Nathaniel Sewell's Blog, page 17

The Moon Under Water – Chapter 9 (unedited version)

The Ship Builders

“Two-pints, madam,” he said at Edwina, as he leaned his thick body onto the bar, and wiggled his red-haired eyes-brows at her. He held up the peace sign with his right-hand fingers. “If you don’t mind, madam. And might I say, you look ravishing this evening, again.”

“Stuff it buddy,” Edwina said. But she grinned back over at him as she busily moved along working the bar guests. “But, thank you.”

“Lady killer, eh Os?” He said. He had sat down within the Snug section next to Os on a wooden chair with a curved backrest. I thought Os was an unusual name. And the tall, fit man with salt and pepper hair had an accent that was not British, but softer, as if he held on to his spoken words a beat slower at the end. “Strong as an Ox, my-man.”

“Ha, Uli, you know it mate,” Os said. He held up his thick fists. “Just check out these shoulders.”

Edwina returned with two-glasses stenciled with rugby team logos containing a wheat colored beer in a full-carbonation bloom.

“You boys need directions to a gay bar? I hear way up Central’s hopping tonight,” Edwina said. She smirked. “Want to open a tab, or close it out?”

Os and Uli, both pointed at Edwina. They loudly laughed, and smacked at the bar top like newly released hardened prisoners having a fresh pint for the first time in many years.

“Don’t be wanker, keep it open,” Os said. He grunted as he laughed. “I like you, lady, you’re all right.”

“Never know, but thank you,” Edwina said. “You might need a back-up plan?”

“Hey, mate,” Os said. He glanced over at me. “She always like this? Beating the man down.”

“Edwina?” I said. I nodded. Edwina smiled. “Yes, don’t poke that bear, it bites back. And pray, Jane’s not working, or, well, you’ll end up waking up on the middle of Beach Drive.”

“Thank you, Rob,” Edwina said. She pointed over at me. “See, a gentleman.”

“Bloody-hell,” Uli said. He sipped his beer. “Os, ya better be careful, ya might end up face-down, sensing a slight pressure.”

I stared down at the multi-colored carpeted floor, as I laughed I covered my mouth with my hand.

“What’re you all up to?” I said. I sipped my Guinness.

“With my mate, Uli,” Os said. He pointed behind him at Uli with his right hand thumb. He was permanently tanned, and had baked in wrinkles like an outdoors fisherman. “Out chasing girls, actually, I send Uli out as my bait, whatever he snags, I hope to play wingman.”

“It’s worked so far,” Uli said. He smiled.

“Let me ask a stupid question,” I said. I leaned forward. “Where’s home, home?”

They both nodded back over at me.

“South Africa,” Os said. He backed up. “Obviously, can’t get this handsome anywhere else.”

“Got it,” I said. “I almost guessed Australian, but it didn’t seem right.”

“I get that sometimes,” Uli said. “Girls dig it here.”

“That’s your new alibi,” Os said at Uli. He shoved my shoulder like I guessed a Cro-Magdon man might have teased at his prey. “You know, Rob, when Uli’s got one to play with, but would prefer to disappear, you know, after a little midnight entanglement, he’ll be an Aussie, his secret agent name, Rob.”

“What’s your story, mate?” Uli asked. He grinned, and he sipped his beer. “We build ships, some custom-stuff.”

“Nothing with guns,” Os said. He leaned down as if to fire a hand-held cannon. “But maybe, get me a hidden one, below decks, you know, drug pirates appear, it pops-up – bang!”

“I’m not as interesting,” I said. I chuckled. “I’m a fancy insurance broker, and I write from time-to-time, for fun.”

“I hate insurance,” Os said. “Sorry, mate, I hate it.”

Os gripped his beer glass, and he took in a good swig.

“Go easy big fella,” Edwina said. She looked over at me. “Another Guinness?”

“Sure,” I said. I nodded over at Edwina. I looked back over at Uli. “You all hanging out here for the winter?”

Os set down his beer, and then he gripped with his fingers the weathered bar edge.

“We are, permanent-resident-aliens,” Uli said. He leaned his long body forward. “But I’m working on my full-citizenship, we both are… I don’t want to get deported.”

“Yes,” Os said. He stood up straight. “I’ve been studying, George Washington was the first US president, John Adams was next, and now, Donald J. Trump has just been sworn in as the new president. And, I was not allowed to vote, yet.”

“And I just watched, La La Land,” Edwina said. But before she walked away. “It’s appropriate for these times, yellow-hair and a spray-tan man.”

Os leaned back, he appeared to closely study Edwina. He stared down over at Uli, and then back over at me.

“Go to my home,” Os said. He scowled. “I cannot build there anymore. I had to leave. You all have it easy here, Trump or whomever, they’ll not threaten to take your land, your property, bloody-hell.”

“Easy, brother,” Uli said. “Rob might not be as political.”

“Sorry, mate,” Os said. He stared over past me, and studied the people along the busy bar. “You all here, have to easy.”

“I’m fine, I actually learn a lot when I stop and listen to others,” I said. I sipped the Guinness. “But, I wonder about my country, I have stopped watching the news, they just play to a narrative these days. I’m not that gullible.”

Uli and Os both grunted back over at me.

“Did you have to serve? Here?” Os asked me. “We were Army, back home, longtime ago now, but, it changes you, for the better.”

“No,” I said. “I was lucky, I’ve many friends that do, and have, I have a great deal of respect for them. Besides, I’d have shot myself in the foot, or worse.”

“Killings a bad thing,” Uli said. “I did my job, but, I don’t understand it, to kill a human in a fight, yes, to protect others. But wild animals, or to torture them, and eat them, I don’t understand that.”

“Uli’s a full on vegan,” Os said. He rubbed his belly. “I’ve tried, I just can’t do it.”

“I feel great,” Uli said. “I don’t believe in hurting animals.”

“I just eat fish,” I said. “I have high-blood pressure in my family history, heart attacks, so I’m trying to avoid that, but, I have to admit it, I do feel a lot stronger these days.”

“They are poisoning themselves, it’s in the food,” Uli said. He crossed his arms. “Sorry, I’ll stop.”

Os tapped over at me.

“I should listen,” Os said. “I had a heart attack, but I lived to tell the tale, and all, right?”

Uli held up his glass, and nodded over at Edwina.

“When you can,” Uli said. He looked back over at me. “Hey mate, I don’t understand your American football.”

“Ya, ya,” Os said. He pointed at me. “They should try rugby, watch the All Blacks, New Zealand, best team in the world, they don’t wear those silly pads.”

“You mean the CTE?” I said. “Brain damage, it’s bad stuff.”

“Ya,” Uli said. He pointed at me. “Never hear of that from rugby.”

“It’s the helmets,” I said. “They use them as a battering ram.”

“Ya,” Uli said. “I think you’re right.”

“It’s about proper technique,” Os said. “They should learn proper technique, like I learnt in my day. I might not have a strong ticker, but my brain works just fine.”

“You keep telling yourself that,” Edwina said. She set two beers in front of Uli and Os. “Cheers.”

“Ah,” Os said. He turned toward Edwina. “I like her, she’s twisted, and she can sneak up on you like a cat.”

“You mentioned George Washington,” I said. “Want to know more about him?”

“Will it help me pass the test?” Os said.

“Maybe,” I said. I leaned back on the chair. “He was the first president, but what they forget to teach you was he walked away from power, he chose to give up his seat.”

“Really?” Uli said.

“Look it up,” I said. “He walked into the old Pennsylvania state house, Thomas Jefferson presided, John Adams stood on one-side, Washington stood on the other, after a brief statement by Thomas Jefferson, after Washington walked out, he was simply a common citizen, like me, and someday, like you.”

“He was a military man, we had Mandela he had his men,” Os said. He stared at me. “Mandela, ANC finally got what they wanted, it’s was a tough struggle when you grow up from the inside, you know, but he’s now long gone.”

“Washington was the first Commander and Chief,” I said. I nodded. “People forget here, the fight was initiated in part, by taxation, or, better, over-taxation. That fight went on for eight years, he almost never left his army, even in winter.”

“It’s a mess now, back in South Africa,” Uli said. “Needless killings.”

“I sold my assets, saw it coming, the taking of land, businesses,” Os said. He sighed. “I had to start-over, and I have, I’m lucky.”

“Well,” I said. “I’m starting all over, as well.”

We sat drinking our beers as the low-hum from the crowd within the dark bar area continued its cadence, occasionally pierced by a loud laugh, or from over in the dining section a scream from an unhappy baby.

“George Washington predicted much of what goes on here,” I said. I glanced at Uli and Os. “It’s not as obvious as seizing land by force, but it’s going on. I think it’s the permanent government class, greed, power, they view themselves as the smart kids. But, what they don’t see coming, will cost them.”

“I’m happy here,” Uli said. “I travel all over the world, I rarely go back to South Africa, but I’m always thankful when I land back here, and get back here for a pint.”

“Here, here,” Os said.

“I’m sorry how things are going back in South Africa,” I said.

“Yeah,” Uli said. “A lot of innocent people will be hurt.”

“Well,” Os said. “It’s on now, and it’ll be messy.”

“Mr. Orwell would have said,” I said. “All animals are equal, but some are more equal than others.’ And here, our so called, career politicians these days are like a collection of pigs slurping at a leaking trough.”

I twisted on the leather seat, and we watched a young man making his best sales pitch to an interested middle-aged woman.

“She’s going to eat him alive,” Uli whispered.

“It’s not a fair fight,” I said. “It’s the low cut, those full-ears.”

“If I may, bountifully ears,” Os said. “I’m available to dine upon.”

“I was advised a long, long time ago,” I said. I nodded. “Never, ever, pick on someone that cannot defend themselves.”

End. 

NS

The Moon Under Water – Chapter 8 (my unedited drafts)

Happy New Year

“Oye, chica, come estas,” she said into her black leather encased smartphone. For another minute or less, she spoke at the ubiquitous device with whom I assumed was another human-being that had picked up her unique converted radio waves. She sounded happy, a bit giddy; I had no clue what she had said. I had assumed it was in Spanish, or maybe she had spoken in Portuguese.

From time-to-time in St. Petersburg, Florida as I walked near the harbor, or as I sat in the restaurants, I had listened to people speak in some Russian like language, as we were a sister city to St. Petersburg, Russia. Or, I had heard many other languages from European to Asian.

She had carefully set her smartphone back down into her black leather purse, and she snapped the gold clasp tightly shut. She set her purse on the bar in front of her, safely set between here hands.

“What you having, sweetie,” Edwina asked. She smiled at her; Edwina pushed her glasses up her nose with her right hand forefinger. “Happy New Year.”

“Champagne, of course,” she said. “Happy New Year.”

“Happy New Year, all I have to say tonight,” Edwina said. She laughed as she made a pirouette as she backed away.

And then it had occurred to me she had easily switched to English, as if she were holding court at the United Nations. I had not heard an any strong accent, but she was likely from one of the five Burroughs. I had heard that sophisticated sound before, each word clear, precise, and intended at its target.

“Here you go dear,” Edwina said. “Cheers.”

“Happy New Year,” she said. “Cheers.”

I had glanced at the side of her pretty face, I checked out her left hand fingers. She wore a wedding ring, actually, it was more like a clear, large rock clasped to thick gold.

“Pardon, what does chica mean?” I said. I honestly had not known; But I had heard it many times. “Happy New Year.”

