BOOK ONE

THE PAST, THE FUTURE, AND OTHER WAYS NOT TO THINK ABOUT HERE AND NOW

(a book of romance)

Chapter 1:

All the People We Used to Know

Nathan was having second thoughts.

That’s not the right term, Nathan realized. Second thoughts are doubts on a course never before doubted. Nathan was having fourth or fifth thoughts—like a weightlifter at a buffet, back again for yet another stack of potatoes and drumsticks—only doubt never tasted so good...

Nathan was sitting in his car, in the parking lot of his former high school. He was dressed in an ill-fitting black suit and tie. Mind you, it was not ill-fitting because the suit was in any way inadequate. Quite the opposite. Hand tailored, crafted down to his skivvies, it was proclaimed to be perfect by both the tailor and Michelle. It was ill fitting only because Nathan was not accustomed to such garb. It didn’t feel right, tugging and pinching in unfamiliar places, and so he felt it couldn’t look right. For a man that was used to appearing half naked before thousands, Nathan was strangely self conscious in a full suit and tie.

Nathan ran a hand through his hair, fiddling with his champagne curls, and stole a glance at his companion. Michelle Hernandez looked back at him with a soft smile. Over the years, she’d grown out of her awkwardness and fulfilled her potential beauty: thin and muscular, graceful and quick. She was a half-inch taller than Nathan, although he adamantly denied it. Illuminated by the green panel lights she looked gaunt, almost hollow.

He turned to the various dials and readouts of the dash. There were only 7,000 miles on the odometer and already the car had lost its allure. The sense of accomplishment that came with its purchase—that feeling never lasted—the hollow triumph of materialism. The car was just another way to get from here to there. A fast, comfortable way, with heated leather seats, side-curtain airbags, and enough leather to form a herd of cattle, yes—but in the end, merely another way from point A to B.

Of course, the car didn’t really have anything to do with Nathan’s dissatisfaction—but it was easier to examine the faults of the vehicle, than the shortcomings of—what? The shortcomings of life? Society? Himself? He felt that was a big piece of philosophical pie on which he was likely to choke. No, he would suffice himself with the crumbs of small worries and leave the large questions to greater minds. People went to school for that stuff, right? He’d stick with easy. He had the money for it, right? Still, problems occurred as little concerns fed into larger issues, when minor questions required complex explanations—which happened all too frequently. Why was it impossible to keep things small?!

Nathan leaned close to Michelle. “I’m thinking if we want to relive the past, we should go down to Cottonwood, listen to Led Zeppelin, make out…” he hoped to appear playful, perhaps carnal, but Michelle recognized he was making a plea. She knew him too well to mistake his uneasiness for anything else.

Michelle grabbed Nathan around the neck and kissed him, hoping perhaps to ease his worries. “Come now, we can park any time. I want to see my friends,” she pressed her forehead to his. “When else will we get to see everybody all together, remembering how it used to be, catching up on our grand adventures? Doesn’t that sound fun?”

It didn’t—but it wouldn’t do any good to say so. Nathan gave a noncommittal shrug.

Ten years—and what had he done with the time? He made some money, but the material possessions had lost their allure, as they were never the end-all for Nathan anyway. He had so much of the money, which was good, since there would be no more boxing, and since all his other careers had stalled out before they ever really began. All his grand accomplishments were tainted with regret. Now, he didn’t do anything—except live off the interest—which was certainly better than doing another commercial. There was something he was glad to leave in the past! Now, if only he could leave this school in the past...

How many steps would carry him into the red brick building, into the gymnasium where his former classmates gathered? What was half the distance? He knew that in order to travel from point A to point B, one must first travel half the distance, and half the distance again, always going half the distance remaining, on and on, ad infinitum. If one must always go half the remaining distance before he could go the full distance, then how is it that anyone ever reaches their destination? Couldn’t he walk half the distance, and then half the distance again, and hopefully never actually step inside the school? This particular paradox was thought up by some Greek or Roman 600,000 years ago, and set before Nathan by his associate and friend, Brion Mindur. As he thought about it, Nathan took comfort in the idea that he might never reach the gymnasium—even though he understood the obvious fallacy of the dilemma. Like most philosophy, this conundrum seemed to have no correlation to the real world. Indeed, he found it strange that anyone ever fell for these queer bits of sophistry—yet, staring at his navel and contemplating the unsolvable beat getting out of the car and actually attending his class reunion.

