#i spent the last two days driving through the middle of cows and corn and trees
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rural midwest my beloved
#i hate living in the city. i need to move to a town with <600 people#i need to live in an old white farm house with a screen door and a porch swing#i was not made for big towns. i am supposed to go to the same tiny grocery store my whole life#and go to two restaurants forever and be a regular there and at a shitty small town bar#i need a gravel driveway and a trailhand to drive around#i spent the last two days driving through the middle of cows and corn and trees#and i miss it already. farm king take me back#(yes monocropping is bad. especially on the scale of what i was driving though. but the point stands)
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Hot as hell and no A/C, Chapter 1 (Branjie) - Blackhighheels
Read at AO3
When a new dance teacher comes to “the friendly community” in the middle of nowhere, he doesn’t expect to run into a cute blonde local, who always helps out his deeply religious family and might just be…. gay. And really deep in the closet.
AN:
Please not that while this is a romance, the topics of religion, (internalized) homophobia, depression and stereo types will be heavily featured in this story. If these trigger you in any way, then please don’t read!
Thanks to all the different people who gave me input in the first chapter and helped me out!
Chapter 1
”Shit, Thacks, look! We so far out in the middle of fucking nowhere, not even the ad signs get used.” Jose says to his cat, who is lying in the passenger’s seat looking up at him with a bored expression before he simply goes back to sleep.
They had left Los Angeles nearly two days ago and have been on the road ever since. They both like it that way and Jose takes the car, and the cat, wherever he can. Even if it’s the middle of bum-fuck nowhere, Texas. For the last three hours he’s driven through vast stretches of absolutely nothing. Even the desert between LA and Vegas might be more populated than this never ending green emptiness.
He’s close, though. There are houses now, farms, the orchards. Pick-up trucks pass him from time to time. There are horses out on the paddocks, cows out grazing, dogs running around and kids chasing after them.
‘Welcome to the friendly community’ Jose reads, as he passes the sign that tells him he’s finally reached his destination. There’s also something on it about a corn festival, but he’d rather not think about that too much.
The one street through town leads him past a liquor store, a gas station, a couple of derelict buildings of which one of them might be an open bar. Another gas station follows after a car shop, silos and what looks like a small grocery store. Then there’s only silos and farms and nothingness again. Fuck, he must have driven past it.
Once the tractor behind him has passed, he turns the car around and drives back. After he passes the welcome sign again, he realises he has no fucking clue where he is supposed to go. Navigation had stopped working about fifty miles back.
”This is some fucked up shit, Thacks. I can’t even find the motherfucking studio.” Thackery just yawns and gives a pointed look to his cellphone. ”You right, I’m a dumb ho. I should just call Jason before these howdy motherfuckers shoot my gay ass.”
He dials and it takes forever until his friend picks up his phone. It feels even longer because cars that pass him start honking and the children playing on the other side of the road eye him suspiciously. He is painfully aware that his shiny black Porsche Cayenne is just as much out of place here as he is himself.
”Hey, Jo, what’s up? Where you at?”
”Child, if only I knew. I passed some dumbass sign about a corn festival twice now but I can’t find your fucking place.””Oh ok, if you mean the welcome sign, then you’re on the wrong side of town. Just follow the road until you pass the colourful little bakery on the left and the cemetery on the right. Then there’s nothing except some farms for about another ten minutes. And then you can see my dancing studio on the right. It’s the biggest building around, you can’t miss it, cowboy.”
”Alright, then Imma be there in a few. You better have a drink ready for me, now that I know where I’ll spend the next eight fucking weeks.”
Jason just laughs. ”Girl, you’ll love it here, I swear! And could you stop by Smith’s and bring some bread? Tell Ada it’s for me and she’ll know which one, ok?”
”That the grocery story that looks like the roof will come down? With the bright blue, ugly ass door?”
”Don’t be such an L.A. bitch, Vanj’! I swear, y’all gonna love it here!”
”I wouldn’t bet on it, asshole. I doubt there’s any gay dicks around to suck to make up for this shitty town, cause yours sure as hell doesn’t count for me. See ya!”
Once more, he turns the car around and drives past what Jason considers to be a town. Although the old, dirty green pick-up truck in front of him that just off the road suddenly and drives over the fields and grass makes it painfully obvious that this is no fucking town.
When he gets out of the car in front of the grocery store he notices that it’s really warm and the air smells like the blossoming trees that are all around. In contrast, the shop smells like freshly baked bread which makes his mouth water. It’s been a while since he’s eaten.
”Hey, y’all. Can I help you?” a woman comes up to him. It’s hard to tell how old she is, but her hair is badly dyed red, her clothes are old and worn, but clean. She has a friendly smile and very pretty blue eyes. The most remarkable thing about her, though, is her huge, pregnant stomach.
”Hey,” Jose smiles at her and tries to control what comes out of his mouth for once. If he gets into trouble here for running his mouth he’s fucked. ”Jason sent me. Told me to tell Ada he needs some bread. You Ada?”
”Yeah, I am.” She waddles away and signals him to follow her. ”You a friend of Jason’s ?” There’s something in the way she says it, that makes him bite his tongue for a second.
”Yeah, I’m here to teach the spring dance class.” Better keep it professional.
”Oh lord, then you’re Vanjie, right?” she seems really excited all of a sudden. ”My daughter Rachel is a big fan of yours and’ll be attending the workshop. She’s been looking forward to it for weeks!”
Jose wrinkles his forehead, because his workshops are for kids ten and up. ”So that’s not number one?” he asks and points to her pregnant belly.
Ada laughs loudly. ”No, that’s number seven.”
”Seven? Y’all must know how to keep busy around here.” He freezes when he stops to think about what he just said. But then Ada laughs as she passes him the bread.
”We just believe in accepting what the lord gives to us. However many kids he will bless us with, that’s how many we will have.”
Jose doesn’t really know what to say to that, so he just hands her some money for the bread. ”Thanks, Miss Ada. See ya ‘round.”
Thackery greets him with a head-bump when he gets back into the car. ”Yeah, you better be glad I’m still alive, bitch. This town is no joke.” He pulls out of the gravel parking space and back onto the road.
Jason hadn’t lied when he’d said his building was the biggest around. Also the newest, most modern and probably the only one with air-conditioning, by the looks of it.
”Miss Vanjie, you made it!” he greets him with a big smile and a hug. He looks like a fucking cowboy with his hat and the boots he is wearing.
”You better believe it. And bitch, you will owe me so fucking much, after this shit is over! ‘Cause, child, this town is way too hillbilly realness for my gay ass!”
***
‘… When the world’s all that it should be Blessed be your name. Blessed be your name on the road marked with suffering, though there’s pain in the offering. Blessed be your name.’ Brock hits the button to shut off his alarm clock and whatever crap the Christian Rock station plays in the very early hours of the morning. He doesn’t even really like the station, but he still doesn’t dare to change it. He’s had the same alarm clock with the same radio station since he was fifteen. Sometimes it feels like time stands still within his four walls.
Brock’s eyes already burn with fatigue, even though he hasn’t opened them yet. His arms and legs hurt, his head is pounding and the heaviness that settles in his body every second of every day hasn’t left during this short night’s sleep either.
He wants to sleep and stay in bed, just like every other day. And just like every other day he slowly sits up, grabs some clothes from the dresser and gets ready in the dark. He squints when the light from the porch light hits his eyes as he steps into the hallway. He tiptoes around because he doesn’t want to wake his parents, but the old wooden floorboards creak under his weight anyway. His parents, at least, should get a couple more hours of sleep, even if he can’t.
The cows come first, then the pigs. By the time he gets to the chicken, the sun is rising and the farm comes to life around him.
He takes a moment for himself when he sits down beside the barn door and pets one of the kittens, resting his head against the chipped wood of the door. The little guy has taken a liking to him and sometimes, when his mother isn’t watching he sneaks him into his room, so he has company as he reads or listens to music in the evenings.
With a loud sigh he gets back up after a while. He doesn’t have time to rest and he’s not really looking forward to another argument with his father when he’s barely awake yet.
”Good morning,” Brock greets his parents waiting at the breakfast table, pressing a kiss to his mother’s cheek.
”Morning, Brock. You’re going to say grace today?” she asks him.
”Sure,” he shrugs and sits down. He still feels like a little kid every time she asks this of him. If he had his way they would just start eating. ”Father, we praise You for the nourishment you provide. Thank You for meeting our physical needs of hunger and thirst. Forgive us for taking that simple joy for granted. Bless this food to fuel our bodies forward into your plan for our lives. We pray that we will be energised and be able to work for the glory or your kingdom. In Jesus’ name, amen.” He automatically recites the prayer, but feels nothing as he speaks these words.
