AWOL: A Character Lost (9 page)

When the character appeared on the other side of the door, he was standing on a white sandy beach, the sun was high, and the sky was cloudless. He was pointed in the direction of the water, and; on this day, the Atlantic Ocean was calm. A hot sticky breeze caressed the bare parts of his body as he watched the waves for a moment, the edges of his shoes pressed right up to the salty water line. He hesitated to turn around. The author had set him in a story that involved a monster or maybe monsters. Who knew what lay inside the author’s mind when it came to this story? It was a mind that the character was tired of running around in. He wanted to be home, and he wanted to be with his family. The ache inside of him to be home was getting to be too much, and he was starting to feel like a toy doll – tossed here and there just for the author’s casual amusement. The character had also started to doubt the author, a doubt that showed itself in the Western story where he almost got sliced and diced. He had started to feel he was being used just to give the author another book – a way to give the author a chance to let his imagination run wild. He felt like he was running from genre to genre in some endless character purgatory, and that there would be no end to his torment. That he would just keep doing this on and on again until the author finally tired of him, and then what? Would he be home? Would he not? Would he be stuck in limbo until the author created a sequel to this book? Maybe in that second book he would reach home, and finally be with his family. He just didn’t know, and he tried not to think about it. He just had to hope that the one in charge would eventually get him home.

When the character felt he had gotten his mind straight, he decided it was time to turn around to see what kind of hellish nightmare the author had put him into. He was sure that once his body transitioned, so he could see what was behind him, that there would be massive carnage. Buildings would be destroyed; cars and all sorts of vehicles treated in the same kind of way – smashed into tiny little pieces, bodies of people dead everywhere, lives disrupted, massive carnage on the grandest of scales, and into all of this would be some monster. Some monster that would be laying waste to all it saw.

One thing that seemed strange to the character was that he didn’t hear any of this behind him. He didn’t hear the carnage he so expected to hear, the screams of terror, the crashing structures, explosions, etc. What he heard was people, traffic, and a world that didn’t sound like it was in peril. It sounded like, a normal beach day.

To his left and his right he heard people enjoying the bright sunshine. Was it possible that this world he was now in wasn’t contaminated yet? He wasn’t sure, but he knew he needed to turn around. He had to know why he wasn’t hearing anything. The waves though were just so inviting, so peaceful. After all he had been through; this was the best start so far. Would it be so bad if he just sat down and let it be home for a while? Just sat right here and refused to move. Would that be so terrible? He felt like he had earned it.

But he didn’t do that, and with cautious legs he turned around.

There was no carnage, death, or destruction. It was just a small beach that couldn’t have been more than a yard long or wide, a nook, if you will. Fencing in this small beach on either side of him, were rows of wild shrubs that ran down to the water’s edge and stopped just at the waves. Looking from the water’s edge to the top of the beach he could see a small incline that led up to a sidewalk and a road. People were moving about on this sidewalk and cars were passing by on the street.

The character couldn’t believe it. This was just a typical beach day, and people were doing typical beach things. There was no sign of danger or trouble. The character actually managed to smile as he stood there. When was the last time he really smiled, the kind of smile that just happens? He had no idea, but it felt good.

The sound of giggling kids caught the attention of his ears, and he turned towards it. The wild shrubs were so high that he couldn’t see much, so he listened for the giggles to come again. They came from his left. He peered through the shrubs and into a world he was still surprised to see.

The kids he heard were kicking a beach ball back and forth, splashing in the warm surf, just enjoying the day. Their parents were stretched out on blankets underneath sun shielding umbrellas. Beyond them, the whole beach was covered with people, young and old, doing what they always do on sunny beach days.

