Small Town Hero - a short story

Small Town Hero



              “Erik?” Chris yelled from the other room, “Want to head home or make a pick­up?”

              I limped into the office with a cup of coffee, “I’ll take it, you head home. Seeing as

though I just had to have one of these.”

              “Good,” Chris stood up and started toward the door, “I need some sleep. You coming

down to the match tomorrow?”

              “Have I ever missed a match?” I asked.

              “No, and you even had the courtesy to get into that accident after New England’s,” Chris

turned and leaned in the doorway.

              “Yeah, I'm a big ball of consideration,” I took a sip of coffee.

              “Anyway, the address is on the desk. I’ll see ya in the morning. Drive safe.” Chris turned

and walked out of the office.

              “You too,” I walked over to the desk and picked up the address. I recognized the address

and laughed out loud. “Why wouldn't he have just written the middle school? This has got to be a

joke.”

              It wasn’t cold enough for the snow to stick to the ground, but it came anyway. It melted

the moment it hit my windshield or the asphalt. A few flakes blew around in little funnels ­ spared

a few moments grace.

              The streets were empty, but I still took it slow even with the option of four wheel drive in

my Durango. Even under the speed limit it only took five minutes to get to the middle school. I

pulled into the entrance and drove around the circle of grass in the center of the parking lot. I

searched the foyer but couldn’t see anyone or anything there. So, I came full circle to the entrance

and drove back toward the street.

              Out of the corner of my eye I saw something fly out of the gazebo sitting on the lawn in

front of the middle school. I came to a stop and looked out the passenger window. Something was

moving in the gazebo. Then the figure walked down the steps and looked over at the car.

              I lowered the window. The figure began walking toward the truck ­ a man wearing a suit

with the tie balled up in his jacket pocket and the collar hanging open.

  “You need some help, Mister?” I yelled through the wind and snow.

  “Yeah,” the man in the suit said. His voice grinding through my memories like a pebble in

a blender. “I could really use a ride.”

              “Saferides is a program for students,” I said and turned my attention out the windshield.

“Not middle aged alcoholics.”

              “P­please,” the man squinted in the flurries, “I don’t have enough for a cab… I don’t…I

don’t think I could even get a c­cab out here now.”

              “Again, our service is for students,” I rolled the window up, put it in drive and pulled out

onto the street. I drove slowly and in the rear view mirror I could see the man in the suit begin

walking down the sidewalk in the other direction. The man stumbled and fell to his hands and

knees and his breath filled the air around his head as he struggled back to his feet. I punched the

steering wheel.

              “Damn it,” I threw the car in reverse. I didn't bother turning around, I just slid to a stop

next the man as he failed at wiping off his suit while still on his knees.

              “You don’t live in that direction,” I said as I rolled down the window, “Mr. Reynolds.”

              Mr. Reynolds leaned into the car but I didn't look at him. I could smell the liquor on him

even through the cold and the snow, “You know me? Who... who’s that in there?”

              I kept my stare fixed ahead on the swirling snow on the blacktop. A few spots had started

to dust over with the light powder, but they were few and far between.

              “Just get in the back Mr. Reynolds,” I said.

              Mr. Reynolds reached out and grabbed onto the front passenger side door handle but

slipped off because the door was still locked, “Fuck!”

              “I said the back, Mr. Reynolds,” I rolled the window up and waited for Mr. Reynolds to

put his hand on the rear handle, then unlocked the door.

              “You know where I live?” Mr. Reynolds said righting himself in the back seat after falling

into it.

              I looked at him in the rear view mirror but didn’t respond. I put the car in drive and pulled

off down the street.

              Mr. Reynolds sat with his forehead against the cold glass staring at the flurries as they

whipped by the window. “Can I open the window, its so much cooler outside?” He pushed at the

window lift button but I had locked them.

  “No,” I said, and I wondered how Mr. Reynolds had gotten the number for Saferide.

              “I didn’t have anyone else to call,” Mr. Reynolds seemed to read my mind, and he held a

business card up in font of his face. “I found… this in my pocket. Must belong to my daughter. Do

you now my daughter?”

