Late, sleepless nights are the bane of my existence. I despise them, but cannot escape them. Recovering from a massive time zone change certainly doesn’t help this problem (curse you Japan!). But for all the loathing I have of these sleepless hours, at least they provide me ample time for self reflection (and apparently time to write). That’s a double sided knife, as they say, but for the moment I’m on the side of the knife of which I’m fond (which, if you know me, is really any part of any knife… but this knife is metaphorical… so I’m attempting to stick with the metaphor).
So you might be saying, “Brandon, who cares?” Or you might just not care. Either way, you’re in an understandable position. Should you care about this? I don’t know, and as vaguely ironic as it is to say, I don’t care. I’m writing this because that’s what I do. Maybe if I’m lucky I’ll end up with a hodge-podge of thought interesting enough to read to the end.
Moving beyond tangents and side notes, tonight’s lack of sleep has led to a rather… how might I say, enjoyable period of self reflection. One in which I realize that despite being far from the situation I desire to be in, I still live in Hawaii, still go to the beach, still have incredible friends I can rely on, and still get awesome on a regular basis. Oh, and I’ve got some amazing happenings on the horizon, such as Orson Scott Card’s “Writer’s Boot Camp.” It’s these moments of happy reflections that leave me wondering why the deuce I have unpleasant sleepless nights at all. From where I’m sitting the good weighs about a buck ninety-five and the bad comes in at a measly thirty cents. Not too shabby, I’d say. So what gives? Seriously. That wasn’t rhetorical. Anyone have answers for me? Is it a simple fact of human nature that we must inevitably dwell on what sucks when we’ve got a plate of awesome at hand? I don’t believe so. When I hear the crashing of waves, the wind rustling leaves, and smell flowers in the air, or experience any other handful of incredible sensations every day, I think of how incredible life is. What is it about a queen sized bed in an air conditioned room late at night that tends to make me think, “You know what, the terrible stuff in life counts for more than the good stuff?” I’ll leave that question open.
It would be nice to come to some kind of resolution, or find some kind of forward progress through the course of writing this. But this isn’t a story. This is my mind churning things over. I’m not the hero, changing for better or worse. I’m just sitting here, looking at my clock, thinking I ought to sleep. Heck, I’ll give it a shot. Probably won’t work though.
Aloha.
Sunday, May 16, 2010
Monday, May 10, 2010
Everywhere is pretty much the same
I like to fancy myself a well informed, un-ignorant person. I read the news about 10 times a day, I watch it once or twice, and I try to make sure I get a general smattering of information from across the board, be it sports or what’s going on with the super-collider. But for whatever I’ve done, I’ve been lacking in certain experiences. I’d never been outside of the United States until a few weeks ago, and the whole experience couldn’t have been more incredible.
Where to start? I know, a quote from my younger, well traveled brother who’s toured the world playing piano. “Everywhere is pretty much the same.” You know what? I agree! Not to say Japan wasn’t awesome, but I wasn’t overwhelmed by the differences, so much as the similarities.
We drove to my place of residence for the trip (the ever so hospitable Mierzejewski family home) after 17 hours of travel. The moon was up, the stars were out, and I was tired and sore from being cramped up in an airplane seat made for the average Japanese person, who I’m guessing is not 6’2”! The first thing that struck me as we drove were the lights: I felt like I could have been driving the strip in Vegas, in fact, I said so. Pachinko parlors lined both sides of the streets, a rainbow of lights polluting the night air. And what are pachinko parlors? A place to gamble of course. I suppose everywhere is pretty much the same.
When morning came the next day I discovered I’d traveled thousands of miles to visit an island that had nearly identical flora and fauna to my home in Hawaii, albeit slightly greener. Ironwoods tainted the mountainside, banyan trees sheltered coves teeming with plant life, and hibiscuses bloomed with fair regularity. I suppose everywhere is pretty much the same.
I spent the next few weeks going on hikes, exploring beautiful waterfalls, experiencing the local culture, being lost in a sea of people I didn’t understand, and eating food that added a nice layer of padding around my midsection I intend to start working off immediately. Was it fun? Certainly! Was it terribly different from what I’ve experienced so far in my life? Not really. Minus being the tall bearded man in the land of little people who didn’t speak my language, and a few cultural oddities, I could have been exploring Hawaii.
So what did I do that stood out in my mind while in Japan? I took pictures of cars with unusual names. Did I expect to see a “naked” driving down the street? Of course I did, my hosts told me I would. But I think it would have shocked me otherwise. And you can tack on to that cars named: Cami, Gina, Super Saloon, Succeed, Life, Move, Cube, Comfort, Vitz, Every, Custom, That’s, and a dozen more. What else was different? I’ll tell you! Any semi-decent apartment building (usually near the ocean) was called a mansion. Funny, considering the rooms are like college dorms (I’m told… I didn’t go invading people’s homes). Even places that are pretty much the same have their quirks, I guess.
I’m not going to spend pages and pages spilling the stories from my trip. The snorkeling was amazing; the sites were inspiring, thought provoking, or just simply weird; and the food was delicious. I’ll give you one story, and that’s all you’ll get from me out of here. I’m not a huge fan of writing lengthy descriptions of the awesomeness that is my life (you know… like going to a zip-line park. Awesome).
It all started with an hour and a half drive and an hour and a half hike --correction, make that a two hour drive and a three minute hike. Those other times were false estimates I was given. Imagine my disappointment in learning my daylong hiking excursion would be cut to a brief walk. Lame. Not to worry though, we managed to salvage the day! The hike led to a series of waterfalls with large deep pools. The first thing I noticed? The waterfalls were smaller than I’d hoped. The second? A rope-swing. But we’ll get to that in a minute.
Me, Michael, and Drew were hopping from rock to rock, looking around and generally enjoying the natural beauty around us when I turned and heard Drew squeal. That probably wouldn’t be the way he’d choose to phrase it, but that’s what it was. “Ahh! A Habu!” He yelled this and scampered away. For those of you who don’t know (I didn’t until my visit) the Habu is a poisonous snake that’s venom causes your muscles to rapidly swell to the point that that burst, leaving nasty wounds that often split the skin as well. I’ll say his reaction was justified. But me, I’m an idiot. Did I stay away? Of course not, I ran over to see it, and upon doing so realized there was only one logical course of action: I had to kill it. I certainly couldn’t let a poisonous snake be stalking my afternoon turf. I looked around, picked up a good sized rock, and used my non-existent pitching skills to hurl the stone at the snake, striking it about 1/3 of the way from the end of its tale, and cutting it off. Good thing I can aim from five feet, huh? I didn’t really think what would have happen if I’d missed. But I’d like to think that doesn’t matter, because the god given talents I got from my dad have imbued me with a primal, snake killing awesomeness that can only be described as sheer manliness (hey, I’ve got to have something that ups my testosteroneitivity; these lanky limbs and not-quite-low-enough-voice certainly won’t do the trick for me). And that folks, is how I became known as Brandon the Snake Destroyer. Drew calls me a Tweed though. Yeah… it’s an insult…
Remember that rope swing? Let’s get back to that.
