Chapter One: The Scars of Misadventure

THE SCARS OF MISADVENTURE
Chapter One
(part one)

         Mark lived in a 4 bedroom house on west Butler avenue, Phoenix, Arizona. Four walls, a mattress, a bathroom and two computers made up his master bedroom. He lie sweating on the mattress wearing an old pair of shorts and a dingy white t shirt. The mattress had no box spring and was laid directly onto the brown carpet. An oscillating fan swung back and forth and with it the cigarette smoke tinted air. He spent most of his time in this room despite the social hub that was the living room and kitchen. Venturing out for snacks and drinks was the bulk of his explorations into household drama. He owned the house outright. It was a large step up from his studio apartments he had had most of his young life. The house was left to him by his Grandfather.

         The clock displayed 10:20. It was morning and the light shone in at an odd angle from the Arcadia door. Mark had been up all night and now was trying to get some sleep. It was all in vain. Tim, one of his four house mates, was strumming a bass guitar in his room. Mark had hoped that by playing some of his own music he wouldn't hear the bass anymore, but he could still make out the booming of the bass guitar.

         Lying there with a mild stomachache he thought about his current situation. He was 33 years old with male pattern baldness and was slightly overweight. He stood five foot nine in shoes and with his back straight. About the only good thing he could say about himself was that he was a homeowner now. He worked nights for MindLink, an Internet Service Provider. Answering phones all night and solving problems for their customers, Mark was beginning to think he knew everything.

         God I wish Tim would lay off the bass guitar for a while.

         So he lay there nursing his stomachache and trying to ignore the bass guitar and he knew it was pointless. Pointless to try and sleep in the middle of a manic episode. He had taken his medication which included: 3 large mood stabilizing pills, thyroid medication, an anti-psychotic medication, a sleeping pill, and for additional help sleeping 1 milligram of clonazepam. Mark kept his medication hidden in his computer desk's drawer. The thing he didn't realize was that it wasn't necessary to hide the medication from his house mates. Everyone already knew he was ill.

         In the hallway Mark could hear Alejandro, one of his other house mates telling Tim it was too early in the morning to be playing guitar. There were pauses in between things he said and Mark knew that was Tim talking too quietly for him too hear. Alejandro worked weird hours at the hospital and was probably going to bed now himself. The music stopped playing and now Mark thought he could really get some sleep finally. 9

         Now if I could just get rid of this stomachache.

         He thought of the sight of himself lying there on that bed from a third person point of view. It sickened him to see himself like that. All coiled up in a ball on a mattress with no sheets. So he got up and instantly felt better. He looked at himself in the mirror and felt that what he really needed was a shower and a shave. He was lucky to have a bathroom all to himself. The other three house mates had to share the one in the hallway. The bathroom was kept spic and span. He detested a messy bathroom. Something he learned from his mother. He undressed and stepped into the shower and let the flowing water rock his senses. The warm water pouring down his body cleaned away the sweat. He shaved in the shower because that was the only way he could seem to get it done properly. Finishing up, he got out and grabbed a clean blue towel off the rack and slammed his face into it. He instantly felt better about himself.

         Once dried and dressed he left his room in search of antacid. Somebody had to have some.

         He followed the music to Tim's room and popped his head in.

         “Hey, Tim.”

         “Sorry. Is the music bothering you? I turned it down for Alejandro.”

         “It was loud earlier but much better now. By the way, bro, you got any antacid?”

         “Negative.” Tim said returning his attention back to his white bass guitar.

         He decided to pursue his quest for antacid in the hallway bathroom. Surely they wouldn't mind if he just grabbed one from them. The bathroom was small. It had a full bath and shower. On the counter there were three leather shaving kits all zipped up. The sink had water stains and was otherwise clean save for the bit of toothpaste on the side. The cabinet did indeed have antacid as he had hoped. He crunched two down and headed out into the hallway. The antacid tasted of fake lemon. Some of it stayed behind lodged in the pit of one tooth.

         Mark nearly collided with Jake as he entered the kitchen. Jake's shoe squeaked on the tiled kitchen floor. Jake had just entered the kitchen from the side door of the house.

         “Mark, what's up bro?”

         “Heya Jake.”

         “Wait til you meet this one.”

         And as he said that in walked a blond girl, about 20 years old. She wore khaki pants, a black sweater and had her hair put back in a pony tail.

         “Mark, this is Stacy.” Mark nodded at her.

         “I'll be right back guys.” Jake said, going into his room. You could hear him bustling about in his room searching for something.

