One Summer - Adam, Jacob and Joi story
Coliaz
Posts: 67
Adam, Joi and Jacob have been living in my gallery since 2019 and I thought it might be fun to create a thread for them here.
NOTE: Swear words and English is not my first language so there may be mistakes here and there.
Chapter 1
The knocking crept into Adam's consciousness as if it had been there all night, a monotonous sound that blended with the chaos of the dream. It was a workshop where the oil mist met the first rays of the sun through the dirty window. A radio was on somewhere, letting a rhythmic bass line vibrate the air, along with a voice that carried both weariness and warmth. It was not a dream, but a memory.
A mumble was heard as a blurred shadow of a tall man leaned over the hood of the car. The light made the white, thin hair sticking out from under his cap glow. He pointed down into the engine compartment with a large, oily hand and stroked his white beard.
"Grandpa..."
It was a soft voice that echoed in the workshop. The voice of a small boy. The old man turned to him, deep lines etched around soft blue eyes.
“Hey kid,” he chuckled, taking off his cap and wiping the sweat from his forehead. “Are you going to help me?”
The knocking got louder, more real, and Adam’s brain was torn from the dream with a jolt of discomfort. The first thing he felt was the heaviness in his head and the pulse that pounded behind his forehead from the poison of the alcohol.
He opened his eyes, and the light cut in. The windshield was fogged up, as if the car had tried to breathe on its own through the night. It was icy cold even though he had his jacket on.
There was another knock, and outside the window, the silhouette of a uniform stood, dark blue and steady like an obstacle he couldn’t run away from.
Damn….
The whiskey bottle was in the passenger seat. Even though his body was frozen, he moved quickly, took the bottle and shoved it under the seat. With clumsy fingers he found the crank for the side window, rolled it down with some difficulty since the machinery was frozen.
“Damn old school machinery.” he mutters quietly.
It was one of the few moments when he actually missed modern cars.
As soon as the window slid down, the cold, damp spring morning hit him. The birds had barely started to wake up, and there was a faint fog over the road. A man in his sixties with graying hair, dressed in police uniform, leaned down against the window. He looked neither threatening nor suspicious, more like someone who didn’t appreciate having to do this kind of routine check at half past five in the morning.
“Good morning,” he said in a voice that sounded like gravel in a tin bucket. “Is it okay if you get out of the car?”
Adam nodded without protest. He pushed the door open with a creak and stepped out, his right leg trembling and the weak muscle in his calf tensing as the blood rushed down to his toes, making a thousand needles dance. His back cracked as he stretched out his long body, at 214 cm, Adam stood out like a sore thumb wherever he went.
"Slept in the car?" the policeman asked.
Adam ran a hand through his black hair.
"Yeah," he answered, there was no way he was lying. "I've been driving all night and needed a nap," he replied.
He hoped the smell of whiskey hadn't settled on his clothes and that the fresh morning air was helping him.
The policeman nodded and held out a gloved hand.
"Your driving license, please."
Adam dug into his back pocket and pulled out his wallet, rummaged through the compartments and found the card, which he handed over.
The policeman picked up the phone, took the card, and nodded.
"Where are you from?" he asked.
“North,” Adam answered, trying to sound casual. “Worked in the mines.”
“And where are you going?” the policeman asked.
“Down south.”
The policeman nodded.
“I want you to walk in a straight line in front of me here.” he said, pointing down into the gravel.
Adam took a quiet breath and nodded.
He did as the man asked and despite his head pounding and the world spinning, he managed to put one foot in front of the other without much trouble.
“There was no problem here,” the policeman said, but he kept a suspicious look at Adam. “But you’re limping, can you explain that?”
An uncomfortable feeling gripped Adam’s chest.
It’s none of your business!
Instead, he shrugged, as he always did.
“I have a weakened calf muscle from an accident.” he replied.
The policeman nodded and returned the driver's license. He took a step back and looked at the car.
“A Boss 302, huh?” he asked.
Adam shoved his wallet into his pocket and felt his mouth twitch into an involuntary smile.
“Yep. A 1969.”
“That makes it almost as old as me,” the policeman laughed.
He moved around the car, looking at the bodywork. His fingertips touched the paint, the sunny yellow tone that Adam himself had struggled with for weeks to get in exactly the right shade. The Mustang was more than renovated, it was saved. Once a rusty, forgotten shell in a dilapidated barn, now a home with a heartbeat.
“You don’t see these on the roads often these days,” the policeman said. “She looks well taken care of too.”
“Renovated her from scratch,” Adam said, a little proud, patting the black-painted roof.
The policeman nodded in understanding.
“Do you mind if I take a closer look in the car?” he asked.
Damn.
Adam felt his stomach tighten.
“No, go ahead,” he said, shrugging his shoulders.
The policeman opened the passenger door and looked through the cigarette holder in the dashboard along with the glove compartment. Adam's heart raced in his chest. His gloved fingers slid over the seat, a professional, methodical movement from a man who had done it hundreds of times. He bent down and pressed his hand under the seat. Adam felt an icy sting travel down his spine.
"The mines, you said?" the policeman asked.
"Yeah," Adam replied.
The man’s fingers moved a few more inches in, just a hand’s distance from the bottle.
Adam felt his knees go soft. The cold steel of the handcuffs clicked around his wrists.
Then the police radio on the man’s shoulder crackled. A sharp female voice called out something fast and clear.
“Calling Unit 314—”
The policeman stopped and closed the passenger door.
He met Adam’s gaze.
“Looks like I have to go,” he said. “You shouldn’t sleep by the roadside. There have been thefts in the area. People sleeping in cars are easy targets.”
