Backstory Excerpts for Hardcore Fans, Part 7

Backstory Excerpts

The following excerpts are for those who have read Firetender and want more background details. I don’t recommend reading these Backstory Excerpt posts unless you’ve read the book, but I also can’t stop you if this is the way you’d rather meet Channing (and, as we get into the later excerpts in the timeline, Dallas). None of these scenes further the plot, but they give insight into who the characters are and what shaped them into who they became. All this unpublished writing served me well: I got to know my characters better through this exploration of their backstory. So these are unpolished excerpts, not final published quality, most written over twenty years ago.

I have both of the following short memory scenes in handwritten form. The first one is not dated, but it’s likely from the late 90s and is largely unchanged. The second is dated as February 4, 1997. I made some changes over the years, but these are not revised to publishing quality. The first was the one memory scene I wrote in the original bundle of memories that gave me this level of insight into my protagonist, Dallas. It’s the only time I have ever written him first-person. I have no idea what prompted me to do it—because where was I planning to insert a one-off first-person narrative from the guy I only thought of as the supporting character at the time? But it’s fun for me to see how Dallas’s personality was well-established in my mind and hasn’t really changed much. The second memory below had parts of it lifted and put in Firetender.

If you want to start at the beginning of these memories and missed the first installation, find it here.

A side note - if you have read Firetender or are planning to do so, please leave a review on Amazon if you enjoyed the story. Book reviews help small authors so much in spreading the word about their books. The more reviews, the more likely Amazon is to make the book more visible to people browsing their website.

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Note: mild profanity in the first memory below.

DALLAS

Timeline note for the nerds who want to know: The football incident happened when Channing was 9 or 10 and Dallas was 11 or 12. In Firetender’s opening scene, they have only gotten close as friends recently, around ages 12 and 14, respectively. Dallas is telling this story when he’s almost 17 years old, in 1995. And I likely wrote it when I was about his same age, in 1997.

My name’s Dallas Malone, Channing’s best friend.  I’ve known him for nearly six years now, since he was nine.  I remember that day he moved into the neighborhood.  There was nothing really significant about him.  He seemed edgy and a little detached.  He didn’t know how to play with the other kids on our block; hell, he didn’t even know how to talk to us, really.  Whenever I saw him during that first month, he was by himself.  He’d avoid eye contact with me, but I just shrugged it off and basically ignored him back. 

I remember one day me and some other neighborhood guys were playing football in the street.  Channing was sitting outside in his yard, leaned up against the house, reading.  We played up and down the street, shouting when we got touchdowns and arguing over calls with the one boy stuck with the miserable job of referee.  Channing never looked up.  He seemed totally absorbed in his book.

Then one boy punted the ball.  It was way the heck out of bounds and landed in Channing’s yard, a few feet away from him.  That broke his concentration.  He stared first at the football and then at us, unsure of what to do.

“Come on,” we called.  “Throw us the ball!”

Channing still hesitated.

“Throw us the ball, and then you can come join us,” suggested one boy.  “Max’s team needs another player.”

I don’t know when this photo I found online was taken, but the kid passes as 90s. So do the cars and the mom shorts in the background (although no moms would have been watching Dallas and the other neighborhood boys - this was 1991-ish in a poor neighborhood). Ignore the year on the kid’s shirt that I think betrays that this was taken in 2008 or later.

Slowly Channing stood up and leaned over to pick up the football.  He held it clumsily in his small hands.  After inspecting it a moment, as if deciding how to properly hold the thing, he looked up.  His eyes scanned the group of boys, as if he was unsure who to throw it to.

“Come on, kid,” said one of the older boys, who was about my age.  “Just throw it to me.  We don’t have all day.”

Channing grasped the ball in his left hand and steadied it with his right.  In an awkward motion, he heaved the ball forward.  It dropped less than ten feet in front of him.

The guys started to laugh at him and make rude remarks.  But for some reason, I couldn’t.  Maybe he had never even held one before.  Then I got that annoyed feeling I sometimes get when I think about my own father, and I thought that maybe this kid had never been taught to play, since I’d never seen his father around.  Me, I was somewhat of a natural at sports.  My old man wasn’t there to teach me, either, but at least I inherited some athletic ability from him – best thing he ever did for me, and it was indirect, at that.

