jameson-martin-blog

[jameson-martin-blog]

salvagingsloan:

“Jamie, this is Sloan. You’re either screening my calls or you’re busy, but I’m gonna need you to come to the garage when you get the chance. I’m on lunch today from twelve to one, so sometime then would be great.” 

She’d left similar messages throughout the course of the week, but imagined that none of them had reached them or he was still angry that she had brought their mother into an argument. It had been a last resort, and one that evidently didn’t pan out quite as Sloan expected. She and Jamie hadn’t spoken for the better part of two weeks while she decided what to do about his independent ties to Harry’s. After consulting with the garage’s namesake, she laid out a plan and started fielding calls from his clients. She hadn’t told them anything, not her plans and nothing about her disappointment. The few who did ask about Jamie’s behavior (because, of course, someone from that fucking QuikMart would have seen him) were told to call the man himself to set up appointments or ask about his health. Sloan wasn’t going to feed into some endless cycle of gossip – - not while she was speaking on behalf of the garage, anyway.

The day dragged on, shadows shrunk against the cracked sidewalk at a glacial pace until the sun was at its peak. Sloan had just locked up and flipped the closed sign on the storefront when Jamie’s truck rolled in. His timing could’ve been better – - she’d hoped to eat before she had to deal with a difficult conversation - – but Sloan found peace in getting the entire ordeal out of the way as quickly as possible. She crossed the threshold of her store and walked out of the garage, wiping oil-stained hands on her coveralls as she went. 

“Jamie.” Sloan nodded toward the belly of the garage, the gaping maw of the industrial door that was fully pulled back to reveal her day’s work. “Link’s not in today, so we can just talk in here. I’ve got a couple thing I wanna finish up anyway, so I can talk and work.”

@jameson-martin

Jamie had been holed up in a motel the next town over for weeks on a bender, unable to overcome the guilt of how his addiction had infiltrated his life yet again in the form of a dramatic display suitable for award winning television. Calls from clients and friends and nosy people alike had been littering his voicemail, though as the closed blinds of his den-like motel room indicated, he wasn’t open for business. His sickness had worsened, bringing a depressive episode in tow, and as such, anything that wasn’t a bottle of whiskey and binge watching Keeping up with the Kardashians had been stripped from his life. 

Something about the three ring circus of reality TV felt identifiable to Jamie, always the guy that people liked to watch. For one reason or another, he couldn’t help but seem to garner attention. Not that it made a difference to him, he was always so wholly his own person that he rarely registered any sort of criticism as something that should keep him down. He didn’t mind if people talked, just as long as they weren’t affecting the lives of his family.

It took hitting rock bottom for Jamie to see the results of his own actions affecting the lives of those he loved, and it was part of the reason why he didn’t recoil when he heard Sloan’s latest voicemail. For weeks he had felt anxiety over his decaying relationship with his sister, and he didn’t want to strain things even more. When his anxiety reared its ugly head, it was difficult to tell it to go away. He had only ever come into Harry’s as needed, and thus far, Sloan hadn’t needed him. So the cycle of lack of communication continued and he found himself almost hoping she’d just let him go, so he wouldn’t have to quit from his own sister - who’d been a decent boss to him thus far.  

Although he couldn’t be sure, he suspected she might be calling him in to take some sort of serious action, and he was ready to face it head on. He wanted to let her have this, to let him go quickly and painlessly, so that he wouldn’t have to quit from his kid sister. In his mind, he was already onto the next move he’d make, and this was the “get up, get out of bed, and do something” moment. He thought about pushing onward for Annie as he drove to Harry’s, preparing for the worst, though ready to feel free.

He had showered before making it out there, and had taken some time to trim the unruliness out of his beard. He was actually sober, too, and held down the lump in his throat as he pulled up to the garage. Two long legs slid out of the car, easing over to where Sloan stood, leaning against a pole nearby. He was known for his intimidating and burly stature, though he exuded a sense of soft gentleness with those he deeply cared for. “Wassup, sis,” came from his deep, raspy voice, the outline of an apology in his eyes colored by a man who had seen enough for a lifetime.

probation — sloan & jamie

[jameson-martin-blog]

evaxreid:

Help a friend? Well that sounded like an invitation he was sure to regret. With a smirk on her lips, Eva walked back to the previous aisle. A little banter never hurt anyone. Emerging from the opposite side of the aisle, she paused by the end, shifting her weight to one leg as she gave him a teasing look. 

