house along the way. I wouldn’t say it’s the most beautiful house I’d ever seen, but it was nice for Franq at least. It was a small cottage with one story, rustic window shutters (although they never were crooked; my mother was very pernickety about those kinds of things), a dirt pile of a garden, and the door; all mounted together by thick cement and heavy bricks. It wasn’t the most lavish place in the world, but it was home.

“I’ll be just a minute,” I said. I trailed off, parting with Milo and meeting my house. I knocked on the door, forgetting about the rear entrance for nearly three minutes: and then let myself in the back. I called, “Hello? I’m home mamma….you there?” The house was silent. I crept down the hall to the bedrooms. I checked the closet, the pantry, the oven, the living room and the rest of the house, but she was nowhere in sight. I shrugged and made my way out the back again to catch up with Milo.

“She isn’t here,” I yelled. “Should I lock up?”

“I don’t think so,” Milo ran his fingers through his hair. “We’re coming back anyway, might as well just leave it.”

I did as he said and we continued out walk, passing The Rhom. Sometimes I felt that it was so overrated. Besides, the only time the town ever congregates there was today, and Milo and I didn’t plan on joining that love fest. We made our way westward and finally reached the docks. I couldn’t be more excited (well, if I was a sailor I could be). The boats had a paltry shadow casted upon them by the sun averse to the sliver of glare on the boats seamless seam. The sails were masted high, such perfect knotting. It would take me years to learn to hoist a sail so elegantly as the pros did; if I started training now, I’d have a better start. We approached the docks.

“Hey, Milo?”

He turned his head to the right, so his eyes were looking into mine. “Yeah, what is it Noa?”

I was hesitant, “Well, I was just wondering…I don’t wanna both’r you all the time n’stuff but I think I’d really like it if we came here more often, to the docks, ya know.”

He smiled and cuffed up his button down. “Well, as much as I’d love to come down here with you all the time and things, there isn’t really that much…”

Milo was interrupted by a loud “Hey, Milo!” We both turned our faces sharply as to see who it was. I saw who it was and said, "Aha, I knew I've heard that raspy voice once before!" It was Mr. Hanson. Milo’s face lit up; his idol standing right there out on a fishing boat, (which I didn’t know he even owned). It wasn’t like Eugene was some elusive celebrity, I’ve spoken to him before on more than one occasion and he is a very sweet man, but It's not like he's that illustrious. So has Milo --we have together, of course.

I waved at him and Milo waved as well. We looked out onto the lake watching Eugene wave back and clumsily loose his footing and fall off the bow of the boat into the water below. All that was heard was a prime example of the Doppler effect as the word “Woah!” was heard in decreasing volume as he plunged into the water. I chuckled, and surprisingly, Milo did too.

next chapter

© 2015 Joey Calvo

Author's Note

First chapter of my book, what do you think?

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Reviews

busterlee

I am impressed. I read this chapter out loud and found myself talking in some kind of accent. What's the setting? The rambling thoughts of Noa make her feel real and believable. Keep writing.