As the others jeered at Channing, I felt something inside myself.  But it was weird, ‘cause a lot of times I’m a real jerk.  I approached Channing, picking up the football on the way.  As I looked at the frail, quiet boy with his eyes down on his feet, I felt a mixture of compassion, pity, and mystery.  I couldn’t quite tell what it was at the time… but I knew that Channing had something special about him and should not be taunted and laughed at.

“Leave him alone,” I called out to the others in a cool voice.  Then to Channing, I spoke: “That’s okay, man.  Don’t listen to those guys.”

Random teenager playing football - you can pretend it’s Dallas or one of the others

As I looked at his face, Channing’s eyes rose to meet mine.  They sparkled as he showed a faint grin.  I returned the partial smile and turned, saying, “See ya around.”

My contact with him was limited to this for another year or two, occasionally passing him on the street with a couple words, maybe.  I was already at the middle school and he was still in the 4th and 5th grades in those years.  But I started to see more of him once he got to the 6th grade at the same school as me.  Channing was just as quiet, shy, and withdrawn as that first time I spoke to him.  I saw him outside a lot, during our recess time.  He always sat alone, either in the shade of a tree, reading, or along the parking lot curb, seemingly lost in thought.  After observing him for a few days, I began to approach him and speak to him from time to time, just briefly here and there.

At first, Channing was reluctant to respond to me.  He would always nod and say a few words, but nothing in the way of a real conversation.  But after a few months, I think he began to trust me a bit, and even sought me out some, tried to start a conversation himself.  I guess that he saw that I, too, was a loner… though in a different way.  I’m more of a loner on the inside…  I guess what I mean by that is that I wasn’t one of the kids like Channing who was always by himself.  I seemed to always have other people around me… I played sports a lot, like I said before, so I always had those guys around to hang out with.  But I always knew that somehow I wasn’t truly part of the group – and that’s my own doing, I guess, not anyone else’s.  In my mind, I was always alone.  I never talked to anyone about anything I was thinking.  I never let myself get to be close with many people.  I was a pretty artificial friend, I guess… at least with everyone but Channing.  Having been held back that year in school didn’t help much either, come to think of it.  But it’s just the way I always was already.  I think I’d put up mental walls at an early age to protect myself.  I wanted to fit in, and sometimes I could fake it pretty decently, but it never felt right.

Dallas’s attitude towards most other kids through all his years of school

After a year together at the middle school, that’s when I’d say we really became friends.  Channing and I began discussing our hobbies and interests, and little things like that at first.  We started hanging out together after school, going for walks, watching TV, or just talking.  He was this jumpy, quiet little kid, but we seemed to stick together in some weird way.  After a while, we started having long talks about more serious stuff, like our parents and problems from our pasts, and the stuff we were currently having to deal with.  Channing opened up to me more and more as time passed.

I sorta hinted at this earlier, but I had never known my father.  He ran off before I was born.  My mother has raised me by herself.  She’s always worked hard to support us, working long hours at factory jobs, and taking on a part-time waitress job too.  I always had enough food in my stomach and clothes on my back.  My mom never really gave me much attention, but I know she’s just been stressed out since before I was even around….  And I know she’s gotten into some kind of trouble a few times, I’m not sure what for… I’m pretty sure she’s got some bad secrets inside.  But she’s never let it get in the way of just providing the basics for me, and in return I’ve never asked much from or about her.  She’s sure not a talker, anyway, and she’s rarely around much.  It’s a weird thing where I’m grateful for her, but there’s not really any emotional attachment between us, and somehow it doesn’t really bother me too much… probably because of those mental walls I mentioned.  Maybe one day I’ll have some big breakdown over it all, I don’t know.  I don’t even feel like I can make myself care, really, if that makes any sense.  Maybe it sounds terrible of me.   But anyways, I know in a couple years here I’ll be out supporting myself.  I need to give her a break.

How Dallas mostly remembers his mother—distant and smoking in silence at the kitchen table

Channing’s childhood was much worse than mine.  I can hardly bear to think about it… all those long hours Channing and I talked, and the things I learned that had happened to him, and sometimes were still happening.  He’s all right now, for the most part… he doesn’t go home much, and I live further from his mom’s place than I used to, so Channing usually stays with me and avoids his mother.  About three years ago, when his stepdad (actually, just his mom’s old boyfriend) moved back in, things got really bad, so I told him he could always stay at my house if he needed to.  Since my mom’s not home much, she doesn’t really care, I guess.

