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katsmonsterblog · 5 years ago

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Lost and Found

So!! This is a story I wrote with mine and @serenitydusk‘s characters a while back now. I wanted to post it because it was really good, something I’m proud of. ^w^

WARNINGS!!!! - blood, angst, torture(mild)

my character’s : Balthazar, Chevelle, Andras, Sydney, Nicholas, Arcturus (Arc), Warrick

@serenitydusk‘s characters: Dusk, Ash, Roan

Tagging: @no-need-to-apply @thejellyflux @sunrisehoneybee @junepop45

Four months. It had been four months and still… nothing. Arc was still gone. Four months ago when he had vanished, it had been a normal day. Kian and Wren had come to visit, all for the world newly in love and it was infectious, everyone had been in the best mood and Annwn.. was normal.

It wasn't until the evening fell and everyone in their ever growing family gathered at Dusk's home for a meal that.. something felt wrong. Roan kept rubbing his chest, it ached and he naturally looked to Arc who.. wasn't there? In fact it had been hours since he had decided to go train and Roan excused himself to head out after his male. As if sensing that he was worried, Ash headed out with him. He tried to tell himself that the hot headed flame wielder that stole his heart had once again just.. lost track of time. But his footsteps spurred on faster.

The training ground was a bit secluded.. and usually close enough to the house to warrant being safe.. but what Ash and Roan found there was a warzone. There were bits of charred earth, trees and grass. The discarded weapons and clothes said that Arc had been here but.. one guard was dead near the path, having most likely been keeping an eye on the male. Ash claimed that it had been an ambush.. the guard taken out first then… whoever it was fought.. and took Arc. They must have excelled at concealing magic for no one to have sensed it.

Roan didn't really remember much about what happened after that. He had been so enraged, so filled with panic and pain and anger that Arc was in danger and maybe hurt that.. he blacked out for a moment… It was raining when he came too. Ash calmed him down gently and told him that he had to be strong.

~~~

That was four months ago… and they had pulled all they had, every resource, every single favor.. to find him. Roan was exhausted.. mentally, physically, and emotionally drained.. they even went to his father which proved in vain as well. It wore on everyone, Ash and Kian widened their search to cover every inch of Annwn though.. if Arc was there then Dusk should have sensed him but there were always blind spots. Nic and Andras were putting out favors and calling in more, checking with all they knew in the human world to see if any leads turned up. How the hell anyone got into Annwn and took out a member of the royal guard and then left without a word of it… was a mystery that had royally pissed off Ash and Dusk. They had done… all they could...

It was exhausting..

Roan was sure he looked as shit as he felt when he sat at the kitchen table, too early to be fully awake -not that he slept much, if at all- but also too late to even try heading back to bed. Hair a mess, his normally bright blue gaze dulled to an almost angry black color, and he was pale. The dark circles under his eyes didn’t add to help any of that. He cradled a cup of coffee, watching the steam and not caring that it didn’t have an ounce of sugar or creamer. He had been so zoned that it almost startled him to have Dusk pad barefoot into the room, or heard that she had spoken to him.

“I’m fine.” Was that even his own voice? Did it matter? He had to contact Sydney.. See if she had found a proper locating spell and-

“Roan.” Dusk stood in his way as he stood and abandoned his coffee. “You need to rest. You do no good to him if you push yourself too far.” Her voice was a gentle scolding and full of concern and.. Anger bubbled up.

“I said I’m fine.” He didn’t need to be coddled, but he could see the stubbornness in her face.

“...Roan.. I know..-”

‘I SAID I’M FINE!” He roared, the coffee in his cup and the water in the kettle blasting out in a hot scalding spray that both of them were taken off guard with but Dusk had manages to freeze the spray before it hit them. There was silence… Roan’s shoulders hunching in as he realized.. He’d just yelled at Dusk… “...I’m… Gods.. Dusk.. I’m sorry…” He choked and then she was holding him as he buckled and sobbed. She held him as he broke and when he was done, he was half in her lap on the floor of the kitchen as she stroked his hair. He and Dusk were close and often with them, touch was comfort.

“There is no need to apologize Roan.. We’re all here for you and none of us will stop looking for him… but you need rest..” There was no arguing that tone and he was too tired to do so. Another presence filled the kitchen and Chevelle appeared from shadow and darkness, curling around them. He nuzzled Dusk and then scooped Roan up like he was no more than a doll. A part of him wished he had the strength to protest but instead he curled into the soft black fur and felt himself being carried away. He was asleep before he made it to his bed.

It was… strange. To realize you were most definitely dreaming but.. Not really knowing how or why you know it. Roan stood in the middle of a long hall. It was it ...somehow and there were doors for as long as he could see down either direction. He didn’t really know if he should pick a way to go or not but before he could, a familiar black beast rose up, white skull materializing to stare at him. Ah. That’s how he knew he was dreaming.

“Chev..? Why are we in the dreamscape?” He asked, moving closer. Chev hunched so that he could be closer to the siren.

“You needed rest… and I… need to show you.” He spoke low and gravely. Show him? Show him what? Even in the dream he seemed to feel tired but Chev motioned for him to follow down the hall and the world around them changed. It was colder here… darker. Chev stopped and Roan looked around the area. He couldn’t see anythi-

He froze, heart thudding as he saw the male. At first.. He had thought it was Arc.. but the stubble and the bulky shoulders….

“Warrik?” He gasped and the ghost flickered, a tired smile crossing his face. Arc’s older brother was faded, nothing like how he had appeared before and it sent dread through him.

“We don’t have much time….” Chevelle said, causing more panic to fill him. A soothing warmth wrapped around him as the beast hugged him. “It took… far too long.. This place.. the in-between.. The space between dream… and death…” The words did nothing to reassure Roan but Warrick flickered again and spoke up.

“Roan… They’re killing him.. Slowly..” He said, his voice faint and it was all Roan could do to hold onto Chevelle as he shook.

“Who? Tell me where he is!” Roan’s voice was hoarse. “My clan.. Like the beast said, we don’t have much time. I will show you where it is.. I can give you the knowledge but you must hurry.. He’s… he’s weak.” Warrik reached out and with an icy cold touch, images and knowledge filled his brain. In an instant, images and thoughts that weren’t his own filled his head. He knew how to get to Arc and… oh gods.. Oh fuckin gods what had they done to him...? The next instant, Warrik pulled back, eyes clearly weak and filled with sorrow. “I wish… I could have kept you from seeing that.. But he won’t last much longer.” Chevelle pulled on Roan and the world began to fade.

“Warrik! Tell Arc! I’ll find him...” and like that, Roan was gasping awake in his bed, Chevelle perched like some great cat at the foot, watching him. A million things wracked his brain as he tore from the bed to get Dressed. Chevelle’s voice made him pause.

“I am sorry… that it took so long… to find him.” A sad smile graced Roan’s features.

“But you found him Chev. Thank you.” He said, pushing past to find Dusk and realizing he’d slept through the whole day.. Though it had seemed like only minutes….

Finding where the hidden village was cloaked was fairly easy, the tip of northern Ireland and blanketed with a field of magic so thick that they had all but skipped it twice. Once they found it however… the hard part was getting in. Roan explained to Nic, Balthazar, Andras, Ash, Dusk and Kian that they needed blood from the clan to open the gate. They didn’t have time to weed out one of the followers that could be.. literally anywhere… but they luckily didn’t have to.

“Nic.. what do you remember of your father..?” Roan stared at the vampire lord and Nic frowned.. But quickly caught on.

“To be honest.. I don’t really. But My mother said my use of magic came from him...Are you saying my bloodline is tied to that clan? Will it work if I’m.. a vampire? From what I hear they hunt our kind.” He mused, one hand smoothing over Dusk’s almost as if it were compulsion. The stress in the room was high.

“We can only hope. What choice do we have..?” Balthazar answered but Roan clenched his fist.

“I won’t lose him.” Roan said, his voice held no argument, the ache in his chest an almost permanent fixture. Silence was his answer, a steel resolve set among them.

Chaos.. Utter chaos. The humans were.. Well equipped. They wielded magic and weapons, the air stunk of death and iron and blood and… worse. However well equipped they were, none of them could have prepared for the onslaught of the fae, vampire, and demon alike that paved the way for Roan and Dusk. They made it, the underground bunker area that smelled like a furnace and felt like hell lay behind the doors. And when they finally came into the dank blackness….

Neither of them recognized the man chained to the concrete and steel. “Arc….” that broken whisper left Roan’s lips. If Warrik hadn’t shown him this image… he’d have sworn that man wasn’t his mate… but it was and his heart knew it.

On his knees in the middle of an Iron contraption, they had pierced his hands and bolted him to a concrete block. There were chains connected to a collar around his neck that also served as a muzzle over his mouth and nose… and his hair shaved off to reveal dead eyes that didn’t even blink when they entered. The worst… was the machines they had hooked to him as he took labored breaths, skin ablaze and the heat was… suffocating. Dusk could feel how weak he was and.. Gods if they didn’t get him out now he wouldn’t make it another night. She wasn’t in Annwn… and she was surrounded by metal that clogged her throat but she pushed it away and stepped forward. She called earth to her the land that was Ireland… and it answered, rolling and cracking the stones, she reached out to Ash so he could aide in quelling the fire that Arc wielded.

Arc… couldn’t remember how to think.. All he felt was pain.. All he knew.. No… he knew he had to stay alive.. He had.. He had to stay strong.. For Roan… Roan. he heard voices, felt more pain surge through him as he was moved, his body protested and he screamed, fire pushing out only to be quenched.. Stilled. It felt.. Oh it felt familiar.

“Arc! Baby.. stay with me.. Listen to me.. Breathe..” Oh.. oh that voice. He tried to move, to fight, He had to get to..

Everything went black.

Days flew by… six to be exact, since they got him out of there. He was.. Roan hung his head,, swallowing harshly. He was still asleep, washed up and mostly… mostly healed. Four months he’d been in their hands and the damage… looking back up, his first reaction to make sure Arc was still breathing...but what caught his eye was a pair of pale ones staring back.

Arc was sure that he’d died this time.. Roan.. Roan was there so close. His vision blurred and he tried to move, to wipe his eyes but he was so slow, so sluggish. And it didn’t matter because in a heartbeat, his love was on him, cupping his face and rubbing the tears away.

“Mo chridhe. Arc..” he sighed, clinging to him carefully, as if he might shatter like a dream. Arc could only tremble, grasping weakly at him.