With the snake dead we all had time to move onto the object of my attention: the rope swing. Yeah, baby, time to bust out the back-flips. Oh wait! I’ve never done a back-flip off of a rope-swing! Heck, I can barely do one off of low rocks and diving boards. But I certainly couldn’t let that stop me. After three attempts that left me looking completely retarded (and somewhat less manly than I hope to appear to the general public) I finally got one right. It wasn’t pretty, but I flipped, I hit the water, and I came out smiling. Of course, that means my little brother Michael had to take a shot, nail it on his first try, and make it pretty in the process. What a jerk. It’s not enough that he’s a concert pianist, an awesome surfer with a body to match, and makes girls hearts explode when they look at him (we won’t get into what happens when they look and listen to him playing…), but he has to show me up even when its just us an our good buddy Drew? Yeah, jerk. Of course I’m only partially series. Michael is the man, I’m just envious of his many mad skills… moving on!
So after a few dozen back-flips, and a cut up shin from slipping on the rocks climbing from the water, we decided to migrate to the larger falls with the smaller pool. This falls was a spiraling series of cascades roughly as high as Waiamea rock which I’m putting somewhere in the 25-30 foot range. The water at the bottom was churning and somewhat murky. Should I jump in? I can’t tell if there are rocks… Correction, I can definitely see a few rocks, but I’m not sure about the area I plan to jump to. Drew tells me he’s seen people do it, though discourages me. Michael eggs me on. Come on, we all knew I was going to do it even if there were rocks, I’m brilliant like that sometimes. So after giving a show of a few minutes of terror (I assure you, I was fine, don’t listen to what anyone else says) I decide to take the leap. Short fall, but long enough. I hit the icy water and went down, down, down. No rocks. But that’s no reason not to mess with those you care about. I made sure I stayed down a bit longer than was necessary, and when I finally rose to the surface I let out what I’d like to believe was a blood curdling scream. You know, that one that inspires terror and hints of unspeakable pain? Apparently I fooled Drew. Classic. Michael knows me too well. Still, I thought it was funny. It made me smile and laugh. Rage!
And thus was my experience that day. It didn’t end there, but the interesting parts of the story do. What did I learn from this and many other experiences? Michael was right. Everywhere (at least that I’ve been) is pretty much the same. But that doesn’t mean you can’t make a bunch of unique experiences from the small differences that make all the difference.
Till next time Japan – Let’s Get Awesome!
Where to start? I know, a quote from my younger, well traveled brother who’s toured the world playing piano. “Everywhere is pretty much the same.” You know what? I agree! Not to say Japan wasn’t awesome, but I wasn’t overwhelmed by the differences, so much as the similarities.
We drove to my place of residence for the trip (the ever so hospitable Mierzejewski family home) after 17 hours of travel. The moon was up, the stars were out, and I was tired and sore from being cramped up in an airplane seat made for the average Japanese person, who I’m guessing is not 6’2”! The first thing that struck me as we drove were the lights: I felt like I could have been driving the strip in Vegas, in fact, I said so. Pachinko parlors lined both sides of the streets, a rainbow of lights polluting the night air. And what are pachinko parlors? A place to gamble of course. I suppose everywhere is pretty much the same.
When morning came the next day I discovered I’d traveled thousands of miles to visit an island that had nearly identical flora and fauna to my home in Hawaii, albeit slightly greener. Ironwoods tainted the mountainside, banyan trees sheltered coves teeming with plant life, and hibiscuses bloomed with fair regularity. I suppose everywhere is pretty much the same.
I spent the next few weeks going on hikes, exploring beautiful waterfalls, experiencing the local culture, being lost in a sea of people I didn’t understand, and eating food that added a nice layer of padding around my midsection I intend to start working off immediately. Was it fun? Certainly! Was it terribly different from what I’ve experienced so far in my life? Not really. Minus being the tall bearded man in the land of little people who didn’t speak my language, and a few cultural oddities, I could have been exploring Hawaii.
So what did I do that stood out in my mind while in Japan? I took pictures of cars with unusual names. Did I expect to see a “naked” driving down the street? Of course I did, my hosts told me I would. But I think it would have shocked me otherwise. And you can tack on to that cars named: Cami, Gina, Super Saloon, Succeed, Life, Move, Cube, Comfort, Vitz, Every, Custom, That’s, and a dozen more. What else was different? I’ll tell you! Any semi-decent apartment building (usually near the ocean) was called a mansion. Funny, considering the rooms are like college dorms (I’m told… I didn’t go invading people’s homes). Even places that are pretty much the same have their quirks, I guess.
I’m not going to spend pages and pages spilling the stories from my trip. The snorkeling was amazing; the sites were inspiring, thought provoking, or just simply weird; and the food was delicious. I’ll give you one story, and that’s all you’ll get from me out of here. I’m not a huge fan of writing lengthy descriptions of the awesomeness that is my life (you know… like going to a zip-line park. Awesome).
It all started with an hour and a half drive and an hour and a half hike --correction, make that a two hour drive and a three minute hike. Those other times were false estimates I was given. Imagine my disappointment in learning my daylong hiking excursion would be cut to a brief walk. Lame. Not to worry though, we managed to salvage the day! The hike led to a series of waterfalls with large deep pools. The first thing I noticed? The waterfalls were smaller than I’d hoped. The second? A rope-swing. But we’ll get to that in a minute.
Me, Michael, and Drew were hopping from rock to rock, looking around and generally enjoying the natural beauty around us when I turned and heard Drew squeal. That probably wouldn’t be the way he’d choose to phrase it, but that’s what it was. “Ahh! A Habu!” He yelled this and scampered away. For those of you who don’t know (I didn’t until my visit) the Habu is a poisonous snake that’s venom causes your muscles to rapidly swell to the point that that burst, leaving nasty wounds that often split the skin as well. I’ll say his reaction was justified. But me, I’m an idiot. Did I stay away? Of course not, I ran over to see it, and upon doing so realized there was only one logical course of action: I had to kill it. I certainly couldn’t let a poisonous snake be stalking my afternoon turf. I looked around, picked up a good sized rock, and used my non-existent pitching skills to hurl the stone at the snake, striking it about 1/3 of the way from the end of its tale, and cutting it off. Good thing I can aim from five feet, huh? I didn’t really think what would have happen if I’d missed. But I’d like to think that doesn’t matter, because the god given talents I got from my dad have imbued me with a primal, snake killing awesomeness that can only be described as sheer manliness (hey, I’ve got to have something that ups my testosteroneitivity; these lanky limbs and not-quite-low-enough-voice certainly won’t do the trick for me). And that folks, is how I became known as Brandon the Snake Destroyer. Drew calls me a Tweed though. Yeah… it’s an insult…
Remember that rope swing? Let’s get back to that.
With the snake dead we all had time to move onto the object of my attention: the rope swing. Yeah, baby, time to bust out the back-flips. Oh wait! I’ve never done a back-flip off of a rope-swing! Heck, I can barely do one off of low rocks and diving boards. But I certainly couldn’t let that stop me. After three attempts that left me looking completely retarded (and somewhat less manly than I hope to appear to the general public) I finally got one right. It wasn’t pretty, but I flipped, I hit the water, and I came out smiling. Of course, that means my little brother Michael had to take a shot, nail it on his first try, and make it pretty in the process. What a jerk. It’s not enough that he’s a concert pianist, an awesome surfer with a body to match, and makes girls hearts explode when they look at him (we won’t get into what happens when they look and listen to him playing…), but he has to show me up even when its just us an our good buddy Drew? Yeah, jerk. Of course I’m only partially series. Michael is the man, I’m just envious of his many mad skills… moving on!