But back to Channing’s life… His dad ditched when he was pretty young.  Before that, his parents had fought around him constantly, sometimes violently.  From what Chan told me, his dad wasn’t around much anyway, disappearing for long periods of time. But when he was around, he was always drunk, beatin’ on him and his mother both.  Then his mother cracked.  She couldn’t take it anymore, and she had to be hospitalized in the psychiatric unit a few times from emotional breakdowns.  When she was around him, she told Channing he was no good.  I think she displaced all her anger for her husband onto Channing.  When his no-good father left for good, Channing’s mom assumed his past role on her own: beating Channing, drinking, drifting in and out of dead-end jobs.  Her boyfriends came and went after that, none lasting too long and all treating Channing more or less the same as his father had.  Channing has told me that she was never as rough with him as his dad was, just slapped him around, threw stuff at him when she was raging, and deprived him of food sometimes.  And this is exactly what I told him: “Shit, Channing, that doesn’t make any difference… they’ve both treated you rotten.” 

But thinking about his father makes my blood boil for sure.  At least his mom stuck around and brought food and clothing into the house.  And this is where that male temper of mine gets fired up like crazy.  If I ever met his old man, I’d beat the crap outta him.  And I could do it, too.  I’d do it for all the times he did the same to Channing, who was defenseless.  I’ve always had a bad temper and this hormonal ego thing (“Too much testosterone,” the middle school counselor had told me once, and it made me want to knock him flat for saying it, like masculine hormones are bad or something, but now I can admit he was probably partly right).  But I would never, ever hurt a kid or a woman just to feel big.  That’s so wrong, and I could kill Channing’s dad for it.  Lucky for him (and me, I guess) that he’s long gone now.

As a result of all this, Channing got to be timid and quiet.  He escaped into fantasy worlds of reading, drawing, and painting.  He’s been really smart since he was little, and I think his awful family life pushed him into books even more.  He knows so much about so many things.  But most of the kids at school have always picked on him.  They don’t really know him, but they treat him like a victim just as his mom does.  I guess it’s just an awful cycle.

But when he was about twelve or thirteen, one day Channing seemed a little different.  I hadn’t seen him in a few days and was just starting to get worried.  When I did see him that day, he smiled so much more.  He began telling me more and more about these elaborate games with fantastic plots he’d invented, and we’d have a great time playing until nightfall.  He stopped talking as much about his parents, and he no longer seemed panicky when they were mentioned.  I guess he had told me everything about his past, and he was finished.  And maybe tired of talking about it. It seemed like he had lost his fear of his terrible experiences.  I’m not sure where this inner strength came from, but I was glad that it allowed Channing to loosen up.  He still to this day, however, has trouble around people.  He gets uncomfortable and awkward lots of times if he has to interact with others.  I don’t think that will ever truly change.  And the physical reactions to the trauma he endured still come up here and there, where he gets panicky and stuff.  But I know he’s become happier and more content with himself.  It’s like he’s accepted his life and now wants to just live as happily as he can.

Because of this, he’s so much more carefree.  He plays a lot now.  I guess that may sound childish for an almost-fifteen year old, but the truth is, he never played much as a child.  He was too busy worrying, escaping, and hiding.  He used to keep his games and fantasies bottled up in his head.  But now he lets them all out, knowing I won’t think down on him for it.  This is his current way of getting back what he should’ve had a long time ago.  When he’s out of his mother’s house, his eyes fill with excitement as he tells me his latest game.  Sometimes I join him, and other times I just watch.  He’s really incredible to watch.  Some of his ideas are quite excessive and even a little crazy… like the time he imagined he was a famous artist commissioned to paint a mural on an outer wall of the high school.  That one got him expelled, and he never went back.  Good thing about that is it’s easier for him to avoid the jerks at school who always picked on him.

And I see that Channing has become slightly unhinged from his past experiences… and who can blame him?  But lots of people wonder what’s wrong with him, after seeing his childlike mannerisms (I mean, the guy will still pick up a stick and run it along a fence as he walks, just to hear the bumpity sound, and he’s thrilled to death with things like the ice cream truck).  But I know he’s just enjoying himself.  He had to act like an adult as a child.  Now he’s reversed it for himself.

He’s my best friend.  He’s gone through a hell of a lot in his life.  But we try not to talk about that too much now.  Channing’s got a lot ahead of him.  There’s so many things he can do with his life, especially with his artistic talents.  He already has plenty of wild dreams that someday, he may just be able to pull off.  Me, I’ll just stick to becoming an auto mechanic.  That’s the one thing I really know.