Adam nodded.
“I know. I didn’t mean to fall asleep. I’m going to move on.”
“You’ll get a verbal warning. But make sure you drive carefully, okay? And don’t put yourself at any unnecessary risk.”
Adam nodded.
“I will.”
The policeman got into his car and drove away.
Adam let out a long sigh.
That was close. Too close.
He opened the passenger door and found the bottle, it felt cold against his skin, he then put the bottle in the toolbox in the trunk, under a layer of rags. He then looked at the car before he put his hand on the hood, felt the cold metal under his palm. He thought back to the rusty carcass it once was.
He slid in through the driver’s door, his calf throbbing from standing for so long. A painful memory from his childhood that would haunt him for the rest of his life.
“You’re all I have,” he said, putting his hand on the steering wheel. “All I need.”
He started the engine and the V8's dull rumble vibrated in his chest. The Mustang didn't sound like a machine. It sounded like a friend who had never raised his voice towards him, someone who was always there when the world fell apart over and over again.
A ringing sound came from the inside pocket of his jacket and he fished out his phone. An older model with a cracked screen. A message flashed on the display.
Job: Rydhams Industrial Services. 9:00 AM.
Adam nodded to himself.
A new day, a new job that would lead to nothing more than greasy fingers and a paycheck. He was good at fixing machines, engines and broken brakes.
He put it in first gear and rolled out on the road.
With a dull rumble, the engine cut out and the car's heart fell silent. Adam stretched out his stiff right leg and stepped out.
The heavy rush-hour traffic moved only inches from the side mirror, the thick smell of exhaust hanging in the air. The line of suicidal cyclists ran a red light at the intersection further away, while the city's pulse was so high he could barely hear himself think.
He turned to the café with a growling stomach.
THE SOUTHERN BEANS AND COMPANY.
His right leg shook as always as he limped to the door and stepped inside.
A soft wave of coffee and freshly baked bread hit him. The place was from the turn of the century, dark and dingy with large heavy furniture and green plants. The sound was muffled but alive with china being put down, the sizzling of the coffee machine.
Preoccupied with his own thoughts, he didn't notice and something thumped right into his middle.
A short, shocked "uff" was heard, followed by a crunching sound of china hitting the floor.
"Damn, I'm sorry!" Adam managed to say and looked down.
A woman sat on the floor in front of him, surrounded by spilled latte and broken china.
She had copper-red hair, cut short and her skin was spotted with freckles. She wore a white shirt that was now coffee-stained and an apron. Adam realized she was one of the staff.
He bent down and he felt so damn big and clumsy.
“Sorry, it was my fault,” he said quickly, holding out his hand. “Are you okey?”
She felt around the floor with her hands before finding a pair of round glasses.
“It’s okay,” she said, placing the glasses on her small nose.
She took his hand, and his breath caught in his throat. It was so small and delicate in his. He helped her up effortlessly, and when she stood straight, he realized how short she was. She barely reached his chest.
“It’s okay,” she repeated, but her voice was thin.
That’s when he saw it.
Blood.
A thin streak ran from her nose down to a perfectly cut upper lip. Adam’s stomach clenched.
“You’re bleeding,” he said softly.
He reached instinctively for the counter, grabbed a napkin, and handed it to her.
“Here.”
She took it and pressed it to her nose. When she looked up, she met his gaze.
“Thank you.” she said.
Adam lost track of the world.
Her eyes were deep green, dark at the edges, lighter in the center, like moss after rain. They held him in a way he wasn’t prepared for, as if something was pulling him from within.
The woman blinked, as if she caught herself staring, faint pink roses spreading across her freckled cheeks.
“It’s okay,” she said, pressing the napkin to her nose again. “I’m fine. Really.”
Before Adam could answer, another woman came running from the counter. She was a few years older, dark-haired, with determined steps and a worried look.
“Joi!” she exclaimed. “Oh my God, what happened?”
Adam opened his mouth to explain what had happened but was interrupted.
“I went straight into him,” Joi said quickly, nodding at Adam, as if she wanted to take the blame.
The other woman immediately put a hand on her shoulder.
“Come on, let’s go into the kitchen.”
The woman gave Adam a brief hard look and led Joi behind the counter and through the door to the kitchen.
A young man appeared, maybe in his twenties, wearing a cap and a tired expression. He sighed when he saw the mess but without a word began to pick up the broken china shards and mop up the coffee.
Adam stood there as if transfixed for a second.
“Hey, are you going to order or not?” the man behind the counter asked.
Adam woke up from his thoughts.
“A baguette, roast beef,” he said. “And… a drink.”
The guy nodded and keyed in the order.
“Take away?” he asked.
“Yeah,” Adam answered.
He got the bag in his hand and left the café.
He got into the car and hit himself on the forehead.
You big idiot!
He pulled the sandwich out of the bag and started eating but the baguette barely tasted of anything at all.
He looked at the people walking past him. Older couples walking arm in arm. Mothers walking with strollers. Young people jogging past, AirPods far pressed into their ears. But all that faded when he thought of her.
Joi.
The name echoed through his head. Simple, beautiful and soft on the tongue. As perfect as she was.
Her copper-red hair appeared as soon as he closed his eyes. The way it caught the light and sparkled. Her eyes, those deep green eyes that had caught him without warning, as if they had seen right through him.
And her lips.
Perfect was a ridiculous word, but he couldn’t think of anything else. Natural. Soft. Real.
Wonder what they would taste like?
