The sun wakes me just after 10 a.m. It’s hot and it’s painful. I shield my face with my arm but it doesn’t help. I roll over on my stomach, try and bury myself in the sleeping bag. It heats up quickly. I climb out and push myself to my feet.
The sound of the ocean is nearby. It puts me at ease but only long enough to remind me that I have to work today. I go inside and use the bathroom, wash my hands and walk into the kitchen. I rub my eyes and sit behind the computer. Behind me in the living room there’s a pile of empty beer cans. I count fourteen. Dane enters the kitchen and sets an empty plate on the counter.
“I didn’t know you were still here,” he says.
“I slept out on the balcony.”
“How was it?”
“All right. Still tired.”
“Hungover?”
“No.”
“Like a pro.”
The young will always admire what they can’t do, or what they wouldn’t want to live through directly. I guess that can go without saying. That’s probably why they invented heroes.
“Have you heard back from any of those agents?” he asks.
“No,” I say, “I’ll be waiting for a while.”
“Want me to talk to my English teacher for you? Outside of school she’s an editor; she knows a few publishers.”
“I suppose luck could be more than superstition.”
He shakes his head and laughs. “It would be just your luck, Dave. You’re going to be one of those writers to get discovered after their death.” He opens the fridge, finds something, eats it.
“You know what I’m going to do?” he says, “I’m going to save all the stuff you write, all the letters you send to people, everything, and then, long after you die of liver failure at age 40, I’m going to publish a collection of your work.” He looks through the cabinet and pulls out a bag of chips. He opens the bag and shovels a handful into his mouth. “Maybe it could be enough to fill a few books. Your writing will inspire the generations! Who knows? You could be up there with John Kennedy Toole!”
I look at him. “Thanks Mom.”
He leaves the kitchen. I hear him laughing with his girl. I get up, drink a glass of water and start the coffee. He comes back into the kitchen and says, “We’re going to go get something to eat. You want to come with us?”
I shake my head, say “Thanks though.”
“Alright,” he says. Then his girl says bye to me. She’s sunburned from head to toe and I can’t believe she’s going back in the sun. I wave them good-bye. The door closes and they are gone. I am the only one in the apartment. When the coffee is ready I drink two cups without milk and make a couple of eggs before sitting back down behind the computer.
Author: Lawrence Goodwin