So after a few dozen back-flips, and a cut up shin from slipping on the rocks climbing from the water, we decided to migrate to the larger falls with the smaller pool. This falls was a spiraling series of cascades roughly as high as Waiamea rock which I’m putting somewhere in the 25-30 foot range. The water at the bottom was churning and somewhat murky. Should I jump in? I can’t tell if there are rocks… Correction, I can definitely see a few rocks, but I’m not sure about the area I plan to jump to. Drew tells me he’s seen people do it, though discourages me. Michael eggs me on. Come on, we all knew I was going to do it even if there were rocks, I’m brilliant like that sometimes. So after giving a show of a few minutes of terror (I assure you, I was fine, don’t listen to what anyone else says) I decide to take the leap. Short fall, but long enough. I hit the icy water and went down, down, down. No rocks. But that’s no reason not to mess with those you care about. I made sure I stayed down a bit longer than was necessary, and when I finally rose to the surface I let out what I’d like to believe was a blood curdling scream. You know, that one that inspires terror and hints of unspeakable pain? Apparently I fooled Drew. Classic. Michael knows me too well. Still, I thought it was funny. It made me smile and laugh. Rage!
And thus was my experience that day. It didn’t end there, but the interesting parts of the story do. What did I learn from this and many other experiences? Michael was right. Everywhere (at least that I’ve been) is pretty much the same. But that doesn’t mean you can’t make a bunch of unique experiences from the small differences that make all the difference.
Till next time Japan – Let’s Get Awesome!
Wednesday, April 7, 2010
Suvudu Cage Match
Over at Suvudu.com they've been having "cage matches" between famous science fiction and fantasy characters, pitting them against each other in a fan poll to see who would win. One of my favorite characters, Kvothe, is in a consolation match (runner up?) I was bored and had a bit of free time so I did a little write up of how his match vs Drizzt Do'Urden would go. Hopefully it is entertaining even if you don't know either of these characters.
Click here to check out the cage match tournament and see how different characters have done!
Round 1- Fight!
It was night, and the harvest moon hid behind a wandering cloud as Drizzt Do'Urden entered the Waystone Inn. The room was louder than usual, no silence tonight, but the sound of blades being drawn was not lost in the din.
Though Kvothe had been expecting the drow, he’d decided against sending away his patrons. Let them see a show, he thought. He’d fought legendary characters already, and never once an audience. Who else could have convinced a God to withdraw from such a contest? Bast had been at him for months now, trying to get him to live again. What could be a better surprise for his pupil?
Say one thing for Kvothe, say he was a performer.
He put down his rag and glanced to where Folly rested on the wall, sword play wasn’t dramatic enough for his mood. If he was going to break from this carefully crafted façade, he wanted to shock everyone, even Bast. “Put those away, there’s no need for violence.”
“You must know why I’m here.” A muscle tensed in Drizzt’s forearm, hinting at a readiness that bellied the casual gait the drow used as he approached the bar. The detail would be imperceptible to most, but then again, Kvothe, even as an innkeep, was unlike anyone else.
Silence filled the Waystone. Not a silence of three parts, as was common lately, but the anxious silence of a crowd waiting to see what comes next.
“Leave now, Drizzt Do’Urden,” Kvothe said into the silence. “Mortals should not tread wear angels and demons lay their claim.”
At once the hearth-fire turned blue, the metal in the room rusted, and a deathly chill sprung to the air. The color drained from Kvothe’s eyes until they were black, his already pale skin became white ice, and the flame-red hair upon his head burned with intensity of a true inferno.
“But you’re just an innkeep now…” Twinkle and Icingdeath clattered to the floor, filling a new silence, one of wonder, one of awe, one of terror. “You’ve lost your sympathy… You’re a dried up wizard, that’s what they say.”
“That’s what they say, is it?” Kvothe showed a mouthful of razor sharp teeth in a mock smile that brought the scent of urine from more than one man in the room.
As quickly as his appearance had shifted before, Kvothe changed again. His icy skin now shone opalescent, the dancing flames upon his head quietly returned to normal, and his eyes lost their black sheen and bore a kind touch and an angelic glow about them.
“I’ve started many rumors to suit my needs. I’ve played many parts in life. But remember one thing, Drizzt Do’Urden, I am Kvothe the Bloodless, I am Kvothe the Kingkiller. You believe what I want you to believe, because that is the face I’ve presented to the world. That is the story I wanted told. Do you think I wouldn’t deceive those closest to me to conceal my secrets? What better way to hide the truth from the world?” Kvothe turned to Bast and gave him an apologetic smile, but his student simply stared, dumbfounded, having lost the presence of mind to hide his Fae origins.
Drizzt looked on, suspicion and confusion, and most of all fear, all warring across a face most people who assume to be devoid of emotion. “Tricks and lies. I know your type, Kvothe. Your tongue may be silver, but you are no more than the rumors you’ve created for yourself.” His hand inched to a leather pouch at his belt.
The pouch on Drizzt’s belt erupted into flame and the small onyx figurine inside melted and dripped onto the drow’s leg. He stopped moving and stared in disbelief as his scimitars on the floor turned to dust.
“That’s not sympathy, Reshi,” Bast whispered.
Kvothe reached behind the counter and opened a secret compartment he’d built in below the wine rack. From inside he pulled a polished lute. It was neither grand, nor shabby, but merely adequate in appearance. He smiled. “No, Bast, you’re right. It’s not.”
He strummed a chord, the lute was perfectly tuned, and then he began to play. In that moment Kote the innkeeper of the Waystone Inn, was no more. Kvothe played the sound of sadness, he played the wind blowing through the trees, and with each crescendo the noise grew, its properties refined, until the melody permeated everyone in the inn, and every eye was full of tears.
He played until his fingers bled, and when he stopped, the Waystone Inn was silent.
“There’s no need for violence,” Kvothe said into the silence, with a forlorn look to his lute as he set it on the polished countertop.
“Reshi…”
“I’ll explain later, Bast. Suffice it to say, your master is a quick learner. You don’t spend time around the Chandrian and the Adem without picking up a few of their tricks.” Once again emotion drained from his eyes and he fixed Drizzt with a stare. “You may stay if you like. This inn is no longer mine. I’ve put up with this farce long enough. I thought I’d finished this when I let that fool ‘Kingslayer’ believe he’d killed me. But I see now I’ll never find rest no matter how far I run, where I hide, or how many I slay.”
Kvothe looked to each person in the room, letting the full weight of his gaze rest upon them. “My name is Kvothe. And you may give me whatever name you wish. I believe I've paid for another tonight.”
“Wait,” Drizzt said. “What do I do now?”
“That is the question, isn’t it?” Kvothe winked. “Consider this a gift.”
One moment Drizzt Do’Urden stood in the Waystone Inn, the dust of his cherished scimitars at his feet, and the next he was gone, sent to Mielikki’s embrace without a word.
Suddenly, Kvothe smirked. “I think I’ll go explain to Rand Al’thor how balefire works when he uses it on people who aren’t a part of his precious pattern.”
Click here to check out the cage match tournament and see how different characters have done!
Round 1- Fight!
It was night, and the harvest moon hid behind a wandering cloud as Drizzt Do'Urden entered the Waystone Inn. The room was louder than usual, no silence tonight, but the sound of blades being drawn was not lost in the din.
