A start

A Chapter by Kion B.

First chapter that introduces the character Max.

The only thing that was on Max's mind was the end of the school day. Frankly it was a tiring week for everyone, including Max. The atmosphere in class was tense to say the least. Not that it was too laud or noisy. It was just that everyone was on edge.

Max sighted and continued to listen the frustrating tick of the big plastic clock that seemed to go slower, the longer he stared. Behind him a few girls laughed, listing through a magazine on the lap of a red head. Other guys in class looked as bored as he must have felt. And finally, his teacher seemed to look even more so.

With a sight she looked in the same direction, “Alright, that’s it for today.”

With a rush everyone seemed to liven up. Max too picked up his notebook and went with the flow.

What am I doing here Max said for the hundredth time to himself. Every day seemed to grow more tedious and difficult than the last. Ever since he started his last year of high school he felt off. Max often wondered why that was and when was he started to feel that way. But the answer was eluding him. Maybe I was always like this and just now can see it for what it is. Does that means to be an adult?

He walked through the halls crowded with other students just like him. But for some reason he knew he was somehow different. Maybe he wasn’t the best at math or sports but there was something that distinguished him from others at least. Again, he didn’t know what it was. But he felt there must be something.

Lost in thought he almost didn’t notice leaving the school. He was hiding from the rain, under a bus station, with his peers. It was a bad day he thought. There was too little rain to be called a rainy day, but it was not enough warmth to feel like summer. He knew it was the first signs of fall. But the road was soaked and the light of the beat up bus that was coming reflected off of it. At least where there weren’t any leaves. The bus stopped with a loud hiss and clang and the yellowed doors opened releasing the passengers trapped inside.

Out came an old lady carrying a plastic bag. Some repugnant smell spread from it. She wasn’t in a hurry, as if she had all the time in the world Max thought. Her big plastic boots were for some reason filled with water and made a splashing sound wherever she took a step.

“Hurry it up,” an odd, gruff voice said and Max realized it too was old.

Finally Max went around the woman and stepped inside. The bus was almost full, mostly with the elderly. Max scrunched his nose and gripped the bar. His long fingers touched the greasy surface and he shivered. How many people must have stood exactly here and done the same thing I’m doing every day? It didn’t seem to matter, though, because the bus would arrive every day at the same time, more or less. They took off.

The ride was long; it took him about half an hour to get off at his station and then maybe another ten minutes of walking. Every stop there was that odd sound of old pneumonics rebelling against the driver that clearly didn’t care. What can you do Max thought. He didn’t have a car and even if he did he couldn’t ask his dad to pay his driving exams. He was doomed to the bus. But it wasn’t so bad Max said to himself. At least from time to time he could see some interesting people.

He remembered last year’s ride when he met that odd musician. It was on a hot day and Max clearly remembered trying to open the stuck window above his seat. It was then he felt a dip on the empty seat beside him. Max remembered first being shocked by a tanned face with a black mane of a hair and an even longer beard. The man had a case with him that held some kind of instrument. Max wasn’t clear on which one. It could have been a cello or even a bass for all he knew. The man’s face was even harder to read. He had squinted eyes and held his tongue between his teeth. Even so, for some reason, the man seemed content and happily hummed under his breath before he left the bus in front of a large swimming park.

Max didn’t know why the memory stayed with him but he was glad. Every time he remembered Max would laugh and imagine the man sinking and clinging to his case in the middle of the public pool.

Max fiddled with his phone checking for messages. He sighted and more forcefully pressed the screen trying to unlock the phone. There was one new notification. He scrolled and pressed the button Read before he locked the phone. It was one of those useless ads for some new game that was supposed to be better than every other. He sighted and put the phone away.

Soon his eyes started following the soft flickers of light that seemed to run away from the bus and in no time it was time to leave. He left the bus then knowing he would most likely ride in the same one tomorrow and the day after and even beyond that.

The side street that led to his home was dark and felt cramped. There was an old store there that sold everything from sugar cubes to condoms. It was about five minutes from his house. Old John took great pride in his store and often bragged how he survived the wave of super markets and drive-ins that swept over the country nearly a decade ago.

Max would always nod and smile and pick up a Red Marlboro for his dad before going to school. Old John was always interested in school Max thought. There was a picture behind the counter that Old John liked to show around. His boy, he would often say. His boy didn’t go to school and one day went away. Old John still waited for him.

Apart the dingy little shop there was nothing much in or on his street. A few bumps in the concrete and a shiny tin trash can that collected strays. His house was near the end, just beyond the reach of the lamp that hang on a wire between two roofs. It would sway in strong wind creating shadows that flickered in and out his window. When he was little Max was always afraid to come out of bed and waited for the light to calm down.

His house was a one storied building. From the front view two windows could be seen behind a bush that in some better times looked a lot more neat. It wasn’t much of a backyard but it was enough to plant a few kinds of flowers and even a magnolia tree. The front door was in a deep red color, the wood painted over a few times and one step divided his home from the rest of the porch. The door was left unlocked.

“I’m home.”

He closed the door behind him and took off his sneakers and jacket placing them beside an old coat and a red helmet. The TV was on buzzing in the background as he took in the view of the living room. A tuft of brown hair could be seen in the tangle of sheets and pillows. His dad was fast asleep on the couch, the remote on the floor near an empty plate.

Max smiled to himself as switched the TV off. Taking a moment to orient himself in the dark he took off to the kitchen. With plate in hand he opened the small fridge, throwing the paper thing in the trash and picking his portion of today’s dinner. “Mexican, huh.”

Slowly, not to wake him, he crept down the hall to his room where he ate and went to bed.

© 2016 Kion B.

Author's Note

I hope someone can take the time and try to read and suggest things that could be fixed and improved. Thanks in advance.

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Featured Review

Desirée Tolliver

This is a very interesting story. You seem to be off to a good start. I did notice some grammar errors though (e.g. I noticed you wrote "sighted" a lot of times where I wasn't sure if you meant "sighted" or "sighed"; there were other grammar errors too but that was one I didn't understand). Overall, your story is good and I would like to commend you on your creativity. Keep up the good work and good luck in your future endeavors. I look forward to reading more works by you in the future.