the beginning
I might as well start this the way I want to.
When I was younger, only barely 16, I read the Great Gatsby by F. Scott Fitzgerald. Perhaps because of my adolescence I considered it overall to be a very mediocre book and finished it out of a sense of duty. However, the book’s last passage stuck with me as soon as I’d read it.
It eluded us then, but that’s no matter — tomorrow we will run faster, stretch out our arms farther… And one fine morning —
So we beat on, boats against the current, borne back ceaselessly into the past.
After what I might considered to be a frivolous decade and a half spent toiling away within the borders of my hometown, I felt I was ready to leave.
Madison, Indiana had been a good a place as any to grow up, but I must confess that even today I have felt no great amount of kinship with my friends from there; no modicum of association aside from the fact that we’d borne the same hardships, enjoyed the same small victories and endured the endless, all-encompassing boredom that seems to be par for the course amongst those of us who grow up in small mid-western towns. Madison remains to this day, a lush city on the Ohio, with as many trees as there are buildings. The city was once a great trading hub back during the 19th century due to it’s position on the Ohio and though you won’t hear it from anyone who’s not from Madison, was once actually considered as a candidate for the state capital. It actually once kept pace with Louisville, Kentucky, until the invention of the railroad. Once track was laid down, Madison atrophied. And one hundred years later, the town had grown such an affinity for its old world charm that it sought to preserve it. I have memories in my youth of walking along the lamplit streets of downtown, paying small change for trips into the theater or for trips to the Soda Fountain. Yes, it was called Roger’s Soda Fountain. Archaic, I realize. Madison, for my generation’s part, was very much a city where those who can get out did.
I was on good terms with all of my family though I should say that I always felt somewhat limited in conducting myself- my father and his brothers owned a very reputable business that flourished in the city in the restaurant trade. As a result, I was always reminded that I was not just seen as John Farrell, I was seen as Thomas Farrell’s son. To that end, whenever I did something embarrassing or something deemed inappropriate, I was always confronted by my mother and father with the reminder that every faux pas could negatively impact business.
As a boy, I had been sent to a Catholic school, the same one my father attended and the same one his father had helped to build with the rest of the community. The system was erected in the early 60’s, and wasn’t built for expansion. The high school contained the high school proper and adjacent to it was the elementary school. It would be accurate to say that I spent the first ten years of my life with the same 300 or so people. This accounts for upperclassmen, classmates, underclassmen and faculty alike. It was a small school system and after a full ten years of it I had decided that enough was enough and that it was time for me to leave– it was time for me to throw my chips on the world’s table and see what would be dealt for me.
I had been presented with an opportunity borne of another’s misfortune. A man who is a great friend of mine to this day had been ostracized thoroughly by his classmates and finally thrown out altogether of our small school system. In the intense paranoia that grips every city in America after a national tragedy, he had uttered words that had formulated his own ultimate demise– “I wish my classmates would disappear”. The fact that he slung curse after curse at the principal during his hearing didn’t help either. Her position within the Ursuline Order could’ve been a contributing factor– anyone who went to a school such as mine is well aware of the fact that their discipline puts that of the French Royal family’s Garde Du Corps to miserable shame.
After a few years in public school he made the leap to the Hoosier School for the Sciences and the Fine Arts. At the time, I’d been aimless. I hadn’t a clue what I wanted except that I wanted out. When he came back, he told me of a city- Muncie- with more than 12,000 citizens- a city with more than one Wal-Mart. A city where the sweet embrace of anonymity could finally let me forge a life for myself- not just Thomas Farrel’s son. John Farrell. No. Jack Farrel.. the Jack Farrel.
I decided early on that it would be a name that when spoken aloud would cause those who heard it to call to mind the qualities that I hoped that I myself would inspire in others- courage, fortitude, wisdom and tact. Things that we all hope for. In August, I left.
oh right.
I forgot that I am invincible. Working on short story, excited about it slightly. Should be good and up and done within a week.
i can still see the sightless footprints
from when you left here never to return
footsteps silent in the morning light
as it peered in though the bay window like a voyeur
smearing all of it
She told me it was my sign. August, Virgo. Rational, cold. Emotionless. Frustrated by what I can’t understand. She at least got the last part right.
All I want to know is why you disappeared.
hrm
i have been told by my beautiful beer-giving neighbors that I now live in a Bad Neighborhood.
my armaments are many. i have now a samurai sword, a block full of cooking knives, two combat knives and two rifles
all triflin’ section 8 mofuckas may bring it on, you will know not mercy
hell ain’t shit