He realized where his thoughts were going and he slowed them down. This was ridiculous. But the collision in his chest was still felt, along with his heart beating too hard. Something inside him, something he had kept tightly suppressed for years, stirred. He shook his head and pressed it back down.
“Get a hold on yourself,” he muttered and took another bite, even though his stomach clenched.
Adam closed his eyes tightly and felt his heart beating, pounding like never before.
Thank you very much for reading and have a nice day.
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Comments
Fantastic idea!
I really like how the Mustang represents almost everything Adam has left in his world. It makes his loneliness and isolation feel clear without needing to overexplain it. I also love the way he meets Joi for the first time, and I’m curious to see how things develop between them from here.
Looking forward to seeing where the story goes next!
This is quite a change. I'm so accustomed to their non-linear story, but I'll adapt. Great beginning, looking forward to more.
Hallelujah!
Disciple
Thanks so much Tom and I'm really glad you liked it.
I'm glad you realized that the mustang is supposed to be a little symbol for Adam, and that it was well balanced. However, I feel that the chapter became a little too heavy in the description and a little too long, but it is a working process moving forward. This is just for fun and I'll see how far I can take it. Hopefully until the end. :D
Thank you so much Disciple and I'm glad you liked it.
There has always been a story behind the pictures and this is one of many attempts to write it. This is a working process going forward and we'll see how far I get. :D
Thank you so much markusmater and I'm glad you like it. I hope I won't disappoint you. :D
Chapter 2
(This is a working process and I want to apologize for bad English and heavy descriptions)
Adam followed the navigator's simple arrows on the cracked screen and turned onto a lonely street, surrounded by tall brick buildings.
Of all the places to put a workshop, Adam thought this was the strangest.
Usually they were tucked away in an industrial area outside the city center, but here it was almost central. Just one bridge from the city centre. A sign in faded yellow and black rose above a garage:
RYDHAMS.
There was no parking right outside so he had to look around nearby blocks and found a gap out onto the street. He parked along the curb, turned off the engine, and sat there for a moment. The silence after the rumble of the V8 was always strange, like an empty space in his chest.
He glanced in the rearview mirror, his eyes empty with dark circles. He fixed the black short hair and ran his hands over the beard that lined the jaw line and around the mouth.
You are like him. He thought.
And in an instant, it was his father staring back at him. Cold, hard eyes, neglected by warmth and love. He could feel his father's cold hands around his neck. Big and scary. He grunted and shook his head.
He got out of the car, the right leg was stiff and throbbing. He moved like a tall pillar across the sidewalk, well aware that he was getting stares from the outside world.
A woman walked past him with a pram. Airpods pressed far into the ears and engaged in an intense conversation.
"No no, Harry. You've got the analysis all wrong—" she said stressed.
The child in the pram threw the teddy bear over the edge and it fell to the asphalt. With a whimper, the boy tried to reach for it with chubby fingers, but the woman noticed nothing. She continued walking, her voice still heated in the conversation.
"Why can't you listen to me Harry?" she continued. “I said this at the last meeting too—”
Adam stopped and saw the teddy bear, a small body abandoned amidst the noise of the city. People stepped over it without even giving it a glance. No one had the time, or the will to care. He stepped forward, bent down and picked it up. The fabric was soft with wear and love.
"Excuse me," he said, taking a few long steps and catching up with the woman. “You dropped this.”
She turned around, at first surprised, then relieved when she saw the teddy bear.
“Oh my God, thank you!” She accepted it. "Not you Harry!" she snarled.
She put the teddy bear in the pram and the child's face brightened and a bubbling laugh broke out.
Adam just nodded, unsure of what to make of the smile that tugged at the corner of his mouth.
“No problem.” he said.
"Very kind of you," she continued, meeting his gaze. “That one is priceless to him.”
He didn't answer, didn't know how. She smiled again, rolled on and continued the conversation.
Adam turned into the street and glanced over the building, the garage doors was tall, worn from years of opening and closing. From inside there was the clang of metal against metal, and a short, angry hiss of compressed air.
The reception was behind a glass door that he pulled open and stepped inside. The light was bright and the room smelled of paper, coffee and something faintly chemical. Behind the counter sat a woman in her fifties with short hair and glasses that rested far down her nose. She looked up as he entered.
“Hello and welcome,” she said. “Can I help with something?
"Hey," Adam replied, shoving his hands into his pants pockets. “I have an interview. Adam Erian.”
She smiled, looked down at a list. Adam looked around. The ceiling fan was spinning slowly, a shelf of tire hotel brochures hung on the wall, and a man was sitting on the sofa next to it, scrolling on his phone.
"Ah yes," said the woman, causing Adam to shift his focus. "You're a little early, but that's okay." She stood up. "Come with me and I'll show you to the manager's office."
Passing through an archway that Adam had to duck through, they emerged into a corridor where the walls were covered with memorabilia: safety regulations, diplomas, faded photographs from staff parties. They stopped outside a frosted glass door.
"You can wait here," she said, pointing to a chair along the wall. "He'll be ready in no time."
"Thanks," Adam said, sitting down.
He leaned back and let his eyes wander over the photos that were a timeline through the workshop's history. From a faded black and white photo of a man wearing overalls and a cap in front of the building to a color one taken just a few years ago with the current owner wearing a shirt and jeans. The door opened and a middle-aged man stuck his head out.
“Adam? You can come in now.” he said.
The office was simple. A desk in dark wood, a computer, stacks of folders and an lunchbox. On the wall hung a framed photo of an older man in overalls, dirty and smiling, next to a much younger version of the manager who let him in. The man was short and heavily built, wearing a dark shirt with the sleeves rolled up and jeans. The brown hair had started to turn gray along with the thick caterpillar under the nose. He held out a rough fist, wracked from loosening hard nuts.
“Anders Rydham.” he said.
Adam shook his hand.
“Adam Erian.”
The man nodded and gestured to the chair on the other side of the desk.
“Go ahead, sit.” he said.
Adam nodded and sat down, looking around. The ceiling fan barely managed to whip around the dry air. The plant in the window had given up. Anders flipped through some papers.
“You've been working a lot on the road,” he noted. "Mines, sawmills, industries."
Adam nodded.
"I go where the work is."
Anders leaned back.
"We need someone who can move in where there's a fire. Machines that can't stand still. You're a mechanic, but you seem to have done a little bit of everything."
Anders was flipping through the documents when a sharp ringtone broke the silence.
"Excuse me", Anders picked up the phone from the desk and took the call. "Anders Rydham."
A slight frown appeared on his forehead as he nodded.
"Yes, I understand... But we don't have anyone here with experience with excavators—", Anders stopped and turned to Adam.
"You don't have experience with excavators, do you?" he asked.
Adam nodded.
A big smile spread across Anders' lips, before he cleared his throat.
"When do you need a mechanic on site?"
He listened, nodded with a serious expression on his face.
"You need someone immediately." he repeated.
He looked at Adam, and despite the hard surface there was something almost relieved in his gaze.
“Can you start right away?” he asked.
Adam nodded.
Anders smiled broadly, while rummaging through one of the piles of papers. He found the paper he was looking for, wrote today's date on a dotted line and his own signature.
"Good. Then I'll send someone right away." he said and hung up.
He then pushed the document over to Adam with the pen.
“Here's your contract,” he said. "It was a road construction supervisor calling. One of their big excavators has broken down, and we need to fix it right away. It's a bit of a rush, so we'd better get going as soon as possible."
Adam signed the papers, steady and fast.
"Come, I'll show you around the workshop," Anders said and stood up.
"Ruvik!" Anders shouted as they stepped out into the workshop hall.
The voice bounced off the walls and after a few seconds a shorter man came walking towards them. He was around sixty-five, maybe a little older. The body was compact, the shoulders slightly forward from a lifetime of work. The thin brown hair was combed back, interspersed with white strands that refused to be hidden. The face was tight, almost bitter, with a jaw that seemed to be permanently tense.
"What are you raving about?" snarled the man.
“Kenny, this is Adam,” Anders said.
Adam held out his hand.
"Adam Erian."
Kenny took his hand and shook it.
"Kenny Ruvik."
"He'll start right away, and he and another one are going out on a job. They've called in about a broken excavator."
Kenny nodded, without saying anything, eyes skeptical enough.
"We'll fix it," he said.
Adam understood that Kenny wasn't much for small talk. A practical and strict man who did not add any frills.
Anders patted Adam on the arm.
“Welcome to the team.”
Adam nodded and with that, Anders disappeared through the door.
"Johan," Kenny called.
A blond man with stubble looked up from an open hood.
Kenny waved his hand.
“Come here!”
Johan came up to them. He was of average height, well built and must have been in his 30s. He gave Adam a look from head to toe.
"This is Adam, he's new." Kenny told him.
Johan wiped his hand on the overalls and held it out and Adam shook it.
"You're going to take the flagpole here to roadwork 34. Apparently they've got an excavator that's messed up." Kenny told him.
Johan nodded.
"Give him a pair of overalls and go," Kenny muttered and tossed the car keys to Johan. "The company car is outside."
Johan nodded.
"It will be interesting to see if we have your size." said Johan and started walking.
Adam nodded and followed like a shadow through a door to a stripped and faded coffee room with a table and chairs together with a kitchen in the corner. They continued to the next room where cupboards lined the walls. Through experience, Adam was aware that most of the workplaces did not have his size, either in work clothes or shoes.
"Otherwise, I have steel-toed shoes in the car," he said.
"You've been through this before?" laughed Johan.
He opened a cupboard and began rummaging through a mountain of blue overalls and heavy steel-toed boots.
Adam zipped the overalls, it was a bit tight around the chest and shoulders and the trouser legs were a little too short.
At times like these, he hated his height. He stuffed his feet into his old work boots as there were none in his size. He stepped out into the workshop and met Johan who was leaning against a work bench with a paper cup in his hand.
"Can you work in it or is it too tight?" he asked, taking the last sip of coffee.
Adam nodded.
“It works.”
Johan nodded and threw the mug into the nearest dustbin.
"Shall we go then?" he asked.
Adam nodded.
Johan opened the door to the company car, a rusty caddy, and got behind the wheel. Adam pushed the seat back to accommodate his long legs. Johan burst out laughing when he saw his effort.
"Are you all right, pine tree?" he asked.
Adam nodded,
"I'm used to it." he grumbled.
Johan started the car and drove out into the street.
"I hope you don't mind that I called you pine tree?" he asked.
Adam shook his head.
"And no, I don't play basketball." he added.
Johan laughed.
"How lucky because I'm not a basketball guy," he said. "however, I do watch football and hockey. Is that something you're interested in?"
Adam shook his head, his eyes fixed on the outside world flying by outside the window.
"You are no sports guy?" asked Johan.
“No really....” Adam admitted.
They stopped at a red light and the silence between them was broken when a police car pushed past the intersection and disappeared. It changed to green.
"So, you worked with excavators before?" asked Johan.
Adam nodded.
"Yeah," he answered. "I worked two seasons up in the mines."
Johan nodded and looked at Adam with a small smile.
"Damn," he said, turning onto the freeway. "Aren't the machines as big as houses there?"
Adam nodded.
“They are one size bigger.” he said.
Johan pushed the gas to the bottom and the car accelerated into the network of cars that disappeared into the darkness of the tunnel. The engine noise was soft, much lower than what Adam was used to. He missed the Mustang's pumping pulse and growl.
"Hell—" Johan said as he pulled on his jeans. “You have to teach me that trick.” The changing room was damp with steam and smelled of soap and sweat. The fluorescent lights in the ceiling buzzed faintly, a monotonous background noise that Adam barely noticed. He was bent over the stainless sink, sleeves rolled up to the elbows, hands buried deep in the warm water.
The oil wouldn't let go. It remained in the folds of the skin, under the nails, as a dark memory of the machine's interior.
Behind him Johan continued talking.
"...and I can see that you've dealt with machines like that before. It reminds me of a friend of mine. He said he hadn't played football in fifteen years, but as soon as he got a ball he dribbled like he'd never done anything else in his life—"
Adam nodded without really listening, it worked on most people. Gave them the illusion that he was there, that he listened and cared.
Johan continued, unconcerned.
"Did I mention Becky's pregnant? I'm going to make sure the kid can run with a ball before he can walk."
Adam rinsed his hands again. Let the water run until it was almost too hot. He turned off the faucet and took the towel, drying slowly, carefully. He saw his reflection in the mirror above the sink. Tired eyes met him.
He took off his overalls and tossed into his bag. He pulled on his shirt and jacket.
Johan sat on the bench and tied his shoes. He glanced up at Adam.
“You,” he said. "I thought I'd drop by the pub over at the square., have a beer or two. Wanna join me? Becky's not home yet..."
The words lingered in the room, bouncing between the tiled walls. Adam closed the bag and pulled the shoulder strap over his shoulder. Shaked his head.
"No," he said. “I can't.”
Johan raised his eyebrows, but still smiled.
"Okay. Maybe another time."
Adam nodded again, but he knew the answer would always be no.
"Perhaps." he lied.
The evening lay like a still blanket over the harbor, blinking planes crossed the dark sky every now and then. Adam sat behind the wheel of his Mustang and looked out over the water, the lights from the funfair out on the dock reflected on the surface.
A 70's song left the speakers with slow drums and a clean voice.
"When they lay me down to die. Goin' up to the spirit in the sky..." he sang together with the singer.
He put the Pad Thai package down on the passenger seat and swallowed the last bite. It was a cheap and quick choice to satisfy hunger after a long day. Ginger and chili oozed in the air.
Johan's voice still echoed in his head. The stories of a family that always traveled to the country in the summers and friends that have stuck around since high school despite taking completely different paths in life.
He ran his hand over his face, sighed, and saw his own childhood in front of him. His father, a large man with fists like iron clamps and with a rage that struck without warning, like thunder from a clear sky.
And his mother, silent and afraid.
His head fell back against the headrest as the song continued.
"Goin up to the spirit in the sky..." sang the singer.
Then came the memory that always hurt the most, because it was different.
His foster parents.
He had been twelve when he came to Jill and Kevin. Angry, confused and scared, but they had given him a room of his own. Asked what he wanted to eat. Said goodnight every night.
He hadn't understood it then and didn't dare trust it, but in retrospect it was painfully clear and yet he had left them.
He took a sip of his beer when the phone vibrated in his pocket, pulling his focus. He fished it out and the name on the screen rubbed salt into the wounds and made the shame feel heavier. He tossed the phone on the passenger seat and closed his eyes, ignoring the vibrations that were like a stabbing knife in his chest.
Please hang up.
After what felt like an eternity, but was over in an instant, the phone fell silent. He took a sip of the beer. His shoulders slumped and he let his head fall back against the headrest, staring up at the ceiling. With a cold hand he picked up the phone and dialed voicemail.
You have ten new messages. Want to hear the latest press—
He tapped the screen and put the phone to his ear.
"Hey, Adam, honey—" Jill's bright voice trailed off, tears hanging in her throat. "I just want to ask how you're doing. I don't even know if you listen to the messages I leave, but they keep me—functioning," a weak tear-soaked laugh left her. "So I guess maybe they're more for me than you," she sobbed. "The apartment is so quiet without you, life so empty," she swallowed all the words. "Wherever you are, I want you to know that Kevin and I miss you, and I want you to know how loved you are. We're not anrgy that you left. All we want is for you to come home," she trailed off, her breath shuddering. "We are always here for you sweetheart and we love you," she lost the words. “Please take care.”
Beep.
Adam was leaning over the steering wheel, one hand clutching it, his anchor in reality which was now crumbling once more. The phone slipped from his hand and hit the floor between his shoes. The heart bled, stung and pounded as shame pushed its black thorns into the tissue.
We are not angry that you left. All we want is for you to come home.
Jill's voice echoed in his head. The tears rolled down the cheeks like waterfalls, there was no stopping them. He felt bad, but it wasn't the alcohol but his own self-hatred.
Thank you for reading and have a nice day.
There is absolutely nothing wrong with your English.
Thanks David, that means a lot. :)
Since I started posting Adam and Joi's story here, I've been thinking about stopping. There isn't really a story, no finished manuscript and most of what I write feels like empty filler. I can't write and I lack that which is needed, I'm just an idiot who likes to write.
This chapter, if you can call it that, is quite empty, but I appreciate all of you reading.
You are the real stars.
Thank you!
Chapter 3
Yesterday's event found its way into Adam's dreams and he saw her. Joi. Her short red hair, the freckles that resembled splashes of paint on a canvas, and her eyes. As deep and mysterious as mountain valleys.
He relives the collusion as she walks straight into him and falls to the floor. The red blood cut into the dream as it trickled from her nose.
The alarm cut right through and Adam flinched, his hand searched for the cell phone vibrating somewhere against his chest. He pulled it out of his jacket pocket and turned off the alarm.
The seagulls together with the distant sounds of the city found their way into the car, the noise of an early bus and the screeching wheels of the subway against rails.
He stared up at the ceiling and felt the cold like a film over his body.
I'm such a big clumsy idiot. He thought.
His neck protested as he tried to turn his head and he let out a muffled moan through his teeth. In an effort, he stretched in the cramped space. His knees hit the steering Wheel and the arms were pressed against the ceiling.
"At least I have a roof over my head…" he muttered quietly.
The night had been raw.
He put the key in the ignition and turned it. The engine coughed once, twice.
"I know honey," he said encouragingly. “But come on now.”
Finally the V8 awoke with its familiar, dull rumble. Heat slowly began to creep out through the vents.
"Thats the spirit." he let out a sigh, and patted the steering wheel.
The radio turned on and a soft, almost mournful piano filled the cabin, followed by Phil Collins' voice.
"Cause it's another day for you and me in paradise..."
Adam snorted.
Paradise, yeah right...
The stomach let out a distinct, protesting growl. He glanced at the empty pad thai package in the seat next to him. He quickly gathered the rubbish into a bag which he threw on the floor. He released the parking brake, shifted into gear and slowly rolled out of the parking lot. The morning light was pale, almost colorless, and the city was still waking up. Storefronts were dark, the sidewalks half empty. A few morning-weary people waited at bus stops, wrapped in jackets and their own thoughts.
Adam turned into the workshop and he sat there for a moment, staring on the building, burying the emptiness in his chest. He shoved the sandwich he bought on the road into his mouth and swallowed it down with the stale coffee.
The door creaked and he stepped out with his bag in hand. The cold bit his cheeks immediately while the birds chirped faintly in the trees nearby. The workshop was asleep and he moved like a shadow through the hall.
The harsh fluorescent light revealed every shadow on his face as he leaned over the toilet sink. He rinsed his face with cold water, rubbed the night's weariness from his eyes. Took out the razor and shaved off the worst of the stubble. Not thoroughly, just to make it look less wild.
The dressing room was empty for the moment. He changed in silence, pulled on his overalls and put his clothes in the bag, which he placed at the far end under the bench. The door to the dressing room opened with a jerk.
“Good morning, pinetree!”
Johan stepped in with the same energy as the day before, as if he had been recharged overnight.
"Morning." Adam said.
Johan started to change while he was talking, without pause.
“Is everything okay?” he asked.
Adam shrugged and zipped his overalls.
"Yeah," he said. “You?”
Johan nodded.
“I can't complain.” he said. "Becky had an ultrasound yesterday. It's going to be a little girl."
Johan had the widest smile, bursting with pride and joy. Something that did not reach Adam.
Adam didn't quite know what to say at first, so there were a few silent seconds.
"Congratulations." he finally said, not really understanding why he said it.
However, Johan did not seem to notice. He waved his hand.
"I was hoping for a boy but it will be fun. A little scary but fun," he said. "I'll make sure to make a soccer girl out of her."
Adam nodded, bending over and tying his boots.
"Hm, I can imagine." he said.
Silence fell between them. Only the noise from the heating pipes in the ceiling could be heard.
"You then pinetree?" asked Johan, who pulled the overalls over his shoulders. "Do you have a girlfriend?"
The question cut like a knife right under the ribs and made Adam stop.
The thought of Joi came up and he didn't know why. His heart skipped a beat.
"No." he answered.
Johan met him with a raised eyebrow.
"No?" he zipped his overalls. "Shouldn't the girls run after you?"
Adam thought back to the last time he had a girlfriend.
When the hell was that? Last year of high school maybe? What was her name? Emily? Elin? Emma? What the hell did it matter?
His heart twisted as the thorns of vulnerability pushed into the flesh.
What girl would want him anyway? He could barely walk with his torn calf muscle and running was out of the question. He would probably need a walker or end up in a wheelchair when he got older. Who would want that torment in their life?
He shrugged.
"Believe me, they don't run after me," he said. "And the last girl I dated dumped me after I had hit my head on a door frame at a party," he said. "She said I embarrassed her."
Johan burst out laughing.
The working day slipped by and the hours disappeared in oil, vibrations and short instructions. Sometimes Johan stood by and commented on something, sometimes he disappeared to another job in the hall. When the signal for the end of the working day sounded, Adam was already halfway out the door mentally.
In the dressing room he took off his overalls and noticed a pungent smell oozing from the fabric. The pleasure of the evening was then decided and he threw it into the bag, closed the zipper and slung it over his shoulder.
Johan's voice was heard behind him.
"Hello darling",
Adam glanced over and saw Johan standing with the phone against his ear.
"I was thinking… the guys are going out tonight is it okay if I tag along?" A short break. "Yes, I know. Not late. I promise."
Johan laughed.
"Awesome. You're the best."
The call ended and Johan changed in record speed and looked up at Adam with the same relaxed smile.
"Are you spending the evening alone?" Johan asked.
A strange feeling, an urge made Adam want to go to the cafe where Joi worked. He wanted to see her again but he buried the thought and shrugged.
"I'm going to watch a movie or something." the lie sounded so real that he himself almost believed the words.
Johan nodded and took his bag.