”Amen,” his parents both say and Brock can finally eat something after slaving away at the farm for the last three hours.
”Brock, you’re gonna have to hurry up after driving the kids to school today. We have to get the barn roof fixed before the May storms come in.”
”I know. Just, Daniel needs me in the afternoon, so he can keep the deadline for the new annex at the Miller farm.” Since his brother started his construction business, Brock has spent more hours up on roofs than in his own room. But his brother needs his help, because he can’t afford to pay more workers at the moment.
”I need you back at four. Tell him I said so.” His father lays down the law as per usual. Brock just nods and puts his toast down. He’s not hungry anymore. Swallowing the last bite is painful and the familiar heaviness weighing on his chest even makes it hard to breathe.
The day has barely started and already it seems endless and draining. Just like every other damn day in his life. Sometimes, he wishes he could just leave and escape. Be someone else, someone who has some say over their own life and gets to do what he wants to do. Enjoy life just a bit more. Yet, it looks like that’s not the lord’s plan for him.
***
”Ruthie! Jonathan! Rachel! Uncle Brock is here!” Ada yells with a volume that one wouldn’t expect out of such a small woman.
Every morning when he stops by it’s absolute chaos. The kids can’t find their bags, their homework or their shoes. The younger ones forget to brush their teeth or their hair and the two older ones try and help their mother wrangle them all into the waiting cars, so they can go to school.
Before his sister got pregnant for the seventh time she was somehow able to do it on her own. But now that the school in town has closed and they all need to go to the one, one town over, it’s harder for Ada. She can barely fit behind the wheel anymore and she works too much anyway. Taking care of six kids, with one on the way, managing the household and working full-time at her own grocery store, while her husband is on the road making money as a truck driver, is hard.
Brock wishes they would just stop having kids. Six is too many already and he is scared to think of how many more will come after number seven.
”You ok, Brock? You look tired?” Ada asks him with a worried look in her eyes. He should be used to it by now, but he isn’t. He wishes he could tell her about how exhausted he feels, how trapped, how much his life sucks and how much he wants out.
”Sure. Just didn’t sleep too well.” He says instead and goes to find his nieces himself, just so he can get away from her and her dangerous questions.
Ada kisses each kid goodbye as they leave and he gets a kiss on the cheek as well, as she stays behind with the younger ones, that she will somehow watch at the same time as she works in the grocery store.
”Uncle Brock, guess what!” ten-year-old Rachel says as soon as they are on the road. She always gets to drive shotgun, because she likes to talk to him, while the rest is asleep again in the backseat.
”What?”
”No, guess, guess!” She is so excited she is bouncing in her seat.
”You have to give me a clue, Rach. Otherwise I don’t even know what exactly I’m supposed to guess.”
She sighs, but then gives in ”Ok. But only one!”
”Only one clue.” Brock nods and smiles a bit. He really loves her a whole lot and she always manages to warm his heart.
”It is about what I’ll do next week after school.”
”Uhm… you’ll meet your friends?”
”No.”
”You’ll study every day,” he teases her.
”No.”
”You’ll help grandpa fix the roof.”
”That’s for boys, dummy!” She giggles. ”Imma join Vanjie’s dance class! Momma said yes!”
”What’s Vanjie?”
”Not what, Uncle Brock, who! He is the bestest dancer who does all the choreography for like Rihanna and Ariana Grande.”
”You know you’re not supposed to listen to that kind of music, right?”
”They play it all the time at Jason’s dance studio. Momma knows that! And she said yes! I think Imma get an autograph from Vanjie!”
”Jason, of course.” Brock tries to keep his tone neutral. He can’t say that he likes Jason very much. It’s not so much that he’s gay - even though that’s wrong too. It’s more the fact that he has to shove it in people’s faces with the way he dresses and talks. Sometimes he has guys over that dress in women’s clothes and wear make up. It’s just… his father calls it an abomination. Still, Jason is a great dance teacher and the kids love him, and so does his niece. How much worse can thisVanjie be?
***
”Brock! Finally! I thought you’d be here by twelve!” Brock’s brother is already up on the roof, hammering away when he gets there.
”I wanted to, but a new shipment came in at the grocery store and I didn’t want Ada to carry the heavy boxes.”
”How is she? She popped already?” Daniel laughs and hands him the hammer. He takes it when he has found a more secure stand. Brock is afraid of heights and crawling up on roofs every day is not very high on the lists of things he likes to do. But his brother needs help and his family needs the money, so what choice does he have?
”She’s getting bigger every day, but still insists on doing most on her own. I just hope Jack comes back soon.”
”He’s the man, he needs to make the money,” Daniel shrugs. ”Once you get married, the days of just working a bit here and there will be over, too, my friend.” Daniel laughs, but Brock just wants to slap him. If they weren’t up on a damn roof without any safety equipment, he just might have. Instead he grabs a nail and hammers it in with as much force as he can. At least the work up here can be somewhat therapeutic.
He gets to the ninth nail when the head of the hammer flies off and scares Brock so much he nearly falls backward. The metal flies off and hits the ground, where gladly no one is standing.
”Shit! I thought you fixed the tools!” he snaps at his older brother.
”I did! You banging away like a madman doesn’t help. These are damn cheap tools. They’re not meant to be used every day to build houses and roofs.”
”Dan, this is dangerous! I could have killed someone with this! I could have hurt you or myself.”
”You think I don’t know that, Brock? What am I fucking supposed to do? Build me some tools myself?”
”Buy new ones!” Brock yells back. It’s not like anyone is around who could hear them up there.
”Do you have any idea what that shit costs? One roofing hammer costs about 50 bucks and I need at least 6 different ones, and that times two at least! And if I really wanna go somewhere with this business I’ll need a nail gun, too. That alone is nearly two grand. I don’t have that kind of money, kiddo. I have a family and obligations. Not like you!”
”Hey, I don’t have money either! I’ve been saving for months just so I can finally get my truck fixed.”
”So you do have money!”
”Dan… that car breaks down every couple of days and I need it.”
”You could just take ma’s old one.”
”That has no A/C and it’s too small. The kids don’t fit in there when I take them to school.”
”Brock, come on! I’ll pay you back, man.” Brock thinks for a second about just leaning back and letting himself fall. Well, not really.
Or?
Is he really a rotten person, because he doesn’t want to give his brother the money he carefully put aside, so he can finally get the necessary repair on his old car done? A car he desperately needs to drive to the several fields and orchards they have, drive his nieces and nephews back and forth from school and to their extra-curricular and also to get to his brother’s construction sites. And sometimes, just once in a blue moon, he needs the car to drive out into the middle of nowhere and scream out into the night and cry where no-one can see or hear him, so he doesn’t lose his mind.
”Fine. I only have 3 grand, though.” It’s his brother and he has to help him out. That’s what family does.
”Thanks, man! Now back to work so I can be home by dinner time. Lilly’s making stew tonight!”
Brock nods, grabs another hammer and lets out his frustration on the nails. There won’t be any stew for him once he is done here; only more work, more problems, more prayers, more self-doubts and guilt.
***
”Uncle Brock, you have to come in with me! Pleeeeease!” Rachel begs when they reach the dance studio. His plan was to go home and finally get some sleep, since he was up last night delivering a new fowl. His headache is nearly killing him and he probably shouldn’t even be driving, but how can he say no to his favorite niece?
”Fine. I just hope the music isn’t too loud.”
”It has to be loud, otherwise we can’t hear it when we dance,” she skips ahead and holds the door open for him.
It’s not loud music he hears, but a man yelling at TJ Johnson in a volume Brock didn’t think possible. His head pounds, but he can only stare in fascination.
”If you motherfucker ever come in here again and talk smack about mah friend, Imma kick your ugly hillbilly ass, you got me bitch?” he finishes the rant that seems to have gone on for a while if TJ’s dumbfounded expression is any indication. ”Fucking assholes in this motherfucking town.” The guy grumbles and turns around to face them. He’s not that tall, with brown hair, that is styled in some movie stars way, where half of it is missing in the back. He has brown eyes that are dark with anger and tan skin. Brock wonders what his ethnicity is. His arms are full of tattoos and his ears are pierced.
He’s beautiful.
”What the fuck are you staring at, bitch? You got something to say about Jason, too?” he barks at Brock, who can only shake his head as he keeps staring at him.
Then he’s gone, and has disappeared behind the door of the dancing studio.