“Happy New Year,” she said. “It means, hey girl.”

“Got it,” I said. I nodded. “I don’t think it would roll off my tongue quite so well, I’ll store that word into knowledge.”

“That might be the worst line,” she said. She slightly twisted her head, as she glanced over at me. “Of all time…”

“It’s my gift to women,” I said.

She turned to look directly at me, she was Cuban, I was positive. I had lived in Florida most of my adult life; Cuban women, with those big brown eyes, those intense eyes, they instantly sized you up. She made all the decisions, if the patriarch was not on board, she would have taken the helm.

“New Yorker? Slumming in St. Pete,” I said. “Cuban?”

“How’d you guess that?” she said. She suspiciously stared at me.

“Lucky guess,” I said. “I’m Rob.”

“Simone,“ she said. She smirked. “BS, how’d you guess that?”

I was past her guard gate; I had gotten her first name, otherwise, I thought the smartphone would have reappeared.

“Your clothes, the understated but expensive hand-bag, you don’t have a strong accent, but its there, a New Yorker,” I said. “And, you’re not Miami flashy, you have classic Cuban features, eyes, cheek bones, lips, and the thick brown hair. And your posture, self-assured, but reserved.”

“I could have been from the PR?” Simone said. She laughed.

“Nice try, I know my islands,” I said. “You’re to reflective, now Manhattan island, a lawyer? Something professional…”

“Am I getting a palm reading, next?” Simone said. She savored the champagne. “Rob, did you say?”

“Yes, I don’t know, cheers,” I said. I sipped the Guinness.

“Guinness for New Years?” Simone said. “That’s an awful decision, Champagne my dear.”

“Creature of habit,” I said. I touched my nose. “My former wife liked champ-pag-na, its okay, I like it, but the bubbles, they made my nose moist.”

“I’d never noticed,” Simone said. She tested my theory. “You are a strange man to have noticed that.”

“I’d like to think, an interesting man,” I said. “People think the same things, I seem to lack a filter.”

“That can get you beat up in my hood,” Simone said. She smiled.

“You, don’t live in a hood,” I said. I pointed upwards toward the ceiling. “Live high-up?”

“True, not here,” Simone said. “Used to, in the city, but we had to find a safe neighborhood for my girl.”

“Smart Cuban,” I said. “It’s genetic, dodged Castro’s thugs, you become careful, observant, like you, how old?”

“She’s four, actually, I was born on that island,” Simone said. She shifted the fluted glass between her fingers. “I was maybe four, ever heard of Mariel?”

“Yes, vaguely,” I said. I stared up at the twenty-inch bar television screen showing the lit-up ball over Times Square. “A President Carter deal, Castro emptied his prisons. I don’t really know, it’s like some Scarface characters to me.”

“Well, I lived it, I remember those men, men my father watched,” Simone said. She stared at me. “And I’m alive, somehow, drinking champagne in St. Petersburg, Florida, with you.”

“Wow, never met anyone that was there,” I said. I looked back over at Simone. “But, you must have been a kid?”

Simone intently stared over at me for a moment.

“I don’t remember a lot,” Simone said. She sipped her champagne. “It was a big wooden boat, it was packed with way to many people. I do remember the foul smells, the salty water taste from waves that got into the boat.”

“That must have been scary,” I said.

“Not really, I was four, funny thing, my daughter’s almost four,” Simone said. She gripped the glass. “It was my mother, she kept me calm. We were in open seas for twelve hours, or so, I’ve been told. A trip that’s normally 90 minutes. My mom made it feel like all was normal, I still can’t believe it happened. I’m alive.”

“Cheers,” I said. I glanced over at a couple that had sat behind Simone.

“No kidding,” Simone said. “Cheers.”

“Life can be so random,” I said. I pointed up at the television screen. “You could be a tour-on up there, what are you doing in St. Pete?”

“No thanks, my old man surprised me, he’s taking care of my girl,” Simone said. “With, my mother.”

Her words had a hot intent behind them, I thought.

“Take a break,” I said. “Otherwise, well, like me, you end up divorced, living alone downtown.”

“Sent me, mind you, to the Vinoy, not a bad spot to go slumming,” Simone said. She sighed. “But, I’m meeting up with some girl friends that live down here during winter. I was just walking past this joint, it looked like a real bar, but safe.”

“It is safe, a little pre-game buzz?” I said. Simone just grinned, and she emptied her glass.

We quietly gazed up at the television screen.

“Why do people still do that?” Simone asked.

“It looks cold,” I said.

“It is,” Simone said. “But, New York City has an electricity.”

“I get it,” I said. I raised my glass. “Happy New Year, to new beginnings, but, you need a refill.”

“Well said,” Simone said. “I’m having fun down here, but, it’s the first time I’ve been away from my girl.”

“Bothers you?” I said.

She stood up off the bar stool.

“It does,” Simone said. “She’s my everything.”

“She’s your only one?” I said.

“Yes, she’s my miracle,” Simone said. She waved her hands. “I had a genetic thing, I didn’t think I’d ever be a mother.”

I crossed my arms and leaned back against a square bar column as I searched for Edwina. If life had twisted my route, I thought, I could have easily been a father, and now a grandfather. But when my life had headed out to open seas my true north had been money and devotion to my career.

“Life can be so cruel,” I said. “And beautiful, at the same time, you survived Mariel at four, and she’s four living in a safe neighborhood playing with her Christmas toys.”

“Don’t think I’m not aware how lucky I am,” Simone said. She gripped the empty glass. “It was hard for us, we were rejected by Miami, and ended up in NY.”

“You all could have ended up in Tampa,” I said. I grinned. “Just made your way up Tamiami Trail, could’ve been rolling cigars over in there Ybor City.”

“It’s true, I guess,” Simone said. She gave me a curious glance. “I never got to blend-in, I have always felt lost between cultures. You know?”

“No, I don’t,” I said. I waved over at Edwina. “I’ve been lucky, but I’ve seen it. It’s the look in the eyes. I would imagine it’s like being a tourist and permanently lost in Tokyo.”

“Yeah,” Simone said. “Kinda, sorta, I figured out I had to out work everyone, I was devoted to my work.”

“And now,” I said. “By some miracle, you’re a mother.”

Simone resisted her happy tears.

“I swore I’d not waste my life,” Simone said. “And I haven’t, but until her, I never really understood love.”

It was a sensation I could not have understood. I respected that some humans get an easier path toward happiness, because someone before them fought for their freedom. Edwina had reappeared behind from behind the bar.

“Another?” Edwina asked. She drolly pointed at me. “I know he’ll have another Guinness.”

“Nope, how about a good Pinot Noir,” I said. I looked over at Simone. “But not champagne.”

“I love Pinot,” Simone said. She looked at her watch.

“Edwina, you in?” I said. “Pick us a great New Years Pinot.”

After a few moments, Edwina returned with a opened bottle that had started its journey from the Willamette Valley in Oregon.

“Nice choice with the glasses,” I said.

“Thank you,” Edwina said. “I hide these from the savages, note the slight tulip shape, perfect for Pinot Noir.”

“I’m impressed,” Simone said.

Edwina carefully poured the wine into my glass.

“If you’re buying,” Edwina said. “How’d I do?”

“Of course,” I said. I grasped the delicate wine glass near the base of the stem with my thumb and forefinger. I brought it up, closed my eyes and sniffed the contents, and I took in a modest sip. “Edwina, I thank you for this, it’s perfect, and I’m happy to share it with you, and our new friend, Simone.”

“Ah, so nice,” Simone said. She grasped her wine glass, and held it up with Edwina and I.

“To a happy new year,” I said. “To new, and to all our old friends wherever they are tonight.”

We delicately clinked the glasses together, then we drank the fine wine, and we each savored the finish. I thought it reminded me, like a fine bourbon from my birthplace in Kentucky, it took patience to understand life.

“This wines a lot like St. Pete,” I said. We sipped the final contents. “It might appear obvious, but it’s a lot more complicated than we might imagine.”

“Thank you,” Simone said. She had checked her watch, again. “I guess its time, don’t want to keep my girls waiting.”

“Where’s the next stop,” Edwina asked.

“I’ve got an address,” Simone said. “My girls want to meet at a nightclub, up Central Avenue?”

Simone had retrieved her smartphone, she tapped at it, and showed Edwina the address. Edwina leaned across the bar.

“Oh, honey, gay bar,” Edwina said. She waved me away. “Take an Uber ride, you’ll have loads of fun. But he can’t come.”

“I hadn’t invited him,” Simone said. She grinned at me. “But maybe? I’ve got some single girlfriends.”

“Oh no,” Edwina said. “That’s a girls only place, and he’s not a queen, so, he’d not blend in.”

“Have fun tonight, thanks for saving my pride, Edwina,” I said. I chuckled. “Happy New Year, blah, blah, blah, but do us a favor, come back and visit us, again.”

End

NS

The Moon Under Water – Chapter 7

Bendy Straws

“I’m sorry, Rob,” she said. I stood at the top of the stairs near the Moon’s guest greeter podium. She was a grinning redhead with pale skin, and she was curvy head to toe. “Christmas party inside, all booked up tonight, sorry.”

“Oh, you know my name?” I said. I glanced at her; I stared inside the well-lit restaurant and over at the mahogany bar where I would have normally had a Guinness and comfort food. But there was a group of professionally dressed interlopers using the bar as if they had owned it. I noticed her name badge, Britany, “Well, I guess they appear to be having a lot of fun, good for them, Britany. Sorry, I usually just get lost in my own little world, as I scoot past you.”

“Yeah, I know,” Britany said. “I have some tables out front?”

I turned, and I looked down the tiled stares and over at the half-full, canopied covered dining section, where tables had been set old-world-style and draped with white linen clothes.

“Why not, I guess I’ll pay better attention to you, sorry,” I said. I stuffed my hand in my pants pockets, I bowed toward Britany. “Table for one, Britany.”

“Ah, shucks,” Britany said. She picked up a laminated menu, and waved for me to follow her down the stair. After a few moments, Yvette walked over next to the small rectangular table.

“Hey, Rob,” Yvette said. She grinned with a wide-toothed smile. “Out here slumming with the tourists, how about a Guinness?”

“Ha, yes,” I said. “At least it’s a comfortable night.” I sat back on the chair. My brown shoes rested on the concrete slab as a group of silk-dressed young women strolled past me tapping at their mobile phones as they headed toward a long night club line. It was a bit noisy behind me from the constant car traffic coasting along Beach Drive. The other dinner guests were lost in their own family conversations, and inside the restaurants, it sounded as if they were all in full party mode. After awhile, Yvette returned with a paper coaster, she set the dark colored Guinness on it. She twisted the golden harp symbol on the glass toward me.

“Edwina and Kate, said hello,” Yvette said. “They are swamped inside, big, loud group. Alan’s happy.”

“Good tip night though? It’s that time of year,” I said. I set the menu down. “I think I want that order Jane recommended once, vegetarian shepherd’s pie?”

“Sure,” Yvette said. “I like it, too.”

“I guess it’s a good idea to change things up,” I said. I shrugged. “I should order early, might take a bit, right?”

“Absolutely, busy, busy,” Yvette said. She scribbled on her menu pad. “And, I get a regular out here, that I actually like.”

