dontravis.com blog post #608
Poor Chuck,
Nirvana slipped between his fingers (is that a tortured metaphor?) with the
accidental death of his beloved Becky. But that’s not the end of the story. Let’s
see what happens next.
****
BECKY
ISN’T HERE ANYMORE
The following spring, one of the
associates at my architectural firm mentioned that a college friend of his
son’s needed a place to stay for a short period. The young man was apprenticing
at a local computer chip factory for the summer. Inasmuch as I was alone in my
house, which was near the manufacturing facility, I impulsively volunteered to
allow him to stay with me. I must confess I experienced many an anxiety before
the June date for the young man’s arrival rolled around.
But arrive, it finally did. He
insisted he could make it to my house from the airport on his own. Ergo, when I
heard the doorbell chime one Saturday morning in early June, I opened the door
and stood as if pole axed.
My mysterious young man from
Hawaii stood smiling and handsome on my porch. Well, it wasn’t the same young
man, but the resemblance was strong—overwhelming—and my reaction the same—overwhelmed.
“Mr. Pierce? Hi, I’m Kielani Snider.”
Still mentally reeling, I
accepted his hand. “Kielani… you mean, Kiel?”
“That’s the way most folks
know me. But it’s actually Kielani.”
“H-Hawaiian?”
“Yes, sir. My mom’s from the Islands,
and she hung that label on me. Means ‘Glorious Chief.’ Kinda pretentious, so I
just use Kiel.”
I recovered enough to invite
him and his two big bags inside.
Once I got over the shock of
the meeting, Kiel proved to be a proper and gregarious young man. Eager to be
liked, and easy to like. I had planned on taking him for dinner on his first
night in town, but we got to talking and ended up munching on a tuna salad
sandwich while we talked about my recent loss.
He had picked up on Becky’s
presence… and her absence. Her presence in the room, by photos of her on the
mantlepiece, the Hawaiian blanket hung as a tapestry in the dining room, her
little statuettes scattered throughout the house. Her absence by the fact she
wasn’t here.
Reluctant at first, I soon
found talking about her with this personable young man was liberating. I’d
expected a teenager as a temporary roomer, but what I got was a reasonably
mature twenty-year-old—only nine years younger than I—capable of discussing
unexpected things.
We quickly established a bond
and a routine. I drove to work while he took a short bus ride to the chip
factory in the morning, and he was home by the time I arrived after work, preparing
us something to eat. Louise—who did my housekeeping once a week—complained things
were so ship-shape she was no longer needed. But she said it with a smile, as
she enjoyed Kiel’s company as much as I did. He always arrived at the house a
couple of hours before she left.
As the summer progressed, I
found myself fretting over Kiel leaving for school. Had he insinuated himself
so deeply in my life as all that? With a shock, I realized it was true. I
looked forward to going home in the evening to be with him. We started going to
movies, to plays… even to a friendly bar whose manager would wink if I vouched
for my companion. I vouched for him.
As the beginning of the new
semester at his faraway college approached, I found my mood taking a downward
turn. He came home on a Friday afternoon and sent it soaring.
“They’ve offered me a job,” he
announced as soon as I came through the door.
“They? The chip factory?”
He nodded.
“Great. When do you start?”
“Dunno if I’ll accept yet.”
“Oh, your education?”
“That’s not a problem. They’ll
support me through my degree at the University here. Be easier, in fact.”
“Then what’s the problem?”
“You.”
I felt my eyes go wide. “Me?
How?”
“Don’t know if I want to stay
here if I can’t be with you.”
“Problem solved. You can stay
here as long as you like. Just don’t have too many beer parties while I’m at
work.”
“You don’t understand. I don’t
want to stay unless I can be with you.”
“Kiel, you’re not listening. I
just said you can stay as long as you like.”
“No, John. You’re not
listening.”
“What do you mean I’m not—” My
mouth clamped shut. “Oh! Uh. Well, I don’t know about that….”
A wicked smile played across
his handsome—no, they were really beautiful—lips. “Don’t tell me a hunky guy
like you’s never got with a man before?”
I felt my cheeks flush. “Nope.
Never. Well, when I was a kid, a couple of us used to—you know—jerk off
together.”
“That’s a start. Let’s be kids
again.”
****
It was my time to host the
company’s Christmas party that year. With Kiel’s flair for the outrageous
measured against my more conservative vein, it proved a rousing success. I
can’t accurately recall how many of my colleagues not only raved over the party
but also congratulated me on having such a lively student brightening my house.
Late in the evening, while
other revelers… well, reveled… I sat in a corner with my best bud from the
office, a guy named Fred. His wife had been one of my late wife’s best friends.
He took a casual look around the room as the party guests gathered around Kiel
to sing the Christmas carols he played on my ukulele.
At length Fred shook his head.
“Becky’s not here anymore.”
I started. “Fred, you know
what happened last year.”
His eyes slid to me. “Oh yeah,
I know, she’s gone. But take a look around. Becky’s not here anymore.”
My eyes scanned the living
room and the dining room, and I understood what he meant. Her pictures were
gone, the Hawaiian blanket on the dining room wall was missing, and there
wasn’t a figurine in sight. When had that happened? Probably while Kiel and I
progressed from delightful masturbating to fantastic lovemaking.
I relaxed muscles I didn’t
know had tensed and met his eyes. “Guess you’re right, my friend. But as my
Becky used to say, there comes a time to move on. So I’m moving on.”
****
Hope you enjoyed the story.
But tell me something. Did Becky’s beyond-the-grave message to “move on,”
anticipate the direction that moving on take? Do you think she had a clue as to
John’s reaction to that young man in Haiwaii? Let me know the list of your
thinking.
Stay
safe and stay strong.
Now my
mantra: Keep on reading and keep on writing. You have something to say…
so say it!
A link
to The Cutie-Pie Murders:
https://www.dropbox.com/s/ambxgy7e5ndmimk/CutiePieMurders%5BThe%5D.zip?dl=0
My
personal links:
Email: don.travis@aol.com.
Facebook: www.facebook.com/donald.travis.982
Twitter: @dontravis3
See you next Thursday.
No comments:
Post a Comment