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Submitted by itchy <Mritchytoyou.at.hotmail.com> (View user info) at 2004-07-02 11:34:41 EDT
I don't know what's come over me, but I'm trying to play at writing thing for real-ish now. Yes its long, yes its wordy. Sorry.
Fairy tales can come true.
It can happen to you
If you're young at heart . . ..
Frank Sinatra used to sing that song. I'm not sure how I came to believe that the words he sang were true, or how I even became aware of them at all. Just one of those songs that is so pervasive that you can't escape it, I suppose.
Nevertheless, I did believe those words. As I progressed from child, to boy to man I tried hard to never let go of my youth, tried to keep it in my heart. And this, boys and girls, is a tale of what can happen when fairy tales DO come true, and how you must be careful what you wish for, because if you stay true and remain young at heart, you just might get it.
I assure you, every word of this tale is true, (because all the best stories are) and that the events here told happened to me, between the dates of December 4th, 2003 and February 2nd 2004.
So without further ado:
I Was A Pirate of the Caribbean
___________________________________________________________
"Happy Birthday to me," I thought contemptuously.
There was really nothing happy about turning 31 years old. If pressed, I would have said that it was more of an un-happy event than a happy one. The weather was decidedly un-festive. Stinging pellets of ice had pelted me the whole walk from my parking spot to the office, hounding me from one orange pool of street-lamp light to the next for seven blocks in the pre-dawn dark. Wetness had seeped into my shoes by the second block and wrapping my scarf tightly around my neck had done nothing to prevent the malicious crystalline invaders from making their way down the collar of my overcoat.
In short, I was sick and tired of my birthday before I had even begun working. As soon as I walked in the door of my office, I wished for nothing so much as for my work day to be over, so that I could go home, pretend that it WASN'T my birthday, eat, put the baby to bed, veg for about twenty minutes and just go to sleep, so that this whole thing would be behind me.
Sighing with the resignation of a condemned man, I unlocked my office and stepped inside. I thought briefly about crawling under my desk, George Castanza-like and sleeping, but instead hung my coat and scarf on the coat-rack behind my door. The towering stack of files in my "IN" box swayed precariously as I rounded the corner of my desk and flopped bonelessly into my office chair.
"Rat-race gettin' you down itch?" a disembodied male voice asked.
Turning quickly in my chair, I scanned the office to see if someone had entered my private space. No one was there. I was alone.
"Over here itch," the voice said, "your computer."
I looked at my monitor, and sure enough some weird application I had never seen was up and running on my screen.
"Hello?" I ventured tenuously.
"I can't hear you itchy, you don't have a mic on your machine. You are going to have to type to converse with me," the voice instructed, "Just click on the little window in the applet and start typing."
Pulling out my keyboard I quickly typed what I had just spoken.
"Hello?"
"Hi," said the voice, with just a hint of repressed laughter, "wondering what's going on?"
"Yes," I typed, "Who are you and how did this thing get on my machine?"
"I have people who are really gifted with computers, but as for who I am, that is going to have to wait," the voice intoned.
"Wait for what? How did this thing get on my computer? (Why am I not closing this application?) I can have security on the phone in two seconds if you don't start giving me some answers."
"Ha!" came the reply, and it sounded like genuine amusement.
"Look itch, I'm not telling you who I am right now, because right now you don't need to know that, AND because you probably wouldn't believe me if I did."
"As for your security, they aren't going to be able to do a thing about me, and your IT guys aren't going to have the first clue what we've done to your machine. I'm told by reliable sources that they are a bunch of hacks. They've been taking your company for a ride. That's not the point though."
"The point is that I am here for YOU," the voice said.
"For me? Do I know you? What do you mean you are here for me?" I typed back.
"When I say that I am here for you, I mean that I am located somewhere very near to you; that I have a means of transporting both of us to somewhere else and that you will be coming with me. As for whether or not you know me . . . you know OF me, but you don't know me personally, yet." The voice continued, a slight tone of impatience creeping in around the edges.
"I'm not going anywhere. Thanks." I typed back and reached for the phone to call security. As I started to punch in the numbers for the security desk, the voice picked up where it left off.
"Hey man, it isn't like I'm going to MAKE you do anything. I'm going to ask you to come with me, and you will agree. Don't freak out. Put the phone down and give me two minutes."
I hung up the phone.
"Good," the voice said, "I don't need you getting all worked up about this. That's exactly what I'm here to help you avoid. You see itchy, I've been looking for people like you; people who need me. I help those people itch, and now is the time when I'm going to help you."