“If you want to help a friend in need,” she gestured towards the rows of wine just a few steps away from both of them, “a better bottle of red would be great.” Flirting with someone older than her was not a problem. “Or some company.” Her shoulders lifted to a shrug. “Whichever one need you can cater would be fine.”

A look of amusement blossomed across Jamie’s face as a smirk quirked at the edge of his mouth. He began to think seriously about what she was saying, or rather, propositioning. Company sounded appealing, and it wasn’t like he wasn’t interested. Still, he wrestled with the implications that could follow something like that with someone in a position like Eva’s. There was something bigger on his mind than just what the night had to offer, however; and this seemed as good an opportunity as any to bring it up. But, wine first. He picked up a pricey bottle of red, spinning it around to read the label. “Ain’t too bad at multitasking,” he spoke as his eyes flicked back to watch hers. “What you say we kill two birds with one stone? For friends’ sake.”

[jameson-martin-blog]

grahamxneuville:

Graham reached forward and shook the man’s hand. In his head, he was struggling with the fact that Jamie wiping on his hands on a dirty utility rag did not actually make his hands clean. Graham wanted very deeply to go wash his hands. He could not get the feeling of grime out of his head and he was very consiouly trying not to touch his own clothes. None of this conflict showed on his face and while he seemed stiff, Graham usually seemed a little stiff so that was also not out of the issue. 

“I actually have no idea. It has probelms starting up, like it takes the igniton a moment to actually catch. It sputters during normal travel but the check engine light isn’t even on so I don’t know what it could be.” He looked from Jamies face to his car sadly. “It might be a difficult fix, she’s a little old, but money is no object.”

Jamie took a minute to size up the car, giving it a good once-over before ruffling a few fingers through his sweaty, cropped hair. It was near closing time, and he could guess the car needed significant work, though he wasn’t one to turn away a customer. He noticed the man’s stiffening posture, and could only imagine what he’d heard about Jamie that made him uncomfortable. After his latest drunken stint in town, he wasn’t a stranger to people acting like they were on edge around him. He wanted to fix his image, which was particularly important if he wanted to get his daughter back.

He made himself comfortable, as he always did, leaning over a tool cabinet as he began to tinker with an old ball joint that needed greasing. He thought aloud, an unhealthy groan escaping his chest as the ideas danced around in his head. “Might just need a tune up. I’mma have to roll a full diagnostic on it,” he muttered, eyes fixed on the part until he glanced back up to Graham. “Won’t take long if you wanna stick around.”

Greasy Fingers// Jamie & Graham

[jameson-martin-blog]

Tom Waits - Goin’ Out West; Bone Machine

i don’t need no makeup, i got real scars

[jameson-martin-blog]

silent-cyrus:

Cyrus frowned in confusion, as he looked over at Jamie. “Your dad wanted you beat the other kid up?” he asked, not thinking that sounded right. Aren’t parents supposed to get upset when you got into fights? Not that Cyrus would know, but that’s how parents were on TV. Either that or they were clueless. Cyrus wasn’t sure which was worse: clueless parents or overbearing ones. At least the overbearing ones cared. Most of the time, anyway. According to TV.

“Did … it bother you when the kids called you gay?” he asked then, looking down at the unopened beer bottle in his hands, not sure he wanted to know the answer but at the same time needing to know.

Jamie glanced over to Cyrus, quirking an eyebrow and giving him a sly look as he processed the question. “Uh, doi?” he thundered with a bewildered wince, some kind of look in his eye like he was witnessing a train accident, but couldn’t look away. “Your daddy didn’t teach you that?” he shook his head in disbelief. The light that glimmered along the high road fizzled out into a dull spark when it dealt with forgiving the kid who punched you in the lunchroom for being gay. Because to white trash teenagers, being a dude and having a dude friend was a sure sign of turd tapping.

His inquisitive eyes shifted to a soft demeanor once he heard Cyrus’ question. A sense of understanding washed over him, head tilting to inspect the beer in his own hands. “Not really,” he spoke with a shrug as he cracked the top open. “Guy wasn’t even my fuckin’ type,” he muttered before knocking one back in the driver’s seat.