Though Kvothe had been expecting the drow, he’d decided against sending away his patrons. Let them see a show, he thought. He’d fought legendary characters already, and never once an audience. Who else could have convinced a God to withdraw from such a contest? Bast had been at him for months now, trying to get him to live again. What could be a better surprise for his pupil?
Say one thing for Kvothe, say he was a performer.
He put down his rag and glanced to where Folly rested on the wall, sword play wasn’t dramatic enough for his mood. If he was going to break from this carefully crafted façade, he wanted to shock everyone, even Bast. “Put those away, there’s no need for violence.”
“You must know why I’m here.” A muscle tensed in Drizzt’s forearm, hinting at a readiness that bellied the casual gait the drow used as he approached the bar. The detail would be imperceptible to most, but then again, Kvothe, even as an innkeep, was unlike anyone else.
Silence filled the Waystone. Not a silence of three parts, as was common lately, but the anxious silence of a crowd waiting to see what comes next.
“Leave now, Drizzt Do’Urden,” Kvothe said into the silence. “Mortals should not tread wear angels and demons lay their claim.”
At once the hearth-fire turned blue, the metal in the room rusted, and a deathly chill sprung to the air. The color drained from Kvothe’s eyes until they were black, his already pale skin became white ice, and the flame-red hair upon his head burned with intensity of a true inferno.
“But you’re just an innkeep now…” Twinkle and Icingdeath clattered to the floor, filling a new silence, one of wonder, one of awe, one of terror. “You’ve lost your sympathy… You’re a dried up wizard, that’s what they say.”
“That’s what they say, is it?” Kvothe showed a mouthful of razor sharp teeth in a mock smile that brought the scent of urine from more than one man in the room.
As quickly as his appearance had shifted before, Kvothe changed again. His icy skin now shone opalescent, the dancing flames upon his head quietly returned to normal, and his eyes lost their black sheen and bore a kind touch and an angelic glow about them.
“I’ve started many rumors to suit my needs. I’ve played many parts in life. But remember one thing, Drizzt Do’Urden, I am Kvothe the Bloodless, I am Kvothe the Kingkiller. You believe what I want you to believe, because that is the face I’ve presented to the world. That is the story I wanted told. Do you think I wouldn’t deceive those closest to me to conceal my secrets? What better way to hide the truth from the world?” Kvothe turned to Bast and gave him an apologetic smile, but his student simply stared, dumbfounded, having lost the presence of mind to hide his Fae origins.
Drizzt looked on, suspicion and confusion, and most of all fear, all warring across a face most people who assume to be devoid of emotion. “Tricks and lies. I know your type, Kvothe. Your tongue may be silver, but you are no more than the rumors you’ve created for yourself.” His hand inched to a leather pouch at his belt.
The pouch on Drizzt’s belt erupted into flame and the small onyx figurine inside melted and dripped onto the drow’s leg. He stopped moving and stared in disbelief as his scimitars on the floor turned to dust.
“That’s not sympathy, Reshi,” Bast whispered.
Kvothe reached behind the counter and opened a secret compartment he’d built in below the wine rack. From inside he pulled a polished lute. It was neither grand, nor shabby, but merely adequate in appearance. He smiled. “No, Bast, you’re right. It’s not.”
He strummed a chord, the lute was perfectly tuned, and then he began to play. In that moment Kote the innkeeper of the Waystone Inn, was no more. Kvothe played the sound of sadness, he played the wind blowing through the trees, and with each crescendo the noise grew, its properties refined, until the melody permeated everyone in the inn, and every eye was full of tears.
He played until his fingers bled, and when he stopped, the Waystone Inn was silent.
“There’s no need for violence,” Kvothe said into the silence, with a forlorn look to his lute as he set it on the polished countertop.
“Reshi…”
“I’ll explain later, Bast. Suffice it to say, your master is a quick learner. You don’t spend time around the Chandrian and the Adem without picking up a few of their tricks.” Once again emotion drained from his eyes and he fixed Drizzt with a stare. “You may stay if you like. This inn is no longer mine. I’ve put up with this farce long enough. I thought I’d finished this when I let that fool ‘Kingslayer’ believe he’d killed me. But I see now I’ll never find rest no matter how far I run, where I hide, or how many I slay.”
Kvothe looked to each person in the room, letting the full weight of his gaze rest upon them. “My name is Kvothe. And you may give me whatever name you wish. I believe I've paid for another tonight.”
“Wait,” Drizzt said. “What do I do now?”
“That is the question, isn’t it?” Kvothe winked. “Consider this a gift.”
One moment Drizzt Do’Urden stood in the Waystone Inn, the dust of his cherished scimitars at his feet, and the next he was gone, sent to Mielikki’s embrace without a word.
Suddenly, Kvothe smirked. “I think I’ll go explain to Rand Al’thor how balefire works when he uses it on people who aren’t a part of his precious pattern.”
Wednesday, March 31, 2010
Colin Tu Does "Ultimate Fighting"
In this scene: Interesting Steve (abbreviated IS). Bobdonius (Bob for short), and of course, Colin Tu!
*Inside the Octagon* (aka a cage- as in cage fighting)
Colin Tu: Remind me why we’re here again, guys?
IS: It’s our turn to show you something we like to do.
Bob: Yeah. Plus, it will be good for you. You know, help you deal with those guys that pick on you at school.
Colin Tu: I don’t know… Wouldn’t you rather just play RPG…?
*Bobdonius and Interesting Steve share a glance*
IS and Bob in unison: No.
Colin Tu: (sighs) Okay. So, what do I do?
IS: Good question! I’m going to attack you, you stop me. Got it? Bobdonius, tell him what he’s doing wrong.
Colin Tu: No… I don’t know wha-
Bob: Okay.
*Interesting Steve attacks! In an act of pure athletic majesty, he runs and jumps into the air, grabs Colin Tu’s head, and throws one leg around his neck while bringing the other leg up beneath Colin’s right arm. In an instant, Colin Tu is on the ground, his neck and arm firmly synched in a fully locked triangle choke*
Colin Tu: Ah, I give, I give!
Bob: See, you did two things wrong there, Colin. First, you don’t say, “I give” you “tap out” by tapping the other person’s body to let them know you quit. And second, you shouldn’t let him do that to you. Next time punch him in the face or something.
Colin Tu: Really? I don’t want to let him do that to me? Are you sure? (mumbling) stupid fighting… I’d win if I had my sword…
IS: What was that Colin?
Colin Tu: Nothing.
*Interesting Steve and Bobdonius proceed to “lay down the smack” upon Colin Tu for another half an hour*
Colin Tu: (panting) Okay guys. I tap. I’m tired of this. Can’t we do something else?
*Bob and IS laugh*
Bob: Sure, Colin. What’d you have in mind?
Colin Tu: (smiling) I’ll show you. Let me towel off real quick though.
IS: Okay.
*Colin Tu goes to his duffle bag and pulls out a towel, towels off, then pulls out a four foot long Styrofoam guarded plastic sword*
Colin Tu: (calling over his shoulder) Ready guys?
Bob: Sure, Colin.
*Colin Tu smiles and spin around, running inside the cage with his sword held high. Interesting Steve is on the mat, facing the other direction Bob starts to warn him, but is too late, Colin Tu bashes Interesting Steve on the side of the head*
Colin Tu: Bam! You’re dead!
