28. Something New (THE FINAL CHAPTER)

Everything comes to an end.

I don’t know why I’m awake now, but I am, and I’m watching the sunrise. You never think about it, but it’s comforting in its own way. It’s reliable; no matter what, no matter how many times, no matter how dark the night has gotten, the rays of morning always come. The sunrise doesn’t care about anything going on in our stupid, complicated lives, it just does its job, coming to shine its light on us every day. I guess that’s why I’m watching it; because in some incredibly small, vague, insignificant way, it’s a promise that the dark of night won’t stay forever.

I peer out of my window, seeing the spreading dawn bring Queens to life. I admire the view, because in a few hours I’m going to be on a plane bound to California and quite frankly I don’t know if I’ll ever see this view again.

Once I finish double checking that everything’s packed, away properly, I leave the room that used to be mine and head downstairs. I don’t know why, but I feel a sudden urge to look at those pictures hanging up in the hallway. On my way there, I’m surprised to find Uncle T awake and stirring in the kitchen. He’s groggily fumbling around with some kind of breakfast ingredients until he notices me here.

“Look who’s up.” He says with a breath that then turns into a yawn.

“Well, I don’t wanna miss my plane.”

“Oh, that’s right,” he says, now fully awake. “You’re leaving, huh? It feels like you just got here, then again time always flies by.”

I didn’t know I was going to say this, but I start forming words anyway.

“Hey, Uncle T. Thanks.”

He looks at me puzzled. “For having you over these past few days?”

“No,” I answer. “For, you know, raising me.”

Now he’s even more confused.

“Where’s this coming from?” he asks.

“I never told you before,” I explain. “I’ve learned recently that you should tell people the things you want to while you can. So, thanks.”

He doesn’t quite know what to say. “Richie…”

“I know,” I cut him off. “I’m well aware I wasn’t an easy kid to take care of. I was weird, and confusing, it was hard for the two of us to relate and you probably had no idea what was going on with me half the time. I’m sorry. You didn’t ask for any of this. You didn’t want to have a son, the universe just dropped one at your doorstep. And you could’ve left me just like everyone else and just went on with your own life, but unlike the scumbag that knocked up my mom, you stood up and took the responsibility. That’s something I can never repay you for.”

He looks like he just go whiplash for a second. His expression remains puzzled as he takes in what I just said, then finally he begins to smile. It’s the kind of proud smile that can only be exchanged by family.

“Your mother had this belief,” he begins. “She always said that the most important choices we make are the people we get close to. Every time you let someone into your life, you’re taking the chance that whoever it is might end up changing it. For better or for worse. When you let someone in, it could turn out to be a mistake and they can ruin your life. But your mother always said you should take the chance anyway, because if you’re too afraid of being hurt, you’ll never know what you might’ve missed out on.”

He stops for a moment, as if the sudden thoughts of my mother are too much to handle. He runs a hand over the back of his neck and takes a deep sigh. Then he continues.

“I always thought that philosophy was her downfall, because that’s how she ended up stuck with your father. I hated him back then. I blamed her attitude for all the problems in our lives. But then you were born. And it all changed. Suddenly that chance she took meant something. And then when she was gone, that chance passed onto me. I took the chance on you, and you definitely changed my life, kid. And because you did, you already repaid me.”

He smiles again, and I’m smiling too. For some reason, this feels like I’m seeing my Uncle for the first time in years, spanning much earlier before I left to California. It feels like it’s the first time he’s seeing me. It feels like a wall between us has finally disappeared.

I say one last thing, “Take care of yourself, Uncle.”

Before I know it, I’m looking at Queens through the window of the airport. Not much of a view at all, but I still feel the city somehow. More so than the buildings, streets, and subway stations, I feel Queens’ emotions. I feel my childhood, my family and friends, and the seemingly infinite memories. I’m realizing just now that no matter where I go, now matter where I’ve been, this place has always been with me. The thought of leaving it again doesn’t seem as heavy as it did before.

