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Prologue
Chris had his reasons to be nervous. He wasn't sure whether this was a good idea or just another one of his overnight inspirations that came to nothing. Procrastination can be found deep within Chris, and more often than not he chooses to drag things along till he finds a solid excuse to relieve himself from his own obligations. Those so-called overnight ideas are the source of his "troubles" and the feeling of another wasted day often lead him to rush, resulting in the failure of the task at hand. With a frivolous heart issue and a powerful addiction of chewing his fingers, that weird feeling that everything goes suspiciously as planned was enough to make him enjoy the stress.
"I'm looking for someone random, someone with experiences that passed unnoticed and worth the telling!" he said while chatting with a friend a couple of weeks ago and now his luck brought him here, in the bus en route to the suburbs.
The buildings were getting sparser as the bus drove further off town into the eastern side. The place breathed out a post-war feeling; immense blocks of concrete left alone, lifeless and gray as if they were hastily abandoned, leaving only the remains of a once thriving industry. But no, that's not it... it's just Sunday. Stepping off the vehicle the signs were displaying typical major city outskirt scenery, with awkward wide and long spaces and red patterned tiles on the sidewalks. Empty and silent. Post war or not, the smell couldn't get any worse; it couldn't even compete with the sweaty odor inside the bus. The mix was a combination of shit, tar, sulfur, and burned car tires. "I prefer the armpit..." Chris thinks as he compares the delightful spectrum of essences offered to him.
He reached the crossing and jogged across the road avoiding some muddy dents, trying to keep himself as dry as possible. The weak rain had been going on for several hours and the day reflected the mood of most people; grumpy and grouchy with a pendulous tendency for arguing. Nevertheless a rainy day suits him best and in a way fits with the mood of his business. He dropped a quick glance at the city on his left and it was like he could hear the traffic muffled over people's chattering. It seemed vague, drowned in a thick misty layer enhancing the sharp stench of shit even more. The rain got a little wilder and a sudden chill ran through his spine, briefly electrifying both of his shoulders. He took his phone out and browsed his contacts."Hi, I think I'm close" he said on the telephone looking around, "Ok, I go left and.... ok, ok got it, see you there!" He put his phone back to his pocket and jogged once more to the directions given to him. He reached an entrance of a building, kind of isolated from the rest. Most of the buildings are used mainly for work spaces, but someone could easily turn one into an apartment. Not very hospitable place for a condo but when it comes to isolation it's more than perfect. Chris was wondering how someone could live in a place like that, but it didn't take much time to grow fond of the idea. He finds himself increasingly attracted by scenarios where the case revolves around alienation. The idea fascinates him although it doesn't seem to fit with his social behavior.
A low-key guy: not much of a talker but sometimes more than intended. Humorous, frugal, solitary, understanding... the type of person who asks for pardon several times a day, but ending up regretting it before he hits the sack. When with people, he inspires good mood and emits a relaxing vibe... just like an air freshener, but at the end of the day he prefers the tranquility and the comfort of his loneliness. Not much more can be said about someone's limits.
The entrance of the building was brand new and highly secured, with thick glass on the left and right sides of a large wooden safety door. To the left was a small console with shiny silver buttons with name tags right next to them. Most of them were blank and some others were filled with expensive professions, but on the upper right corner was one named "Me". Chris looked at it slightly troubled, thinking whether this was pretentious arrogance or something of an attempt for anonymity. On the other hand -he thinks- that when they spoke on the phone earlier he said to him: "...you will find me". Was it humor? If it were, he nailed it. A brief buzz sounded and with a gentle push on the door he entered the building. The floor was marble, chess- like, with a plastic ficus on one side and a huge mirror on the other. The ambience was spooky, which was no wonder on a rainy Sunday afternoon, with a semi-lit hallway, noticeable lower temperature and a creepy way in which the voice echoed in the room. He pressed the elevator button and shortly after he was on his way to the sixth floor and while in there he checked his shoulder bag just to make sure he had everything he needed, fixed his hair and flicked some raindrops off his jacket. "Me" he thinks again and a discouraging knot bound his stomach. "What kind of man is he?"
When he stepped out it was dark and chilly, he looked around not knowing where to go when a warm light lit the hallway on his left and a sound of jingling keys echoed throughout the floor. He approached the corner of the corridor and looked at the far end where a door opened and a man appeared smiling.
