DISCLAIMER: The following story is completely FICTIONAL is does not imply anything concerning the private life of the celebrities mentioned . I don't know them and I don't know anything about their lives. This story is only meant as fiction and does in no way describe real occurrences, situations or facts. All other persons mentioned in this story are fictional. Any resemblance to an existing person, company or business is totally coincidental.
Blue eyes crying in the rain
Chapter I : Chasing the sun
The train kept on rolling for what seemed forever. It had been almost a day since it had left Toronto station. From time to time the rhythmic swinging of the wagon would cause me to fall asleep, only to be awoken up a few minutes later by some unexpected sound. The only thing I could do, it seemed, was look at the landscape sliding by on the other side of the window.
The wagon I was sitting in was filled with only a handful of people. Some were asleep, some were reading something.most seemed bored out of their skull. The seat across me was taken by an old lady in a red coat, busy solving a crossword puzzle. Her hair was gray and her face was wrinkled. She seemed nice though. She must have noticed I was looking at her cause, in a silent voice, she began talking to me.
"Are you going on a holiday?" She asked.
It was easy to see why she would think that. It was the beginning of the summer-vacation and I was traveling alone, carrying nothing more than a backpack and my old six-string. I nodded my head in response to her question. I didn't want to go t the whole ordeal of explaining the real motives behind my journey. I don't think she would have understood either. So instead of getting into everything that had happened the last couple of days I just avoided the whole thing. And, in a way you could say this was a vacation I guess.
"Where are you going?" She asked. Her voice sounded like that of an old schoolteacher. Friendly, raspy and calm, but at the same time you can't help but think they're trying to hear you out to see what you're up to.
The question, innocent as it might have been posed another dilemma. Fact of the matter was that I had no clue what-so-ever where I was going. I knew my final destination, but I also knew I didn't have the money to travel all the way at once. In fact, We had passed the destination printed on my ticket a few hours ago. Now, I was just trying to get as far as I could without getting caught.
"Chicago" I answered.
"I'm going to Bloomington to visit my grandchildren." She said while she smiled a bit.
"That's nice." I replied. She seemed like a nice grandmother, I thought. My grandparents both died before I was born so I had no idea what it was like to have them. While I was thinking she had pulled some pictures out of her purse.
"This is William,.He's seven." She said while holding up a picture. The pride and love in her voice were obvious.
The picture showed a blonde boy in a baseball-outfit. He looked just like any other kid, I guess, but because I knew his name it seemed like he wasn't a stranger anymore.
"Cute little guy" I said.
"Isn't he?" She said, "He's a real baseball-fanatic. Even though he can hardly lift the bat." She giggled while she was talking. Obviously she was remembering something funny about her grandson.
I tried to remember whether I'd ever seen a similar picture of myself. I couldn't. There were no albums in our house, so I guess in my twenty years the only picture my parents had bothered to take of me was a sonogram-picture I'd found once in the kitchen drawer. Come to think of it, they didn't even take that themselves.
The lady had returned to solving her puzzle. I quickly checked if my backpack was still where I had put it. Not that there was anything valuable in it, but it was all I had. A few spare clothes, a couple of maps, 3 DVD's, some old sandwiches, sketching-paper, some pencils.and I guess that was about it. That and my guitar, that was all. But it was all I needed. I hoped!
As he train rolled on I just looked outside, keeping one eye on the door in case the conductor would show up. Outside the sun was setting and the sky began to darken rapidly. It seemed it would be a while past nightfall before we would reach Chicago. Not exactly what I had hoped for. I began to wonder what I was going to do when I had to leave the train. It seemed, by the way things had turned out, Chicago would be my stop today. If I didn't get off the lady would certainly become suspicious, and it was very likely the conductor would show up again after Chicago.
I tried to recollect how much money was in my wallet. There was no way it would be enough to pay for a hotel to spend the night. Even if there would have been, it didn't seem like a good idea to spend that amount of money this early on in my journey. I knew I was going to need every penny I could lay my hands on. There were only two options as far as I could see: Either trying to find some friendly folks who could offer me a floor or a couch for the night, or spend the night on the street. I don't think it would come as a surprise if I told you the latter didn't appeal to me very much.