TRUCKSTOP

He sat near the entrance of the building, on the curb.  The 16 oz. styrofoam cup with the phrase “World’s Best Coffee Blend” printed in tan and yellow letters was warm inside his quivering hands.  A pair of baggy maroon corduroys kept his legs relatively warm in the 40 degree weather.  There was a steady whir of cars sounding from down the embankment, traveling along the interstate.

Authentic 1997 paper and ink - the original copy. Check out how I changed the title (because the first one didn’t make any sense, I assume) and made my lowercase A’s.

Channing sipped the over-sweetened coffee… no cream; milk bothered his digestive tract.  He looked down at his size nine feet.  The right foot fit snugly in its grey Airwalk, and the left was clad in only a green argyle sock.  The other shoe lay on the asphalt about a yard away, its frayed lace laying limply alongside.  He pulled his right foot out of its shoe and wiggled his now-free toes.  Channing was extremely thin, but he wore clothing that made him appear not to look so small.  Many times, he was mistaken to be about 12 years old, when in fact, he was much older.

Pretend the corduroys are maroon. This is from my Firetender photo shoot!

An 18-wheeler pulled into the parking lot and stopped beside the gas pumps.  Channing looked up and, wiping his nose on his left sleeve, emitted a small cough.  The truck gleamed in the midmorning sunlight.  It was old and worn, but seemed to retain much dignity in the way it stood proudly in the truckstop parking lot.  Channing pushed a wavy strand of his chin-length brown hair back from his pale face.  His grey eyes sparkled as he became mesmerized by the truck.  Its cab was sleek, with lights aligned in rows along the sides.  A high step led to the cozy interior, where Channing could almost feel himself sitting behind the wheel.  The chrome caught glints of light from the sun’s rays, which caused it to glimmer.  The hood of the Freightliner concealed the powerful engine that roared euphorically in Channing’s ears as the driver started the truck.

A 1995 model Freightliner.

From a blue car across the parking lot emerged a boy who was maybe a year older than Channing.  He swaggered like a football player toward the store overconfidently, self-assured.  His gait and facial expression triggered something inside of Channing, and the visions began to swell in his mind, the tension growing inside him.  The boy’s eyes looked upon Channing coldly with a look of scorn and superiority.  It was that look that Channing had become so accustomed to over the years.  The boy halted and showed a mocking grin.

Channing drew his knees to his chest and closed his eyes as his body began to tremble.  The images were quite vivid now: face pushed into the dirt, the awful jeering faces, the disapproving eyes, those who shied away because of his otherness.  It was that otherness of Channing’s in that he was not an athlete, or one of the popular kids, or a straight-A student, but rather outcasted… which was somewhat brought on by his own choice at this point, preferring to avoid being in talkative groups.  It was this disrespecting, non-accepting ignorance presented to Channing which caused his discomfort.

A few minutes later, the boy emerged from the store carrying a six-pack of beer with a look of triumph across his face.  Yes, he was the type.  The type who had, in part, caused Channing to drop out of school early in high school. 

My best friend from high school and me - outside a Flying J truck stop in 1996. Now you see what influenced this part of Channing’s character.

It was lunchtime, and dozens of big rigs were pulling in for a stop.  One by one, and occasionally in pairs, the truckers entered the restaurant, each with a different destination, each with a different story.  They sat in booths and ordered, some wanting grits and others wanting country steak, and still others who simply ordered coffee.  The pleasant atmosphere drew Channing in.  He looked at the tempting lemon meringue pie behind the counter, but he was not hungry.  He wandered through the travel store, contentedly studying the road maps, postcards, and cheap souvenirs.  Out back, trucks were lined up at the certified CAT scales.  He walked around to the front of the building, listening to the sounds of the massive vehicles.

Channing returned to his spot on the curb by his shoes, breathing in the contentedness he felt in being alone as the trucks rolled in and back out again.

(I took the photo above in 1996—the teal truck pulling in at the pumps is a Peterbilt, which were always my favorite trucks, so I’m not sure why I chose a Freightliner for the truck in this scene.)

What did you think, those who have read Firetender? Do you think this first-person Dallas excerpt from so long ago is close to what his character is like in the novel?

The next excerpt will be part one of Ocean, a memory scene that was originally a flashback in Firetender that was one of my last major cuts prior to finalizing and publishing.

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Thanks for reading and your interest in my characters and how they developed over time!

Erin