Markwildyr.com,Post #262

 

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Easter is behind us, spring is uponus, and as I write this, it’s overcast and chilly here in Albuquerque. Yesterday,we were blessed with a little snow, a bit of rain, and a tad of sunshine. Whatelse could you ask?

 

Today, we have the first installment ofa new story where our protagonist believes he’s figured out who he is but findsthings to challenge that conviction. This first installment gives us a peekinto our protagonist’s life.

 

* * * *

CAP’N,CAP’N

 

Josh Bingley called fromacross the soccer field. “Cap’n, Cap’n! Wait up.”

I hated the name my folks gaveme. Family lore said they’d both just finished reading Herman Melville’s MobyDick when I arrived upon the scene, and so they pronounced me Ahab James Chaplain.For the life of me, I don’t know why. That crusty sea captain was certainly nohero, at least not to my mind. For years, I tried to get people to call meJames or Jim, but the community unanimously settled on Ahab. My peers didn’teven bother with the name, they just called me Captain… or more commonly“Cap’n.”

Of course, that wasn’t allthat was going south in my life. I’d noticed something lately. Something that convincedme I was more screwed up in the head than I’d originally thought. And that wasbad enough before the revelation.

My schoolmate dashed acrossthe street and joined me on the sidewalk.

“Yeah, Josh, wha’cha want?”

What he wanted was to walkhome with me. We were next-door neighbors, and had been since grade school. Iliked Josh but wished he’d cooperate and call me by my middle name.

As to Josh, himself, what notto like? Tall—couple of inches more than my five-nine—carried about the same asmy one-seventy, and was shaped like an athlete.

Weird how someeighteen-year-olds looked like men, and others were still boys. Josh’sshoulders had already spread about as much as they ever would, leaving his backa Vee down to his waist. I was shaped okay, but I’d never match those shouldersand trim hips. Probably a little jealousy there.

He was bright, friendly, agood athlete—football, soccer, basketball, it didn’t matter—and had a greatsmile with a personality to match. So why did I get short with him sometimes.That jealousy thing, probably.

He shortened his stride tomatch mine. “Good play this afternoon.”

He referenced a steal I’d madejust before one of the opposing soccer players was about to score.

“Thanks.”

“You’re a good player.”

“Thanks.”

He glanced sideways at me. “Butnot a very good communicator. What’s the matter?”

I frowned. “In a mood.”

“You’re in them more often thannot lately.

“Am I?”

“Getting to be a regular grouch.”

“Hump,” I said, reverting to type.

“So what’s up?”

I stopped dead in my tracks,forcing him to retrace his steps.

“Me,” I said, “except I’m notup, I’m down.”

A frown distorted hisfeatures. “Why? What happened?”

I glanced at him, tempted toshare my problem. Uh-uh. Way too personal. I’d hid my real self all myadolescent life. Tell him, and he’d blab to everyone. Well, maybe not. He waspretty circumspect, but he sure wouldn’t look at me the same way anymore… if helooked at me at all. Naw.  I resumedwalking; he tagged along.

“Life happened,” I snappedbefore reverting to my old beef. “Except nobody’ll call me Jim or James oranything except Ahab or Cap’n.”

“That’s what’s got you down?Okay, Jimbo, I’ll call you that now. Better?”

“Guess. Jim might be better.”

“How about Jimmy?”

“Makes me sound like aten-year-old.”

“A ten-year-old or a mad seacaptain, which will it be?”

“Jimbo’s fine, I guess.”

“Jimbo it is,” he said, andthen gave me a smile. “Unless I forget. Which I will sometimes. But even if Isay Ahab, I’m thinking Jimbo.”

The likeable schmuck knew howto get me out of a mood. I arrived home feeling better than when I’d leftschool.

****

The next morning, I ran smackdab into my problem when I saw Hal Barton in the hallway. He shouldn’t haveeven been at the school. He’d graduated last year and disappeared from my lifewhen he went to college.

“What’re you doing here?” Iblurted.

“Home for spring break anddecided to check out the old digs. Good to see you, Cap’n. Look, why don’t Iswing by after school. I’m going to the lake and thought you might wanna ridealong.”

“I-I dunno.”

He beamed. Damn, he had a goodface. Good smile. Good everything. “Sure you do. I’ll be waiting. You have soccerpractice?”

I shook my head. “But I dunnoIf I’m free or not.”

He really turned loose asmile. “I’ll be in the parking lot just in case.”

My reaction to Hal put me in amood again, and I managed to ruin the day for a lot of people. All too soon thelast bell rang, and although I told myself I wasn’t going to do it, I wandered outto the parking lot with my heart in my throat. Then I got into Hal’s car—somethingelse I swore I wasn’t gonna do—with blood pounding in my ears.

I dunno if he could see mynervousness or not, but he talked a blue streak all the way to the lake,telling me about college and how different it was with a guy living on his own,smothering me in the easy charm that got me out here at the lake the first timea year ago.

And when we arrived, as he’ddone dozens of other times, he found a secluded area, parked, and turned to mewith hunger in his eyes. As I’d done twenty times before, I found my trousersdown around my feet with Hal’s warm hands exploring parts of me not very manypeople were familiar with.

When he had what he wanted fromme, he pulled me to him to reciprocate. And although I swore to myself I wouldn’t…I did.

He drove home happy, andchattering up a storm, while I sat morose and wondering what the hell I was.Frankly, I was lower than I’d been earlier. Especially when I realized I’d reallyenjoyed the last half hour.

So why was I so blue?

*.*.*.*.

What’s eating atthe kid? It seems he had accepted who he was, so why is he so agitated about itnow? We’ll find out next week.

 

My new anthology,Huntinghawk,was released in February as an Ebook by JMS Books with theprint version to follow soon. Hope you’ll give it a read.

 

My contactinformation is provided below in case anyone wants to drop me a line:

Website and blog: markwildyr.com

Email:markwildyr@aol.com

Facebook:www.facebook.com/mark.wildyr

X: @markwildyr

 

Now mymantra: Keep on reading. Keep on writing.You have something to say, so say it! 

 

See you later.

 

Mark

New posts first and third Thursday of the month at 6:00a.m., US Mountain time.