         “Hi Mark, so do you live here with Jake?” She asked.

         Of course I do.

         “Yea it's my house actually.”

         “Wow, you own your own house? That's such a dream for me I'm still living in an apartment.”

         “Well it wasn't too long ago I was in one too.”

         They allowed some time to pass, an awkward silence, before she finally spoke.

         “So do you have any new year's resolutions?” She asked.

         Mark lit up a smoke. “Actually I chose to quit smoking this year but as you can see it's not going so well.”

         “Oh well that's normal. I used to be a phone counselor for a quit smoking hot line. You sometimes have to quit a few times before it sticks.” Mark despised getting help from someone that looked to be in the very prime of their life with perfect health.

         Jake returned with a large leather CD case.

         “We're going on a road trip to see the Grand Canyon.” Jake said very proud of himself. He was very new to the state and wanted to see all that he could now that he was living here.

         “That's great,” Mark said.

         “Have you ever been there, I'm sorry what is your name?” She said.

         “Mark, and yours.” Mark played along.

         “Stacy, she said.”

         You look like a Stacy, he thought.

         “Yea I've been to the Grand Canyon. It was fun for about 10 minutes then I got bored. It's just a giant hole in the ground to me.”

         A frown fell upon Jake's face.

         “Well we got food and tunes we'll have a good trip. Ready to go?” He asked her.

         She agreed that she was in fact ready to go and they were out the door and Mark felt better.

         He went back to his room thinking about how dirty his lungs were compared to hers. It sickened him and he decided to look up information on lung cancer. He was in research mode. He googled the words Lung Cancer to start with. His first hit was lungcancer.org. There he came across advice for quitting smoking.

         After some time reading the horrors of chemotherapy he recalled that once he had heard about a technique where you can smoke and still quit. The way to do it was to break it up over several days. The first day you only smoked one cigarette per hour. Then on the second day you smoked one per two hours and so on. This continued until you were down to 1 left in one day and that would be his last cigarette. Mark liked that idea because he could gradually wean himself off of the nicotine. He decided to start now. It was not yet 11:00 am so he considered his current cigarette would be for the 10:00 cigarette. He felt better about his lungs already. Sure it was 8 days past the first of the year, but he felt that it was close enough and worth doing any time of the year.

         His thoughts shifted to his grandfather. Had he been a smoker? He couldn't recall. His grandfather, at the time of his passing, owned 11 rental houses. One of those 11 was left to Mark in his will. And although the house was in fact free and clear of any debt it was actually very expensive. Things constantly broke down including the air conditioner (a must have for a Phoenix home), a water heater, the garbage disposal, and had to buy a new microwave oven. He would have loved to live alone in this house but he needed the rent money from his friends to keep up the place. So since he had to have house mates he found himself lucky with the 3 he had. Last month it was the hot water heater. He soon found out what it was like to be a landlord with three angry house mates all wanting hot water for their morning shower.

         His memories of his grandfather were painted with children's crayons. He lacked the details of the man. The memories mainly consisted of fishing trips out on Lake Michigan.

         I wish I had a picture of us on that old boat. What I would give for that much.

         Mark was his only grandchild and spoiled him well. There were late night all you can eat ice cream forays. There were toys, lots of toys that Mark sensed his grandfather liked too. He made Mark feel the way a child ought to feel. Around his grandfather he could be himself. A nice escape from the world he normally lived in. He didn't see his grandfather much after the age of 10. He was sent to live with his father in Arizona at that time.

         Mark stopped his intense glare of the computer monitor and leaned way back on his chair. He suddenly felt the support fall out from beneath him. In that instant he was falling head backwards onto the floor. Mark quickly got back up and when he tried to bring the chair back to it's proper footing he could see that the back had broken off completely.

         He panicked.

         That chair was his livelihood. That was where he spent most of his time, sitting cross legged on that ragged old leather office chair. He was most comfortable there with his keyboard at the ready and his eyes fixed dead on with the screen. There he could escape into the world of the Internet and video games. Now that was temporarily on hold. He had to get a new chair.

         Mark stomped out of his room and went in search of a replacement chair. He didn't like the look of the kitchen chairs because they were a bit too tall for him and they lacked the required arm support. He opened the back door of the house and went onto the patio. There were 3 large patio chairs. Clearly not going to work. A stack of white, plastic, chairs with armrests caught his eye.

         He took one of the dirty white chairs back to his room and set it in front of the computer. He instinctively reached for a cigarette. Before he could light it he remembered his plan. He checked the time, the clock showed 10:59. Only one minute to go. Then he could get some rest.