*Colin Tu runs over to Bobdonius and proceeds to beat him atop the head with his fake sword*
Colin Tu: You’re dead, you’re dead, you’re dead! *rears his head and laughs* I’ll show you “Ultimate Fighting!” You’re puny skills are useless against my sword of MMA (mixed martial arts) fighter slaying!
IS: Colin, what the hell?
Colin Tu: No, you’re dead! *runs over and smacks Interesting Steve aside the head again* And the Ultimate Fighting Gods frown upon your weakness, and they give all your skills and all your talents to me!
Bob: You’ve got to be kidding…
IS: Colin…
Colin Tu: Well, that was fun guys!
Bob: Right…
Colin Tu: Hey guys, when we get home, do you want to play RPG?
IS: How does he always manage to ruin this?
Bob: I don’t know, dude. I don’t know…
*Inside the Octagon* (aka a cage- as in cage fighting)
Colin Tu: Remind me why we’re here again, guys?
IS: It’s our turn to show you something we like to do.
Bob: Yeah. Plus, it will be good for you. You know, help you deal with those guys that pick on you at school.
Colin Tu: I don’t know… Wouldn’t you rather just play RPG…?
*Bobdonius and Interesting Steve share a glance*
IS and Bob in unison: No.
Colin Tu: (sighs) Okay. So, what do I do?
IS: Good question! I’m going to attack you, you stop me. Got it? Bobdonius, tell him what he’s doing wrong.
Colin Tu: No… I don’t know wha-
Bob: Okay.
*Interesting Steve attacks! In an act of pure athletic majesty, he runs and jumps into the air, grabs Colin Tu’s head, and throws one leg around his neck while bringing the other leg up beneath Colin’s right arm. In an instant, Colin Tu is on the ground, his neck and arm firmly synched in a fully locked triangle choke*
Colin Tu: Ah, I give, I give!
Bob: See, you did two things wrong there, Colin. First, you don’t say, “I give” you “tap out” by tapping the other person’s body to let them know you quit. And second, you shouldn’t let him do that to you. Next time punch him in the face or something.
Colin Tu: Really? I don’t want to let him do that to me? Are you sure? (mumbling) stupid fighting… I’d win if I had my sword…
IS: What was that Colin?
Colin Tu: Nothing.
*Interesting Steve and Bobdonius proceed to “lay down the smack” upon Colin Tu for another half an hour*
Colin Tu: (panting) Okay guys. I tap. I’m tired of this. Can’t we do something else?
*Bob and IS laugh*
Bob: Sure, Colin. What’d you have in mind?
Colin Tu: (smiling) I’ll show you. Let me towel off real quick though.
IS: Okay.
*Colin Tu goes to his duffle bag and pulls out a towel, towels off, then pulls out a four foot long Styrofoam guarded plastic sword*
Colin Tu: (calling over his shoulder) Ready guys?
Bob: Sure, Colin.
*Colin Tu smiles and spin around, running inside the cage with his sword held high. Interesting Steve is on the mat, facing the other direction Bob starts to warn him, but is too late, Colin Tu bashes Interesting Steve on the side of the head*
Colin Tu: Bam! You’re dead!
*Colin Tu runs over to Bobdonius and proceeds to beat him atop the head with his fake sword*
Colin Tu: You’re dead, you’re dead, you’re dead! *rears his head and laughs* I’ll show you “Ultimate Fighting!” You’re puny skills are useless against my sword of MMA (mixed martial arts) fighter slaying!
IS: Colin, what the hell?
Colin Tu: No, you’re dead! *runs over and smacks Interesting Steve aside the head again* And the Ultimate Fighting Gods frown upon your weakness, and they give all your skills and all your talents to me!
Bob: You’ve got to be kidding…
IS: Colin…
Colin Tu: Well, that was fun guys!
Bob: Right…
Colin Tu: Hey guys, when we get home, do you want to play RPG?
IS: How does he always manage to ruin this?
Bob: I don’t know, dude. I don’t know…
Tuesday, March 30, 2010
Colin Tu- on YouTube
My friend reminded me that there is actually a link to the original Colin story- as told by the person who experienced it, on YouTube! Check it out... I believe it will really add something to the reading experience of any further Colin Tu posts!
Colin Tu on YouTube (narrated by Drew)!
Colin Tu on YouTube (narrated by Drew)!
The Pretty Girl
I think it's fair to say that most people in society today have noticed a trend among "pretty girls." What it is about them that causes such garish behavior is beyond me, but here's a little something based off an interaction I actually saw at the store the other day. (Rhyme added in because I felt like it, not because it happened that way)
The Pretty Girl
“Hello,” he said, as she walked by.
“Excuse me?” she said, not catching his eye.
“You’re beautiful,” he said, hoping it worked.
“That’s nice,” she said, much like a jerk.
“You’re funny and charming, what every man wants.”
“I know all of this,” she says as she taunts.
“Could we go out?” he asked with some hope.
“What do you think, you stupid dope?”
“Well that’s not very nice,” he said, his cheeks fully red.
“Neither is your face, and I’d rather be dead!”
“Forget you then!” he screamed, as she walked away.
Then she turned and smiled and said, “See you at eight.”
Sunday, March 28, 2010
Appearances
So, I was wandering around the mountains for a few hours the other day with Michael, my little brother (for those of you who don't know), when I got a short story idea. Here it is. It's not funny, or clever or anything. But it is my most sincere hope that it does not suck! :)
Without further ado... here is my story: Appearances
His last shower and shave had been over a week ago. His hair was mangy, his beard unruly. The clothes he wore hadn’t been laundered in twice as long. He didn’t feel like the type of person he knew he appeared to be, but that hardly mattered to most people.
Modest Victorian homes lined the street, shaded by black walnuts, hemlocks, poplars, and a smattering of other trees. Most of the lawns were neatly manicured already, he’d bypassed those. This yard looked like it could use a trim, and a few hours of work with the bushes and planters that surrounded the immaculate white house.
He rang the doorbell.
A woman was talking inside, most likely on the phone, by the sound of it.
The door opened.
A woman in her mid-thirties stood there. She was well dressed, wearing golden earrings, and had her hair done as if she were going somewhere.
“May I help you?” she held a phone by her shoulder and eyed him with a disdain he’d gotten used to lately.
“I wondered if you needed some help with your yard.”
“No, we’re fine, thank you.” She moved to close the door.
“Only a few dollars, please.” He’d never been much of a salesman. “I’ll mow the lawn, trim the bushes, pull weeds; anything you can have me do.”
She hesitated and looked at him again, differently this time. She put the phone to her ear. “Jill, I’ll call you back in a few minutes.”
“My husband usually takes care of the yard.”
Fairly typical in a neighborhood where the homeowners had enough to pay him for a little work, but not enough that they’d have a lawn-service company over every week. “Well, if you can.”
She nodded, still standing just inside the door, still measuring him. Whatever she saw in him must have put her at ease. “I’ll open up the garage for you.”
He smiled. At least that much about him didn’t set people off. “Thank you, Miss.”
“It’s Sandy. You?”
“Aaron.”
She led him to the garage and opened it. “Mower and weed whacker.” She pointed to each. “And gas, if you need it. I’ll be inside when you’re done.”
He nodded and she wandered back to the house.
Most people didn’t expect someone who dressed, looked, and smelled, like a bum, to do a very good job. He liked ruining people’s expectations.
