The story of a Modest Man (ch1, continuation)

''Daddy?'' I asked, a suprisingly questioning look plastered over my face although as a kid, I still wasn't able to grasp the severity of the situation.
My dad, flabbergasted, stopped abruptly and looked at me with evident horror in his eyes.
''Enric! What are you-- what are you doing here?'', he managed to say, a subtle stutter emphasizing his breaking nerves. As a child, I was innocuous, but as I state this here and now, I would say it all started on that very day: indirectly, my childlike subconscious saw through him as he stood there with bloodshot eyes; eyes of a thirsty murderer.
''Daddy!'' I ran towards him, my arms eagle-like as I willed to accept his lasciviousness into my arms. Something lulled my heart: since then I felt no heartbeat.
He took me into his arms and kissed me on the forehead.
''Enric, son, this is Tora Kimura. She's my new assistant at work.''
I remember staring at her on that sunny day, thinking of a preying feline as I quietly eyed her cold dark eyes piercing into mine, her lips austere and her long black hair mischievously caressing the wind.
She leered at me. I stayed unflinching. Then I smiled.
''Hello,'' I said dearly with my childish voice. She smirked rather amicably in response. ''Hello, Enric.''
My dad turned to me. ''Well, son, what do you want?''
For some reason, I felt a pang of child-like uncertainty, as if what I seemed to want was mere illusion, and what I really wanted was, in that moment, a far-fetched reality.
I hesitated, and then pointed at the Etch-a-Sketch boy who sat on a bench right behind us three, his posture assimilating that of a gargoyle's.
''Kenji, come here, my dear,'' exclaimed Tora with a lovely, yet salient edgy tone.
The boy raised his head, the wind caressing his mousy, black hair.
He gaped at her, then at my father.
His gaze shifted toward me.
He remained seated while minutes passed by; a gargoyle gawking at a pointless destination.
He kept on ogling me, so I eventually returned him the favor.
Outside of our bubble, Tora continued to talk to my seemingly oblivious father, his hand slowly wandering from her back to her behind.
The sunlight suddenly blinded my eyes.
With that, my destiny was changed.



(to be continued)

From ''The Over 30 Club''

I was perusing my e-mail just now, and noticed, as anyone does, how much junkmail I received.
As it's holiday and basically all of my friends are out of town so there's not exactly much to do, I decided to look at the crap people decide to send others because they don't have anything else to do.

So I came across this.


''When  I was a kid, adults used to bore me to tears  with their tedious diatribes about how hard  things were. When they were growing up; what  with walking twenty-five miles to school every  morning....Uphill...  Barefoot...BOTH  ways… yadda, yadda, yadda

And  I remember promising myself that when I grew up,  there was no way in hell I was going to  lay a bunch of  crap like that on my kids about how hard I had  it and how easy they've  got it! 

But  now that I'm over the ripe old age of thirty, I  can't help but look around and notice the youth  of today.  You've got it so easy!  I  mean, compared to my childhood, you live in a  damn Utopia! 
And  I hate to say it, but you kids today, you don't  know how good you've got  it!

I  mean, when I was a kid we didn't have the  Internet.  If we wanted to know something,  we had to go to the damn library and look it up  ourselves, in the card  catalog!!  

There  was no email!!  We had to actually write  somebody a letter - with a  pen!   Then  you had to walk all the way across the street  and put it in the mailbox, and it would take  like a week to get there!  Stamps were 10  cents!

Child Protective  Services didn't care if our parents beat  us.  As a matter of fact, the parents of  all my friends also had permission to kick our  ass! Nowhere was safe!

There  were no MP3's or Napsters or  iTunes!   If you wanted to steal music, you had to  hitchhike to the record store and shoplift it  yourself!

Or  you had to wait around all day to tape it off  the radio, and the DJ would usually talk over  the beginning and @#*% it all up!  There  were no CD players!  We had tape decks in  our car.  We'd play our favorite tape and  "eject" it when finished, and then the tape  would come undone rendering it useless.   Cause, hey, that's how we rolled, Baby!   Dig?

We  didn't have fancy crap like Call Waiting!   If you were on the phone and somebody else  called, they got a busy signal, that's it!  

There  weren't any freakin' cell phones either. If you  left the house, you just didn't make a damn call  or receive one. You actually had to be out of  touch with your "friends". OH MY GOD !!!   Think of the horror... not being in touch  with someone 24/7!!!  And then there's  TEXTING.  Yeah, right.  Please!   You kids have no idea how annoying you  are.

And  we didn't have fancy Caller ID either! When the phone rang, you had no idea who  it was!  It could be your school, your  parents, your boss, your bookie, your drug  dealer, the collection agent... you just didn't  know!!!  You had to pick it up and take  your chances, mister!  

We  didn't have any fancy PlayStation or  Xbox video games with high-resolution 3-D graphics!   Wehad  the Atari  2600!  With games like 'Space Invaders'  and 'Asteroids'.  Your screen guy was a  little square!  You actually had to use  your imagination!!!  And there were no  multiple levels or screens, it was just one  screen... Forever!  And you could never  win.  The game just kept getting harder and  harder and faster and faster until you died!   Just like LIFE!

