A Place of its Own | Chapter One

A loud ringing crept in, through an unrestful slumber, and greeted my ears. Too bad. With a groan, I sat upright and fumbled about my nightstand until I found the noisy thing and raised it to my ear.

"Hello?"

"O’Malley!" A familiar voice boomed.

Fantastic. This was just the person I wanted to wake up to. With a sigh, I rubbed the sleep from my eyes. Reluctantly, I gave him the signal to continue. “Yeah?”

"I need you to come in today. We just got a big truck in." The man rattled.

"You know I have to leave by 11:30, right? I have class at noon.”

"A little help’s sure as hell better than none. Get your scrawny ass down here ASAP."

A snarky order, followed with a loud, solid click, and a silence. The buffoon couldn’t even offer a proper good-bye. It wasn’t enough that he was already barking orders at me off the clock? I assure you, this man was one of the most unpleasant human beings I had ever met; that fact aside, he was also one of the very few people who were actually willing to hire me after I first moved here; given that accursed last name of mine, and the stigma that was attached to it. So, I suppose there had to be at least some good in the grumpy old codger.

Out of curiosity, I looked to the clock to see what time it was. 6:30? For crying out loud, Simmons. Retrieving my glasses, I fished some clean clothes from my dresser. I dragged lazily to the bathroom to wash up before I started the day. Bare feet pressed against the cold linoleum as I cautiously removed my necklace, and slipped out of my pajamas.

The monotonous whistle of the water pipes was damn near infuriating. Weren’t showers supposed to be relaxing? Sadly, all this shower did for me was add to my frustrations. Though, considering where I was heading before too long, there wasn’t a need to get too relaxed anyways.

Lowering my head, I let the cool water run freely through my hair, as my tired eyes followed the suds as they cascaded down the drain. It wasn’t enough that I’d been rudely yanked from a not-so-good night’s sleep, but now I was getting a cold shower to go in to work, on what was supposed to have been my day off.

I closed the spigot and thankfully, the whistling ceased. Stepping out of the shower, I quickly dried myself off and threw my clothes on. Fumbling at the edge of the sink for my glasses, I mumbled a faint curse as I heard them fall into the basin.

I could only pray that this wasn’t the precursor for the rest of my day.

Luckily, I finished the run through my usual morning routine without another hitch. Slipping into my jacket, I grabbed my messenger bag, which served as a home for my school books and my keys. After a quick glance around the apartment, and a sense of reassurance, I went on my way, locking the door behind myself.

Down the stairs, and out the front door. I gave a slight shiver as the brisk fall air hit me; it was a little cooler than I had anticipated. Fall was setting in fast in this tiny little town.

This place was by no means large, or even tidy. It was a small, shabby rural community. Shabby old exteriors, shabby sidewalks and roads, shabby people, shabby everything. Despite the town’s raggedy state, though, everyone in it seemed friendly enough. Most of the inhabitants were familiar with one another; save for the outsiders like myself, who made the commute to attend their community college. I had only lived there a little over a year myself, but thanks to working at the local grocer, I had become acquainted with most of the locals.

Of all the places I’d been, this town was easily one of the smallest. Though it was little, it offered a nice change of pace for me; I was finally on my own, and a slow-paced lifestyle seemed ideal at the moment. And, despite the downtrodden atmosphere, the town’s scenery was remarkable.

I had a choice spot to do my drafting and brainstorming; a spot that sat perched atop the overlook just behind Simmons’ Grocer. Being outside, enjoying nature always seemed a positive stimulus for my writings. Which was lucky for me, considering that I was majoring in journalism, and I’d be doing a fair share of it.

'Why journalism?' One might ask. While I wasn’t the most politically involved person you’d ever meet, I did have a firm set of values and beliefs that proved quite the fuel for some passionate essay writing. Writing that had gotten some local attention, and helped to put my name on the tiniest of maps.

As I came upon familiar pavement, I turned my gaze upwards, to find a stout, dull-skinned and white-haired male with a cigarette protruding from his lips.

“‘Bout damn time. Get your ass in there.”

With a quiet sigh, I pressed past him and into the store. Back, through the center aisle, and into the break room. I shoved my bag and jacket into my locker before I trekked to the loading dock, where a familiar figure was already unloading one of the large pallets.

"Need some help?"

He turned to face me, a wicked grin on his monkey-like face.

“There’s the cavalry!” He called, tossing me a pair of gloves. They skimmed past my grasp, and he couldn’t stifle a laugh as they landed on the floor. “Clumsy today?”