“Roan…” He whispered, voice hoarse and rough and deeper than the last he’d remembered. “Am.. am I in heaven…?” he asked. There was a second where he watched pain and joy streak across Roan’s face, tears falling and his love probably didn’t even notice. Those words had been the first thing Arc had said when Roan found him washed ashore.

“No.. No mo chridhe, you’re alive..” Roan moved Arc’s scarred hand to his chest, feeling the weight and the thump of his heart. “See?” his voice broke and then he was sobbing into his boyfriend’s arms, Arc holding him as tight as he could.

“I’m sorry… I’m so.. I never..” Arc shushed him, his own body trembling as he cried silently. He didn’t have the voice right now to tell him that the only thing that had kept him alive that whole time was the thought of him, the ache in his chest that let him know Roan was looking for him. The two ended up in the same bed, touching each other and pressing kisses to every inch of skin. Roan helped him drink water and Dusk had cried when she came to check on him. Now Roan ran a hand over the fuzz that covered his head instead of the wild mane of golden hair.

“.....I’ll grow it back…” Arc’s voice was soft. It was timid and Roan knew that tone… it would take a while to heal from what was done to him but the first thing he wanted to remedy.

“You’re beautiful Arc..” He lifted his chin so he could see those pale eyes. He could see the disbelief there. “You are beautiful to me.. Always… and mine.. I won’t let you go again.

#my writing #angst #my ocs #my friend'socs #original work

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birthdaylobotomy · 6 years ago

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I Took It And I Ran

WIP Currently still very much in progress. However, I wanted to share this!

CONTENT WARNING: Alcohol, drug use, violence, sexist/sexual language. In later parts there will be suicidal ideation, self harm, prostitution, sexual abuse, homophobia and racist language among other thing.

I do not share many of the ideologies my main character does. Remember- you are seeing this through the eyes of an angry kid in the early 90s. He says many things that are, in general, very bitter.

@sec-lude, @misfitwings, @cohldhands, @smoke-the-woke and anyone else who wants to be put on/taken off the tag list let me know!!

With that out of the way, I hope you enjoy!!

CHAPTER ONE (Part One)

The first time I met Luke, I was at that house party Monica was throwing for her ugly friend Brittney. I don’t remember all of the details, mostly because I was completely and irreversibly hammered. I just know Britt was sad about something, probably her baby daddy not paying his support- he never did- and Monica, who knew everybody up and down the block, decided to throw a party. What can I say? Monica was great at making people forget their woes, until the next day and pounding hangover, of course. Monica, pretty Monica.

I remember the scene at least, the setup. Assad was ranting off to me about some dumb shit I didn’t care about, but I had to pretend to care because as long as he thought we were friends, I would get my weed cheap. Was I manipulative? Oh, for sure, but I didn’t care back then. I didn’t care about anyone.

“This bitch was all over me, I swear,” he sighed, doing the thing he always did, which was tug at my shoulder twice and clap his hands together when he caught my glare. “But, but, I knew I had a girlfriend. She knew too!”

I had already checked myself out mentally from what he was saying. It was always the same shit anyways. He would be dealing to a girl, and she would have no money, “No nothin’ but her body, and damn was her body rich!” And Assad, poor Assad, would be faced with the trial of either going ahead and having the fuck of his life, or staying loyal to his baby. His baby that he sure had the habit of cheating on.

“Yeah, yeah, this bitch- oh!” He cringed his face tight and smacked his hands together twice. “Her ass was so fucking fat, I almost had a- a seizure, just lookin’! My baby can’t find out, she won’t. I won’t let her.”

I nodded twice. I hated men who cheat, I still do. They are scumbags who deserve to be found out. Assad was no exception.

The party was packed. Monica’s parties usually were. Over 100 shady people, all squeezed into one tiny apartment. People who I had never seen, who’s scent I hadn’t even smelled yet. Everyone knew Monica though. If they hadn’t fucked her or her sister, then their boyfriend had. Despite this, everyone loved her.

The room stunk, and that was coming from a smelly punk who lived in early 90’s Detroit. Even my roomates, a former prostitute and her shithead boyfriend, smelled like a flower shop compared to the mess of people I was in. Assad didn’t seem to notice- he must’ve been high off his ass. His skin gleamed with sweat, and his afro seemed to be weighed down with gunks of stale perspiration. He wiped his face a few times and licked his lips constantly.

“Fuck, man,” Assad groaned, giving one last tug at my shoulder before swinging his head in the other direction. “I gotta go. Monica’s parties always end with someone either gettin’ cursed or killed or pregnant. I gotta go.”

I made no attempt to keep him at that party. Instead, I nodded in support of the concept. “Listen, man, if you need to leave, leave. I definitely wouldn’t blame ya,” I said, gesturing of the swarm of drunk criminals that buzzed everywhere I could see.

He bobbed his head three times, each time slower than the former. “Yeah, yeah, yeah. Take care, white boy.” I sighed at his awkward goodbye- was it well meaning or an attempt at insult? I would never know or care. I nearly shoved him away, which I disguised with a rough pat on the back, and Assad quickly vanished into the crowd of rats.

Since I was alone, I decided now would probably be my only chance at a cigarette until some other phony friend would find it to be the right time to attack me with their personal crisis.

So, with nothing but a cheap pack a cigarettes and a half empty bottle of warm beer, I escape from the soup of musty kids and into the lukewarm night.

It was such a blessed night. And chilly, too. The raggedy holes in beat-up jeans soaked in the cold and made the skin on my knees prickle up underneath. I kept swinging around the bottle, my arm rubber, as I chucked it out into the street. Even my swaying, drunk eyes could see the glass explode like fireworks.

“Fuck.”

I didn’t even realize just how freezing it was until the vapor rose out of my mouth, like smoke from a dragon. I rubbed my hands against my naked arms and cursed the invention of wife-beaters.

I was mad. I had been for a long time, for a lot of different reasons. The most recent fuel to my fire was the fact that I had fallen bitterly in love with Monica. The queen of whores, sitting on a throne of the men she had fucked and left in the dirt. Pretty Monica, with her cherry red lips and big brown hair, her perky tits and squeaky voice.

I dug a cigarette out of my pocket. I didn’t know a single guy that wouldn’t get a hard on when Monica would wiggle her way into a room, spill a few tacky flirts and wiggle right back out. Something about her left guys, even ones who were damn well smart enough to know she was nothing more than polite slut, drooling after her and her tight little-

I couldn’t find my fucking lighter. My dead old jeans were ripped right through as I forced my hand through my pocket. It came out on the other side, the hole shredded and unfixable. I completely stopped for a long minute. My favorite pair of pants, torn but not in a way I could frame as being some punk bullshit.

“Oh, fuck off!” I grabbed whatever my hands could snatch- a nearly empty pack of smokes- and I flung it as hard as I could muster into the sidewalk. A few wandering crackheads were the only ones to notice as I stamped my heart out against the pack. Up and down I threw myself, until the pack was nothing but a flat stomped out pile of tobacco crumbs and mashed paper.

I stared at the ground. A pile of mediocre cigs, wasted.

Why was I so angry back then? I knew it was just more than Monica. I knew it, but it would have taken a gun or war to make me admit what it really was.

This block was a rough one. Buggy eyed homeless people, all high on dope and some other shit would always come swaying around corners, like feral dogs waiting to bite. Just walking to Monica’s apartment, only seven o’ clock, made me paranoid. The city was going through a great death those days. The auto industry had fled, racial tensions were so strung that you could cut them with a knife. I think everyone was angry, waiting to burst.

I stood there like some kind of scarecrow. I had no cigarettes and no beer. No knife either. As the sound of police sirens acted as a distant lullabye, I was reminded of that. I had left my blade at the apartment. I always did when I came to Monica’s place. The why was really dumb, but I just told anyone who would ask that if Gloria, my roommate, ever got into shit with her scumbag boyfriend, that my blade would save her life. Now that I think of it, she never used that blade, not once in her short life.

That’s when I saw- no, heard first- a man who I would come to know as Luke Evans.

It started with the pounding of his feet- an anthem against the black tar. I heard his sneakers slapping against the earth before I saw him. And when I saw him, I saw all of him.

His feet were a blur, he was running faster than anyone I had ever seen before- you know, if he had for whatever reason changed his life and poured his being into being some trackstar, he would have left Bolt in the dust.

His face- his face was filled with some primordial fear, something out of a nature documentary. His eyes distant but near, wide wide open but closed tight shut, peering. He bounced up and down as his feet touched and released the ground, and he sported an oversized jacket- like a little kid trying out his dad’s old coat. He sprinted with his arms, pumping almost as quickly as his legs did. When I made him out I stopped breathing. I wasn’t afraid of him. I don’t why I wasn’t, but for some reason, I immediately felt the urge to guard him from whatever beast he was escaping.

He ran straight, right through the center of the street. I was to his left- probably just a blur, a small mark on a large map of shadowy, red-brick row homes. But to me, Luke was something like an asteroid. A comet.

Ten more seconds. In a wild racing screech, blared honking and two blinding lights- the beast was revealed.

A truck, torn inside and out with big blocky bullet-holes, shredded to the point it could barely even be called a vehicle. What monsters in human bodies could have destroyed something so thoroughly? I began to sweat as it all came closer. Monsters that lived in each and every apartment as far as I could see.

This is when I, a twenty one year old child, brimming with rage and lust and depression, saw a decision, that I seemed destined from the day I was born to make. I saw the option more clearly that I had seen anything else up to that point. I could save this stranger, who had done something, something big and bad enough to cause that chase, and that anger. Or I could save myself. I could allow myself to continue this existence of standing to the side and nodding to get what I want. A life of putting in no effort, no care, no risk of change. A life that would keep me safe but miserable.

Of course, in that moment, it wasn’t laid out like that- I didn’t think of it that way. However, even young and dumb me knew I needed to do something.

So, in one of my few moments of selfless risk, I made the choice to save him.

It was swift- the flash of my arm thrusting out, the smudge of the darkness and Luke becoming one thing, and, of course, the look. The look we traded as this happened, as he had finally passed me on the street and I, a formerly minor distraction on the sideline, became a central figure. In that moment, I made myself almost as important as the car, with its headlights licking Luke’s heels.

As he looked at me, I swear to this day his baby blue eyes held no fear. He was confused, as anyone would be in that moment- but he wasn’t scared, at least not of me. I don’t know why.

I wonder what I looked like to him. He would never tell me. Maybe a hero. I like to think that at the very least. I fantasize and tell myself I had a manly shine and glimmer, my eyes determined and my mouth a fine line of focus. I wish I had asked him.

