Storymania - An Island Unto Himself, The Novel by Tony Mossor

An Island Unto Himself, The Novel (2)
Tony Mossor

CHAPTER 4

Stu and Kimmy were on lunch break in the outdoor picnic area as was their usual routine, weather permitting. It was a scenic little haven from the sterile interior of the office building, one of the elder Mr. Fisher’s last additions before his demise. He always felt that a work place should be a pleasant place and encouraged his workers to get out and "enjoy the fresh air" as he put it.

It was no longer as manicured and flowery as when he was alive but, it was still green and a nice little get away from the daily grind. Besides, it was one of the few places on company property where smoking was still permitted. It seemed to Stu that one could draw fewer looks of scorn from the public at large these days by smoking crack cocaine than by smoking a cigarette.

To take advantage of the smoking area, Stu usually enjoyed a smoke both before and after eating his lunch. Today however, he just smoked. His sack lunch sat unopened on the picnic table. Kimmy was having a cup of blueberry yogurt and bottled water. Mike usually joined them but was conspicuously absent this day.

Stu puffed his cigarette thoughtfully.

"You know, one of these days I’m going to put that old shark, Fisher in his place," he said.

"No you’re not," said Kimmy flatly.

"Oh, really?"

"Yes, really.You’re keystoned so you can’t tell him off."

"I’m what?"

"Keystoned. You know, like the stone at the very peak of an arch."

"What?"

"Look," Kimmy explained, "how long have you worked here?"

"Twenty years, give or take. This was my first job out of college," said Stu.

Kimmy continued, "All right, so for twenty plus years you’ve been working your way up the arch from ground zero. You started out young and energetic, a burgeoning asset to this company and a viable commodity on the open job market. Now you’re in your mid forties..."

"Early forties," Stu corrected.

"Early forties..." Kimmy was doubtful about the age in question but continued. "Anyway, now you’re at the middle of your career arch."

"I get it. I’m the keystone, the one that holds this company together!"

"Don’t kid yourself," said Kimmy. "What I meant was it’s all downhill from here. Nobody’s hiring middle aged men these days, so I wouldn’t..."

"Forty - four is not middle aged," Stu protested. "Fifty - four, now that’s middle aged."

"Oh, so you think you’re going to live to be a hundred and eight, huh?" asked Kimmy. "Look Stu, all I’m trying to say is don’t worry about Mr. Fisher. You’re just having a bad day."

"Bad day? You just don’t know," grumbled the forlorn Stu. "I’m miserable at work. I’m driving a van almost as old as me and on top of everything else, my wife and kids didn’t even remember that it’s my birthday."

"You’re birthday! Why didn’t you say something?"

About that time, Mike entered the picnic area carrying a brown, paper bag. Unlike the other employees in the vicinity, Mike’s poke did not contain a sack lunch. Mike approached Stu and Kimmy.

"Hey kids, what’s up?" he asked.

"Where have you been?" queried Stu. "Lunch is almost over."

Mike held the bag aloft to peak their curiosity.

"I ran to the drugstore to get a little something for my best pal", he replied.

"Mike, we forgot Stu’s birthday. Can you believe it?" said Kimmy.

Mike improvised, "Like I said, I ran to the drugstore to pick up a birthday present for my best pal, Stu. Here open it birthday boy."

Stu accepted the bag and withdrew the contents, a large tube of K -Y lubricating jelly.

"I figure you might need this when you hook up with old Fish Head after work," taunted Mike.

Kimmy rolled her eyes in disgust.

Stu replied, "Thanks, but I’m going in dry. When you’ve been reamed as many times as I have, you hardly even flinch".

"Suit yourself," said Mike. "So, what were you kids talking about?"

"We were just discussing my dead end job," offered Stu, "how my wife doesn’t appreciate me, how my kids don’t appreciate me. Hell, even my dog takes me for granted. Sometimes, I just want to walk away from my whole dumb life".

"I hear ya, buddy," agreed Mike.

"Shut up Mike," said Kimmy. "Come on Stu, it’s not that bad. Besides, where would you go?"

"I’d just start driving. Any direction, doesn’t matter. I’d drive and I’d drive and I’d drive until I ran out of land."

"Then what?" asked Kimmy.

"Then I’d sell my car and buy a boat and I’d sail and I’d sail and I’d sail until one day I would find my own private island."

"Every man’s dream," Mike chimed in.

"Just me and nature," said Stu.

"Back to the womb of mother earth, surviving by your wits," said Mike.

Stu continued, "No responsibilities".

"No wife," added Mike.

"No kids," added Stu.

Mike and Stu continued taking turns listing benefits of island life.

