WARNING!!!!! If four letter words bother you: STP RIGHT HERE!!!!! The characters in this novel talk like twenty year old guys!
The eBooks on Amazon KINDLE and Barnes and Noble NOOK are correctly formatted and look great. Unfortunately those formats can’t be copied to my blog, so these first 2 chapters are from the manuscript on my computer.
SAME MOON, SAME SKY
by Elisa Medhus, M.D. and E. J. Daniel
Chapter One
Faded Gecko
I sat down at the foot of Momʼs bed. Bet sheʼd be surprised to see Iʼd found my
favorite shirt. Yeah, it was disreputable, but I got it on a bitchinʼ trip to Hawaii when I was
seventeen and learned to surf. It still fit. I liked it. Fortunately, even though sheʼd
pushed it to the back of the closet, she hadnʼt tossed it.
Mom was reading. Probably a medical journal. She did that when it was quiet and
Dad was still watching 60 Minutes on TV. I had my back to her, but I could see out of
the corner of my eye that it wasnʼt a journal. No wonder she didnʼt see me, she was
hiding behind People Magazine. What? That wasnʼt her usual style. Maybe she saw a
headline while standing in line at the supermarket about little green men having lunch
with the President and the First Lady. I wondered if aliens could attend the White
House in their natural bare-assed state or would they have to stop by Walmart for some
clothes made in China before they could pass through the W.H. security. I never heard
anyone mention seeing aliens with clothing. On the other hand, the lead story could be
yet another boring blurb about some wannabe actress on her fifth stint at rehab after a
judge had patted her hand and said, “Thereʼs no need for such a beautiful, talented
young lady to spend time with a lot of disgusting inmates at the local lock-up.
I shifted my weight as I turned toward Mom. She suddenly put down the tabloid and
stared at me. She looked taken aback. Bet she never thought Iʼd find that shirt.
“I donʼt believe it!” she said.
“Iʼm resourceful,” I said.
“You look wonderful!”
“Itʼs a little wrinkled, but it still fits. Okay. Itʼs frayed and the geckos are faded. Whatever.”
Mom leaned forward and tried to touch my hand. I got up.
“See ya,” I said and made a quick exit.
Chapter Two
Wet & Wild
Fuck! I hurtled down the tunnel slide at warp speed and nearly took out a couple of
rug-rats. Why the hell were kids lurking at the bottom of the slide? The pool is about
two city blocks long. Couldnʼt their parents park them in the shallow end? Maybe they
left their kids to their own devices while they boogied off for a latte or a cold one.
I hoped my loud FUCK got the attention of the babe lounging poolside slathering on
suntan lotion. Does that crap really work at this altitude? I swam over so I was just opposite the babe in question. The scent of HawaiianTropic wafted off this incredible specimen. H.T. always reminds me of my out-of-control days in Hawaii when hormones were allowed to do what hormones were supposed to do. This aphrodisiac clouded my mind. I had to get to band practice.
What the hell, Mom wouldʼve said, “Life is short.” Dad wouldʼve countered with,
“Take the bull by the horns.” No bull or bullshit here, and I was the one who was horny.
I offered up my sexiest, most persuasive smile. That always worked. But, did she
see me behind those trendy wraparound sunglasses that cost about a thousand bucks?
I couldnʼt tell. Okay. Sunglasses are necessary at high altitudes. Iʼm guessing there
are ultra-violet rays.
Since I couldnʼt get her attention, I climbed the pool ladder to give her the full effect
of my excellent body. Sheʼd have to be brain-dead not to react. Okay, that was crass.
It was possible that she didnʼt have all her faculties. But, at her age, which I judged to
be about twenty, she must still have functioning neurons and synapses. At least she
had long, sexy blonde hair (tinged a little green from the chlorine). Did that mean she
was a bottle-blonde? Whatever. She could be whatever she wanted to be. Shit. She
didnʼt react to my posturing.
I glanced over to the end of the hot springs pool. It was jammed with old folks in the
therapeutic section that was 104 degrees. Was that their answer to creaky, arthritic
joints? I canʼt visualize letting myself ever get that decrepit.
I plopped down on the lounge chair beside the unresponsive babe (which was
conveniently vacant: the chair, not the girl.) The Gods must love me to provide this
opportunity. The babe looked away.
Iʼm the lead singer-guitarist in my band. I sang, ʻAnd when I die, donʼt bury me tall,
just pickle my bones in alkeeholʼ. (Not one of my usual tunes. My Grandpa taught me
that to get Momʼs attention.) It also got the babeʼs attention. She swiveled her head
toward me. Yes! I do have a great voice even without band and backup.
Then I saw tears running down her cheeks. She removed her sunglasses and wiped
the blue-est of blue eyes. Great start, dude. What the hell had I done? Maybe I
shouldʼve chosen lyrics a little more upbeat.
My Mom wouldʼve jumped in and asked her what was wrong. Female tears scare the
crap outta me. I didnʼt want to know her problems. I have enough of my own. “What do
you think of the Ute Indians?” I asked in an attempt to move rapidly away from anything
else that might be on her mind.
She looked confused, ”What?”
“Donʼt you hike in the mountains? You mustʼve seen the Utes.”
“I donʼt want to see them. Theyʼd be pissed off,” she said.
“Cause they were run out of this valley and slaughtered?”
“Exactly.”
“Given enough time,” I said, “anyone can get over anything and theyʼve had enough
time.” That was, of course, bull crap. I hadnʼt worked out my shit yet.
“I donʼt like to talk about death,” she said.
Really?
In that case, I grabbed her hand, pulled her off her lounge chair, and she had just
enough time to toss her expensive specs on her towel before I dragged her up the
ladder to the tunnel slide.
* *
“You have to scream or itʼs no good,” I said.
We screamed. Every time. We mustʼve gone down the tunnel at least a dozen
times. Okay. I exaggerate. After she climbed out of the pool, she twisted her hair and
wrung it out like an old dishrag. Then she shook it. Reminded me of my giant schnauzer
who would wallow in the snow and then charge past me in the mudroom before I could
dry him off and wait until he got into the kitchen to shake. If Mom wasnʼt there, it was
cool. The massive furburger would plop down on the heated floor and live happily ever
after. But, if Mom was preparing a meal when Friedrich trotted in covered in snow, sheʼd
go into semi-meltdown.
Not that this girl actually reminded me of a dog. Not at all.
“I feel like Iʼm sixteen again,” I said.
“I hated being a teenager,” she grimaced.
“Iʼll bet. I can see you in one of those tiny cheerleader costumes jumping up and
down at basketball games with a bunch of other hotties.”
“Not for a second. I was fat.”
“What happened?” I looked at her ass as she bent over to adjust the beach towel on
the lounge chair. There wasnʼt an ounce of flab on this babe.
“I donʼt know. Guess I got fed-up being a blimp,” she said.
She looked sad again. Iʼm an asshole. Just when I thought Iʼd pulled her out of
whatever tragedy sheʼd been reliving, Iʼd shoved her back into it.
“Whatʼs your name?” I said.
“Crystal.”
“Your parents named you after a rock?”
Then she laughed. “And yours?”
“Stoner.”
“Be serious.”
“Well, my parents didnʼt call me that all the time. Sometimes they referred to me as
Erik.”
No comments:
Post a Comment