”Uncle Brock, what does motherfucker mean?” Rachel looks up at him with wide eyes.
”That’s a very bad and nasty word, Rachel. I don’t ever want to hear it coming out of your mouth!” He becomes stern, which is rare.
”But Vanjie said it!”
”If that’s Vanjie then I should maybe talk to your mother, because I’m not sure I want you around this guy!” The pout on Rachel’s face makes him give in and let her join the class for today at least.
As angry and crude as Vanjie just was with TJ, he’s great to the kids, and they seem to have a blast. Brock watches the lesson through the glass window for a while, but at some point the too-warm, sticky air in the studio gets to him and he falls asleep.
***
”Hey there, sleeping beauty.” Brock opens his eyes and what he sees are two warm, sparkling brown eyes and a large smile.
”Hey,” he says and tries to shake himself awake.
”You ok there, Mary?”
”Yeah, sorry. I was up all night. One of our horses needed help with the birth,” he says, even though that much information isn’t needed at all. It’s not like he owes this guy any explanation. ”Lesson done?”
”Yeah, the kids are just changing. Here,” He hands him a cup of coffee that Brock accepts gratefully. ”You’re with Rachel, right”
”Yes.”
”She’s good.”
”Thanks.” He takes a sip of the coffee and doesn’t really know what else to say. He is surprised when the guy sits down beside him. He smells nice, like cologne and hairspray, even after the training lesson, which Brock finds surprising. However he can’t tell him that.
”I’m Jose.” He holds out his hand.
”You’re Mexican?” It’s curiosity not racism, and he hopes it won’t be mistaken as such.
”Nah, Puerto Rican.” Jose just laughs. ”And you are?” He is still holding out his hand.
”Brock.”
”Nice to meet you, Brock.” He shakes his hand and finds it warm and surprisingly soft. He knows his hands are rough and calloused from the work he does.
”So Vanjie isn’t your actual name?”
Jose snorts. ”Nah… just some stupid nickname given to me by one of my clients. I always made her go all Banjie girl in her videos and for her shows, and ‘cause part of my last name is Vasquez, she started calling me Vanjie. It just stuck.”
The explanation makes absolutely no sense to Brock, but nods anyway. Thankfully, though, he’s saved from saying more by the ringing of his phone.
”Hey Lily,” he greets his sister-in-law, but what she tells him makes his blood run cold. ”Yeah, stay there, I’ll be there as fast as I can,” he tells her and hangs up.
”Can you please get Rachel? My brother fell off a roof and was taken to the hospital. They need me there,” he asks of Jose, who runs off without saying anything. Brock gets up and runs his hands through his hair. This is not good. This could be… he doesn’t even want to think about it. Just the costs alone for the hospital will be too much, for all of them. He feels dizzy, and the room around him starts to spin.
”Hey, you look as white as a sheet. You sure you can drive?” The light touch of Jose’s hand on his arm stops the spinning for a moment. Should he drive? Probably not. He shouldn’t have driven here in the first place. But an hour to the next hospital with Rachel in the car? He’s still so tired. He doesn’t know when he has eaten last. And breathing is still hard.
”I…” he doesn’t know what to say, but he has no choice, really. He needs to get to the hospital.
”I’ll drive you, come on,” Jose is gone for a second and comes back with his wallet and car keys. He grabs Brock’s wrist and takes Rachel by the hand and leads them both outside. Brock doesn’t even know if the car is black or white, only that it smells like leather and cologne. Jose makes sure that everybody is buckled in before he takes off. It never crosses Brock’s mind to refuse the offer, because he’s just too overwhelmed by life at the moment.
Brock manages to give him directions, but otherwise just listens to Vanjie telling Rachel some funny stories to distract her and calm her down. Brock can’t laugh, though, because his mind is going way over speed limit, worrying and calculating already how much more he’ll have to work and what they’ll have to sell to pay for the hospital bills and take care of Daniel’s new business. He doesn’t allow himself to wonder how badly his brother might be injured. He wouldn't’ be able to take it at the moment.
TBC
#rpdr fanfiction#brooke lynn hytes#vanessa vanjie mateo#branjie#m/m au#slow burn#romance#angst#hot as hell and no ac#blackhighheels#tw religion#tw internalized homophobia#tw depression
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Quarantine Diary, lovingly referred to as quarantime: (this is 100% for me to look back on and remember how i spend my time when left to my own devices, also hopefully so i am slightly productive in a day)
DAY ONE: I think I might lose my mind. This morning I got a new game for myself and spent a good portion of the day playing that. I also taught myself the beginning of Halloween from Rent on piano. At night I really started to lose it and watched a full lengtg documentary on foreign surrogacy. As of now I go back to school on the 31st
DAY TWO: I’m not sure I’ll survive for two weeks, but much less a whole month. School got pushed back to April 15th. Help me. I once again spelt an embarrassing amount of my day playing two separate games I’ve just started. I also taught myself most of Johnny Can’t Decide from Tick Tick Boom on piano, however since my wrist is broken and Jonathan Larson has abnormally long fingers some of the chords posed a minor challenge. It was also Saint Patrick’s day, so my dad put on Irish punk music for my baby brother (and us) and we made cabbage, fake corn beef because we’re vegetarian, and french fries because the store didn’t have potatoes in any other form.
DAY THREE: Having a sense of time is only a distant memory. I’m running low on lucky charms. My herbs did sprout this morning though so that was pretty thrilling. I taught the baby what noise the cow makes. Spoiler: it was moo. Me and my dad made veggie burgers, and then had our first tabletop game night in months. (We used to do it every thursday, but we’ve been way too busy for that recently).
DAY FOUR: I wasn’t sure if this belonged in yesterday’s or not but technically it was this morning because it was so late at night, but I officially got the first scene of the screenplay I’m currently writing done! I’m writing it specifically for a film festival for short films, and I only really have one *very long* scene left!! I woke up, and immediately took a nap because it was like 6. I cooked me and the baby breakfast and then composed a whole two measures for the score. Currently playing the “sit on the kitchen floor and fake sip unopened gatorade, and then say “ahhhh”” game. (after i wrote this I also went for a run, i ran a sub thirty minute three miles!)
DAY FIVE: animalcrossinganimalcrossinganimalcrossinganimalcrossing also I drew Cthulhu (I end every one of my sketchbooks with a Cthulhu, perhaps I will post my first Cthulhu vs most recent Cthulhu) I also ran way too aggressively yesterday because I am Sore.
DAY SIX:
very little change. Piano, animal crossing, etc. I did listen to A Chorus Line today; I got really into A Class Act, which is a show about Edward Kleban, the dude who wrote A Chous Line’s life. I remember listening to that in the car with my dad when I was really little, but then again I remember listening to Book of Mormon with him around then as well, so it probably wasn’t the best way to judge what the show was going to be like. (Fun fact my dad also took me to see Book of Mormon when I was 11!) But I also know my grandmother really likes it and so I just thought it’d be a little more Watch With Your Grandma Friendly. It was not. Not like,, super inappropriate just not what I was expecting
DAY SEVEN:
Again, I’ve learned I only have so many activities. I’m trying really hard to think of another idea for my screenplay, since there is absolutely no way for me to get enough middle aged people to film the one I was planning. I was also on call with my bf for four hours straight today so that was fun
DAY EIGHT:
Worst day by far. I didn’t do much of anything, and I feel really guilty about how little I got accomplished. That’s about it.
DAY NINE:
Got a lot accomplished!!! I organized my whole desk (which, for context towards the end I was getting to things from 2014, that’s how big of a job this was) I also started my vocab for one of my classes, and I set up my journal for next month! I thought I’d start using it a little more since I have nothing else to do, plus updating this every day has hopefully gotten me back into the habit of actually using something daily.