By the time I get to my seat at the waiting area, I see there’s just under fifteen minutes until it’s time to board my plane. I take a seat beside a chubby, middle-aged man with his eyes locked onto the magazine in his hands. Leaning my head back against the seat, I close my eyes and try to let my thoughts sort themselves out.

My mind is a mess, my heart is full of pain, and part of me wishes I could get on that plane and fly away from the whole world, never to deal with its chaotic nonsense again. But I know I can’t. I know I shouldn’t want to. I know that there’s plenty of new journeys ahead of me, the first of which starts in only a few minutes. I have to take it, and in order to do so, I have to leave the past behind and find the strength in myself to-

“Yo, Superboy!”

Huh!? What?

I immediately open my eyes and thrust forward in my seat. There are waves of people moving about all throughout the airport, and I’m looking all around frantically, to the point the fat man next to me is giving a sideways glare. Did I just dream that?

Before I could second guess myself any further, my eyes stumble upon just the right spot in the nearby crowd, where I see a figure somewhat urgently pushing through. The first detail on said figure I can make out are the big, thick glasses on their face. And before I could process what’s going on, you’re unmistakably walking closer toward me.

You’re wearing an off-white long coat despite the weather not calling for it at all, and your hair is hanging lower onto you face than before, just above your eyes as if you spent less time styling it today. Then I notice how out of breath you seem to be.

I get up from my seat and walk over to you immediately. As we stand face to face, you don’t say anything, you just give a smile as try to slow your panting.

“What are you doing here?” I utter, mostly in disbelief.

“I knew you were leaving this morning,” you answer. “So I looked up the time of your flight, realized it was incredibly soon and so I rushed over.”

You finally seem to catch your breath, running a hand through your hair to move it away from your eyes.

“But why?” I ask.

You reach into the pocket of your coat. “To give you this.”

You pull out a small, bright pink flash drive. Dumbfounded as you hand it to me, I stare down at it for a moment, then look back up at you.

“I made a copy of yours,” you explain. “I want you to keep it.”

I look down at it again, and I’m instinctively clutching it tightly. The commotion of the airport all around us seems to fade away. Now it’s just you and me, and all these other people are distant stars looking down on us.

“Thanks.” I say, slipping the drive into my pocket.

“I’m sorry about last night,” you go on. “I didn’t know if I was even ready to see you yesterday and when I did all these feelings were spinning around, it was happening so fast and I made a judgment call that might’ve been wrong. God, I hate when my emotions make me act dumb.”

You look down to the shiny tiles on the floor beneath us. I want to ask what it is you’re saying, but something about your blank expression stops me.

“Look,” you continue. “Yeah, I don’t normally like being reminded of my time as Carrie. But, you know, some of it wasn’t so bad. I realized that I’m not ready to let go of all those memories. Those times meant so much to me that I want to keep them close. At the very least, it would mean everything to me if you did too.”

As we meet eyes, I sigh, and feel myself begin to smile. “I don’t think I had a choice anyway.”

“What a shame,” you say, returning the smile. “I caught you just as you’re about to leave about to leave again.”

“Timing was never our strong suit.” I say.

You stare off into space, shaking your head as if trying to collect your thoughts. Then, you look back to the floor.

“Damn it!” you curse to yourself, stomping down. You look back up at me, and now your face is turning red.

“Look, Richie,” you begin. “We both know I’m not good at this. We know how hard it is for me to say what I’m feeling. But just bear with me and I’ll try my absolute best, okay?”

Not knowing what to expect, I nervously laugh, which causes your face to redden a little more.

“Go ahead.” I say.

You close your eyes and take a deep breath.