Later, two women were seated next to my table. They were perhaps two-feet from me within the intimate dining space. The shorter woman appeared quite old with thick white hair. The taller woman was a middle-aged blonde with fit, tanned arms. But, the younger woman had walked over with the aid from two forearm-crutches, and from her waist down, a modern looking black exoskeleton was tightly strapped to here at the hips, knees and ankles. As she moved near me, her assistive devices sounded robotic, the dinner crowd had noticed her. It was my instinct to step up and help her take a seat. But, the look in her blue eyes told me she preferred to manage her own situation. As the older woman inspected the crowd; the younger woman carefully sat down on the chair, she huffed, and she leaned the forearm-canes against an extra chair. Yvette moved near their table.

“Hi there,” Yvette said. “What can I start you off with?”

“Water for me,” she said.

“Oh,” the older lady said. “Vodka with tonic.”

“Mother,” she said.

“I need a stiff drink,” the older lady said. “And a lime.”

“Can I have a bendy straw?” She asked.

“Helps her,” the older lady said. “You know, drink her water.”

“I don’t know if we have bendy straws,” Yvette said. “I’ll check, let me get your drinks.”

“You would think I’d bring my own,” she said to her mother. “After all, I bend all over the place these days.”

“Now, love,” the older lady said. “You’re doing great.”

As the middle-aged woman’s neck spontaneously spasmed, she tried to grip the menu. As I stared over at Britany redirecting new dinner guests, the younger woman had reminded me I had forgotten how lucky I was at that point in my life that, for the most part, I had good heath, and after my dinner, I would easily get off the chair, and amble up the alleyway.

“You ladies out chasing men, headed clubbing?” I said. I smiled over at them, as I pointed my right hand thumb over at the night club line.

“That’s my plan,” the older woman said. She laughed.

“We’re down for a few, a, few months,” she said. He cadence was methodical.

“Keep her out of the snow,” the older woman said. “I’m afraid she’ll flip on the ice with her crutches.”

“Mother,” she said. But, she grinned.

I looked over at the carbon fiber crutches with rubber hand grips and forearm cuffs.

“Other than those, if you don’t mind,” I said. “You look like a serious athlete.”

“Thank you,” she said. She smiled. “I work out constantly, how I want my children to remember me.”

“You’re my girl,” mom said. “You’ve always been my fighter.”

Yvette had returned with their drinks.

“I’ve great news,” Yvette said. She giggled. “I have a bendy straw, see it bends, but it doesn’t break.”

“Oh, thank you,” she said. “So, true, you cannot image how helpful these things are.”

We sat quietly for a moment. I sipped my Guinness. I suspected I was about the same age as the younger woman, at some point in here life I thought she had looked like the blonde girl with a tight ponytail that was out of my league, who was in the hot summer sun slinging a javelin across the infield at a national track and field event.

“They make a good drink, here,” the older woman said.

“This might be a bit personal, I’m Rob, by the way,” I said. “But, you’re exoskeleton, where’d you get it, has it helped?”

She nodded over at me as she leaned forward, her lips on the straw. She slowly leaned back up, her right hand involuntarily tremored as she released the glass. I noticed her mother patiently waited for her to respond.

“I’m Jennifer, my moms, moms, Millie, it gave me life back,” Jennifer said. “It’s been almost a, a year, I went to Houston.”

“It was expensive,” Millie said. She sipped her drink. “But don’t mind me, it was worth every penny, just look at her.”

“I also agreed to be their test bunny,” Jennifer said. “Why do you ask? I know I’m noticeable.”

“I’ve only seen them in labs,” I said. “Prototypes like that.”

Jennifer wanted to respond, but she slurred her words. She stopped, she waited, and she sipped her water through the bendy straw. I encouragingly nodded over at her. Perhaps I had learned with age, and her mothers example, to just wait for her.

“What, what, do, you do?” Jennifer said.

“Fancy insurance guy,” I said. “In the trade it’s called, life sciences, the liability part. But truthfully, over time, I have become interested in what these startups create, how they help people, like your exoskeleton. I think it’s cool.”

“You know,” Millie said. “In my day, nothing like this existed.”

“Yeah,” I said. I looked over at Millie. “Home, up east?”

“Oh,” Millie said. She tapped at me. “Connecticut.”

“How many grandkids?” I asked. Yvette set the shepherds pie on the dinner table. Jennifer grinned.

“Jennifer’s my only baby,” Millie said, as I tasted the warm pie. I looked back over at her. “She has three, all in college, or about out?”

“Yes, John’s out, and you?” Jennifer asked. She unconsciously wobbled her hand.

“None,” I said. “I went for the donut, divorced.”

They ordered, and we sat near each other. I thought about all the people that passed by us that evening, all heading along their own journey. But then Jennifer tapped on the dinner table. She stared over at me, and she smiled.

“I, I didn’t answer your, question,” Jennifer said. She tried to swallow. She leaned forward and she sipped her water with a bendy straw, and then she leaned back.

“I’m sorry,” I said. “Yeah you did…”

“No, you asked me, has it helped?” Jennifer said. She touched the exoskeleton’s curved back support. “It has, but more to your question, what it has given me is time, time I wouldn’t have.”

I nodded back at her, as I set the Guinness down on the table.

“Time gets us all,” I said. I smiled at her. “I looked at the back of my hand the other day, it appeared to have wrinkles, I wondered where had those come from?”

“So true,” Millie said. She laughed. “It only gets worse.”

“Time with my children,” Jennifer said. “My husband, all I want, as much as I can get.”

“I could walk down the wrong alley,” I said. I shrugged. “Get in the wrong car, plane or train – and it could end in an instant.”

“So true,” Millie said. She shrugged. “One day I was a housewife in a big house, the next, I’m a widow in a big house. Jack, my husband, heart attack got him, worked himself into the grave.”

“Good reminder,” I said. “I’m glad they helped you, very cool.”

Jennifer grinned over at me. Her hands tremored. She waited.

“Don’t get me, me wrong, I would give anything to go run a mile, again,” Jennifer said. “I, I can’t, but now, I’m happy, I’m very lucky to have this.”

I had paid my bill, and I had gotten up.

“Well, Merry Christmas,” Millie said.

“Merry Christmas,” I said. “And I wish you both a happy new year. Millie, go easy on the boys. Jennifer, my best.”

As I walked home and up the brick alleyway past the sweating cooks and bar backs, outside smoking cigarettes and discussing conspiracy theories behind the steaming restaurant kitchen; I was certain the coming Christmas Day would be quiet. I was comfortable in my solitude. And, I hated to have been the adopted guest who had lost his family. But, I smiled up into the clear, night sky, and I said, “thank you”, aware, in a very real sense, God had quietly reminded me of an unwrapped gift, a gift that only I can share.

End

NS

The Moon Under Water – Halloween

Halloween

“Who are you?” I asked. I sipped my Guinness beer. I set the half-full glass down on a white paper coaster. “I’m Rob.”

“I’m David, you know, Biblical,“ he said. He wore a long sleeved, hooded brown tunic that covered his wide-shouldered, husky-frame; it draped him down to just above his leather sandals. “Thank God it’s a cool night, you know, this things rather warm. A bit moist, if you will.”

“Whoa, buddy,” Jane said. She had walked over toward the Moon’s Snug section, a rectangular space at the top of the long bar, where I sat on a wooden chair with a back rest. “What can I get you?”

“You look like something out a Far-Side cartoon,” I said. I tapped my right hand on the bar. “Very creative, impressive, how’d you come up with it?”

“Oh, I’m doing Halloween as Lamech,” David said. He pulled his hood back to reveal his round face, and his balding head. He spoke to me in a clear, crisp British accent. “Father of Noah, but he’s actually the offspring from Eve and Satan’s copulation, you know, that produced, Cain.”

“What, ever, dude,” Jane said. “Drink?”

“Sorry, I’ll have a Boddington’s,” David said. He scratched his pug nose with a long, pointy fake fingernail. “And keep them coming, mate.”

“Roger that,” Jane said. She smirked over at me, and she quickly moved down the bar alley.

I sat studying David’s face. I sipped the Guinness beer.

“It’s the eyes?” David asked. He stared at me. “A bit creepy? I heard that from many of my colleagues at Alien-con this year.”

“Yeah, how’d you make them so big, and round,” I said. I moved my left hand in an air circle. “Sorry, I didn’t dress up this year, didn’t get invited to a party.”

Jane returned with the drink order, she set it near David.

“Sort of Obi-Wan Kenobi mated with Gollum,” Jane said. She grinned. “Here you go, this one’s on me, you win best costume.”

“Nor did I, thank you, it’s what I remember him looking like,” David said. He reached forward for the beer mug being careful not to snap a fake fingernail. “I take Halloween quite seriously, mostly out of respect.”

I leaned back against the bar. I had assumed that he was a man, as I searched for an Adam’s apple.

“I think I’ve seen you here before,” I said.

“I’ve discovered St. Petersburg, a hidden jewel, like me,” David said. He sipped the beer and set it back down. “I’m here frequently, but, I do travel quite a bit, you know, domestic, but out there, as well.”

“Cool,” I said. “I like it here, it’s a chill place.”

“Agreed,” David said. “Rob, are you a man of faith?”

“Ah,” I said. I sipped the Guinness beer for protection. “I’m not sure what you’re asking.”

David pointed at me with a long, sharp fingernail.

“I sensed I’ve met you before,” David said. “In a former life?”

“I’ve only been here,” I said. “On, planet earth.”

“Yes, you’re a skeptic,” David said. He smiled as he closely observed me, as if I were an innocent laboratory primate. “Trick question, and all. I sensed you.”

“That’s a fair assessment,” I said. I shrugged. “I guess.”

David moved toward me.

“What if I were to, tell you,” David said. He glanced behind me, and slightly turned to investigate the busy dining room. “I’m an ancient astronaut, this is not really a costume, it is for me, tonight, but it’s for the celebration of Samhain, mind you, but for the others, that visit me from time to time.”

“Are you kidding with me?” I said. “Samhain?”

“No,” David said. “I can prove it, it’s a Celtic celebration. But then Pope Gregory, the Druids, so forth… it was ruined, it’s all so obvious to those like me.”

Perhaps the sensation to remain quiet comes only from age and experiences, perhaps a bit of sprinkled in alcohol grains allowed for the adventure to continue.

“I’m all in,” I said. I was thankful I could see David’s hands, and we were within a busy, well-lit bar and restaurant.

“You think it’s luck that I magically won the lotto?” David said. “I don’t share that fact often, four hundred million, U S, it was as if it were meant to happen.”

“Seriously?” I said. For an odd reason, I was certain I was being told the truth. Or, my free-will was about to get lured into a Jim Jones cool-aid tasting contest.

“It was my therapist, really,” David said. He sipped his beer. “She discovered my past, I cannot thank her enough. I had been abducted and well, abused by a group of aliens.”

David had turned his gaze out toward the front windows, and he appeared to have wistfully watched the tourist traffic cycle past the Moon.

“You okay?” I asked.

“Never better,” David said. “I go back in time, from time to time. It’s something I’ve learned to live with.”

“Sorry,” I said. “But, you seem to have gotten past the trauma.”

“Not really,” David said. He turned and looked at me. “My DNA was altered, I’m chimeric, my therapist thinks it’s the fact I’m Rh negative, the real reason they come to harvest.”

David stared past me. And then he looked down at the carpeted floor. He pursed his lips.

“Sorry,” I said. “What reason?”

