The Things We Wish For

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gkmoberg1
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The Things We Wish For

Post by gkmoberg1 » Mon Oct 24, 2016 2:19 am

This is rough, but it's a start.

    • The Things We Wish For
      • Milo, ME. 04463
        24 October 2016


Hell staggered through the front door. The evening’s calm vaporized as three heads turned in unison to meet Jess’ arrival. His unsteady gait and cloud of menthol gave up his secret: the monthly government checks had arrived. Tonight there’d be a wad of cash to flip through, cigs for all, a new tin of chewing tobacco, a case of beer for the fridge, and something for the VCR. To Jess, this was providing. The hunter had returned to cave and family with fresh kill. The family he stumbled in on, his family, was being looked after. By him. His honey Shirley. Shirley’s older child Linda. And Callie, the little thing he and Linda had produced. There they sat before him, arranged on the floor in front of the TV. They looked to him and he stood there, flush, reveling in the moment. With a beer in one hand, the opened case of Budweiser under his other arm, he took several irregular steps into their midst. The girls, he acknowledged. For Shirley, though, he presented the prize. Putting down the beer he swiped at his aged corduroy shirt jacket and with a sweep of his hand presented her his gift for their weekend, a baggie of heroin syringes.

Linda knew the routine. She knew the progression. It was roughly the same every month, going back too far to remember. Not always the needles and their numbing contents, but always the beer and the cigs and the waste that would flow along with it all.

The government checks were always a relief. But they were also the opening of a horror show that would last three or four days. Then the money would dry up and life would wind back to its usual dull day-to-day drip.

Wisely she shuffled towards the bedrooms but did not stand up. To do so might be taken as a provocation. Instead she reached and used a bit of little Callie’s mess as an excuse. Time to clean up. Time to put away the many toys and sippy cups. Time to tidy and get the place into a pretend semblance that this was to be a party evening.

She knew from repeated experience it was best to be out of arm’s reach. She could sense the distance Jess could reach with a single step and a shot from his right arm. She needed to be outside that range. If she was far enough for him to take two or more steps, she felt better. Better to know it’s coming.

But the trailer home, their home, was only so big. The front door entered into the middle of its length. Linda, having created her suitable excuse, got to the door that lead to the bedrooms, her arms full of toys. “Callie, come help me with Mr. Boo Bear,” she said. Callie flopped to her tiny feet and came running. A thousand little steps later she was at Linda’s feet and they headed off to Callie’s and her room. She glanced back long enough to see Shirley examining the baggie and turning off the TV with the remote that was ever in her hand. Linda didn’t want to know more.

      • ~oOo~

A half hour later Linda stepped quietly back from the bedrooms. Mom and Jess were outside. Their small silver George Foreman grill was set up on a scrap of wallboard supported by Jess’ saw horses. Mom was mixing up something brown in a bowl in her lap, making burgers. Jess was nearby, beer in hand, rolling on about something at the garage.

She stepped through their line of sight into the trailer home at a moment when they were both not looking. Once in the kitchen, she made up dinner for herself and Callie. There was not a lot to work with but she managed a canned Chicken & Stars soup for Callie and an assortment of things for herself. Jess had not brought any groceries tonight. If she was lucky she’d be able to snag a $20 from him tomorrow and walk up to Tradewinds for something. Sometimes he’d refuse. In those cases she would either wait until he was not looking or incapacitated. Then she’d lift something from his wallet or shirt pocket. Once, he’d given the $20 but only allowed her to go as far as the Milo House of of Pizza. She’d obeyed but then had to watch as he and Shirley consumed most of what had been meant as the entire family’s dinner.

Slipping quietly back to the bedrooms, soup bowl for Callie and plate of chips with relish and honey for herself, she and her sister spent the evening playing and then getting ready for bed. Callie was a sweet spirit and so far open to the odd meals her big sister produced.

Later in the dark, the fighting began. Callie was asleep next to Linda and she listened to Shirley and Jess going at it out in the main room. She dared not get involved. Her room’s light was out and she was relieved that her mom and Jess kept the action out there. For a long while the TV blared. Sometimes shouting erupted. But for Linda, there in the dark sharing the bed with little Callie, it was an oasis that was able to remain cloaked for the night.

Somewhere near 4am, Jess, not quite able to stand yet comfortably slumped in the main room's collapsed sofa, took the safety off the pistol of one of his several guns, took aim and fired.


[Edited 10/24. Thanks to petemork for suggestions & corrections.]

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sauvin
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Re: The Things We Wish For

Post by sauvin » Mon Oct 24, 2016 5:10 am

Oh, man, that's gritty!
Fais tomber les barrières entre nous qui sommes tous des frères

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Drakeule
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Re: The Things We Wish For

Post by Drakeule » Mon Oct 24, 2016 9:46 pm

I feel all warm and fuzzy inside. :?

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Re: The Things We Wish For

Post by ltroifanatic » Thu Oct 27, 2016 12:52 am

Yea GK.Very good.Very down to earth.Frightening really.Please keep up the good work.
Please Oskar.Be me for a little while.

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Re: The Things We Wish For

Post by gkmoberg1 » Thu Oct 27, 2016 2:35 am

Thanks to all! Several minor things going on here I'll let you in on. Shhh, don't tell anyone please. Okay? Right, then, thanks. First off, yes, it's a Fan Fiction, although it doesn't look that way at the moment. It'll get there. And you'll have no trouble seeing the connection when it happens. Second, the inspiration points for this are a long series: an article I found on 'water poverty' in the American western states on Indian Reservations, LTROI (duh), dongregg's (too) cozy story, several of EEA's unnerving stories, the start of filming for the TNT LTROI pilot in Vancouver for a story that is -we're told- to take place in Vermont, the ongoing fentanyl + heroin epidemic in the U.S., and -of all things- Disney's 'Cinderella' movie from 1950. Yeh, got that? Quiz later for certain. Third, I'm having some trouble catching up with the notebook where I wrote this. (If you see a stray Dell XPS hanging out behind the shed...) I'm in a bit of a panic because I want to get more of this developed before my head explodes. Fourrrrth, several of us - and you know who you are - have been reviewing, commenting and helping me tighten this up. What I'll do is submit the edited version into the system here and post a link on this thread when it pops up. Meanwhile -fifth- I'll continue here - once I track down this other notebook - and blather ahead.

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Re: The Things We Wish For

Post by dongregg » Thu Oct 27, 2016 3:52 am

First off, yes, it's a Fan Fiction, although it doesn't look that way at the moment.
Never doubted it.

Good to see you're giving us another rip roaring adventure!
“For drama to deepen, we must see the loneliness of the monster and the cunning of the innocent.”

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Re: The Things We Wish For

Post by gkmoberg1 » Fri Oct 28, 2016 1:50 am

Success in getting to the notebook and moving my docs for this story elsewhere so that I can continue. And can continue waking/sleeping/breathing without freaking out.

And now for today's spelling lesson. This concerns two words that feature in this story. They are spelled almost the same but not quite. I didn't know of this difference! But dongregg has nudged me to discover this, I have, and now I'm just that wee tiny bit smarter. Thank you! :wub: Now paying it forward.

heroin (noun). A white, crystalline, narcotic powder derived from morphine.

heroine (noun). A woman noted for courageous acts. Also, the principal female character in a story.

What difference a single trailing 'e' makes! (Almost like Theresa vs Theres. Ha, no, not really.)

Okay, maybe I'm the last one to know this. Must have missed that day in 9th grade when it was covered in English class.

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Re: The Things We Wish For

Post by dongregg » Fri Oct 28, 2016 2:29 am

Okay, maybe I'm the last one to know this. Must have missed that day in 9th grade when it was covered in English class.
Well, then, from the fantastically wonderful Irish movie, The Commitments, the band didn't know how to spell it either.

Of course, if you had used and were nodding off from the effects in the 9th grade, then I can understand it. :mrgreen:
“For drama to deepen, we must see the loneliness of the monster and the cunning of the innocent.”

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Re: The Things We Wish For

Post by gkmoberg1 » Wed Nov 16, 2016 4:32 pm

Working my way through the next part of Chapter One.

