Chapter 1 - Hemmingway

Chapter 1




"No offence but, you know..."

"Stop right there. Nothing good can come from what you’re going to say, so don't even bother finishing that sentence." I had to cut Timmy off, because he had a way of ruining my day when he started blurting out the obvious. I just wasn't in the mood to hear another reason why he thinks I'm weird, or if I were just more like him I would be more accepted. That was the way Timmy was, he didn't mean any harm; he just wanted me to fit in better with all the people at school so we could all hang out together.

I couldn't help myself. "Don't you feel like somethin’s wrong, like we're all missing..."

"You’re such a baby, get over it! There's nothing wrong and someday you'll realize that and look back at all the time you've wasted thinking about it. I mean, if there was something wrong, do you think you, the socially challenged speechless wonder, would be able to fix it?"

"Maybe, I mean...why not?"

"Why not? Cuz I think you were dropped on you head when you were born, that's why. Anyways, I don't have the energy to go through with this conversation. We have this conversation everyday, you realize that don't you?"

"Ya I do cuz I think it's important and you just don't give a shit, just like everyone else." I was getting mad and could feel the momentum building in our conversation, which usually meant that it would soon end with no real point proven.

"You’re such a weirdo, it's no wonder everyone talks behind your back."

"Timmy, do you talk behind my back?"

There was a long pause where we both stared at the ground.

"I gotta go, it's around dinner time and I'm starving." He stood up and took a couple steps, never making eye contact, before adding, "You think too much."

"You don't think enough."

"I'll see you tomorrow Flinch."

"Ya, I'll see ya tomorrow Timmy."

My name is Frank Lynch. Some people like to call me Flinch on the count that I’d jump if someone snuck up on me. Tim was my best friend, or even better put, my only friend. He was around 6 feet tall, not very thick, but he was a tough kid, and no one messed with him. I think that's why no one messes with me because they see us hanging out sometimes and wouldn't risk a fight with Tim by making fun of me. I couldn't for the life of me understand why he would hang around with me, when everyone would turn their backs. He wasn't exactly understanding, and he never agreed with me, so why would he keep coming back? What was he getting out of this odd relationship? Anyways, his parents were like all the parents in the village, actually like everyone in the village, like they have a grudge against life or something, but they were wealthy and that gave them power. Tim was also pretty popular with the girls; I guess you could say he had it all, but I can't.

I sat there for an hour or so afterwards just thinking about the way the people in this self involved little town function, and how wrong it feels. Everyone is so caught up with themselves that they can't take the time to think about anything else. Everyone has a chip the size of ... on their shoulders, and feels everything they say or do is right, and there is no questioning it. I question it. I question everything.

Our village itself has no name, and rarely do we have contact with the outside world. Once in a blue moon someone will show up, but they never stay long due to the constant hostility they faced. The village to the people was untainted and they wanted it to stay that way. No one was ever interested in ever leaving either, which I think is really odd. I think the world went forward and forgot about us, or we were too set in our ways to evolve along with it. Either way this is where I live. A town called nothing.

I was dreading going home, I didn't feel comfortable there. My father was just as bad as everyone else, especially after my mother passed away some years back. He stays up late sitting on the porch drinking and mumbling. It was hard to even make out what he was saying half the time, but you could catch a couple words here and there and piece it together, if you wanted too. It was mostly nonsense, but when he got really drunk sometimes he would yell out my mother's name and ask her to grab him another drink, and then get mad when she wouldn't do it. For how much he drank, and he drank a lot, he never had a hangover and he was never late for work.

As I walked up the path to my house I could see my father in his altered state, almost at the point of passing out. I tried getting into the house undetected and I almost made it too. I opened the door and heard a mumble. "Worthless kid, can't even do anything right." He was in worse condition than usual. I replied under my breath, "Well at least you’re thinking of me." I skipped dinner and went to bed.


***

"Hey Frank wake up your gonna be late!" My dad sounded like he was being rushed and there would be no time for small talk. It's probably better that way. Every conversation we had was about how I should be more focused or how I should be working when I'm not at school. I figure I'll only be a teenager once so this is the time to do the things I want, and working isn't one of them. My dad continued to rummage through the cupboards, banging the pots and pans, and cursing to himself.

"Are you gettin' up, or am I gonna have to go in there and get you up!" He sounded aggravated and I didn't want to test his patience. My dad didn't get mad that often; usually he was more zombie-like and just going through the motions.

"Ya I'm up. What time is it?" All I got in reply was the slamming of our front door. "Love you too dad."

As I got ready for school I wondered what could have caused this change in my father. Skip the shower; brush my teeth. Maybe he got to the point where he can't stand me anymore and he wants me out of the house. Skip breakfast; drink some juice. He sure made me feel like I was the root of the problem, but I wasn't doing anything different. Skip the book bag; grab the fishing rod.