“They use me,” David said. “They come, I’m paralyzed, you know, I see them, the Grey’s, that’s why I costumed like this, this is what they look like, and of course, the ancients, before Noah.”

“Wow,” I said.

“They use my DNA for reproduction, we think,” David said. He dismissively shook his head at the main rooms dinner guests. “These people, near us, are completely unaware, they are slowly being altered, generation-to-generation.”

“Are you messing with me?” I said. I smirked at David. “If so, you’re good, really, really good.”

David snapped his head up, he stared directly at me, and he stood up like a solider.

“I’m quite serious,” David said. He brushed at his shoulders with the back of his hands. “The reason I live on the top floor of my building, I bought all the penthouses.”

“Seriously?” I said.

“Quite,” David said. “It gives them better access to me without a lot of notice. A portal opens, and there they are, I cannot stop them, would you?”

“Sorry,” I said. “My brain’s to small to process this…”

“Yes,” David said. “I can understand, it was a lot for me, at first, but now, I have a duty.”

Jane hesitantly leaned across the bar.

“Want to see a menu?” Jane asked. “Or, not…”

David shrugged, he dismissed Jane with a wave of his left hand.

“No thank you, I travel when I’m called upon,” David said. “It’s my destiny, to be an astronaut.”

I crossed my arms, and I held my breath.

“Congratulations,” I said. “You solved your life’s riddle.”

“Indeed,” David said. He carefully straightened his tunic with his fingers. “Time travel seems almost, shall I say this, pedestrian these days.”

“Don’t break a nail,” I said.

“Such the cynic, Rob,” David said.

“I don’t judge,” I said. I looked down the bar toward Jane who was suspiciously nearby investigating her mobile phone screen. “Who am I to tell someone how to live.”

“But you do judge,” David said. “It’s in your eyes, your amused expression, yes, I notice all.”

I thought I had learned many years before not to let anyone else know what I was thinking. It was my method to keep control during family conflict, it was my method to figure out how to have survived. But that night, I had failed in my process.

“Fair enough,” I said. “Why Lamech? Why so specific?”

David pressed his fingers and thumbs together like an ancient Chinese wiseman.

“Because I’ve met him,” David said. “I told you I’m an ancient astronaut, this is not just some crazy theory.”

“I, I,” I said. “Didn’t expect that, but I guess I did.”

“He was the descendent from Cain, who killed Abel,” David said. “I suspect you’re Protestant, and went to Sunday School?”

“But you met him?” I asked. After I had spoken the question, I realized I could not have jumped off the crazy train that was about to pick up speed. “I mean…”

“I’m not an old soul,” David said. “That’s an infantile concept, but, without my control, I travel, in space and time.”

“Traveled to Kashmir?” I asked.

“The Zeppelin fan?” Jane asked me. “Another?”

“Yes,” I said. I had not turned to look at Jane. “I beg you, I’ll have another.”

“Such a funny man, Rob,” David said. “I have so much more to reveal, but, you’re the cynical one, the non-believer.”

“Well, I guess you’re right,” I said. “Guilty. But tell me more, I’m interested, seriously.”

“At least your honest,” David said. He nodded as he looked up at the antiqued tin ceiling tiles. “When I need rest, I take my medications, it seems to block them from coming. But, then, I allow them to return, I feel it’s my duty, for humanity.”

“Have you ever met God?” I asked.

David grunted at me. He shook his head.

“Yes,” David said. “Quite the elusive one. No, I have never had a formal meeting with what you would define as, God.”

“I’m just curious,” I said.

“But, Satan? Your next question,” David said. “Yes, I’ve been in its presence, it’s a darkness I cannot fully comprehend. But, the reason I take what you call, Halloween, quite seriously.”

“I have nothing,” I said.

“I don’t disrespect the darkness, that’s my point,” David said. “When I travel, in my mind, as a portal opens, I sometimes sense them, nearby, watching me.”

I sat there on a wooden chair inside the Moon, and I wondered what it was like to have been David, to live every moment within his comfortable madness, to view his existence through a filtered lens.

“I will pray for your safety,” I said.

“Another Boddington’s?” Jane asked David.

“Yes, good man,” David said.

“Why do you drink Boddington’s?” I asked.

“Good question,” David said. “Because Boddington’s takes me home, I’m never alone when I taste a Boddington’s.”

End. 

NS

The Moon Under Water – Chapter 5 – The Interpreter

(Remember, I’m sharing the unedited first drafts – I thought it might be fun to follow me create another novel.)

————————————————————————————————————

The Interpreter

It was the first Tuesday after Thanksgiving, a transitional time when permanent Floridians take a deep breath to celebrate the end of hurricane season; and the real reason Florida lacks a state income tax, as the so called, snowbirds, had started to descend from the north for what the service-world had labeled, the season.

That night I had been aimlessly walking along Central Avenue in downtown St. Petersburg. It was the weather, it felt good to walk, to have been on my feet as the moderate climate had returned. I hadn’t found any other bar, or restaurant that had enticed me inside. It’s not a wonderful dining experience at a table for one, and most of the bars were quite busy. So, I had strolled down to Beach Drive, and I had gone back to the Moon.

“We came early, it was an easy drive,” she said. She hugged her husky man with her left arm as she drank red wine grasping a glass with her right hand. He was heavily wrinkled, bald but for a few gray strands. “I can’t manage the cold anymore, we’re so lucky.”

“Where’s there?” I asked. I sipped the Guinness beer from a tulip shaped glass. I thought I had gotten an answer from him, the man with her had a shaggy mustache, and he had talked at me; really more of a grunting sound with a cadence. But I couldn’t understand him. He was friendly, he sort of smiled at me. His pale blue eyes were narrow, almost lizard like with the hint of a sparkle. For some strange reason, I knowingly nodded back at him after each mumbled statement. It was as if he were the unintelligible muppet character from my childhood, the Swedish Chef, I thought, but only Kermit the Frog could have interpreted the, Swedish Chef.

“Not sure I got that,” I said. I looked over at her.

“Oh,” she said. She was thin, with white hair. “The Fin talks, but English, its not his primary language, sometimes he gets, well, garbled, you know.”

“Got it,” I said. I nodded back over at The Fin.

For the next ten minutes, she told me they had met on a big cruise ship as it had navigated through Norwegian fjords. It sounded as though it had been a torrid hookup on a random love boat that had successfully maneuvered them through placid dark blue waters to emerge within marital bliss. I imagined The Fin must have been wearing a two-horned Viking helmet as he had stalked her from stem to stern.

“He speaks five languages,” she said. She lovingly glided her fingers over his smooth head. “But when he drinks, well, they all start to blend.”

“Sort of broken languages,” I said. I shrugged.

“Yeah,” she said. “In a matter of speaking.”

“But, I guess they were your, Romance languages,” I said. I smiled. “Right?”

“Oh,” she said. She waved at me. “You are a funny one.”

The Fin wiggled his thick eyebrows, and muttered something at us. She covered her mouth with her hand. As I tried to closely listen to his words, after every forth, or fifth word I heard, “Jackie”.

“Ah,” I said. “You’re names, Jackie?”

“Why yes,” Jackie said. She tapped her forehead with her left hand palm. “Cripes sake, yes, I’m Jackie, and this is The Fin, sorry, Sven. I call him The Fin, he’s my Finnish man.”

“Where’s where?” I asked. “I’m Rob, by the way.”

“Minneapolis, Rob, got it,” Jackie said. She then whispered her words. “The Fin was an architect, retired, sort of, now, he’s still creating, you should see his drawings.”

Sven chuckled, and rubbed his belly. He expressed some jolly thoughts, I thought, I wasn’t exactly sure, but then I heard, “Helsinki”.

“Helsinki?” I asked Jackie.

“Oh,” Jackie said. “Fin, sorry, Sven grew up there, studied art, before moving to the states.”

Sven leaned forward, he said something about St. Petersburg.

“He’s been to the original, by train,” Jackie said. “The St. Petersburg in Russia, it’s not far from Helsinki.”

“Cool,” I said. I leaned my left elbow on a wooden ledge. “The story is they named St. Petersburg from a coin flip.”

“Oh, how funny,” Jackie said. “We love it here, most people are nice, very welcoming, like you.”

“That’s cool, you all drove down,” I said. “I-75?”

Jackie looked back over at Sven. He nodded.

“Suppose we did,” Jackie said. “We stopped in Chicago, have a place there, and then on down. We’ll stay until the end of March, or when we think the weather has turned.”

It was apparent to me they had done well in life, but they lacked a common human element, a pushy ego. I thought it was always in someones posture, Jackie and Sven had had a comfortable shared posture. I guessed they had climbed to the top of Maslow’s peak and had decided to camp out there.

“Florida’s a jumble, I was curious how you got here,” I said. “I-75 brings in the Midwest, down to Naples, across Aligator Alley, over to I-95, New York, Jersey, the east coast, down to Ft. Lauderdale.”

Jackie nodded, and looked up at the wall covered with British West Indie themed photos and Rugby team flags.

“Miami? The Keys?” Jackie said. “You didn’t mention them.”

“As Jane, our bartender over there, might say,” I said. I tipped my Guinness glass over toward the bar. “They are their own spaceships, and don’t even get me started on LA.”

Sven leaned forward, he appeared confused by my comment. He muttered something that I suspected was a question about LA.

“Lower Alabama, LA, Panama City, Redneck Rivera,” I said. I leaned against the wall. With my right hand forefinger I had drawn an outline for the state of Florida. “Pensacola to Jacksonville and down to Ocala, you’re still in the south.”

Sven chuckled and nodded at me.

“How do you know this?” Jackie asked.

“Insurance,” I said. I sipped the beer. “Demographic studies, and the like, medical malpractice, I work with people, well, people who kill people, by accident, not on purpose.”

Sven grunted up at Jackie. They remained quiet for several minutes, and then Jackie looked over at me.

“Sven’s first wife,” Jackie said. “She died during an operation, they couldn’t save her.”

“Sorry,” I said. I stared down at the carpeted floor.

Over my career I had heard similar stories about human suffering, and the inevitable questions that always boiled down to one, why? As if the higher-power had pointed down from the heavens to pick on just them. I had come to the conclusion most of life was random. Eventually, the higher-power would notice me, and I would then have lived in the past tense. But I had made it past fifty years old with a full head of hair, Sven was in his seventies, but bald. He had found his true love, and I had learned to live alone.

“We met on that cruise I mentioned, it was after our spouses died,” Jackie said. She started to tear up, but then she clenched her jaw. “We were there both very alone, just trying to figure things out, you know, and God gave me The Fin.”

Sven smiled, he grunted, he sipped his brown colored drink.

“I’m happy for you,” I said. I lifted my glass. “Cheers.”

“Cheers,” Sven said. He lifted his glass.

“For the most part we’re happy,” Jackie said. She softly kissed Sven on his forehead. Sven smiled up at Jackie. “I’m so lucky.”

“Luck counts,” I said. I glanced over at the active bar scene. “These days I just do my best.”

Sven grunted at me. He winked.

“As you get older, Rob,” Jackie said. “You realize your health, being loved, it’s everything.”

End

NS

The Moon Under Water – Chapter 4 – The Tinder Date

The Tinder Date

A spindly blonde, wearing a brown suede skirt, and a frilly silk blouse cautiously walked into the Moon. She was middle-aged and sat next to me near the center column. She looked at the side of my face, and she seemed to have carefully inspected the entire crowd as she opened her black purse, she exhumed her smartphone, and with her left forefinger she tapped at the screen; she closely examined it. And then, she again reinspected the crowd.