I snarled at him as I bent down to pick them up. “Watch it or you’ll be unloading all this shit on your own.”

He smirked, and scoffed, and shook his head. “You asshole.”

"Hey, technically I didn’t even have to be here. You should be happy this asshole even drug out of bed to come help your ass.” I chuckled. “And I might be clumsy, but you sure as hell weren’t gonna’ get any help outta’ Simmons.”

The man cast his glance to the office, where we saw our boss sitting in his cushy chair, to which he had quickly fled. Allergic to physical labor, one might say. “Psh. To hell with him, man.”

"Alright, this truck isn’t gonna’ unload itself. Let’s go. I’ve got class at noon." I put on the gloves and began unloading the cardboard boxes onto a large push cart.

"That’s right. Mr. Ambitious this year, eh?”

"For once in my life, I guess I am." I smiled. It was kind of a nice feeling, really. And for someone to actually acknowledge that must have spoken for something.

I could recall five-or-so years ago, I was skipping out on study hall and sneaking off school grounds with this same goof back in high school. It wasn’t the worst offense possible, but I’m sure we’d have been reprimanded had staff caught on.

It was safe to say I’d come quite a way since then, but I’m not so sure the same could be said for my friend Emilio. But his skills couldn’t be learned in public schools. He’d always had a penchant for all things mechanical, and he was damn good at it. He was Mr. Personality, and that was never going to change; silly and sly, obnoxious, but with a certain degree of charm that seemed to counter it.

He hadn’t changed much since I met him, save for the goatee he’d cultivated. The man was still a solid, rough-around-the-edges fellow; still very much a boy in a man’s body. As unlikely of friends as we were, we had grown very close, and we wouldn’t have had it any other way.

The day passed rather quickly, and before long, I had to take off for class. The majority of the truck had been put away by that time, and after a round of thanks, I took off.

While Economics wasn’t my favorite class, it was a necessary one.

It was really difficult to follow the professor in that particular class most of the time. The man was so lethargic and detached that most of us wondered if he was on some sort of medication, or if he was just that uncaring. I closed my eyes and huffed tiredly, wishing it would just be over, What I hated most was a teacher who didn’t give a damn, and this one certainly fit that bill.

"Now, I’m going to split you into groups."

Aw, damn it. As if the half-assed, long-winded Ben Stein lecture wasn’t enough, now he was splitting us into groups?

The man rose to his feet and gestured towards the tables in the room. “These will be tables one through five, and you’re all going to draw numbers and sit accordingly.”

I wasn’t sure if it was lazy, or if it was actually a decent idea. Perhaps both, I mused.

He made his way about the classroom, and everyone drew their shreds of paper from the brown bag in his hand. As I unfolfed my sheet, a number 4 was revealed. I glanced over to the indicated table, where some less-than-amused classmates were gathering. I supposed I should join them, reluctant as I was. I rose from my chair and strolled over, sinking into one of the empty seats, and glancing at my new company.

What a rag-tag group, I scoffed. A stoner, a burnout, and a former jock? Oh, goody. Did that mean I’d be stuck with 90% of the work?

I mean, don’t get me wrong; I wasn’t typically one to judge so hastily, but I couldn’t help but wonder why they were even there in the first place. It was painfully obvious that atleast two of the three had no real desire or ambition; probably forced by their families. I know the college was certainly no Harvard, but come on. What a waste of time and money.

As I watched them fidget in an awkward silence, I wondered if they had slapped any labels on me. But I quickly reminded myself that their opinions had absolutely no bearing on who I was, or who I would become.

I realize that perhaps that sounds a little hypocritical, but is it really so had to tell someone with drive and desire from someone who lacks in those areas? I’d been trying to start looking at things with a more opened mind, and usually, I could. Perhaps it was just the rude awakening that had gotten me off to the wrong maybe that’s just the embittered teenager still lingering in the back of my head. I seriously needed to drop that habit. Sometimes, it was easy to see things through a wider scope, but sometimes, that grumpy little shit still creeps out and does me thinking for me.

I could feel a sigh of disgust rising in my chest; perhaps at the people I’d been paired with, perhaps at my own misconduct, or perhaps at a little of both. But it was cut short by the sound of the classroom door opening. A girl walked in, only to be greeted by the professor’s not-so-friendly gaze.

"I’m so sorry, Mr. D! I had to pick up my little brother, and-“

“Draw a number, Miss Kitzmiller.” He extended the paper bag to her.