"Chris?" asked the man.
"That's right" replied Chris as he was walking towards him.
"Hello, welcome!" said the man, "I hope it wasn't too much trouble finding the place!"
"No, not at all" he said, as they shook hands.
"I wasn't sure at first, everything around here looks alike".
The man laughed, "Yeah sure they do, it was a bit of trouble for me too when I first got here. Come on in!"
"Right" he said scrubbing his shoes on the mat at the front door.
"Would you like something to drink? Coffee, water..." he paused "...actually that's all there is!" he giggled.
"Just water will be fine." said Chris smiling.
"Make yourself at home" said the man as he was preparing the drinks behind the small kitchen stand.
Chris left his shoulder bag on the floor and took his jacket off.
"Nasty weather, right?" he asked the man.
"This fucking blows! Every morning I feel like someone was beating the crap out of me all damn night!"
"Freaking moisture does all the work, ya know..."
"Yeah, sure. It's that time of the year." he approached the coffee table and left two cups.
"Is it alright if I smoke here?" asked Chris.
"Sure. I’ll join you" replied the man bringing also two glasses and a bottle of water. He sat on the couch and took out his tobacco. Chris took his smokes out and lit one up.
"How's Floyd?" asked the man.
"Fine I think, it’s been about two weeks since I last saw him."
"He's that kind yeah... coming and going."
"He's hard to find."
"So, what's this all about then? Are you going to make me famous?" said the man cracking a smile.
Chris laughed "I hope, for the sake of us both!"
"I hope that too!"
"Floyd must have told you already but I feel obliged to explain this myself."
"Sure, why not."
"I am interested in writing a story, not exactly as a pro writer but as someone who's just into it, and this is where Floyd comes in. Last time we met I told him about my project and I asked him if he had someone in mind who may have something worth telling and, most importantly... sharing."
"Right..." said the man, vaguely reluctant.
"I don't know if he was accurate enough, but I'm going to tell you anyway. It's not just an interview where you talk for about an hour and then I write what suits me best... It's going to be the real thing. That's what I have in mind; to write down a story, but not just a fairytale... I mean the real deal!"
"How did you come up with this?"
"Well I think it has something to do with a story I overheard about a guy with amnesia..."
"Really?" asked the man, "amnesia?"
"Yeah, he was in a traffic accident or something like that. He woke up, couldn't remember a thing, freaked out... Anyway my point is that now this guy is fine, as far as I know, and he is completely recovered. I'm certain he has an interesting story to tell, if there is really something to remember..." he giggled wondering to himself whether he went over the top at the end, but the man seemed to enjoy his sarcastic joke.
"Yeah, I'm not completely sure of it too" said the man, puffing his cigarette.
Chris drank a sip of water and took out another cigarette.
"I am still having a hard time getting it, though... Why don't you make up one story of your own?" said the man.
"It's not hard, I've done it before and I can do it again. But why waste my time making up stories when there are people like you for instance, who's got a good one to tell?"
"How do you know I got a good story?"
"I don't... I trust Floyd on that."
The man smiled, shoving his cigarette into the ashtray and leaned back on his chair.
"What did he say?"
"He said that you have a... seven-year gap and that you're a psycho..." said Chris, with the man now laughing and coughing his lungs out.
"Everyone bears his own cross man! "he said restraining another laugh.
After a brief silence the man locked his fingers and placed them on his head while he chewed the inner of his mouth. His eyes became fixed somewhere on the coffee table and Chris felt a loss of ground. A devious thought sparked his confidence and struggled not to let his leg shake. He sat up on his chair and crossed his legs. He continued.
"Let me tell you this. Imagine someday, someone will read my words describing your doings, thinking that interesting things even happen close to him!”
"Interesting is very subjective, he maybe won't..." said the man.
"Maybe he won’t, you're right... But I tend to bet on the one who will, think about it. It's the same thing with rumors; you hear something about someone and may still think of it at night before going to sleep. The difference here is that we're talking about a longer, more detailed version of an article. It's not just putting your words on paper but also your experiences, which don't have to be necessarily over the top. One's story is one's story... I mean you can't make it up." he said pouring some water into the glasses. "In the end, it's not a matter of how many people are going to read it, it's that there is actually a true story to read in the first place, and that is what makes it interesting!" he said and drank half of the water in his glass.