The character decided to try the other side, and he saw the same thing. His heart rose, and his mind lifted; maybe the author had decided to do something normal for a change. Maybe monster was a word for something else, like when you see something that is called alien wars, but it isn’t actually wars with aliens. It is war with illegal aliens and immigration-based issues. Maybe a monster in this world was something like that. Maybe there wouldn’t be any monsters at all, not the traditional kind anyway. Could the author go away from horror-based subject matter? The character didn’t know if that was possible, but what he did know, was that he was hungry. He thought he might be able to walk into town or at least get a ride there before his stomach went into violent earthquakes of pain. He got his feet moving and climbed up to the sidewalk.

His heart broke once he was standing on this sidewalk, because he wasn’t in a busy town like he thought; he was in a parking lot, a plain old parking lot with yellow faded lines to mark the spots and way too many big SUV’s.

He noticed, the part of the sidewalk he was standing on, was a link to two entrances that led onto the beach, and it was busy with human traffic. The character stood there a moment and took it all in. He was so happy to be in a world without terror, without fear, that the crowds didn’t bother him.

A family strolled by. Husband, wife, two boys and a girl all decked out in beach gear and sunscreen. They were carrying tons of stuff and enough floatation devices to keep a sinking boat a float.

The character watched them go by and thought of his family. One son found, probably back where he belonged, maybe, maybe not. One son lost who he kept seeing in each place he visited, and a wife who he had not seen since he woke up in the author’s mind. When was that? Who knew how long it had been? Time meant nothing to him right now.

The character pushed the thoughts away and made his way down to the busy highway. His thumb worked just fine, so he hung it out into the air and hoped for a ride.

An hour later and after a couple of miles of walking, his feet found a friend in an old pickup truck. This truck was at least fifty years old, rusted out, with a bed full of junk. A quick scan revealed a shovel, old tires, a bed spring, cans – beer cans mostly, and other items that if projected out would be considered litter on the highway.

The driver of this truck was a kind old guy with bushy white eye brows, long white flowing beard and hair, and a farmer’s tan. When the driver opened the passenger side door for the character, he tipped his hat and said, “Howdy! Where you off to today?”

The character of course had no idea where he was going so he just said, “Town.”

“Well, climb on in son.”

The character climbed into the cab of the truck, the two men shook hands, and then the truck pulled out into traffic.

The two strangers sat in silence for a moment, as the character scanned the interior. The roof was faded, dingy, and peeling apart, the dash was cracked in many spots, and the floor under his feet was filled with all kinds of food wrappers – candy bar all the way to hamburger. A vanilla air freshener hung from the rear view that depicted Jesus raising up his hands to heaven. There was also a busted radio, a cracked windshield, and no heat or air.

“Name’s Paul, by the way.” The old guy held out his hand for a shake after switching gears on the column. The truck was doing its best to get up to speed, but its best wasn’t doing all that much. Cars whizzed past them, horns blared, but Paul paid no attention to it. He just kept the truck moving forward, eyes focused on the road ahead.

“Martin,” the character replied, returning the hand shake. It was a name he had used before, so he decided it would work here as well.

“Well, Martin, mind if I call you Marty?”

“That’s fine.”

“Town is kind of vague. Anywhere particular you need to go?” Paul shifted gears, cussed the truck, and then looked over at the character. “Farm truck, don’t use it much.”

The character nodded. “I’m just hungry. Just looking to get off the road and get my bearings straight.”

“Kind of drifting, I get that. Sometimes we just have to get away for a while.”

“Any place good in town to eat?”

“Martha’s Café. Best home-made cooking around.”

The character had a word pop into his mind – money. He was sure he didn’t have any. He reached into his pockets and fished around for some. Hoping the author had put some in there when he was writing this story. Nope. He was bone dry.

“Home cooking,” the character said, a tad embarrassed, a little pissed, okay, a lot pissed at the author for sticking him in a story without cash. How was he supposed to get around if he didn’t have anything green to hand people?

Paul seemed to notice the character was fishing in his pocket and the only thing the character was coming up with was lent. Paul was sure the guy had no money, but pride goeth before the fall so he kept his mouth shut.