[jameson-martin-blog]

[jameson-martin-blog]

jamie martin  + phrases 

[jameson-martin-blog]

paula elizabeth martin  | susan sarandon; alive

❝Mom? Well… she’s definitely something. I don’t think there’s anyone quite like her.❞

Nobody has ever said Paula Martin wasn’t smart – - nobody in their right mind, anyway. It’s always been a well known fact that she was the brains behind the success of Harry’s Garage, although nobody really knew just how vital she was (and still is, to a certain degree) in the success of the establishment. When she and Harry Martin Jr. married, the garage was on the brink of going under; Harry had  accrued a significant amount of debt through various bad investments and poor management, leaving him on the cusp of selling his father’s business and striking out in a different field. With careful planning and perhaps some creative accounting, Paula dragged the garage into the black while Harry took care of the mechanical work. As business partners they made quite the team, so one would’ve expected them to excel in parenthood as well.

Paula was quick to realize that running a family couldn’t be done quite as easily as balancing checkbooks and keeping up with ledgers. She did her best to divide her time evenly between her children, but was exhausted both mentally and physically by the time her last child came along. Though Sloan remembers her childhood as a haze of exasperation and questionable advice, Paula’s recollection of her daughter’s formative years is quite different. The matriarch of the Martin family was thrilled to have a little girl, but became increasingly dismayed at Sloan’s penchant for getting into trouble. As if raising four boys was difficult enough, her youngest child came out swinging and only seemed to feed off the chaotic energy of the Martin household. Sloan was a force, like her brothers; Paula did her best, but her best could only count for so much. 

Raising the boys came naturally to Paula, but she floundered during Sloan’s teenage years. Her age and tumultuous relationship with her own mother left Paula without any sort of worthwhile advice for Sloan. All she could do was parrot old idioms and hope that Sloan would make it through her teen years without getting expelled or knocked up. She still considers herself to be something of a failure when she recounts how Sloan dropped out of school, but the time spent in the garage did her eldest daughter good. Loosening her iron grip helped to patch up the relationship she and Sloan shared, but they certainly weren’t on ideal terms when Paula and Harry retired to Florida. Time and distance accounted for the rest of the rift – - or so Paula thinks - – so Mrs. Martin contents herself with an occasional phone call that usually ends with ‘Hey, is dad there?’

Looking back, Paula’s biggest regret is spending so much time on the business instead of devoting all her time to her children. Even though she’s very much aware that their family wouldn’t have survived without the work that she and her husband put into the garage, Paula still wishes she could go back and encourage her children to be better and to get as far away from Muddy Waters as possible. 

+ strong-willed, intelligent, brave, sociable - cynical, calculating, conservative, stubborn

harry martin jr  | ed harris; alive

❝I look like Paula, but I think I get everything else from my dad. He’s the best.❞

Harry Martin Jr. was never going to have a easy life. Conceived only months before his father was thrown in prison, Harry was left to fend for himself while his mother tried to raise seven children and carry the burden of the shame her husband had brought onto their family. Even though his mother never seemed to share the same opinion, Harry thought of his father as an anti-hero, an bonafide black-hat outlaw, a bootlegger and a member of the Northside Rascals long before they gained any footing in Muddy Waters. Growing up with the idea of a father meant that Harry never had to really get to know the man – - sure, letters were exchanged and the occasional visit came and went, but his father was dead long before Harry managed to form any real concrete impression of his namesake.  His poor mother tried her best to discourage such talk, but there was no way to make Harry back down without dragging her late husband through the mud. So she sat on any real knowledge about Harry Sr. and let her youngest child’s imagination run wild.

His charmed idea of his father didn’t change the fact that Harry’s family was forced to live in squalor. Harry himself never made it past high school, but he was still one of the more educated members of his family when one considered that his eldest brother didn’t even make it past the eighth grade. Each of the children had to work to help their mother make ends meet, which shaped Harry into something of machine. Work became his life, especially once he became old enough to help his brothers run the garage his father had  worked out of. Though the Martin family had divorced themselves from the Northside Rascals, the garage was still theirs to run and was the only source of income the family had. It was by a series of accidents that Harry even ended up with the place, but his lack of financial know-how nearly ended the entire operation. Without the help of his wife, Harry would’ve surely lost the garage. That was the official story, at any rate.