The man took a sip from his coffee, thinking of what Chris said.
"Alright then" said after a while, "you got me on the last one you little bugger!" said again releasing a loud sudden laugh.
"That's it?" Chris laughed on his reaction and popped another cigarette into his mouth.
"Yeah what did you think? I was into it right from the beginning, I just wanted to be sure that you know what you're doing."
"Cool!" said Chris with a relieved smile. "You can start whenever you're ready..."
"Wait a minute; I've never done this before. What the heck do I have to say?"
"Yes, well there is nothing special really. Just relax and tell the story with every detail possible. Remember it's about a book so any details can be useful and while you're doing that, I'll be writing down anything important."
"Got it."
"Only the beginning is a little tricky but once you start talking you'll be fine!"
"Alright."
"Are you ready?"
"I think so... what if I stutter?"
"Don't worry about that! Just let yourself go and keep talking no matter what. I am the only one who gets to hear it after all."
"Ok right, here it goes!"
Last Friday I went to Newtown. I had to go! It’s not my first option when it comes to a destination but good reasons took me there! My old friend Alan died. Technically we grew up together but went our separate ways. Good attitude, bad habits. You see he was never "full" and his lust for more drove him right to the edge. It was too much for him I can now tell! I'm not surprised he died and I feel sorry. Not for him. For the potential he had to lead a different path. Sounds funny when I say it out loud, but a number of people my age had their run on "bad luck". Cursed generation. And with "bad luck" I wish I meant only a... subjective universal unfairness, but most of us got our hands dirty too if you know what I mean. Drugs, gambling, failed marriages, bankruptcies, miscarriages, accidents, you name it! Bad luck man...
Anyway the funeral was brief and comprehensive, even better for me. I normally choose to never go to funerals, but this time I couldn't just ignore it and I felt relieved like a burden lifted off my shoulders. I'm glad he died! He was the type of person who just couldn't get away from trouble, and trouble is sweet isn't it? So I wanted to go, and I did. His mother avoided me like I had something to do with his death... She probably had her reasons I suppose.
Right after the gig I had plans to come back here, but I was so tired I thought a little nap before the trip would be nice. It appeared that my little nap turned into a mini hibernation and I slept at least twelve hours. I hadn't slept so deeply in a long time and the credits go to my mother and her freshly cleaned sheets. I got out of bed, hammered, regretting at first my choice of staying but when I came to my senses I knew it was the right thing to do. My mom had a meal ready for me which I devoured so hard I started sweating. About an hour later and a brief session of catching up with my folks, I decided to go for a walk. I took a shower and drank a sip of coffee to straighten my nerves; I said my goodnights and disappeared. I might have been walking for an hour around the neighborhood, refreshing old memories and there is where I grieved for Alan for real. You see I don't believe in "occasions"; funerals are gigs as I told you before. I believe in motives! There is that strange, plain belief that religious-themed traditions are the "official" way of expressing things and that's the problem. No priest and no mother can judge me for not grieving! "Not even a tear?" she said to me when I approached her and she left me standing there like the asshole I was supposed to be. Anyway I found a store open and grabbed as many beers as my pocket could handle. Long story short, I started walking back, taking the longest way possible and when I took that last turn... Man...! I tell you the moon was so bright and big I couldn't take my eyes of it. I kept walking but it felt a little wrong to turn my back on it, so I decided to sit down and take it easy for a while. In the meantime in my back pocket there was a joint which I rolled for the night. I didn't have any plans made with anyone so I thought it was a good time to spend some time on my own..."
"Oh, crap!" said Chris all of a sudden.
"What's up?"
Chris leaned towards his bag and took out a little gray recording device. He pressed the button and placed it on the coffee table.
"I forgot this. I'm sorry for the interruption!
"What's that?"
"It's to record you... if you don't mind!"
"No it's cool; I just got a little surprised there."
"Sorry, I spaced out. Please continue..."
"How am I doing so far?"
"You certainly got the picture, only a minor correction. If you can keep it up I would like you to speak and pretend I'm not here, like you're talking to yourself. Making it conversation-like may be difficult for me to describe it accurately."
"Got it." said the man putting another cigarette into his mouth.
"Whenever you're ready then..."
For more, please comment.
P.S.
I am Greek, sorry for the occasional bad english
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