              “Yes, Mr. Reynolds. I know Maria.” It was her fault I was in this situation. I didn't know

he was out of jail ­  I also didn't think anyone in this town would ever sell him another damn drink.

I guess greed out weighs their morals.

              “Wait... I know you. You’re the McManus kid aren’t you?” Mr. Reynolds looked over the

business card that he was still holding up in front of his face. I could see his eyes were glassy over

the card in the rear view mirror.

              “Yes, Mr. Reynolds, I am.” I pulled my bad leg up and shifted in the seat to fend off a hip

cramp.

              “You can let me out here if you want,” Mr. Reynolds reached for the handle, but the door

didn’t open, I had the child locks set.

              “I don’t leave people stranded when they need help, Mr. Reynolds.”

              “I don’t suppose you would be that kind of person.”

              “Just sit quietly and I’ll have you home in a few minutes.” I turned off of Main Street and

was back near the high school when Mr. Reynolds broke the silence again.

              “I really didn’t know what I did, Erik.”

              “So you’ve said before Mr. Reynolds.” I wrapped my fingers around the steering wheel so

tightly you could hear my calluses scrape over the vinyl. “And I would prefer it quiet while I

drive.”

              “Your parents must be good people,” Mr. Reynolds said quietly, “raising such a respectful

and tolerant young man.”

              I kept quiet as I pulled onto Walnut Hill. A minute later I came to a stop in front of the

Reynolds' residence.

              I turned in the seat calmly and said, “They did just that Mr. Reynolds. But my tolerance

only goes so far. If anything like this happens again, I will report it to your Probation officer and

do my damnedest to make sure it hurts you.”

  Mr. Reynolds looked at me with a sullen face and then dropped his chin to his chest. I

unlocked the door and the man got out. Mr. Reynolds looked at me through the window for a

moment, then walked to his door. Out of the corner of my eye I watched him try three keys before

finding the right one. The door closed behind him, and I pulled away.

Giant Leap For Man - a short story

Giant Leap For Man



              Joe woke up alone in his room an hour before dawn. He was been alone for three months.

Three months doing everything alone in preparation for the next seven years of isolation he will

endure.

After showering and getting dressed, Joe walks to the front door as the hour strikes six. The doors

open and he walks out looking at a doctor and an armed Security Officer. Joe was used to seeing

this, even after three months alone, with only them watching.

              “Colonel Rice,” Dr. Owens said, “How are you doing?”

              “Well,” Joe said.

              “Good, good,” the doctor said and turned and began walking up the corridor. “Follow me

then.”

Joe fell in between the doctor and the Security Officer. They walked what seemed like miles to

Joe, not that he was complaining, before coming to a small room where a tray of food was sitting.

Joe sat down at the table without being told to, and looked over the fruit, the oatmeal and the hard­

boiled egg in front of him. He had nothing but dehydrated food for the past three months. Nothing

but that silly Astronaut Food little kids always want their parents to buy them at the science

museum, but without the interesting variety of flavors.

              “We hope this will lift your spirits a bit,” the doctor said and sat down on the other side of

the table. “We understand the feelings associated with prolonged isolation. And we wanted to give

you at least this much before the rest of your trip.”

              “Thanks,” Joe said before eating the egg whole.

              “We have everything ready for today,” the doctor opened the file that he had been

carrying. “Is there anything else we can take care of for you?”

              “Just a ride and an hour alone,” Joe looked at the Security officer, “Well, as alone as you

can allow me.”

              “Only visual surveillance for one hour. We are more than happy to give you that. And I

must ask you one more time, do you want to continue with this assignment?”

              “You think that after spending a year in that bubble on the bottom of the Atlantic, six

months alone on that space station of yours and another alone with no outside contact in that

chamber I would say I don’t want to do it?”

              “It is within your rights guaranteed in your contract. And you would know better than us

if you are ready and willing to complete this assignment.”