He spent the next hour mowing the lawn into a perfect checkerboard pattern, then went to work on the hedges. He was meticulous; every blade of grass, every clipping got taken care of.
While he was weeding a flowerbed along the porch he caught Sandy watching him through the window. He smiled and continued to work.
People didn’t expect much from him, but that didn’t stop him from doing his best to make sure their yards looked better than they ever had before. It was late afternoon by the time he finished. He stepped back and looked at his handiwork and then looked to the other houses on the street and smiled to himself.
“Finished,” he said when she opened up the door.
The look on her face this time was very different than when he first rang her doorbell: kind, with a hint of pity. “How much do I owe you?”
He shrugged. “Whatever you think is fair.”
She looked him up and down, and then looked at her yard, then back at him again. “Do you want to come in and get cleaned up? I could get you something to drink. You must be thirsty.”
“I could use a drink, if it’s not too much trouble. But I don’t imagine you’re husband would be pleased to have a random man in his house.”
“Nonsense, it’ll be fine. You worked hard. Come in and get washed up.”
“He’ll be home soon?”
“Huh?”
“Will your husband be home soon?”
She checked her watched. “In about thirty minutes. Why?”
He nodded. “I’d love to get washed up. Do you mind if I wait until he gets back? I won’t be any trouble. I’ll just sit on here on the porch.”
Sandy ran her fingers through her glossy brown hair. “Well aren’t you a special breed?”
“I don’t like causing other people problems, that’s all. I realized there are certain lines not to cross that make this easier.”
“That makes sense. Well, let me go grab you something to drink at least and I’ll sit out here with you until he gets back. Or would that be crossing a line?” She winked at him and he loosened up a little.
“That should be fine.”
She returned with a tall glass of ice water, which she gave to him, then took a seat on one of the porch’s rocking chairs. “Have a seat.”
He did and drank from the glass slowly, enjoying the cold running down his throat.
“So, Aaron. Do you mind if I ask a question?”
“Fire away.”
“You’re what, twenty-five?”
“Twenty-two,” he corrected her.
She raised an eyebrow. “Okay, you’re twenty-two. You’re obviously a hard worker. What happened? How’d you end up… well, like this?”
He took a sip and sat in silence for a minute, not sure how to answer, or if he wanted to. “Life.”
“Life?”
He nodded.
“Not the type to open up much, are you?”
He shrugged.
“Well, I’m sorry life has put you here.”
“Why?”
She laughed rubbed the back of her neck. “I don’t know. Seems you deserve more, that’s all.”
“Could be nice,” he admitted. “But I’ll take what I can get. Besides, it’s not bad. I make enough to get by, that’s more than a lot of people these days. You take happiness where you can find it.”
Sandy stared off and said quietly, “Special breed, indeed.” After a minute she snapped back. “How do you do it?”
“Hmm?”
“I don’t know a single person on this street that isn’t some kind of miserable. Jobs they hate, marriage problems, or just little things. But they’ve all got nice homes, food, clean clothes; they’ve got everything they need. You show up looking like last weeks garbage, no offense, and you’re like… well, you.”
This time he laughed. “I’ve got my worries and problems. Just none of them seem that important when you’re busy trying to stay alive. It’s not like I don’t wish I was in a better spot, or had more, but right now life’s dealt me a different hand.”
“You don’t seem like the homeless type.”
“You know many homeless people?”
Her eyebrows scrunched together. “I guess not.”
“Then how do you know?”
“Well, usually they don’t do anything. They don’t go find jobs and work; they just beg and wait for handouts.”
“Do you think they start that way? Do you think that’s what they want? Some of them maybe, but a lot of them are just people who fell on hard times, or who put themselves in hard time and don’t know how to get out, so they give up. A lot of them try really hard. They go out and do whatever they can. Do you think I went to college for yard care?”
“You went to college?”
He nodded.
“Finished?”
He nodded again.
“So what happened?”
“I got a job, things didn’t work out. Some other stuff in my life fell apart when that happened and I ended up doing this.”
“Well that’s a detailed explanation.”
Instead of responding to what she said, he decided to ask a question of his own. “Why are you all dressed up? I thought you were going out at first. Did you just get back from something when I came?”
“What? No. I just like feeling pretty sometimes, that’s all.”
“Maybe I just feel like being grungy sometimes.”
She raised an eyebrow.
“Could be why I’m like this.”
They spent the next twenty minutes talking. She asked questions, he answered them without giving any useful information about himself. She pressed; he resorted to dry comedic responses. She gave up on questions and started talking about herself.
A blue Toyota sedan pulled up, cutting off one of her stories. “Just a second, let me talk to him.” She stood up and walked to the car. “Hey, sweetie!”
Aaron watched from the porch as Sandy’s husband got out of the car. He looked confused at first, and then they both turned so he couldn’t see anything but some tense body language. Chirping birds were enough to drown out their muffled voices.
Sandy’s husband was a bald, gruff looking man. He came up and looked Aaron up and down. “You look like you could use a shower.” Probably word for word what Sandy had told him to say.
He nodded. “Probably.”
“Let’s get you inside.”
Sandy came up behind her husband and smiled. “I told you it would be ok. Maybe I could throw your things in the laundry while you shower? Tim has some old clothes you could wear.”
“I don’t want to be any trouble…”
“No trouble,” Tim said.
Aaron showered, leaving his clothes and bag to be cleaned by Sandy in the meantime. He came downstairs in some old basketball shorts and a t-shirt; both were too small for him.
“In here,” Sandy called from the other room.
He followed her voice into the kitchen. The smell of sautéed onions filled the air. “I should have had him give you a razor to use.”
“Oh, that’s okay. It feels nice to be clean. Clothes are a little tight, though.”
In the dinning room adjacent to the kitchen sat a polished, baby grand piano. He stared at it for a minute, trying to decide if he should ask to play it.
“Do you play?”
“A little.”
“Play us something,” Tim said from behind him.
“I… okay.”
He pulled out the piano bench. Soft, brown velvet, well padded, barely used. He lifted the cover off the keys and let his hands rest on them. They were cool, smooth, perfect. He tested a chord, and then did a slow scale; almost perfectly in tune.
In a moment he’d stepped back from himself, away from himself, and let his fingers touch the keys. They didn’t move fast, what they played wasn’t complex, but they evoked every possible ounce of emotion the piano had to offer. He’d never been much of a pianist. He lacked the technical skill and musical understanding of better pianists. But the feel of the keys, how each note wanted to sound, that was something he’d always understood.
He played a song with his eyes closed, one he’d written six years ago. When he opened them, Tim was standing next to him. “You need to do something with that talent.”
Aaron smiled a weak forlorn smile. “I just did.”
Tim shook his head. “No, I mean it. You need to make a CD or something.”
“It’s not that simple.” He’d wanted to do something with his music since he first started writing it. But while he was good, he wasn’t great. And in a day where thousands of people uploaded songs onto the internet all the time, being a mediocre pianist who had a special touch on the keys just wasn’t a winning equation.
“Actually…” Sandy stepped up beside her husband. “Well, let’s talk about that in a minute. I made some corn chowder. I know you’re both hungry.”
The chowder was incredible. Much better than anything Aaron usually scrapped by on.
“Where’d you learn to play?” Sandy said.
“I took lessons for a couple of years when I was a kid.”
“Only a couple of years?” Tim said.