DAY TEN
Okay honestly it’s been a minute since I updated this so I don’t really remember what I did,, but I’ll use this day to define what I’ve been doing daily. I’m pretty sure I haven’t say yet, but I’ve been stretching every day. I used to be a very serious gymnast, but I got to the point where essentially I had to choose between attending public school, or continuing with gymnastics, and like the average parent of a twelve year old, my dad was not about to let me stop going to school for something I physically couldn’t keep doing past my mid twenties. But I really miss having any control over my body, so I’ve decided I’m commiting to trying to gain back a little flexibility. It drives me crazy, I do theater obviously and the fact I’m such a mediocre dancer now is not doing good things for my ego
DAY ELEVEN
DAY TWELVE
DAY THIRTEEN
DAY FOURTEEN
I ran pretty well today. Sub nine minute miles, not super speedy, but fast for me at least. I mean I ran two miles in close to 15 minutes, so if I can do that for another mile I’d PR my 5k time for sure. Other than that, I procrastinated my speech, but I did get a bit of it done tonight on call with my boyfriend
DAY FIFTEEN
The speech was really eating me up. In an effort to ignore it I blew through 200 pages worth of a book today. I had a call for my acting class from 5:30-8:30, and I’m kinda looking forward to some of the stuff we’re doing in there. I start school again tomorrow and I have never been so excited for school to start back up in my life (and I’m never particularly unhappy; I quite enjoy the first week of a new school year)
DAY SIXTEEN
So school was kinda a dud. The website couldn’t support every kid in the county trying to get on it at once so it just,,, didn’t work. I spent most of the day filming my speech and I’m superrrr proud of it (I love giving speeches with all my heart, I go so overboard when we get assigned them for school though, no one else put as much effort into theirs as I did)
DAY SEVENTEEN
I got all of my class work for the week done, except for one class that isn’t doing it the way the rest of mine are. Don’t really remember what else happened today
DAY ???: I got my last two lab reports done. Also it was easter, so we hid eggs for the baby and looked longingly at the Easter egg bread we made (half jewish half italian, an unfortunate combination during Passover) Got my three hour mandates boyfriend call in and we looked at early humans and what we evolved from. Turns out I hate looking at that shit and I think Lucy will never leave the realm of my mind
DAY ???: Not a super interesting one but a good one. I filmed a monologue for my long form improv class, and did it on my Fancy Filmmaking Camera, which was completely unnecessary but very fun. We did have to deal with some legal stuff that I both don’t feel comfortable sharing and don’t want to make anyone uncomfortable with. I had acting class, and that was absolutely it. Today my boyfriend and I talked about how shitty cops are, and his adventures in growing vegetables
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Bad renting situation.
Set the scene for you guys: The place we were renting is a duplex that is split down the middle here in Upstate NY. My little 2 bedroom side of the house was next to the garages and driveway. It had a small side of the yard which was 15 ft x 5 ft. We have a Chocolate Lab named Benny that uses that back yard for his bathroom etc. The shitty neighbor in my duplex who I’ll call Rick had the bigger side of the yard and a staircase that lead up to the back field where there was a nice walking path and horse farm. The back of our duplex was kind of built right into the side of the hill leading up to the horse farm/corn farm. Rick was subletting one of his rooms to a Russian chain smoker that we’ll call Olga and she was the same age as him (60 ish). Rick is an asshole 90% of the time and demands we never use his staircase to go up to the walking trail. His Russian friend and he also chain smoke in front of our living room window making our house smell like an 80’s era bowling alley. Over the course of our renting this place we got in numerous fights with these asshats over where they could smoke so that our side of the house didn’t stink. The landlord lives in FL and uses the property as his retirement cash cow. The LL we’ll call Dwayne and he’s about 70 years old. The house itself was built in 1940 or earlier and we lived on an old farm road with a pumpkin farm across the street. Just want you to have an image of the location because it’ll come into play.
The first week we’re in the house unpacking and my wife asked me to plug in the vacuum and run it around the downstairs to get up the Styrofoam from the packing materials. I notice that the plug sparks when you plug it in or unplug anything. I call Dwayne and tell him and he says “Ok…..call around and get a price from an electrician and let me know what it’ll cost.” This was a red flag for me. I’m paying $1300 a month for this duplex and now this guy wants me to do all his leg work since he is out of state. I figure whatever and find an electrician that’ll charge $200 for the house call plus the outlets he’ll end up replacing. I call Dwayne and he says “no, that’s too much, I’ll send one of my guys over to do it.” This pissed me off because I just spent 20 minutes calling around getting ballpark quotes but I figure fine as long as the work gets done. Fast forward 1 month and his electrician finally shows up one day to do the work. He replaces 12 of the 14 outlets because he didn’t think he’d find so many bad ones. I figure that’s fine since the ones he didn’t replace are up in the room we never use.
2 months goes by and its early spring and raining a ton. One night we get a HUGE downpour that lasts for about 35 minutes. My wife says she hears water in the basement. I run down in the basement and we have 2 waterfalls coming through the windows that look into the backyard and 4 inches of water on the floor and rising. I call Dwayne the next morning and tell him about the windows in the basement and the flooding and he says I need to find a cleaning service to clean up the mess. I tell him I can’t because I’m going to work. He says “ok, do it after work then.” I say “listen, I don’t own this house, you do, so find someone today that can clean this up and repair the windows or I’m going to do it myself and take it out of the rent (which is NY state law.)” He gets pissed and hangs up. Later in the evening he calls and says a cleaning service will be there in two days to clean the basement from all the mud and water. I tell him that’s fine but he might want to repair the windows since it’s still raining pretty regularly. He says no that won’t be necessary since he’s still getting quotes about a French drain for the back of the house. The cleaning crew shows up and they clean the whole basement out. It takes them 6 hrs with power washers and scrubbing machines etc. They leave at 5pm that day and we’re thinking ok great now we have the basement cleaned up, but the windows aren’t holding anything out since they are so old and have no sealant around the outside edges. 2 days goes by and it downpours again and fills the basement back up with water and mud. I call Dwayne and he sounds defeated. He tells me that he’ll send the cleaning crew back out the same day the contractors are going to show up with the backhoe for digging the French drain around the backside of the house. Fast forward 2 weeks and everybody shows up. The work is completed and we’re happy to have a normal basement again even though I’m pissed that we have had a swamp down there for so long.
2 more months goes by and my wife one night screams while in the kitchen. She swears she saw a mouse in the kitchen run from under the sink to the under the oven. I ask her what it looked like and she says big, grey, and had pink ears. I know right away this isn’t a field mouse but a full grown rat. I open the drawer below the oven and all our cupcake pans are full of little rat turds and its fucking nasty. Thankfully we never bake so they weren’t a big loss. I call Dwayne and he says he has an exterminator friend that lives nearby and he’ll call him and get back to me. Dwayne calls back the next morning and says “I spoke to my friend and he claims that your dog going to the bathroom in the backyard is probably attracting the rats.” I tell him “rats don’t eat shit, so that makes no sense. We’ll need to have an exterminator sent out to deal with this.” Dwayne goes on a tirade about how we’re the worst renters and that we constantly complain about little things. I tell him “for $1300 a month I expect a rat free, spark free, living space that doesn’t flood or smell like a bowling alley.” At this point Dwayne says he’ll look into it and hangs up. I’m super pissed at this point. We’ve had nothing but problems with this place from the first week and now we’ve got rats in our kitchen. I do a little digging online and find out that you can have health department investigate rat infestations and if they see that the landlord isn’t doing anything about it, they’ll put a lien on the house until the work is complete. So obviously I decided to go that route. I call the health inspector and he tells me that he’ll come out in a few days and do an inspection and get back to me. Dwayne calls me back and says the rat problem is my fault because I have a dog and that I need to deal with the problem myself. I told him no problem I just set up an appointment with the health inspector. Dwayne get really upset and cusses me out. I call my lawyer and tell him to call Dwayne and arrange for us to break the lease since I don’t want to deal with him anymore.
Fast forward two months. The health inspector had found a bunch of rats and holes in the foundation and evidence that the colony had been living in the house for “years and years from the looks of it.” He contacts Dwayne and tells him about the lien if he doesn’t address it. Dwayne calls me and says he’s sending an exterminator. Now at this point I had put the place up on Craigslist to find new renters since Dwayne had decided to sublet our lease instead of let us out of it. I found some college kids that were desperate for a place and they seemed like typical, rich college kids. I tell them that the place doesn’t have A/C and they’ll need window units etc. But I also tell them that the next door neighbor is pot friendly and loves smoking. I tell them that he is super chill and that they can totally use the staircase in the backyard to use the hiking trails. One of the kids brought his mom that showed up in a new Jag and so I knew that Dwayne wasn’t going to be able to shit all over these people since I knew they’d lawyer up. I never mentioned the rat infestation or that this place was a nightmare because I knew that these kids’ rich parents would go nuclear with a lawyer if they had to deal with this stuff.
Dwayne accepted the new tenants and let us out of the lease. All it took was a few threats from my lawyer before I got my security deposit back.