              “Yes, I want to continue with this assignment.” Joe picked up the oatmeal and began

eating it. He has always hated oatmeal, but it was warm and tasted like heaven at that specific

moment. “But the question is, do you still want me to carryout this assignment?”

              “You still have our full confidence.”

              “Guess I haven’t snapped then yet, huh doc?”

              “No, you haven’t ‘snapped’, Colonel.”

              “So much better than beating around the bush isn’t it?”

              “Pardon?”

              “Just saying something out right instead of your psychological rigamarole.”

              “I suppose it is. Well, I will see you in a few hours. I hope you have a pleasant time.”

              “I’ll have a time, that is definite. See ya Doc.”

Joe finished his breakfast and walked with the Security Officer to the jet way. There was a small

transport waiting to take him wherever he wanted to go. He knew that there would be another

transport following and he would have an hour to spend with his mother. He still didn’t really

know what he was going to say to her.

              Once in the air, the trip lasted only five minutes and the parking lot had been emptied for

their arrival. Joe breathed in deep then sighed before opening the door and stepping out onto the

tarmac. He looked out at the entry gate and over the headstones that rose out of the grass. The

walkways between the graves were lined with white bricks that were rounded at the top making a

strange wave patterned along the manicured green.

              The metal of the gate was black with time in most places with spots of red where the

elements had taken their toll, and Joe ran his hand over a bit of red as he walked through the gate.

He looked at the smear of iron oxide on his hand then rubbed them together as he walked toward

the center and found the small head stone with his mother’s name on it. It was flush to the ground

and only her name, birth and death were engraved into the granite. Joe knelt down and brushed the

grass and small debris away slowly. Then he traced the letters of his mother’s name with his

fingers as his eyes filled with tears, and he wiped them away with his other hand before they had a

chance to fall.

              “Hey, ma?” Joe whispered to the ground. Then he sat back Indian style with his hands

clasped together in his lap. “I know it’s been awhile since I’ve come around, but I’ve been real

busy with a new job. Still working with the government. Still flying really fast. Just now, I’ll have

a chance at breaking some of those records I always used to talk about.”

              Joe stops and looks around. He can see the transport sitting in the parking lot, and he can

see the Security Transport that was watching him further away in the lot. He sighed and looked

back down to the grass in front of him.

              “I’m not really sure how to explain this, it’s all so complex and unimaginable. It’s strange

that I can read all the material on what I am doing and understand it, but I can’t explain it. I know

exactly what I’ll be doing, where I’m going, but trying to explain it, trying to say it just sounds so

impossible.”

Joe pulled at the grass tearing some away and then let it fall from his fingers slowly.

              “I will be leaving tomorrow to travel to Alpha Centaury. That is the second closest star to

our own. Why not travel to the one that’s closer, you say? Well, that has to do with the things that

we consider when we look for stars that could support planets like our own. So, we look for stars

like ours and Proxima Centauri doesn’t make the grade. But Alpha Centauri is almost exactly like

our Sun, just a little bit older. This will take me a little over three years. And I will be traveling just shy of

the speed of light. I know you're asking yourself, ‘How do you know your going to find

anything there?’ But that’s not really the point of this mission. This mission is to do it. To finally

leave our solar system with a manned craft. To prove that we can. And I’m the one that’s going to

do it, ma. Me. Others will come after me, but I will be the man who did it first. Like Neil

Armstrong, or Sir Edmund Hillary. I’ll just be gone a lot longer.”

              Joe stopped again and pushed himself off of the ground. He paced back to the path then

back over to the headstone. He did this a few more times before stopping near the headstone again.

              “This part is pretty hard to say. Not only because of the implications, but also because of

how crazy it sounds. About seven years will have passed for me, but over two hundred and

fifty will have passed here on Earth. I’ve spent the better part of the past two years in some form of

isolation or another, but the doctor’s have given me their full confidence in my abilities as a pilot,

as an explorer, and in my ability to handle the stress of isolation and what will come if I come

back. And I do mean if. There’s always the possibility of an unknown obstacle or of just a plain

old accident, but I’m doing it ma. I’m making a name for myself, making a difference for

humanity.