The character gave up the ghost and decided to just chill for a moment. He had searched every pocket and he didn’t have a dime to his name. It was down to bumming or digging through dumpsters in order to get food. He didn’t like the idea of either one of those, so he wasn’t sure what he was going to do. He thought of the author, eating steak, great side dishes, and washing it all down with good expensive wine. That made him angry, so he ate those thoughts and hoped it would kill the growl in his stomach. It didn’t.

Paul had taken notice of the character’s sudden quiet nature, and he decided to step in. Pride may goeth before the fall, but a man has to eat. “Look, son, I know you’re broke so don’t fret it.” The character looked over at Paul. “Since you ain’t got food, and I know you ain’t got shelter. How about you hang around my place for a day or so? I could use some strong hands. Are you good at fixing things?”

The character honestly didn’t know. He was a guy, so he assumed it would come naturally to him or at least he hoped it would. “I’m not really sure. I guess I will just have to see what you need and see if I can help.”

“That sounds good to me. By the way, do you like cats?”

“Sure.”

“I have a couple of them.”

“I prefer them over dogs actually.” So many things were a mystery to the character, but he remembered he liked cats over dogs. Why did this little bit of useless stuff stick with him when the larger, and more important stuff, was so vague? Who knew? It just did.

“Me too,” Paul replied.

Silence fell upon the cab as the two men reached the end of their conversation. They rode on towards town as silent strangers.

*

Paul’s house wasn’t a large house, more of a cottage by the sea. The outside was white with dark shutters, well kept, and painted. It really surprised the character to see this place since he met the guy while he was in that truck, which by the way wasn’t a real farm truck, not by farm truck standards. Paul had a small garden out back that had an abundance of crops, but it didn’t cover acres and acres of ground. So he would have no use for a farm truck. For some reason Paul had lied about the truck, but the why he did it doesn’t factor into this story, so let’s move on.

The interior of the house matched the outside, everything, neat and orderly, well kept. It held three rooms (master bedroom, kitchen, living room) and one full hallway bath. The walls were mostly white and filled with pictures of Paul’s family. This guy may have lived alone now, but he had family, a lot of it from what the character could tell, at one point or the other.

“Food’s on,” Paul replied, leaning out of the kitchen.

The character took his eyes off the wall of pictures, and joined Paul at the small table in the kitchen. The two men ate pork and beans, sipped on beer, and watched the news on the television screen.

Paul’s two cats were both about ten years of age, and their names reflected their colors – black and white. They were peaceful cats who purred and twined around the legs of both men, as the men sat and ate.

The day bled into evening.

When evening arrived, the two men found themselves sitting on the back deck, listening to the waves crashing, watching a golden red ball of fire drop out of the sky. The character couldn’t believe he was in such a tranquil place after all he had been through.

“You never really told me where you were from or what has you out walking your path in such a way,” Paul replied, eyes focused on the salty waves.

The character thought about it for a moment – casual conversation was always tough for him since he never really knew how to do it without giving too much away. He knew the author needed him to stay quiet, but this Paul guy, easily 80, really brought out his talking side, like a priest in a confessional. The character really wanted to spill it all, just have someone to confide in, but he knew he couldn’t. He was also on his third bottle of beer which didn’t help matters, words spilled out better when alcohol was involved. He did his best to keep the conversation going in a direction he thought the author would be proud of.

“To tell you the truth, I’m lost.” Not a direct lie, but not exactly the truth either.

“Lost you say.”

“I lost my memory somewhere along the way, and now I am walking to find it,” the character replied, with the bullshit light going off in his head. Paul would never buy such a lie; and this time it was a direct lie, not like the little white one with truth shrapnel inside it he told moments ago.

Paul let this statement settle in on him for a moment, and the character thought Paul had bought it, for now.

“I did something like that once.”

The character looked over at Paul, surprised to hear those six words come out of his mouth. “You did?”