Aaron nodded.
“I took lessons for five years and I can’t play that well.”
“Good teacher, I guess.”
Tim looked at him, weighing him. “Sandy said you went to college?”
“Yes.”
“What was your degree in?”
“Business Finance.”
“What school?”
“Harvard.”
A pause.
“The Harvard?”
Aaron nodded.
“And you’re mowing lawns and scrapping by?”
He shrugged.
Sandy touched her husband’s arm. “Leave him alone, honey.”
For some reason Aaron felt he could open up now. It wasn’t that he was shy, or nervous, he just didn’t talk about himself usually. He’d put himself in an interesting situation most people didn’t understand. But right now, he didn’t mind doing a little explaining.
“I don’t get it, Aaron,” Tim said. “You’re obviously a hard worker, you’re smart, and you’re talented. Hell, behind all that dirt, you’re even a good looking kid. Why are you going door to door working for scraps?”
“I felt like it.”
Another pause.
“Do you want some help?” Sandy asked.
“You’ve been very nice already.” Aaron smiled. “Thank you.”
She pushed on. “I have a friend who does music stuff. Organizes concerts, that kind of thing. Can I talk to her about you?”
Aaron laughed. “I don’t see how I could stop you.”
“I’m serious. I want to help you with this. Can I?”
He thought about it. It was almost too tantalizing to touch. Failure, disappointment was something he didn’t handle easily. Not again.
She must have seen the hesitation in him. “I’m sorry. I’m not trying to push you. I just… everyone deserves a chance.”
Tim spoke up again. “She’s right. You deserve a shot… I don’t know if you’ve had chances before. You probably have… Actually, I’m sure you have. What brought you here?”
Aaron breathed out heavily. “I had one too many of my dreams fail. I gave up. I gave up on dreaming, on hoping. I gave up my job; I gave up everything I knew. I couldn’t stand to be around it anymore. Everything reminded me that what I wanted most, the things I tried the hardest on, always failed.”
“So you decided to mow lawns?”
“Seemed like a good idea at the time.”
“Are you happy?” Sandy asked.
He thought about it for a moment. “Happier than I’ve ever been. Not as happy as I’d like to be.”
“Well, it’s time we fixed that.”
Aaron recorded a CD. He played concerts. People cried, people smiled, people said he had a gift. Maybe he did, who knows?
He never told Sandy and Tim that he had a bank account worth more than their mortgage. He also didn’t tell them that he still mowed lawns when he wasn’t playing concerts or recording. Sometimes he still went weeks without showering, still wore dirty clothes. Not because he had to –he’d never had to- but because somewhere along the line, after he’d given up on what the world told him he needed, he’d found that the best things in life, and in people, didn’t appear to be what they were inside.
Without further ado... here is my story: Appearances
His last shower and shave had been over a week ago. His hair was mangy, his beard unruly. The clothes he wore hadn’t been laundered in twice as long. He didn’t feel like the type of person he knew he appeared to be, but that hardly mattered to most people.
Modest Victorian homes lined the street, shaded by black walnuts, hemlocks, poplars, and a smattering of other trees. Most of the lawns were neatly manicured already, he’d bypassed those. This yard looked like it could use a trim, and a few hours of work with the bushes and planters that surrounded the immaculate white house.
He rang the doorbell.
A woman was talking inside, most likely on the phone, by the sound of it.
The door opened.
A woman in her mid-thirties stood there. She was well dressed, wearing golden earrings, and had her hair done as if she were going somewhere.
“May I help you?” she held a phone by her shoulder and eyed him with a disdain he’d gotten used to lately.
“I wondered if you needed some help with your yard.”
“No, we’re fine, thank you.” She moved to close the door.
“Only a few dollars, please.” He’d never been much of a salesman. “I’ll mow the lawn, trim the bushes, pull weeds; anything you can have me do.”
She hesitated and looked at him again, differently this time. She put the phone to her ear. “Jill, I’ll call you back in a few minutes.”
“My husband usually takes care of the yard.”
Fairly typical in a neighborhood where the homeowners had enough to pay him for a little work, but not enough that they’d have a lawn-service company over every week. “Well, if you can.”
She nodded, still standing just inside the door, still measuring him. Whatever she saw in him must have put her at ease. “I’ll open up the garage for you.”
He smiled. At least that much about him didn’t set people off. “Thank you, Miss.”
“It’s Sandy. You?”
“Aaron.”
She led him to the garage and opened it. “Mower and weed whacker.” She pointed to each. “And gas, if you need it. I’ll be inside when you’re done.”
He nodded and she wandered back to the house.
Most people didn’t expect someone who dressed, looked, and smelled, like a bum, to do a very good job. He liked ruining people’s expectations.
He spent the next hour mowing the lawn into a perfect checkerboard pattern, then went to work on the hedges. He was meticulous; every blade of grass, every clipping got taken care of.
While he was weeding a flowerbed along the porch he caught Sandy watching him through the window. He smiled and continued to work.
People didn’t expect much from him, but that didn’t stop him from doing his best to make sure their yards looked better than they ever had before. It was late afternoon by the time he finished. He stepped back and looked at his handiwork and then looked to the other houses on the street and smiled to himself.
“Finished,” he said when she opened up the door.
The look on her face this time was very different than when he first rang her doorbell: kind, with a hint of pity. “How much do I owe you?”
He shrugged. “Whatever you think is fair.”
She looked him up and down, and then looked at her yard, then back at him again. “Do you want to come in and get cleaned up? I could get you something to drink. You must be thirsty.”
“I could use a drink, if it’s not too much trouble. But I don’t imagine you’re husband would be pleased to have a random man in his house.”
“Nonsense, it’ll be fine. You worked hard. Come in and get washed up.”
“He’ll be home soon?”
“Huh?”
“Will your husband be home soon?”
She checked her watched. “In about thirty minutes. Why?”
He nodded. “I’d love to get washed up. Do you mind if I wait until he gets back? I won’t be any trouble. I’ll just sit on here on the porch.”
Sandy ran her fingers through her glossy brown hair. “Well aren’t you a special breed?”
“I don’t like causing other people problems, that’s all. I realized there are certain lines not to cross that make this easier.”
“That makes sense. Well, let me go grab you something to drink at least and I’ll sit out here with you until he gets back. Or would that be crossing a line?” She winked at him and he loosened up a little.
“That should be fine.”
She returned with a tall glass of ice water, which she gave to him, then took a seat on one of the porch’s rocking chairs. “Have a seat.”
He did and drank from the glass slowly, enjoying the cold running down his throat.
“So, Aaron. Do you mind if I ask a question?”
“Fire away.”
“You’re what, twenty-five?”
“Twenty-two,” he corrected her.
She raised an eyebrow. “Okay, you’re twenty-two. You’re obviously a hard worker. What happened? How’d you end up… well, like this?”
He took a sip and sat in silence for a minute, not sure how to answer, or if he wanted to. “Life.”
“Life?”
He nodded.
“Not the type to open up much, are you?”
He shrugged.
“Well, I’m sorry life has put you here.”
“Why?”
She laughed rubbed the back of her neck. “I don’t know. Seems you deserve more, that’s all.”
“Could be nice,” he admitted. “But I’ll take what I can get. Besides, it’s not bad. I make enough to get by, that’s more than a lot of people these days. You take happiness where you can find it.”