The face of US opiate addiction / America's new heroin addicts - BBCNews (2016-11-16)
http://www.bbc.com/news/video_and_audio ... 9/37992809


Been watching articles like this. Absolutely frightening. When JAL wrote 'Little Star' I wonder if he researched in a similar way to prepare for how that novel develops the stories of Theresa if not also Theres.

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Re: The Things We Wish For

Post by gkmoberg1 » Sat Dec 24, 2016 4:51 am

    • The Things We Wish For
      • Moncton, New Brunswick. E1E 2K1
        Tuesday 25 October 2016


Four hundred kilometers to the east of Milo Maine, the alarm clock in a small bedroom of an apartment building went off with a loud buzz. ‘5:00’ shone on the clock’s LED display.. Claire Boudreau, who had set it for herself before going to bed, lunged in the dark at the clock several times before connecting. Her palm glanced off the snooze bar and the clock went silent, with luck before it woke up her little brother. Fighting off the desire to go back to sleep she forced herself to sit up. With her toes she felt about the floor for her slippers. Finding them, Claire got up, reached along the wall under her window and, finding the plug for the alarm clock, pulled it. The clock's LEDs went blank. She sensed that her brother, just across the room in the other bed, was still asleep..

Twenty hours ago the news at the morning school bus stop had been there was a boy living in one of the car garages in the middle of the housing block, and he was sick. Seventh graders Emma and Taylor had sparked off the story and had everyone’s attention. Xavier, a sixth grader, said it was true, but Audrey said it was rubbish. Claire doubted too as she listened, but started to reconsider when Nathan, the eighth grader, said he had on two nights seen a boy outside. Emma then explained how she had known about the boy for a month. But when confronted by Audrey, she couldn’t state his name. “If you don’t know his name after a month, then you’re making stories,” Audrey announced. Doubt returned. It was little Noemie who spoke up at that point: “His name is Felix. I know because he told me.”

By luck, Claire ended up next to Noemie when four minutes later they boarded the bus. Claire normally sat next to Emma but today Emma had wanted to talk with Gabrielle. Gabrielle’s family was going to move next summer to Shediac, a town on the coast. Gabrielle and Emma had the same birthday in addition to being neighbors, and their combined birthday was coming up in three days. It would be their last together.

Claire, getting to sit with Noemie, was all ears about the boy, and Noemie took no time to further explain what she knew.

“I talked to him two nights ago. He is supposed to be living with André but André makes him stay in the garage.”

“How could a boy stay in a garage? There’s no place to sleep.” said Claire.

“That’s why he’s sick. It’s because of André.”

André, the local drug dealer, was feared. The kids’ parents were adamant everyone stay away from André. But few, if any, had ever seen him. André’s place was usually closed up and quiet, except for evenings when people would stop by, people who didn’t live in their block of apartment buildings. Xavier could see André’s front port from his bedroom window. According to him, André had a steady set of visitors coming every couple days and receiving packages from him.

“I want to meet Felix,” Claire told Noemie as the school bus moved to the next stop.

“Okay. If you want to. We have to go at night.” said Noemie in her serious voice. Noemie was nothing but serious. She never minced words and Claire had never heard Noemie tell a joke. “He won’t come out until André is sleeping. That’s what he told me.”

“Why doesn’t he run away? Is he our age?”

“Yes but he’s sick. That’s why he doesn’t run away.”

“I want to meet him.”

Noemie seemed to hesitate.

“Tonight?” Claire pushed.

“Tonight. But we have to go very late. Set your alarm clock for 5. Don’t wake up anyone and you have to come alone.”

“What do I do?”

“I’ll meet you.”

“You will?”

“Yes. And you better show up.”

Now in the dark of the early hour, Claire made her way out of the apartment she shared with her brother and mother. Going out the back she took her mother’s jacket and stepped across the unit’s small porch and down the back steps. Two lamps, held far up on utility poles, gave a dim light to the area that lay central to the apartment block. The area held several one and two car garages, small bits of grass and weeds, but was mostly gravel. At night it was crowded with cars.