As it turned out, the Rascals had been good to his father and weren’t about to forget Harry in his time of need. Upon getting wind that Harry was in something of a bind, they offered him the opportunity to work alongside their organization for a considerable amount of money. All Harry had to do was procure certain hard-to-come-by items, hide them in some of the storage sheds that littered his property and wait for the Rascals to come pick them up when they were needed. Unable to say no to such an offer, Harry followed in his father’s footsteps and began working for the Rascals a mere few days after the offer was extended. 

With his hands on so many projects, Harry found that he didn’t have as much time for his family as he would’ve liked. It was easy enough to convince himself that raising children was Paula’s job and that he was only meant to provide for his family, but he still worked himself ragged in an attempt to be both a Rascal, a mechanic, and a half decent father. His children thought him a hard man – - hell, half of Muddy Waters thought he was intimidating - – but he, like his wife, was simply exhausted. The decision to retire and move far away was one that had been a long time coming when he finally turned the keys to the shop over to his youngest child. 

His involvement in the lives of his children hasn’t exactly improved with age, but Harry does try to call each of them at least once a week to check in. It strikes him as sad sometimes that he knows so little about his eldest son and about Michael (who he and Paula refuse to speak of unless absolutely necessary), but he takes pride in the fact that he still remains incredibly close to his daughter and is working diligently at forging a stronger relationship with his middle child. 

+ contemplative, hard-working, fair, trustworthy - stoic, harsh, conventional, pliable

[jameson-martin-blog]

sms —  jamie & sloan

Sloan: what the fuck?

Sloan: r u really blaming me for your shit rn

Sloan: you were drunk in a fucking grocery store

Sloan: u ran out the back

Sloan: and I'M the bad guy?

Sloan: dont text me until you're sober, asshole

Jamie: im not blaming u. i know i fukced up. you can hate me if u want

Jamie: everything just seems so pointless without annie

Jamie: im not good right now. im sorry lo

[jameson-martin-blog]

sms —  jamie & sloan

Sloan: My problem? You just embarrassed the shit out of me

Sloan: i have to live in this town

Sloan: Go find someone else to pick a fight with

Sloan: i'm not worried, i'm angry

Jamie: u think i want this? ur wrong

Jamie: you have a right to be mad and im sorry. but ur sposed to be heer for me and you pimped my ass out

[jameson-martin-blog]

sms —  sloan martin

Sloan: You can't even type.

Sloan: You did this to yourself.

Jamie: Why woudl u do that

Jamie: idk what ur problem is but im ok. pls don't worry bout me sis. i love u

Jamie: Even tho you can kiss the dirt 4 that shi;t ass punk ass lameass move

Jamie: jerk ass

[jameson-martin-blog]

Jamie: tell me why you woke our mother up in the middle of the night just 2 make her worry sloan

Jamie: tht's jus fucked up

Jamie: s

Jamie: uck my hairy ass

[jameson-martin-blog]

magnoliaeagan:

“Congratulations.” Maggie laughed, but then gave him a look, “Shiva? Who the hell is that?” She crossed her arms over her chest as she looked over at him. “Yeah, everyone drinks for a good reason. Usually people just wait ‘till after five, but y’know. That’s just me.” She shrugged.

“What? What’d you say?” he put a hand up to his ear, feigning ignorance. “I don’t speak lame.” Jamie scratched his beard, trying to size up the girl, fighting the urge to stick his tongue out at her. “I drink for good reasons. Like to forget conversations about how much of a fuckin’ loser I am, apparently. Anything else?

[jameson-martin-blog]

salvagingsloan:

Sloan had long since left the parking lot of the Quikmart when Jamie finally answered his phone only to be greeted by the calm kind of rage that Paula Martin was infamous for. “Jamie Harrison, what do you think you’re doing?” A beat scarcely passed before she added, “Wait, no, what am I saying – - you’re not thinking.” He was given a chance to respond – - Paula could be cold, but she did her best to be fair; even so, his response didn’t matter half as much as her next revelation, “I just got off the phone with your sister.” 

She knew. There was no need to rehash what she heard. This was Jamie, not Michael; he wouldn’t be allowed to dig himself deeper and deeper into a pit just because Paula gave him the chance to defend himself. Shuffling could be heard from her end of the receiver as she transitioned herself from the living room to the kitchen, putting distance between her conversation and the bedroom in which her husband still snored contentedly. Once she was safely tucked away in a corner, Paula allowed herself to lose the iron grip she had on her tone, “Did you not think someone would call and tell us that you’ve been runnin’ around drunk in the Quikmart?!”