I tried to figure out how I was going to approach people and ask them for a place to spend the night. It seemed to me I would have the greatest chance of success if I asked people of my own age, students and such. Nevertheless I needed to make sure my story would be convincing enough. There was no way anyone was going to help me if they knew the real reason I was out, alone in the middle of the night. After I had thought about it a while I decided I was going to present myself as a student who was backpacking through the country. For some reason it seems people always have more sympathy for adventurers like that. The thought of having to approach strangers and ask them for a place to stay worried me quite a bit. I've always been uncomfortable talking to strangers, but it was either that or spending the night on the streets. No real choice, was there?
"James, what am I doing" I thought. It had taken only one day for me to realize some of the difficulties I would come across. I had planned this the best I could and I knew it wouldn't be easy.but with my limited resources I felt I had prepared the best I could.
As the train drove into the night I started wondering if my folks would have noticed I was gone by now. Mother would have just woken up by now,.if she had bothered, and her boyfriend would be coming home from work just about now.Since I had stayed away all night before, without explanation, they probably wouldn't even realize I was missing until morning. For some reason the idea made me feel relieved. I didn't think for a second they would ever come looking for me, and even if they would there was little chance they would find me. But it seemed it took more than a day-long train-ride, crossing one national border and one state-border.to escape my stepdad's mental presence. But that didn't bother me, cause as the hours passed I was moving farther and farther away from him.
I remembered the first time I met him. Mom brought him to the house one day when I was only eight. He seemed nice than, .just a normal guy,.He had even brought me a football. I remembered we actually used to play with it a couple of times, but the memory was too far gone for me to determine whether that had really happened or if it was just wishful thinking on my part. It was also the only time I could remember seeing my mother smiling. She used to have a beautiful smile,.but in time it had faded to a pitiful spasm she produced whenever the situation demanded a smile. Like when Brad, her boyfriend, would bring home a bag of potatoes he had nicked somewhere. For some reason he would act like he was a hunter who had brought home a bear, shot after an epical struggle between man and nature. What was even worse: he expected everyone to act as if it really was the big deal he wanted it to be. It made him feel like he was providing for his family.I guess. In a way he was, cause there were days those half-rotten potatoes were the closest thing to dinner I would get. One night they were so badly rotten, when my mother had cooked them all that came out of the pot was a black smelly mush. It tasted as awful as it looked but we ate it nevertheless. There was no way on earth Brad would have taken kindly to a refusal to eat his swag. I still get nauseous when I think of that night. I think it was the first time in my life I realized we weren't a normal family. I had never been over to the houses of my classmates so I figured there were beer-bottles lying around in every house; too me.every kitchen-sink was piled with dirty dishes that had been lying there for weeks. But as naive as I was back then I couldn't imagine Mike, who's daddy drove a Mercedes,.or Ada, who always smelt like lilies - my first acquaintance with the concept of perfume - .would be served rotten potatoes for dinner. I was too scared to say anything,.but till this day I don't know whether my sickness that night was caused by the potatoes or by the realization we were poor.
The only good thing Brad ever brought into our house was the guitar I was carrying right now. One night, while I was watching TV, he came bursting in through the front door, his usual drunken self. He came into the living room carrying a guitar. From his drunken mumblings I could decipher he had won it at a game of cards, and wasn't too happy about it. He had probably been hoping for more booze-money. The way he was behaving was all the warning I needed too head upstairs. He was bad enough when he was sober.When he got drunk he lost all sense of reality and anything could tick him of. When I came down the next morning I saw the guitar laying against the garbage cans outside. I smuggled it to my room where I kept it hidden most of the time. I only played it when he was out.and after a few years, I think I can say, got pretty good at it. I've seldom been as proud as that afternoon when I first played `Folsom prison blues' without a flaw. Even though I would come to regret it's weight on my shoulders many times I couldn't leave the only thing that kept me sane for all those years behind. Besides I was counting on my playing skills to earn myself a few bucks along the way.