"I highly doubt that I need you," I typed.
"Oh, but you do," the voice said, this time he definitely was laughing. And he was laughing at me.
"Tell you what," he went on, "I love this cloak and dagger shit, I really do, but why don't you grab your coat and come down to the parking garage? I will meet you there and we can talk in person," the voice said, "you were the first one into the office this morning, again, and no one else has entered the building yet. You should be good to go, just make sure that no one sees you leave, and lock your office door behind you."
"That doesn't really sound like a good idea to me," I typed back.
"Come on itchy, live a little. Trust me. It will be worth it. You'll see," he urged, "Remember, I said I won't MAKE you do anything.
"Fine," I typed, "where am I going in the parking garage?"
"Stall A-7" the voice chuckled back, "see you soon."
I was about to type another response when the applet suddenly shut down on its own. Seconds later, my computer entered shutdown mode as well.
"Fa-reaky," was all I could think to say.
Nevertheless, something in the way the voice had spoken to me intrigued me. I had responded somewhat aggressively because one just can't be too careful, but nothing in the voice had felt threatening in the least. Besides, I thought, I am a pretty big guy, and I can usually take pretty good care of myself.
I grabbed my coat and scarf and headed out my door, still not believing that I was doing this.
I donned my coat as I reached the elevator banks and pushed the "down" button. The loud "ding" of an available car arriving instantly surprised me somewhat, but seemed to be par for the course this morning. I darted through the opening doors and punched the button for the garage.
On the way down, second and third thoughts began to cross my mind, but my curiosity had been strongly piqued and I needed to see this to its conclusion. Still, I cracked my knuckles and rotated my shoulders to limber up, just in case something dangerous was about to go down.
However, it didn't look like that was a possibility when the doors finally opened. The garage was deserted.
Not being wealthy enough to park in my buildings underground garage, I was unfamiliar with the layout. I took several cautious steps out of the elevator doors, scanning the walls and ceiling for any signs that might point me in the direction of stall number A-7. All I could see were several stenciled numbers on the wall opposite me, all of which started with the letter B and were followed by a number in the hundreds. Crap.
For no particular reason, I headed to my right and kept looking. The elevator was located in the middle of a large open area, so there were parking stalls behind where I had just come from. These stalls were marked with A's but the numbers were still in the hundreds.
With my breath steaming from my mouth in the cold air of the garage, I proceeded to follow the descending numbers of parking stalls through a concrete archway separating one area of the garage from the next.
In the area just past the archway, the numbers started again in the thirties. I looked down the row and saw a rather non-descript gray car. It was the only vehicle in the area and it was running. A lone man sat behind the wheel, looking at me intently.
The "tok, tok, tok," of my heels on the concrete floor accelerated as I moved toward my destination. This man did not look threatening physically. He appeared to be smallish in stature, with gray hair. I supposed he could have a gun or a knife, but I somehow doubted it.
As I came up on what I could now tell was a rather dirty Saturn four-door, in-state personal license plate that read, "Arrrrrr." Cute. The man inside the car eagerly waved at me to get in the car, smiling as he leaned over to open it from the inside.
"itchy! You actually came. I'm glad. I figured you'd have second thoughts," the man said.
Flopping down into the passenger's seat and closing the door behind me, I told him, "I did, now what is this all about?"
"Well," said the man, "I've had one of your old friends working for me for a number of years, and he has asked me to contact you, to see if you would be interested in joining up with us?" said the man.
"Who?" I asked, "Are you with some law firm or something? This is kind of an unusual recruitment practice."
"No. Not a law firm, but we do have need of a good legal mind from time to time. However, the friend I'm talking about isn't a lawyer. He's a doctor actually." He told me.
I had to think for a second. I hadn't hung out with any doctors for quite a while. "Brady?" I asked, "George?"
"Ah-ha!" he laughed, "now you've got it."
"George . . . in Colorado?" I was dumbfounded.
"You betcha, he's been one of my best, and most dedicated employees for years." In fact, he tried to recruit you earlier this year, but you wouldn't go with him," the man said, then he just sat there smiling.
My mind reeled. I had last seen George at Bug's wedding out in Colorado. After that there had been e-mails going back and forth about how we all needed to get together again to go to. . .
My eyes shot wide open and I just stared, disbelieving.
"You're not." I said.
"I am." He said, grinning broadly.
"You're Jimmy Buffet?"
"Yes I am. And I want YOU to come with me. I want to make you a pirate of the Caribbean," he said, laughing, "Care for a pina colata?"
To be continued . . .
User Reviews
Submitted by Wazza (user info) at 2005-02-02 04:47:27 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
Jimmy Buffet ,with guitar?
Submitted by apollo88 (user info) at 2005-02-02 04:29:34 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
I don't know who Jimmy Buffet is but I can, of course, google it.
Which I will now proceed to do.
Hold on..................
Okay so I guess he is some kind of singer, if he is pretty famous in America then wouldn't 'Itchy' have recognised his straigh away?
Apart from that,and I know I can be guilty of it, the use of the adverb on dialogue attribution can be very annoying and is a bit weak.
e.g. : "Happy Birthday to me," I thought contemptuously.
How about making the actual words of the dialogue stronger or more indicative of his mood e.g. :
"Happy fucking birthday to me." I thought.
OR make the attribution stronger without resorting to the adverb. e.g. :
"Happy Birthday to me." I spat.
Also while I am harping on pompously, you don't need to attribute everything a lot of the time it is obvious whom is speaking and in what tone they are saying it by your well constructed (and realistic may I add) dialogue.
Great story and concept though and could really tie in well to what we were discussing via e-mail.
Submitted by mystiamoon (user info) at 2004-07-02 18:23:53 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
No Comment
Submitted by legallady (user info) at 2004-07-02 18:16:27 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
fins to the left...fins to the right
Submitted by itchy (user info) at 2004-07-02 17:24:28 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
Thanks Ashk!! Now THAT is more of the response I was looking for. It never occurred to me that there might be people in the world who didn't know or appreciate who Jimmy Buffet is, or who might not understand his immeasurable coolness.
Submitted by AshK (user info) at 2004-07-02 16:32:41 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
I am really looking forward to the next installment, BUT I am tempted to take away a point for not recognizing Jimmy on sight. What is this world coming to?
Submitted by boomslang (user info) at 2004-07-02 14:00:20 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
"Hey, I just thought of something . . . what if I spelled pina colada wrong?"
Dude if you did that, I'm sure someone would let you know.
Submitted by Smurfs (user info) at 2004-07-02 13:26:33 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
A +2 because you obviously put effort into it, I'm intrigued as to were it is going as well.
Just two suggestions:
-Your story seems to be mainly in the common voice, because of this, some of your description... especially in the first paragraph 'pools of light' seem forced by the narrator. Decide whether you want the flowery description, or the gruffer blue collar voice.
-You may want to retool the computer part, It sounds too much like 'The Matrix' people will automatically start assuming parrallels you may not want them to draw.
Submitted by loki (user info) at 2004-07-02 13:12:44 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
"If you like Pina Coladas, and getting caught in the rain.
If you're not into yoga, if you have half-a-brain.
If you like making love at midnight, in the dunes of the cape.
I'm the lady you've looked for, write to me, and escape."
Submitted by itchy (user info) at 2004-07-02 13:07:32 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
Hey, I just thought of something . . . what if I spelled pina colada wrong?
Submitted by alfa_veloce <avi02.at.hotmail.com> at 2004-07-02 12:58:30 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
Great writing and an great story if true. But I think its spelled Pina Colada. Looking forward to the next installment.
Submitted by ju at 2004-07-02 12:54:11 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
"colaDa"
Submitted by boomslang (user info) at 2004-07-02 12:50:04 EDT (#)
Ranking: 1
yeah, it's pina colada
Submitted by loki (user info) at 2004-07-02 12:43:10 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
some people say that there's a woman to blame
but I know it's my own damn fault
Submitted by itchy (user info) at 2004-07-02 12:33:05 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
Maybe you gotta be a parrothead to get this . . . hmmmm. That could be a problem.
Submitted by sunjunkie04 (user info) at 2004-07-02 12:03:08 EDT (#)
Ranking: 1
A pina colata is a drink. Obviously you aren't old enough to have one.
Submitted by Trout <nologin@work> at 2004-07-02 11:59:06 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
Good work but.........what's a "pina colata"?
Submitted by Yes (user info) at 2004-07-02 11:47:47 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
ahhh, yeah!
rock, rock on!
Submitted by AlahAckbar (user info) at 2004-07-02 11:45:54 EDT (#)
Ranking: 1
Ja, is wery veird.
Submitted by BLITZKREIG_BOB (user info) at 2004-07-02 11:45:52 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
Reminds me of the time that Michael Bolton swept me off of my feet and carried me away.
Submitted by spedmonkey (user info) at 2004-07-02 11:36:59 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
It vas vierd, ja?