"No bills waiting for you in the mailbox every day."

"No insurance premiums to pay."

"No taxes."

"No telephone."

Finally, Kimmy interjected with, "No TV".

"No way! Thanks for bringing me back to reality," said Mike.

"Must be a guy thing," said Kimmy matter of factly as she gathered her things to go back to work.

Mike admonished her, "You’re darn right it’s a guy thing! A woman could never understand the pressures we men are under. Especially a single woman like yourself. We’re responsible for everything; job, ex - wife, kids, money, bills, car, house..."

Insulted, Kimmy cut him off, "Mike, you’re talking to a twenty - five year old single parent. Try that on for responsibility! I’ll see you guys back upstairs," she said as she was leaving. "Try to cheer up, Stu."

Mike called after her, "Hey, I’m a single parent too you know".

"Every other weekend doesn’t count, you moron!" she called back.

Mike watched Kimmy walk across the outdoor break area until she was out of earshot. "She’s hot for me," he stated.

"Shut up, Mike," said Stu.

"Oh, right birthday boy, tell me you wouldn’t like to open that package yourself."

"I’ve been happily married for twenty years," Stu answered.

"Nobody that’s been married twenty years is happy," said Mike.

"Besides," Stu continued, "I’ve got a daughter nearly her age".

"Your daughter is sixteen. Kimmy is twenty - five. That’s a world of difference my man. So, how about a beer after work? We’ll celebrate your birthday."

"Can’t. I’ve got a game to call tonight. Thanks anyway," said Stu.

Mike wasn’t listening. He was watching Kimmy disappear through the big glass doors of their building on her way to the elevators.

"Oh yeah, she wants me," he said.

CHAPTER 5

The time clock next to Mr. Fisher’s office door read 5:18. Fisher had purposely had it mounted there so that tardy employees had to walk right past his open office door every morning in order to punch in. If you were late there was no use trying to ease past as you clocked in. The loud, tell tale clunk of the time card punch would give you away every time. The time clock was literally "as useless as tits on a bore hog" as the saying goes as all the employees in this particular office were paid salary and / or commissions. It was just another one of old man Fisher’s tools for keeping the workers under his thumb.

At this particular time all the cards had been punched out for the day and were neatly lined up in the out side of the card file mounted next to the clock. All, that is, except Stu’s. His card was the lone remainder filed on the in side.

Mr. Fisher’s door was closed but his lights were still on. They glowed through the etched glass in the top half of the door. Mike and Kimmy waited just outside Mr. Fisher’s office. Everyone else had already gone home.

Mr. Fisher was yelling. Although muffled, his tirade was still audible through the closed door.

"Just because you’ve been with Fisher and Fisher for the last twenty years doesn’t give you the right to gold brick for the next twenty! You’d better shape up and start pulling your weight around here, Stewart! You can be replaced you know! Why, any idiot off the street could do your job, probably better..."

"Come on," said Mike, "there’s nothing we can do for him. Besides, if ole Fish Fart catches us hanging around we might just be next".

Mike switched off the lights as they left.

"I feel so bad for the guy," sighed Kimmy as they boarded one of the elevators. "He’s really down."

By the time Stu got to the parking garage it was empty except for Tiffy’s VW bus. Stu was dragging, thoroughly dejected, a beaten man. He unlocked the driver’s door, climbed aboard, sighed and started the engine. The bus lurched violently and stalled, the perfect ending to a perfectly lousy day.

Stu finally managed to get the van moving without stalling it out and headed for Pratney Park. The recreational facility, a combination of playground, tennis courts and little league ball diamonds, was conveniently located about midway between Stu’s office and his house.

The fifteen minute drive gave Stu ample time to think, to reflect on just how lame his existence really was. It seemed like nothing went his way anymore. Life had ceased to be fun. It seemed like everything he did was for someone else; his boss, his wife, his kids, nothing for Stu.

He spent most of his time working. When he wasn’t working it seemed like he was always fixing something around the house or doing yard work or changing the oil on the car or helping Brad with his homework or whatever.

He hadn’t had his golf clubs out of the closet in months. He wasn’t even sure where his bowling ball was, it had been so long since he had used it. Stu was living his life for everyone but himself... or so it seemed to him.

"That wouldn’t even be so bad," he thought, "if somebody just showed me some appreciation".

But nobody appreciated him; not his boss, not his wife, not his kids...

Tonight was a perfect example. Stu had selflessly signed on to be a little league umpire for Brad’s sake. He certainly didn’t do it for himself. He had felt it would show Brad that he wanted to be involved in his son’s activities, that it would give them a chance to spend more time together, to bond. Stu had even managed to get assigned to all of Brad’s games.