Fast forward 3 months. I drive by the old place to see what’s happening. It looks like the college kids and Rick are off to a rough start. There is a plastic divider down the driveway to separate who gets what. There are beer cans all over the front yard and Rick’s truck is parked on the side lawn. He never did that when we lived there, so I’m sure these kids were driving him crazy with parking. Olga is nowhere to be seen since she probably jumped ship when the parties started. I don’t know what became of the rats but 2 months later I did another drive by and there was no furniture on our side of the house which tells me everybody had left and Dwayne wasn’t making any money….which made me happy since he was a fucking prick.
EDIT: I forgot to mention that after we moved out, the cleaning service called me to see about payment for the basement cleaning. Apparently, Dwayne never paid them and they couldn't reach him. I gave them his cell number and his FL address. That felt really good to do as well.
TLDR: rented a duplex that needed tons of repairs and ended up leaving the asshole neighbors and landlord with college bro’s that loved 4/20 and parties.
(source) (story by LedZeppelinRiff)
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The Great Erasermic Road Trip
I was talking with @ibelieveinahappilyeverafter and there's so much to be had here. But both of us are too busy to actually make a proper fic of it (because it could easily be a multi-chapter fic or a long series of vignettes). But I want to share with y'all so here's a bullet point version of what we came up with. Since we're not likely to use this ourselves beyond headcanons, if at all, you are free to add some of your own and use any of these (I would like to know if you do end up using them because I wanna see!!).
There are a lot of these so they're under a Read More.
They go when they're 21 because they're young enough that they're not incredibly busy (since their careers have only barely started), but old enough to have saved enough money to take at least a month off and old enough to drink in the USA.
Though they're only licensed to be heroes in Japan, not internationally. Because of this, they weren't allowed to bring weapons with them. After this trip, Hizashi works on his international certification so if he travels outside of Japan for his radio/music career, he can still do hero work when necessary. Shouta does as well, but unrelated to this trip (more to do with undercover work in Korea and China).
They go in the late spring/early summer.
Shouta had to learn to drive, specifically because of this trip. So he only actually knows how to drive American-oriented cars and with American driving rules. He hasn't needed to drive in Japan because of public transport. Hizashi already knew how to drive and took some time adjusting to American road rules but then had trouble getting back to Japanese when they returned.
They don't really have too many plans. They just kind of pick a direction and go. Even still, Hizashi brought a bunch of guide books and tries to plan what he can or at least multiple options for Shouta to choose from. It's not that Shouta doesn't care, but he surprisingly spontaneous about it and willing to just go wherever life takes him on this trip, fine with basically anything. So if there are any things that he even slightly expresses interest in, then Hizashi will immediately divert things to accommodate it.
They spend most of their time in rural America rather than larger cities. Hizashi says this was the more real America, but it's at least partly because they just had unexpected fun out there and forgot about their plans in the larger cities other than entering and leaving the US. They have plenty of cities in Japan, and while they're very different, rural America is REALLY different.
Even still, when they were in the cities, they ended up off the beaten path in order to avoid crowds.
They try to do the thing where they're continually driving and just taking it in shifts, but this only lasts a couple of days because it meant that one of them was always sleeping so it wasn't as fun. They start sleeping in cheap motels, but they end up sleeping in their car most often.
In one of their motel stays, they meet a group of four friends who are also taking a road trip before starting careers as heroes. Drinks happen and next thing you know, they're having an impromptu, drunken tournament in the middle of an abandoned field nearby. One of the Americans wins, but Shouta got 2nd. Much respect is had by all.
Hizashi and Yamada go to a pop-up carnival and get stuck at the top of ferris wheel. They get down on their own and help other stranded riders. They are praised for their efforts, but are lectured to NOT do that again because they're unlicensed.
At that same carnival, Shouta ends up doing well in quite a few of the games. Or at least the ones that aren't rigged. I bet the carnival has ways to prevent quirk use on their games, but Shouta's ninja-like agility, balance, and precision doesn't come from a quirk. Shouta wins a big fuck-off prize and now they have to lug it around the rest of their trip. It's a giant, neon yellow, monkey with a banana. Over the course of the trip it gains a baseball cap for some local sports team, tacky souvenir shirt, goofy sunglasses, and boxers from Buccee's. Hizashi still has it.
Hizashi likes stopping at those niche museums and roadside attractions because they're so unique. He takes so many pictures. Not just the ones at the various locations, but also of nature and candid shots of Shouta driving. One of these pictures is one of Hizashi’s all-time favorites and he keeps it in his wallet.
Shouta looks like a really typical dad on this road trip at the ripe old age of 21. Socks and sandals and everything. That dork. He likes the more typical tourist attractions, but not the crowds so he also ends up preferring the weird stuff too because there aren't a lot of people.
One thing they were least prepared for was for how varied the weather is in the US.
Because of the timing, they end up running into tornado season. Hunkering down in a random ass basement and meeting this really nice family in the process. The Thompson family I have now decided. They met on the road while the dad (Robert) got last minute supplies and was like "WTF are you two doing without shelter, come home with me because you could legit die out here" as they wait out the storm.
The mom (Linda) and dad are older folks and have two adult children. The older one is a son (Richard) who has basically taken over the farm by now. The daughter (Margaret, but goes by Margie) is Hizashi and Shouta's age and also has radio aspirations. She and Hizashi become really good friends and even become pen pals for years after. She invites them to her wedding years later and while they can't attend, they still send her a gift.
As thanks for the shelter and because the mom and dad basically immediately adopted Hizashi and Shouta, the two of them help out on the farm the next day since the son is helping with more heavy-duty repairs. Shouta is convinced that he was almost killed by a cow. She's just a sweet dairy cow named Delilah.
There is a really awkward moment when they encounter a villain because they're not allowed to intervene and they have to figure out what they're going to do. Like they want to help but that would get very messy VERY quickly as it would be a major crime for them. Then a corn quirk hero who specializes in rural America barrels in from out of nowhere on a fuckin horse. And it is the most obnoxiously American thing either of them have ever seen before or since. He turns out to be Margie’s boyfriend (and future husband) and is actually pretty chill outside of his persona. All Might's mannerisms and American references reminds Shouta of this Corn Hero.
Shouta's most embarrassing moment was when he got rescued by a local hero (completely different location from the Corn Hero) in a situation that arose because Shouta wasn't entirely fluent in English and accidentally started a bar fight via an insult.
Hizashi is convinced that he had an alien encounter while Shouta was asleep. He is frustrated to this day that Shouta doesn't believe him.
Shouta's favorite moment was seeing the crazy amount of stars on a clear night miles away from the nearest sign of civilization. They ended up not sleeping that night because they spent hours having a heart-to-heart instead. They sleep until noon to make up for lost sleep.
They get really competitive over those dumb car games.
They want to go to a baseball game because it's one of the sports they're actually somewhat familiar with. But there's not a lot going on so they end up at some high school game. At first they get weird looks because why the fuck are these random guys here for a school game, but once the crowd finds out they're Japanese tourists, they actually get pretty into it and both teams' parents try to get them to support their team. It ends up being a really close game and it was a rival game on top of it. They get a hat for each team. The one Hizashi wears was the one that ended up winning, beating out Shouta's by a slim margin.
Shouta gains an appreciation for jerky on that trip and strives to try as many different types as he can. He is saddened that he can't get any of it in Japan (and it tends to be confiscated when you try to take bring it in).
When they return, Hizashi laments that he hasn't been able to find BBQ sauce even remotely like that one hole-in-the-wall they found in Bumfuck Nowhere, Texas. And they can't even remember the place because it was one of the times they were lost and they just chose the first place they found when they were just too hungry to continue.
Hizashi makes an effort to at least try to remain in contact with most of the people they encounter on their trip. The Thompson family keeps contact the best.
This trip has produced a plethora of inside jokes. All Might has the best chance of their coworkers at understanding in any capacity since he's traveled the US as well. It makes Midnight facepalm because she's been hearing these inside jokes for years and isn't any closer to understanding any of them.
After Aizawa's current 1A students graduate, they want to go on another road trip, because honestly he could use a goddamn break after what this batch of students had put him through. There are a few differences. For one, they will bring their kids with them. They will also make stops at several radio stations since Hizashi is a bit more well-known of a radio personality this time around. He will definitely include Margie's station among these where he will be on as a special guest for a full show (instead of just an interview like at the other places). They will also be visiting that family in general. Because they have specific stops and their kids, the trip will be a lot more structured this time around.
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NOVL Excerpt: Dreamland Burning
— Rowan—
Nobody walks in Tulsa. At least not to get anywhere. Oil built our houses, paved our streets, and turned us from a cow town stop on the Frisco Railroad into the heart of Route 66. My ninth-grade Oklahoma History teacher joked that around these parts, walking is sacrilege. Real Tulsans drive.