But in that moment, I wasn’t thinking of me. I wasn’t really thinking about Luke either, truthfully. In reality, I was thinking about the car.

The car, which screeched as it came closer, closer, a giant hulking monster that would kill me in an instant if I refused to move any longer. I sprang, my legs weak and bouncy but strong. Strong enough to leap across the small plot of grass in front of the building, my arm a leash and Luke barely connected. I spotted the bush- the bush that all of Monica’s drunk boyfriends would piss in, littered with cigarette butts and and wrappers and whatever other shit people would be too lazy to actually dispose of.

In that moment, that nasty fucking bush was a paradise- something sent from God himself to rescue me and this beautiful blonde criminal attached to my arm. I threw myself fully into it, the thin twigs popping and crackling as they snapped around us. Everything was so fast, so urgent, that the moment we sat the world came to jolting halt.

Silence.

We were as silent as two panting, terrified children could be. I could only hear the sounds of our bodies and the city then- the constant warning of police and their wail, the close hum of the party in the building right against the shrubbery, and the car. The car, wheezing and sputtering like an old man. Its engine coughed and spat below the hood. I could hear shouting- what did they say? They sounded angry, and dangerous. I put my hand instinctively over my mouth, and I tried to slow my breathing one trembling huff at a time. My eyes couldn’t help but stray to the person inches away from me.

The light of the car moved slow, slow. It winked at us, walked across our bodies, the shadows of the leaves that crossed us looking like spots of black against our persons. The glint was too powerful and in a moment of impulse, I turned my face. I saw Luke, not move, not even blink. The light gave him a holy glow, a halo. He did not look at me. He looked only at the truck.

It seemed to last a million years. When finally the shouting stopped, I heard something like a mumble, and then the tires screamed against the street, and the truck sped off and away.

Neither Luke nor I moved for a full thirty seconds. Nothing. The car was gone- it was truly gone. I had been the first to hint at our safety; I looked at him and couldn't help but smile, big, goofy and relieved. Out of the corner of his eye he assessed me cautiously, before finally turning to face me fully for the first time. When he did, the corner of his mouth was a boyish grin.

Even in the hidden darkness, his eyes twinkled like Christmas lights. I could make out his dimples that shined through his babyish cheeks. There was something so alien about that youth, and those eyes. I couldn’t help but feel myself fall in an exhausted but hearty laugh. And he started laughing too, and I remember so cleanly both us giggling and sobbing with this brilliant feeling of ease.

When we eventually were became too sore to keep dying over nothing, we fell quiet again. I noticed Luke move his head side to side, as if he were searching for something. I could only see the darkness of his silhouette. I looked at only him.

“This bush smells like urine,” he said. That brought me back to a level of reality. It did smell like piss- and drugs. And whatever nasty shit people has dumped into it.

“Fuck, let’s get out then.”

“Okay.” Both of us moved at once- Luke, not drunk like me, popped up out of the bush with a flurry of broken and dry leaves. He yanked me up without me having to ask. We both stood there, very close, the brier scratching at our waists. It took my slightly intoxicated sway to get us moving again.

When we were back in the clear, Luke looked over up and down the streets as he yanked up his pants and held his huge jacket closed. He didn’t explain anything, but instead looked to me and nodded with gratefulness. “Thanks, man. Really.” I told him no worries, and picked a few thorns out of my knees. “What’s your name?”

My head jerked up. This was the crossing of a great bridge. I hid my happiness by raking my hand through my mess of hair. “Ryder. You?”

With one hand clutching his jacket, he stuck out a small, twig-sliced hand. “Lucas Evans. My friends prefer Luke, though.”

Did I plan it? Did I do it on purpose? I like to think I didn’t, and that I either was too stupid to realize it- which is much more likely- or that it was fate somehow. The idea of me doing it consciously makes me cringe.

“Alrighty, Luke...We should probably go inside.” Without hesitation, I took and shook his offered hand.

And in that moment, I didn’t just cross the bridge, but I flew across it, not even thinking to look back. Just by changing a few minor letters and shedding an S this person, who I barely knew but had still saved, went from being a complete stranger who owed me to a friend.

I saw him look to the ground in- in what? In pleasure, embarrassment, childish joy? But when he looked back up his dimples dotted his cheeks grandly.

“You’re right. I don’t-” He peaked over his shoulder again, scratching the back of his head, “I don’t think it would be all that smart of me to go back into those streets.”

“No kiddin’,” I said, leading the way back to Monica’s cluttered party. “If you just stay here for a bit you’ll be fine.”

When I opened the door I was hit with pounding, pungent reminder of why I left in the first place. Girls caked with makeup and sweat, greasy punk boys shedding their shirts to try impress someone, anyone. I let out a heave of a sigh and turned to Luke with a flip-flopped expression. “Just so you know, be weary of everyone here. They aren’t good people.”

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creativitytoexplore · 5 years ago

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Tony Ambrosio's Unsuccessful Life of Crime Is Finally Looking Up by Michael Drezin https://ift.tt/2xnTIVE It takes a lot to teach hapless petty thief Tony Ambrosio a lesson; by Michael Drezin.

Anthony Ambrosio, Tony to his friends, is not an honest man. No need to be. No one who ever made it big, made it big being honest. Honest or not, indications are Anthony Ambrosio will never make it big in crime because he doesn't have what it takes. He pulls mostly minor scams like selling weed that isn't weed, or bootlegged CDs where the cover doesn't match what's inside. And he gets caught like flu in winter. Tony's always getting caught. He does his time without complaint, 'cause that's the way real men do time. And then he starts the cycle all over again. No thought about what went wrong, or how to do it better. He does the same thing, in the same way, every time. He can't see that a life of crime is not for him because Anthony Ambrosio, Tony to his friends, is not an honest man. Not even with himself. And so when he told himself he had enough money for a fine meal at the Actor's Crib (insiders call it the Crib), a five star restaurant in the heart of NYC's theater district, it turned out he did. It's just that it wasn't on him. Upon the direction of management Alberto, the waiter, called the police. When they arrived Tony was arrested and until he was able to see a judge, he spent an afternoon, evening and the next morning in jail.

Anthony Ambrosio aka Tony Ambrosio aka Little Tony of Arthur Avenue, has been arrested like 100 times before. Pull a job. Get arrested. Tony was so regularly arrested he knew what to expect for dessert any day of the week whenever he was jailed. Tony started his life of crime at age 14. Beer, his first heist. Problem is, he got regularly caught doing it. His mentor suggested he bring his own shopping bag, but by then Tony was banned from most places that sold alcohol. Years later, when he graduated to burglaries, it took only one try to realize a yellow Dodge with a bumper sticker saying Proud parent of a Harvard graduate was a poor choice for a getaway car. It's not that Tony had bad ideas. It's more like he had no ideas. Like an impulse purchaser, Tony was an impulse desperado who never kept his impulse in check. Could be he was raised that way.

Tony's mom supported her and Tony by playing poker. Most often, she did so wearing a low cut leopard print blouse while chain smoking Evet's filtered cigarettes. She played in high stakes games held in the private room at Gino's (Fine Italian Cuisine) in the Little Italy section of the Bronx. It was mostly a men's game, but anyone who could afford the five thousand dollar minimum could play. Big fat cigars were banned ten years ago because they stunk up the restaurant, and except for Francesca these were no smoking games. She knew the dangers of smoking, everyone does, but she felt she had a realistic perspective on her habit. It was the same as her realistic perspective on life. Nothing bad would ever happen to her. If she thought about it at all, I'm sure she wasn't happy her son was sent to the principal's office nearly every day, but boys fight. What could she do about boys being boys? She didn't do much in the way of cooking, or cleaning, or any of the things formerly known as woman's work, but she always left Tony money for McDonald's, or pizza, or the like. Tony never lacked for anything that up to twenty-five dollars could buy. Besides poker, Francesca had a talent for attracting well-to-do men. It was just such a man who, in return for intimate companionship, staked her to her first major league poker game. That was maybe ten years ago, but even in early middle age, she was eye candy. She had a trim figure and an oval face framed by long, formerly dark, brown hair. If there was any flaw in her package, at least in my view, it was the unoriginality of a woman with tip over bazookas having brassy blond hair. The fact that she wore black framed glasses toned it down some, but not enough for men who liked a reserved looking woman. Still, anyone thinking Francesca was an uncaring mother would be wrong. She was teaching self-reliance to her young son, same as her parents taught her. In that effort, although she didn't know it, she was getting help from her boyfriend Joey Sanitation. Joey was in private sanitation, that is, he collected business refuse while the city collected residential garbage. The industry was heavily regulated in New York to rid it of the mobsters who once dominated the field and who, through front men, still do. Joey was too advanced in his legitimate career to break the law the way street thugs do, but not too old to tell stories of his own, earlier days, when a street thug was exactly what he was. Tales of crimes and tales of survival in prison, make for interesting listening even if you are not an impressionable 14-year-old. (If incarcerated, find a guard to bribe. There will be one. From special meals to skipping out on your work detail, they make life easier.) Joey was someone Tony could look up to, a substitute for the father who left too long ago to be remembered. With Joey Sanitation as inspiration, Tony lived his life the way any 14-year-old on his own would. He did whatever seemed like a good idea at the time.

First time Tony was arrested for shoplifting, his first time out, a security guard reached into a jacket pocket and found items not paid for inside. When asked how they got there, he had a simple defense. "I borrowed the coat," he said. And he's the kind who needs someone to blame, and so when he got arrested for not paying at the Crib he blamed his waiter for believing he had money to pay for dinner at a place as expensive as that place is. The thing is, when he wants to, Tony can make a decent enough living dumpster-diving for information to sell to identity thieves. But making money, having it on you, and spending it are three different things. No talent or special skill is required to buy things with money. A child can do it. The thrill for Tony, the excitement, is in getting over, in getting something for nothing. If you don't understand that, you're either too square to explain it to, or not being honest with yourself. Still, some might argue, given that Tony did order and eat, no gun to his head, his waiter could reasonably assume he would pay when the time came. The way Tony sees it, that's a mistake. Not his mistake. It's a mistake in the way restaurants are run. Tony came to this insight by way of life experience, which taught him that placing trust in people almost never works out well. He thinks restaurants should be run like stores. There they make you pay before you get the merchandise. They do that for a reason. Clearly, it's not Tony's fault the Crib isn't run that way. And using that logic, that impeccable logic, Tony was certain at the conclusion of the Crib's case against him, he would be a free man. "It's not like he asked if I could pay, Your Honor. Is he not, thus, as guilty as I?" But the judge did not consider the guilty waiter theory much of an excuse, and he sentenced Tony to thirty days of dishwashing at the cafe. Alberto, as witness for the prosecution, hearing of Tony's defense, was deeply offended that a man of honor, such as he, would be accused of being a negligent waiter. But what could he do? He was not long in this world before he realized dishonest people abound. Tony fulfilled the obligations of his sentence with admirable diligence. For 30 days he arrived on time, kept to himself, scrubbed dishes for eight hours and then left. At the end of his sentence, Tony told himself he had enough money for a fine meal at the Crib, and he ordered one. He ordered lobster prepared in clam sauce. No wine to go with it. Coffee was fine. When he was through and unable to pay, Alberto was, once again, directed to call the police. When they came, Tony was arrested and once again blamed Alberto, witness for the prosecution. And once again Alberto was offended at Tony's attempt made to sully his good name, but what could he do? Waiters do not get to pick their customers. Alberto was satisfied that he lived his life doing unto others...

