Wednesday, 26 November 2008

Go to The Beach and Roar for Boldness

A title by jason cairelli,
A story by j. f. hawkins

It buzzed in his pocket.

His phone.

He had an idea of who it might be. He wasn’t going to answer. But it became evident to the thirty or so people sitting on the bus (& possibly to him), that he had the worst ring tone ever.

As he reached for the device, the technological tumor, he wondered who the idiot was that thought it was a good idea to be contactable 24/7, anywhere you were. Though he came to the conclusion that he was a bigger idiot for buying in; still, he wanted an iPhone.

He had to answer it. He had to take a bullet for the team, the thirty or so commuters growing tired of the monographic imitation of the “Funky town” intro he had worked so hard on the night before. They hated him for two reasons. Funky Town would be stuck in their heads all day &, despite his efforts, he had incorrectly programmed the last note of the infamous melody much to flat…. Unforgivable. Completely unforgivable.

Caller ID had dispelled any chance of mystery. Clear as daylight, Jeremy was calling him. Why is it that the only name to ever appear on that little screen is the name he’d be happy to never see again?

He had the same though every time Jeremy was calling.

Jeremy was well meaning. He found communality with him because they were both alone in this foreign country and that they were both originally from the same country and had lived in similar areas.

He was the type of middle aged male that had the vocal straining of a prepubescent boy & a laugh without any flow or control. If he found something funny, which was everything, he’d produce a low quality, single sounded bellow- loud and irritating like the afore mentioned cover of ‘funky town’.

“Hello Jeremy”, he said. In truth, he was thinking of saying, “You’re a problem. How am I going to get rid of you?”

Jeremy made an inquiry as to what his plans were for the evening. Normally, given such a case, it would have been easy to make something up; prearranged plans to see a friend for birthday drinks, or say he has his parent coming around for dinner. He could even fake being sick. But unfortunately, our hero’s options were limited. He had no friends to be seeing, he’s parents were back home, a thirty hour flight away & he’d used the sick line the week before- “I’ve got one of those… ah?... twenty four hour bugs when ya sick for 24 hours. So, I’m sick tonight, but I’ll be fine to see that thing on Sunday. You’re still getting tickets right?”

Quite a situation. Spirits thwarted by predicament, he swallowed his pride and agreed to the dinner invitation.

The master of images, he never let on that he’d rather throw his first born child into a blender than be at Jeremy’s house that evening; sharing in a nice bottle of wine, laughing at the day-to-days of life, eating a gourmet mean prepared by Jeremy’s own hands- His weedy fingers. Creepily long and thin.

He was only just becoming aware of just how horrible he really was. He knew he needed to develop a backbone, rather than a passive aggressive personality and a smile.

Tonight, he will go to Jeremy’s house. It’s possible that he’s going to hate every minute of it, but as soon as it’s finished, as soon as the inconvenient soirée is over, he’ll walk for a while, until he’s in a place where he is happy.

Sitting on the bus, he have himself one command, “Tonight is the last night you accept an invitation with regret, then, right after, you’ll go to the beach and roar for boldness”

jf. x

No comments: