I was nervous as I entered the dark room. The afternoon sunlight flooded
the room as I opened the door. I gazed through the smoke gently rolling through
the air. The light slowly faded as the door closed. I felt like an outsider crashing
a private party as people glanced up from their drinks and conversations with
irritation on their faces. I wondered why anyone would voluntary come here. I
caught the familiar wave from the back of the room and headed in that
direction.
The familiar stack of papers sat in the middle of the table as I sat down and ordered a drink. The waiter questioned the ordering of a coke with his eyes, like I was been accused of less than manly behavior. I shook off his gaze and turned to meet his eyes. I noticed his hand was tapping the pages while taking a long draw from the near stub of a cigarette.
"So, what do you think?" I skipped the normal small talk and jumped into why we - or I - were here.
"What did I think?" The nicotine stained hands pushed the butt into the black ashtray as smoke was released and then died. The blood shot eyes seemed to lock on me as the question hung in the air.
"Yes, please, tell me." At this point, his demeanor was less than appealing, so I didn't really want to know, but I had nothing else to say.
"Did this really happen?" He tapped the papers loudly while shooting another question at me. He leaned back and tapped the bottom of the cigarette pack to release another. Its end glowed red as he puffed on it.
"What? No, it is just a story." I felt a knot in my throat as I swallowed, I was suddenly very hot. I drank my soda while wondering what he knew or thought he knew.
"There is a little truth in everything." He flicked the cigarette with his thumb while holding it firmly between the index and middle fingers of his left hand and ashes fell to the floor. His eyes remained locked on me, like he was searching for something in me.
"Well, you never met my father." My laughter was a bit too loud as the crowd at a nearby table turned to observe my clearly out of place body. I met their gaze and wondered if they had ever opened a book, I wanted to laugh thinking they had all probably been booked. I returned to my drink and noticed a sheet of lined notebook paper to the right of the stack of papers. I wondered if it had been there the whole time.
"I'm sure you have many of his qualities, is he in here?" He smashed the second cigarette in the tray while picking something from the end of his tongue. He examined the end of his finger and flicked something to the floor while pulling the notebook sheet closer to him.
"No, he's been dead four, no five, years - heart attack." I feel silly while tapping my chest to let him know where the heart was located. My hand slowly fell to my lap as it seemed he was about to say something important - or something I needed to hear.
"No, I meant the book, he in here?"
"Oh, it was not intentional if he is, but he had a big influence on my life, so I'm sure he's in there some where." I felt like a guest on Oprah explaining the hard family life and how I had overcome the hardships.
"No doubt." He seemed to be contemplating another cigarette as the half empty pack rested in his hand. He repeatedly looked at the pack and at me.
"Fiction, that is the genre, so what do you think?" I knew he had more to say on the definition of fiction and how it applied to the pages, but I hoped he would keep it to himself.
"You say so."
"I do, so come on, what's that - you have some notes?" I leaned forward with elbows on the table and pointed at the sheet of notebook paper.
"Something like that." His decision had finally been made as another cigarette gently hung on his lower lip. Hit snapped to attention as the upper lip locked down and the lighter hovered below the end. Another red glow appeared and smoke slowly flowered from his mouth and nostrils.
"Well, let me have it." I hoped he knew I was referring to his comments and not physical activity.
"It is just a list of coincidences as you'd probably call them, but relations between your tale and some real things." His mouth frowned as it tightened its grip on the cigarette and he ironed the notebook page with his hands. When satisfied with its presentation, he pushed it towards me.
"Okay, let's see what you got." I pulled my glasses from a shirt pocked and unfolded them as his eyes watched and seemed to measure my every move. I pulled the paper closer and scanned the page - the list was numbered from one to eleven. I wondered why he couldn't stop at ten just as number eleven filled my brain. I felt my muscles tighten as I reread the line and looked up in his direction.
