Part II: Adam’s Apple Trick
Jeremiah Ritten got the call at the body shop and immediately jumped on his bike. He kept his mouth open the whole way, but nary a bug sailed into him; four times out of seven, he could make it home free from bugs, and it seemed to him that the ratio was improving every year. At home, he had a scotch. When the door slammed shut, he stood up.
“You heard I guess?” asked Adam.
“Sorry Dad. Going to give me hell?”
“Sure. What flavour? Poached, braised, or broiled?”
“Don’t be like that, Dad. Just say it and let’s go.”
Jeremiah sat and sipped the scotch. “Fine. I think you’re done, like I was. Same guy. Not a bad guy. But nothing special. You won’t starve, you won’t be a criminal, you might even have kids. But you’ll just be another me. Make the same mistakes, do the same stupid shit.”
“Can I have some scotch?”
Adam sat on the stool next to him. “There’s nothing wrong with you, Dad. I have no problem being like you, why would I?”
“Well that’s the issue, isn’t it? Questions like that.”
“Fine. But you have to know, exams aren’t for me. School’s not for me. But I got something I’m working on, something big. You’ll see. Just hold on, okay?”
For the first time in five years, Jeremiah had a second drink. Adam took a shower and put on a shirt. “What’s her name, at least?” called Jeremiah, as Adam snatched the van keys.
“Janice. She looks like Elisabeth Sladen from Doctor Who.”
“No one knows who that is!”
“But you do!” cried Adam, running out.
Adam drove in an evening moment between sunset and insects, in a breeze that was heavy enough to sweep in the car and hide in the back seat. On the radio, Emily Haines was singing “nothing I’ve ever done right, happened on the safe side”. He parked on the road and rang the doorbell of 76 Priam Place.
Janice opened the door. Adam breathed; he had wanted more than anything to avoid trying to explain to her parents why he was here. She was wearing shorts, the first time he had ever seen her dressed like that.
“Hi,” he said.
Adam took a breath and told her that he was the one who had been slipping notes into her locker for the last three weeks, love poems with each letter written in a different colour of crayon. He pulled the latest one out of his pocket and showed it to her. “It’s me,” he said. “I used artist crayons, not kid ones. That’s why the lettering is so fine.”
“Well, I was hoping you’d go to grad dance with me.”
She stared at him.
“Do you know that you look like Elisabeth Sladen?”
“Never mind. How about it, then? Grad dance I mean?”
And with that word, Adam became keenly aware that he had pulled up in his father’s full-size red van; that he was wearing sneakers; that the kid next door was picking his nose; and that there was someone behind Janice listening to the conversation.
“No,” she said again, though he hadn’t made a sound.
“Okay. Fair enough.”
“Can you leave now?”
“Yeah sure. Sure. But I was wondering. Was just thinking…” He took off his baseball cap and tucked it into his back pocket. “Can I ask you something? Won’t take but a minute. You see, I’ll need to explain this to some people and I’m not sure what to say. I made an ass of myself in school today, maybe you heard about it. And now this. I mean, I’ve had better days…” And to his credit, Adam kept talking even after the door closed on him, a full five minutes of addressing his problems to the wooden door with the pewter handle. Then he left.
18 thoughts on “Adam’s Dreams of Due-Dates PII”
What a bitch.
Trent, it is well written but your other burst pieces, those characters in a nutshell are just way superior to this kind of fare from you. I don’t know if you should drink more, or drink less. I definitely know we should both be smoking hasish.>KB
I’m keeping this poor kid simple, but truth be told, he is not the protagonist of this story. Stay tuned.
I like the simplicity of this story Trent. It has a plainness that most of us can identify with– you have a great sense of characterization no matter what style you choose to throw at us. Well, that is my 2 cents.. take it or leave it 🙂
I would have said yes.
I know you would have, M. But this poor lad just can’t catch a break. I suspect he will at some point though. For now, it’s time to engage with the orange, who also has problems.
Kiwis have similar problems. Probably why you have a soft spot for them.
She didn’t know who Sarah Jane was??? Then she’s not just rude, but she’s also an idiot and not worth Adam’s time. Still, this makes me sad. Although I’m glad his father *gets* it. But he should have let him have a swig of scotch, fer crissakes.
I love how the breeze was so heavy it hid in the back seat….just wonderful imagery took me back to mosquitoes and muggy shirts stuck to your back Indiana….can’t wait to read more, Trentster 😉
Hiya Shards, how are you? I been gone for a bit, but glad to hear from you.
I’ve been here….it’s all I ever cop to. 🙂 missed the rollercoaster ride…of your thoughts! glad you’re back, swinging like Hank!
I see. Anyway, for all the simplicity, I already have enough attachment to Adam to feel sorry for him. And that conversation between him and the dad was good. You did put your wit into some use there.
Oh! He’s not the protagonist? I see. Despite your stroke here, I still think you are a fine writer. I mean the weak stroke is still not without some finesse.
Part 3 here I come!
He’s just a poor boy trying to make his way in the crow-infested world, as am I. The orange has it, in the end, however.
Poor kid…bitchy broad…relateable pops…where the fucking apple? You SAID there’d be an apple! okay…moving on to number 3 (and simple is as simple does…i like it)
The apple is the bastard half-brother to the orange, and the orange told him as such. Bitchy broads… yeah. I’ve had a couple of criticisms of this being too simple… I don’t really get that, I’m just trying to have fun and tell a story.
Ha! I guess you are Trent! There was I trying to commend you and you totally feigned ignorance. You are mighty amusing to taste, Trent.
Sorry, when the rider is on, the camel has no choice. He cannot choose where to go. You write for US now… Hehehe!!! Sardonic laughter. To barn-blazes with writing for pleasure!!!! Hahahaha… more maniacal guffaws…
I guess she has a right to clearly say no …but I still want to kick her in the shins