“E’llo, e’llo, poppet,” he said. He had a cockney accent; he sat at the far corner of the bar within the Snug section slouched over near the cash register. He was heavy set with dark skin, and a mischievous expression. “Hap-yee, Yanks-giving… oh, right?”

“Hey love,” Jane asked. She grimaced back over at the man, she turned, blocked him, and smiled up at her. “Welcome back, Paige set ya up? What are you thinking?”

“Thank you, Jane,” Paige said. She adjusted her frilly blue blouse. “Tito’s soda with lime?”

“Oh, for sure thing,” Jane said. She turned toward the liquor rack along the bars back wall that was covered with a fancy mirror, stenciled above her in block letters, The Moon. She searched with her right hand along a soldier like line of the vodka brands. Without turning around, Jane asked, “Soda, right?”

“Yes, please,” Paige said. “Soda, with a lime.”

“E’llo poppet,” he said. “Want a shot? Jane, hey Jane, shot for everybody round, for my new poppet.”

“Simmer down,” Jane said as she poured the vodka into a tall glass with ice. “Try to be nice.”

“Hey, hey” Paige said, in my direction. She turned to look at me. “I’m Paige, how’s it going?”

I turned, and shook her hand. She had long tanned fingers, with nice rings, but no wedding band.

“Hi, Paige,” I said. “Rob.”

“E’llo, poppet?” He asked. “Just being friendly, over here, hey love, don’t want to be a wanker, but?”

“That dude always so obnoxious?” Paige asked. She tilted her head away from him. “Can I hide with you, act like you know me?”

“Here we are,” Jane said. She tapped on the bar. “Open a tab? Keep it open?”

“Sure,” Paige said. “Keep it open.”

“Poppet,” he said wistfully. “Is it a race thing? You know… I’m a dark brownie and all.”

“I’ll take you in, don’t know him,” I said. I gripped the bar edge. I leaned forward just past the square column; I twisted my head left, and stared over at the loud man, and then over at his large friend. I hoped my stern expression would work, because I was certain I would lose an eyeball without an anesthetic in the back alleyway if they decided to join us. “You’re too late.”

“‘Ere, just trouble and strife, over there,” he said. He dismissively waved back over at us. “Bugger-off, then, no shot for you, or you love.”

“Thanks,” Paige said. Paige tapped me on the arm. “He looks a bit dangerous.”

I sat back on the stool. I glanced over at Paula, as I had tried to hide behind the column.

“Yeah,” I said. I looked behind Paige, and then behind me. “I sometimes wish I carried some heat.”

“It’s legal here,” Paige said. “I’m usually packing, but this purse is too small. I think the dude comings safe, we’ll see, you know, never met the man, but he’s a professional.”

“Blind date?” I asked.

“Really, Rob?” Paige asked. She shook her head. “Tinder.”

“Oh, of course,” I said. I tapped my hand on the bar.

“Aren’t you on Tinder?” Paige asked. She smirked, and quickly blinked her eyelids. “Or, you know, there are some others. The Burg has lots of menu options.”

“I was,” I said. I was certain I had not wanted to know what the ‘others’ meant. “But nobody seemed to notice me, although I did get some offers to be their SG?”

“Sugar Daddy,” Paige said. She chuckled. She had a smokers cough. “Let me guess, recently divorced?”

“Am I that obvious?” I said. I frowned as I looked over at her.

“Pretty much, you have that lost and found look,” Paige said. She shrugged. She checked her smartphone. “You’ll figure it out, I did, hey, can you save my seat, going outside for a quick smoke, perfect night outside.”

“Sure,” I said. I reached forward and snagged a paper coaster and I placed it over her drink.

“Thanks, ah, such a nice guy,” Paige said. She pointed at her drink. “Don’t ruphie me, dude.”

“Really?” I said. “With this apple pie face?”

“Oh yeah,” Paige said. She looked down at me. “It’s always the quiet ones, the loners, besides, Jane makes strong drinks, I need to give it some time to, well, settle down.”

After Paige left, I noticed those already on a date, they were nervously obvious, or, the handsy ones that were merely gearing up for an intimate dessert, or, friends hanging out with friends, or behind me the older comfortable couple dining at the bar noshing on Chana masala with naan bread. I just sat alone guarding Paige’s drink. A few guests stopped and ordered drinks that Jane handed to them back across the bar. It was an odd sensation, as I sat there. It was as if I had been hidden inside a Christmas snow globe for twenty years that had gotten knocked off the fireplace mantle; And it had been shattered into unfixable pieces. And now the little house was gone, and all the fake snow had melted away. And then I sensed movement, and I smelled the blended perfume and cigarette smoke fragrance.

“Thanks, dude,” Paige said. She sat up straight, and took a proper sip of her drink. “Whoa.” Paige shut her eyes, she squealed, and squirmed while holding the drink glass above the bar. “Jane makes a serious drink, whoa.”

“Yes she does,” I said. I noticed Jane standing nearby grinning with pride as she fixed another drink. “Girls got skills, reason I stick with Guinness, it’s safe.”

“Whoa,” Paige said. She set the drink on the bar, she shook her shoulders, and flapped her hands. “I can feel again, praise the lord, I love you, Jane. But good-god.”

“I take care of my girls,” Jane said as she walked toward the kitchen doors. “You’re one of my regular girls.”

Paige seemed like a happy-go-lucky soul that was not afraid to experience adventure. I admired her willingness to compete for attention, to spin the modern dating wheel.

“What’s he look like?” I asked.

“Good question,” Paige said. “That’s why I’m early, so I can get a good look. I’ve had dates with people, it must’ve been a high school photo because they were either fat, or bald or both.”

“What do you do?” I asked. I leaned toward her. “You know, you’re on a date.”

“Oh no,” Paige said. She wiggled a dismissive forefinger. “I’m to old to be nice, I’ll tell them no way, and walk.”

“Good thinking,” I said. I nodded in agreement. “I should remember that.”

“Or, I’ll let them buy me a drink,” Paige said. She sipped her cocktail. “And then I walk.”

“Well, I hope this is the right one,” I said. “Cheers.”

“Cheers,” Paige said. She stared over the bar at a large custom beer tap. “I start to lose hope, but then I get a ping, and I think, why not, he’s cute.”

“Or, he appears cute,” I said. “Right?”

Paige pursed her lips. She nodded.

“Can I ask a favor?” Paige asked.

“Perhaps,” I said. “If it’s legal.”

“I’m hungry, nervous energy,” Paige said. She tapped her fingernails on the bar. “If I order some seahorses, French fries with gravy, you’ll share with me, and if he shows up, I’ll act like it’s yours?”

“Sure, I guess,” I said. “Seahorses?”

“It’s a girl thing, don’t want to look Miss Pigish,” Paige said. “Oh, fish things, I love them.”

Paige placed the order, the deep fried, golden brown food appeared, and it quickly disappeared.

“Hey, Rob,” Paige said. She waved toward someone behind me. She wiped her lips with a white paper napkin. “He’s here, talk soon, click, click.”

“Good luck,” I said. I moved the empty fry basket forward, and acted like I was about to leave.

As I inspected the already paid bill, I voyeured into the nearby conversation. I was curious, I supposed it was just a typical human reaction. But, what I heard was not encouraging, and then I mistakenly glanced over at Paige. I understood there are moments that once seen, like the aftermath from a plane crash, you cannot simply snuff the images out of your memory. Perhaps the first tip off was her expression, it was not happiness, or a pleasant face, it was in her eyes, it was that irritated stare.

And then I heard it, it was more like a growl.

“Dude, no dude,” Paige said.

“What, baby,” he said. “I’m here now.”

And then it happened, he had grappled her shoulders with his thick hands, and he had slowly leaned forward to kiss Paige. But she easily Bob Uecker’d her face away from him. And all he had left was an imitated kiss; a whiffed kiss that had missed ‘just a bit outside’, leaving behind his lonely puckered up lips. I thought he should have at least kept his eyes open as he had tried to yank-one out, in the first inning. But once he was committed, he was left alone with his pride kissing bar air.

“Dude, not on the lips,” Paige said. “I just met you.”

I had averted my gaze, I was frozen on the wooden stool, and I stared directly at Jane. For Jane’s part, she covered her mouth with her hands, and walked down the bar’s bartender side appearing to inspect the rubber floor mats, and dirty-dish bins.

“See you later, Jane,” I said. I got up, and twisted away from Paige. I sensed emotional carnage had left the station and it was building up steam. I heard other comments behind me that spewed from Paige. He was still overconfident.

“What baby, what?”

As I strolled up the brick alleyway, my hands in my jacket pockets, I couldn’t stop laughing, actually, I had been reduced to tears. I suspected those that I had walked past thought I was in deep sadness, but I had felt the polar opposite. But then, as I stood trying to regain my composure in front of a colorful mural painted on the side of the Moon, similar art shared throughout St. Petersburg, I was curious what I would have been like given a similar situation. I had to give Paige credit, she was prepared to keep entering the fray, but, I shrugged, as I was not quite prepared to enter that domain.

The Moon Under Water – Chapter 3 – She was Beautiful

Remember dear readers, I’m sharing my creative process… the below has not been heavily edited, so it has flaws. But, I trust some might enjoy…

—————————————————————————————————-

Chapter 3

She was Beautiful

“How do you drink that stuff?” She asked. She pointed along the bar with her right hand over at the tulip shaped glass half-full with dark Guinness beer. “Isn’t it really heavy?”

“With intent, look up at the pub light above you, the golden harp symbol, it’s my beacon,” I said. She curiously looked up above her at the round, two-sided Guinness signage bolted into the column near the ceiling. She had quietly sat near me with a safety stool between us at the back half of the rustic bar for just past ten minutes. “Plus, I’m lazy, the taps in front of you, short distance for me back to mothers milk.”

“Ha, but, I’d get full,” she said. “Does it taste like coffee?”

“A bit, I stay away from hard liquor,” I said. “Being drunk, and alone, stumbling up a dark alleyway, even in St. Pete, is not a good idea. By the way, I’m Rob.”

“Bree, first time in here,” Bree said. She looked above me at the chalk board with colorful hand written information about local upcoming events for the month of October. “Students my story, straight out of St. Louis.”

She had a clear, pale complexion, and long sandy blonde hair that she let curl down the right side of her thin neck line. She innocently fiddled with the hair-ends, with hands and fingers that worked for a living. If she hadn’t spoken a word, she could have easily been mistaken for a petite waitress working a busy Welsh pub fighting off stubby sailors while dishing out sarcasm.

“Well, Bree,” I said. “Welcome to the Moon. What are you studying to be?”

“Scientist, I think, maybe marine biologist,” Bree said. She sipped her clear liquor drink escorted along the glass rim with a green lime wedge. “I don’t know, I’m always confused, but yeah, science, I like science, I just don’t want to have to sell stuff, that’s scary.”

“I live that fantasy,” I said. “I sell stuff.”

“Hey hun,” Edwina asked. She had leaned onto the bar. “Either you kids want a menu?”

“No thanks,” Bree said. “I’ll stay with my adulting beverage.”

“As well,” I said, as Edwina dismissed me; she raised her eyebrows at me like a disapproving mother, and she quickly turned away from me to engage other the bar guests. “What does adulting really mean?”