Sandy stared off and said quietly, “Special breed, indeed.” After a minute she snapped back. “How do you do it?”
“Hmm?”
“I don’t know a single person on this street that isn’t some kind of miserable. Jobs they hate, marriage problems, or just little things. But they’ve all got nice homes, food, clean clothes; they’ve got everything they need. You show up looking like last weeks garbage, no offense, and you’re like… well, you.”
This time he laughed. “I’ve got my worries and problems. Just none of them seem that important when you’re busy trying to stay alive. It’s not like I don’t wish I was in a better spot, or had more, but right now life’s dealt me a different hand.”
“You don’t seem like the homeless type.”
“You know many homeless people?”
Her eyebrows scrunched together. “I guess not.”
“Then how do you know?”
“Well, usually they don’t do anything. They don’t go find jobs and work; they just beg and wait for handouts.”
“Do you think they start that way? Do you think that’s what they want? Some of them maybe, but a lot of them are just people who fell on hard times, or who put themselves in hard time and don’t know how to get out, so they give up. A lot of them try really hard. They go out and do whatever they can. Do you think I went to college for yard care?”
“You went to college?”
He nodded.
“Finished?”
He nodded again.
“So what happened?”
“I got a job, things didn’t work out. Some other stuff in my life fell apart when that happened and I ended up doing this.”
“Well that’s a detailed explanation.”
Instead of responding to what she said, he decided to ask a question of his own. “Why are you all dressed up? I thought you were going out at first. Did you just get back from something when I came?”
“What? No. I just like feeling pretty sometimes, that’s all.”
“Maybe I just feel like being grungy sometimes.”
She raised an eyebrow.
“Could be why I’m like this.”
They spent the next twenty minutes talking. She asked questions, he answered them without giving any useful information about himself. She pressed; he resorted to dry comedic responses. She gave up on questions and started talking about herself.
A blue Toyota sedan pulled up, cutting off one of her stories. “Just a second, let me talk to him.” She stood up and walked to the car. “Hey, sweetie!”
Aaron watched from the porch as Sandy’s husband got out of the car. He looked confused at first, and then they both turned so he couldn’t see anything but some tense body language. Chirping birds were enough to drown out their muffled voices.
Sandy’s husband was a bald, gruff looking man. He came up and looked Aaron up and down. “You look like you could use a shower.” Probably word for word what Sandy had told him to say.
He nodded. “Probably.”
“Let’s get you inside.”
Sandy came up behind her husband and smiled. “I told you it would be ok. Maybe I could throw your things in the laundry while you shower? Tim has some old clothes you could wear.”
“I don’t want to be any trouble…”
“No trouble,” Tim said.
Aaron showered, leaving his clothes and bag to be cleaned by Sandy in the meantime. He came downstairs in some old basketball shorts and a t-shirt; both were too small for him.
“In here,” Sandy called from the other room.
He followed her voice into the kitchen. The smell of sautéed onions filled the air. “I should have had him give you a razor to use.”
“Oh, that’s okay. It feels nice to be clean. Clothes are a little tight, though.”
In the dinning room adjacent to the kitchen sat a polished, baby grand piano. He stared at it for a minute, trying to decide if he should ask to play it.
“Do you play?”
“A little.”
“Play us something,” Tim said from behind him.
“I… okay.”
He pulled out the piano bench. Soft, brown velvet, well padded, barely used. He lifted the cover off the keys and let his hands rest on them. They were cool, smooth, perfect. He tested a chord, and then did a slow scale; almost perfectly in tune.
In a moment he’d stepped back from himself, away from himself, and let his fingers touch the keys. They didn’t move fast, what they played wasn’t complex, but they evoked every possible ounce of emotion the piano had to offer. He’d never been much of a pianist. He lacked the technical skill and musical understanding of better pianists. But the feel of the keys, how each note wanted to sound, that was something he’d always understood.
He played a song with his eyes closed, one he’d written six years ago. When he opened them, Tim was standing next to him. “You need to do something with that talent.”
Aaron smiled a weak forlorn smile. “I just did.”
Tim shook his head. “No, I mean it. You need to make a CD or something.”
“It’s not that simple.” He’d wanted to do something with his music since he first started writing it. But while he was good, he wasn’t great. And in a day where thousands of people uploaded songs onto the internet all the time, being a mediocre pianist who had a special touch on the keys just wasn’t a winning equation.
“Actually…” Sandy stepped up beside her husband. “Well, let’s talk about that in a minute. I made some corn chowder. I know you’re both hungry.”
The chowder was incredible. Much better than anything Aaron usually scrapped by on.
“Where’d you learn to play?” Sandy said.
“I took lessons for a couple of years when I was a kid.”
“Only a couple of years?” Tim said.
Aaron nodded.
“I took lessons for five years and I can’t play that well.”
“Good teacher, I guess.”
Tim looked at him, weighing him. “Sandy said you went to college?”
“Yes.”
“What was your degree in?”
“Business Finance.”
“What school?”
“Harvard.”
A pause.
“The Harvard?”
Aaron nodded.
“And you’re mowing lawns and scrapping by?”
He shrugged.
Sandy touched her husband’s arm. “Leave him alone, honey.”
For some reason Aaron felt he could open up now. It wasn’t that he was shy, or nervous, he just didn’t talk about himself usually. He’d put himself in an interesting situation most people didn’t understand. But right now, he didn’t mind doing a little explaining.
“I don’t get it, Aaron,” Tim said. “You’re obviously a hard worker, you’re smart, and you’re talented. Hell, behind all that dirt, you’re even a good looking kid. Why are you going door to door working for scraps?”
“I felt like it.”
Another pause.
“Do you want some help?” Sandy asked.
“You’ve been very nice already.” Aaron smiled. “Thank you.”
She pushed on. “I have a friend who does music stuff. Organizes concerts, that kind of thing. Can I talk to her about you?”
Aaron laughed. “I don’t see how I could stop you.”
“I’m serious. I want to help you with this. Can I?”
He thought about it. It was almost too tantalizing to touch. Failure, disappointment was something he didn’t handle easily. Not again.
She must have seen the hesitation in him. “I’m sorry. I’m not trying to push you. I just… everyone deserves a chance.”
Tim spoke up again. “She’s right. You deserve a shot… I don’t know if you’ve had chances before. You probably have… Actually, I’m sure you have. What brought you here?”
Aaron breathed out heavily. “I had one too many of my dreams fail. I gave up. I gave up on dreaming, on hoping. I gave up my job; I gave up everything I knew. I couldn’t stand to be around it anymore. Everything reminded me that what I wanted most, the things I tried the hardest on, always failed.”
“So you decided to mow lawns?”
“Seemed like a good idea at the time.”
“Are you happy?” Sandy asked.
He thought about it for a moment. “Happier than I’ve ever been. Not as happy as I’d like to be.”
“Well, it’s time we fixed that.”
Aaron recorded a CD. He played concerts. People cried, people smiled, people said he had a gift. Maybe he did, who knows?
He never told Sandy and Tim that he had a bank account worth more than their mortgage. He also didn’t tell them that he still mowed lawns when he wasn’t playing concerts or recording. Sometimes he still went weeks without showering, still wore dirty clothes. Not because he had to –he’d never had to- but because somewhere along the line, after he’d given up on what the world told him he needed, he’d found that the best things in life, and in people, didn’t appear to be what they were inside.
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