Lord knows the league needed him, they were desperate for officials. Nobody else wanted the job and Lord knows you can’t have a ball game without an umpire, but did Brad appreciate his father’s sacrifice? Not a bit. On the contrary, at times it almost seemed as if he were embarrassed to have his father on the field.

Mr. Fisher’s lecture had caused Stu to run late and both teams were already assembled on the ball diamond anxiously awaiting their umpire when he pulled into the parking lot behind the backstop.

The parents in the bleachers sat in awe of the rattletrap vehicle, amazed that such a heap could actually be in running order. The boys snickered and jeered.

"Hey get that hoopti - ride off the road!"

"The junk yard is down the street!"

"Hey buddy, do you have a license for that dog!"

Recognizing Tiffy’s ride, Brad pulled the brim of his ball cap down over his brow as if this would somehow save him from the forthcoming embarrassment that was to follow.

Stu shut down the engine and the bus backfired, POW! Stu sheepishly exited the van.

The opposing team’s pitcher yelled out to Brad, "Hey Stewart, isn’t that your dad?"

The other players laughed. As a matter of fact, so did the coaches. Brad pulled his hat even lower over his brow and pretended to be occupied with a loose lace on his baseball mit.

"What an ignoramus," said the opposing pitcher.

Stu made his apologies for being late and got the game under way. As the game progressed, day gave way to dusk and eventually night. They were playing under the lights now. The glare from the bright lights made it a little harder for Stu to see. He was quite proud of the fact that at forty - four he still didn’t need glasses. However, not all the players and coaches shared that opinion of his visual perception.

After his embarrassing entrance, the rest of game went pretty much without major incident. Well, at least up until the last inning. Except for the fact that Brad had struck out both times he had batted it had been a good game. The lead had gone back and forth. At first the Cardinals, the opposing team, had jumped out in front. Then Brad’s team, the Pirates, went ahead. Then the Cardinals regained the lead. So it went. It seemed every time a team batted they got the lead back.

True to form, the Cards had recaptured the lead by three runs when they finished their last at bat. Now it was the Pirates’ last gasp. It wasn’t looking good. They had managed to load the bases but then, two batters in a row popped out. The final batter stepped up to the plate.

The enormous batter’s helmet with faceguard obscured the little boy’s identity, but Stu knew who he was. The minuscule batter dug in at the plate with his little cleats. It seemed almost as though the aluminum bat that rested on his shoulder was bigger than he.

The defense chattered up, "Hey batter, hey batter, batter!"

The pitcher went into his exaggerated wind up, stopped, checked the runners and let it rip! It was one of those pitches that could have gone either way, right around knee height. The batter let it go.

"Stee - rike!" Stu sung out.

The batter turned in disbelief to glare at Stu. Eye contact was impossible however, as the oversized helmet fell over his eyes.

"Play ball," said Stu.

Once again the defense picked up the chatter, "Hey batter, batter".

Once again the pitcher delivered and once again, no swing.

"Strike two!" declared Stu.

The crowd began to grow surly and hurl comments like, "Ah, c’mon ump!"

The batter turned to Stu and unceremoniously asked, "What are you, blind?"

"Play ball, batter," directed Stu.

Again, the pitcher delivered. Again,... no swing.

"Stee - rike three! Yer out!"

Disappointed by the final out, the stranded runners groaned, stepped off their respective bases and started the slow walk to their dugout. In a huff, the batter twirled around to face Stu just as the catcher taunted him by sticking the baseball in his face and asking, "Can you hit it if I hold it for you, batter?"

The batter slapped at the ball but got only air as the catcher ran off laughing to celebrate with his team mates.

The disgruntled batter threw his helmet in the dirt, revealing his identity; Stu’s eight year old son, Brad.

"You’re crazy, you blind bastard!" Brad howled.

"You can’t talk to an umpire like that," his father countered. "You’re outa here!" Stu pointed vigorously toward an imaginary locker room!

Brad threw his bat! "You can’t throw me out ya freak, the game’s over!"

Adding insult to injury, the Cardinals’ coach approached Stu and laughingly slapped him on the back. "Great game, Blue," he said.

"Yeah," said Brad, "just great! Thanks, Dad!"

Brad kicked the dirt as he stormed off for the VW bus.

CHAPTER 6

Except for the soothing sound of crickets chirping their chorus, all was still and quiet outside the Stewart household. The nearby streetlight cast curious shadows across the trim front lawn. The glow of lights from within the front windows radiated a cozy warmth. onto the porch. All in all it made for quite a serene, Norman Rockwellish, little picture. The tranquillity was short lived however as the rachitic VW bus jerked and chugged around the corner and disappeared into the detached garage.