“I still get carded,” Bree said. A large teenage bus-boy returned on the other side of the bar with a plastic tub full of dirty dishes. “I card people at my waitress job, it’s the law, after all, I don’t argue, I need the money.”

“Ah, got it,” I said as I watched the bus-boy fill the under-countertop stainless steel dishwasher with his bounty. “Got to pay the bills, would you card me?”

Bree glanced over at me. She had inquisitive brown eyes above a somewhat turned up nose. She had eyes that had paid attention.

“Yeah, just for kicks, I’d card you,” Bree said. She smiled. “Under thirty, that’s the rule.”

I sipped the Guinness, and I placed the glass back on the round white coaster that had developed a moist brown ring.

“You are quick, and funny, what if I’m over fifty?” I said. I tapped my fingers on the marble bar top near her. I shrugged. “I’m not hitting on you, I promise. I’m just goofing with you.”

Bree studied me for a moment, my eyes, and my face.

“Yes you are,” Bree said. “At least you’re a dude, sometimes it’s women, St. Pete’s got all types. But don’t get me wrong, most are really nice, actually I’m flattered, but it’s just not my thing, you know.”

“I get it,” I said. “We’re on the same team.”

Edwina returned from the far end of the bar, she asked if we wanted another round; we both had agreed we did. We quietly sat near each other on the creaking wooden stools hidden near the bars thick back column.

“Sorry,” I said. I blushed within the dark bar. “I’m full of nonsense, especially these days.”

Bree picked up her drink, and she nudged over and clinked my glass. She took in a serious gulp.

“What if I like older men?” Bree said. She held up her glass. “Cheers!”

“Cheers,” I said. I studied Bree. She wasn’t flashy, with lots of curves with fake breasts. She had not worn fashionable clothes, or any jewelry. At that point in her life, I suspected, she lacked the resources for anything fancy. But in my eyes, she was beautiful. The kind of girl that had casually strolled past me in my youth. She was beautiful in a way any man with his senses about him would have understood.

“Well, Rob, Guinness man of mystery, not hitting on me,” Bree said. She tilted her head as she looked over at me. “What makes you feel alive?”

“Now I think you’re hitting on me,” I said. I grinned.

“We’ll see,” Bree said.

“I have an answer,” I said. “It’s not what, it’s when.”

“When?” Bree asked. Her expression appeared puzzled from my response, as if I had performed a verbal magic trick. I sipped the Guinness drink. I gazed back across the bar at the crowded Snug section for what appeared to have been a modest office party, and then I looked through the windows at the outside dinner guests that sat under the canopies while being dutifully served drinks, or plates piled with deep-fried comfort food.

“Sunday morning,” I said. I winked back over at Bree. I nodded. “Yeah, Sunday mornings.”

“I don’t understand,” Bree said. Bree fiddled with her hair as she turned to face me.

Perhaps I’d discovered just enough Guinness courage, perhaps I just wanted to talk to a pretty girl about life, and not get lost in conversations about politics, or sports, or other lost topics that I had little control over.

“Let me paint a picture, it’s just before dawn,” I said. I stared down at the tiled flooring that separated the bar area from the ebony floor boards for the dining section. “In a comfy bed, cocooned under soft sheets in a cold bedroom, spooned together for warmth; I can sense her calm breath, as if she’s barely breathing, her hands within my hands.” And it was as if the sounds within The Moon went silent. It was completely still. As if Bree and I had sat under the stars in a random corn field, are faces washed over by the glow from a harvest moon. Bree just stared at me, her full lips barely parted. She protectively grasped her drink glass in front of her with both hands. “The only sounds are waking birds in a nearby oak tree just outside our window,” I said. I pointed upward with my forefinger at a working ceiling fan. “The constant ceiling fan sharing cold air, our legs intertwined, we stay barely asleep for another hour, then I slowly get up, and I make her black coffee, eggs with burnt toast.”

Bree sipped her drink. She nodded; she smiled.

“I didn’t expect that,” Bree said. She crossed her thin legs, and dangled a well-worn flip-flop. “Divorced?”

“You’re smart, but you asked, the times I’ve felt alive, they are the quiet moments, shared experiences,” I said. I heard the steam from the nearby dishwasher being released from intense pressure. “And you? What makes you feel alive?”

“Living the dream, slowly,” Bree said. She glossed her right hand palm over the dark bar edge either admiring the aged patina, or trying to grasp a serious thought. “You’re really interesting…”

“I guess,” I said. “When I find someone interesting, if they ask me a good question, I feel compelled to give them an honest answer, I just rarely come across those people.”

Bree sipped her drink. She rubbed her forefingers and thumbs along the glasses bottom edge merging together condensation drops.

“I’m just lost,” Bree said. She looked over at me. “I wish I had everything planned out, you know, what do you do?”

“I peddle expensive insurance,” I said. I shrugged. “Doctors, hospitals, folks like that.”

“That sounds like selling stuff, no thanks,” Bree said. “Kids?”

“By night I’m an author, or really early in the morning I write, you know, a dreamer,” I said. I sighed. “No children, I went for the donut, careers and writing always seemed more important. You have any?”

Bree shot back a glare at me as if I’d vomited on the bar.

“Ah, no way,” Bree said. Her chest heaved with a deep breath. “And not planning too, let my friends back home be breeders.”

“I get you,” I said. I raised my glass. “That’s a lifetime sentence, minimum eighteen to twenty years.”

“That’s what I’m thinking,” Bree said. She wiggled on the stool. “Plus, I’ll get fat, he’ll leave me.”

As I sat within the bar gloom with my new friend, I realized how every person made life choices along the journey that sometimes the answers were only revealed decades into the future, and at the most unexpected moments. It was clear in my mind that I would never be a father, or a grandfather, or have grown children to look after me into my winter years. I was aware I’d die someday, but I had hoped to have someone else holding my hand for support as I transitioned into the afterlife.

“I guess we’re both on our own,” I said. I nodded. “Cheers.”

“Cheers, but you have a life,” Bree said. “I’m up to my waist in debt, whatever, I’m glad I came in here, I walk past all the time, toward school.”

I smiled at Bree; I thought about all the restaurants and bars that littered downtown St. Petersburg, some were easy to enter because they were brand new with lots of bright lights, but the Moon was dark and aged. It took a tough internal will to walk into the Moon, alone, and not have lived past twenty-five years.

“Don’t be fooled by age,” I said. “As you get older the stress changes, but it’s always there, it’s just the difference between looking forward, or looking back.”

“You got me,” Bree said. She finished off her drink, the green lime slice rested alone at the bottom of the glass. She contemplated if she could afford another. She glanced over at me. “Maybe hang?”

“Sure, I’ll hang,” I said. “Hungry?”

“Yeah,” Bree said. “I’m fine, I’ve got food at home.”

“I understand,” I said. “The foods good here, really.”

“Good to know,” Bree said. She leaned forward searching for Edwina down the bar who was lost into a pleasant conversation.

“Like sushi? I know a spot, real close by, you’ll love it,” I asked. I finished my Guinness. I placed my debit card on the bar, and nodded over at the bartender, Kate, who had just entered the bar to work a shift with Edwina. “My treat for a good conversation, you can tell this oldish man about science.”

“Hey love,” Kate said. “You already cashing out?”

I glanced back over at Bree, she hesitantly nodded a yes.

“Let the old guy buy dinner,” I said. “I can swing it, besides, I like talking to you, it would be my pleasure.”

“I love sushi, can’t afford it much,” Bree said. She gripped her nap sack. “Thanks. You’re not an axe murderer?”

“He’s harmless,” Kate said. She returned with both bills. I paid them. “See ya, hun.”

“Just looking to make a friend,” I said. I got up and I stuffed my hands in my pants pockets. “Besides, think of it this way, I’d rather hang out with a smart twenty-something with hopes and dreams, than a forty-something with kids and an agenda.”

Bree smirked at me as she got up.

“You’re good writer, aren’t you,” Bree said. We turned toward the front doors. Behind us, Edwina and Kate cleared the bar area, and wiped the marble top with moist rags.

“If he tries anything funny,” Edwina said. She pushed her eyeglass frame up her long nose. “Kick him in the nuts.”

Bree turned around and waved at Edwina.

“I have mace,” Bree said. “I’ll blind him.”

“We’ll steer clear of the alleyways,” I said. I shook my head as we left the Moon. “I’m a good story teller, not a writer, I love the story, but I’d be a starving artist.”

“Would I be a good story?” Bree asked. We stepped down the front stairs, into the warm night, and onto the concrete sidewalk. And we blended in with the tourists, and the local crowd.

“I think so,” I said. “I think you’ve got potential.”

“Thanks,” Bree said. She looked up at me. “You’re serious?”

“Absolutely,” I said. “Can I make a recommendation, take it or leave it, I don’t tell people how to live?”

“Sure,” Bree said as she almost walked into a large bronzed frog. “That would hurt, but it’s cool.”

“For sure,” I said. “Live for moments, aware of the future, if I could go back in time, the only change I’d make, focus on the moment, don’t worry about years.”

“I’ll try that,” Bree said. She smiled at me. “You like saki?”

“I don’t know,” I said.

“I do,” Bree said. She brightly smiled. “I’ll show you.”

And for a brief moment, I had felt twenty-five, again.

End.

NS

The Moon Under Water

Remember dear readers, I’m sharing my creative process… the below has not been heavily edited, so it has flaws. But, I trust some might enjoy…

Chapter 3

She was Beautiful

“How do you drink that stuff?” She asked. She pointed along the bar with her right hand over at the tulip shaped glass half-full with dark Guinness beer. “Isn’t it really heavy?”

“With intent, look up at the pub light above you, the golden harp symbol, it’s my beacon,” I said. She curiously looked up above her at the round, two-sided Guinness signage bolted into the column near the ceiling. She had quietly sat near me with a safety stool between us at the back half of the rustic bar for just past ten minutes. “Plus, I’m lazy, the taps in front of you, short distance for me back to mothers milk.”

“Ha, but, I’d get full,” she said. “Does it taste like coffee?”

“A bit, I stay away from hard liquor,” I said. “Being drunk, and alone, stumbling up a dark alleyway, even in St. Pete, is not a good idea. By the way, I’m Rob.”

“Bree, first time in here,” Bree said. She looked above me at the chalk board with colorful hand written information about local upcoming events for the month of October. “Students my story, straight out of St. Louis.”

She had a clear, pale complexion, and long sandy blonde hair that she let curl down the right side of her thin neck line. She innocently fiddled with the hair-ends, with hands and fingers that worked for a living. If she hadn’t spoken a word, she could have easily been mistaken for a petite waitress working a busy Welsh pub fighting off stubby sailors while dishing out sarcasm.

“Well, Bree,” I said. “Welcome to the Moon. What are you studying to be?”

“Scientist, I think, maybe marine biologist,” Bree said. She sipped her clear liquor drink escorted along the glass rim with a green lime wedge. “I don’t know, I’m always confused, but yeah, science, I like science, I just don’t want to have to sell stuff, that’s scary.”

“I live that fantasy,” I said. “I sell stuff.”

“Hey hun,” Edwina asked. She had leaned onto the bar. “Either you kids want a menu?”

“No thanks,” Bree said. “I’ll stay with my adulting beverage.”