"Yeah." He seemed to be reading my mind as I read the line. His right hand disappeared from the table to his lap and I felt dizzy. Recent events raced through my mind as I wondered why I was even sitting here with this kind of man. I read his face and knew what he would want, but another plan began to take shape as our eyes remained locked.
The familiar stack of papers sat in the middle of the table as I sat down and ordered a drink. The waiter questioned the ordering of a coke with his eyes, like I was been accused of less than manly behavior. I shook off his gaze and turned to meet his eyes. I noticed his hand was tapping the pages while taking a long draw from the near stub of a cigarette.
"So, what do you think?" I skipped the normal small talk and jumped into why we - or I - were here.
"What did I think?" The nicotine stained hands pushed the butt into the black ashtray as smoke was released and then died. The blood shot eyes seemed to lock on me as the question hung in the air.
"Yes, please, tell me." At this point, his demeanor was less than appealing, so I didn't really want to know, but I had nothing else to say.
"Did this really happen?" He tapped the papers loudly while shooting another question at me. He leaned back and tapped the bottom of the cigarette pack to release another. Its end glowed red as he puffed on it.
"What? No, it is just a story." I felt a knot in my throat as I swallowed, I was suddenly very hot. I drank my soda while wondering what he knew or thought he knew.
"There is a little truth in everything." He flicked the cigarette with his thumb while holding it firmly between the index and middle fingers of his left hand and ashes fell to the floor. His eyes remained locked on me, like he was searching for something in me.
"Well, you never met my father." My laughter was a bit too loud as the crowd at a nearby table turned to observe my clearly out of place body. I met their gaze and wondered if they had ever opened a book, I wanted to laugh thinking they had all probably been booked. I returned to my drink and noticed a sheet of lined notebook paper to the right of the stack of papers. I wondered if it had been there the whole time.
"I'm sure you have many of his qualities, is he in here?" He smashed the second cigarette in the tray while picking something from the end of his tongue. He examined the end of his finger and flicked something to the floor while pulling the notebook sheet closer to him.
"No, he's been dead four, no five, years - heart attack." I feel silly while tapping my chest to let him know where the heart was located. My hand slowly fell to my lap as it seemed he was about to say something important - or something I needed to hear.
"No, I meant the book, he in here?"
"Oh, it was not intentional if he is, but he had a big influence on my life, so I'm sure he's in there some where." I felt like a guest on Oprah explaining the hard family life and how I had overcome the hardships.
"No doubt." He seemed to be contemplating another cigarette as the half empty pack rested in his hand. He repeatedly looked at the pack and at me.
"Fiction, that is the genre, so what do you think?" I knew he had more to say on the definition of fiction and how it applied to the pages, but I hoped he would keep it to himself.
"You say so."
"I do, so come on, what's that - you have some notes?" I leaned forward with elbows on the table and pointed at the sheet of notebook paper.
"Something like that." His decision had finally been made as another cigarette gently hung on his lower lip. Hit snapped to attention as the upper lip locked down and the lighter hovered below the end. Another red glow appeared and smoke slowly flowered from his mouth and nostrils.
"Well, let me have it." I hoped he knew I was referring to his comments and not physical activity.
"It is just a list of coincidences as you'd probably call them, but relations between your tale and some real things." His mouth frowned as it tightened its grip on the cigarette and he ironed the notebook page with his hands. When satisfied with its presentation, he pushed it towards me.
"Okay, let's see what you got." I pulled my glasses from a shirt pocked and unfolded them as his eyes watched and seemed to measure my every move. I pulled the paper closer and scanned the page - the list was numbered from one to eleven. I wondered why he couldn't stop at ten just as number eleven filled my brain. I felt my muscles tighten as I reread the line and looked up in his direction.
"Yeah." He seemed to be reading my mind as I read the line. His right hand disappeared from the table to his lap and I felt dizzy. Recent events raced through my mind as I wondered why I was even sitting here with this kind of man. I read his face and knew what he would want, but another plan began to take shape as our eyes remained locked.
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