Stu pulled the bus to a stop in front of his workbench and cut the engine. A chilly silence filled the air. Brad opened his door to get out, illuminating the van interior via the dome light.

"Brad, wait a second," said Stu.

Brad kept his seat but didn’t look at his dad.

Stu stumbled for words, "I... I don’t know what to say".

Brad dug for something in his pants pocket and handed the object to Stu.

"Here," Brad said insipidly.

Stu took the object and examined it in the dim lighting. It appeared to be a trinket or key chain of some sort. There were three, dirty, coins attached to a single brass loop by three, tiny chains. The coins were crusted and tarnished and appeared to be quite old, even ancient. They were embossed with hieroglyphics, a foreign language of some kind. Stu had not seen coins quite like these before. His curiosity was peaked.

"What’s this?" he asked.

Brad’s answer struck a nerve, "Your birthday present. I bought it with my own money".

"Ouch."

"It’s supposed to be a lucky charm. The crazy old fart at the pawn shop said it has magic powers or something. You know, three wishes, that kind of thing."

"I don’t know what to say," Stu repeated. "I love it, Brad."

Brad hopped out his door. "Yeah well, maybe you can wish for a pair of glasses", he snidely remarked as he headed for the garage’s side exit.

"Brad..."

Too late, Brad had left the building. But, he yelled something back at his father, "Happy friggin’ birthday, Blue... bonehead!"

Stu was left alone with his thoughts. Sarcastically, he pondered the coins in his hand, "Three wishes, huh?"

He closed his eyes, wrapped his fist around the coins and in mock concentration, held them up to the bridge of his nose and made his request, "I wish I wasn’t such a jerk." Stu opened his eyes and turned the rear view mirror toward himself.

"...Nope, I’m still me."

A disconsolate Stu left the garage and headed for the house, thankful that this day was about over, this day of all days, this day that was supposed to be his day.

The squeal of tires from a car careening around the corner disrupted his moment of self pity. It was Tiffy in the family car! She screeched to a halt in front of the house, got out and crossed in front of her dumbfounded father toward the front porch.

"Hold it right there, missy," her father admonished. "I want to talk to you!"

Tiffy ignored her father’s command as if he were invisible and she were deaf.

"Tiffy... Tiffany Jane Stewart!" Stu exhorted as he followed her to the front steps.

Stopping abruptly, Tiffy turned to face her father.

"For the record, I don’t answer to that bourgeois, Euro - American name anymore. From now on, you may kindly address me as Starlight."

"Oh, brother," Stu said. "Okay, whoever you are, I want to talk to you."

"What about?" Tiffy demanded.

"You’re smoking, aren’t you?"

"As if! Come on Dad, we’ve been through this before. I don’t smoke."

"It’s no use lying Starfire..."

"Starlight," Tiffy corrected her father.

"Whatever," said Stu as he pulled the small pipe from his pocket. "I’ve got you red handed this time. Behold the smoking gun, or pipe, as it were."

Tiffy’s eyes bulged when she saw her marijuana pipe in her father’s possession. She was torn between the impulse to just run and the yearning to just die. Ironically, it was one of her despised authority figures that saved her hide. Her mother opened the front door and stepped out onto the porch.

"Tiffy," Mary called, "someone’s on the phone for you. He said his name is Moonglow... or something like that".

Seizing the opportunity, Tiffy bounded up the front stairs.

"Coming, Mother," she sweetly replied, ducking behind her mother and disappearing into the house.

Stu tried to follow but, lost ground about halfway up the steps.

"Hey, I’m not finished... Mary we need to talk to that girl."

"Did you remember the milk, dear?" Mary asked, ignoring her husbands plea.

"Milk? No, I’ll get it later. We have got to..."

Mary cut him off, "It will have to wait, Stu. I need that milk a.s.a.p. I’m right in the middle of making my famous macaroni bake".

"But..."

Again, Mary cut him off, "Get along little doggy," she said. "Shoo, we’ll talk when you get back."

Giving in, Stu reluctantly turned and started back down the steps.

"Well okay," he began, "but, don’t let Tiffy go anywhere..."

The sound of the front door closing severed his sentence midway. He pivoted to find Mary already gone, the front porch deserted. "...until I get back," he said to himself.

Stu turned back toward the parked, family car. By the gentle glow of the street light he saw Manny approaching from the dark of night, returning from his daily roving of the neighborhood. The little Cocker Spaniel advanced toward his master at a steady canter.

"Hey ya, Manny old boy," Stu said cheerily.

Go to part: 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17