“You’re gonna get on that plane and go back to California, then I’m going back to college in Virginia and who knows what’s gonna happen. Life set us on two different courses now, but that doesn’t mean we have to stay apart in every sense of the word. What we had was the best thing we could’ve hoped for, it was beautiful and amazing and it hurts like hell now that it’s over and there’s nothing we can do about it. But we’re two adults now, so maybe we can have something else with each other. Something new. It would be different, in fact I have no idea what it would be like, but it’s still something. I guess what I’m saying is this isn’t the end, because the end already happened a long time ago.”

“Then what is this?” I ask. You hesitate, then collect yourself and give me what I desperately need, one of your perfect half-smiles.

“Remember what your Uncle said,” you answer. “Life is always starting over. So that’s what this can be if we let it.”

You reach out your hand to shake mine.

“Let’s start over, Richie.”

My hand reaches up to meet yours and we shake. But before either one of us can let go, your face flares red again and your expression contorts. With no warning, as if you can’t hold it in any longer, you blurt out.

“I love you.”

Neither one of us lets go. Staring into your eyes, there’s only one thing I can allow myself to say.

“I love you.”

And with that, we hang onto silence for a moment. It was something that had been felt for a long time, something neither one of us needed to articulate but both of us understood. Saying out out loud tells us nothing new, but somehow relieves us.

Your grip on my hand tightens. I realize now just how long our silence has gone on.

I finally say something. “I’m not really sure I know how to start over.”

You nervously laugh, until it becomes your real laugh. “I don’t either. But we can try to figure it out, right?”

The loud, crackling airport speakers above us cut in.

“This is our final boarding call...” an old woman’s voice echoes all around us. She goes on with the announcement and I take a deep sigh.

“That’s me.” I say with a frown. Your expression doesn’t change, though. And you still haven’t let go.

Still grinning, you say to me, “When you get to California, look up at the stars tonight.”

At this moment, I feel something I can’t explain. I feel my smile return, and looking into your eyes I can tell you feel it too.

For as long as I have left, for as long as I’m here, for as long as I can, I hold onto your hand.

Author's Note

If anyone has read this far, thank you.

Reviews

[JayG]

Okay, take a deep breath… You did ask 🙄

• “I never told you before,” I explain.

Be wary of things like tags saying “he explained, commented, stated, interjected, exclaimed, etc.” Readers know it was an explanation, just like they know a question was asked because of punctuation and context. “He said,” is something readers are used to as part of a tag, and expected. So they see, but literally don’t notice it, any more than they do any other piece of punctuation. But change that, and give them something unexpected, and it assumes more importance than needed and slows the narrative.

Once upon a time, there was a mimeographed booklet sold in the classified section of Writers Digest called, The Tag Book. It listed all the alternatives for “he said.” It was a joke among agents and publishers. And those who tried to avoid “s/he said with alternatives were said to be suffering “Tag Bookism.”

• I immediately open my eyes and thrust forward in my seat. There are waves of people moving about all throughout the airport, and I’m looking all around frantically, to the point the fat man next to me is giving a sideways glare. Did I just dream that?

Way too much irrelevant detail. He opens his eyes because he heard someone call, and thinks he recognizes the voice. In fact, if you tell the reader what he sees, won’t they assume that he opened his eyes without having to be told? Why does it matter if it was “immediate” or took a second?

Is he paying attention to the fat man or looking for her? (in fact, instead of saying, “Huh?” wouldn’t he be using her name?) Given why he opened his eyes, even looking back and telling the story in retrospect he couldn’t know the man was watching him because he can’t see him. He’s leaning forward, remember? So this is a POV break. And of more importance, someone called him. He’s focused on who it is, as-is-your-reader. So this serves only to slow the narrative. In short, get off the stage and let him live his life as we watch, in real-time, not overview. Him “thrusting forward in the seat” is a visual detail we would see, incidentally. But here, you give it importance it doesn’t rate—and slow the action to do that. Why do I care? You might as well tell the reader that he farted, or scratched his shoulder, because it’s irrelevant, and knowing that he leaned forward is NOT the same as seeing it.