Claire spotted Noemie near the side entrance of Andre’s garage and hurried over. The two girls stood for a moment in the cool night air and shivered. Claire had never done anything like this. She glanced back at her house expecting her mother to come roaring from the doorway, demanding an explanation. But that didn’t happen. Instead, Claire stood there waiting while catching the smell of her mother’s cigarettes wafting from the borrowed jacket.

“What do we do?” she asked eventually.

“He said he’d be right back.”

“Where is he?” Claire turned, grinding the gravel beneath her slippers.

“Shhh!”

“Sorry.”

“He went into Andre’s apartment.”

Again they stood. Claire shivered in her pajamas and shoved her hands into the jacket pockets. She felt her mom’s car keys, cigarette pack, and lots of clumped up tissues. Discovering she had wrapped her fingers around her mom’s used tissues she yanked her hands from her pockets. Tissues and the cigarette pack fell to the gravel and sat like small clumps of snow at her feet.

“What are you doing?”

“Sorry.” Claire scooped the cigarette pack back into the jacket.

The swing of a door and a creak from Andre’s porch cut through the night. Claire held her breath wondering if this would be Felix or the drug dealer himself.

“Hey,” said a voice.

“Over here,” said Noemie into the dim light.

A thin boy, slightly bent over and wearing nothing more than jeans and light gray sweatshirt with a raised hood stepped off Andre’s porch. His arms were tightly crossed over his stomach and he walked slowly.

“Felix, come here,” said Noemie.

Felix came over to them and leaned against the side of the garage. First his shoulders but then the side of his head as well pressed against the garage exterior. Claire could not make out his face; it was covered by the hood. But she could tell he was about her size.

“You need to lie down.”

Claire could hear Felix breathing slowly. But he didn’t move.

“You need to lie down,” repeated Noemie. She reached over to the garage side door and gave the knob a turn. “You locked it.”

Felix looked down along his side but then turned his face tight against the garage exterior.

Noemie followed where he had looked, reached over, jammed her hand into his jeans pocket and pulled out a set of keys. It took her several tries but she found the one that opened the side door. All the while, Felix didn’t move and stood moaning with his face pressed against the exterior.

“Help me,” said Noemie to Claire. She then grabbed Felix and pulled him upright. Claire hesitated but then maneuvered as she tried to figure out how to help hold Felix up.

“Take him,” said Noemie once Claire was more or less ready. The girl then stepped through the opened door leaving Claire supporting Felix on her own. The boy slumped against her with his head rolling along her shoulder. Claire figured she would be the next to get sick if he breathed on her.

The side of his head, complete with rough hair, rested against her face. His hair smelled. He reeked of the dirt and grime you’d expect when exploring in the back of an old wooden garage replete with discarded barrels, rags, tools and car parts. Claire shivered and wished she’d not gotten up, come out to meet Noemie or be left holding a ratty smelling sick boy who she couldn’t make out in the dark.

“Don’t turn the lights on,” he said. It was hard to hear him as his mouth was buried in her mom’s jacket.

“Fine,”said Noemie returning to them. “Taking you inside.”

Noemie roughly removed Felix from Claire’s grasp. As she did, his hands found Claire’s and he pressed several things into them. Claire held them while watching Noemie lead the boy into the garage. She then followed, watching as Noemie let Felix roll onto the back seat of the car that occupied the garage’s space. He groaned and breathed again in the same odd manner. Claire was releived not to have the stale mildew reek of the boy in her face yet alarmed to watch the progression.

“Come on, let’s go,” said Noemie returning to Claire.

“Aren’t we going to help him?”

“Not right now.”

Claire stood still in disbelief. “But…”

“He said we should go. He’ll be fine, he said.”

“But…”

Noemie put her hand on Claire and had her back out of the garage. “No. We’re going back to bed.”

“Noemie!”

“Shhh! We’re going back to bed. I will talk to you at the bus stop.”

Claire retraced her steps back into her house. She shut the door and in the dim hall light prepared to take off her mother’s jacket and hang it back up. She looked down. What the boy had given her was still in her hands: a rolled up wad of damp paper towel and an emptied syringe, complete with needle.

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