It was high noon when Tony was released from the Bronx House of Detention for Men. Like checkout in a hotel, his time inside was up, his probation sentence to be served. As the gate clanked closed behind him, after walking through the cement yard and past the barbed wire fencing, he looked up at the cloudless sky and then down the block where children, five or six in all, ran under water spraying from a capped fire hydrant. A time and temperature sign brought to the community by Third Avenue Bank read 89 degrees. A Mr. Refreshment ice cream truck was approaching, its bell ringing the same few sounds over and over, and all looked right with the world except that not ten feet away a purse snatcher was plying his trade on the oldest-looking, shortest (under four feet), whitest- haired, most wrinkled, bony fingered, four-eyed woman in oversized pink-lensed sunglasses Tony had ever seen. Her silver-tone cane fell to her right side as she struggled with her assailant to hold on to her purse, and what Tony guessed were the proceeds from a cashed Social Security check inside. Tony suspected she was fighting, as best she could, to hold on to her food and medicine money and that part of her rent not paid by the government. He and Tony were in the same line of work, but Tony had standards. Stealing from the elderly was permissible, but doing so violently was out of the question. That's just wrong, was the way Tony saw it. Problem was, Tony wasn't much of a fighter. So he walked on by, called 911 from a safe distance, and hung up satisfied he made the world a better place for being in it. Before he left, he heard a police siren in the distance. Tony hopped the turnstile and took the number 4 train to Times Square. In the city he walked past the places where the peep shows used to be before Times Square was ruined by becoming a family-friendly destination. He stopped to remember the girls he saw- on film for 25 cents a peep. Where are they now, he wondered. A short time later, after waking past some of Broadway's oldest and most famous theaters, he was at the Crib.

As required by his sentence, for 30 days Tony arrived at the Crib on time, kept to himself, scrubbed dishes for eight hours and then left for the day. When his sentence was up, Tony was very hungry and so he ordered lobster, stuffed with shrimp and scallops and accompanied by a fine Chardonnay. He had baked clams to start. He skipped the coffee. Being pleasantly looped, he saw no need for coffee to kill his buzz. But by now Tony had learned his lesson. Take care of others (at least those that can help, or hurt). This time Tony left a generous tip that he removed from a nearby table just as Alberto was delivering the cheesecake. He slipped it into Alberto's outstretched hand. In brotherhood with a fellow employee, of sorts, Alberto forgot to leave a check. Well, better late than never. Twenty-two years after beginning life, Tony learned something new. Who knows. Could be he'll learn all kinds of lessons. Like plan an escape route. Wear gloves. Bring your mom's DNA to the job. The friends of Anthony Ambrosio, the ones who call him Tony, hope, however unrealistically, that someday he will succeed, that he will be at the top of his game and that the FBI will consider him to be a most wanted man, his face on posters, a major player in the minor leagues of crime.

#FICTION on the WEB short stories

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yourbolderswedish · 7 years ago

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Of birthdays, bottles & birds

This is my favorite photo of The Weed. I love that it’s a little blurry, a little out of focus. Still, it shows a side of him few people see: His mischievous smile.

We celebrated The Weed’s birthday Saturday.

In no particular order, we …

> Enjoyed a nice breakfast of blueberry muffins and dark Spanish coffee. In truth, I had waffles, fruit and tea. Weed loves blueberry muffins and coffee.

> We played golf on a simulator at a nearby indoor range. The Weed and I tee’d off on the Castle Pines course, playing for about an hour. He did very well. I stunk up the joint. I was tired and hungry.

> We enjoyed a traditional German feast of pork schnitzel, bratwurst and spaetzle at a campy little restaurant near Denver.

> We stopped by a local brewery for a few tasty drinks.

> We settled onto the couch at home to watch Battlebots and …

> A bird flew into the house and started bouncing off the windows, driving the dogs nuts and forcing The Weed and me to think creatively about shooing it outside again.

Armed with a canoe paddle and a Swiffer Sweeper wand, we let the bird settle on a light fixture in our entryway and slowly approached it with paddle and Swiffer wand held high. The bird jumped from the light fixture and flew out the open front door. Thankfully. Turns out there was an owl perched on the house behind us. I think that’s what freaked out the little finch.

> Finally, The Weed broke into his present from me, a Johnnie Walker gift set, and toasted his birthday and the success of Operation Free the Finch.

It was a good day but a little strange, too.

I can’t put my finger on it, but something was off most of the day. Certainly, my golf game was terrible. My arms and upper back are weak and stupid after surgeries and not enough rehab. Physical therapy should help with this.

The usual easy-going nature of my relationship with The Weed was tense that day. I’m not sure why. When I think back on the day, the tension seemed to lift after we liberated the small bird from our house.

I had looked forward to Saturday. Birthdays aren’t what they used to be. Still, as long as I’m around, I want to celebrate them to the fullest extent. They are milestones that should be embraced and honored.

I planned a nice breakfast The Weed would enjoy. I spent time picking out tasty birthday pastries I knew he would never buy for himself. I cleaned up the house. For me, The Weed’s birthday is an opportunity to ‘pay back’ all the support, understanding and downright sacrifices he has made for me during my time with cancer.

On Saturday, I wanted him to relax, have some fun, and enjoy some tasty food/drinks.

That brings me back to the Johnnie Walker gift set. Taking a swig from the bottle of Johnnie Walker Blue was very emotional for The Weed. It made him cry and kiss me. That never happens.

For years, The Weed has carried around an old bottle of Ballantine’s scotch whisky that his grandfather drank. His grandfather died years ago and The Weed has taken drinks from this bottle to note special occasions or simply when he wants to reflect.

Unfortunately, what little remained of that scotch — dregs at the bottom — eventually evaporated.

We still have the bottle. The label is beautiful and it will always be meaningful to The Weed.

So, when he took a drink of the Johnnie Walker Blue, it reminded him of his grandfather’s whisky. I wish I could take credit for having known these two blends would taste similarly. I can’t. My palate is lost on most whisky and anything that doesn’t involve French fries.

I’m happy he enjoyed the gift. I think he enjoyed the day.

It’s difficult. Like I said earlier, I want to pay him back.

I want The Weed to know how genuinely grateful I am for all the times he left work to be at appointments with me or hang out in waiting rooms during surgeries.

I want him to know that sitting beside me during my first chemotherapy session in 2013 was one of the kindest things he could ever do for me.

I want him to understand that the countless grocery store runs for strange food and even stranger medications will never be forgotten.

I want him to realize that the woman he married more than 20 years ago is forever changed by cancer but having him stand by me, wonky breasts, scars and all is nearly heroic.

For people living with cancer, I think there has to be at least one Marvel Comics hero in their lives. Getting through surgeries, treatments by ourselves is terribly daunting. Doing it without a ‘ride or die’ seems downright unachievable.

The American Cancer Society has a great page dedicated to caregivers and those who help people living with cancer at https://www.cancer.org/treatment/caregivers/if-youre-about-to-become-a-cancer-caregiver.html.

‘On top of the normal day-to-day tasks, such as meals, cleaning, and driving or arranging transportation, as a caregiver, you’ll also become an important part of the cancer care team. This busy schedule could leave you with no time to take care of your own needs,’ the page says. ‘You also may feel the need to turn down job opportunities, work fewer hours, or even retire early to meet the demands of being a caregiver.’

The American Cancer Society offers several suggestions for how caregivers can take on these duties and maintain their own work or social requirements. The page also stresses that caregivers should take care of themselves.

‘There are three types of activities that you need to do for yourself’ … as the caregiver:

• Those that involve other people, such as having lunch with a friend.

• Those that give you a sense of accomplishment, like exercising or finishing a project.

• Those that make you feel good or relaxed, like watching a funny movie or taking a walk.

Make an effort to notice and talk about things you do as they happen during the day. Watch the news or take time to read the morning paper. Set aside time during the day, like during a meal, when you do not talk about illness.’

I have relied on The Weed so much during Breast Cancer 1.0 and Breast Cancer 2.0. He has been my rock. Always there. Always steady.

I am beyond fortunate.

Now, I’m heading to the kitchen to pick off one of his birthday pastries. I’m pretty sure he’ll understand.

As we celebrated The Weed’s birthday Saturday, a finch flew into the house and caused all sorts of ruckus. Fortunately, we were able to quietly and peacefully usher it out of the house and continue with saluting The Weed’s day.

#breastcancer breastcancerawareness birds bottles TwiceBitten TheWeed

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hawaiianhalfwolf · 7 years ago

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This Toasters on FIRREEEEEE | Noah & Cahill

~FLASHBACK~

So the night after the bonfire gets a little well heated in the Kalani household. 10/10 would not recommend possessed toasters, especially when there is a drunk @cahillkalani involved.

Walking down the the sidewalk of their street, with Cahill’s large house looming in front of him, Noah sighed and hitched his backpack up a little higher. It was 6 in the morning. Way way too early to be up on a saturday night after a party but….well he hadn’t slept pretty much the whole night, body tossing and turning eyes glancing toward the screen of his phone. He’d texted his uncle that he was just staying the night at Marco’s after their alternative bonfire party, the couch much nicer than a late night walk home. But he’d never got a response. Which was not settling right with Noah. Because the Kailani’s were the type where when someone texted you, you answered as quickly as possible. It was a rule. None of this text or call you back three days later crap. If someone needed you, you picked up the damn phone, because you never know when that could be the last time you talked to someone. Like possibly now. Listening to the crunch of gravel as he turned into the drive Noah kept his legs at bay the urge to run up the porch steps and into the house growing stronger with every move. And it was probably good that Noah was walking because there lay a large figure in front of the door, large boy half dangling off the porch and onto the wooden steps. “Cahill?” Noah started the panic immediately setting in as he realized that his uncle was passed out outside instead of inside with the dog.