And as a not so minor point, if every published writer can make themselves clear with only one punctuation mark per sentence I’m betting you can too. The excitement belongs in the words, not the punctuation.

• Before I could second guess myself any further, my eyes stumble upon just the right spot in the nearby crowd,

So far he’s guessed nothing. So how can he second-guess anything? And how can eyes stumble? But forget that, because you’re talking not about what was seen, you’re describing the act of seeing. First he looks. Then he notices something unstated as his eyes just happen to hit the right spot—in spite of the fact that he’s LOOKING for the owner of a voice he recognizes (if he didn’t, he wouldn’t have opened his eyes). Then, he notices details on an unknown person. But he stopped looking when he got to her because-he-recognized-her. So this is fat that badly needs trimming.

But most of all, and throughout every chapter, telling the story TO the girl, as if he was recounting it in person, doesn’t and can’t work, for lots of reasons.

First is that the reader isn’t the girl (and I’m pretty certain I’m not any kind of girl).

Next, is that no one would tell someone who was with them what they did, because they already know it. You’re using first person pronouns and present tense to make the story seem more immediate. But that doesn’t work. Is there really a difference between:

As I walked to the garage I thought about my future, and what I could do next.
And:
As he walked to the garage he thought about his future, and what he could do next.
And:
As I walk to the garage I think about my future, and what I can do next.
And:
As he walks to the garage he thinks about his future, and what he can do next.

They’re all a summation from a narrator, and all say the same thing. So neither tense nor person changes that. In his life, as in your own, it’s always first person, present tense. So the tense and pronouns the storyteller explains it with is irrelevant, and adds nothing meaningful. What would add something is to place the reader into HIS viewpoint, in the moment he calls now.

In that moment, after he hears her call, he knows who he’s looking for. And if he’s our protagonist, our avatar, so should we. So the details of the search, other that the act of it, serve only to slow the narrative and dilute the impact.

What matters to him? Is it the details of searching or the fact that he found her? That has impact. The search, broken into steps is boring detail. Following the call from her, and his saying huh, all it would have taken is:
- - - - -
I searched the crowd, for a moment wondering if I’d just been daydreaming. But then, there she was, hurrying toward me.
- - - - -
Does it matter how she’s dressed? Hell no. This guy has just had a huge shock. He thought he’d lost her. But there she is, obviously seeking him out. His internal reaction to that matters, if the reader is to empathize. What does he think, guess, and surmise from the situation? That’s what he’s focused on, not her glasses, the crowds, or anything but the, “hold your breath and hope that a miracle has happened” feeling. Anything else might as well be a report. And damn few people are entertained by a report.

The thing to always keep in mind is that no two people see the same scene in the same way. And it’s how the protagonist sees this that gives it the emotional content. But you leave that out and use only sight and sound—two of the five senses. What about the feel of her skin as he takes the drive? How about the urge to take her hand, not the drive? Forget facts. Forget detail not immediately relevant to him. Focus on what matters to him in the moment of now. Your story lives there. It lives in his hopes, his plans, and his needs. It lives in his failures and his determination to succeed. It lives in making the reader know that he’s worthy of the poetic justice that demands he get the girl in the end. Plot events are the structure and stimulus he reacts to—things you want the reader to react to AS HIM. But they can’t, unless you make the reader know what’s driving him. That acts as a measuring stick for the reader’s reaction.

If you’ve not done it, I would strongly suggest that you pick up Dwight Swain’s, Techniques of the Selling Writer, and read it slowly, twice. First, read it with plenty of time spent thinking about each point as it’s introduced, plus lots of practice time before moving on. Then, six months later, after having a bit of time to practice those skills, read it again. This time, having a better idea of where he’s going, you’ll learn just as much as you did the first time.

Hang in there, and keep on writing.

Jay Greenstein
https://jaygreenstein.wordpress.com/category/the-craft-of-writing/

[Sora The Egotistical]

Thanks for all your input, and your time