“As well,” I said, as Edwina dismissed me; she raised her eyebrows at me like a disapproving mother, and she quickly turned away from me to engage other the bar guests. “What does adulting really mean?”

“I still get carded,” Bree said. A large teenage bus-boy returned on the other side of the bar with a plastic tub full of dirty dishes. “I card people at my waitress job, it’s the law, after all, I don’t argue, I need the money.”

“Ah, got it,” I said as I watched the bus-boy fill the under-countertop stainless steel dishwasher with his bounty. “Got to pay the bills, would you card me?”

Bree glanced over at me. She had inquisitive brown eyes above a somewhat turned up nose. She had eyes that had paid attention.

“Yeah, just for kicks, I’d card you,” Bree said. She smiled. “Under thirty, that’s the rule.”

I sipped the Guinness, and I placed the glass back on the round white coaster that had developed a moist brown ring.

“You are quick, and funny, what if I’m over fifty?” I said. I tapped my fingers on the marble bar top near her. I shrugged. “I’m not hitting on you, I promise. I’m just goofing with you.”

Bree studied me for a moment, my eyes, and my face.

“Yes you are,” Bree said. “At least you’re a dude, sometimes it’s women, St. Pete’s got all types. But don’t get me wrong, most are really nice, actually I’m flattered, but it’s just not my thing, you know.”

“I get it,” I said. “We’re on the same team.”

Edwina returned from the far end of the bar, she asked if we wanted another round; we both had agreed we did. We quietly sat near each other on the creaking wooden stools hidden near the bars thick back column.

“Sorry,” I said. I blushed within the dark bar. “I’m full of nonsense, especially these days.”

Bree picked up her drink, and she nudged over and clinked my glass. She took in a serious gulp.

“What if I like older men?” Bree said. She held up her glass. “Cheers!”

“Cheers,” I said. I studied Bree. She wasn’t flashy, with lots of curves with fake breasts. She had not worn fashionable clothes, or any jewelry. At that point in her life, I suspected, she lacked the resources for anything fancy. But in my eyes, she was beautiful. The kind of girl that had casually strolled past me in my youth. She was beautiful in a way any man with his senses about him would have understood.

“Well, Rob, Guinness man of mystery, not hitting on me,” Bree said. She tilted her head as she looked over at me. “What makes you feel alive?”

“Now I think you’re hitting on me,” I said. I grinned.

“We’ll see,” Bree said.

“I have an answer,” I said. “It’s not what, it’s when.”

“When?” Bree asked. Her expression appeared puzzled from my response, as if I had performed a verbal magic trick. I sipped the Guinness drink. I gazed back across the bar at the crowded Snug section for what appeared to have been a modest office party, and then I looked through the windows at the outside dinner guests that sat under the canopies while being dutifully served drinks, or plates piled with deep-fried comfort food.

“Sunday morning,” I said. I winked back over at Bree. I nodded. “Yeah, Sunday mornings.”

“I don’t understand,” Bree said. Bree fiddled with her hair as she turned to face me.

Perhaps I’d discovered just enough Guinness courage, perhaps I just wanted to talk to a pretty girl about life, and not get lost in conversations about politics, or sports, or other lost topics that I had little control over.

“Let me paint a picture, it’s just before dawn,” I said. I stared down at the tiled flooring that separated the bar area from the ebony floor boards for the dining section. “In a comfy bed, cocooned under soft sheets in a cold bedroom, spooned together for warmth; I can sense her calm breath, as if she’s barely breathing, her hands within my hands.” And it was as if the sounds within The Moon went silent. It was completely still. As if Bree and I had sat under the stars in a random corn field, are faces washed over by the glow from a harvest moon. Bree just stared at me, her full lips barely parted. She protectively grasped her drink glass in front of her with both hands. “The only sounds are waking birds in a nearby oak tree just outside our window,” I said. I pointed upward with my forefinger at a working ceiling fan. “The constant ceiling fan sharing cold air, our legs intertwined, we stay barely asleep for another hour, then I slowly get up, and I make her black coffee, eggs with burnt toast.”

Bree sipped her drink. She nodded; she smiled.

“I didn’t expect that,” Bree said. She crossed her thin legs, and dangled a well-worn flip-flop. “Divorced?”

“You’re smart, but you asked, the times I’ve felt alive, they are the quiet moments, shared experiences,” I said. I heard the steam from the nearby dishwasher being released from intense pressure. “And you? What makes you feel alive?”

“Living the dream, slowly,” Bree said. She glossed her right hand palm over the dark bar edge either admiring the aged patina, or trying to grasp a serious thought. “You’re really interesting…”

“I guess,” I said. “When I find someone interesting, if they ask me a good question, I feel compelled to give them an honest answer, I just rarely come across those people.”

Bree sipped her drink. She rubbed her forefingers and thumbs along the glasses bottom edge merging together condensation drops.

“I’m just lost,” Bree said. She looked over at me. “I wish I had everything planned out, you know, what do you do?”

“I peddle expensive insurance,” I said. I shrugged. “Doctors, hospitals, folks like that.”

“That sounds like selling stuff, no thanks,” Bree said. “Kids?”

“By night I’m an author, or really early in the morning I write, you know, a dreamer,” I said. I sighed. “No children, I went for the donut, careers and writing always seemed more important. You have any?”

Bree shot back a glare at me as if I’d vomited on the bar.

“Ah, no way,” Bree said. Her chest heaved with a deep breath. “And not planning too, let my friends back home be breeders.”

“I get you,” I said. I raised my glass. “That’s a lifetime sentence, minimum eighteen to twenty years.”

“That’s what I’m thinking,” Bree said. She wiggled on the stool. “Plus, I’ll get fat, he’ll leave me.”

As I sat within the bar gloom with my new friend, I realized how every person made life choices along the journey that sometimes the answers were only revealed decades into the future, and at the most unexpected moments. It was clear in my mind that I would never be a father, or a grandfather, or have grown children to look after me into my winter years. I was aware I’d die someday, but I had hoped to have someone else holding my hand for support as I transitioned into the afterlife.

“I guess we’re both on our own,” I said. I nodded. “Cheers.”

“Cheers, but you have a life,” Bree said. “I’m up to my waist in debt, whatever, I’m glad I came in here, I walk past all the time, toward school.”

I smiled at Bree; I thought about all the restaurants and bars that littered downtown St. Petersburg, some were easy to enter because they were brand new with lots of bright lights, but the Moon was dark and aged. It took a tough internal will to walk into the Moon, alone, and not have lived past twenty-five years.

“Don’t be fooled by age,” I said. “As you get older the stress changes, but it’s always there, it’s just the difference between looking forward, or looking back.”

“You got me,” Bree said. She finished off her drink, the green lime slice rested alone at the bottom of the glass. She contemplated if she could afford another. She glanced over at me. “Maybe hang?”

“Sure, I’ll hang,” I said. “Hungry?”

“Yeah,” Bree said. “I’m fine, I’ve got food at home.”

“I understand,” I said. “The foods good here, really.”

“Good to know,” Bree said. She leaned forward searching for Edwina down the bar who was lost into a pleasant conversation.

“Like sushi? I know a spot, real close by, you’ll love it,” I asked. I finished my Guinness. I placed my debit card on the bar, and nodded over at the bartender, Kate, who had just entered the bar to work a shift with Edwina. “My treat for a good conversation, you can tell this oldish man about science.”

“Hey love,” Kate said. “You already cashing out?”

I glanced back over at Bree, she hesitantly nodded a yes.

“Let the old guy buy dinner,” I said. “I can swing it, besides, I like talking to you, it would be my pleasure.”

“I love sushi, can’t afford it much,” Bree said. She gripped her nap sack. “Thanks. You’re not an axe murderer?”

“He’s harmless,” Kate said. She returned with both bills. I paid them. “See ya, hun.”

“Just looking to make a friend,” I said. I got up and I stuffed my hands in my pants pockets. “Besides, think of it this way, I’d rather hang out with a smart twenty-something with hopes and dreams, than a forty-something with kids and an agenda.”

Bree smirked at me as she got up.

“You’re good writer, aren’t you,” Bree said. We turned toward the front doors. Behind us, Edwina and Kate cleared the bar area, and wiped the marble top with moist rags.

“If he tries anything funny,” Edwina said. She pushed her eyeglass frame up her long nose. “Kick him in the nuts.”

Bree turned around and waved at Edwina.

“I have mace,” Bree said. “I’ll blind him.”

“We’ll steer clear of the alleyways,” I said. I shook my head as we left the Moon. “I’m a good story teller, not a writer, I love the story, but I’d be a starving artist.”

“Would I be a good story?” Bree asked. We stepped down the front stairs, into the warm night, and onto the concrete sidewalk. And we blended in with the tourists, and the local crowd.

“I think so,” I said. “I think you’ve got potential.”

“Thanks,” Bree said. She looked up at me. “You’re serious?”

“Absolutely,” I said. “Can I make a recommendation, take it or leave it, I don’t tell people how to live?”

“Sure,” Bree said as she almost walked into a large bronzed frog. “That would hurt, but it’s cool.”

“For sure,” I said. “Live for moments, aware of the future, if I could go back in time, the only change I’d make, focus on the moment, don’t worry about years.”

“I’ll try that,” Bree said. She smiled at me. “You like saki?”

“I don’t know,” I said.

“I do,” Bree said. She brightly smiled. “I’ll show you.”

And for a brief moment, I had felt twenty-five, again.

End.

NS

The Moon Under Water – Chapter 2 – Those Crazy Girls

Chapter 2 – The Moon Under Water

Those Crazy Girls

It had been a forgettable workday; and I had struggled through my late afternoon workout. The constant early October heat had radiated me along my jogging path, it reminded me I was a living, breathing, human-being now well past fifty-earth-orbits. I had had to stop on the hexagonal shaped sidewalk, with my hands gripping my knees dripping sweat beads down on history. After I cooled off, I showered by standing motionless under the warm spray wondering if exercising was merely extending the inevitable. It was just past the cocktail hour at mid-week as the sun’s reflection blanketed St. Petersburg in a temporary warm auburn haze. Hugged by a calm breeze I walked alone under laurel oaks, coconut palm trees and past a large hotel construction project, down the street toward The Moon and then along an uneven brick alleyway that was paralleled to the main roads that the city fathers had smoothed over with blacktop. I typically avoided those clean roads that were lined with fancy shops for art, or clothes, or busy restaurants with guests dining outside under umbrellas. I had enjoyed my solitude. Earlier in the day an all to typical tropical storm had popped open and the black battle clouds had treated the roads and alleys the same; with the deluge cycling down the streets toward the harbor, or quickly disappearing within the sandy soil that was supported by sections with dense St. Augustine grass. The only hint that a storm had passed by were the coffee-with-cream puddles were left behind within the concave sections where the alleyway bricks had descended from natural decay.