Cahill didn't drink. At least, not to excess. A beer here and there was normal, but never too much. Last night, he'd had too much. Enough that he couldn't have given an accurate count if he tried. Mixed with the weed and the excitement of the bonfire, he'd lost all energy to get in the house as soon as he'd hit the porch. His phone was likely in his pocket, but his ability to articulate sentences had dropped below normal levels and when he couldn't get the door unlocked he'd given up on doing anything but dropping into one of the chairs sitting nearby and promptly pass out. At least, he thought he'd fallen asleep in the chair. At some point, he'd taken up space on the porch itself and was blinking his eyes open at the sound of Noah's voice. It was bright. Not terribly so, but enough that he was already wincing and closing his eyes again. "Why are you in my room?"

Breathing a sigh of sweet relief as his Uncle started to speak Noah crouched down, heart pounding. He was so so scared of what he might have found here. But he would never admit it to Cahill. Never. “I am not in your room, because you are not in your room” Noah commented roughly sloughing off his backpack as he dug out his keys to the house. Cahill stunk like a college frat party, the liquor and weed practically assaulting his nostrils. God this werewolf thing sucked sometimes. Especially now, when he was being assaulted by fucking smells and could hear Haukea whining from her kennel in the living room. Poor thing must have been at it all night, knowing her alpha was out on the porch and not inside cuddling with her. Trying to shove it all down though Noah threw a hand underneath his uncle, guiding him towards any semblance of sitting position. “Alright let’s get you upright and inside ok” He murmured hoping Cahill would offer some assistance. Because if he was going to have to carry the giant 6��5’ behemoth this was going to be a rough morning. For everyone

'You are not in your room.' Cahill’s eyes opened again, brow knitted together against the heat and in confusion. No wonder it was so bright. Was he outside still? That seemed to make sense. It only took a few seconds of consciousness for him to make a couple of realizations. The first being what happened last night and why he was still on the porch. Drunk or not, he hadn't apparently been intoxicated enough to black out. That was probably good. That level of incapacitation might've been bad. The second realization, about the time that Noah started to get an arm around him to lift him up to a sitting position, was that he felt like death. Using the slight momentum that Noah had given him, he was pushing himself further forward until he was in off the porch and in the yard, catching himself from face planting into the grass with one hand. That was the point when he lost whatever it was he had eaten the night before. Wiping his mouth, he grimaced. "Fuck."

When Noah dreamt of assistance, yea well watching his uncle practically face plant off the steps and into the grass of the front lawn was not exactly what he had in mind. But it was good to know Cahill was alive at least, in some sense of the word. Especially as he took this time to empty his stomach of it’s contents. “Yea fuck is right” Noah breathed with the new scent of vomit now burying itself in his nasal passages along with the liquor and weed. God Cahill better be thankful his nephew did not have a strong gag reflex. Or else Noah probably would have lost it himself. But he held it together years of practice with the smaller kids on the football team hardening him. “But you better get it all out now before we get in the house because I am not cleaning puke out of the carpets.” He stated calmly as he walked over towards cahill again, a hand rubbing small circles against the other’s back. Pulling the hair tie from his wrist (something of which he’d started doing when he was always hanging around sasha and just forgot to stop when she left) Noah brushed back his uncle’s wild hair hair and placed it in a loose pony tail, hoping this would help, you know with the whole puking thing.

Could this be worse? Sure. Cahill could've been hungover and not at home. His phone could be dead, Noah could be worrying that he was in a ditch somewhere, and he'd be stranded. But all that aside, this was pretty bad. Being hungover was a new experience. One he hadn't felt since he was in his far younger days. After a few seconds and a mental affirmation of where he was, he nodded slightly. The act of nodding hurt and he all but growled at the sensation. "I'm fine now." He glanced back at his nephew and frowned. "Where have you been?" He asked. Indignation was far from justifiable given his current situation, but the concern was there if nothing else. "You weren't home."

Glancing down at the behemoth as he started to come around a bit more Noah just rubbed gentle circles into his back. His uncle didn’t usually get this wasted, so there must be something amiss. Something he was probably not going to ask about and something that Cahill would never tell willingly. Because that was just their life, suppressing feelings, one emotion at a time. Sighing though as his uncle had the nerve to treat him like a child when he was the one passed out in the yard Noah “I was at Marco’s with the guys, which you would have known if you checked your phone like 18 hours ago.” He replied trying to keep the bite out of his own voice. Because it would do no good to point out the hypocrisy of whatever the hell this was now, while his uncle still sat on the front lawn.

Obviously, Cahill had very little room to critique anyone's decisions here. Not when he had just thrown up over the front lawn and spent his night sleeping on his porch. It was less anger, because he hardly expected anyone to be at the house all the time, and more worry. Somewhere in the back of his alcohol riddled brain, he knew that Noah was going to be out all night. It made sense. Made sense why no one answered the door when he pounded a few times. Tapping at his pockets, he was frowning again. "Fuck." Pulling out his phone, it wasn't surprising to see that it was dead. "Sorry. I knew that." Pushing himself up off the ground with some effort, he pointed towards the door and closed his eyes as much as he could while still being able to see in front of him. "Can you talk quieter, too?"

Looking over at the screen as the giant tried to turn his cellphone one on Noah sighed a little. Of course it was dead, which was why his uncle never returned his text. Typical. Pushing it to the side though Noah huffed at his next request. “No can do.” Noah replied following his uncle’s path upwards reflexes at the ready in case cahill needed him. “You know the rules, if you are dumb enough to be hungover in this house you are dumb enough to live with the consequences.” He continued with a smirk, karma being oh such a bitch for Cahill now that the shoe was on the other foot. Softening a little though at the look of his Uncle (he looked like literal hell in a handbasket) Noah reached out an arm for support “But yea lets get you inside with some water and some proper food ok.”

Cahill's response to Noah denial of his request was nothing short of a snarl, lip curling and disapproval clear on his face. It was discomfort more than anger that fueled it. It'd been years since he'd last been hungover and he didn't miss the feeling. Now that he was sobering, and the only remaining effects of the liquor was a pounding headache and a dry mouth, he hated it. Every second of it. Despite that, there was a part of him that almost wanted to crack open another bottle and down the contents. There was nearly a constant loop of last night in his head, up until the point that he stopped noticing his surroundings. He hated that too. He had more control than that. What if something else had happened? What if it'd been his fault because he'd let himself get so drunk he was useless? He managed to get himself back up the stairs of the porch without Noah's help, but he hesitated at the door and instead was moving to sit back in the porch chair. He sighed as he sat, hand running over his face. "I'll be fine." The tone was less than convincing. "How was your bonfire?"

Relishing the look on Cahill’s face when he realized his nephew was going to poke at least a few bits of fun at him, Noah bit back his laughter. Because yea that would be a little cruel. Stopping at the front door though Noah dug out his keys from his pocket, figuring he’d be helpful and at least open the door for his uncle. “You will drink water and force something down your throat before you pass out again so help me god Cahill” He barked looking around to find Cahill had sat down in a porch chair. Lord they were never getting into the house at this rate. “And my bonfire was good. Though I just walked a mile back home so I need like 12 cups of coffee stat” He said swinging the door wide open the sound of Haukea’s whining filling his ears.

He could sleep for a million years. Maybe that was an exaggeration, but as soon as he was sitting he was certain he didn't want to get back up. Cahill looked up at Noah and instantly regretted it. Looking up meant moving his eyes and moving his eyes meant the feeling of knives in the back of his head. Why did people drink? "Yeah, yeah." He practically whispered it. Even that sounded like a cannon in his head. Fuck. The cannon reminded him of the raffle, which reminded him of Dave. Had he killed the little thing already? Sitting up with a jolt, which sent a fierce pain through his skull, he looked around. The little bag sat on the end table, and the fact that Dave wasn't smashed on the yard was a relief. "Fuck." He managed to get back to his feet again, he was groaning and looking to Noah. Moving his eyes was the worst. "Coffee." Cahill parroted, scooping Dave's bag up, the small hedgehog inside. "Coffee's good."

Walking through the front door, Noah was surprised when Cahill picked up a small bag. “What is that?” He asked not even knowing if he really wanted to know. Because what the profoundly drunk pick up along their journey and why was always the biggest mystery of the morning. Moving over to Haukea’s kennel he unlocked it the grateful puppy exploding at him. Poor thing had been in there all night, but luckily for Noah she had not had an accident. “Did you miss me? Did you miss me?” Noah cooed feeling her practically vibrating with excitment “Alright let’s get you outside to go potty while I put on some coffee for Uncle Cahill.” Noah continued throwing open the door to the back porch for her and making his way over towards the kitchen, hoping that Cahill was following alright. “What roast did you want?” He called after the other man as he pulled out his beloved french press.

Moving still hurt, and even more so when he had to change the way he was looking. Cahill was amazed at how easily the pain in his head doubled by something as simple as a shift of his gaze. When he looked towards Noah, he was frowning a bit; more from the pain than the question. "It's Dave. Uh--that hedgehog that I won." Clearly not the full extent of the explanation, like why he had Dave in a bag and why that bag was pink and why he was carrying it around. But Noah hadn't asked for the answers to all those questions and Cahill wasn't feeling particularly giving when it came to volunteering his own information. He moved into the kitchen ahead of Noah, setting the small bag on the counter and unzipping it so Dave could peek out more if he felt inclined. As of late, the critter seemed perfectly content to stay where it was warm and safe. Running both hands over his face, Cahill made an attempt to scrub the memories of the night before from his mind and bring himself back to the present. "Whatever works."

Filling their electric kettle with water Noah went about preparing for coffee getting out all of the necessary things. Glancing over at Cahill though Noah could help the surprise on his face when he looked at the bag, now wriggling slightly “You won a hedgehog?” Noah asked mind instantly racing. Because who give away animals as raffle prizes? That like… soo not good. For the new owner or the animal. But he guessed it was good that Dave came home with Cahill, and to a loving home with a veterinary student. “Ok let me get some food going and then I can take a look at him, and then go get him some food.” Taking out bread Noah placed a few slices in the toaster without really thinking about it, mind now trying to remember what hedgehogs even ate.