"Screw this; I'm not going to school today. If he wants to have a reason to be mad at me I'll give him one." I slammed the door and walked down our path with an annoyed look on my face and a feeling that I was indestructible.

I figured I would be heading to Fisher's Creek for some morning fishing and a little relaxation. The town was just beginning to breathe, with the workers going to work and the kids going to school. I had to stay to the side roads to avoid being seen by someone I knew. Our village had a population of around 250 people and it seemed that they were all running the roads this morning.

"Aww shit there’s Ms. Crowley." I said under my breath as I stared at the ground hoping not to make eye contact. "Don't look, don't look, don't look." I peeked up and she was staring directly at me. "Busted."

Ms. Crowley was the owner of the general store and the biggest mouth of the village. I bet she is just itching to talk to my father. She hates kids and gives them the evil eye when they enter her store, because of course “all kids are thieves” and they can't be trusted. Anyways she's the watchful eye that stirs up the drama in the village. What would we do without that old hag? Perhaps be better off? Anyways, I was caught and should probably make the most of my day.

As I made my way to Fisher's Creek I felt at peace, after all it was a beautiful day and I was going fishing. I just pushed all my worries aside and enjoyed the walk through the forest, taking in all the benefits of living amongst nature. I've needed this for a while, a chance to get away from the bitter and hateful community in which I live. I was anxious to sit down and drop my line and let my worries fade away for the day. With everyone caught up in their daily routine I had my choice of fishing holes. Could it be any better?

Twenty minutes or so passed when I heard a squeaking noise that was getting louder. Someone was coming down the trail. I was in a panic and didn't know if I should act normal or hide. Being the paranoid kid I am, I hid. Covered by the hillside I elevated my line of sight to the ridge to see who would be traveling this way at such a time.

"Old man Hemmingway, with a wheelbarrow?" I muttered to myself.

I heard lots of stories about this guy, and all the kids made fun of him constantly. He had a medium build, salt and pepper hair, and I would guess around sixty years old. He never really talked to anyone and spent more time away with each passing month. He would go into town for supplies then take off for a couple days at a time, but I never actually seen him this far from town. The people would just say, "There goes Hemmingway, off to wherever he goes, to do whatever he does." It was just a natural occurrence, he would leave for a couple of days, the kids would vandalize his house, then he would return, clean the mess, stay for a night, then leave for a couple days. When I actually thought about that, it made me feel a sorry for him. Here's a guy who minds his own business and doesn't complain of the weekly trashing of his house and still is considered the village freak, and yet it doesn't seem to bother him one bit. I guess everyone deals with things their own way.

"Wheelbarrow?" A little odd, but what did I care this was my day off from thinking.

"This has got to be heaven." I thought to myself, "I got a hot sun, a cool breeze, and a couple hours to waste. Oh ya, and a father that is going to kill me when he finds out I skipped school. Definitely heaven."


***


When I arrived back to the village, the streets were busy with people making their way back home. I eyed through the crowd until I saw Timmy chatting with two girls. He stood up immediately and made his way over to me. The girls stood there for a moment and watched him walk away. You could tell they were really interested in him, which didn't surprise me.

"Hey Flinch, forget where the school is?"

"No, I just wasn't in the mood today. My dad's acting all weird and I needed some time alone, away from everything."

"Where did you go?"

"I went down to Fisher's Creek and did a little fishin’."

"Catch anything?"

"Ya, but nothing to write home about. I saw old man Hemmingway pushing a wheelbarrow down around that area."

"He's out of town? Time to pay his house a little visit."

"Doesn't that get old?" I instantly regretted telling him that little piece of information. "I wonder where he goes?"

"Who cares, as long as he keeps going there so we can decorate his house?" He said with a cocky grin on his face.

"Did any of the teachers ask why I wasn't there?"

"No. They don't give a shit. I would be more worried about your dad."

"Ya that's true, you might not see me at school tomorrow either."

"Why's that?" Tim replied.

"Cuz my dad just might kill me tonight."

I could see he wanted to catch up with the girls by the way he kept looking over his shoulder to see how far they made it, so I figured I'd give him a way out. "Well I better go home and face the music, talk to you later."

"uhh, ya later." He was really distracted and took off running to catch up to the girls.

I made my way home and when I passed the General Store I could see Ms. Crowley giving me a smile through the window. She was enjoying this a little too much if you ask me. “Nothing better to do than to…” My mumbling trailed off as my house came into sight. I was getting nervous about how my dad would react. It’s been a while since I’ve done something that he could punish me for. I closed my eyes, took a deep breath and made the plunge through the front gate.