St. Petersburg had been built to last. It was covered with enough hidden alleyways from neighborhood to neighborhood that even a London taxi driver would consider it deep knowledge to successively navigate. As I had walked and biked Old Northeast, I realized those alleyways were the town’s soul; its hidden truths, where modern progress abutted up against granite curbs and baked in place old world history within Augusta Blocks, or Baltimore Blocks, or bricks from the Southern Clay Manufacturing Company. The neighborhood alleyways and brick streets were protected by a healthy tree canopy; the bricks had different shades for reds, or oranges, or browns, they had imperfect repairs, but they non-judgmentally meandered behind expensive homes, or modest apartment dwellings, or in front of the preserved 1920’s bungalows. The streets were wrinkled, flawed, but they were defiant as the blacktopped downtown streets ceased at the old neighborhood entryways, but for the areas were the concrete, or blacktop glue, had hopped past and invaded sections under new zoning law protections. But if you inspected those older blacktopped roads that were deteriorating, the bricks were still there, just temporarily hidden underneath like ugly 1970’s shag carpet over quarter-saw oak flooring.
It was along the downtown bricked alleyways, held together by sand, time, and developer disinterest that it was the location where the restaurants waiters, cooks and worker-bees hid to take their breaks. They smoked cigarettes; they leaned against the pungent metal trash bins and expressed their angst. After awhile, they seemed to recognize me, and they’d acknowledge my relative existence as I passed by them toward The Moon.
“Your usual, dear,” Edwina asked. She was the youngest bartender, a bit larger than Jane or Kate, but with a decidedly direct personality behind fashionable thick black eyeglass frames. And she refused to suffer fools, but after you proved worthy, she had a strong kindness streak.

“Thank you,” I said. I acknowledged the couple to my right.
“You look a little like, Andy Dufresne,” she said. She had an androgynous appearance, but a perky countenance. She sat next to another heavier-set woman near the bar’s center section. “It’s the hair, yeah, it’s the hair.”
“Hm, sorry,” I said. I sipped my Guinness. “Not sure I know Andy?”
“Careful with these two,” Edwina said. She tapped over at one of them. “Top off your drinks?”
“OH, you are the devil,” she said. But she quickly downed here clear liquid cocktail. “If you insist…”
The closer female, a bit older with salt and pepper hair cut just above her shoulders, gripped my left arm.
“I’m Annie,” Annie said. She nodded to her right. “My wife’s name, Constance.”
“Hey there,” I said. “Call me, Rob.”
“Rob,” Annie said. She closely examined my face. “I don’t know why, but I like you.”
“Would it have anything to do, blame it on the alcohol?” I said. I grinned. “I have that effect on woman, but I don’t think I’m on your team, or am I?”
“Good point, we both like girls,” Constance said. She hugged Annie. “You have kind eyes, a calm vibe, have a girl?”
“She’s being honest,” Annie said. “She lacks a filter, but I love her just that way.”
“He’s good,” Edwina said. She smirked. “You crazy girls hungry?”
“We love the Moon,” Constance said. She opened her arms, and held up her hands. “Everybody gets treated the same.”
“We’re just drinking,” Annie said. Edwina moved away.
We sat quietly for a few minutes admiring the busy bar scene. The television had zero volume as it displayed a hard fought rugby match, beneath, Edwina opened a chilled wine cabinet and retrieved a bottle with red wine, pulled out the cork, and filled a cabernet glass.
“You crazy girls sound foreign,” I said. “Where’s home, home?”
“Ohio,” Annie said. “We had to escape, Constance got a job, I followed, I inspect fire alarms.”
“You do not,” I said. I laughed. “I’m kidding, I thought I heard Ohio, or Michigan, how long?”
They both looked at each other as if to calculate time. Annie pointed up at Constance with thick fingers, a gold necklace dangled from her neck.
“Twenty-two years,” Annie said. “Yep.”
“That’s about right,” Constance said. She gripped the bar with both hands. “God, time gets past, but we’ve been happy here.”
“You ain’t from here either,” Annie said.
I sipped the Guinness, I leaned back and stared up at the coffered ceiling centered by brown ceiling fans and surrounded by British West Indies themed decorations.
“Kentucky, Florida, Alabama, Missouri,” I said. I shrugged. “A bit in New Jersey, really New York, and Texas, and now I’m here, at the Moon.”
“You’re like a Johnny Cash song,” Constance said. She nudged at me. “You’ve been every where man…”
“You’re welcome here, Rob,” Annie said. She patted me on the shoulder. “But remember, The Burg, you have to slow down to notice it, the old buildings, like up there, those stain glassed windows.”
I turned my shoulders as I followed her fingers pointing upwards. There above the double doors were a line of rectangular stain glassed windows depicting sailing scenes.
“I didn’t even notice,” I said.
“See,” Annie said. “That’s St. Pete, it ain’t like Tampa.”
“We don’t belong in Tampa,” Constance said. She shook her head, and glanced over at me. “Different world across those bridges.”
As I looked away from the stained glass windows, I noticed a decorative fireplace across the far wall for the dining section, and along the walls, decorations that could have been absconded from the 1939 movie set for Gunga Din.
“I guess you’re right,” I said. “I should pay better attention.”
“It just the Burg vibe,” Annie said. “If you stay long enough, you’ll get it, we love it here.”
“It’s not where you live, Rob,” Constance said. “It’s do you feel welcome.”

End

NS

The Moon Under Water

Chapter 2 – The Moon Under Water

Those Crazy Girls

It had been a forgettable workday; and I had struggled through my late afternoon workout. The constant early October heat had radiated me along my jogging path, it reminded me I was a living, breathing, human-being now well past fifty-earth-orbits. I had had to stop on the hexagonal shaped sidewalk, with my hands gripping my knees dripping sweat beads down on history. After I cooled off, I showered by standing motionless under the warm spray wondering if exercising was merely extending the inevitable. It was just past the cocktail hour at mid-week as the sun’s reflection blanketed St. Petersburg in a temporary warm auburn haze. Hugged by a calm breeze I walked alone under laurel oaks, coconut palm trees and past a large hotel construction project, down the street toward The Moon and then along an uneven brick alleyway that was paralleled to the main roads that the city fathers had smoothed over with blacktop. I typically avoided those clean roads that were lined with fancy shops for art, or clothes, or busy restaurants with guests dining outside under umbrellas. I had enjoyed my solitude. Earlier in the day an all to typical tropical storm had popped open and the black battle clouds had treated the roads and alleys the same; with the deluge cycling down the streets toward the harbor, or quickly disappearing within the sandy soil that was supported by sections with dense St. Augustine grass. The only hint that a storm had passed by were the coffee-with-cream puddles were left behind within the concave sections where the alleyway bricks had descended from natural decay.

St. Petersburg had been built to last. It was covered with enough hidden alleyways from neighborhood to neighborhood that even a London taxi driver would consider it deep knowledge to successively navigate. As I had walked and biked Old Northeast, I realized those alleyways were the town’s soul; its hidden truths, where modern progress abutted up against granite curbs and baked in place old world history within Augusta Blocks, or Baltimore Blocks, or bricks from the Southern Clay Manufacturing Company. The neighborhood alleyways and brick streets were protected by a healthy tree canopy; the bricks had different shades for reds, or oranges, or browns, they had imperfect repairs, but they non-judgmentally meandered behind expensive homes, or modest apartment dwellings, or in front of the preserved 1920’s bungalows. The streets were wrinkled, flawed, but they were defiant as the blacktopped downtown streets ceased at the old neighborhood entryways, but for the areas were the concrete, or blacktop glue, had hopped past and invaded sections under new zoning law protections. But if you inspected those older blacktopped roads that were deteriorating, the bricks were still there, just temporarily hidden underneath like ugly 1970’s shag carpet over quarter-saw oak flooring.
It was along the downtown bricked alleyways, held together by sand, time, and developer disinterest that it was the location where the restaurants waiters, cooks and worker-bees hid to take their breaks. They smoked cigarettes; they leaned against the pungent metal trash bins and expressed their angst. After awhile, they seemed to recognize me, and they’d acknowledge my relative existence as I passed by them toward The Moon.
“Your usual, dear,” Edwina asked. She was the youngest bartender, a bit larger than Jane or Kate, but with a decidedly direct personality behind fashionable thick black eyeglass frames. And she refused to suffer fools, but after you proved worthy, she had a strong kindness streak.

“Thank you,” I said. I acknowledged the couple to my right.
“You look a little like, Andy Dufresne,” she said. She had an androgynous appearance, but a perky countenance. She sat next to another heavier-set woman near the bar’s center section. “It’s the hair, yeah, it’s the hair.”
“Hm, sorry,” I said. I sipped my Guinness. “Not sure I know Andy?”
“Careful with these two,” Edwina said. She tapped over at one of them. “Top off your drinks?”
“OH, you are the devil,” she said. But she quickly downed here clear liquid cocktail. “If you insist…”
The closer female, a bit older with salt and pepper hair cut just above her shoulders, gripped my left arm.
“I’m Annie,” Annie said. She nodded to her right. “My wife’s name, Constance.”
“Hey there,” I said. “Call me, Rob.”
“Rob,” Annie said. She closely examined my face. “I don’t know why, but I like you.”
“Would it have anything to do, blame it on the alcohol?” I said. I grinned. “I have that effect on woman, but I don’t think I’m on your team, or am I?”
“Good point, we both like girls,” Constance said. She hugged Annie. “You have kind eyes, a calm vibe, have a girl?”
“She’s being honest,” Annie said. “She lacks a filter, but I love her just that way.”
“He’s good,” Edwina said. She smirked. “You crazy girls hungry?”
“We love the Moon,” Constance said. She opened her arms, and held up her hands. “Everybody gets treated the same.”
“We’re just drinking,” Annie said. Edwina moved away.
We sat quietly for a few minutes admiring the busy bar scene. The television had zero volume as it displayed a hard fought rugby match, beneath, Edwina opened a chilled wine cabinet and retrieved a bottle with red wine, pulled out the cork, and filled a cabernet glass.
“You crazy girls sound foreign,” I said. “Where’s home, home?”
“Ohio,” Annie said. “We had to escape, Constance got a job, I followed, I inspect fire alarms.”
“You do not,” I said. I laughed. “I’m kidding, I thought I heard Ohio, or Michigan, how long?”
They both looked at each other as if to calculate time. Annie pointed up at Constance with thick fingers, a gold necklace dangled from her neck.
“Twenty-two years,” Annie said. “Yep.”
“That’s about right,” Constance said. She gripped the bar with both hands. “God, time gets past, but we’ve been happy here.”
“You ain’t from here either,” Annie said.
I sipped the Guinness, I leaned back and stared up at the coffered ceiling centered by brown ceiling fans and surrounded by British West Indies themed decorations.
“Kentucky, Florida, Alabama, Missouri,” I said. I shrugged. “A bit in New Jersey, really New York, and Texas, and now I’m here, at the Moon.”
“You’re like a Johnny Cash song,” Constance said. She nudged at me. “You’ve been every where man…”
“You’re welcome here, Rob,” Annie said. She patted me on the shoulder. “But remember, The Burg, you have to slow down to notice it, the old buildings, like up there, those stain glassed windows.”
I turned my shoulders as I followed her fingers pointing upwards. There above the double doors were a line of rectangular stain glassed windows depicting sailing scenes.
“I didn’t even notice,” I said.
“See,” Annie said. “That’s St. Pete, it ain’t like Tampa.”
“We don’t belong in Tampa,” Constance said. She shook her head, and glanced over at me. “Different world across those bridges.”
As I looked away from the stained glass windows, I noticed a decorative fireplace across the far wall for the dining section, and along the walls, decorations that could have been absconded from the 1939 movie set for Gunga Din.
“I guess you’re right,” I said. “I should pay better attention.”
“It just the Burg vibe,” Annie said. “If you stay long enough, you’ll get it, we love it here.”
“It’s not where you live, Rob,” Constance said. “It’s do you feel welcome.”

End

NS