But today my car is totaled and I have an eleven- thirty appointment with the district attorney at the county courthouse. So I walked.
Mom and Dad wanted to come home and pick me up after their morning meetings. I convinced them the walk would help me clear my head, and it did. Especially when I got to the place where he died.
Honestly, I’d been a little worried that being there again would mess me up. So to keep myself calm, I imagined how things must have looked the night Will and Joseph and Ruby tried to survive. There’s this old map of Tulsa online, and the streets I walked along to get here are on it. In 1921, the Arkansas River cut them off to the south, just like it does today. But back then they ran north into trees and fields and farms. There aren’t any farms now, only highways and concrete.
It was probably quieter a hundred years ago, but that doesn’t necessarily mean better. I understand now that history only moves forward in a straight line when we learn from it. Otherwise it loops past the same mistakes over and over again.
That’s why I’m here, wearing one of Mom’s knee- length business skirts, sitting on a bench near the court- house, waiting to tell the DA what happened. I want to stop just one of those loops. Because it’s like Geneva says: The dead always have stories to tell. They just need the living to listen.
Everything started the first Monday of summer vacation. It was my only chance at a real day off, because the next morning I was supposed to start the internship Mom had arranged. It was the kind of thing that would look good on college applications and get me recommendation letters from people with MD after their names. I didn’t especially want to be locked up in a sterilized research lab all summer, but I never bothered to look for something better. The way things stood, I had one day all my own to sleep late, eat Nutella with a spoon, and send James a thousand texts about nothing.
Only I didn’t get to do any of that.
At 7 am on the dot, a construction crew pulled into the driveway and started slamming truck doors and banging tools around. Hundred-year-old windows do a crap job of keeping things out, so even though the men spoke quietly, I could hear their murmurs and smell the smoke from their cigarettes.
After a while, the side gate squeaked open and the guys carried their tools to the servants’ quarters behind our house. Just so you don’t get the wrong idea, that sounds a lot more impressive than it is. I mean, yes, we have money, but no one in my family has had live-in servants since my great-great-grandparents. After they died, my great-uncle Chotch moved into the back house. Years earlier, when Chotch was two, he’d wandered out of the kitchen and fallen into the pool. By the time the gardener found him and got him breathing again, he was blue and brain-damaged. He’d lived, though, and was good at cut- ting hair. Dad says he gave free trims to all the workers at the oil company my great-great-grandfather founded, right up until the day he died. That was in 1959.
The only things living in the back house since then have been holiday decorations, old furniture, Uncle Chotch’s Victrola, and termites. Then, last Christmas, Mom decided that even though there are three unused bedrooms in the main house, we needed a guest cottage, too.
Dad fought her on it, I think because he’s a nice liberal white guy weirded out by the idea that the back house was built for black servants. If it had been up to him, he would have let it rot.
Mom was not okay with that.
Her great-grandfather had been the son of a maid, raised in the back house of a mansion two blocks over. He’d gone on to graduate first in his class from Morehouse College and become one of Tulsa’s best-known black attorneys. Mom went to law school to carry on the family legal tradition and ended up owning a back house. For her, it mattered.
“I won’t stand by and let a perfectly good building crumble to dust,” she’d argued. There had been some closed-door negotiations between her and Dad after that, then a few days where they didn’t talk to each other at all. In the end, Dad started referring to the back house as his “man cave,” and while he shopped for gaming systems and a pool table, Mom interviewed contractors.
That was six months ago. The renovations started in May.
I lay there listening to the workmen’s saw, figuring I had maybe three minutes before our grumpy neighbor, Mr. Metzidakis, started banging on the front door to complain about the noise.
Only he didn’t have to.
The saw stopped on its own. The gate creaked open.
Equipment clunked against the truck bed. And the men talked so fast and low that I could only catch four words.
Huesos viejos. Policía. Asesinato.
Which, yes, I understood—thank you, Señora Markowitz and tres años de español. And which, yes, was enough to get me out of bed and over to the window in time to see their truck back out onto the street and drive away.
Something strange was going on, and I wanted to know what. So I snagged a pair of flip-flops and headed for the back house.
It was a disaster inside. A week before, the workmen had demolished the ceiling and pulled all the toxic asbestos insulation. After that, they’d hacked out big chunks of termite-tunneled plaster from the walls and ripped the old Formica countertops off the cabinets. A gritty layer of construction dust coated everything, including Uncle Chotch’s old Victrola in the corner. At least they covered it with plastic, I thought, stepping around boxes of tile and grout on my way to the fresh-cut hole in the floor at the back of the room.
Only once I got there, I forgot about the Victrola completely and understood exactly what had sent the workmen running.
Huesos viejos. Policía. Asesinato.
Old bones.
Police.
Murder.
— William—
I wasn’t good when the trouble started. Wasn’t particularly bad, either, but I had potential. See, Tulsa in 1921 was a town where boys like me roamed wild. Prohibition made Choctaw beer and corn whiskey more tempting than ever, and booze wasn’t near the worst vice available.
My friend Cletus Hayes grew up in a house two doors down from mine. His father was a bank executive muckety-muck with a brand-new Cadillac automobile and friends on the city council. For that reason alone, Mama and Pop generally let Clete’s knack for mischief slide. He and I got along fine eighty percent of the time, and kept each other’s company accordingly.
One thing we always did agree on was that misbehaving was best done in pairs. Plenty of the roustabout gangs running Tulsa’s streets would have taken us in, but I always figured the two of us and maybe even smart enough to know the difference between hell-raising and causing real harm. Those gangs were chock-full of unemployed young men back from the Great War who’d come to Oklahoma looking for oilfield work down at the Glenn Pool strike. They’d seen bad things, done a few themselves, and liked showing off for locals. Problem was, the locals would try to one-up ’em, the roustabouts would take things a step further, and in the end, someone always spent the night in jail. That’s why Clete and me kept to ourselves. We weren’t angels, but we weren’t hardened or hollow, either. Of course, even fair-to-middling boys like us veered off the righteous path from time to time. Some worse than others.
I was only seventeen, but had the shoulders and five- o’clock shadow of a full-grown man. More than one girl at Tulsa Central High School had her eye on me, and that’s the truth. None of them stood a chance, though; Adeline Dobbs had stolen my heart way back in second grade, and the fact that she was a year older and the prettiest girl in school didn’t dampen my hopes of winning her in the least.
She was a beauty, Addie was; slim and graceful as prairie grass, with black hair and eyes like a summer sky. I dreamed about that girl, about her clean smell and the peek of her lashes underneath her hat brim. And I loved her for her kindness, too. Boys followed her about like pups, but she always managed to deflect their affections without wounding their pride.
For years I loved her from afar, and spent no small amount of energy convincing myself it was only a matter of time before she started loving me back. Maybe that’s why what happened at the Two-Knock Inn that cool March night tore me up so bad.
I was on my third glass of Choc and feeling fine when Addie arrived. Clete was there, too, dancing with a pretty, brown-skinned girl. For when it came to the fairer sex, a sweet smile and a pair of shapely legs were all it took to turn him colorblind. Not that it mattered at the Two-Knock. Jim Crow laws may have kept Negroes and whites separated in proper Tulsa establishments, but in juke joints and speakeasies out on the edge of town, folks didn’t care about your skin color near so much as they did the contents of your wallet.
The Two-Knock was a rough place, though. A place where girls like Addie didn’t belong. Even so, the sight of her coming through that door took my breath away. She was a vision: crimson dress, lips painted to match, eyes all wild and bright. Clete saw her, too, and made his way to my side after the song ended and poked me in the ribs, saying, “Lookee who just walked in!”
I didn’t have breath enough to respond, so Clete jabbed me again. Said, “What’re you waiting for, Will? Go talk to her!”
I wanted to. Lord, how I wanted to. But Addie was too good for the Two-Knock, and I couldn’t quite reconcile myself with her being there.
When I didn’t move, Clete rolled his eyes and socked me on the shoulder. Said, “This is it, dummy! If you don’t go over and buy her a drink, you’re the biggest jackass I know.”
To which I replied that Addie didn’t drink. And Clete snorted, “We’re in a speakeasy, knucklehead. She didn’t come for tea.”
I shrugged. Signaled the bartender for another glass of Choc and slugged most of it down soon as it arrived. Then I looked back at Addie and asked Clete if he really thought I should go over.
“Hell yes!” he said.
So I puffed up my chest like the big dumb pigeon I was and got to my feet. Which was when the front door opened, and everything changed.