Shaking his head, an action he immediately regretted for the shuddering pain it sent down his neck, Cahill shrugged. "Yeah. I don't know, I didn't realize they were giving away animals." His own sentiments matched Noah's. As much as he liked the idea of adding more pets to the house, he didn't like the idea of any sort of festival giving animals away. Unless it was a ten center goldfish or something like that. At least the two of them would make sure it was fed and taken care of. Which mostly meant that Noah would make sure it was healthy and Cahill would give it the rest of the love and affection that a man could give a hedgehog. Raking his fingers through his hair, he could feel some sand still caught in it. He'd need a shower soon. Coffee first. Sleep, probably. More water than he currently had him in. With a sigh, he was looking towards the back door where Haukea had pranced out. Coffee and toast. Both of those sounded good right now.

“Well that’s a little sketchy but luckily he’s got us now” Noah muttered as he went about fininshing up all the preparations. Letting the kettle and the toaster do it’s thing Noah doled out the grounds into the press and placed the coffee cups on the counter. A red sox one for him and paw shaped one for cahill, just the way it should be. Smiling slightly Noah grabbed another glass filling this one with water from the fridge before depositing it in front of his uncle. “All of that needs to be gone before you go back to sleep. Now lets see the little fella” Noah looked at the bag expectantly knowing that it would be better to do this while Haukea was still occupied with her potty break.

Cahill nodded, moving the bag on the counter slightly closer to Noah without disrupting Dave too much. He'd probably have to work on his naming skills soon. With Dave and then Cat, people were going to start thinking he was uncreative. Which was true, but that didn't mean he had to flaunt it. As Noah exchanged a glass of water for the bag that Dave was comfortable nested in, Cahill was picking it up and downing nearly half of it in one go. He hadn't realized how thirsty he was until he started drinking. Then, just like that, he was dropping it, glass shattering when it hit the floor and water spilling everywhere. It'd been knee-jerk reaction. An instinct as soon as there was a burst of fire in the corner of his eye and without thinking he was shoving Noah as far away from the counter as he could. Fire. So much fucking fire. He was too hungover for this. Pulling the cord from the wall, his first instinct was to simply bat the toaster into the sink and turn on the water. Maybe not the best reaction, but clear thinking was far from obtainable.

The smell was what registered first for Noah, that live dangerous smell of well just burning materials that shouldn’t be burning as he stuck his hand out for the poor terrified creature in the small pet carrier bag. Next came the sound of glass breaking against something as Noah turned toward the commotion, but it was then the large body next to him shoved him out of the way as a mysterious wall of flames burst forth from the… damn demon toaster that he had started to use. Cursing himself for not being more aware of what he had been doing Noah scooped up Dave and threw his carrier (sorry Dave) onto the couch in the living room where he hoped the poor creature would be safe. Thinking in that split second Noah rushing in grabbing the washing hose to the sink. Flipping the sink on Noah took aim at anything and everything in the toasters general direction hoping this would help.

"Jesus Christ." The curse came out under his breath, and as soon as Noah had taken hold of the hose for the sink, Cahill was stepping back until there was the crunching of glass under his boots and his back found the wall opposite the sink. The flames were extinguished rather quickly, having nothing to keep them alight once they were dowsed under water. He was thankful he'd thought to rip the plug from the wall first or they might've had bigger issues to deal with. Running back hands over his face, he was leaning forward in attempt to catch his breath. Breathing. Keep breathing. God, what the hell was happening? He felt like there was a weight on his chest and his lungs were collapsing in on themselves. The pounding in his head only made it worse and he wasn't sure if he wanted to drop to the ground or go for a run but he had an uncontrollable level of... Of something. Something that made his heart race and his hands shake. When he finally breathed out a reply, he wasn't sure if he was saying it for his own benefit or Noah's. "I think I'm dying."

Of course it was at this crazy moment Haukea came back into the house barking her head off tail in the attack position “KEA NO BARK” Noah yelled hoping his dog had enough sense to stay away from the flames as he directed water toward them. But of course her loyalty to him won out, little muzzle gripping at his pant leg trying to get him to move. Keeping the spray on the fire Noah held his ground until it was out, enduring the pups pulling. Letting the adrenaline course through him for a moment Noah put the hose back in place before kneeling to pet Kea’s fur “Hey it’s ok, I’m ok, we are both ok” he murmured kissing the top of her head as she whined her little puppy whine at him. But that sense of relief was short lived as his uncle’s words floated in through his mind. “Shit” Noah muttered turning to look at Cahill, the other man’s chest starting to heave unevenly. He wasn’t quite sure what was up but it didn’t look good.

"Am I having a heart attack? I think this is a heart attack." Was he too young for that? Cahill was reminded, then, by a little voice in the back of his head that sounded an awful lot like Eliza's that even though he acted like a child, he was still forty goddamned years old. Not what he needed at the moment, but it was there nonetheless. "Shit." He took another few heaving breaths as he dropped his hands to his knees and let his head hang. "I'm gonna die right here. Forty years of stupid shit and I die in my kitchen with a hangover." It was a bit of fatalism, but he couldn't get himself to stop panting in how he was breathing and his hands felt shaky and uneasy. After a second, he was shaking them out, flexing and unflexing his fingers in hopes that it would help. It didn't. "Are you okay?" He asked, looking up at Noah as his brow furrowed. He hadn't been burned, had he? Again, the images of the night before flashed through his mind and his frown deepened.

Biting back a burned toast joke (definitely too soon) Noah came closer to Cahill crouching down to look at his uncle, hand on one of his wrist. Rapid breathing, rapid heart rate, fatalism and negativity, this wasn’t a heart attack this more like a panic attack. Something of which Noah was very very familiar with. Hearing Haukea whine next to him Noah grabbed her and place her in his uncle lap “I’m fine Cahill, but you good sir are most likely having a panic attack” He said gently looking at his uncle with a mixture of seriousness and love. “So give Kea a few good strokes to ground yourself, and then we’ll start some breathing exercises ok.” He nodded hoping that Cahill would allow Noah to take the lead this once.

If there was one thing that Cahill loved, aside from Noah, it was animals. Specifically, ones that actually liked to be loved. Not that he wasn't a fan of Mele, but she was a little bitch sometimes and rarely wanted to be petted. Haukea, on the other hand, was quick to happily accept the position on Cahill's lap and he was running a hand over the dog to calm her (himself?) down. Holy shit. His head was still pounding and the fact that his heart was beating out of his chest, in time with the thudding in his temples, did not help. "Fuck..." The word was breathed out and he was closing his eyes, head hanging forward and very nearly resting on Kea. "I think I'm going to throw up again."

Looking over at his uncle, Noah hoped it was going ok, and he hoped that giving him Haukea was the right thing to do. Some people liked space after all when they were having a panic attack, but he doubted that was Cahill’s MO. Coming over toward him Noah sat down and placed his back up against the counter making sure he was close but not too close. “Well if you need to, the floor is there” Noah replied gently pointing to the floor over there, praying to god that the big man didn’t somehow end up vomiting all over himself, or the dog. “But hopefully once we breathe together that will pass. Do you think you could breathe with me for a couple counts?” He asked glancing over towards his uncle.

As Noah moved closer, motioning towards the floor if he needed to throw up, Cahill was sliding his back down the wall until he hit the ground. Haukea seemed happy at the switch, as it allowed her the freedom to push up closer to him if she wanted. God, why was Noah still talking so loud? Sitting helped, plus the dog, plus the fact that the headache took away from most other sensations in his body, including the panic. "Yeah, yeah. But, aspirin. That. Lots." Full sentences would come later, for now it was good enough. He was shifting again as he said it, moving so that he was laying on the hardwood floor, arm coming up to drape over his face. Half to protect against the light and half to keep Haukea, now excited by the prospect of his face close enough to reach, from licking him too much. "I'm never drinking again."

“Yea. Thats what they all say” Noah chuckled slightly before settling up against the counter a little better “But anyway you can only have Asprin after you get your breathing back in order.” Noah replied watching his uncle sink even lower to the floor. And it was hard to watch from the other side now, Noah sitting still and quiet, when he remembered so vividly panic attacks that he used to have. But the most important thing he had learned from his years of therapy is while you feel like you feel like you might pass out, or you feel like you’d never be normal again, it was just that. A feeling. And even when it felt like you would feel this way forever, they eventually passed, the always did. So placing a hand on Cahill’s thigh Noah patted his uncle gently. “Alright let’s start with a 3 count. So In one, two, three” Noah started in a soothing voice, looking over to see if Cahill was following.

"Fuck." With his hands still running through Kea's fur, Cahill was matching Noah's breathing and letting his head lean back until it was rested against the wall. Closing his eyes, he managed a few good breaths and tried to bring his mind back to the present. After a pause, he glanced back towards the sink. No more flames from the toaster, which was good. He closed his eyes again, sighing. "There was a guy on fire at the bonfire."

“Out one two three” Noah murmured watching his uncle again. He couldn’t tell if the big man was actually calming down or not, but Noah figured he’d do a couple mores cycles just ot be sure. Especially after his uncle’s latest confession. “Shiiiiitttttttit” Noah breathed out in between it all trying to wrap his head around it. Maybe it was a good thing he hadn’t been at the big bonfire after all. “Did he make it?” He asked quietly trying to fit all the pieces together. Fire was a new one for them, but Noah knew from experience that it didn’t take much to send him back to that horrible day.

Shit. That was a fairly accurate way to portray the situation. He could think of a few other choice words, but those were kept in for the moment. "Yeah." Cahill simply agreed instead. It was shit. With a shrug, he groaned a bit and closed his eyes. There was too much happening in the last few minutes--last few hours, really--for him to be in the state he was in. "I don't know. He was talking still when the ambulance showed up." That was probably a good sign? He wasn't sure. He'd have to check in with Eliza later to see how he was later or if she knew anything; if he wasn't mistaken, she was working the night before. "I drank a lot after that. Too much after that."

“Well that is a good sign” Noah murmured reaching over to stroke Kea’s back a little. Nodding and feeling very very familiar with the whole ‘i drank too much after a traumatic event sentiment Noah patted his uncle again, unable to keep his need to be affectionate at bay. “Understandable, though-” He paused trying to figure out how to say what he was going to say next “Are you like ok or?” Noah shrugged out hoping his uncle would read between the lines. Because he knew from experience it was hard to ask for help after a triggering event, and harder even to admit that you might need it to keep from going back to that dark place.