“You never said where you lived.” he said.
Thoughts raced through Adam's head.
“West of town.” tripped out of his mouth.
Johan nodded.
"See you tomorrow," he said and went to the door. "And watch out for the doorframes, pinetree." he added.
Adam replied with a short nod before Johan disappeared out the door.
A render from Adam and Joi's first meeting. I couldn't get the light right so I apologize for the poor picture quality.
Thank you for watching!
Great chapter. And the image is so real. Great job.
Thank you David! :D
Chapter 4
The doorbell rang as Adam stepped through to the dry cleaners with his bag in his hand. The scent of lavender and warm cotton greeted him while fans spun in the ceiling. A young man, maybe in his twenties, stood at the checkout waiting to get his laundry. An older gentleman came out the door behind the checkout with a bag that he handed over, the man took it and left the dry cleaners. Adam walked up to the counter.
“Hello,” he said. “I’d like to book two machines.”
The older gentleman nodded.
“Yes, of course,” He looked at the computer screen. "Go ahead.”
“Thank you,” Adam nodded.
He went to the washing machines, which were located in a room further into the premises. The room was small but functional, with whitewashed walls and rows of machines. He opened two machines, put in the laundry and added detergent before turning them on.
He sat down in a chair and let the machines do their job. He stared up at the ceiling, thinking about Joi.
Did she have a boyfriend?
He didn't know where the thought came from. His heart pounded so hard at the mere thought of her. He closed his eyes. Her face rested behind his eyelids. They had met for a moment, but it had burned into him.
The blood running from her nose.
Shame and guilt stabbed his heart.
Maybe I broke her nose?
He felt compelled to go there and see if she was okay.
He swallowed.
When the laundry was done and the clothes were clean and warm in the bag, he stepped out again. He walked to the car, opened the back door and threw in the bag when something flashing caught his attention. Across the street was a bar. Nothing remarkable. A neon sign flashing, a couple of people standing outside smoking, low-pitched laughter seeping out through the door when it opened.
A beer can't hurt, right?
After a bus had passed the street, he crossed in small, running steps, before his calves gave out. He opened the door and let two women step out before he stept in.
The pub was dark and lined with walnut wood. There were a few people in the booths, all talking, laughing and waving their glasses.
Adam walked up to the bar and had to struggle with his long legs to get them under the bar. He ordered a beer from the slightly irritated bartender.
He took a sip, the sweet taste hitting his palate as he let his eyes sweep around the room.
“So, what are you going to bet?”
The voice came from a table further away where a group of men was playing cards.
It made him think of when his grandfather taught him and his best friend Jacob to play poker, long before everything changed.
Their bets around the dinner table back then had been their weekly allowance and candy, and they mostly lost to the old man. It was a memory that was both warm and painful. A reminder of a time when everything was simpler, when the old man had been his pillar. But now he was gone, and so was Jacob.
His thoughts fell on Jacob. The boy who put thumbtacks on the teacher's chair and put a bucket full of fish over the principal's door. The one who surprised both teachers and parents at the school graduation with Highway to Hell on his guitar.
Adam's lips cracked into a smile, which slowly disappeared as the memories drifted away to the fight, where their friendship ended.
He took a big gulp, forcing away the thoughts of what he once had. It was the easiest way.
A dull electric buzzing came through the speakers and Adam glanced at the stage where
the band had taken their place. A tattooed man wearing a denim vest took his place behind the drums. A slightly shorter man with his hair tied in a ponytail stood with his black bass and in front of the microphone stood the singer. He was of average height, dressed in a white tank top that hugged his broad, inked chest. In his thick tattooed arms rested a blood-red electric guitar with black details. The large silver rings on his fingers gleamed in the light as he took the microphone. His voice cut through the room.
“We are Rogue Engine, and we are playing for you tonight!” The voice was raspy and dark.
He pulled the plectrum across the strings while his fingers danced across the neck and played quick chords.
“Your angelic blue eyes shot through my heart. Made me a bloodthirsty beast. Made me draw blood,”
The band followed his rhythm, and seconds later the hard rock song filled the room.
Adam stomped to the beat but there was something in the singer's stance, in that fierce voice.
"No one can save me. The damage is done. My wrists are chained. Judgment has fallen upon me. Baby, you broke me!" the singer's voice cut through the speakers.
Adam's eyes narrowed. There was something familiar about his cheeky snout combined with those sharp blue eyes and straight nose. His heart beat faster in his chest along with the song. Then it hit him.
It couldn't be Jacob?
The singer reached out to the audience.
"Your angelic blue eyes shot through my heart. Made me a bloodthirsty beast. Made me draw blood," he sang.
He had the same intensity that Jacob had had. He was the one who was willing to burn himself to feel something. The boy who stuffed his pockets full of candy and then ran like an Olympic sprinter out of the store. The boy who snuck in and took pictures in the girls' changing rooms in school.
The singer swung his guitar in the air, and Adam recognized it. Jacob had done the same with the broom in his room. The sound that followed was a deafening, cutting riff, and the pub exploded with unexpected energy.
The applause hung in the air like an echo as the band bowed. The singer raised one hand, smiled and bowed before they disappeared from the stage, one by one.
Adams heart was still beating too hard, as if it hadn't realized that everything was over. He drank the last sip of beer, stood up and was about to leave, then someone sank down on the bar stool next to him.
“So?” said a raspy voice close to his ear. “What did you think?”
Adam turned to the singer who had parked himself on the chair next to him. The tank top was soaked in sweat. With a ring-covered hand, the singer waved to the bartender.
“A beer,” he said.