              My biggest fear, ma is that if I get back, you won’t be here. I know you're not really here,

or you might be, but what I mean is this place. This has been my only respite from everything else

all these years since you died. And I’m just so scared that if I come back, I won’t be able to come

here and look at your name written in this stone,” Joe knelt down and ran his fingers over the

impressions in the stone, “And I won’t be able to talk to you like this.”

              Joe stood back up and breathed in deeply. It was Fall; he could smell it on the air. The

smell of burning leaves filled his head and he smiled at the images of piles of red and yellow and dead

brown leaves, of pumpkin pie and splitting wood in the back yard. He remembered the warmth of

the house when the oven had been cooking all night and day. When he looked around again, he

noticed the red, yellow and gold hanging in the trees. He noticed the few spots of yellowed grass

around the cemetery, and he smiled.

              “I’m leaving tomorrow, ma. And I don’t know if I’m coming back.” Joe knelt down in the

grass again, then he lied down on his back with his head right below the headstone, and looked up

at the sky. “I only have a little more time ma, so I’m just going to lie here with you

looking at the sky, like we used to, when I was a kid. I really hope I can see this again. Especially

from here, cause I’m going to miss coming here, more than anything else in the world.”

              When the hour was up, Joe kissed his mother’s headstone and walked back to the

transport. He watched the cemetery fall away through the window as they were swallowed by the

sky above.

Book Review - The Ocean at the End of the Lane by Neil Gaiman

Being a writer I love to read.

Stephen King said it best, “You have to read widely, constantly refining (and redefining) your own work as you do so. If you don’t have time to read, you don’t have the time (or the tools) to write.”

One of my favorite writer's is Neil Gaiman. If you have never read any of his work, well, you're missing out. Gaiman write across every level of reading and in 2009 received the Newbery Medal for The Graveyard Book It has been a while since we got an adult book from Mr. Gaiman, and it was worth the wait.

The Ocean at the End of the Lane revolves around a middle aged man, visiting his hometown for a funeral, recalling a time from when he is seven years old. The memories flood back as he sits reminiscing at the edge of a small pond on the farm of his child hood friend Lettie Hempstock.

The memories begin innocent enough, of the man as a quiet boy who preferred to spend his time reading by himself, but turn much darker and sinister as the boy is introduced to death by an Opal Miner who is boarding with his family in Sussex England. This leads to the boy meeting Lettie Hemptsock, and learning that she is not simply a little girl growing up on a farm down the lane.

Being a Neil Gaiman fan, my expectations for this book were high. And for me this is not his best work or my favorite. This is a shorter work, and is written in first person which is not the norm for Gaiman. Writing in first person gives the author the ability to go deeper into the main character's thoughts and fears but for most of this novel we are in the head of a seven year old child, and even though it's a shorter novel, it was a bit too much time spent in the head of the boy. But I enjoyed this book and the end is what truly matters, when we get to find out the impact of the events of the story on the man and it makes you look deep within yourself chasing the emotions it invokes.

If you find yourself looking for a great reading book, something quick but with a darker side, check out The Ocean at the End of the Lane. You will enjoy the time spent in Neil Gaiman's latest fantasy. And definitely track down the rest of his novels. He is an author worth your time.

Happy New Year

2014 is here and off to a very interesting start for my family and me. There is a new Wolfer in the world, Dean Joseph, and I am hard at work on the third novel of my Ballad of Nick & Mina series. And since I am easily distracted from writing, I have began compiling a sound track for the series based on songs mentioned in the story and popular in the time the series is set, 1986. 

 I am also working on compiling all the pictures from my year long photo project of #selfies on Instagram. I hope to have the latter finished by February and a short documentary about the project out in the world not long after. 

This year looks to be a busy one, and I hope to have even content out in the world made by me for your enjoyment. 

Thanks for all that have been reading along the past few years and I hope to pick up a lot more of you in the coming year :)-