The man who walked in was tall and handsome, muscled all over, and browner than boot leather. Something about him shone. Drew your eyes like he was the one thing in the world worth looking at. He only had eyes for Addie, though, and she gave him a smile like sunrise when he sat down beside her.
I dropped back onto the barstool.
“You better chase him off,” Clete said. But my throat was tight, and I only just managed to mumble, “Nothin’ I can do.”
“You kiddin’ me?” he said. “That boy’s out of line!”
I stayed quiet and stared at Addie’s pale hand perched atop the table. She and the man were talking. Smiling. Laughing. With every word, his fingers moved closer to hers.
Hate balled up inside me like a brass-knuckled fist. And when he slowly, slowly ran his fingertip across her skin, every foul emotion in the world churned deep down in the depths of my belly. Glancing sideways at a white woman was near enough to get Negroes lynched in Tulsa. Shot, even, in the middle of Main Street at noon, and with no more consequence than a wink and a nudge and a slap on the back. And God help me, that’s exactly what I wanted for the man touching my Addie.
I wanted him dead.
Thanks for reading the first two chapters of Jennifer Latham’s thought-provoking and powerful new novel. Like what you read? Be sure to check out Dreamland Burning when it releases on Tuesday, February 21, 2017!
#dreamland burning#jennifer latham#book excerpt#book preview#read#booklr#NOVL excerpt#dreamlandburning
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My Friends And I Found A Mysterious Hole On My Property And We Decided To Explore Its Depths
I need to have my story heard. I need to write this down. If I don’t, then I fear I’ll end up as mad as everyone thinks I already am. I’ve spent the past 11 months trying to find meaning and answers at the bottom of a bottle, but it never helps. Every night I wake in a cold sweat, shaking uncontrollably and gasping for air in the wake of the memory of the things I saw. Even now, I cannot venture past my door after dusk for fear of what lies beyond. Every bark from my dogs is a warning; every flicker of the floodlights that surround my house has me running for the generators. I have no idea what future awaits me past this moment, but I know I can’t stand the thought of another day where my experiences are not recorded in some way.
I farm a sizable piece of land, some several thousand acres in size. What I farm isn’t important, just the location. Upon my land occurs a unique land formation a type of rock that bears in a pattern unique to this area. In all the world, there is always something similar, but never quite exactly the same. Imagine a type of rock used by the early peoples to make paints that they would apply to their faces colors of orange, tan, red, white, and blue and embedded within these rocks are numerous geodes. It was always my plan that, should I fall upon financial hardship, I would sell these geodes at local stores or flea markets to the more “spiritual” people that frequented the larger towns near my home. Now however, that is no longer an option.
Until last year, I would allow hunters onto my land each winter to hunt deer and elk, occasionally joining them, as one elk could feed me for the better part of a year. They were my friends men I had hunted with for years and whom I had come to depend upon. I can still remember crawling through the brush of my property some year ago, only to came face to face with a mountain lion that appeared just as stunned as I at the encounter. I scarcely remember un-holstering my sidearm, a Beretta that had been gifted to me some years ago, and unloading half a clip into its still startled face as the panicked hands of my hunting buddies tore apart catclaw and mesquite branches alike to reach me before the second gunshot had rung out.
I still hold fond memories of how we laughed at the encounter that evening as they applied hydrogen peroxide to their bloodied hands in-between sips of beer. None of us went back for that mountain lion carcass. I think we honestly believed it wouldn’t be there if we looked, as if it had shrugged off several 9mm rounds fired point blank and was laughing off the encounter with its own buddies in much the same way we were. Sometimes I can still think back on that evening and smile at the image of all of us, wearing our beanies and fatigues, rifles slung over our backs…. The only two things that saved me in the end were my sidearm and the men at my back.
It was supposed to be a good year for hunting, the weather had been kind to us over the months and the uncharacteristic amount of rain for the area meant there was more grass to graze. Already I’d begun seeing elk lying dead on the side of the road. Unfortunate for the driver, but hopefully a sign of greater numbers that season. It was a more humid year than we were used to and it seemed like the winter would be harsh, but for us, it only meant buying more firewood. I’d been keeping the corn feeders stocked throughout the year and keeping a mental checklist of every deer and elk I saw. Even the javelina were starting to become a nuisance, although a decent source of meat provided you got a clean shot before they could musk.
I knew every inch of my property like the back of my hand, or at least I thought I did. It wasnt until two weeks into the season that we encountered . We were on a night hunt, trekking through a part of the property I’d taken to calling “Paint Rock Canyon,” due to the abundance of the unique rock formations in that area. It had needed no descent, just a brief 45 minute drive to the area situated between two mountains that sat almost directly in the middle of the property. We were all outfitted with LED headlamps and Maglites and most of us had outfitted our rifles with night-vision scopes, save for Anthony.
Anthony was not a large man, but he did seem to carry luck on his side. His medium length hair was usually tied back into a small ponytail and he had an almost ill-informed love of his neatly trimmed mutton chop sideburns and mustache that had earned him the nickname “Lemmy.” He couldn’t be considered lanky, nor could he be called overweight. On the whole, Anthony was quite normal, which many mistook for “average” brown hair, brown eyes, and a tanned complexion shared by the rest of us (the result of a life lived working outdoors). He had brought his AR-15, something he won in a local rodeo raffle, equipped with a thermal scope. While the others had found the rifle enviable, I was less impressed. Admittedly, I was disappointed that I didn’t win the second prize, which was a lever-action rifle with a custom saddle holster, provided by my favourite, local saddlery. I’m ashamed to admit it in retrospect, but I took a small comfort in the fact that Anthony was limited to featureless black-and-white as opposed to the rest of us.
Apart from Anthony, the hunting party consisted of Markus, Forrester, and myself. Markus was a heavy set Hispanic man who I turned to whenever I needed help with any of my vehicles, which was typically one per month. Auto repair was his family’s business and hed taken over the shop from his father after his passing. Forrester on the other hand was a pious man, a devout Baptist, and the only one among us who could honestly say hed never known the taste of liquor in his life. While the rest of us would set up the satellite to watch the game and drink to the point where we felt 10 years younger, Forrester could always be found over a smoker or grill that hed welded together himself, a root beer in one hand and a cooking utensil in the other. He was the shortest of all of us, but the only other farmer apart from myself, and my main source of hay when it came to animal feed.
That’s how I will always remember them before we found that damn hole under the light of the full moon. It was impossibly large and dug into the base of one of the mountains where the Paint Rock began. The hole was larger than any one of us and seemed like it was freshly dug. It certainly hadnt been there when wed last passed through the canyon scarcely two days prior. We stood in front of it in confusion for several minutes, questioning what could have caused such a thing when an elk came sprinting out, startling us all. Anthony was the quickest on the draw, bringing his rifle up and letting off several quick bursts as the gigantic animal bound towards us. The rest of us dove for cover, all but Anthony who, with his unbelievable luck, pierced the animal’s heart, bringing it crashing to the ground as he finally dove away from the falling body of an animal that weighed enough to total any vehicle unfortunate enough to collide with its form.
After calling to ensure that everyone was unhurt, we quickly turned our lights on the elks corpse, which turned out to be a cow rather than a bull as wed all assumed. Bullet wounds marked its body and I could have sworn the wounds on its back looked far too large to be caused by the 5.56 rounds fired from Anthonys rifle, yet I dismissed them as exit wounds despite being able to vividly recall no upward angle to his shots.
We were all thoroughly shaken by the experience and yet, for some unknowable reason, our curiosity was piqued. I recalled no one else on my land and doubted border-jumpers could have made something large enough to conceal an elk in less than two days. For reasons I will never fully know, none of us contested the idea when Markus suggested venturing inside the tunnel. We readied our night-scopes and light sources, pocketed some extra ammunition and abandoned what little light was offered by the night sky and made our way into the darkness.
The first thing we noticed as we entered the tunnel was its slope, which I think we all expected, except instead of sloping down into the earth the hole slanted upwards, ascending into the mountain. Out flashlights and headlamps illuminated the earthen walls yet saw no immediate end to the tunnel, which seemed to extend almost impossibly far.
Markus led the way, followed by Anthony, Forrester, and myself. I looked in awe at the almost circular hole that could almost comfortably fit a tractor within, provided you never intended to turn around. It was maybe a hundred yards into the tunnels depths that we first noticed a change and felt hesitant to continue. The air felt cool…yet . It was uncharacteristically more humid than any of us were used to. At first, we dismissed it as a result of being underground until we also began to realise we also felt lighter. Not only that, but the air somehow seemed thinner, like we were suddenly much higher in altitude, even though no mountain on my property was more than a few hundred feet tall. As our nerves began to take hold, Markus noticed what seemed to be an opening ahead, possibly into some sort of cavern. With none of us wanting to be the first to suggest turning back, we all agreed to at least see where the tunnel led before heading back.