With a sigh, Nathan stared at the building. He had strong impressions of the school. He knew how the hallways would reek with the smell of teenage bodies and dirty mop water. He thought of the grass of the football field and how it felt on bare feet just freed from the uncomfortable crush of cleats. But the hope of this place was gone. The hope that he would one day escape and begin a real life, an interesting life, was replaced by a dismal realization that the naïve promises of the classroom did not always translate into the outside world. He was repulsed, ashamed of his own uncertainty and the apathy that fed off it. Somehow the accomplishments, the opportunity promised in school, failed to materialize.

No, that’s not true. It simply failed to be as fulfilling as suggested. Despite all he’d done, life never reached its destination. Instead, it shifted, always producing new obstacles and wrenching at his emotions. Life continued its unending grind forward, always making half-strides toward some impossible Point B. There was always so much pain and strangeness between far too infrequent peaks… The future is a lie, he thought. There is no future. “I think in another ten years I might want to come back,” Nathan quipped—knowing it wasn’t true. In ten years, he hoped to forget the terrible look and feel of this place.

“You’re going to have fun,” Michelle assured him.

“They’ll want to know why I quit,” he noted, realizing too late that he was voicing his true fears.

“Tell them—or make something up,” Michelle shrugged, and Nathan was relieved she didn’t make a big deal out of it. Not that she would. She understood his tendency to make mountains of mole hills and always remembered to treat them as mere lumps of dirt. Too often, others gave in to his hysteria, only mirroring it, which exacerbated the problem. Michelle thought real mountains were mole hills; and sometimes, when she was around, Nathan thought the same.

“I’d rather…” Nathan began.

Michelle cut him off, “I know you’d rather. But we’re here, so let’s go in and have fun. Let’s talk to Kelly and David,” She ticked the names off with her fingers. “Bingham, Travis, and Travis. The Forth twins. Colin, Brett, Anna, Annah, Katie – Crocket not Spivey, Spivey never liked me—and I don’t even remember who all else! Besides, you look smashing in that suit.”

Nathan rolled his eyes. He couldn't remember half the people she’d named.

Michelle shifted in her seat, popped off her heels and scratched the bottom of her feet. “Who knows? James might show up,” she said to her knees, as she itched her soles.

That would be something, thought Nathan. James Wellington, Nathan’s best friend for years, had disappeared straight out of high school. All anyone knew was that he went into the military. Nobody knew anything else—not even what branch. Chances were he would not show.

“Why don’t we go to the Fifth Season and get a suite? We’ll lock ourselves in until August, until the day you fly out. We’ll start a fire and start a fire. Nobody but you and me and room service for two months,” Nathan suggested.

“Tempting,” Michelle said.

“I wish you’d stay longer than August,” he noted.

Michelle turned and stared at him. They had this conversation too many times, and she was not willing to have it again, especially not here.

Nathan gave a sigh. “Let’s just sit out here and neck for a while. No Led Zeppelin,” He offered, leaning in close, his pale lips approaching her tan complexion.

She pecked him and steered his lips to her neck. “I’ve got a better idea,” Michelle said. “Remember Mrs. Kensett’s little lounge, between the lab and her classroom? Why don’t we see if it still has that ratty old couch?” She didn’t wait for him to answer. She pushed him back and was out the door, running for the school, shoes in hand, with a come-get-me smile on her face as she looked back at him.

Nathan hopped out the driver’s side and ran after her at a sprint. He ran after her and growled as he got close, all too happy to chase.

Michelle answered with a laugh and more speed. She swerved around the flagpole, and shifted into high gear. Nathan fell back, unable to keep up. She stopped when she cleared the far side of the concrete island that held the flag. Michelle continued to laugh and made a show of being uncatchable, feigning left, then right. Nathan jumped onto the island and ran straight at her. With a shriek, she paused long enough, and then ran slow enough to get caught. Nathan was fast, but they’d discovered long ago who was better at foot races. Indeed, a very small percentage of the world was fast enough to catch Michelle when she put her mind to it.

Nathan grabbed Michelle by the hand, pulled her back, and lifted her over his shoulder. She cried with delight. She laughed, head cocked back, as he carried her through the main entrance of the school under a giant banner with huge block letters: WELCOME BACK CLASS OF ‘02. She grabbed Nathan’s nipple through his shirt and gave it a sharp twist.

Nathan was not expecting this. He grimaced and clenched his teeth as he pushed away. Michelle slid off him, landed light on her feet, and broke for the stairs. Giving chase, Nathan took the stairs two at a time, his mind no longer on the difficulties and hardships of existence. He thought only of Michelle, aware of her laughter as it peeled off the walls, echoing against the lockers. She was his constant ally and her ability to bring out the best in him never failed to surprise. He smiled, realizing he would not only attend his reunion, but that he would even enjoy himself. She would be here with him, and that was forever enough.

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