Jamie held the phone in between his ear and shoulder as he put his cigarette out on the sole of his boot, tucking it behind his ear. “Hey, what time is it over there? You should be asleep.” He couldn’t believe this was his life, a thirty seven year old man who couldn’t even get drunk without his little sister spilling the beans. Some things never changed. “’Scuse me,” he mouthed to Bob before making his way to a darker part of the alleyway in order to piss freely. He tried to make out exactly what his mother was saying, though between his old phone that didn’t get the best reception, and his ears that didn’t pick up the best of anything, it was a toss-up of losses. He knew if there was anything his pops taught him, it was to agree with what Paula said and move on. He went ahead and assumed he was being scolded for his behavior, and for the first time that night, he genuinely felt sorry that someone, let alone his own mother, was up this late having to deal with his bullshit. At this point, he wouldn’t be surprised if God himself was furiously disgusted – he wouldn’t blame him. He was at his worst. Rock bottom wasn’t pretty, but Jamie was wearing his beer goggles, so she didn’t need to be.

“Sorry, ma. I know. Times been tough. But hey, I’m fine! It’s all good on my end,” he exclaimed exuberantly with a zip of his pants before spinning around on his heels to face a cop car tucked away in the darkest part of the back lot. Could this get any worse? “Oh hey, cops!” Bob astutely pointed out too little too late before ducking back into his heap of garbage, leaving a wide-eyed Jamie to fend for himself. “Lemme call you right back, ma,” was all he could mutter out before ending the call, curious as to how he was going to get himself out of this one.

[jameson-martin-blog]

southby:

YOUR STEREOTYPICAL MASCULINE SIDE

you love hoodies.  you love shorts.   dogs are better than cats.  it’s hilarious when people get hurt.   shopping is torture.   sad movies suck.   you own a car racing game.   you played with hot wheels cars as a kid.   at some point in time you wanted to be a fire fighter.   you owned a ds, ps2, n64, or sega.  you used to be obsessed with power rangers.   you have watched sports on tv.   gory movies are cool.   you go to your dad for advice.   you own like a trillion baseball caps.   you used to collect hockey or baseball cards.   baggy sweats are cool to wear.   green, black, red, blue, or silver are one of your favorite colors.   you love to go crazy and not care what people think.   sports are fun.   you talk with food in your mouth.   you sleep with your socks on at night.   you have fished at least once.

YOUR STEREOTYPICAL FEMININE SIDE

you love to shop.   you wear eyeliner.   you wear the color pink.   you go to your mom to talk.   you consider cheerleading a sport.   you hate wearing the color black.   you like going to the mall.   you like getting manicures and/or pedicures.   you like wearing jewelry.   you cried watching the notebook.   dresses are a big part of your wardrobe.   shopping is one of your favorite hobbies.  you don’t like the movie star wars.   you are/were in gymnastics.   it takes you around one hour to shower, get dressed, and make-up.   you smile a lot more than you should.   you have more than 10 pairs of shoes.   you care about what you look like.  you like wearing dresses when you can. you like wearing high heel shoes.  you used to play with dolls as little kid.   you like putting make-up on others.   you like being the star of everything.

APPEARANCE

i am shorter than 5’5”. i have scars. i tan easily. i wish my hair was a different color.   i have friends who have never seen my natural hair color.  i have a tattoo. i am self-conscious about my appearance. i’ve had/have braces. i’ve been told i’m attractive by a complete stranger. i have more than two piercings. i have/had piercings in places besides my ears.

EXPERIENCES

i’ve gotten lost in my city. i’ve seen a shooting star. i’ve wished on a shooting star.  i’ve seen a meteor shower. i’ve gone out in public in my pajamas. i’ve pushed all the buttons on an elevator.  i’ve kicked a guy where it hurts. i’ve been to a casino. i’ve been skydiving. i’ve gone skinny-dipping. i’ve drank a whole gallon of milk in one hour. i’ve crashed a car. i’ve been skiing. i’ve been in a musical. i’ve caught a snowflake or snow on my tongue. i’ve seen the northern lights. i’ve sat on a rooftop at night.  i’ve played a prank on someone.  i’ve ridden in a taxi. i’ve seen the rocky horror picture show. i’ve eaten sushi. i’ve been snowboarding.