After another 50 or so yards, Markus came upon the opening and froze. When asked what it was, it seemed all he could do to manage a wordless stutter, apparently rooted in place by whatever it was that he was witnessing until Anthony made his way beside him to shine his own light into the opening. I caught a brief glimpse of green on the ground before Anthony turned his head back and slowly, disbelievingly called Forrester and myself forward.
Exiting the tunnel, we stepped into…I still dont know how to describe it, a Jules Verne novel? The center of the earth? All that I know is that I now think of it as hell. What looked like greenish-black moss and algae covered the ground around us and giant, impossible plants grew amongst the moss. Various black-leaved ferns grew several yards, like those you would see in pictures of tropical climates, some growing upwards and branchless, maybe 10 feet tall with leaves like black pine needles reaching for the sky. And there was a sky. As impossible as it sounds, the four of us stood in silence, in a tunnel dug into a mountain at our backs, staring into a night sky. At first, my mind didnt want to believe it reeled at the idea. I first rationalised that they were some sort of glowing insects on the cavern roof, that there was no way they could be stars, but it wasnt long until I realised that the size and shape was wrong, even for stars. Together we stared into a night sky dotted not by distant suns, but by distant galaxies.
All around us, under an alien night sky, life grew up from the ground. The trunk of some massive tree reached towards the night sky just to the right of us, nearly a 100 feet high and four feet across, yet instead of branches, it looked more like an asparagus stalk, sprouting tightly packed, pale looking pods that resembled mushroom caps. Another tree looked not dissimilar to a spanish dagger cactus, yet with the same black leaves as the alien fern and almost three times larger than it should be with bark that resembled alligator skin, dotted with large white flower towards its apex. Around us countless alien plants grew, too many to recall had I even noticed them, because that was the moment grabbed Anthony.
Our first warning was a rapidly approaching series of clicks, but apart from that, the thing was impossibly quiet, swooping down from above with blinding speed and snatching Anthony up, carrying him screaming into the darkness as the rest of us were knocked to the ground by a gust of wind. By the time we were up and calling for Anthony, he was gone and Markus was running after off into that alien landscape, screaming his Anthonys name as Forrester and I gave chase.
Our chase was hampered by how light our bodies felt, every step propelled us farther than we were used to, which made it difficult to balance ourselves at any speed. Regardless, Markus had enough of a head start that by the time we caught up to him, hed already started firing. He was aimed into the branches of some alien tree above him, firing shot after shot until something fell at his feet. Following his gaze, it was too dark to see high enough into the tree, but bringing the scope of my .308 to my eyes, I saw the creature. Through the green colouring of my night scope, I couldnt make out the color of its feathers, but the creature was huge. It was large enough to steal a small horse into the sky. The creature was armed with talons the length of my arm, which were wrapped around a branch, a long, needle-like beak protruding from the centre of a flat, only vaguely bird-like face. The creature seemed like some unholy union between an owl and some reptilian creature. Its face was almost entirely free of feathers and covered in a scaly skin with a pair of forward-facing eyes so large that they seemed to take up more than half of its head. It sat on the branch, letting loose a series of bizarre clicks until one of Markus bullets struck its abdomen and it took off, flying away into the night.
We looked to Markus and saw him crouched down over Anthonys crumpled form he had fallen from the branches when Markus had started firing. Even before making my way to him, I knew he was dead. The fall was too high, his body looked too twisted. When the light from my flashlight illuminated his body, I immediately wished it hadnt. The creature’s talons tore his chest, stomach, and legs open. From the state of his innards as they lay splayed around him it was apparent that the creature had begun to feed before Markus started firing upon it. As we stood in stunned silence around Anthonys corpse, Markus began to moan, a low, woeful sound, as if his body and mind couldnt reconcile whether to be violently ill or if he should cry out in anguish. Forrester and I stood silently, neither of us certain of what to do. We were unable to process that our friend was dead until it slowly dawned on us that none of us knew where we were. In our haste to save Anthony, we had left behind our only means of returning home.
It was at that moment I truly began to feel what others describe as despair, a feeling of such hopelessness fueled by the loss of one of my dearest friends and the crashing realization that we were alone, trapped in a place that had likely never before been seen by human eyes. I felt what seemed like tears of panic and sorrow begin to form. My breathing quickened as panic threatened to consume me. My heart hammered away I know not whether from fear of from adrenaline, yet through some means I will never fully know, I was able to keep my composure, possibly because I still refused to believe that any of what was happening was real.
When we tried to tell Markus of our situation, a fury seemed to take over, adamantly refusing to leave Anthonys body where it was while we tried to explain to him through panicked whispers that it was too dangerous to try to carry him with us, especially if other creatures like the one that had carried him away were lured by the smell of blood. Markus ignored our reasoning, instead muttering with only passing moments of coherence as he calmly attempted to reinsert Anthonys innards back into the torso. Markus mumbled that it would be okay, that things were lighter here, that he would take Anthony home and patch him up, that hed be okay as long as he got him back out into Paint Rock Canyon, because where they were was so impossible that it would be impossible for him die there too. His ravings became louder and louder as Forrester and I frantically tried to calm his growing madness.
From where the next creature came from, I still do not know, but like everything else on this world, it was monstrous and impossibly large. It made no noise when it grabbed Forrester between its massive pincers and Forresters attempts to scream were cut off by a gurgling wheeze when he was torn in half, as if all the air and blood were trying to escape from his lungs at once. In the dim torchlight, the creature seemed jet black, as wide as a feral pig, yet its serpentine body trailed more than 15 feet behind it. Its head seemed to be little more two giant eyes that had formed into one, yet was like that of an ant while the rest of its body was like that of a centipede, covered in a insectile, chitinous exoskeleton that seemed almost reddish-brown in color.
Blood and viscera spilled onto the alien soil as Forresters legs fell away from him, the same wheezing, gurgling sounds escaped from his lips for what seemed like minutes. I am ashamed to admit it, but at that moment, panic and fear took their hold on me and I found myself stumbling back, toppling over Anthonys crumpled body. I crawled backwards in an attempt to escape the nightmare that was illuminated before me. My last memory was the sounds of Markus chastising me followed by several rounds of gunfire and a sharp pain as something struck the side of my head, followed by the darkness of unconsciousness.
When I awoke, I found myself alone. As images and memories of what had happened returned to me, I sat up in a panic. I was back within the tunnel, presumably carried there by Markus, but the bodies of Anthony and Forrester were nowhere to be seen. In the distance, I heard no gunfire, no screams, no clicks from some monstrous raptor soaring through alien skies, scanning the land for prey. Out of fear, I refused to call Markus name, instead I fled down the slope of the tunnel, and refused to look back. Not even when I exited the tunnel back onto familiar earthen soil and ran to the waiting vehicle did I dare look at that tunnel, terrified that I might see that gargantuan insect-like creature pursuing me.
Everything following that was a series of calls, first on short-wave radio and then to the sheriff on my landline once I found myself back home. Search parties were mobilized, questions were asked, I was treated for shock, underwent numerous evaluations, was asked whether it could have been a mountain lion whether my mind had created the scenario to deal with the trauma. They found the tunnel, but it led nowhere. No alien world lay beyond. It simply ended with an earthen wall some 10 feet in. Officially, it was dismissed an abandoned illegal camp being used as a mountain lion den, but there were rumors that there was no sign it had been used by either. People began to talk, to say I had snapped and killed my friends. But I know what happened, what continues to happen.
Whenever I find the corpse of a deer or an elk, I know it was some hellish, clicking, avian creature that slaughtered it, flying forth from whatever doorway is contained within that canyon. I know I cant ever sell this place, for I am the only one who knows the signs to look for, for the tunnels to cave in. I havent found any more since that night, but I know theyre out there, leading to the bodies of my friends whove been left to rot in some unknowable hell, under the sky of a world between galaxies in the darkest region of existence.
And yet I can never truly call it hell, because if it was, then why did the tunnel ascend?
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from All Of Beer http://allofbeer.com/my-friends-and-i-found-a-mysterious-hole-on-my-property-and-we-decided-to-explore-its-depths/
from All of Beer https://allofbeercom.tumblr.com/post/177328889447
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