Cahill wanted to sleep for the next forty-eight hours, and then some. As soon as Noah was patting his back and silence fell between them, he felt the awkwardness of sitting on the floor of their kitchen. He'd been the one that had just about lost his mind for a minute, there was a smoldering toaster in their sink, and his head felt like an entire drumline was beating against his temple. As soon as Noah was asking him if he was okay, he was waving it off. "I'm fine. My head, though." As he said it, he was giving Kea room to get off his lap and pushing himself up. "I'm going to go sleep this off. Next time I want to drink this much, kill me before I do." As he said it, he grabbed a glass to get water and headed down the hall to sleep in his actual bed.

Looking at his uncle Noah felt that it was more of a dismissal of the subject than a disinterest in talking but he didn’t have the heart to push any further. Cahill had never been the talk your problems out kind of person, so why would he ever start now? “Ok, well I’m going to clean this up, throw out the toaster and then probably sleep a little too” Noah answered with a nod looking out over their mess of a kitchen. “So sweet dreams” he called out to his Uncle watching with a bit more concern as the man padded down the hall. But luckily for the both of them he made it without a problem, which was a relief to say the least.

#touchofpotw #touchofchatzy #chatzy #c: this toasters on fire #cahillkalani #haukea kalani #//this is so late #but we lead bussy livesss #I'm sorrryyyy #potw: spring festival #potw: valentines mayday

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drtanstravels · 5 years ago

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We left off in my previous post having spent a few days hanging out in the beachside city of Ensenada in Baja California, Mexico before crossing back over the border into the US. The original title for this post was going to be A Tale Of Two Californias, Pt. 2; San Diego, California, because we spent essentially all of our time except for a couple of hours on this leg of the trip in San Diego, however, I realised that I didn’t capture any decent photos while there and the reason will become more evident as you read.

The purpose for our stay in San Diego was because Anna had been inducted into the Macula Society last year and this year we would be attending their 43rd Annual Meeting that would also be hosting a welcome dinner for all new Macula Society members. This was a pretty big deal because, not only is Anna now possibly the youngest member of the society, but she was also one of only three women inducted this time around. Besides the dinner, she would also be presenting at the conference, as well as chairing some events. Let’s now focus on the American leg of this trip.

Tuesday, February 18, 2020 I ended our last post when we were finally able to cross the border back into the US. When we came out on the other side we were a little confused; we were pretty sure that we were in the correct place, but all of the shops and signs were in Spanish and there were hispanic people everywhere. Had we made some kind of mistake, taken a wrong path, and were still in Tijuana? It sure seemed that way, but we hadn’t veered off the common path while crossing and if so, the signs definitely need to be clearer, because we certainly didn’t want to be subjected to that whole immigration process again! We walked around and eventually saw a sign that said “To Mexico” so we were definitely on the US side of the border, it just happened to be almost entirely hispanic as well. We got into an extremely unroadworthy taxi and went to the San Diego International Airport in order to pick up our rental car, a white Hyundai sedan. While Anna was inside the office signing all of the paperwork, it became apparent to me in the fading daylight that the car had a lot of bumps, scuffs, and scratches all over it. I took photos of them all, which Anna showed to the Avis representative, however, he told us not to worry, “You’ve got full coverage.” As soon as we got in the car, another thing became immediately apparent; the inside of this thing absolutely stunk of weed! It honestly smelled like the person who had just returned the car only rented it so they could spend a couple of days hotboxing.

En route to the resort at which we were staying was a giant factory outlet centre so naturally we stopped in there. There were outlets for pretty much every fashion label and store you could think of, this place was enormous, so Anna looked at the clothing outlets and I checked out the shoes and sporting goods ones, but it was almost impossible to find any sneakers that weren’t absolutely hideous. Denim Air Jordan 6s simply shouldn’t exist, but it was only awful stuff like that that I was able to find. As we slowly made our way through this sprawling mass of outlet stores, they began to get cheaper and cheaper until we found ourselves at a store we would see several more times over the coming days — Ross, a clothing outlet with the slogan, “Dress for Less.” I don’t recall seeing these stores when we lived in New York City, maybe they’re just predominantly in California, but apparently Ross is the largest off-price retailer in the US. When I was in my very early twenties, I for a time worked unloading trucks and stacking shelves in a similar store in Melbourne called Myer Goodbuy Clearance Centre, an outlet for excess, end of season, and just generally unsellable stock for the Myer department store chain. That place was just like being in a regular department store and you could get really good stuff at a great price. This particular Ross store was on a whole different level completely! It was kind of laid out like a thrift store with just random clothing items crammed onto racks, except in Ross the items were new and people were just ripping pieces off the racks, looking at them, throwing them on the ground, and then grabbing another. It was like the Wild West in there, people in cowboy hats fighting, but instead of over poker games or cattle rustling, they were fighting over extremely discounted clothes. Definitely a site to behold.

When the factory outlet centre was coming close to closing time, we got back into the weed-infused car and drove in the general direction of San Diego until we came to Rancho Bernardo, a kind of upperclass gated community where our resort, the Rancho Bernardo Inn, was located. Rancho Bernardo Inn is an enormous, Spanish-style resort set on a golf course, but it is also still at least a 30-40 minute Uber ride out of the main parts of town so we were going to be spending a lot of time there. When we arrived, a valet took our car to park it, giving a smile and a nod as the scent wafted out, and we checked into the inn. It was a bit of a maze to find our room, but when we eventually did it was big and seemed like a comfortable way to spend the coming days. The TV was already on when we entered, the home screen and movie options both inexplicably presented by Mario Lopez of Saved by the Bell fame. They must also get a few people stay there who become a little tired of the isolation of the place, because there was also completely free porn access in each room. Here’s a look around ours:

Entering our room once we had found it.

Those wooden doors opened out onto a large balcony, the view from which is the feature image for this post

Looking toward the entrance

Mario doing his thing

I hope that doesn’t mean all the movies star Mario Lopez

Just some of the other entertainment options available

Once we had dumped all of our suitcases in our room we went down to one of the hotel’s restaurants for dinner and then to the hotel bar for a couple of drinks while watching college basketball and playing shuffleboard again like we did in Vancouver. We still don’t know the actual rules to shuffleboard, despite them being posted on the wall in the bar, they just seem too complicated, plus the table had a slightly different layout this time so we continued to do it our way until the bar closed at midnight.

Wednesday, February 19, 2020 Anna registered for the conference, met up with our friend from Spain, Rosa Dolz-Marco, who was also attending, and then I went down to have a coffee with them at the hotel cafe. Rosa had to leave so Anna and I walked around with our drinks, just exploring this vast resort, one so large that staff used golf carts to get around the grounds, and that’s not even including the golf course itself. I was wearing a Brant Bjork t-shirt and I’ve found that a lot of Americans aren’t particularly shy about giving you their opinions or asking questions so I wasn’t all that surprised when a grey-haired man with a handlebar moustache stopped the golf cart he was driving , turned to me and yelled, “Who the hell is Brant Bjork?” I told him he was a musician and the man then explained that Bjork was his own surname before driving off again. Anna soon had to be at the conference and I always love checking out record and thrift stores so my plan for the day was to head into the the Gaslamp District of San Diego, as well as some other nearby neighbourhoods:

The Gaslamp Quarter is a district of San Diego, California. It is a 16½ block historical neighborhood in Downtown San Diego, and is the site of several entertainment and night life venues, as well as scheduled events and festivals, including Mardi Gras in the Gaslamp, Street Scene Music Festival, Taste of Gaslamp and ShamROCK, a St. Patrick’s Day event. Petco Park, home of the San Diego Padres is located one block away in downtown San Diego’s East Village.

The Gaslamp Quarter extends from Broadway to Harbor Drive, and from 4th to 6th Avenue, covering 16½ blocks. It includes 94 historic buildings, most of which were constructed in the Victorian Era, and are still in use with active tenants including restaurants, shops and nightclubs.

“Gaslamp District” is the more commonly used name of the neighborhood by local San Diegans, while “Gaslamp Quarter”, despite being on the entryway arch and all official city signage and banners, is rarely used by locals. The use of “Gaslamp District” is so pervasive by locals that it has become a shibboleth to determine who is a local San Diegan and who is a tourist.

I called an Uber to go into town and as I made my way through the lobby of the resort and approached the pick up area, who else was there on arrival but the man with the handlebar moustache, this time waiting with a fellow employee. “Hey!” he shouted. “Show this guy your shirt!” I humoured him by showing them both my Brant Bjork shirt again, adorned with a giant, red marijuana leaf, and they both laughed, shook their heads, and walked away. My Uber arrived and for a fee of US$35.00 plus more than half an hour of my time I was finally in town and it wasn’t really what I expected. The Gaslamp District had what looked like some cool places to eat and drink, but not a whole lot of shops I wanted to look at. Of course, going out in the evening would mean adding close to US$100.00 to our night out once you include after-hours fees to a ride in a taxi or Uber back to where we were staying, plus we don’t know how dodgy the Gaslamp District is after hours. The shops I wanted to see were deep in the East Village, and my guess is that none of the characters in Anchorman: The Legend of Ron Burgundy (above, right), ever once set foot into the East Village of San Diego:

In the latter part of the 20th century the East Village became known for its vacant buildings, dive-bars, and eclectic dwellings of artists. Prostitutes, drug addicts, and homeless people were common. Beginning with redevelopment, and particularly after the opening of Petco Park in 2004, the area became known for upscale restaurants and trendy shops, although it is still rife with homeless.

I first visited the record store I had intended to and then there were a couple of thrift stores a 20-minute walk away. I figured after paying that much to get here I might as well check out what I’d come to see so I kept walking deeper and deeper into the Village. Sure, the area had become a bit gentrified, as tends to happen often with the shittier areas of cities, but the homelessness was still rife, countless transients everywhere pushing all of their possessions around in old shopping carts. At one stage I thought an African-American guy was walking toward me, resplendent in his tattered rags and a trolley full of trash, but it turned out to be a white guy who was so dirty and grimy that his skin and hair gave him the appearance of being from a completely different race. I had several guys mutter what drugs they could sell me as they walked past and before long I was at the thrift stores. These stores were large, but not quite what I was expecting — There wasn’t a whole lot of goods for people like me that love stumbling across vintage crap, but instead catering to what appeared to be their main demographic, the countless vagrants in the area that were just trying to stay warm at night on the street. The other option for the classier of the homeless community was another nearby Ross outlet a block away.