HONESTY/CRIME

i’ve done something i promised someone else i wouldn’t. i’ve done something i promised myself i wouldn’t. i’ve snuck out. i’ve lied to my parents about where i am.  i’ve cheated while playing a game. i’ve ran a red light. i’ve witnessed a crime. i’ve been in a fist fight. i’ve  been arrested.   never been caught.

DEATH AND SUICIDE

i’m afraid of dying. i hate funerals. i’ve seen someone/something dying. someone close to me has attempted/committed suicide. i’ve written a eulogy for myself.

RANDOM

i can sing well. stolen a tray from a fast food restaurant. i open up to others easily. i watch the news. i don’t kill bugs. i sing in the shower. i am a morning person. i paid for a cell phone ring tone. i am a sports fanatic. i twirl my facial hair. i care about grammar. i have “?”’s in my screen name. i’ve copied more than 30 cds in a day. i bake well. my favorite color is either white, yellow, pink, red, blue, black, purple, or orange. i would wear pajamas to school. i like martha stewart. i know how to shoot a gun. i laugh at my own jokes. i eat fast food weekly. i’ve not turned anything in and still got an a in a certain class. i can’t sleep if there is a spider/cockroach in the room. i am ticklish. i love white chocolate. i bite my nails. i’m good at remembering faces. i’m good at remembering names. i’m good at remembering dates. i honestly have no idea what i want to do for the rest of my life.

[jameson-martin-blog]

evaxreid:

Eva simply glossed over his comment, gracing him with yet again, another eye roll. She wasn’t going to take advice from him regarding wine selections. So long as she enjoyed what she was drinking (which she did), then she wasn’t all too fussy.

His voice carried over to the next aisle, where she strolled down to pick out some chips and crackers. Considering that Jamie was huge, his frame could easily be seen just a little above the aisle shelves. “Only if the booster seat is you.” she yelled a little too loudly, uncaring for whether or not others heard. Although if he didn’t hear it, what a waste of a joke it was. 

Jamie paused for a moment as his eyes followed the blonde into the next aisle and over the racks. He took a second to register what the hell that meant. Was she saying she wanted a boost? Did she want him to boost her up?  Call it the narcissist in him, but he settled on it being a sexual innuendo. "Always here to help a friend in need,” he said with a wink, playing it off like he didn’t just flirt with someone close to ten years younger than him. 

[jameson-martin-blog]

salvagingsloan:

It seemed harsh and like some sort of familial betrayal to say that Sloan was embarrassed by her brother Jamie, but it would’ve been disingenuous to use any other word. Sure, she loved him – - she adored him, when she wasn’t trying to pick him up off the floor - – but it was difficult to tap into those vast wells of sibling admiration when the man in question decided to bolt down the aisle. Sloan’s eyes were immediately downcast, a hand instinctively coming up to shield her face as if anyone would be fooled into thinking she was someone else. It wasn’t customary for the mechanic to do anything other than mind her own business, but Sloan did happen to catch the eye of a man Jamie had nearly knocked down on his hairpin turn, “I am so sorry,” she gushed in an uncharacteristic display of genuine remorse. Jamie wasn’t going to apologize, so there she would be – - cleaning up his messes, making sure he didn’t knock down a wine rack, standing in the middle of the aisle with a cart full of groceries and all the shame she could muster. 

Any respect she had left for Jamie was dwindling, especially when she had to mutter another apology to a mother and her young daughter who were justifiably annoyed and angered at the sudden expletive that rang out through the store. Without thinking, Sloan shuffled in place and popped the first few buttons of her coveralls open so she could tie the arms around her waist. A simple white tank top was what lay beneath, but was particularly noteworthy because of the lack of a logo for Harry’s Garage emblazoned on the upper breast pocket. With that safely tucked in the folds of her jumpsuit-turned-pants, Sloan could at least breathe a little easier. The last thing she wanted was to be running around a store or associated with a madman while she was still wearing her uniform. Harry’s already had enough to contend with.

Sloan decided quickly that she wouldn’t follow him, but she did push her cart aside as soon as she could while she released her phone from her pocket. Once a number was dialed, she headed toward the front of the store at a leisurely pace in an attempt to draw as little attention to herself as possible. Pinning her phone between her ear and elbow, she started setting items on the conveyor while doing her best to avoid the gaze of the cashier who knew – - he must’ve known - – that Sloan and Jamie were related and Sloan was going to have to deal with the consequences of his actions. Seeing pity or disdain on the blotchy face of a sixteen year old would’ve been too much to take; Sloan would’ve either crumbled or rose to a heightened sense of rage at any sort of sideways glance.