You  had to use a little book called a TV Guide to  find out what was on! You were screwed when it  came to channel surfing!  You had to get  off your ass and walk over to the TV to change  the channel!!!  NO REMOTES!!!  Oh, no,  what's the world coming  to?!?!

There  was no Cartoon  Network either! You could only get  cartoons on  Saturday Morning.  Do you hear what  I'm saying? We had to wait  ALL  WEEK for cartoons, you spoiled little  rat-finks!

And  we didn't have microwaves.  If we wanted to  heat something up, we had to use the stove!   Imagine that!     


And  our parents told us to stay outside and play...  all day long.  Oh, no, no electronics to  soothe and comfort.  And if you came back  inside... you were doing  chores!

And  car seats - oh, please!  Mom threw you in  the back seat and you hung on.  If you were  lucky, you got the "safety arm" across the  chest at the last moment if she had to stop  suddenly, and if your head hit the dashboard,  well that was your fault for calling "shot gun"  in the first place!   

See!  That's exactly what I'm talking about! You  kids today have got it too easy. You're spoiled  rotten!  You guys wouldn't have lasted five  minutes back in 1980 or  any time  before!

Regards,
The  Over 30 Crowd ''




Now, now, it's not exactly rotten. I smiled and even giggled when I read it.
It just can't help to tell you the truth; I even related!

RENEE


P.S: Hope you have a fantastic Spring break!

The story of a modest man ( start of ch.1)

I can still recall the day that I technically found out, even if I didn't know what it meant.

It was a sunny day like this one sometime April (or was it May?), the birds frolicking, the sun smiling, the trees blooming and children carousing at the carousel I've always played at since who-knows-when while I stared at the ground, hoping not to be noticed by any other child and thinking of my siblings' new stuff.

I can't exactly remember how old I was then; what I do remember though, was that my mom was sitting on a bench right next to me, hands flapping wildly and embittering her friend Dulce's mood as she was forced to listen to my mother's ranting on how Sputnik 6 was launched for some egocentric reasons while the dog passagiere (I think they were called Pchelka and Mushka) dies due to unknown, unjustified reasons my mom just couldn't seem to ignore.

I think I was turning 3 (or 4) years old then; because when I was about that age, Dulce's sombre face was what I saw every time my mom and I went to the park to play.

''Yes, it's incredible. What did they even bring the animals for?'' Dulce inquired, a hint of  pretense accompanying her voice.
''I'm not even sure. They haven't even told us citizens the truth! In my opinion..."

Right then, I couldn't hear my mother's reply to the question made out of pure formality, as I sternly fixed my gaze onto a dark-haired child wearing a jumper (wasn't it warm enough?) and black shoes, while he passed my mother, Dulce and me by, his dainty hands shaking that red, rectangular toy I had wished I would have received from my parents: the Etch-a-Sketch.

I slowly stood up, my hands supporting my body's weight as I pushed the ground to compose myself, and cautiously pursued the steps the other kid had been taking.

I turned my head around for a small instant, only to see my mother (whose name is Sarah, by the way) too busy discussing with the disinterested Dulce to even care. I continued my pursuit.

I'm not entirely sure how far or how near my unknown destination was, but to my younger me, it appeared to be the distance between New York and Mexico City, as my stubby legs followed the Etch-a-Sketch boy.

After God-knows-how-many minutes, I finally arrived.

And to my pleasant surprise, I even saw my dad, wrapped around in the arms of some Asian woman whose ass was now visible in her silky dress as he carressed it with his callous hands.

P.S:  the other post was the prologue. Happy Easter, everyone!

The story of a modest man (prologue)

It's funny how after several years, a single night has evoked every memory I've been trying to forget - the unchangeable past I try to remold - ... and it's simply ironic how what I had loved and cherished above all, disillusioned me from the delirious dream I had been living in, turning it into a nightmare - only worse, because it was - and still is - reality.

If ever I am something,  then I am a person of simplicity. Regardless of all the thick layers and fancy drapes and covers and masks my face is frequently enveloped in, you can still recognize the deeply carved lines etched on my face; lines which for me symbolize struggle and conviction - the old, plain Enric - the old ordinary me who would never ever spark any interest at all unless I did something extremely pathetic which I normally do anyway.

I was born in a cosmopolitan city to my parents - Mr. Anton Navarra, a struggling businessman who did and does everything - and I mean literally everything -  in his power to sustain the needs of his family- and my mother - the truthful lawyer whose cooking her children seldom craved for and who, well, basically was everything I wished my future wife would never be.

Siblings? Yes, yes, I have some: Ron, former class president, lead quarterback and topnotcher in class who is currently taking a scholarship in MIT, waiting to change the world; Emma, senior, the cheerful cheerleader, voted sexiest hottie of the year and winner of the science fair 3 years in a row; PJ (a.k.a Paul-Jean), the "better-more handsome-hotter-cleverer-more cunning and fun-twin" (guess who the lame twin is?); and last, but not least, the newest addition to the family: Rose-Marie, 3-year-old-apparent-genius who can already divide.
And Enric, guy full of wishful thinking.