He has helped me to feel more confident about my own writing. He has always told me that I am a good writer, and somehow I started to believe it myself. Besides, when I started writing my Little Nani stories, he was a big supporter from the very beginning (and he is the biggest fan of Thunder, the Turtle, but don't tell him). For me it is important to know that there are people out there who encourage my work and, to top things, enjoy what I write! I consider myself a loner. I have never been able to write with someone else, but Dan is the best writing partner ever, and it is very easy to work with him.
So you are always thanking me, but this time it is my turn. Thank you, Dan, for being a fantastic writer, for correcting my silly English when it is too messy, and for supporting my humble stories. Thank you!
And now enough from me! Enjoy this wonderful story by D.e.e.L, and let's see what happen to this Unknown Band this time. My version of the story is in his Blog.
“Slappy, are you… are you okay?”
“Nothing being happy for an hour can’t fix. You four stay here.”
“But, isn’t it a bit early for that?”
“I don’t wear a watch”
I walk until the sounds of circus music no longer hum in my head. The man sitting on the stool at the entrance nods to me, I grunt and keep walking. I don’t ask, only point. The only other person at the bar is a younger man, boy even. He is staring at my make-up.
“Got a problem there son?”
“Not really. What’s with the costume?”
“It’s not a costume.”
“What is it then?”
“Fair enough. So what brings you here?”
“Peace and quiet.”
I stare at the glass in my hand, swirl it around a bit.
“What brings you here?”
“Sounds familiar. Any aspect in particular?”
“The basics, the disappointments.”
I get up and walk over to a stool on the other side of the edge he sits.
“Life isn’t always going to be a Saturday morning, son.”
“It is when you’re unemployed.”
“Every day is a bottle of seltzer when you’re unemployed.”
“So much potential, but unless you do something to shake things up you’re just going to sit there and expire.”
He sits there and sighs, contemplating the world around him, wondering if taking advice from a man dressed as a clown is a good idea.
“Follow me, son. I have to return somewhere and want you to come with.”
For some reason he gets up and follows.
I push the doors open to the shack of my recent days. They all still sit in waiting.
“You two know eachother?”
William gets up from his chair and grips his pen hard in his hand.
“Will, just chill.”
“Not a chance, Ruff.”
“That’s all in the past man, I’m sorry for all of that.”
“Doesn’t change what you did. Sorry is just a word coward’s use!”
I step back and watch the writer make his stand.
“William, what are you doing!?”
“Just let me do this, Janine.”
“What’s going on?”
“Not a clue, but Slappy isn’t doing anything to stop it, just follow his lead.”
“Listen to Mike, KT. Just let me do this.”
The past of William begins to stir up. Ruff? What a terrible name.
“You don’t want to do this, William.”
“Yes I do.”
He drops the pen.
“You had no right treating me the way you did.”
“You know why I did.”
“She only cared about you, you and your stupid poetry.”
The assumed drunk looks over at Janine. The scenario being played in front of me begins to make sense.
“What’s going on, William?”
“Nothing, Janine. Just ending something from a long time ago.”
“This is becoming a soap opera. First point I’d like to make is that you’re not old enough to say ‘a long time ago’, and you’re too old to be saying anything.”
“You’re confused old man, Janine is my sis…”
I knock him out cold before he finishes his sentence.
“What was that for?!”
“Respect, your bro don’t know it well enough.”
“I was going to do that!”
“No you weren’t. He’s twice your size. We can’t have you breaking your hands on someone named after the noise a dog makes.”
“That’s his nickname! My brother’s name is James!”
I glare to make sure he doesn’t whisper the word ‘coward’ under his breath.
“Everyone pack up what they need. We’re heading out.”
“What about my brother?”
“He looks tired. Let’s let him sleep.”
The kid laughs. The faster fingers grab the voice to pull her away. The writer just sits and stares at his enemy.
“The past sits where it belongs. Gather what you need and let’s go.”
“Where are we going?”
“To make a name for ourselves.”
I rush everyone to the door, but turn around to see Mike grabbing something from the quivering hand of the dog whisperer.
“What you got there?”
“Not sure yet.”
“Not in this world.”
“Well read while you walk, kid. We got to get moving. This place doesn’t need us right now, tuck the key away.”
He begins to read and almost walks into the door as it swings away from my hand.
“Slappy…you’re going to want to read this.”
“Is it a love poem about dogs or something? That could be funny.”
“No, this guy dug up a bunch of information about William.”
“Was probably going to show his sister. Let me see that.”
I grab the crinkled paper.
“Bear on a unicycle, this poet has a past…”
“I feel like we should let Janine know.”
“Cut that out.”
“You don’t feel anything. Rip open that door, sit down, order the least expensive thing they got, shoot it down, then order it again.”
“There’s no parrot in the act, kid. Here’s one of those useless dollar coins, see where it gets ya.”
He attempts what he considers to be a rip, I’d call it a tear, maybe even a droplet.
“Slappy! What’s the hold-up?!”
“Just waiting for the kid to get drunk on my dollar.”
“Well how long will that take?”
“Not long. I said I only gave him a dollar.”
“Well we’re all hungry, and William needs to go somewhere to calm down for a bit. When you’re ready we’ll be at the diner across the street.”
“I’ll keep that in mind if I feel like finding you.”
A few of the fast fingers flick up into the air as the three of them depart to the nearby foul on the floor with a fryer that probably hasn’t been changed in months.
“I think I’m ready.”
“How many rounds did you have?”
“Enough to fill a pistol.”
“You look like a twelve-gauge man, turn around and let’s sit down for a bit.”
I slap a few worthless coins on the counter as someone I’ve never met before but seen dozens of times waits for my finger to point. I sit, the kid next to me, the band in a known location I’ll forget around sip seven. I pull the paper from my coat and pace my eyes upon its contents…over…and over…this will soon all be over…