The sound of her mother’s voice had never been more relieving. Just as Sloan nearly gave up, Paula Martin picked up the phone and gave something of a sleepy ‘do you know what time it is here in Florida?’ while Sloan loaded bags into her shopping cart and passed her card to the cashier. 

“I know, I’m sorry. Listen, there’s been a bit of a problem – -” Suddenly aware of her surroundings, Sloan glanced up to the boy while she snatched her card and receipt from his hand. As was anticipated, he was watching her with something of a mild interest, perhaps pondering just what someone would do in a situation so explosive and embarrassing. Rather than back down, Sloan mouthed a very obvious ‘fuck off’  while her mother began taking guesses about what her problem was. Did something happen to the garage? Was it all that fighting (she always said Chess Club was a bad idea, but Sloan never listened)? Did something happen to her brothers? 

An explanation was made as briefly as possible, the conversation cut short by Sloan as she reached her car and found any excuse whatsoever to get off the phone and load up her groceries. By the time she had deposited the buggy in its proper place, Jamie’s phone would’ve started to ring incessantly. 

He might’ve tried to run from Sloan, but there would be no escaping Paula.

As he made his way past the spread of nasty faces and oohing and ah-ing, Jamie couldn’t help but laugh. It was just one foot in front of the other, no big deal, he had this. Though he definitely had this less than he thought. Running was enough of a cumbersome daily task with the growing limited lung space he had, but doing it intoxicated really took the cake. He probably looked something like a tipsy giraffe, all muscle and fumbly legs and a lack of finding the footing to be doing what he was doing. In fact, his footing didn’t want to be found. He couldn’t find it if it yelled at him.

He made his way through the deli, practically high kneesing it as he literally ran from his problems. It was a gift he had no idea he was so adept at, usually facing his issues head on. Not as of late. He swung through the back, and though he was used to being looked down upon as a blue collar worker, there was nothing really like getting a nasty look from your old boss. He was too drunk to care, currently, feeling more alive than he had in years. It was when he finally made his way out the back that he decided to skip the stairs leading to the pavement below, instead opting to vault himself over the railing of the emergency exit platform. He landed with one foot correctly, though the other blew out from under him and he felt the collision of concrete on skin as he skidded to a halt. An anguished wince splashed across his face as he pulled up the injured leg to inspect the wound, blood having already painted the cloth of his work pants. He hadn’t bothered to change after a long day of construction work, opting instead to come home and get blitzed right away. “Fuck,” he howled out, rocking back and forth to distract himself from the searing pain. 

He tried to get up after that, he really did, but there was no impetus to really make him move. It was just him and the stars. Just then, a groan escaped from the dumpster, and he stopped moving, taken off guard. “Dumptruck Bob? That you?” he called out, wondering if it was just the local bum that used to stop by the back alley of Quikmart every once and a while when he worked there as a kid. For all he knew, the guy was still making his rounds, and as a head emerged from the waste, he discovered that it was, in fact, Dumptruck Bob. A stream of muffled sentences and idle chit chat echoed from the dumpster, and Jamie decided it was time to get up out of the piss-stained alley. He struggled for a minute or two, trying not to touch the bloody area on his knee as he rocked to his feet, hobbling over to the man. “Remember me?” he asked, a smile evident as he took out a pack of Menthols. “Here you go man,” he said, sticking one between his lips as he tugged out a lighter, and passing the other to Bob. “Jamie Martin, you son of a bitch!” Bob finally said, recognizing the man by his generosity. Of all the shortcomings Jamie had, being a giver was not one of them.

They stood for a good while, shooting the shit about life, giving each other updates. Jamie was proud to share that - shocker - war sucked, and learn that - double shocker - Dumptruck Bob was still somehow single after all these years. “That makes two of us, pal,” Jamie had said with the raise of his eyebrows, unable to believe this was what his life had come to. But at least he did it his way. That counted for something, right?

Just when he and Bob were getting into details about their personal lives, or lack thereof, Jamie felt the buzz of his cell phone in his pocket. How long had he been standing out here? He checked the time, then inspected the ominous name that lit up his screen: Paula. He shuddered to think about what Sloan had said, heaving a sigh of stability before tapping the answer button. “Hey, mama.”