Apprehensively, she reached inside, and drew the last slip of paper.

"Four?"

He pointed to our table and returned to his desk. With a roll of the eyes, she strolled over and occupied the last seat at our table, giving us all a meek wave.

I couldn’t help but to examine her a little more closely. I recalled seeing her in class before, but I’d never cared to look any closer. What struck me most was the mole beneath one of her eyes, which were eerily familiar in their blue color. With a scoff, I turned away. Stop staring, you creep.

Luckily, she hadn’t noticed.

"Now," the professor began. "- I want you all to get acquainted; get to know the people in your groups. Because you will be working with these people for the rest of the quarter.”

After receiving a collective aww, he resumed.

"None of that. You’re all adults now, and you should start acting as such. And that includes working with people you don’t necessarily know or like. You don’t have any assignments for tonight. Just get to know one another a little.”

We sat in an awkward silence for a fair amount of time, before low mumbles and grumbles finally began to spill from our lips.

"Oh, come on. You all sound like a bunch of zombies!” The tardy one was the first to speak up. She snarled her nose and puckered her lips, in some curious pout. “It’s not that bad. No one’s got cooties, and I’m pretty sure we all speak english, so let’s go!”

I had to stifle a laugh. She seemed sharp-tongued; a lot like the woman she reminded me of.

Each of our gazes shifted to her, some degree of expectancy written on our faces.

“Seriously? Making me go first? Good God, this is like pulling teeth.” All eyes were on her, and she immediately realized her answer. “Aw, fine. Ya’ buncha’ losers. I’m Lindsay. Anyone else care to share their names?”

A real firecracker, this one. An admirable quality in times like these.

I extended an opened hand. “Adrian.”

“Ohoho!" She taunted the others as she reached in to shake my hand. "Pleased to meet your acquaintance, Adrian. Thank you. Now, anyone else?”

Finally, the others decided to introduce themselves after some more coaxing.

"Now, a little about myself, I suppose." She mulled, drumming her fingers against the table. "I’m 22, and I’ve lived in this town my whole life. I’m here for a degree in business, and working to take care of my little brother…"

She gave me an unexpected look. “How about you, Adrian?”

I should have anticipated she’s go in order, but somehow, I didn’t expect to be called on next.

"I, uh…" I looked around the table, and it appeared Lindsay was the only attentive one there. With a grumble, I spoke up. "I’m 20. I grew up in Ashcrest, but I moved to Stillridge when I was 14. I moved here about a year ago to study journalism. I work part time at Simmon’s, and… I have no social life.”

She offered a giggle, and a kind smile. “Good, good. Now, Zack?”

After everyone introduced themselves, we only had a few minutes left to spare before class ended. Thankfully, at least one of the three proved me wrong; the stoner had quite the personality, and seemed like he might actually be fun to work with. He was one of the philosophical types, whose view of the world had taken a wider angle than that of most people. The burnout was just a bitter girl with a sandpapery tongue, and the ex-jock clearly didn’t give a damn about much of anything.

I’m pretty sure Lindsay didn’t have to do much to win my favor; her blue eyes had already done that much. They reminded me of my late mother, and somehow, my brain instantly associated their hue with people of good-nature and intent.

She smiled and bade us all goodbye before we dispersed, and headed our respective ways. Mine was to the little sandwich shop near the apartment, before I went home to retire for the evening.

I really wasn’t kidding when I said I had no social life.

Save for Emilio, and now my few acquaintances from class, I didn’t really know anyone in that town. And even if I did, I seldom had the time or energy to go and ‘hang out.’

I sat, near the back of the small cafe, picking away at my meal as I jotted miscellaneous ramblings about the day’s events into my journal. It may have seemed silly to most, but I always did enjoy keeping a log in that thing. It kept me writing daily, and helped me to remember. And, on occasion, sitting here and scrawling down my thoughts was a nice change from the doom and gloom of my desk at home.

But, eventually, I came to terms with the fact that I had to return to that empty space. I closed my books, and went about my way home. Back to the facade of that shabby looking building, up the stairs, and back to the apartment.

I dug the keys out of my bag and unlocked the door; closing myself in, and shutting the rest of the world out for a little while. I wasn’t so sure I enjoyed the quiet there as much as I used to, though; the noise and energy of my guardian’s home would have been a welcomed change of pace. Sometimes, the tranquility of those four rooms I called home was just an open invitation to sit and brood on the past.

And Lord knows I’d already done enough of that in my lifetime.