It was now late afternoon and I had returned to the Gaslamp District and was just exploring the area, browsing in some of the shops and looking at possible options for if we did choose to spend a night out in the city, when Anna messaged me to tell me about the dinner plans back at the resort. I jumped in a cab so I could get back and have a shower and my driver turned out to be this fascinating Moroccan-born data analyst from Finnland who gets bored at work and drives for Uber to improve his already fluent English. We got stuck in traffic for a bit so our ride back to Rancho Bernardo took longer, but we had a really interesting chat on the way, a trip that cost over US$40.00. When I arrived home Anna was giving a talk so I freshened up and later went to dinner with Anna, Rosa, and their crew. The food was an American-international buffet, but the busiest station was true Americana, a build-your-own burger bar. After dinner it was back to the bar for a couple of drinks with Rosa and company. Take a look around Rancho Bernardo Inn, some stuff I found in town, and Anna having dinner with some international colleagues:

We were staying upstairs in that building

Now going back to the lobby

Still going…

…and going…

…getting warmer

This place is enormous!

Looking back at the entrance

Probably the most American canine-based publication I’ve encountered

Mario Lopez is huge in this town

Now having dinner with some of Anna’s international fellows

Thursday, February 20, 2020 Anna didn’t have anything on in the afternoon so we decided to check out some shopping malls, however, they were still about 30km (18.5 miles) away. The valet brought over our dope-odoriferous car, smiled as he handed us the keys, and it was time to hit the road. We soon came to another outlet mall and although she wanted to do some shopping, there is another thing that Anna surprisingly has a soft spot for whenever she’s in the US, one that I would never have expected — In-n-Out Burger. Despite the fact that we had just had lunch, we pulled up a seat in the old-school burger joint from the Happy Days era, and had a burger each before going to the shops. We spent a bit of time looking around, but there wasn’t a whole lot there, although I did manage to pick up a nice tie to wear to the dinner the next night.

Anna was going to have work drinks with her colleagues so I showered and went down to the hotel bar, which was showing the NCAA basketball. I pulled up a seat at the bar next to an older gentleman and we both took in a great game between Oregon and Arizona State, fortunately for us with it on mute and some music playing, otherwise we would’ve got stuck listening to Bill Walton talking about composting or his time hanging out with the Grateful Dead, anything but the game. I got talking to the guy next to me, an ex-Marine who had lived briefly in Broome, Western Australia before retiring in Florida, and then recently moving to the Rancho Bernardo neighbourhood. He said he moved to San Diego because his main hobby is sailing, but ultimately regrets it due to the cost of living and how spread out the area is. In fact, he was drinking in the hotel bar because it was the only one even remotely near his house. The old guy left after the game was over and Anna joined me in the bar for more shuffleboard to finish off the night.

Friday, February 21, 2020 The big day was here, Anna’s welcome dinner for the Macula Society would be later that night, but first after she gave a presentation and chaired a panel I would join them at one of their lunches. Might as well just pull up a seat and grab a bite to eat while they all talk shop. One of the Irish doctors in attendance had just been for a swim in the ocean, because it was about 25°C (77°F) and she told me it pretty much never gets that hot back in Dublin. After lunch we had a look around Fashion Valley mall, although there wasn’t a whole lot for me to look at, however, Anna took advantage of the situation and stocked up on miniature bottles of hand sanitiser, something that has been a little tough to come across for hospital staff in Singapore since the coronavirus outbreak. She bought 40 bottles to be precise. I just picked up an awesome pair of Andre the Giant socks and before long we were headed back to Rancho Bernardo again.

They had a really good band playing at the dinner, everyone one was standing around having more drinks, and Anna and I were catching up with fellows of hers from around the world that we hadn’t seen in quite a while. Soon we were seated, speeches were being made while several people felt the need to passive-aggressively hit their champagne glasses repeatedly with a spoon at the slightest hint of noise, and then after the main course, the highlight of the night for us took place:

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Moments like this make me extremely proud, especially, as I mentioned at the beginning of this post, Anna was one of only three women inducted this year and is now possibly the youngest member of the Macular Society. It’s just a shame she didn’t get to keep that saxophone. The rest of the dinner was spent doing more mingling and catching up, interspersed with Anna being congratulated and being asked to be in photos. When the band wrapped up and the dinner came to a close, the older doctors and professors went back to their rooms, while some of the younger ones went down to the bar for more drinks and some drunken, novice attempts at shuffleboard with the uninitiated. The barman had seen Anna and myself every night since we had been at Rancho Bernardo Inn and asked what the occasion was when I went to the bar to get Anna a drink. I told him about Anna’s achievement and he soon returned to present her with a celebratory cupcake, the perfect way to cap off an awesome night. Anna with her fellows at the welcome dinner, as well as my new socks:

All of the new Macula Society members

The three newest female members

Had to take my opportunity for a picture while there was a chance

Anna’s celebratory cupcake

My new socks

Saturday, February 22, 2020 Our last day in California was upon us so we checked out of Rancho Bernardo Inn, got in our stinky car, and headed for Los Angeles, stopping off in Ladera Ranch to visit Anna’s uncle and auntie, Bob and Susan, the latter of whom is suffering from a degenerative neurological condition, so they were glad they had a chance to see us while the opportunity was still there.

(image source)

After the visit we were back in the general direction of Los Angeles. I mentioned the first time we came to LA how bad the traffic is, but what I didn’t mention is how difficult it is to navigate the closer you get to the city, a good example being this image to the left. That may appear confusing at first glance, but it is even more difficult in the dark using Google Maps and let’s not ignore the fact that there are many of these types of junctions. Sure, the traffic jams of endless SUVs make it relatively slow, but if you look closer you’ll notice in that image that in some areas there are four or more layers of traffic and in others you can be on a road following the same route directly above or below another road, making it impossible to figure out which path you are following on Google Maps. Add to this exits splitting into multiple exits, other exits barely metres after the previous exit, and if you miss the one you require, you may need to rapidly cross six lanes of traffic to counter your mistake by taking another exit, this time on the other side of the freeway. But there is no other option, the city is so sprawling with pretty much only taxis for public transport so you either have to drive or get driven.

We had given ourselves plenty of time to get to LAX so we had a couple of hours to spare before we needed to be there. We decided that we should get something to eat as the food in the airport lounge would probably be kind of ordinary, plus Anna knows that my favourite record store in the entire world, Amoeba Records, is on Sunset Blvd. in Hollywood so that’s where we’d be stopping, we just forgot how awful that part of town is. It’s strange how revered and lauded Hollywood is, Sunset Blvd. in particular in music and film, the place where dreams are realised, but that is only for a small few. In reality it appears to be where all hopes are dashed. Our plan was to park in the lot out the front of the Jack in the Box across the street from Amoeba, but there was the small issue of the two violently alcoholic bums that would be directly in front of a car full of our belongings, one of whom could barely stand and the other who was screaming and threatening to glass him with a half-empty wine bottle. I made the Grand Theft Auto: San Andreas comparison the first time we were in LA, but it is impressive how accurately they managed to encapsulate this city, the only main differences are that in reality the traffic is worse and the streets are dirtier, but why would you want blocked roads in a game that involves endless driving? Anyway, we contemplated the situation for a good couple of minutes, figured it wasn’t worth the risk, especially when there was a little tent city on the same block containing more people who would probably be more than willing to cash in on the items inside the multiple suitcases in our car. It turned out that there was a multi-storey parking lot with guards just around the corner so we dropped off the car and went to Amoeba. I won’t bore you with the details of me shopping, I could’ve spent all day there and picked up some great stuff, it was just fortunate that we hadn’t gone the day before, because Ozzy Osbourne had done an in-store signing there. Don’t get me wrong, I love Black Sabbath, but it would’ve made looking around a tad difficult, where as now I could embrace it. Time was soon running out so we went to a Japanese restaurant around the corner for some dinner, then it was back in the car and on our way to the the airport. Our last day in California:

Anna with her auntie

Me with her uncle

“Parking there might not be that bad…”

Although this guy threatened to cut a dude out the front

“Hollywood is like Picasso’s bathroom.” ― Candice Bergen

It was worth the traffic and lack of public safety just to visit this place again

Took this the day after Ozzy was there

After dinner we were in the car for the final time. Google Maps was trying to get us to go back on the freeway in a huge arcing loop of endless traffic that would most likely result in us taking multiple wrong exits in order to get to the airport, when there was also another more direct route through back streets that would take essentially the same amount of time. Obviously we opted for the second option and got to the airport completely hassle-free with time to spare. We dropped the Hyundai off at the Avis lot at LAX, hoping we didn’t smell like pot after a day of sitting in that thing, and then had to take a shuttle to get to our terminal, the driver supposed to tell us when we arrived. Only she didn’t, she drove straight past it without us knowing and about half an hour later we were back at the Avis lot. The driver told us she had forgotten that we were stopping there, but wouldn’t forget this time so after close to an hour on the shuttle we were finally ready to check in, leaving us in the usual mad rush that we always seem to end up in, despite initially arriving at the airport with plenty of time remaining. I hate airports at the best of the times, but the ones in the US are among the worst, all patrolled by security staff not smart enough to pass the police exam, but still with the cop mentality. When we had our boarding passes we went through security and the first point was the sniffer dog phase, despite the fact that we were leaving the country and would be arriving in one with some of the strictest drug laws in the world. One security guard at the back was telling the line not to stop, just forcing us to keep moving, yet the guard at the end near the dogs was telling everyone to stop moving forward and back up, causing a bit of a squishy situation in the middle of the queue. Then it was on to the metal detectors, where you have to remove boots, but not shoes. One man in the line who clearly didn’t understand English just saw people taking their boots off so he decided to do the same with his sneakers. “Sir! SIR!” the security guard shouted into the crowd angrily, but the man had no idea it was him being yelled at, he was just doing what almost everyone else was doing. The guard approached him and continued shouting, but the man had no idea what was going on, he just put his shoes in the tray, and went through the metal detector while the guard rolled his eyes and muttered something under his breath. After a quick stop in the lounge and changing into some cooler clothes, we were seated and on our way home.

This was an awesome trip, we absolutely loved Mexico and had a complete blast there and yes, we may have spent our time in a more tourist-friendly area, but when we returned, people in both the US and Singapore couldn’t believe we weren’t attacked or killed, but to be honest I felt a lot safer in Mexico than I have any time on Sunset Boulevard in Hollywood! It would’ve also been cool to see a bit more of San Diego and get some photos around the town, if we go again we’ll try to stay in the city, but it was all worth it to see Anna get welcomed into the Macula Society.

The second part of our recent trip, arriving in San Diego from a vacation in Mexico so Anna could be welcomed into the Macula Society, before trying to navigate freeways in Los Angeles. We left off in my previous post having spent a few days hanging out in the beachside city of Ensenada in Baja California, Mexico before crossing back over the border into the US.

#airports #homeless #Los Angeles #Macula Society #San Diego #traffic

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