Adam glared at the ring on his right thumb, it was a large skull that was missing a red jewel in one of the eyes. The surface was covered in scratches. It was eerily familiar as Jacob had had one just like it.
His stomach twisted.
“It was good,” Adam replied.
The singer smiled. The bartender put down the glass and the singer took a big sip.
Adam froze when he saw the scar on the man's forehead. A thin, light line that cut his right eyebrow in two.
It was as if someone had pulled the rug out from under him. The noise from the pub became muffled and distant.
Jacob had a scar in the exact same place.
“What the hell are you looking at?” the man asked. “Do you have something to say or are you just generally retarded?”
Their eyes met.
"Jacob?" fell from Adams lips, a word that couldn't be stopped.
The singer froze, his lips pulled up in a crooked smile, as familiar as it was painful.
"Damn," he said. "Is that you, Pipqueak?"
Adam smiled at hearing his nickname again. He felt the loneliness he had carried for so long burst for the first time in years.
He nodded as if everything was about to dissolve.
"Yeah," he said. "It's me."
For a second, time stood still, then Jacob let out a sound that was somewhere between a laugh and a battle cry.
"Damn it!"
He stood up so quick that the bar stool tipped over and before Adam could react, Jacob lunged forward and wrapped his arms around him in a hard, clumsy hug.
“It’s you!” Jacob exclaimed, laughing out loud. “I can’t believe it. I really can’t believe it.”
Adam froze, and he felt something inside him give way and he let his arms fall around his friend.
Jacob laughed again, pulling back just to look at him properly.
“You’re… damn, you’re huge,” he said, shaking his head. “How many of Super Mario’s red mushrooms have you actually eaten?”
Adam shrugged before pointing to the tattoos.
“Do you have blood in your veins or is it just ink?”
Jacob took a step back, running a hand through his hair.
“Damn….” he said.
Adam swallowed.
“I didn’t think it was you,” he admitted. “Not until I saw the scar.”
Jacob touched his eyebrows and grinned.
“That damn Daniel,” he said. “Your grandfather was furious after that fight. Mom wasn’t happy about the swear words he taught me either.”
Jacob laughed again and sat down on the chair the bartender had just put back up.
“I still can’t believe it’s you,” he said, looking at Adam as if he were trying to memorize every detail. “Of all places. Of all nights.”
Adam nodded, as speechless as his friend, his heart pounding in his chest.
“You,” Jacob said, raising a finger at the bartender. “A beer for the lighthouse here. On me.”
The man behind the bar nodded.
“No,” Adam said, shaking his head. “It’s okay. I’m going anyway.”
He took a step back, that familiar pressure in his chest reminding him, this was exactly the kind of situation he always left.
Jacob raised his eyebrows.
“Go?” he repeated. “Adam, we just found each other after… what—” Jacob counted on his ring-covered fingers. “Eighteen years?!”
“Something like that,” Adam muttered. “But it was nice to see you. Really, but—”
“But nothing,” interrupted Jacob, kicking the chair toward him with his foot. “A beer. Ten minutes. Then you can leave if you still want to.”
Adam ran a hand through his hair and looked toward the door.
The bartender set a new glass in front of Adam, as if the decision had been made over his head. The foam was perfect, cold and inviting.
Adam looked down at the beer, then at Jacob, whose eyes were filled with joy and hope.
He sighed quietly.
“Okey,” he finally said. “One beer. Just one.”
Jacob brightened.
“I knew you hadn’t gone completely heartless,” he said, raising his glass. “Cheers to the world being small and damn weird.”
Adam took the glass, toasted, and drank.
“So,” he said. “Are you mad?”
Jacob gave him a raised eyebrow.
“Why would I be?”
Adam shrugged.
“You know, the fight,” he said. “I hit you.”
Jacob took a sip and put the glass down.
“You think I care about that?” he asked. “After all these fucking years?”
Adam opened his mouth to answer when Jacob tapped him on the shoulder.
“I’m just happy,” he said, throwing his arm around his shoulders and forcing him down and starting to rub his ring-covered knuckles against Adam’s scalp. “I thought I’d never see my Little Pipsqueak again.”
Adam couldn’t help but laugh. It was just like before. He tried to pull away, but once again he was caught in Jacob’s iron grip.
“Jacob, stop it.” he laughed.
“It doesn’t matter how tall you get, you’ll always be my Little Pipsqueak,” Jacob laughed. “I hope you don’t mind me calling you Pipsqueak?”
The tattooed man let go of him and Adam fixed his hair. A heavy weight lifted from his heart, knowing that Jacob didn’t care about their fight. It had gnawed at him over the years.
“I don’t mind you calling me Pipsqueak,” Adam said, he had actually missed it. “It’s just weird if you would call me anything else.”
Jacob took a sip from his glass.
“So what have you been doing all these years?” Jacob asked.
There came the question that Adam wanted to skip, but now it came like a slap in the face. He shrugged.
“Nothing special. Trained as a mechanic and have been working ever since,” he answered, briefly. “You?”
Jacob nodded and took a sip from his glass and it felt like his mood shifted, like a dark chill swept over his eyes.
“I moved here after I turned 18 and started working in a music store in town,” he replied.
Adam thought it sounded too flat, like it was rehearsed, but he let it be.
The two of them disappeared into a rhythm of conversation that mostly touched on memories and laughter that came from childhood. Adam forgot about his loneliness and his fear of other people and was swallowed by the same warmth Jacob had always given him. There were no demands between them, just like when they were children. Adam was glad he stayed, and for the first time in a long time he felt a sense of belonging.
Thank you for reading.