By the time the train halted in Chicago the night had fallen and the moon stood high in the cloudless sky. I gathered my belongings together. I had traveled half the day without a valid ticket, so I felt I had pushed my luck enough for one day. As I Left the wagon I nodded to the lady as a manner of goodbye. Even though it was summer already, leaving the warm and damp train for the cool air of the night, sent a shiver down my spine. With the cold air freeze-drying the sweat on my face came the realization of the helpless situation I was in. As I walked to the main hall of the station I got a heavy feeling in my stomach. Talking to strangers was one thing when I was still on the warm train thinking about it, but now that I was actually there.my confidence faded as fast as the warmth of the day had when the evening fell. I tried to convince myself for a quick second that sleeping on the street wouldn't be that bad.but immediately dismissed the thought. Unless there really wasn't an alternative I wasn't about to sleep on a bench in some park. I tried to convince myself I could stand my own.and maybe I could, but there was no point in inviting danger to my front door.
The main hall of the station wasn't nearly as crowded as I had expected. Sure.,it was past midnight, but still.I had expected more people than this. I quickly scanned the hall. Most people I saw didn't fit the profile I had in my head by a long shot. Elderly couples, middle-aged men rushing by, .There was no way I was going to have any success with people like that. As I walked through the hall I kept my eye out for people who looked like they might help me. After a while I spotted two guys sitting on a bench. They looked like they were in their early twenties, which matched the imaginary profile I had deducted on the train. There were two sporting-bags on the floor in front of them. For some reason that made them seem more likely to help me out.
My heart was pounding in my throat as I approached them. I told them I was Back-packing through the country and was looking for a place to spend the night. There was a lot more mumbling and stuttering involved than one would think reading this, but I got the message across. Their response was friendly but not exactly helpful. They directed me to a hostel nearby. Since I didn't have a lot of money to spend that really wasn't an option for me. I thanked them and walked away. Even though they weren't able to help me out, their friendly response lifted my courage a bit. I walked to the other end of the hall, cause the thought of approaching other people where those two guys could see,.made me a bit nervous. For some reason it seemed a bit disrespectful to sort of rub it in their faces they hadn't been as helpful as they thought they had been. I talked to some other people. they were all quite nice, which was a relief, but no-one seemed to be able to help me. I sat down, just about to give up when I saw Marc entering the hall.
There was something about him that immediately made him stand out of the crowd. He walked with an air of confidence as if he was on top of the world and nothing could touch him. He was wearing a long dark coat and was carrying a small backpack over one shoulder. He had short dark hair that contrasted a bit with his skin which had a light tan. As I observed him he walked to a phone-boot. I took the opportunity to approach him unnoticed. It seemed to me it would be a bit weird if he saw me crossing the entire hall to talk to him. Somehow I thought it didn't ad to my chances if I looked as desperate as I was. I hung around the phone-boot he was using, pretending to look at a rack of brochures standing against the wall. When he hung up the phone and walked in my direction I took my chance. I walked up to him, which seemed to surprise him a bit, and introduced myself. I told him the same story I'd been telling everybody the last hour or so. The practice I'd had on my previous victims seemed to pay of, since I was able to say what I wanted to say without stumbling over my own words. After I had asked him if he could offer me a floor to sleep on he took a moment to think about what I had asked him, but, to my surprise, responded with "Sure, you can stay at my place for the night. It's not too big though. I hope that's not a problem?"
Thinking back it still makes me laugh when I realize how funny that last question was. Like I was going to turn this offer down because his place wasn't `big enough'. I was overjoyed knowing I wouldn't have to spend the night out in the streets. I tried to tone down my enthusiasm in front of him cause I didn't want him to think I was some sort of nut-job. Meanwhile he introduced himself, we shook hand.after which he took me to his car, parked just outside of the station. As we drove off the first day of the rest of my life came to an unexpected conclusion. I wondered what the first night would bring.so far I was not complaining.
---------------------------------------------------------- Well that's it for chapter 1. Please let me know what you think beer4myhorses@hotmail.com